Down And Out In Flamingo Beach
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If the entire block was getting a facelift, why wasn’t Joya’s Quilts? This was something she’d take up with her grandmother.
Joya addressed Harley, who’d been very quiet. “Where’s this money coming from?”
“The bank,” Chet answered. “There are special low-interest loans being offered to store owners, all because of the hundred-year anniversary of Flamingo Beach. This centennial will bring tourists here in droves. We’re in the Historical District. This is where Flamingo Beach got started and that’s why we’re being showcased.”
Why hadn’t Joya heard about this gentrification before? Because she’d been trying to deal with the fact that her ex was moving on.
“How did you find out about these loans?” Joya asked, “And why hasn’t Granny applied for one?” It was a rhetorical question. She already knew the answer.
“Remember who Chet’s daddy is?” Harley added, smiling and winking at her.
“Did you explain to my grandmother how they work?” Joya persisted, looking from one man to the other.
“Yup. But she didn’t want to deal with the paperwork, though I offered to help.” Chet leaned in and placed his hands on his hips. “You know your grandmother and how stubborn she is. She told me her store looks fine just the way it is. She doesn’t need any showpiece.”
It sounded like something Granny J would say. She was practical to the bone.
“Excuse me.” Another man’s voice came from the road. “If that’s your SUV you’ll need to move it.”
“Hang on, Derek. Be right back,” Chet’s partner called, racing off to move the truck he’d parked illegally while unloading it.
Vehicles were technically not allowed on the narrow cobblestoned streets of Flamingo Row. It was supposed to be a pedestrian haven, allowing shoppers to roam freely and safely in and out of stores.
Something about the man standing on the sidewalk was familiar. He fitted his blue jeans nicely, though they were faded, ripped and soiled in a few spots. He was well over six feet with a narrow waist and a tight high butt. His T-shirt, though relatively clean, adhered like a bandage across his broad chest and wide shoulders. The sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms. Aviator-style sunglasses, the kind in vogue, hid his eyes.
He must have noticed her staring because he inclined his head but did not smile.
“Glad you made it home safely from church,” he said. “My great-grandmother, Belle Carter, sends your grandmother her regards.”
It was Derek Morse, a completely different-looking man than the one who’d been to church yesterday in his professional gray suit. He’d been the one who’d helped Gran into her car.
“What are you doing here?” Joya asked, aware her voice sounded a little too high. She’d almost forgotten about Chet, who stood checking them out but for once wasn’t running his mouth. That would come later.
“Working,” Derek answered.
“Working?” Joya repeated.
“I told you we were under construction,” Chet broke in. “Derek is crew boss or something like that. If you convince your granny to fix Joya’s Quilts he’d be the man to see. Him or the contractor, Preston Shore.”
Joya would never have guessed the guy she’d met yesterday, who was now staring at the departing SUV, worked with his hands.
There was an awkward silence, finally broken by Chet. “Joya, Harley and I are thinking of going to Quills and getting coffee. Would you like a cup?”
Quills was the old diner on the corner. It had recently been turned into a combination stationery and bookstore. There was a little café in the back.
“Yes, please. Let me get you money.”
“Our treat. How do you take it?”
Joya told Chet that she liked it light and sweet. She hurried back into the store to find LaTisha and Deborah’s numbers. While she called LaTisha she rehearsed her sales pitch. Granny J needed to take full advantage of those loans. It would increase her property value if she made the place look good. But Granny J was from the old school, and believed that if you couldn’t pay for something with your own cash you didn’t need it.
Neither woman picked up, so Joya left messages. She was on her own, not that there was a large crowd queuing up to be waited on.
Her first customer, a freckle-faced tourist in a straw hat with flowers and two toddlers clinging to the sides of her skirt, finally sauntered in around quarter to ten. The little boy, his mop of red curly hair sticking straight up, was sucking his thumb. The little girl grabbing onto the other side of her mother’s skirt lapped at an orange Popsicle. Joya shuddered. She was an accident waiting to happen.
“Can I help you?” Joya asked, trying to smile pleasantly at the woman.
“Just browsing.” The woman made a slow circle of the outer room, stopping to poke at the occasional quilt or pillow.
It would be easier on her anxiety level just to let them roam around. Curiosity, and the desire to take her mind off the potential accident, caused Joya to pick up the small notebook where Granny J recorded the daily sales. She flipped through several pages and found nothing. At least nothing recorded for almost a week. Could Granny J be getting senile or simply losing it? She’d always been meticulous about writing down even the smallest sale, whether it was quilting thread or the materials she sometimes sold for quilt-making.
Harley returned with her coffee just then, and Joya put aside the notebook to look at later. Chet returned to the flower shop; having done his duty he wanted no part of her.
They’d butted heads a time or two, once when Joya had parked in front of their store. She’d only meant to run in to Joya’s for a minute or so, but then she’d ended up helping Granny J with something or another. Chet had come out of his shop and loudly pointed out that this was a pedestrian-friendly street, yet it was ironic that he and his partner had done exactly the same thing this morning. It was always one thing or another. What was good for the goose was not good for the gander.
The mother and her two kids left, promising to return after a trip to the ATM. A few locals came in, browsed and departed. More tourists trickled in, but it was already late morning and so far not one sale.
Close to eleven o’clock, LaTisha skated in, sputtering apologies.
“Where’s Granny J?” she asked, looking around the room as if she expected the old lady to materialize from a corner. Realizing that it was Joya she had to deal with, she smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I had a flat tire. Ed at the service station couldn’t get to it until now.”
Joya glanced at her watch pointedly, “And you couldn’t call? I left a message on your answering machine when you didn’t show up when you were supposed to.”
“Granny J doesn’t have a problem with me being late,” LaTisha said rudely.
“But I do, especially when I don’t know what’s going on. By the way, Granny J’s not going to be in for a while. She’s in the hospital. When she’s released she’ll need time at home to recuperate.”
“But she was fine the last time I saw her.”
Not, How is she? What can I do to help? Nothing.
“I’ll need your help rearranging a few items,” Joya said, changing the topic. She picked up some quilts from the bed and draped them on a divan that, wonder of wonders, held nothing.
“I’ll help you as soon as I get back from getting coffee.”
“I need help now. Where’s Deborah? Has she been in touch with you?”
“I don’t keep track of her comings and goings,” LaTisha answered sulkily. She accepted the quilts Joya handed her and stomped off.
Joya was suddenly conscious of the man hovering at the front entrance. His energy was electric. It reached out and zapped her. Derek Morse stood at the doorway taking in the scene, aviator glasses still shading his eyes.
“Was there something you wanted?” Joya asked.
LaTisha did an amazing turn about when she spotted Derek. With a smile a mile wide, and rolling her hips she headed his way.
“Can I help you find something?”
Derek smiled vaguely at LaTisha as he entered the store. “Do you have a minute to talk?” He asked Joya, dipping his head at the saleswoman who looked as if she might hand him her panties any minute. “Privately.”
Joya led him into the back room where the quilt guild met. She closed the door so LaTisha would not overhear them.
“Have a seat,” she said, waving Derek toward one of the straight-back chairs that suddenly seemed ridiculously small. “What is it you want to talk to me about?”
Derek removed his sunglasses and set them down on the table. He sat, legs apart, blue jeans molding themselves over a bulge that Joya had no business gaping at. She suddenly wished for air-conditioning, something a heck of a lot cooler than the ocean breeze that floated through the open windows.
“I’d like you to speak with your grandmother,” Derek said.
“About what?”
“Renovating the store. My crew’s working on the florist’s shop and the wine and cheese place to the right. This is the center store. If everyone surrounding her has a restored facade and updated interiors, Joya’s is really going to look dated and worn.”
While Joya didn’t care for how he put it, he made a good point.
“My grandmother’s a very stubborn woman,” she said. “Part of the problem is she doesn’t like owing anyone for anything.”
“My great-grandmother is much the same. These ladies come from a different time. They didn’t grow up with credit cards or equity lines they could dip into. I’m saying this because I don’t want to see her lose out, especially when the bank is practically giving money away. Improving the store will increase the property value, and a refurbished exterior and interior will bring in a spending crowd.”
Regardless of whether he was sincere, or simply out to feather his own nest, Derek made sense. And he didn’t sound like any construction worker she knew. Not that Joya knew many. He’d presented his case in a well-thought-out and articulate manner. What he said was worth considering.
“I’ll talk to Granny J after she gets out of the hospital,” Joya agreed. “And we’ll get back to you.”
Derek rose, towering above her. He smelled clean, like soap, surprising because ripping out drywall, hauling debris and pounding nails usually made you sweat.
The phone rang, and Joya was glad to escape to get it. Something about being this close to Derek made her feel flushed and scatterbrained. She felt as if she’d been running a mile and couldn’t catch her breath.
He waved at her and said over his shoulder, “Let me know what you and your granny decide.”
Joya picked up the receiver of the old-fashioned phone.
“Hello.”
“You left a message.”
“Who is this?”
“Deborah.”
The other saleswoman.
“Shouldn’t you be here?” Joya asked.
“I don’t feel well.”
“And you’re calling at this hour?”
There was a pause on the other end, then, “I’ll be in tomorrow, if I feel better. It’s payday and you owe me for the two weeks before.”
Joya hung up, wondering how long these two had been getting away with murder. She couldn’t imagine why Granny J would keep two losers like these on her payroll.
And then she remembered the woman’s words. Granny J owed her for the two weeks before.
Perhaps it was time to take a closer look at her grandmother’s books.
Chapter 3
“Too bad all of our jobs aren’t like the one on Flamingo Row,” Preston Shore, Derek’s boss, said, clinking his bottle of beer against Derek’s.
Derek took a slug of his own drink then said, “It’s nice to be doing something different, preserving rather than destroying.”
“I was talking about the fringe benefits. That Joya Hamill sure is eye candy. Just looking at her makes me horny.”
Derek grunted something unintelligible and stuck his fingers in the bowl of peanuts on the bar. He tossed a handful in his mouth and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. Joya was attractive all right but definitely full of herself. The way she’d looked down her nose at him when he’d spoken to her in the store earlier. And he hadn’t imagined it, either. He knew that look. He’d once had a woman just like her at home.
It was always, “gimme, gimme, gimme.” That kind of demanding, self-focused woman could drain the life out of you. And he’d given until he’d had nothing more to give and then she’d walked away. Women!
“Okay, she’s hot but obviously high-maintenance,” Derek responded when Preston nudged him with his elbow. “She’s also not at all what I’m looking for.”
“What are you looking for?” Preston asked.
“I’ll know her when I meet her.”
Friendship aside, Preston had agreed to take Derek on as a worker, warning him up front that he’d better hold his own. Preston’s big concern was that a trained engineer would not want to get down and dirty with the boys.
Derek had been forced to prove himself over and over. He now had the nicks, cuts, aches and pains that went with the construction business to show for it.
But he was happy. After years of corporate down-sizing and sophisticated backstabbing, he was free of meetings and kowtowing to anyone. Now he showed up when he was supposed to, put in a full day’s work and went home tired but content.
After the last restructuring at the aircraft-manufacturing company where he’d been a manager, he’d decided the stress just wasn’t worth it. He’d left, taking his bonus and stock options with him. Derek’s sights were now on owning his own construction business, and he’d decided he’d do what he needed to do to learn the job from the bottom up.
Preston was still waiting, regarding him carefully, an eyebrow hiked. “And Joya Hamill doesn’t fit the bill of what you’re looking for?”
Derek shook his head. He really didn’t want to talk about women. He was over talking about women. But Preston was expecting an answer.
“Look, I don’t want anything too hot or heavy right now. My energies need to be focused on learning all you can teach me about running a profitable construction firm.”
Preston’s index finger stabbed the air. “Gotcha! But you still gotta make time for fun. If I wasn’t already involved, I’d be hooking up with Joya Hamill, that’s for sure.”
Derek couldn’t help smiling. “Guess I’ve never been interested in trouble.”
“Something about trouble can be appealing. Any of those babes worth a second glance?”
Derek surveyed the packed Haul Out where an after-work crowd was winding down. The patrons were primarily a blue- and pink-collar group, the men still in uniforms, name tags on their chest. Some played pool or darts off to the side while women with pumped-up boobs and gold ankle bracelets sat on high banquettes yakking up a storm and checking out would-be prospects.
“No babes,” Derek said firmly. “Not until I get my own business up and running.”
“Whatever.”
They returned to their beers, and Derek indulged in a brief fantasy about a woman at the end of the bar with legs that wouldn’t stop. Unfortunately the Hamill woman kept popping into his head, screwing up his sexy little daydreams.
He stared out onto the dance floor where a brunette who hadn’t seen thirty in years and a coffee-skinned woman poured into tight capris jiggled everything they had in a desperate booty call. Except, no one was answering.
“It would be to everyone’s benefit if you could convince the granddaughter to spruce up that quilt shop,” Preston said, breaking into his thoughts. “I can’t think of anything worse than having Joya’s the only place on the Row not renovated. The place has such potential and the bank’s practically giving money away with those interest-free loans plus a delayed period to pay back. It would be more money in our pockets, and I’d have the prestige of saying my firm had the monopoly of fixing up all the buildings on the Row.”
Derek took a long pull on his beer. “True, and I’ve already put it out there. I mentioned that the centennial celebrations are bound to draw strangers to Flamingo Beach. Joya’s not stupid; she has to know it’s going to attract customers with spending power.”
“And she said?”
“That she’d talk to her grandmother when she gets out of the hospital. You’ve got a bunch of jobs lined up so this one shouldn’t make that big a difference.”
Preston shrugged. “Call it pride or just the desire to have my stamp on the entire Row. If Granny J waits until the last minute to make up her mind we might be booked.”
“Good point.”
In some ways Derek hoped the old lady did just that. He didn’t relish spending one more minute than he had to around the Hamill woman. The way she’d looked at him with those huge gray eyes had made him feel like yesterday’s leftovers.
Preston shoved a handful of peanuts in his mouth and chased them down with beer. “Aren’t your great-grandmother and the old lady friends? Can’t you ask Belle for help?”
“I suppose so,” Derek answered halfheartedly. He set down the empty beer bottle and reached for his wallet. “I gotta go. Gotta start work on my second job.”
“This is on me,” Preston said, stopping Derek before he could slap down a twenty. “It’s your tab the next time around. Do you ever give yourself a break?”
“Not until Nana’s house is finished. It might not look like much now, but by the time I’m done with it…” Derek placed curled fingers to his lips and kissed them. “See you tomorrow, Preston.”
“I’ll be there the usual time. Six.”
Derek had his hands wrapped around the doorknob when Nana Belle’s throaty voice reached him.
“Derek?” she called. “Is that you, boy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It never ceased to amaze him that his wheelchair-bound great-grandmother, with her failing eyesight and poor hearing, knew almost to the second when he came home.
He opened the front door, left his muddy construction boots at the entrance and picked his way around drywall, heading toward the back of the house where Nana Belle lived.
The old lady spent most of her days seated in an overstuffed chair looking out at the water and smoking. Derek abhorred the habit, but figured that given Nana was almost one hundred years old and it hadn’t killed her, who was he to say anything?
Nana Belle occupied the only room with an unobstructed view of the water. All of the other rooms had the boardwalk in between. Given the kind of life Nana had had, she deserved that one perk. Now she spent most of her day people-watching.
“How was your day, Nana Belle?” Derek asked dutifully kissing the old lady’s weathered cheek. “Did you give Mari hell?”
Nana Belle wrinkled her nose and stuck out her lip. “I don’t give anyone hell. Life’s too damn short for that.” She sniffed loudly. “You smell of beer. Shame on you. My Gideon never touched the stuff.”
Gideon was Nana’s third husband. She’d outlived five so far. Now with failing eyesight and bad hearing, Nana’s olfactory senses had heightened. Derek thought she was amazing for a woman who’d seen almost an entire century go by.
Nana’s aide, a long-suffering widow called Mari, took care of her. The two women fought constantly, usually because Nana was not eating and preferred to smoke. Nana Belle often told Mari to take a hike, and not in such pleasant terms.
The constant bickering made the old lady feel alive and important. She actually liked her aide, it was being dependent she hated, and it killed her not to be mobile and that she needed help to be bathed and dressed.
“How are the party plans coming?” Derek called to Mari, who was in another room.
When he’d left at the crack of dawn, the two women had been arguing over who would be on Nana’s invitation list.
“I don’t want no party,” Nana said, spitting out her bridgework that she claimed was more painful than helpful. Her hollow jaws worked as if she was chewing on catfish.
“Done deal, Nana. You’re getting a party whether you want one or not.”
The old lady snorted. Deep down, his great-grandmother was very excited about her birthday party and was an active participant in selecting who was to be on the invitation list. It was her day and as far as Derek was concerned, she could invite the entire community. How many people could say they’d lived to see as many changes as she had? How many oldest living residents of Flamingo Beach were there?
It was going to be a huge event, and Derek thought about reserving the ballroom of the new Flamingo Beach Resort and Spa, since even Mayor Solomon Rabinowitz planned on attending. Tre Monroe, Warp’s premiere radio personality was pre-recording an interview with Nana which he planned on airing on her birthday. That was another reason Derek needed to get these renovations done.
Word had gotten out about how big this event was. Now everyone and his dog were trying to wangle an invitation. Since the party was the same week as the centennial celebrations, T-shirts with the original map of Flamingo Beach with an X where Nana’s house was located were already being sold. Nana Belle’s party would go down in history and the house needed to look good.
Derek was pulling out all the stops and funding the party with money from his stock options. He didn’t give a rat’s butt about the tax implications. Nana Belle had given birth to twelve children, the results of three of her five marriages. She had fifty grandchildren, thirty-eight of whom were still alive, and twelve great-grandchildren. But Derek was the only one who’d volunteered to pay for the party. Without Nana he would not be where he was today.
So, he was determined that everything would be perfect, from the reserved parking space at the brand-new resort, should he decide to hold the event there, to the flowers provided by All About Flowers. The way Derek had it figured, the guest list would top out at one thousand people. But Nana had earned that kind of tribute.
Had it not been for her he would not have seen a college door. Somehow his great-grandmother had found the money and sent it to his parents. Derek suspected she’d mortgaged the very house he was working on.
It was Belle he had to thank for helping him get that master’s degree in engineering. She’d ensured him a certain lifestyle and social status far different from his very humble upbringings. His parents had been forced to move in with relatives. He, on the other hand, had the means to live on his own. He lived with his great-grandmother because he wanted to.
“Mari, where are you?” Nana Belle called.
“Fixing you something. Be right in.”
“I don’t want nothing.”
Derek tuned out the bickering that predictably would follow and thought about where he was today. He’d willingly chucked all the material things to pursue this current goal. He’d rented his fancy apartment in Chicago and traded in the luxury car for a pickup truck. He’d turned his back on the corporate world and the superficial friends that came with it to do something he much preferred—work with his hands. Now he didn’t have to plow through a management minefield and kiss the asses of people he did not respect.
Enough of the meanderings, his second job called. Derek was not at all unrealistic. At some point Nana might have to move into an assisted-living facility and he would need a place of his own, especially if he decided to stay on in Flamingo Beach. A house this size, with all of its rambling additions, was expensive and exhausting to maintain, and definitely too big for one person.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked his grandmother.
Nana lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring in his direction. “You know Mari. She’s always forcing food down my throat.”
“And you keep saying you don’t want anything. You just prefer to pull on those cancer sticks,” Mari shouted from wherever she was.
No one, absolutely no one could force Nana Belle to do anything she didn’t want to do. Derek smothered a smile and tried to avoid the cloud of smoke hovering over Nana’s braided head. He made a U-turn and headed for the kitchen to find Mari and suggest she bring Belle a glass of the nutritional supplement she hated.