Laguna Nights (2 page)

“That should be me, us,” she said, her words drifting on the warm air of the empty patio, and checked her watch. The group check-in would begin in just twenty minutes and she needed to be sure everything was ready. All the she knew about the group was that they were a bunch of picky entertainment execs. The booking agent had been light on details about the group’s members, but heavy with expectations of service, food, and confidentiality.

“My group will expect complete privacy, the finest in service and flexibility,” the man had said to Madison over the telephone.

“Of course. Um, flexibility?” she had asked. She’d stopped taking notes as flexibility was typically not one of the demands.

“Sometimes, they change their minds. So, although we’ve set the agenda for the week, well, it is all subject to change,” he had said.

Madison had leaned back in her chair, inhaled a deep breath and had counted to ten. She was up to her eyeballs with entitlement, especially with Hollywood types. “I’m sorry, but we’ve scheduled the best table at our oceanfront restaurant just for your party. They cannot simply decide not to show up on Saturday night.” She had been proud of herself, being firm and she hadn’t let her voice waver.

“We’ll pay whatever. Just know, it may happen. See you on Friday,” he had said and hung up.

Flexibility
, Madison thought, walking toward the front desk, crossing the thick carpet of the lobby before stepping onto the dark wood floor of the reception area. All three staff members smiled at her and she returned their grins.

“Can’t wait to see who’s in this group,” Chrissy said, eyes twinkling behind her wire-frame glasses. Chrissy had been with the resort for as long as anyone could remember and she still became star struck every time a celebrity checked in. Even if she didn’t recognize the person until Kevin, also a guest reception employee, showed her online. They still joked about her lack of rock star knowledge, missing the chance to ogle both Eric Clapton and Sam Smith within months of each other. She’d still proudly added them to her celebrity sightings list, Madison knew.

“We’re so ready to be flexible,” Kevin said, tugging at the lapel of his sport coat, his red hair glowing in the spotlight aimed at the seascape oil painting behind him but instead shining on his hair because of his 6’4” height. “I did a walk-through of all of the suites. They’re ready. Champagne on ice. Strawberries dipped in chocolate. Everything chilled and waiting. We’ll make them love us.”

Madison doubted that but smiled anyway. She loved her team. They were family to her, the reason she’d stayed on even though she should have moved on when the company had offered a promotion to a property in Sun Valley. Instead of manager of group sales, she would be a vice president of guest services. She’d told them she couldn’t leave Southern California - that it was home. But the truth was, it was the people here who worked at the resort that she couldn’t leave. And her mom, of course.

Her earpiece crackled to life and Madison cupped her hand over her ear. “Five minutes to arrival,” said the van driver who’d picked the group up at the private airport in Irvine.

“Got it,” Madison said, into the small mouthpiece. “Any insights?”

“Dickheads,” the van driver said as Madison’s heart fell. She’d suspected it would be a long weekend, but the confirmation saddened her. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do, she reminded herself, pushing Dolby and his strong broad shoulders out of her mind. She knew he’d never be able to forget what he’d watched, no matter how many assurances she made, no matter how long ago it had happened. It was the same with her last attempt at a relationship, and the one before that. They would tell her it was fine, that they could handle it. But that was always a lie.

S
itting in the backseat of the limousine van – he guessed that’s what they called these tricked out vans with tinted windows, leather seats and a media center – he tried to ignore the knot in his stomach as the van careened down Newport Coast Drive to dead-end into Pacific Coast Highway. Maybe it was car sickness, he thought, or maybe it was simply dread he realized, looking around at the four other guys in the van. They all looked fine, chatting, stoked to be away from the office and their spouses for a weekend. A couple of them already had helped themselves to champagne they’d found waiting for them in the van. And that was after the drinks on the private plane from LA. They were partying and that was fine. It’s how they did things, his agent, his manager, and the two producers who could make or break his career. He hoped they got nice and drunk and signed a deal tonight so he could head back to LA. But he doubted that would happen. He was the only one who felt miserable, he was the only one with strangling roots in this place, roots this van was driving him toward at a fast clip.

“Hey, Josh, you feeling ok?” Marty said. Marty was a good guy even if he always wore a suit and tie and too much cologne. Josh always had to remind himself of that fact, even when Marty wouldn’t take his calls because he was busy with “more important” clients. That never used to happen, not in the big days as Josh thought of them.

“Just a little car sick,” he said, looking out the window as they entered the village of Laguna Beach. Nothing ever changes here, he thought, noticing the buildings were the same, even if some of the stores and restaurants’ names had changed. They stopped at the light at Forest Avenue, and Josh looked down the street – his old stomping grounds. So many memories, many of them great, some of them, well… unfortunately caught on camera. Forever.

“Welcome home,” Marty said.

“Whatever,” Josh said, pushing his thick brown hair off of his forehead and sinking down in the seat. “Every time I’m here it pisses me off that I don’t make residuals.”

“You signed the contract,” Marty said, tired of the conversation they’d rehashed for years.

“I was sixteen when I started,” Josh said, feeling his heart pumping faster because of their discussion.

“Your parents did, then. Nobody knew to get entertainment attorneys involved. It’s not their fault, or yours. MTV was smart, that’s all. Plus, you guys were trailblazers. Reality TV was just getting started.”

“You mean guinea pigs,” Josh said, looking out the window just as they passed the turnoff for the high school.

“Well, you made a lot more than most high school kids and look where you are now,” Marty said, sliding over and rejoining the other four men for what had to be a more enjoyable conversation.

Josh pressed his head against the cool tinted glass and watched his hometown pass by. Marty was right, he knew. He shouldn’t be angry about his time on the show
Laguna Nights
. The stupid theme song started playing in his head before he could make it stop:
Everything’s so perfect, trying to fit a circle onto the square of your life.

This was home, Josh knew, even if he hated it. They stopped at the light at Thalia Street, and he smiled. He’d spent the best time of his life surfing there. There’s good and bad, not all bad, he tried to remind himself.

“Hey Josh, join us,” Roger said from the front of the van. Marty smiled at him hopefully. Josh knew the game, knew who was the boss.

“Sounds great,” he said, forcing a smile as he joined the men at the front.

“Here you go, son,” Roger said, clapping him on the back and handing him a drink that smelled like scotch. Roger always smelled of cigar smoke, even during morning meetings, Josh noted.

“Cheers! And welcome home!” Marty said, clapping him on the back.

“Cheers!” Josh said and chugged the drink in one swallow, feeling the amber liquid burn all the way down.

“We’re almost to the hotel, gentlemen,” the driver said.

“Oh, we know where we are,” Roger said, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand.

“Of course, sir,” the driver answered as he turned into the resort.

At least they were staying here, Josh thought, a place he’d never stayed in as a guest. Sure, he’d snuck into the hot tub and pool area as a teen, and they’d shot a few scenes of the show at the resort. But now he was arriving in style, with his “team” to discuss his new “project”.

Josh felt better as he stepped out of the van. He didn’t know whether it was relief at the end of the van ride, or that they’d passed through town and now he’d be encased in luxury and far enough away from all of his memories of the town he used to call home.

“Welcome to the Mondrian,” said a teenage kid who reminded Josh of himself at that age, an age that seemed so long ago now. “Right this way gentlemen. We have been expecting you.”

There were two other guests and about fifty staff waiting for them as they walked into the lobby. Josh focused on the view of the ocean beyond, keeping his sunglasses on and baseball cap pulled low over his face just in case.

“Look at that view,” Marty said joining him at the edge of the lobby and pointing to the expanse of windows across the room. “We’ve got to go over there.”

Josh smiled. “Yes, we do,” he said, leading Marty across the lobby. A couple sat in comfortable overstuffed chairs enjoying an afternoon cocktail. Neither of them paid any attention as the men walked past them to where doors opened onto the majestic balcony he remembered. Below them, the mosaic tile pool beckoned.

“And you’ve never gone swimming in that? Gorgeous,” Marty said, although Josh wasn’t sure if the man was referring to the pool or the two women in bikinis.

“Not legally,” Josh said. “Most of us locals didn’t really hang out down here. This place used to be a trailer park, can you believe that? Anyway, once I joined the show, I had to be careful about doing crazy things like sneaking into resorts. Cameras were following me everywhere, it seemed.”

“Well, you better swim in it this weekend,” Marty said as he turned to go back inside. “We need to get the rights to film at this place. It’s perfect, breathtaking.”

“No way they’d allow it, but I’ll be swimming for sure,” Josh said to the empty balcony, before following Marty. To his left was a bar and a baby grand piano, to his right, a fireplace with comfortable furniture. And straight ahead, between him and his manager, stood his high school girlfriend, arms crossed in front of her, glaring at him. Even though he could tell she still hated him, and she had good reason to, she looked beautiful. It had been almost fifteen years since they’d seen each other and she’d changed. In high school, she’d been sweet and kind, a little plump but he’d overlooked that because she had been his best friend first. Now she had grown into a stunning woman.

A very angry woman.

Shit.

He should never have agreed to come back here. He should never do another reality TV show, he knew. But he also knew he had no choice.

He took off his sunglasses and held out his hand. “Hi Holly,” he said.

“Don’t call me that. What are you doing here?” she asked, ignoring his attempt at a handshake, her beautiful blue eyes darkened, glaring. She was making him nervous.

“Just coming home to Laguna,” he said.
Why couldn’t he use her name
, he wondered.

“Oh right,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sure you’re up to something. Just keep this property out of it, OK?” And then she turned and walked away.