Beach Town (20 page)

“I love
Rear Window,
too,” Greer said. “Especially Grace Kelly's costumes. My grandmother was a seamstress in the Paramount costume shop, so I guess I pay attention to that kind of stuff.”

“You said you'd tell me your favorite movie,” Allie reminded her.

“Easy. Has to be
Sabrina.
How could you go wrong with Billy Wilder directing Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart, and William Holden?” Greer said.

“Oh-h-h. I like that one too,” Allie agreed. “Is Billy Wilder the guy who directed
Some Like It Hot
? I loved Marilyn Monroe in that.”

“Very good!” Greer said, applauding softly. “You really do know your movies, Allie.”

“I'm a total old movie nerd,” Allie said apologetically. “We don't have a movie theater here, so I mostly download and watch.”

“You should see all the movies on her iPad,” Ginny said. “Show her, Al.”

“God, Gin. No!”

“Do you like any more contemporary movies?”

“It's not very recent, but I like Amy Heckerling—she did
Clueless,
you know? Super cute, and I like that she wrote it too,” Allie confided. “And
Bridesmaids.
Hilarious, right? Kristin Wiig is the bomb.”

“
Bridesmaids
was awful!” Ginny put in. “Nasty!”

“Don't be such an old lady, Gin,” Allie teased. “You know you laughed.”

Ginny stood up and began clearing the dishes.

“Let me help,” Greer said. “You did all this cooking.”

“You'd never be able to find where to put stuff in my kitchen,” Ginny said. “You two just sit there and talk about your movies, and I'll fix some coffee.”

“I like your aunt,” Greer said, when Ginny was gone. “She reminds me of Dearie, my grandmother that I told you about, who helped raise me.”

“Gin's pretty cool. You know, I forget she's really my great-aunt. She's more like my mom, kinda.”

Greer studied the girl. Her bright blue eyes were sparkling with excitement.

“What do you like best about movies?” Greer asked.

Allie scrunched up her face while she considered the question. “I don't know. I guess—they make me feel a part of things—that I could never really be a part of. At night, in my room, I like to turn off all the lights and watch a movie on my iPad. If it's a good movie—like
The Quiet Man,
or
Moonstruck
—I forget I'm just a kid in this dinky little town. And I'm living in that world—the world in the movie.”

Allie used the edge of her hand to sweep crumbs from the tablecloth and into a napkin, her brow wrinkled in concentration.

She looked up at Greer. “Before I came to live with Gin and Eb, when I was living with my mom in this super-creepy apartment, she worked nights, at Walmart, so she'd buy me all these Disney DVDs, and I'd watch them, alone, in the apartment, like all night, till she came home. I was scared, you know, of being there alone, and TV scared me more, because it showed bad stuff. So I watched
The Little Mermaid
and
Beauty and the Beast
and
Aladdin,
and they were pretty and brave, and they were like my make-believe friends.”

“I used to do that, too, when I was a little kid,” Greer said dreamily. “In the summer, if my grandmother couldn't watch me, Lise would drop me off at the multiplex in our neighborhood, with five bucks to get popcorn and a Coke. I'd hit all four theaters sometimes. Back to back. All by myself. But I didn't care, because it was the movies, and I thought nothing bad could happen at the movies.”

“Did you have a favorite as a kid?” Allie asked.

“
The Goonies,
and maybe
Princess Bride.
And any John Hughes movie, when I hit my teens. I was a weirdo. So, are you interested in acting?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither,” Greer said. “I wanted to create the worlds I saw.”

Allie hesitated. “This is going to sound so crazy conceited, but I really want to be a writer, or a director, or both.”

“It doesn't sound conceited at all,” Greer said.

“But it's really hard for women, right?”

“Very hard,” Greer said. “Hollywood is a boys' club. But some women manage to break through. You've seen Nora Ephron's movies, right?”

Allie nodded vigorously. “Nora Ephron—she's like my god. Did you ever meet her?”

“No, but I wish I had.” Greer said, barely managing to stifle another yawn.

Ginny swept into the dining room with a dish towel draped over her arm. “Come on, Allie,” Ginny said briskly. “Let Greer go on back to her room to get some sleep now. She can barely keep her eyes open.”

“It's not the company, I swear,” Greer said. “I had a really late night last night, and a long day today. I wish I could stay and talk movies more with you, Allie. This was fun.”

“Me too,” Allie said. “Today was unbelievable. Adelyn even said hi to me when I went to the catering tent to get a bottle of water.”

“You know,” Greer said slowly, “if you're interested, I could probably hire you on as a P.A. Not full time or anything. You have your driver's license, right?”

“Oh my God. Yes! Are you serious?” Allie jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around Greer.

“What's a P.A.?” Ginny asked.

“A production assistant,” Allie said. “Joe—he's one—he explained what kinds of stuff he does. It would be, like, my dream job.”

“Good,” Greer said. “I've got some stuff to do at the production office in the morning. Why don't you meet me there, around eleven?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Allie chanted. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 

23

While the crew was breaking down the equipment to move to the next location on Friday, Greer fired off a quick text to CeeJay.

Meet me for lunch?

C U in 10, CeeJay texted back.

“So … how's it going with you two?” Greer asked, after they'd found an empty table under the catering tent and piled plates with that day's offerings.

“Great. Really great. Bryce is super busy, but I think he's generally happy with the way filming is going. The house is cool. I love watching these Gulf sunsets.”

“Any word about the divorce?” Greer asked.

“Nope. I think he's talked to his lawyer back on the coast a couple times, but I try to stay out of his drama. We're happy, so why rock the boat?”

Greer studied her friend. Today CeeJay wore her hair in a wispy strawberry blond updo, and her eyes were lined with dramatic, shiny black liner and deep turquoise shadow that gave her a modern Cleopatra vibe. She wore a black and white sleeveless striped cotton maxi dress and black platform sandals.

“I'm happy you're happy, but it's weird that we're both working on the same project and we hardly ever see each other except for ten or fifteen minutes in between shots. I miss hanging out with you.”

“I know. I miss us, too. I mean, Bryce is awesome, but a girl needs her girlfriends, right?”

“Hey, I've got an idea,” Greer said. “What about dinner tonight? One of the grips was telling me about a Thai place over in Ducktown, which he claims is the authentic, real deal.”

“That would be amazing,” CeeJay said. “Don't get me wrong, the chef Bryce hired to cook for us is fabulous, but after a while you kinda get tired of all that hand-rolled sushi and fancy French shit, you know?”

“I don't know, but I'll take your word for it,” Greer said. “If we manage to stay on schedule today, how about I pick you up at your house around seven?”

“It's a date,” CeeJay agreed. “Bryce won't miss me. I think he's playing basketball with Kregg and his peeps tonight.”

As she spoke, CeeJay's gaze wandered away from Greer. “Speaking of which, who's that with our boy wonder?” CeeJay pointed with a forkful of salad in the general direction of a black golf cart that had rolled to a stop at the edge of the catering tent.

Greer had just bitten into a fish taco loaded with morsels of fried redfish, avocado, tomato, and queso cheese. She swiveled around in her seat to get a look at the subject of her friend's inquiry.

“Oh shit.” She frowned when she saw the pretty blond teenager sitting on the front seat beside the cart's driver, Kregg.

“That's Allie Thibadeaux. And that ain't good.”

CeeJay bit into her own taco, then delicately wiped the edge of her lips with a paper napkin. “Huh?”

“The mayor's niece.”

“Uh-oh.” CeeJay eyed the girl thoughtfully. “Cute girl, though. How old?”

“Only seventeen, but she's really a nice girl. Crazy about movies, and thinks she wants to be a writer/director. I just hired her as a very part-time P.A.”

“As far as Kregg's concerned, she's total jailbait,” CeeJay said.

“Exactly.” Greer sipped her iced tea. “And he's, what, twenty-two?”

“Barely legal,” CeeJay said. “Or illegal, in his case.”

“Kregg better start cleaning up his act,” Greer said. “I talked to Chief Bottoms this morning. That matching donation Bryce made to the Police Benevolent Society was a good idea, but I think she's serious when she says there'll be no more free passes for Kregg.”

“We'll see.” CeeJay nibbled on a cherry tomato, then glanced down at her phone with a sigh.

“I've got five more minutes before time to get him ready for his next scene,” CeeJay said. “He's such an entitled little brat. He shows up at least fifteen or twenty minutes late for hair and makeup, every time. He doesn't deign to converse with the likes of a lowly grunt like me. Mostly, he's listening to his own music on his iPod, or he's texting one of his homeys, or he's on the phone with his momager, bitching about being stuck in this godforsaken hellhole.”

CeeJay wrinkled her nose. “He also reeks of cheap weed. Even first thing in the morning, and especially after lunch break.”

“And he just got out of rehab, like a week ago? Does Bryce know?”

“Bryce chooses not to know,” CeeJay said. “If Kregg gets into trouble again and has to go back to that ‘spa' in Arizona, after we've already started shooting, it'd cost millions. So, for now, ‘Don't ask, don't tell' is our motto.”

She wrapped the remains of her taco in foil and dropped it onto her paper plate.

“I better go. God! I can't wait till we're done shooting these friggin' beach scenes. Kregg's acne has gotten out of control in all this heat and humidity. Yesterday his dermatologist overnighted some kind of goo that I'm supposed to slather all over his body before I apply the self-tanner or the regular makeup. He never says a word while I'm basting him with all that stuff…” She looked around the tent, then lowered her voice.

“But it's apparently a turn-on for the little pervert, because he gets a boner. Every single time. Which he makes no pretense of hiding.”

“Eww.” Greer dropped her half-eaten taco onto her plate. She leaned closer. “So?”

CeeJay placed her thumb and forefinger a scant inch apart. “Just like a real penis. Only smaller.”

The two friends had a good laugh over that before CeeJay stood to leave. She stopped only a step or two from the table she'd shared with Greer.

“Oh, look at Romeo and Juliet now. Parting is such sweet whatever.”

Greer looked. Kregg had his arm around Allie's shoulder, whispering in her ear.

“Oh shit,” Greer whispered.

CeeJay walked away, but Greer stayed seated, trying not to stare at the two. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the actor reluctantly peeled himself away from his underage lady love and out of the cart.

Allie slid over behind the wheel. “Call me, okay?” she heard the teenager say. And then the golf cart was rolling away from the catering tent and the base camp.

Kregg strolled past Greer, pausing to grab half a dozen cookies from a platter on the buffet table. He came close enough to where she was seated that she got a strong whiff. No mistaking it. Definitely weed.

*   *   *

All afternoon she struggled to dislodge the disturbing image of Kregg with Allie. They weren't really doing anything wrong, but Allie was definitely too young to get involved with Kregg.

What should she do? Should she alert Eb to the fact that his niece was getting way too friendly with the star of their movie?

The guy was clearly trouble. And Allie Thibadeaux was only seventeen—a minor with whom Kregg had no business dallying.

She had no idea whether Eb would even listen to anything she had to say.

Maybe, she told herself, as she stood on the beach watching Kregg romp through the waves, hand in hand with his half-dressed costar, she was making too much of what she'd seen at lunch. They hadn't actually been kissing or anything.

Yet.

She shook her head, as though that would clear her conscience. What was that saying Dearie always used to quote? Oh yeah.

“Not my monkey. Not my circus.” If she said it enough times, she just might convince herself it was true.

*   *   *

It was ridiculous to be so giddy about a girls' night out, Greer thought, as she stood in front of the tiny closet in her motel room, trying to decide on an outfit from her extremely limited wardrobe.

Finally, she picked out an asymmetrically cut cream silk tank top and black pencil leg slacks. The shoe choices were easier, since she had only red Keds and her one pair of black sandals to choose from.

The major downside to having a best friend who somehow managed to look glamorous twenty-four hours a day was that, inevitably, you could only look dowdy in comparison. Tonight, though, Greer was determined to up her own glam game. She shampooed and conditioned and even blew her hair dry and straightened it with the flat iron, the way CeeJay had coached her.