Beach Town (29 page)

Greer was struggling to keep up with the plot Bryce described.

“So where does this ammunition dump come into play?”

“The original script had Nick coming home from the war, suffering from anxiety and night terrors, sort of post-traumatic stress syndrome. He's struggling to fit back into his old world. That part is still true. Only now, Danielle and the sheriff are deliberately gaslighting him—making Nick think he's going nuts. He's seeing a shrink, right? Trying to work through all his issues. Which fits into their plans to set him up.”

“Set him up how?”

Bryce waved his hands impatiently. “Terry's working that out. Just know that Danielle and the sheriff are going to make it look like Nick got his hands on some explosives—which they actually steal from the military—to blow up the casino.”

“What's the motivation for that?” Greer asked.

“It's become a symbol to Nick—of his life. This is where he met Danielle. At a dance. As his world crumbles—or seems to—it's a metaphor for all that's gone wrong in his world.”

“So we're really blowing up the casino? I mean, I know that was the original idea, but that's pretty extreme, isn't it?”

“Extreme is how you make drama,” Bryce said. “Back to the military base. I need you to get that locked down—like yesterday. Shouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, Terry looked it up. There are all kind of military bases in this part of the state.”

Greer could, right off the bat, think of dozens of reasons this idea wouldn't work. But she wasn't sure Bryce wanted to hear any of them.

She chose her words carefully. “The thing about the military is—it's the military. These guys invented red tape. We'd need endless requisitions, authorizations, ad nauseam, which would probably have to go who knows how high up the command chain. Maybe all the way to the Pentagon. It would take months. And there's no guarantee they would actually approve our request. Especially since we don't have a finished script they can read.”

Bryce shrugged. “So scrub that idea. You'll just have to find us something that
looks
vaguely official and military. Stephen's guys can do the rest. I mean, look what they've already accomplished right here.”

“Bryce is right,” Stephen chimed in. “This should be a no-brainer for you, Greer. You get us the real estate. Once you spray something Army drab green, or camouflage, that automatically telegraphs military.”

What else could she say? “What's the time frame?”

“Immediately,” Bryce said. And she knew he was dead serious. At least now she had a good idea of where to start searching for this abandoned military installation: her favorite local real estate agent.

 

34

She was just emerging from the shower after the end of another long, hot day, when her phone rang. Greer dove for her cell, which was on the nightstand.

“Hey,” CeeJay said. “I'm at La Parilla, that Mexican take-out place on the other side of the bridge. I thought I'd make it up to you for missing girls' night out last Friday night. Dinner's on me. The usual?”

“You're a lifesaver!” Greer said, flopping down onto the bed. “I was just trying to decide whether my dinner entr
é
e would be Cheez-Its or cottage cheese, because I'm too damn lazy to go find some real food. Yes, the usual, please.”

“I'll pick up some wine or margaritas, too. Your place or mine?”

“How hot is it outside now?”

“Mmm. It's cooled down some, and there's probably a breeze coming off the water. You want to eat by the pool?”

“Sounds good. It's too depressing eating in my room.”

“See you in fifteen,” CeeJay said.

*   *   *

Greer and CeeJay's favorite cheap Mexican restaurant back in L.A. was Candela Taco Bar on LaBrea, which they referred to as Dollar Taco, because they usually met there on Wednesdays, otherwise known as Dollar Taco Night.

CeeJay unloaded Styrofoam containers and foil-wrapped packets from a plastic bag onto the concrete patio table by the pool. It was after eight, and the only other guest in sight was a buff male swimmer making endless laps across the shimmering turquoise waters of the pool.

“They had your fish tacos,” CeeJay said, peeling back the foil on one of the packets. “But they looked at me like I was crazy when I asked about a creamed corn one. So I got you a chicken special.”

“Chips and guac too, right?”

“Of course,” CeeJay said. “Green salsa for me. And,” she said, with a triumphant flourish, “premixed margaritas!”

She placed a container that looked like a waxed milk carton on the table and produced two plastic cups. “Sorry. They've got some crazy liquor laws in this county, so this was the best I could do.”

Greer couldn't speak, because her mouth was full of fish taco. Instead, she nodded enthusiastically. “Not bad,” she said, when she'd finished chewing. “I'd kill for a Candela spicy shrimp taco. But then, anything's better than Cheez-Its. Again.”

CeeJay poured them each a cup full of the margarita mix, then attacked her own dinner.

They were both so hungry they didn't even start gossiping until both had destroyed their first tacos.

Greer dabbed at a bit of sour cream on her lower lip. “How's it going with Bryce? Have you been together at all?”

“You mean have I slept with him this week? No. But he texted me while I was at the restaurant. He wants to have me over to dinner tomorrow night, which probably means he wants to have me. Which is okay with me. How's your week been?”

“Nuts. Bryce and Terry have apparently trashed the original script—what there was of it. Now, they've gone in a completely different direction. Bryce loves what he's seen so far, so I guess that's good. Except for me, since I just found out late this afternoon I've got to magically come up with a military-looking location for the new script.”

CeeJay picked apart her vegetarian taco, separating out all the onions with her fingernail. “Speaking of Terry, did you know he's running around with April, in wardrobe?”

“I hadn't heard that. I can't believe he can find the time. Bryce told me he's got Terry on lockdown until the script is finished. He claims Terry's pulled all-nighters at least two nights in a row.”

“Hmm.” CeeJay arched one eyebrow in a knowing expression. “Well, I saw the two of them sneaking out of the wardrobe trailer last night, and it looked to me like Terry's wardrobe had recently been hastily removed.”

“Yuck.” Greer giggled and scooped up a glob of guacamole with a corn chip.

“Do you know how many calories are in a tablespoon of that glop?” CeeJay asked, pushing the bowl of guacamole away. She had her phone in her hand and was scrolling through e-mails and her Twitter feed.

“No, and I don't want to know, either,” Greer said, licking her fingers.

“Uh-oh.” CeeJay looked up from her phone. “Oh shit.”

“What?” Greer took a sip of the premixed margarita and grimaced. “Ugh. This stuff tastes like battery acid.”

“Take a look at this,” CeeJay said, handing over her phone.

Greer found herself staring down at a grainy color photo the size of a postage stamp. “TMZ? I can't believe you read this garbage.”

“I'm easily amused. Anyway, I have to keep up with world affairs.”

“What's this picture supposed to be?”

Greer squinted, and now she could see that the image was a side view of a couple on a Jet Ski, skimming across the waves. The male driver had very short hair, was bare chested, and had a distinctive tattoo on his bicep. A girl clung to the back of the Jet Ski, her arms wrapped tightly around the driver's waist. She wore only a pair of tiny bikini bottoms, and her face was obscured by a pair of oversize sunglasses and a floppy hat.

“Oh God. That's Kregg, isn't it?”

“Yup,” CeeJay said. “I wonder who the lucky lady is.”

Greer groaned. “Please don't let it be who I think it is.”

“Who?”

“Allie Thibadeaux.”

“Gimme that.” CeeJay took the phone and squinted down at the image on the phone. “I can't tell from this tiny picture. Hang on. I'm gonna go up to my room and get my laptop.”

Five minutes later, CeeJay placed the laptop on the table. Her expression was serious. “Sorry, but I think you're right. It's gotta be Allie.”

Greer looked at the screen. “Oh God.” She shook her head. “This is not good.”

“It gets worse,” CeeJay said. “You haven't even seen the item that goes with this picture. TMZ makes everything sound so … smutty.”

She pulled the laptop back and started reading aloud.

“‘Kregg's Flick Does Trick for Topless Chick.'”

“I feel nauseous already,” Greer said.

“‘Bad boy rapper turned actor Kregg was spotted zipping around the Gulf of Mexico this week in Cypress Key, Florida, with a long-legged mystery lady who was apparently airing out some of her lady parts during a Jet Ski romp.'”

Greer slapped her hand on the tabletop. “No. No. No.”

“‘Kregg is in Florida doing a star turn in director/producer Bryce Levy's upcoming action movie
Beach Town,
which is being filmed on location. As usual, Kregg is making waves on the set. Word is he was recently detained for drag racing in the predawn hours, and locals say when he's not in front of the camera he parties hard with his entourage in local bars, and with his lovely lady friend, whose name we didn't catch.'”

“At least they didn't print Allie's name,” Greer said.

CeeJay closed the cover of the laptop. “No, but I guarantee, they will. They have spies everywhere. And I hate to tell you this, but if TMZ is running this now, you can bet that Perez Hilton and
Entertainment Tonight
and all the tabloids will be running the same pictures and story.”

“Oh God. We caught a photographer from
Us Weekly
skulking around the set on Manatee Street earlier in the week. I thought they were working on a story about Kregg and Adelyn. If only.”

Greer crumpled the half-eaten remains of her taco into its foil. Her stomach felt sour.

“If Eb finds out about this, he is going to go ballistic.”

“Eb?” CeeJay eyed her friend.

“The mayor. And Allie's uncle and guardian.”

“I know who the guy is. I was just thinking that the way you said his name just now sounded pretty cozy.”

Greer blushed and looked away.

“Why, Mary Ann! Are you getting cozy with the Professor here on Gilligan's Island?”

“Shut up.”

“I knew it!” CeeJay said with a cackle. “I can't turn my back on you for a second, Greer Hennessy. Tell me this. Have you done the nasty yet?”

“None of your business,” Greer said. She busied herself packing the rest of the dinner wrappings into the plastic sack. “I don't know what Allie was thinking. I tried to warn her about Kregg this week. I told her he was too old for her, too sophisticated. I pointed out that he's just out of rehab, yet he's in the local dive bars drinking until all hours, and obviously getting high every morning before he gets to the set.”

“And how did she take that bit of friendly advice?” CeeJay asked, sounding skeptical.

“About the way you'd expect. She claims she and Kregg are just ‘hanging out.'”

“Yeah, I saw what she had hanging out on the back of that Jet Ski.”

Greer glared at her best friend. “It's really not funny. Kregg is bulletproof. Being a badass is part of his persona. He'll leave here in a month and go on to the next town and the next silly little girl. But Allie is stuck here. When this photo gets out to the locals, her reputation will be shot. And Eb and Ginny will be devastated.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know what to do. It's not like I'm her mom or something. The thing is, Allie's way more mature than most girls her age. You should see her at work. She takes initiative, she's resourceful and hardworking. She's like one of the best P.A.s I've ever worked with. And she's only seventeen. I hate this for her. And I hate that somebody that smart has such poor judgment when it comes to a guy like Kregg.”

“Sound like anybody we know?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Greer demanded.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about some of your recent significant others. Sawyer comes to mind. That's all.” She coughed delicately. “Douche bag.”

“And your dance card is full of winners too? Like your landlord, who wanted you to do him in the elevator of your building in return for a dedicated parking space? And Bryce? Who isn't actually divorced yet, and makes you live above the garage?”

CeeJay gave her a sad smile. “Yeah. We're a pair, aren't we? We really know how to pick them.”

“You and I are adults. We've been around the block, and we've lived with the decisions we've made. Allie's so young! And Cypress Key isn't L.A. She should be studying for her college boards, not flashing her boobies for every perv in the free world to get a peek at on TMZ.”

“I agree. But again, as you said, you're not her family. Speaking of, where are her parents? Is she like an orphan or something?”

“Not exactly. Her parents split years ago. Her father, Eb's brother Jared, is in prison for running a pill mill. The mother apparently drifts in and out of Allie's life and shows up whenever she feels like it. According to Allie, Eb stays on her case all the time, because he's afraid she'll end up like her parents.”

“Are you going to tell Eb about this?”

“I don't know. He'll find out sooner or later, like you said. But Allie made me promise I wouldn't rat her out to him. Of course, she also promised she'd make good choices and stay out of trouble.”

“Then she's welshed on her end of the bargain and you can consider the deal's off. And it's better for him to hear it from you than to be blindsided by somebody else.”