Meet Me at the Starlight

Chapter 35

MATT

He spent the last week of August in LA. Roger wanted to reshoot a couple of scenes, and while he was there, his beach house sold. He felt like a weight had been cut away.

Then he flew home Labor Day weekend for the Last Night at the Starlight. He took a Saturday night redeye to New Orleans, arriving as the Sunday sunrise broke through scattered clouds. A puddle jumper landed him in Fort Walton, where he whistled down a cab, arriving at the Starlight just in time for the noon session. He planned to skate until the final song.

Entering the rink, he waved to Dad and Granny, then greeted Harlow, who manned the ticket booth, with an all-consuming kiss. He didn’t care about the gawking skaters waiting in line or the clicks of the instant cameras.

Let the world know! Matt Knight found his better half.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered in her ear. With her hair in a ponytail and just a touch of makeup, her high cheeks seemed more pronounced than a week ago, and the blue sundress that matched her eyes hung loose.

“Matt Knight, let us in, man!” Fan alert. Smile. Be cool. He glanced toward the door. Ricky Lanter and Jonas Tucker! His old high school football buddies. They greeted one another with a “long time no see” and the requisite handshake-hug combo. Matt’s bittersweet memories of Booker surfaced.

He’d almost called him twice, but between the reshoot and packing up the house, giving away some of the so-called treasures he no longer needed, he didn’t have the emotional energy.

“Can you believe no more Starlight?” Jonas said. “Ol’ Sea Blue won’t be the same ever. How’s Granny taking it?”

“She’s holding out for a miracle, but—hey, let me introduce you to Harlow Hayes. H, two of my friends from Nickle High.”

Ricky and Jonas went all starry-eyed and lost their bravado, shyly shaking Harlow’s hand. Jonas managed to get a hold of himself and make a joke. “Y-you sure you want to hang around this scallywag?”

“Why not? You did.”

Ricky slapped Matt on the back with a loud hoot. “I like her even more now.” He leaned toward the supermodel, who continued to pass out tickets. Three hundred per session and no more. Every brownie in the skate room got a turn on someone’s feet.

“Well, Harlow, see, we were the ones who made Matt cool, soooo ...” Ricky motioned between him and Jonas. “That means you’re going to have to hang around us.”

Harlow passed five tickets to a waiting family. “Here you go. Welcome to the Starlight.” Then she turned to Ricky and Jonas. “To be honest, boys, I’m cooler than all of you put together, including Rob Stone and Steve Hilliard.”

They laughed while the husband of the entering family got stuck between gawking at Harlow and grinning at Matt. His wife moved him along with chagrin. “Pardon him,” she said. “He doesn’t get out much.”

Matt always loved Harlow’s demeanor, her broken kind of confidence, but this version of her was totally ... tubular. Okay, so he spent last Sunday morning before work with a bunch of surfers.

With a light kiss for Harlow, he walked Ricky and Jonas to skate rental. They drilled him about Flight Deck. Did he really fly in a P-51?

More Nickle High alum breezed into the rink. Burke and Chambers, Caffey and McCord, followed by several faces Matt recognized from his elementary days.

Bodie Nickle arrived with his family. “Matt Knight, my favorite client.” They slapped hands, bumped shoulders. “Did you get my bill? Hey, Harlow, thanks for winning the case for us. I’d like you to meet my wife, Latisha, and this is Morris, named for my grandpa. We call him Deuce. Our daughter, DeShawn, whom we call Dish.”

“Matt.” Dad tapped him on the shoulder and held out a whistle. “Want to help on the floor? It’s really crowded.”

As he headed for his skates, someone called his name. The older, more mature voice of Booker Nickle.

“Booker, hey, man.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite your head off this time,” he said, offering to shake Matt’s hand.

The years peeled away, and when the first sob hit, Matt locked him in a hug. “Book, I’m sorry. So, so, sorry.”

“No, man, I’m sorry.”

“Me and my big mouth. You were right to hate me all these years. Look what I did to Harlow on Letterman.”

“Matt, look I need to tell you—” Booker paused. “Can we talk someplace quiet?”

Harlow appeared from behind him. “We’re at capacity, so no more ticket sales. I’ll work the floor. I’ve been dying to blow one of these whistles. You two grab a beer or something. Hi, Booker, I’m—”

“Harlow Hayes.” He cut Matt a glance. “You always had the best luck with girls.”

“Girls?” she said toward Matt. “You mean there’s more than Patti Evans? Tell more.”

“Book, don’t get me in trouble already.” Matt roped the whistle lanyard around Harlow’s neck. “He’s exaggerating.”

“Booker, you and I will talk later.” She grinned and whispered to Matt as she shoved him toward the door. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He suggested the Fish Hook at the opposite end of Sea Blue Way. Small talk melted a bit more of the ice between them. Booker, who wore the plaid shirt, jeans, and boots of a rancher, was still in New Mexico.

“I bought the place, so now I’m the one with all the headaches.”

“Do you love it?”

“This beach boy loves the land. The bookworm loves his horses and cows. Give me a hot, dusty day and a cold, dry night, my favorite horse, a couple of cows, and a pretty girl . . .”

“There’s a girl? Okay, now it’s all making sense.”

“Cassidy.” They stepped onto the Fish Hook’s back deck. “She wanted to be here, but someone had to watch the ranch. Literally. We’ve been married three years. Bodie didn’t tell you? I sent you a wedding invitation.”

Matt took a seat at the nearest picnic table. “I couldn’t bring myself to open anything you sent.”

The whirling fans cooled the warm air of the deck. Their server, Maisy, blushed when she saw Matt.

“I’ll have a Coke and a basket of fried pickles,” he said.

“Same for me,” Booker said.

More small talk about Sea Blue Beach, the weather, and if VP George Bush would run for president filled the space until the drinks arrived.

“Here we are.” Maisy held up a camera. “Matt, could we please have a picture for our wall?”

“Of course.”

She hollered into the dining room. “He said yes, y’all. Come on.” The entire place spilled onto the deck, staff and patrons alike.

Booker played photographer.

“Do you like it?” Booker said. “Celebrity life?”

“I like acting. I like the money. I like the open doors. But celebrity comes with a burden. And it sure didn’t help save the Starlight.”

“One of my cowgirls recently found out I knew you and went bonkers. Wanted me to invite you to the ranch, maybe film a movie there so she could be in it.”

Matt grinned and tipped his Coke. “How’d she find out you knew me?”

“I told her, didn’t I?” Booker thanked Maisy for his Coke and took a long drink. “Matt, I was already caught cheating before you blabbed.”

“What?”

“Based on my performance in class, there was no way I could’ve aced the test. Mr. Ellison called Dad. Your big mouth just told the whole school. Ellison was going to give me another chance, but when Principal Conroy got involved ... you know the rest of the story.”

“That doesn’t excuse me, Booker. I made it worse. But why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I was mad and hurt. Thought maybe you did it on purpose because I wrecked your car. I was humiliated, kicked out of the school named for my ancestors. I let myself and the family down.”

“Then why did you lay into me that Christmas at the Starlight?”

“Because I didn’t get to do it when we were seventeen. Eight years of seething came to the surface. I’d just started working on a ranch too, which felt beneath me at the time. Then I started learning about black ranchers and cowboys, their contribution to the west, and got good at my job—really good. Last year, when the owner, who sort of adopted me as his own, offered to sell me the business, I took it.”

Maisy arrived with their fried pickles and refilled their sodas.

“Want to know the irony?” Booker said. “When I got in trouble and Grandpa Morris took me on all his jobs. I learned welding, plumbing, electrical. I can build or fix anything on the ranch. He also told me stories, Matt.”

“What kind of stories?”

“The history of our family, of Sea Blue Beach. How Grandpa Malachi saved Prince Blue on a dark and stormy night. How Sea Blue Beach was built. He knew more history of the Starlight than your granny. He told me about your dad and Uncle LJ growing up with my dad. He’d say, ‘You and Matt best work things out ’cause the Knights and the Nickles go way back.’ Made me realize that history didn’t begin the day I was born, but I was responsible to write the next chapter. I knew I’d forgive you one day. Just not that day.”

“I get it, man.”

“I do have one question, Matt. Why did you tell?”

Matt dipped a fried pickle into the horseradish sauce. “We were in Caffey’s barn drinking beer and one-upping each other.”

“You hated losing that game.”

“And I had the story of all stories. The guys thought it was great. But the girls didn’t understand our little game. They told. Book, if I could, I’d take it all back.”

“I wouldn’t.” Booker laughed softly. “My life turned out for the better. I look at Bodie and think there’s no way I’d want to be a lawyer. Ranching is physical, but it also takes a lot of creativity. I go to bed tired in a good way. My wife is brilliant at gardening and canning. We can survive the coming nuclear holocaust.”

“Harlow said something similar. How our journey is full of events that led to our destiny. I’m glad you’re happy with how things turned out. I’ve spent a lot of years loathing myself over this, and I want to let go but it’s hard.”

“Matt,” Booker said, leaning over his fried pickles. “You’re forgiven. Debt paid. Bodie’s been bugging me for years to get this over with, so please say we’re good so I can visit you in Hollywood.”

Matt laughed. “Absolutely, I mean, if you’re sure.”

“It’s time.”

“Then we’re good.” They slapped hands, sealing the deal. “I’d love to host you in Hollywood.”

“We got to get back the decade we’ve wasted over a situation that a cold Coke, fried pickles, and a bit of humility fixed in fifteen minutes,” Booker said. “So what’s with you and Harlow?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the man goes for the jugular. I asked her to marry me.”

“Probably the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” Booker said. “Who, um, you asking to be best man? Your dad would be honored, I’m sure.”

“He would, but I already picked a guy.”

“Oh, well, good. Send me and Cassidy an invite. We’d love to—”

“You big dolt, it’s you.”

Booker cleared his throat before chomping on a fried pickle. “Name the day” was all he could manage.

Matt tried to speak, but since the space between them crackled with the unspoken, he held onto his craggy sentiment. Sometimes words got in the way.

After a few more pickles and throat clearings, Booker said, “Hey, I’ve been thinking about the Starlight and the town enacting eminent domain.”

“I suppose Bodie told you our petition for a vote failed.”

“You didn’t need a petition, Matt. The town needs permission from the Royal House of Blue to do anything to the Starlight.”

“The House of Blue? What are you talking about?”

“The Starlight and the rock it sits on belongs to the sovereign, royal House of Blue. The land and rink are deeded to Lauchtenland. Grandpa Morris told me because Grandpa Malachi told him. If Harry demolishes the Starlight without proper authority, Sea Blue Beach might be embroiled in an international incident.”

“Booker, are you serious?”

“Grandpa Morris assured me the land and rink are all but official members of the royal family. Tuesday couldn’t even sell it without their approval.” Booker made a face. “He looked me in the eye and said, ‘No one can touch the Starlight without royal permission.’”