Page 49 of Ten Beach Road

Avery sat up and shot him a look. She’d not only warned him that the system might pass under the detached garage but offered to help. He’d told her not to worry, that he’d be fine.

“I guess everything wasn’t so fine after all,” she observed but got no response. Big surprise there.

“Hey, look, there’s Avery!” Kyra said, pointing at the TV screen with the remote.

It was an episode ofHammer and Nail, and the camera was focused on a tight shot of Avery’s chest and then zoomed out to reveal her and Trent on set. She cringed at the vacant smile that appeared on her face.

A moment later Trent’s voice filled the room. “It’s a very simple matter of reattaching the shoe molding, Avery,” he said in the tone one would use with a child who was unlikely to understand. “Here.” He took the piece of molding and fit it into place, then gave a few gentle taps of the wood mallet.

There was a cutaway of her watching. None of the fury she’d felt at the time was reflected on her face. None of the disappointment, either. Maybe when this was all over, she should forget about architecture and consider acting.

“Jesus!” Chase swore. “How in the world does a licensed architect get talked to like that on national television?” He shook his head. “And you wonder why people don’t take your input seriously?” He took a long swig of the beer and turned his gaze on Avery.

“It’s just as obnoxious being talked down to off camera as on,” she fired back. “The only thing that’s different is the size of the audience.” They glared at each other for a few long seconds and she reminded herself of her “don’t ask, don’t tell” vow. It worked, but she resented having to resort to subterfuge. And sometimes he simply pushed her over the edge of reason so that all her best intentions crumbled. Maybe she should change the vow to “don’t ask, don’t yell,” she thought as Chase shrugged and turned his attention back to the screen, where Trent was explaining yet another very basic construction technique in insultingly simplistic terms.

“You really are so much more knowledgeable and competent than they portrayed you on that show,” Maddie said. “That’s not you at all.”

“I didn’t know you were an architect,” Nicole said.

“Were you really married to him?” Kyra asked.

Avery nodded yes to all of them, not trusting herself to speak as the screen revealed yet another close-up of Trent’s handsome face.

“Not bad.” Nicole contemplated his image on the screen like an art connoisseur judging a painting on a wall. “But he looks like he knows it.” They all watched as the camera moved lovingly across the planes and angles of Trent’s face. Avery had once made the mistake of counting his close-ups compared to hers; in the entire last season, the camera had rarely moved closer to her face than her bust.

“Oh, yeah, he’s definitely aware of his looks.” Nicole was looking at Avery now. “I’m thinking he was just a wee bit self-absorbed.”

Chase snorted derisively and took another long pull on his beer. He and Trent had disliked each other pretty much on sight, not that they’d seen a lot of each other. They’d nearly come to blows at her father’s funeral, though neither of them had been willing to share details.

“You can leave out the wee bit part,” Avery said because there was simply no denying it, especially not with Chase, who’d actually known him, in the room. “Trent was Trent’s biggest fan. And he spent a lot of time and energy recruiting people to join the fan club.” Especially women who could be helpful to him. Like Avery. And more recently Victoria Crosshaven. Avery shot Chase a look and caught him studying her. Would she have admitted Trent’s shortcomings if Chase and his flagrant disapproval hadn’t been there filling up the room?

“You see it all the time out in L.A.,” Nikki said. “I never matched up actors with other actors. Most of them were fully occupied being in relationships with themselves.”

“They’re not all like that,” Kyra said when Avery and Trent were replaced by a Home Depot commercial. Avery breathed a sigh of relief when the channel and topic changed.

“No?” Nicole said.

“I was on the set ofDark Thunderand Daniel Deranian is not—”

“Here, Ky,” Maddie said, cutting her daughter off in midsentence. “Let me have that.”

She gave her daughter a look as she held her hand out for the remote.

“I’m just saying that some of the actors weren’t like that. It wasn’t all about them and their . . . image.” Kyra turned back to the television as her mother began to click rapidly through the channels, the images flying by at a dizzying speed. “They do have feelings, you know. They’re people, too.” The last was almost whispered as Madeline finally stopped changing channels.

“Oh, look,” Madeline said. “Barbara Walters is interviewing Deirdre Morgan. I absolutely love her!”

Avery went still as Chase’s gaze fixed on her.

“Yes, she’s done the homes of some of the biggest names in Hollywood,” Nikki said.

“She’s been an A-list interior designer for decades.”

Avery sank lower in her seat, wishing it were possible to disappear as Barbara and Deirdre ambled through the Beverly Hills estate of a Hollywood actress, recently deceased, that Deirdre Morgan had designed, alternately solemn about the loss of the one-time star and chuckling like old chums.

The salon fell silent except for Barbara’s careful lisp and Deirdre Morgan’s elegant tones. The musical sound of her voice brought a rash of memories hurtling back, and pretty much all of them hurt. Avery had seen her in person only a handful of times over the last twenty years. The last time had been at her father’s funeral. She had no interest in repeating the experience.

“I guess this is just your night, Avery,” Chase said. “You are all the hell over the television tonight. What were the chances, huh?”

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