Summer Rental (39 page)

“What’s that?” Ellis asked warily.

“Well,” Dorie said, giving her an exaggerated wink, “I can pretty much do whatever I want right now. You know, romance-wise.”

“How’s that?” Ellis asked.

“’Cuz I’m already knocked up!”

“Incorrigible,” Ellis laughed. “Eudora the incorrigible. Anyway, I really, really hope this thing with Connor will work out.”

“Because?” Dorie gave her a fishy look.

“Because I would just love to see the look on Phyllis’s face the day you introduce her to your gun-totin’, Harley-riding, country-music-loving, bald-headed cop boyfriend. I bet she’d blow a gasket.”

“Definitely,” Dorie agreed. “Plus I forgot to mention he only went to college for two years. And,” she crowed. “Get this: Connor is Baptist.”

“Oh yeah,” Ellis said. “That’d put her in the grave for sure.”

*   *   *

At some point, Ellis dozed off. When she awoke, it was nearly six, and Dorie was also, apparently, rousing herself from a catnap. The tide was coming in, and the languorous waves were lapping perilously close to their base camp.

Ellis stood and began to gather her belongings.

“Where you headed?” Dorie asked.

“Up to the house,” Ellis said. “I’ve had enough beach for one day.”

Dorie reached for her cell phone and checked the time. “Might want to give it another thirty minutes or so.”

“Why’s that?” Ellis asked, stowing her book and towel in her bag.

“I was up at the house for a potty break, around four o’clock, and Booker had just gotten in,” Dorie said. “I think Julia was hoping for some ‘quiet time.’”

“Gotcha,” Ellis said. “I haven’t seen Booker in ages. How is he?”

“He’s okay. Still not what I expected for Julia. But nice. Kinda quiet.
I guess I knew he was older, but maybe I forgot. His hair is totally gray, which I personally think is sexy as hell. Julia, for all her blasé attitude, was really, really excited that he was coming. After you guys got back from lunch she even went to that day spa down the street and got a pedicure and a Brazilian wax.”

“Ow,” Ellis said.

“Ditto,” Dorie said. “Makes me glad I’m a natural redhead.” She swung her head around and studied Ellis. “You ever get one of those?”

“Hell, no,” Ellis said emphatically. “I don’t even like to get my eyebrows waxed. I am definitely not letting some strange Vietnamese chick pour boiling wax on my girlie parts. Anyway,” she added, “I really haven’t needed to worry about landscaping that area of the territory until recently, if you get my drift.”

Dorie grinned. “Until very recently, from what I understand.”

“No comment,” Ellis said. “I suppose Julia already spilled the beans?”

“Absolutely. What did you expect? Anyway,” Dorie said primly, “I don’t judge.”

“Ha!”

*   *   *

But when Ellis and Dorie came trudging up the boardwalk towards the house, they were met by the sight of Booker, laying flat on his stomach on the deck, with a long-lensed camera, snapping photographs of the house, with Julia standing beside him, another camera lens in hand.

“Hey, Booker,” Ellis said.

“Hey there,” Booker said, looking up from the camera and giving her a brief smile before turning back to his camera.

“He’s trying to shoot the back of the house before he loses the light,” Julia explained.

“Okay,” Ellis said. “We’re going to head for the house, will we be in the way?”

“Not at all,” Booker said. “In fact, it’d be good to have somebody in a few of the shots. When you get up to the porch, stand at the rail and look back towards me, if you would, please. But not at me, right?”

Dorie and Ellis got up to the porch and stood self-consciously for a moment, looking out at the dunes and the deepening twilight. A slight breeze bent the sea oats, and large dragonflies skimmed just over the waving fronds.

“It’s so beautiful this time of day,” Dorie said, pushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m really gonna miss this place.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ellis said, feeling the now-familiar pang in her chest.

“I’m gonna miss you guys even more, when I get home,” Dorie said. “I’d forgotten how much fun we always have. I’ve got friends at home, but it’s different with you guys.”

“Same here,” Ellis said. “I really hate to see this month end.”

“You could move back to Savannah,” Dorie said impulsively. “We’ve got tons of banks in Savannah. And Willa’s husband knows everybody in town.”

Ellis smiled, and glanced over at the garage apartment. Ty’s Bronco was gone, but he’d sent her a text telling her he was working at Caddie’s again tonight.

“I think I’m done with banks, Dorie.”

“Really? What are you gonna do for a job, then?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Ellis said. And for the first time in a long time, she realized that it had been many days since she’d clenched her teeth in panic about her future.

*   *   *

The smell of charcoal wafted from the back of the house. Ellis, her hair still wet from the shower, found Booker and Julia in the kitchen. Julia was shucking ears of corn from the farm stand down the beach road, and Booker was shooting pictures of Julia in the unlikely role of domestic goddess.

Ellis helped herself to a slice of tomato from a platter at Julia’s elbow. “Are we shooting some kind of documentary?”

“Better,” Julia said, her eyes shining with excitement. “Booker, the brilliant, brilliant love of my life, has a brilliant, brilliant scheme.”

Booker chuckled. “You heard that, didn’t you? I’m the love of her life? Not to mention brilliant?”

“I’m your witness,” Ellis agreed, sitting at the kitchen table. “So what’s the scheme?”

“What scheme?” Dorie said, wandering into the kitchen. She was dressed in a jade green tank top and matching loose-fitting drawstring pants, and her damp hair fell in a braid down her back. With her sun-speckled breasts spilling from the low-cut top, she looked like a modern mermaid.

Julia finished up the corn and wiped her hand on a dish towel. “You tell ’em, Booker.”

“It’s not really all that brilliant,” he said modestly. “You know that Julia’s been snapping photos of everything, the house, the three of you at the beach, everything she sees, really, since you got here. And she’s been e-mailing them to me. Right?”

“Riiight,” Ellis said.

“She’s really a pretty talented amateur photographer,” Booker said. “Of course, it makes sense, since she learned from the master. I know she’s always had a fabulous eye, but those photos she sent were especially evocative.”

“And I was only shooting with my cell phone,” Julia interjected. “You know, just messing around, trying to show Booker where we were staying.”

“Anyway, I forwarded some of her photos to a friend of mine, who works out in California.”

“He’s a location scout for the movies!” Julia said. “And Booker never told me a thing about him.”

“I hadn’t seen the guy in a couple of years,” Booker said mildly. “We used to do some work together, when I was doing fashion shoots. Anyway, he was intrigued with Julia’s photos.”

“Especially the ones of Ebbtide,” Julia said. “You guys, he thinks this house would be perfect for this movie he’s working on. It’s a chick flick, and I’m not allowed to say who all is in it, but let’s just say
Legally Blonde, Pretty Woman, Miss Congeniality!
”

“Julia,” Booker lowered his camera and gave her a reproving look. “They haven’t actually all signed on yet, remember.”

“I didn’t mention any names,” Julia said coyly.

“Anyway, Simon, my friend the location scout, has actually hired me to take scouting shots of the house, and the beach, and some of the nearb
y houses and businesses and things,” Booker said. “I’ve already e-mailed the shots I did this afternoon, because he’s meeting with the producers tomorrow. They’re on a very tight production schedule because all these, um, unnamed actresses only have a brief window of availability. They were going to shoot at a beach house on the West Coast, but the art director hated all the houses they showed him. Too contemporary, too glitzy.”

“But he loves how shabby and worn-out Ebbtide looks,” Julia interrupted. “Of course, he hasn’t seen the bathrooms.”

“The movie is supposed to be set on Cape Cod, in the summer,” Booker explained. “But all the houses they scouted there looked too elegant and old-money. Which brings us to Nags Head, and Ebbtide. If the producer likes what he sees, Simon will want to talk to your friend, Ellis, about the possibility of renting it for three or four months.”

“For real?” Ellis asked. “When would they want it?”

“Right away, I imagine. Production is supposed to start September fifteenth. They want to wait until after Labor Day, when tourist season is over and crowd control won’t be such an issue.”

“Isn’t that awesome?” Julia asked. “Won’t Ty just flip over the idea?”

“Awesome,” Ellis repeated. “If he can hang on to the house until then.”

41

The dinner dishes had been cleared away, the last of the wine drunk. Booker had graciously accepted all the women’s compliments for the dinner he’d masterminded: tuna steaks on the grill; chipotle-pepper-roasted corn on the cob; and risotto with green peas, asparagus, shallots, and basil. Dorie and Ellis spilled a five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle depicting the Cape Hatteras lighthouse onto the dining room table and declared their intentions of finishing it by midnight. Madison, who’d finally given in to their pleas, joined them for dinner, but declared herself hopeless at puzzles. For
the first time since she’d been living in the house, she seemed at ease with the group.

“Come on, Book,” Julia said, flipping him lightly with her dish towel. “I can’t stand all this excitement. Let’s take a walk on the beach.”

She led him down the beach stairs and onto the sand. They left their shoes in the pillowy sand at the base of the steps and walked hand-in-hand out to the water’s edge.

“Which way?” Booker asked.

“Hmm, north, I think,” Julia said. “Cottage Row is just up ahead.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s left of the original old houses built in Nags Head at the turn of the century,” Julia said. “There were originally, like, a dozen or so houses. All of ’em wooden, like Ebbtide. They call them the ‘unpainted aristocracy.’ Ebbtide’s not one of them. Ty told us his family had the house built in the 1930s.”

They walked slowly, stopping to gaze at the stars, or just stand in the moonlight, looking up at the rows of houses, lit up with summertime occupants. Voices and the sound of a radio playing drifted down from the houses beyond the dunes.

“These are the oldest houses,” Julia said, when they’d walked a little further. The houses were further apart here, sprawling wooden structures with outward-canted porches, their wooden walls gleaming a dull brownish-silver in the moonlight.

“Not very fancy,” Booker said approvingly.

“Nope,” Julia agreed. “From what Ty tells us, the old-time Nags Headers consider it crude to flaunt your money by fixing up your house or adding on a wing. Nothing at all had been done at Ebbtide in decades, until Ty bought it from an uncle and started trying to fix it up.”

“You like it here,” Booker said, sounding surprised.

“It has a certain charm that grows on you,” Julia admitted. “At first, I was pretty grossed out by the place. I mean, I didn’t want to hurt Ellis’s feelings, since she did all the research and work of tracking down the house and getting it lined up and everything, but it was seriously skanky when we moved in.”

“Not exactly the kind of beach house you’re used to.” Booker laughed, nudging her gently.

“We had a little bit of a rocky start,” Julia said. “Ellis was being so … bossy. She even made up a chore chart for the kitchen, if you can believe it.”

“And we all know how Julia Capelli deals with authority, now, don’t we?” Booker said.

“We worked things out,” Julia said. “Pretty much. It’s been an interesting month, that’s for sure.”

“And what about you?” Booker asked. “What’s been going on with you? Aside from the pictures and a couple phone calls, you’ve been surprisingly quiet for the past month, Julia.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Come to any conclusions?”

“Some.”

“Such as?”

Julia brushed her long hair back from her face. “I’m done modeling.”

Booker nodded. “Have you told the agency?”

“Not yet. They’ve booked me for a JCPenney catalog shoot when I leave here. I guess I’ll have to go ahead and do it, because I don’t want to leave Jessica in the lurch. But that’s it. No more.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Booker said.

“The girls think…” she started. “No, I think I’d like to try doing photo styling.”

“You’d be a natural,” Booker said. “You’ve been doing it on your own for years, anyway. I’ve always said you have the best eye in the business, Julia.”

“I’d need your help,” Julia said, giving him a sidelong glance. “You know everybody. The magazine people, the photographers, art directors.”

“Not everybody,” Booker said. “But I do have some resources.”

“I know I’d have to start off as an assistant,” Julia went on. “Doing the grunt work. Cataloging props, making coffee runs, ironing shirts and pillowcases.”

“Not very glamorous,” Booker said.

“I was thinking of asking Annette Joseph if she’d take me on,” Julia said.

“Do I know her?”

“I met her at a catalog shoot in Miami last year,” Julia said. “She works out of Atlanta, but she does a lot of work for shelter magazines, so she gets assignments all over the East Coast.”

“Atlanta,” Booker said, his face impassive.

“It makes sense because of the airport,” Julia said.

“We have two airports in DC, you know.”

“Hear me out,” Julia said, taking a deep breath. “We could sell the flat in London.”

Booker stopped walking. “You’d consider it?”

Julia swallowed hard. “If I’m not working in Europe, it doesn’t make sense to keep it. I know the real estate market is crap right now, but Mayfair is so trendy, even in a down market we should be able to make a killing when we sell it.”

“Or lease it, long-term,” Booker said. “In case you change your mind.”