The Beach House (10 page)

“Chris Sadler.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chris Sadler.” She stood to the side to let him open the massive carved mahogany door, then swept through to the marble foyer and waited for him to follow. “Dolores Langtry.”

Chris couldn't decide whether she was drunk, eccentric, just plain strange, or a mixture of all three. Whatever—she seemed the kind of woman accustomed to forging heedlessly into the river and having others follow in her wake. She led him through the living room and out onto the flagstone patio, where she paused expectantly.

“Everyone . . . ,” she said when she had their attention. “I want you to meet Chris Sadler. Be nice to him, he's a very dear friend of mine.”

Her announcement was met with polite smiles, a few acknowledging nods, and a chorus of varied greetings. Tony left the couple he'd been talking to and came up to Chris, a warm smile in his eyes for Dolores. “I see you've met my mother,” he said to Chris.

Chris took a closer look at Dolores and then at Tony. They looked nothing alike. “Dolores is your
mother?
”

“What a
dear
boy,” Dolores said, lovingly touching his cheek, obviously misinterpreting his meaning.

“Score one for the kid,” Tony said.

“Now that you're in good hands,” Dolores said to Chris, “I can get my drink. What can I bring you?”

How could he let Tony's mother wait on him? How could he refuse? “Uh, water would be fine.”

“Sparkling or bottled?”

“Sparkling.” Chris wanted to make it as easy as possible.

“With a twist of lime?”

“Yeah, sure—that would be great.”

“She likes you,” Tony said when his mother had gone.

“She just met me.” He looked around and saw with relief that he wasn't the only one wearing jeans.

“According to Dolores, snap judgments are the only ones that count.”

“You call your mother Dolores?”

Tony eyed him. “How old are you?”

Chris's first impulse was to add a couple of years, an action so alien that it left him tongue-tied.

“It's okay,” Tony said. “You don't have to answer.”

“Seventeen.”

Tony nodded. “That's what I figured. Come on, I've got someone I want you to meet.”

Chris had an irrational urge to ask if being seventeen was okay. He had no idea why it mattered, only that it did. “I'll be eighteen in September.”

“Really? September what?”

“Twenty-third.”

“Mine's the thirteenth.”

“No kidding. How old will you be?”

“Twenty-seven.”

God, Tony was old. A lot older than Chris had thought. Now that he knew he was hanging around with a kid, would he want to have anything to do with him anymore? “This is really some house.”

“It belongs to a friend of mine. I've been trying to talk him into selling it to me.” He stopped at a small group of people sitting around a glass-topped rattan table. “Robert, this is the guy I've been telling you about.”

Robert wore wire-rimmed glasses, a faded blue golf shirt, and a baseball cap from the Sundance Film Festival. He looked to be around fifty and someone you didn't want to mess with. After giving Chris a quick once-over, he shifted his cigar to the corner of his mouth and said to Tony, “You're right, he does look like David.”

“I suppose that's enough for now,” Tony said, pleased with himself.

Robert laughed. “You SOB. Do you always get what you want?”

“Just when I'm right.”

Chris looked around at the other people seated at the table. It was obvious they had no more idea what was going on than he did. “Who's David?”

“I'll explain later,” Tony said.

A woman Chris believed to be hands down the most beautiful he'd ever seen patted the empty chair beside her, inviting him to sit down. When he did, she introduced herself. “Gloria Sinclair.” She moved her chair to give him more room. “Whatever they're doing, Chris, there's no way you're going to get it out of them until they're ready to tell you. But don't worry, I'm sure it's something good.”

Tony bent and gave her an intimate kiss, leaving her lips wet and glistening. “Will you marry me?”

“I'll think about it.”

Chris looked down at her finger and saw a diamond the size of his thumbnail.

She smiled and brought her hand up to give him a closer look. “Nice, huh?”

“I've never seen anything like it,” Chris said. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if it was real, but luckily he caught himself in time.

Tony kissed her again. “Now all I have to do is get her to slow down long enough to set the date.”

“Me slow down?” she said. “What about you?”

“Are you an actor, too?” Chris asked. Dead silence reigned where only moments before fifty people had been engaged in two dozen conversations. Even those on the other side of the patio who couldn't possibly have heard what he'd said stopped to listen to her answer.

“You don't go to many movies, do you?” Robert said, removing his cigar.

Chris could feel people staring at him. “Not in the past couple of years. I've been kinda busy.”

“Leave the kid alone,” Gloria said. “I like knowing there are people who've never seen me. It makes me work harder.”

Tony stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I sure as hell hope not. We hardly see each other as it is.”

She reached up to touch him. “No way that's going to happen.”

Dolores came up and handed Chris his drink. In a slowly widening circle, conversations began again. Chris learned that Gloria had a movie coming out that fall that everyone was sure would win her an Academy Award nomination and that she was on her way to being one of the hottest new actors in Los Angeles.

Best of all, Chris was pleased to discover later that she was also an extraordinarily nice person.

Chapter 6

Chris left the party at a quarter after two, not realizing it was so late until he went inside to use the bathroom and found the house empty and Gloria curled up, asleep on the sofa. He'd had a great time. Better than great—fantastic.

And he had news. Wonderful, exciting news. He hoped his mother hadn't kept her promise not to wait up. Something like this had to be shared. He'd go crazy if he had to wait until morning to talk about it.

He was going to be in a movie. It was just a crowd scene, but Tony said it should take at least a couple of days to shoot. He had to cut his hair, a flattop, one of the guys had told him, but he didn't care. He always cut his hair for wrestling season anyway.

It was so friggin' cool.

A week ago, if someone had told him they were filming a movie in Watsonville, he wouldn't have taken the time to pull off the highway to watch. Now, after spending the day on the set with Tony, he would have traded his next state wrestling championship to be involved. Only he didn't have to. The director had actually
asked
him if he wanted to go to work on Monday.

God, it was just so cool.

Chris neared the bottom of the hill and slowed to make the turn for home when he noticed Beverly's rental car parked on the side of the road. He pulled the wheel of the Volvo to the right to shine his headlights inside. Someone turned to look but put a hand over their eyes before he could tell who it was.

Chris pulled in behind the car and got out, leaving the engine of his own car running and the lights on. Janice leaned out the window. “Tracy? Is that you?”

“It's Chris.”

“Oh, great,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “Just what I need.”

“What are you doing here?” He came up to the window and bent over to look inside. “Where's Tracy?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Forget I asked,” he said wearily. “I just thought you might need some help.”

“Wait.” Janice got out and leaned against the car door. “You're right. I do need your help—but not the kind you mean. I don't know what to do,” she admitted. “Tracy said she would meet me here two hours ago.”

“Where'd she go?”

“Out—with a guy she met on the boardwalk.”

It took a second for the information to sink in. “She just took off and left you there?”

“I said it was okay,” she said defensively.

“Was he a local?”

“I don't know. What difference does that make?”

“If he lives here, we could look him up. What's his name?”

“I don't know that, either.”

“Jesus, you let her go with some guy you knew nothing about?”

“What was I supposed to do? I'm not her keeper.”

“No, but you're her friend.”

“No, I'm not,” Janice said with impassioned denial. “Tracy and I barely knew each other before she went out for cheerleader. She asked me on this trip because she couldn't get anyone else to go with her and she didn't want to spend the whole month here alone with you.”

As soon as the words were out Janice covered her mouth with the ends of her fingers as if to keep the rest inside. As she looked at him, her eyes pooled with tears.

She'd only confirmed something Chris had suspected, but that didn't make it hurt any less. “Did she tell you that?”

“I'm sorry. That was so mean. None of it is true. I made it all up.”

Chris could hide behind her apology and pretend he believed it, but what was the point? “No, you didn't.”

“I really am sorry,” she said between her fingers.

To his amazement, Chris saw that she was crying. “You didn't do anything but tell the truth.”

“Honestly, I'm not the bitch you think I am. Everyone at home says I'm one of the nicest people they know. I don't know why I've been so mean to you. Your mom has been terrific . . . so have you . . . and all I've done . . .” She let out a hiccuped sob. “I'm so sorry.”

Chris hated it when someone cried around him. He had no idea what to say or do, and whenever possible he got away as fast as he could. But he couldn't just take off and leave her standing there. “You're probably homesick.” It was something his mother would have said.

She ran her hands over her cheeks and then wiped them on her shorts. “Do you really think that's it?”

“Yeah, I'm sure it is. I was yelling at everyone when I had to stay at my cousin's last summer.” It wasn't true, but he'd do or say anything to stop the tears.

She considered what he'd said. “I think it's more than being homesick. I didn't feel this way when I was at cheerleading camp.”

“Was Tracy with you?”

“Not that time.” The hint of a smile formed. “I see what you mean.”

Realizing he was going to be there a while, Chris went back to turn off the Volvo and get the Kleenex his mother kept under the seat. Janice took one and blew her nose, softly at first and then hard enough to make a weird honking noise.

When she looked up and saw his smile, she smiled back. “I feel better. Thanks.”

Because he didn't know what else to say, he asked, “How long have you been a cheerleader?”

“Three years.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course. It's great. We get to go . . .” She hesitated, as if considering her answer. “Not always. Sometimes when we're out there yelling and no one is paying attention, or when we get the cheer all screwed up because the other team got the ball, I feel really stupid.”

“No one notices.”

“The hell they don't. I look up in the stands and see guys like you looking back at me all the time.”

“What do you mean, guys like me?”

“You think all I care about is how I look and who I run around with.”

She had him. “You're saying I'm wrong?”

“Prejudice is always wrong.”

He laughed. “Some answer.”

“I care about a lot of things that have nothing to do with being a cheerleader.”

“Such as?”

“Why should I have to explain myself to you?”

“You don't.”

They were right back where they'd started, at each other's throats. “Want to try again?”

“I do a lot of work at Al-Anon, helping other kids.”

It took a second for the name to register. “Isn't that the place—”

“It isn't a place, it's an organization . . . for kids with alcoholic parents.”

“Your dad's an alcoholic?”

“My mother.” She didn't say anything for a long time and then added, “None of my friends know.”

“Not even Tracy?”

“I told you, Tracy and I aren't friends. I don't even like her.”

“Does your dad know? About your mom, I mean.” Could he have come up with a dumber question?

“He's the one who got me and my brothers involved in Al-Anon.”

“Wow . . . that's got to be hard.” The only alcoholic Chris knew was a friend of his father's. They used to go to parties at his house, and when he got drunk he always started hitting on his daughter's girlfriends. Chris hated going there, but his dad said the guy wasn't serious, that he was just having a little fun.

“Sometimes I hate her, and then I feel so guilty.”

“Sometimes I hate my dad, too,” Chris said.

“Because he divorced your mom?”

“Not that so much as the way he did it. He was screwing around and let her catch him at it—right in their own bed. He's married again and she hasn't even gone out on a date.”

“Your mom is great. Your dad must be a real jerk.”

“That's what I keep telling her, but she says that what he did to her is between them, that it has nothing to do with him and me.” He never talked to anyone about his father. “As far as my friends know, we get along fine.”

“As if that were possible. When I see what my mom's drinking does to my dad, there are times I can hardly stand to be around her. She thinks she's so sly, that we can't smell the stuff on her, or that we don't know when she's drunk. My brothers leave when she gets really bad, but I can't. She passed out one time when she was cooking bacon and almost burned down the house.”

“How old are your brothers?”

“Fourteen and fifteen.”

“Where do they go?”

“To my grandmother's house. She only lives a couple of blocks away and lets them stay whenever they want.”

“I won't say anything.” It was important she knew she could trust him.

“Thanks. I won't say anything about your dad, either.” She slapped a mosquito that had drilled into her wrist. “Do you think we should do something about Tracy?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know, but I'm getting worried about her.”

Chris didn't know whether to be worried or pissed off. He had a feeling that if Tracy was having a good time, she wouldn't think twice about staying out all night. “What kind of car did the guy have?”

“A blue Mustang, one of the real old ones. Why?”

“I know some of the hangout spots,” Chris said. “I could try looking for them there.”

“I'll come with you.”

“What if she comes back while we're gone?”

“Then she can just wait for us.” Janice took the keys and her purse out of the car. “I'm ready.”

Chris pulled around the Buick, made a U-turn, and started back the way he'd come. “This isn't the first time Tracy has done something like this,” he said. “If she's pulling one of her usual stunts, I feel sorry for the guy.”

“I feel sorry for her boyfriend.”

Chris's hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What boyfriend?”

“The one who's waiting for her back home. Haven't you noticed how much she's on the phone? And how many postcards she's been sending?”

“She said she was calling her dad.” He'd wondered about it at the time but saw no reason to doubt her. “How long has she been going with this guy?”

“Since last summer.”

“A whole year? But Tracy never said anything . . . neither did her mom.”

“I think it's because Beverly hopes you two will get together eventually.”

“That's crazy.” Still, the possibility had appeal, or at least it should have. “She's never said anything about it to me.” Had she said something to his mom? The thought didn't sit well.

“Because she knows if Tracy ever found out, she would do just the opposite.”

“Like that's not what she's already doing. She treats me like I'm something she stepped in and can't get off her shoe.”

“I don't understand it,” Janice said. “Did something happen between you two?”

“Yeah—every summer I make an ass out of myself trying to get her to notice me and she falls all over herself getting out of my way.” It was something he'd never admitted to anyone, not even himself.

They were passing the road to Tony's house. Chris glanced at Janice, then back at the road again. Would she tell Tracy what he'd said, giving Tracy yet another reason to laugh at him?

There was no reason he should trust Janice.

But he did.

As they neared the highway he realized it was Janice, not his mother, he wanted to tell about the party. “Have you ever heard of—”

“There they are,” Janice said, pointing at a passing car. She swung around to get a better look. “Damn her. Now that I know she's all right, I could kill her myself.”

Chris made a U-turn and followed the rapidly disappearing taillights. He would tell Janice about the party later.