Page 29 of Just Beachy

Troy dimples and glares at the same time—something I’ve never actually witnessed before. Then he puts his arm around Kyra’s shoulders. “Forget it, guys. I’m still not sure how I got so lucky, but she’s with me.”

A.J. comes over to wait on us personally. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

We give our orders, but he sighs and tuts when I ask fora margarita. “No can do, Cassie. I amnotgoing to be the one who helps you fall off the wagon.”

Sure enough, when the drinks arrive, minelookslike a margarita on the rocks right down to the salted rim, but it doesn’t contain so much as a drop of tequila. At my first sip, my whole mouth puckers with longing.

I’m still sipping gingerly at my drink when A.J. comes back to the table to check on us. Everyone but me orders a second round.

“So, Cassie, I’ve been thinking,” he says when he delivers the second round to the table. “I know it’s wrong to ask you this when you really shouldn’t be hanging out in bars, but I had to let our bouncer, Jesse, go. He only worked Friday and Saturday nights, but he was drinking more than he was bouncing.” A.J. shakes his head sadly. “I was thinking that since you’re not on the police force anymore and you did such a great job handling the two guys that tried to rob me, maybe you’d like his job?” He smiles. “I know it will be a test of your willpower. But I’ll help by making sure not a single drop of alcohol crosses your lips while you’re here.”

Fifteen

Since I’m the only oneof us who hasn’t consumed so much as a drop of alcohol, we leave Myra’s car at her soon-to-be bookstore, and I drive us home in Grand’s Caddy. Our own little beach version ofDriving the Miss Daisies.

I realize as we travel north on Gulf Boulevard that, although I’m relieved Grand is not planning to invest in the bookstore, I have no idea whether Myra has any experience in books or business. Even though this is none ofmybusiness, I ask, “What made you decide to buy that particular house and open a bookstore, Myra?”

I expect her to say that she was bored and did this on a whim, but what she actually says is, “My grandmother owned and ran a bookstore here in St. Pete when I was a child. And some of my happiest moments were spent there, reading my way through the children’s section and thenthe teen section and so on. I first readGone With the Windwhen I was nine. I discovered romance novels when I was thirteen, and I’ve been a fan ever since. I don’t understand why some people turn up their noses and act as if they’re ‘too literary’ for romance when ‘literature’ is full of romance. And I hate it when a male author writes a romance novel and it’s somehow considered more mainstream or ‘important’ simply because a man wrote it.”

I feel a desire to say, “Amen, sister!” because this prejudice also rears its head in the film and TV worlds, but I don’t interrupt because Myra is clearly on a roll.

“If left alone, I can, and have, read a book a day,” she continues. “Even the smell of books makes me feel happier. And I’ve kept myself up to date on the evolution of the book business and reading trends, because they fascinate me.”

I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and realize I’m smiling and nodding.

“To recap,” Myra continues, “I know the book business inside out, including its pitfalls. And as for the bungalow, I’m never going to lose money on a home with that kind of history sitting on a prime location.” She shoots me a wink.

“If you can make the time to teach children’s acting classes at the store, Sydney, you’ll still be exercising your acting muscles. And as far as I’m concerned, story time done well is acting, too. We could organize it so that parents pay you directly for the acting lessons. And if you host story time once or twice a week for me, I’ll pay you a hundred dollars per story time, which would also supplement your acting income.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Grand adds. “If Sydney teaches acting, I could give art lessons to promising students. Or even to a class if we have room. Ooh.” She brightens further. “Maybe we can offer a figure drawing class for adults in the evening.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Do you think Luke would be willing to pose? He’s got the perfect body and musculature for it.”

“Grand!”

“What?” She shrugs. “There’s no shame in admiring or painting the male form.”

• • •

Ten days later,I’m still striking out at landing an acting gig even though I forced myself to audition for everything from minor roles in feature films shooting in the area to maxi pad and antacid commercials.

The problem is the same each time: None of the casting directors are capable of looking at me without seeing Cassie Everheart and/or Tonja Kay.

Once upon a time I believed that being so closely identified with my character was a good thing, but I know better now.

So I meet Kyra and Troy at Harley’s on Saturday night to see what’s what. Maybe the hulks notwithstanding, no bouncing will actually be required there.

A.J. gives us drinks on the house. Kyra’s and Troy’s have alcohol in them. Mine does not.

There’s a crowd at and around the large square bar. The pool tables are full. People seem to be having a good time.

Customers who spot me fall silent, and even the rowdiest of them take it down a notch.

“See, I told you you’d be a good influence,” A.J. crows. “They’ve watched you take down bad guys on TV for years. And word’s already spread about you cutting those two goons down to size. Only a few people know you got knocked out by that guy’s knee.”

Oh, joy.

I sip at my drink—if it had even a hint of alcohol in it, I’d be downing it in one long, thirsty gulp. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but it totally sucks to be in a bar and not get a real drink when everyone else is enjoying theirs.

Ten minutes later there’s an altercation at one of the pool tables. It’s between two burly guys with mohawks and tattoos of what look like their mothers on their beefy forearms.

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