Page 18 of Just Beachy

If I don’t hear back from Marty today, I may have to go this alone. I haven’t had to audition for anything in a long time, and while rejection is a huge part of being in the entertainment industry, I’m not sure how much more of it I can take. I mean, hanging out with Grand and not putting myself out there—or anywhere—would be a lot safer.

But since my personal mantra has always been “Never give up, never surrender,” that’s not really an option.

So in the end I make a list of open auditions within a forty-mile radius and shut down my laptop. I’ve done enough for one day. Maybe I’ll feel more able to face rejection tomorrow. Or the day after that.

Nine

A U-Haul pulls up infront of Grand’s garage just after four o’clock the next afternoon. It’s towing Grand’s Cadillac convertible and is driven by Kyle Donovan, the twenty-something grandson of a longtime friend of Grand’s. A second young man sits beside him.

The guys hop out and Kyle wraps Grand in a big hug then introduces his college buddy Nate. Her car, her possessions, and her moving crew have arrived.

I’m almost sorry my mother isn’t here to see this. But I take a quick photo so that I can remind her what Grand is still capable of in case push once again comes to shove.

It takes them just minutes to back her car off the trailer, maneuver the U-Haul into place, and raise its rear door.

“Why don’t you show us what’s coming out and what you’d like where before we start unloading,” Kyle suggests.

“Sure,” Grand replies. “Come on in.”

We tromp up to the first floor, and Kyle and Nate head right for the sliding doors.

“Wow. That’s one sick view,” Kyle says.

“That’s for sure,” Nate adds.

“It is, isn’t it?” Grand agrees. She does not ask whether they’re referring to the actual view, the boats, or the bikini-clad girls riding in them.

Kyle and Nate are a dynamic duo, cheerfully carrying out the previous owner’s furniture that Grand no longer wants then unloading and carrying up Grand’s furniture, clothing, and box after box of dishware and accessories. She then shows them into the bonus room behind the garage, where she wants her easels and art supplies. Numerous canvases, wrapped in brown protective paper, are stacked against one long wall.

Two hours after they arrived, the U-Haul is filled with the former owners’ furniture and they’re ready to hit the road.

“Are you heading back to Atlanta?” I ask Kyle.

“Not yet. We’re going to drop the furniture off at Goodwill, turn in the U-Haul, then have a mini vacation on Clearwater Beach.”

Grand hands Kyle a wad of cash then hugs both boys. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. Have fun at the beach and call if you need anything while you’re in the area. And don’t forget to give my best to your grandmother when you get back.”

• • •

After they leave,Grand and I tweak the furniture placement but decide to leave unpacking and decorating until tomorrow. Tired, but satisfied with what we’ve accomplished, I pour us a bowl of nuts and glasses of wine and we plop down on Grand’s sectional to watch the national news.

It’s the usual: natural disasters, the latest political scandal, a sink hole swallowed a house. Personally, I wish the anchors would stop telling the entire news story in the tease up front. The tease is meant to keep us tuned in and whet our appetite for the story, not force us to listen to the story twice word for word. Just sayin’…

After the last commercial, Phillip Drake’s face and a shot of hisMissing Madonnaappear briefly on the screen. Something about the artwork feels strangely familiar, but given how many times it’s been splashed across the TV screen in these days after Drake’s death, it would have to be familiar, right?

Grand remains silent as yet another glimpse into Drake’s life and career is shared. Then his son, who’s somewhere around my mother’s age, appears on-screen and makes an impassioned plea for the return of his father’s most famous work.

“He looks so much like Phillip,” Grand says quietly as the newscast ends. Her eyes shimmer with tears.

I turn off the TV. “Phillip Drake wasn’t just someone you ran into a few times in the New York art scene, was he?”

“No.” Grand swallows. “At one point I was madly in love with him, and I thought he felt the same.” Her smile is sad and wistful. “He was so talented and so handsome. And he had this incredible energy that lit up everything and everyone around him. I thought we were meant for each other.” She pauses. “I was young and inexperienced. I thought he was a knight in shining armor.” She sniffs. “But in the end, it turned out he wasn’t half the man I thought he was.” Her face hardens for a second. “And I doubt that painting would have ever been so famous if it hadn’t gone missing.

“Anyway…I came home…disillusioned…and ready to do all the things my parents expected of me.” Her lips tremble. “Then I met your grandfather, who was the opposite of Phillip, and we built a wonderful life together.”

My grandmother begins to cry.

• • •

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