Down and Out in Flamingo Beach (10 page)

“Okay, I'm on my way,” Derek said, heading down the hallway.

The one thing he'd learned was that it didn't pay to back off when Nana became nasty or challenging. Best to face her head-on or she would just continue to bully you until she got her way.

As he got closer to Nana's room the acrid smell of stale tobacco smoke lodged in his throat. Although his stomach turned, Derek tried not to gag.

“How's the most beautiful woman in the world?” he asked, planting a kiss on one of Nana's sunken cheeks while trying not to inhale that nasty cigarette smell that clung to her clothes.

“One step away from death. What's going on down the boardwalk? There's been all kinds of equipment going back and forth.”

Derek explained what he'd heard.

“Shopping mall. Did you say shopping mall? Why does Flamingo Beach need a shopping mall? We've survived almost one hundred years without it, so why do we need one now?”

“A lot of the town's folks are asking that same question, Nana. Miriam Young, the ‘Flip-flop Momma,' who Solomon Rabinowitz stole the votes from in the last election, started a petition. There's a town meeting planned.”

“I want to go,” Belle surprised him by saying. “This isn't the first time some developer came in proposing to change this town, and it won't be the last. When's this meeting?”

Derek and Mari exchanged glances. This was the first time in months Nana Belle had expressed an interest in leaving the house. Normally the little sun porch at the side of her room was as far as she went. She was content to sit there for hours, staring at the action on the boardwalk and taking naps in between.

“We'll see, Nana,” Derek said, trying to pacify her. “Let's have dinner before I go to work.”

Mari left them to get Belle's tray and to bring Derek his dinner.

“Humph!” Belle said, lighting up yet another cigarette and blowing a smoke ring. “Who'd you say sent you that letter?”

“My old employer. I haven't opened it yet.”

She exhaled again, creating another ring. “They want you to come back to work?”

“I don't think so. Last I knew they were still laying off.”

The company that Derek had worked for as an engineer had been cutting back like crazy. They'd laid off hundreds of people. He would probably have been one of the last to go, but he'd seen it as a great opportunity to do something different. Derek had volunteered to take a severance package, money he could use to start up his own business.

Mari was back with Nana's tray. She'd put Derek's plate on it. “Where shall I put this?” she asked.

“Give it to me.”

Mari handed his plate to him. The utensils that were folded into a napkin were put on the nightstand.

“You say the blessing, Nana,” Derek said, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

Belle recited the words that were a tradition, as she had done for almost one hundred years. Derek silently added his own thanks. In the whole crazy scheme of things he had a lot to be grateful for. Life had been good.

Three hours later, he'd pulled most of the bathroom apart. Deciding to throw in the towel, so to speak, Derek poured himself a beer and took the letter to the back porch to read it. Nana was already asleep and Mari, patient soul that she was, was relaxing in the privacy of her room.

Derek's whole body hurt. He sat on the glider enjoying the darkness, legs stretched out in front of him. After taking a slug of beer, he set the bottle on the table next to him.

For some insane reason Joya Hamill kept popping into his mind, and he couldn't seem to shake her. The crazy thing was he kept remembering their kiss and the feel of her slender body pressed against his. She'd responded to his kiss with passion and not like some dead fish. And he kept wondering what it would be like to sleep with her, though there was fat chance of that ever happening. Joya was not for him.

Derek finally rose to flip the light on. The mosquitoes buzzing around the lit bulb and the noise of waves crashing against the pilings were all too familiar. These were the sounds he'd gotten used to. While certainly not big city sounds they were soothing in their own way. They helped him get to sleep at night.

He removed the crumpled envelope from his pocket and tapped it against his knee. His instincts told him the contents could change his life. Better just get it over with and open the thing and find out.

Derek tore one end open and removed an official-looking piece of paper bearing the company logo. For years he'd gotten used to seeing Norcross and McPhinney and never once given it another thought. But now—his jaw muscles working, Derek quickly scanned the letter.

John, his buddy and probably the only person in his old company who knew how truly committed he'd been to their cause. John knew how much time and sacrifice he'd put into the organization. It had cost him his wife and the life that Derek had grown used to. Now John was in a position to offer him work. Consultants were generously paid.

An offer like this one was not something a smart man dismissed without some consideration. He would give it some thought.

It was a world of meetings and politics. A world that required proper dress, where jeans were worn only on Fridays, and traffic-filled highways created their own stress.

John had mentioned consulting. Maybe he could consult from right here. It was done all the time.

Technology made anything possible.

J
oya finished writing her resignation letter and set down her pen. She was emotionally drained and a little bit scared. But it was done with. Over. Now all she needed to do was go to the post office and send the letter certified mail. The thought that she was now officially unemployed made her lightheaded and dizzy. She'd just severed her ties with Los Angeles and left her future to chance.

She couldn't really blame L.A. International for taking such a firm stand. She'd been away from her job for six months and then she'd asked to have her leave extended. There were other flight attendants who'd applied for leaves of absence and had been turned down.

While it was a tough decision, it was the only one she could make. Family mattered more than any job, and she planned on being with her grandmother through the recuperation process. Joya had no intention of abandoning her namesake when she needed her most.

Still, there was something frightening about no longer having a job to go back to. It had been a while since she'd drawn a check from L.A. International, but it was still comforting to know that she could if she returned to L.A. Another flight attendant had moved into her condo and was paying her rent. He could be talked into taking over the lease permanently since it was such a good deal.

Earlier, Joya had broken the news to Molly Williams that her quilt wasn't quite ready. That was, of course, a big fat lie. To compensate Molly for the delay, Joya had had to adjust the price by twenty percent. And then Lionel and Greg came by with no news. They hadn't had one single lead. She'd told them about the shredded quilt and that had been duly noted. They'd left to talk to Portia and see if she knew something she wasn't saying.

When midday rolled around she was ecstatic. Derek still hadn't shown up but, determined to enjoy her weekend she closed the store anyway. He could talk to her on Monday.

Now she left the dining room to throw open the French doors and get an unobstructed view of the ocean. Still feeling off, she pressed her forehead against the glass and reflected. Here she was at thirty-three, single with no viable prospects in sight. Others were buying houses and planning families and she was homeless and without a job.

She was feeling sorry for herself, she decided. Enough already. What she needed to do was get out where there was life. The sun was still high in the sky and the umbrellas still sheltered people. She'd mail her letter on Monday. Maybe she could coax Emilie into taking a bike ride down the boardwalk with her.

Joya picked up the phone and punched in Emilie's number.

“I was just thinking about calling you,” Emilie said, sounding as if she'd been napping.

“Feel like taking a bike ride on the boardwalk?” Joya asked.

“I'd rather roller-skate, better exercise and we won't have to worry about parking bikes someplace.”

“Good idea. I need to burn up some calories. I'll meet you at the guardhouse in twenty minutes. Maybe we'll skate toward the lighthouse.”

“Twenty minutes it is.”

That gave her just enough time to throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She found her skates in the back of the closet where she had tossed them, grabbed her backpack, put on flip-flops and took off.

Emilie was waiting at the agreed-upon place in her tight shorts and a T-back top. She had a fanny pack belted around her waist and a cap with the bill pulled low over her eyes. Her ponytail swished as she dabbed sunblock on her creamy shoulders.

“Ready?” she asked, removing her sneakers and tying the laces so that the shoes hung around her neck like a necklace.

“Ready,” Joya answered, stepping out of her flip-flops and into her skates. She shoved her slippers in her backpack and whizzed by the security guard who looked at them as though they were crazy. The guardhouse, a relatively new addition to Flamingo Place, had been built as more upscale clientele moved in. There'd been an outbreak of petty thefts and the tenants and owners had pushed for a gated community.

They skated down the boardwalk, passing everything from seniors reading the newspapers to vendors hawking anything short of their sisters. Mothers pushed strollers with gurgling babies, elderly men played chess and tourists outfitted in skimpy bikinis wandered in and out of stores as if they owned them.

It felt good having the wind on her cheeks and inhaling the smell of brine and cotton candy. It felt good working muscles that she hadn't in a long time. Emilie was way ahead of her, hair streaming behind, winding her way around people and vendors and garnering the attention of every male.

The exercise was slowly helping clear Joya's head. She'd made the right choice by resigning, and she should look at it as a new beginning, an opportunity to do something with the degree that she had not utilized. Or maybe she could try something new. She'd always wanted to be an interior designer. With all the new construction, she just might get her shot. It was certainly worth having a discussion with Emilie since she had the contacts.

Emilie had slowed down and was bending over, hands on her knees taking deep breaths. Joya came alongside her.

“We can walk the rest of the way,” she suggested.

“Only if we roller-skate back.”

Roller skates were exchanged for sneakers and flip-flops. Joya tucked her skates into her backpack and Emilie wore hers around her neck like a Hawaiian lei. Ahead of them the lighthouse was a tall white column, silhouetted against a blue sky.

“Do you really believe it's haunted?” Emilie asked.

Joya's laughter trilled. “It makes for a good story. Romance with a tragic ending seems to appeal to most. It's like the old Romeo and Juliet story except this lovesick woman jumps through the window when she finds out her man died in a shipwreck. They're said to roam the place calling to each other.”

“Ohhh!” Emilie shuddered, “That gives me the chills. The kids should have fun though. They're turning the lighthouse into a haunted house for the centennial celebrations.”

A stream of tourists were paying the one-dollar fee a vagrant was charging to enter the building.

“Look, old Billy is at it again,” Joya said, “He's been doing this forever. I bet you he has a mighty fine nest egg away tucked away somewhere.”

“Hey, it's a capitalist world. Race you to the water.”

Like two children, they flung their backpacks and roller skates on the sand and raced toward the bay.

After ten minutes of frolicking, Emilie sank down on the damp sand.

“So, what's up with you and Derek Morse?”

Joya rolled her eyes. “Derek and I are all about business. Shore Construction's renovating Gran's store. Derek and I are working out the details to make that happen.”

“He's something of a mystery and yummy, huh?”

“Not in my book.”

Emilie flipped her ponytail and tugged on the end. “You don't sound like you like him?”

“He's all right, just not particularly ambitious. He seems content working construction. The guy's smart enough and personable enough, but he lives with his grandmother. Why would any grown man live with a relative unless he didn't have his act together?”

“Things aren't always what they seem. He could be saving his money or helping out Belle. Maybe he's just content with where he is in life. There's something to be said about that. Most of us aren't.”

“I suppose.”

“But you've seen him two nights in row?” Emilie said, eyebrows arched.

“It's business and I'm seeing him again tonight. He's coming over later with paperwork and to collect a check.”

“Hmmm. That would make three nights in a row.”

“Stop being a wise ass.” Clearly time to change the subject. “What's happening with you? The last I heard you were actively looking for a date to go to Quen and Chere's wedding.”

Emilie stuck her legs straight out ahead of her. “I have my eye on someone, but he's affiliated with the resort so I'm reluctant to ask. If things get sticky it could be awkward. You still shopping?”

“Yup.”

“Why don't you ask Derek Morse?”

“No.” Emilie had clearly lost her mind.

“Betcha he cleans up well.”

“No.”

But even as Joya said the vehement no, she realized the wedding was only a week away and she'd need to find a date soon. No way was she going by herself. In a pinch Richard Dyson, the owner of Dyson Limousine Service could be counted on. Dickie never said no, to an attractive woman or free food. But then she'd have to deal with the consequences, and she wasn't that desperate yet.

Joya rose and began brushing the damp sand off her clothing. “If we're forking out a buck to get into the lighthouse, we might as well get it out of the way,” she said.

“I changed my mind. Too many tourists. Let's walk down the beach a bit and roller-skate home.”

“Going to tonight's jam?” Joya asked as they started back.

“I think so. You?”

“Yes, after I check on Gran. Look for me, I'll get there eventually.”

The weekly Twilight Jam session featuring local talent was something of a tradition. It gave the towns-folk a place to be on a Saturday night and drew a good-sized crowd.

As they started back, Emilie kicked the incoming surf and frolicked through the water. Joya joined her. Emilie's mood was easily contagious.

“You have to go back to work soon, don't you?” Her friend had to ask, reopening that can of worms.

“Uh-uh.”

“What does uh-uh mean?”

“I'm officially unemployed.”

“What?”

Joya explained why she'd been forced to resign.

“What are you going to do for work?” Emilie asked, looking at Joya carefully for a reaction.

What was she going to do for work?

“I still have some savings. While Gran's recuperating I'll run the store and decide whether I'm staying on in Flamingo Beach or not. Maybe I'll try my hand at interior design. I've always had a good eye for fabric and color. I was going to ask you if anyone at the resort needed an assistant. I work cheap.”

“I'll check around,” Emilie said. “You're a hard worker. Hey, isn't that Derek coming toward us?”

Joya snapped to attention. “Where?” Hearing his name had the strangest effect on her. Her whole body now tingled.

“Over there.” Emilie pointed to the boardwalk where a long-limbed, dark-skinned man jogged.

Joya squinted in that direction. “Your eyesight's great.”

“It's hard to miss anyone who looks like that, not with that body.” Emilie's voice had gone all high and she swept several wisps of hair off her face. “Tell me you're not just a teenie-weenie bit interested in him? The guy is a walking billboard for sex.”

“He's not my type,” Joya said tightly.

Emilie gave her a sideways look. “Okay, since he's not your type maybe I'll ask him to escort me to the wedding.”

“Didn't you say you had someone else in mind?”

“Yes, but…”

Emilie was already racing toward the steps leading up to the boardwalk. She plopped down at the top and quickly put on her roller skates then pushed off in the direction that Derek was jogging. Joya's choice was either to follow or to head home.

By the time she caught up, Derek was jogging in place as Emilie circled him. A damp T-shirt clung to his broad chest and stretched across his washboard abs. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face and settled in the crevices around his mouth. He was breathing hard.

“Emilie Woodward,” Joya heard Emilie say. “I met you and Preston Shore when you guys put in a bid for those waterfront villas.”

Derek gave Emilie a slow, appraising smile. “Of course I remember you. How could I forget? Love the more casual look.”

Emilie preened and made another wide circle, pushing out her already impressive boobs. She was working it, making sure Derek got a good view of her cleavage, short-shorts and long, long legs. Her curly red hair fanned out behind her. She was larger than life and sexy to boot. Joya felt like an ugly little gnome beside her. Derek up until now had still not acknowledged her existence. She would not be ignored.

“Hello, Derek. You didn't show up today. How come?” she asked.

“Hey, Joya, girl is that you?” Derek's eyes lit up as if he recognized her for the first time. “I had no idea you were the athletic type.”

He had stopped running in place and was doing a series of stretches and bends. He had this incredulous expression on his face.

“I was going to call you later and apologize,” he added. “We ran into some problems at the Vintage Place, one of the guys hit a pipe and by the time the mess got sorted out you'd closed up.” He tossed her another of those narrow-eyed looks as if he couldn't believe it was her. “I had no idea you roller-skated. Do you run?”