Page 8 of Sandbar Summer (Summer Cottage #3)

Chapter Six

Goldie

They arrived at Two Lakes Grove Hotel early.

“The hotel comes with a campus, as you can see. And if you remember, the row of Gould cottages was just up there. It really was an adorable little resort corner here for vacationers.”

Goldie remembered. When they all saw Dirty Dancing, Goldie envisioned the cottages, the hotel, Nora House, and even the dance pavilion as her own personal version of the movie.

She was Baby, of course, but no one stepped up as Johnny.

She didn’t have a love story to remember from living in Irish Hills.

The only love story she had, was on screen.

They got out of Libby’s Jeep, and the air temperature was a bit of a shock.

Michigan, in July, could be hot. Goldie had forgotten that. She remembered freezing springs and socked in the snow in February. Sure, she spent warm summers here, but she forgot how hot it was then.

And it was going to be hot today. Not the dry, still heat of L.A. but a heavy heat, one that melted you a little.

Goldie’s mother called humidity the air you could wear. She was right.

Goldie worked up a sweat as she and Libby transferred Goldie’s bags. Goldie was starting to feel a little stupid for traveling with all this now that she had to move it herself.

That weasel Hollis selling videos of her to the tabloids. It was why she was determined not to hire an assistant here. Even though, right now, she would appreciate that a lot.

Libby listed the features and benefits of the Two Lakes.

“So, there are a dozen rooms, one main dining area, and a kitchen that needs work. Think about it, a return to hosting vacationers in Irish Hills! Just like your parents. On that note, Hope is willing to set up a breakfast delivery of pastries and whatnot for whoever takes this place over. Could be nice synergy.”

“Ha, I think it is perfect for me to hide out. That’s all I can do right now, you know?”

“Oh, I get it. Totally.”

“I can’t wait to see the girls.”

“I was thinking drinks and dinner at Hope’s Table. You’re going to love that.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to be recognized.”

“I promise you, the folks at the restaurant will be oblivious.”

“I really don’t want—”

“It’s okay. You know, you’re right. We can do it at my place. But dinner might be a little later, sis.”

Sis. Libby called her sis, and Goldie nearly cried. Right there, out of the blue. Where had that come from? She swallowed the shock of emotion. She turned to face the lake just behind the hotel. She didn’t want Libby to see her.

She was raw right now. Raw got you hurt.

“That’s great, perfect.” She was an actress, and by golly, she would act like she was okay.

She knew these women had no idea the kind of scrutiny or the lightning-fast way word traveled when a movie star showed up some place unexpected. Daniel Radcliffe ate breakfast at a Bob Evans in Flint, and it made national news. Keanu Reeves had dinner in Flat Rock, and Twitter broke.

“Okay, let me show you around. In recent history, the previous owners couldn’t make a go of it and were about to put it up for sale. Irish Hills has been falling into decline since we all ran the place. Anyway, the owners were ready to retire and were ripe for Stirling Stone to snap it up.”

In their travels yesterday, Libby had described her recent victories over the billionaire, Stirling Stone. She’d stopped eminent domain votes or delayed them, at least. Her aunt had blocked Stone’s attempts to buy everything in sight.

Libby described how Hope’s restaurant was a key in helping turn the downtown area around.

And just two weeks ago, they were awarded grant money to finish their renovations.

Part of Goldie felt bad. She knew things were bad when she left, but it was hard to hear the details.

Memories of her old stomping grounds were all good, all bathed in summer glow.

But Libby was on the case. Whatever cause she set her sights on was going to succeed. That was how she was as a kid; now, her old friend was in her full power. Too bad for Stirling Stone.

“Along with the guest rooms, four on three floors, there is a really nice space, off the main lobby sitting room. I think that’s where we put you, come on.”

Goldie looked around as she followed. There was carpet covering the floors.

Who does that? She suspected there were wood floors underneath.

The baseboards and molding were gigantic, another sign of an old home.

No one built places like this anymore. The views of two lakes would be worth millions if this place was anywhere but Irish Hills.

But it needed work. That was clear. A lot of work.

“It’s a fixer-upper, I am fully aware. We’re slowly working on that. Whether I convince you that this is perfect for your investment or not, we’re shoring it up. My aunt had plenty of plans, but the details of managing these properties, I guess that’s why she needed me.”

“I think your aunt is brilliant. I’d hire you to slay my dragons if I could.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’m so furious at your driver, at that director. But I know you’ll be safe here, no one will know you’re here, and the fanboys can stalk your place in Beverly Hills all they want.”

“I appreciate it. Looks like the perfect place to set up my career strategizing command center.”

Libby helped her unload her stuff in the manager’s suite.

Goldie was used to luxury, with every speck of dirt wiped away before she saw it.

Unless she was on set; on set was a different scenario.

She decided this was like the set of Somewhere in Time, with Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeve.

Maybe he’d pop out of an old pocket watch if she was lucky.

“Look, I know you must plan your attack on the patriarchy. And I’m actually worried for the patriarchy.

That said, there’s a boat out there, a chair or two to lounge on, and other than the sound of outboard motors, it’s pretty quiet here.

Maybe consider giving yourself an actual rest. Just be careful by the water. The beach is overgrown.”

“Thank you. This is a perfect hiding spot. People will expect me to be in Ibiza or the Amalfi Coast or The Hamptons.”

“Yeah, true, but take this from someone who is just now learning how to relax. You look like you could use a bit of downtime wherever it is.”

“I’d say we go over to the In and Out for live bait, find a ten-speed, bike around, and then, oh, what else, oh yeah, swim over to your raft?”

“YES! That’s the summer right there!”

“I’m good here, thank you. I think more than anything else, I’ll nap. And maybe put on some of the weight I took off to play in that superhero movie.”

“I promise you Hope can help with that.”

“Go on, you don’t need to babysit me. I know you have stuff to do. Let the charms of the place work on me, and you work on your crusade to save the world.”

“Well, this little corner. You sure you are okay?”

“Yes, I’m very Greta Garbo. I want to be alone is on my business cards.”

Libby looked at her and cocked her head. “Call me, text me, send a heron if you need anything. There’s one that thinks he owns this beach.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll text you dinner details. You’ll fall in love with this place. I guarantee it.”

“Great, go, get out of here. You’ve done enough.”

Libby left, and it was sweet how much her new old friend seemed worried about her. She hadn’t been mothered in a long time. Goldie was also glad to just breathe, walk around this place, and not be noticed.

Goldie looked at her phone. A text from Tally. It was grim. The house, her salon, and her favorite lunch spot were all under siege from angry fans of the movie franchise she’d just destroyed. Please. She’d had one disagreement over one scene. And the director melts down?

The bottom line was he didn’t want her in the movie. She stood up for herself, and he figured out how to use that to can her. And, in the process, bring down her career.

She didn’t want to think about the deeper problems. Because there were deeper problems.

Goldie had sacrificed a lot, everything, for her career. That it could go up in flames so quickly was hard to process.

Though, if she really thought about it, it had gone up in little brush fires after she turned thirty and then a wildfire after forty. She wasn’t fifty yet, and it was gone.

A check of Twitter revealed the hashtag #getgoldiegone was going strong.

The Wi-Fi here was spotty though. Maybe that was a sign to stop torturing herself.

Goldie found the correct bag, filled with her favorite piece of the line of athleisure wear that bore her name. Goldie Laps. That was a dumb name. She should have known that business was a bad idea based on that stupid name.

She did love the clothes, though. Thanks to an old friend, every garment she had lent her name to, she’d stand by today.

Goldie put on a pair of biking shorts and a tangerine t-shirt and tied a little jacket around her waist. Everything was color coordinated. She loved her athleisure line, but alas, Kate Hudson did it better.

Goldie found her walking shoes and decided to walk around a bit outside. She’d have days and nights to look around the hotel. But right now, the lake called to her.

She was used to the spectacular views of the Pacific.

It had been a while since she’d seen the pastoral views of her summer haunts.

L.A. was crispy in the summer. The foliage usually burnt out.

Sure, there were gorgeous beaches and gorgeous people, and the ocean was divine.

But there were brown trees and burnt grass a lot of the year.

Maybe she should get a place on the beach?

Goldie slathered on sunscreen and also donned a hat for extra protection. She’d spent a lot of money to keep wrinkles at bay; darned if she was going to let the sun damage what youth she had left.