Page 24 of Sandbar Summer (Summer Cottage #3)

Chapter Sixteen

Goldie

They enjoyed dinner at Nora House, Goldie in a borrowed sweatshirt from Libby and J.J. in the dress Goldie had lent her.

It was a mishmash of her old friends and her new handyman, and it was the most fun she’d had since she didn’t know when.

They talked about the old days, and Joe listened intently.

“I mean, this is the one you said peeled the leech off her backside without flinching?”

“She didn’t bat an eye. The raft, unbeknownst to us, had a little pocket of them.

They decided to take up residence under the raft and wait.

We’re laying there, baking ourselves like lasagna, a little red crispiness was the goal, and Goldie turned over, ya gotta have an even tan, you know, and there the sucker was.

Right on her cheek,” J.J. recounted the scene to Joe.

“Literally,” Hope said.

“That was no big deal. The big deal was later that summer. I got knocked off the Hobie, clocked right in the head by the boom, and went into the water.”

“Oh, that was scary, not funny,” Keith said.

“She was out cold, and Libby here dives in immediately, swims to her, puts her in the official lifeguard hold, and swims back to shore, Goldie in tow.”

Joe looked from Keith to Libby.

“Yeah, the boat was tipped at that point,” Libby explained.

“No life jackets back then, very dumb kids, obviously.”

“Yeah, it was the eighties, no helmets or life jackets, very dumb,” Goldie said. She reached out and squeezed Libby’s hand. A teenage Goldie had been unconscious in the water, and her friend had saved her.

Why had she never unpacked these memories? She had so many here, in Irish Hills. But it seemed like, from the moment she left, she used every cell of her brain toward becoming a star. She didn’t have room to think about nostalgia or the gang at the lake.

“We drank pop and ate pop rocks at the same time. It was madness,” Hope said.

They reminisced, ate, drank, and watched the sun go down over Lake Manitou.

It was late July. Something about that time of year here let you know that things were fleeting.

That summer was exiting faster than it entered.

And you better squeeze every drop of sunlight out of the days.

Maybe it was a Michigan thing. In California, July didn’t produce fear that the sunny days were on the way out.

Maybe in Michigan, scarcity made you better appreciate days like today.

“So, what’s on the menu this week,” Libby asked Hope.

“Ah, about that, I don’t think we can open until Saturday.”

“Why?”

“The server issue, I’m down to two right now. We’re just not getting the customers to sustain them. Tips are their livelihood, you know?”

“Shoot, if I could just figure out how to pump up the eyeballs.”

“Isn’t North of Nash next week? My son’s a big fan. That ought to be a boon,” Joe said.

“What’s North of Nash?” Goldie asked.

“For the past few years, there’s this gigantic country music festival at the racetrack. I mean massive,” J.J. explained.

“If a tiny fraction, a tiny fraction of a fraction of that crowd came over to Irish Hills, that would make a nice impact. Which might work for next year, but this year I didn’t have lodging to offer or even a restaurant until a few weeks ago. So, well, I couldn’t really lure anyone.”

“You’ve done so much, so fast. We’ll survive the summer and plan for next, when we blow it out of the water,” J.J. said.

But Hope looked more sheepish and less confident. If she didn’t have a staff, she didn’t have a restaurant. Judging by the food that Hope had served tonight, the restaurant was probably amazing.

“Ugh, we shouldn’t have hid me. I should have put a flag hat on and said come and get me, I’ll be at the Green Street stop light.” Goldie wanted to help, but she didn’t want to be the subject of any more flying water bottles.

“We know your Hollywood people sold you out. Irish Hills will not get it,” J.J. said.

“Exactly,” Libby said.

J.J. squeezed Goldie’s shoulder.

But Goldie could see the worry in all their eyes. They had a mission to save Irish Hills. It was important to them. But they hadn’t given her up to accomplish it.

Goldie would figure out something to pay them back.

The next day she checked to make sure her little publicity stunt had worked.

“Well, you’ve created a mystery. Nice job.”

Hedda had called her this time. There were no script offers or event requests in her inbox. But the press inquiries were tenfold, according to Tally.

Goldie was in demand. At least, an interview with her was a hot ticket. No one was brave enough to cast her while she was on the outs with the Victor Superhero Universe machine. But she’d scored a little victory of her own.

“Thank you. Now, about managing the next phase of my career. I’m willing to listen to your pitch.”

“I don’t have the pitch for you yet. I think your current strategy of staying under wraps is still a good one. And you’re currently not on my roster. Don’t forget, I need the boys who run the VSU happy, too. It’s their town right now.”

Goldie ignored the fact that Hedda hadn’t agreed to represent her. She was still somewhat shocked to be in this position at this stage of her career. But nevertheless, Hedda was giving her advice, inching closer with each phone call to making it official.

“I’ve got some very quiet meetings going on here. It’s time I took control of my projects. Like Reece does, if you want to be on board with that kind of vision. I’d consider it.”

“Ha, interesting. I do have some good news. Your old friend Tommy, the DP on that picture, let me know that what they saw of Trevor’s footage, it was shaping up to be a cacophonous mess.”

“That tracks, shooting it was a cacophonous mess.”

“I haven’t seen anything with you in it, so that’s good news. No matter what Trevor says about you, it would be quite a trick to mess up the scenes you weren’t even in.”

“Thanks, yeah, faint praise there.”

“Well, if I’m going to represent you, we need to build on what we can.”

“So, you’re in?”

“Yes, tentatively. Now go get the next the rights to the next Gone Girl book or whatever you’re after. That would be big.”

“I need a favor. Can you tell me who represents Chase Green, uh, Luke Brush, and River Ann Flowers?”

“What? Yeah, they’re with DAA.”

“Great, I had a little idea for them. Appreciate it.”

Goldie thought there was something she could do when it came to the country music scene and Irish Hills. She roped Tally into her plan. Fairly easily, the two of them had emails and DMs for most of the artists at North of Nash.

There was more than one way to get people talking about Irish Hills.

Goldie

2018

“I thought you were coming with me? I’d really like it if you could make the drive with me.”

Goldie was scared. She didn’t scare easily, but she was scared this time.

“Here’s the thing. You want privacy. You don’t want people to know about this. If I go, you know how that will be.”

Goldie wanted coffee. She couldn’t have coffee. She wasn’t supposed to have anything before the surgery. The lack of caffeine was making the headache of trying to understand Drake’s reasoning even more difficult than usual.

She and Drake had been together for three years. They more or less lived together, but they both had their own places. They had an escape hatch, as it were, in case. In case what? The sad fact was they had an escape hatch in case they didn’t work out.

Drake was the lead singer of Burgundy Four. The country music group was going on five years of hits, one after the other. Their biggest hit, ‘Summer Smile,’ was famously about Goldie.

Drake had worked for years to hit big. He’d been the lead singer of three bands that never went anywhere, and then finally with Burgundy Four, and a country twist, then boom.

The magic and the work he’d put in combined at the right time. He was the hottest thing going in today’s country music. He spoke with a drawl, and no one seemed to ask him about actually being from New Jersey.

That gap of time, though, meant Drake was in his forties when he hit big.

They were the same age, but he was playing it younger.

Way younger. Of course, he was a man, so he looked like he was in his twenties.

And any mention of his age listed him in his early thirties.

He was hanging on to that youth fan base as hard as he could, as tightly as he could.

Goldie was headed to the hospital for a hysterectomy. Not the chicest of surgical procedures. Everyone on her team told her to keep it quiet. Fibroids were not the disease of the week. Girlfriend in the hospital for fibroids was not a sexy story to sell to Drake’s fan base, apparently.

“You’ll be fine. This is a run-of-the-mill thing. They do it all the time.”

Goldie looked at Drake, really looked at him.

Drake was ripped. He was all sinew and muscle.

To the outside world, it appeared that Drake Denver was into hard partying.

He was country music’s bad boy. He had more tattoos than she could count.

He acted like Jack Daniels was in his cup on stage, but the reality was that he worked hard to look underfed.

He was drinking bone broth and getting HCG injections, not heroin. All to stay young for the fans.

She could relate.

She was Drake’s dream woman; he’d said it over and over again. He’d written about it in his music. He’d swept her off her feet. When he got famous, he’d made a beeline to Goldie Hayes. And it worked. She was enamored.

He was funny, too. They laughed when they were together. And he seemed to need her in a way her other relationships hadn’t. He wanted her to listen to his music, his lyrics, and even weigh in on things like his onstage performances. He was protective of her when they were surrounded by paparazzi.

And she knew that being with him made her seem younger, cooler, hipper than she was.