Left Turn at Paradise Page 5

  “You need to be reminded that there’s a world beyond your own,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm. “When I approached your table, you decided I was after something. A role, a story, a notch on a bedpost.”

  “But you are after something,” he pointed out.

  “True, but what I want would benefit an entire community. You’ve been living in a world where people will do anything to get what they want. Sell their soul for a part or that juicy scoop. Offer up their bodies as a trade for a cheap thrill. You need to be reminded that some people still put others before themselves, and that traditional values still exist.”

  “I feel like I should applaud.”

  Heat rose up her cheeks. “You’re laughing at me.”

  “I would never make fun of something that makes you look so sad,” he said, his voice almost gentle and without a trace of sarcasm. He studied her with such intensity that Layla wanted to squirm.

  He leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands in front of him. “I can’t remember the last time anyone dared to lecture me.”

  She’d gone too far. She closed her eyes, preparing for his refusal.

  “Frankly, I can’t remember when someone cared enough to bother,” he said.

  He smiled, and everything in her stilled.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I have been spending too much time cursing my fate, grumbling about what’s happened to me, when I should be putting my energy into something that matters.”

  She pulled in a deep breath, afraid to believe what she was hearing. “Did you just agree to work with us?”

  “No.”

  Her heart dropped to her toes as disappointment crashed over her. “But—”

  He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers.

  She stilled, absorbing the sensation. She’d had her share of encounters – back in her wild college days when she’d imagined pleasure could smooth out the things that twisted her soul – but she’d never experienced such an immediate, electric connection before.

  “I’m not turning you down, but I can’t say yes, yet. I need to see this place for myself before I can commit to a project this big.”

  Hope rose in her again. “Okay. When would you like a tour?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  Layla smiled. She was so close to her goal. Grayson was coming to see The Paradise. All she had to do now was sit back and let Greta work her magic.

  Chapter Four

  Layla tensed as the black SUV turned into the parking lot and pulled into an empty spot in front of The Paradise. The driver’s door opened and Grayson emerged wearing black jeans, a striped black-and-white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and dark aviator-style sunglasses. He didn’t move away from the car immediately. Instead, he stood with his arms resting on the doorframe for several moments.

  She couldn’t see his eyes behind the black lenses, but she sensed him taking in every cracked chip of paint, as well as the jungle of vines climbing up the sides of the wall. He looked around the perimeter, and Layla knew what his mind was registering. The weeds pushing up through the asphalt in the parking lot. A marquee that listed to one side like a drunken, college frat boy. The uprooted tree that lay across the back.

  Grayson shook his head and whipped off his sunglasses with one hand. Again, she experienced the cougar-stalking-deer sensation she remembered from Joe’s Crab Shack. She was instantly pinned in an icy laser beam of disbelief and horror. She knew the feeling because she’d been in the exact same place a few days ago.

  Still, she summoned up a smile and walked toward him. “Good morning.”

  “Are you crazy?” he asked, shutting the car door with enough force to set the vehicle rocking.

  She couldn’t help but flinch at the accusation in his voice. “No.”

  He glanced back at The Paradise. “It’s worse than I remember.”

  “It’s really not that bad,” she insisted.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Stop asking me that,” she said, trying to hold on to her temper. “I told you I’m not. I am determined, though, and I think you’ll understand once you see the inside.”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue, but then his jaw clenched shut. “Fine. Let’s take a tour. See what we’re up against.”

  A tour was probably a very bad idea, but they had to face the music at some point. Layla turned and led him over to where Gran and Aunt Grace were waiting. Gran looked him over as if he were a specimen under a microscope while Aunt Grace beamed.

  Grayson’s expression softened, and he conjured up a smile.

  “Grayson, this is my grandmother, Dr. Barbara McCarthy,” Layla said.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, shaking Gran’s hand. “My aunt was telling me all about you.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Gran said. “My reputation seems to magnify, the older I get.”

  He chuckled and turned to Layla’s great-aunt. “You must be Mrs. Carter.”

  “Oh, please call me Grace.”

  He smiled, as if he hadn’t called Layla crazy a moment ago. “I’d say congratulations on owning your first theatre, but I feel like I should be warning you off instead.”

  “I have every confidence that a big, strong man like you can help us,” Aunt Grace said, batting her eyes and tittering like she’d made a body switch with Scarlett O‘Hara.

  Grayson grinned. “You’re just trying to flatter me so I’ll agree to take on the task.”

  “Is it working?” Grace asked, reaching for his arm to lead him inside.

  “I’m keeping an open mind.”

  Open mind?

  Layla barely contained a snort. Guess he had forgotten about the “crazy” accusation, she thought, glaring at his back as he allowed Aunt Grace to tug him inside.

  The tour started upstairs in what Layla had dubbed The Bridge. The small room had a concrete floor and a sliding panel of windows that overlooked the stage below. Along the front were two ancient, dust-covered contraptions that some helpful soul had labeled Lighting Board and Sound Board respectively. Each board consisted of dozens of dials and sliding knobs, but Layla couldn’t begin to know what they all did.

  “Do we dare turn it on?” Layla asked.

  “Let’s start ‘er up,” Aunt Grace said, rubbing her hands together in apparent glee. “Mr. Kendall, would you like to do the honors?”

  “Call me Grayson, and it’s your theatre,” he said, keeping his smile in place. “You get first dibs. Flip that switch right there.” He pointed at what looked like an on-off button.

  Grace giggled. “Okay. Let’s see what the old girl has left.”

  Turning the board on proved easy. After it was on…

  Pop. Sizzle. Phptt.

  “I hope someone brought a flashlight,” Gran said. “We’ll kill ourselves trying to go down those stairs in the dark.”

  “Nobody move,” Grayson said, his voice sounding calm and even. “I have one in my car.”

  His footsteps echoed against the concrete, and then silence descended.

  “We are in so much trouble,” Layla said.

  “Oh pooh,” Aunt Grace said. “This is just a little glitch.”

  A couple minutes later, a beam of light appeared outside the door, followed by Grayson.

  He held the flashlight under his chin. “Your tour continues, my ladies,” he said, in a freakishly good imitation of Vincent Price. He held out a hand and ushered her grandmother and great-aunt out of the control room. As Layla passed, he shot her what could only be interpreted as a dirty look.

  After helping everyone back down the stairs and locating a fuse box to get the lights back on, they continued with their tour. This time they went in the dining room.

  “Here’s a spotlight,” Aunt Grace said, as if she’d found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  “Even I know what a spotlight is,” Gran said.

  Layla eyed the cannon-shaped device with misgivings. Cobwebs, rus
t, and some sort of black substance leaking out of the back did not inspire much confidence. “It doesn’t look promising.”

  Aunt Grace frowned in annoyance. “Oh, it’ll be fine.”

  She plugged it in and flipped a switch. A spark went up. Followed by an eerily familiar popping sound and then…

  Flames.

  “Get the fire extinguisher!” Gran yelled.

  Grayson came to the rescue again. Thankfully, the fire extinguisher still worked, and no real damage was done. Except to Grayson’s temper. The more problems they found, the darker his expression became.

  “That stain looks like Alfred Hitchcock’s profile,” Gran said, arms folded as she stared at the large spot covering the lower corner of the wall leading to the kitchen. “And if I’m not mistaken the carpet is wet over here.”

  Layla sighed. “I’ll call a plumber.”

  The next stop was the women’s bathroom. Layla and Gran went in first, while her great-aunt regaled Grayson with stories about all the marvelous keepsakes that had once been displayed in the lobby. She’d even pulled out the keychain.

  Layla stared at the six stalls. Normal stalls, except for the fact that none of them had doors.

  “Well, this is unusual,” Gran said.

  “Do you think they sold them?” Layla asked.

  “No idea.”

  Aunt Grace bustled in with Grayson. They both stopped short.

  “What happened to the doors?” Aunt Grace asked.

  “No idea,” Gran repeated.

  Grace contemplated the mystery, and then her face cleared. “I remember now that the previous owners were planning to do renovations before they decided to retire. Maybe they started with the bathrooms.”

  “The bubblegum-pink countertop is pretty atrocious,” Layla said. She turned on the faucet and a geyser of brown river sludge shot out as if from a cannon, hitting her square in the chest.

  Gran clucked her tongue. “Make sure the plumber comes in here, and add stall doors to your list.”

  Grayson handed Layla a wad of paper towels. “At least someone left these behind,” he said, eyes glittering with suppressed humor.

  “Thanks,” she said through clenched teeth.

  They went through the main room. Grayson barely looked at the dining area. His gaze was centered on the stage. He went straight to the raised platform and hoisted himself up. He paced from one end to the other, examining the maze of ropes and pulleys along both walls. Then he opened a door at the back and stuck his head out into the hallway behind the stage.

  “There’s an office, the prop room, two dressing rooms and a green room back there,” Aunt Grace called out.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Come on then.”

  The three of them scurried after him. Grayson had already disappeared by the time they reached the hallway. They found him standing in the center of a white room containing an ancient upright piano, a couple threadbare couches, and a metal folding table, with the paint chipped mostly off. The floor had been white at some point, but layers of grime had turned the surface grey.

  “Green room,” Grayson said.

  Aunt Grace leaned toward Layla and Gran and whispered. “It’s where the actors wait to go on stage.”

  “At least it’s nothing a bucket and mop can’t fix,” Layla said.

  Aunt Grace walked over, lifted the cover of the piano, and ran her fingers over the keys.

  The metallic clink even hurt Layla’s ears and she didn’t know anything about music. “Piano tuner,” she said, making another note.

  “Or an axe to make fire wood,” Gran said.

  “Barbara!” Aunt Grace said aghast, as if Gran had taken the Lord’s name in vain.

  “Let’s keep going,” Layla said, herding them all back out into the hall. “At least there’s nothing in here that will burst into flames or blow the fuse box.”

  They came to the dressing rooms next. There were two, each with double rows of makeup mirrors. Empty light sockets rimmed each mirror.

  Gran pointed. “Put that—”

  “I’ve got it,” Layla said, adding light bulbs to a list that would soon be longer than her arm.

  A walk-in closet took up the far corner, and Layla walked over to stick her head in. She flicked on the switch. Something moved in the corner, and Layla screamed. Everyone raced over just as Layla recognized the furry, black-and-white face as something they absolutely did not want to mess with. Especially as the creature had two squirming babies tucked under her.

  Layla slammed the door shut.

  “What is it?” Gran cried.

  “We’ve got a family of skunks.”

  Gran glared at her sister.

  “What?” Grace cried, glowering right back. “It’s not as if I invited them for tea.”

  “I’m stopping for lunch,” Gran said as she marched out. “And add call Animal Control to the list.”

  Grace followed after her sister, leaving Layla alone with Grayson. She closed her eyes, not knowing what to say. Grayson didn’t speak, and she was too chicken to look at him and see the horror she herself was feeling.

  “You should tell your relatives to sell this place,” Grayson said after several excruciating moments of silence. “Today.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Layla, look at me.”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze.

  His expression was serious. “The Paradise is a bottomless pit of disaster,” he said. “I don’t think you have any idea how much time and money it’s going to take to revive this place.”

  Her skin flushed with the white-hot scorch of embarrassment. “It’s mostly cosmetic.”

  “No. It’ll be months of work, and the three of you clearly have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “That’s why we want to hire you. You’re the expert.”

  “And I’m telling you, as an expert, that this can’t be done. Frankly, I can’t attach my name to something that’s likely to be the end of my career.”

  Fire of a different sort burst to life inside her. “I’m sorry if you think The Paradise is beneath you, but don’t ever tell me I can’t do something. Plenty of people told me I could never get my business off the ground. They dismissed me, as if what I looked like on the outside had anything to do with my capabilities.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, bemusement etched across his face.

  “I’m talking about the fact that you don’t know me. You have no idea what I can accomplish when I’m determined. But if you’re too important to get your hands dirty, then we don’t want you involved. We’ll do it without you.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Who will you get to be your director?”

  “Someone who cares. Someone who looks at The Paradise and sees what we do.”

  “Layla—”

  She held up a hand. “No. You’ve made your feelings clear. Just go.”

  “Come on.”

  Disappointment carved a painful gauge in her heart. “Don’t worry. I’m releasing you, and I won’t bother you again about my silly project.”

  As she left to go search for Gran and her aunt, she only hoped she’d be able to prove him wrong.

  “What do you think of this?”

  Layla looked over her shoulder. Aunt Grace held up a red bustier with strategically placed gold tassels. She shimmied her shoulders, making the glittering threads dance.

  “Nice,” Layla said. She might never get the image of her elderly aunt wearing such an outrageous getup out of her mind, but after the day they’d had, Layla would survive.

  “You look like an aging saloon girl,” Gran said.

  “Do you really think so?” Aunt Grace asked, as if the prospect didn’t bother her at all.

  Gran let out an exasperated chuckle. “Put that away and come help me with this box.”

  With a touch of reluctance, Grace dropped the bustier in a bin marked ‘Miscellaneous Costumes’ and went to join her sister.

  Layla shoo
k her head and turned back to the shelf. She reached for a hatbox that had been shoved to the back. Dust rained down on her as she dragged the box forward, and she turned her head to escape the onslaught. Inside was a pair of plastic dueling pistols.

  Guns in a hatbox. Odd, but not half as strange as the hoop skirt they’d found draped over the antlers of a deer head.

  After Grayson’s departure, the mood had begun sliding toward depression. Aunt Grace had been the one who’d urged them to keep going. After lunch – and after Mrs. Skunk and her family had been removed from the dressing room by Animal Control – they’d decided to tackle the cavernous prop room. The three of them had been hard at work for a few hours, but so far they’d barely made a dent in the mess.

  Similar incongruous finds were revealed everywhere they looked. A genuine leather saddle that must have cost a fortune was mixed in with wigs of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Those were fit only for the dumpster. A battered suitcase contained purses, and strangely enough, an alien costume. The props that were still useable were catalogued and redistributed. Anything beyond hope went in the trash.

  Layla didn’t mind mess. Mess beat the fire and mayhem to be found in the rest of the theatre, and the hard work kept her from thinking about Grayson… mostly.

  The hatbox went to live with the other luggage, and she placed the dueling pistols in the metal cabinet Gran had christened The Armory. Along with skunks, flame-throwing spotlights, and lake sludge, The Paradise also boasted an impressive collection of weapons, including revolvers, rifles, swords, knives, nunchakus, two bows with no arrows, a tarnished Roman-style shield, a cutlass made out of Styrofoam, and several boxes of blanks.

  “Here’s something,” Gran announced.

  They gathered around, and Layla let out a silent “oh” of fascination. Gran had found something indeed.

  “Is that a real Victrola?” Grace asked.

  Gran nodded. “I think so.”

  Layla leaned closer to get a better look. “I wonder if it still works.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Gran said, holding up a second box containing records.

  Incredibly, it did work. Within moments the sounds of Al Jolson filled the prop room.