Chapter 22 #2
“Exactly. Speaking of scorned lovers, how about the Dr. Love saga? I’m sure you know all about that one. He seems like a real nut!” J.P.’s face lit up like he was personally invested in the story.
“Unfortunately, I do. I know Clinton White and his saga all too well.” Kenny’s face dropped.
J.P. unintentionally hit a nerve. He never fully comprehended idioms in English class. But they suddenly made sense. He wished he could eat his words.
“Oh no. You’re not the producer, are you? If you are, I’m so sorry. I never would have brought him up,” J.P. said apologetically, looking alarmed.
“What producer?” Kenny asked. “I’m the producer assigned to the story for WBS?” she questioned him, confused.
“The network producer Dr. Love tried to seduce?” J.P. asked with hesitation in his voice.
“Oh God, no!” Kenny clarified. “I’ve been in his company and he’s very charismatic, a real charmer, but I never misconstrued that for him coming onto me.
In fact, most men and women accused of murdering their spouses are very bewitching toward the media.
Is that the storyline Inside Edition has been leading with this week? ” Kenny continued nonchalantly.
“Whew! I would have felt like a real jackass. The identity of the producer hasn’t been revealed so I got nervous for a second. But, yes, Inside Edition broke the story last night,” J.P. replied.
“I haven’t watched the news or checked my email since I’ve been down here.
” She paused. “I didn’t really have a choice because the internet and cable weren’t hooked up in the villa, but it’s been surprisingly refreshing.
The whole reason for me ending up here in the first place was a long-overdue, dire need to disconnect and recharge.
Clinton White and a bottle of wine forced me to pull the trigger,” she lamented.
J.P.’s eyes widened, and he looked at her like he was waiting for her to continue the thought.
“Wait!” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air again.
“That came out all wrong. First ‘pull the trigger’ was a poor choice of words given that Ada White is assumed dead.” She retracted.
“In a nutshell, my network WBS and I were supposed to be getting the first interview with Clinton White. Then we got scooped by NBC. I drowned my sorrows in a bottle of wine, came across a pop-up ad for Pelican Pointe while drunkenly surfing the internet, and emailed the reservations department with my credit card information. Apparently, I requested an immediate check-in date,” she shook her head.
J.P. sensed undertones of failure mixed with embarrassment in Kenny’s otherwise optimistic, nonchalant delivery of how and why she ended up on Sea Pines. He surprised himself by how well he thought he was understanding this woman he just met.
“I’m happy you’re here but that’s extreme for an interview that never aired! I can’t imagine where you’d be right now if the interview was broadcast,” J.P said. “Probably in Bora Bora. Or one of those places you hear about but don’t think exist.”
“What are you talking about? It aired last Wednesday. It was a big primetime event that the network—and every other media outlet under the sun—teased for a week. NBC pulled out all the stops for the shebang. I’m sure they’ll get an Emmy nod for the interview,” Kenny argued.
“You really are out of the loop! NBC didn’t air the interview.
It was all over the headlines. I’m not exactly sure what happened.
There was talk of violated gag orders and cease and desist letters, angry attorneys, and an irate judge.
There was a lot of legal jargon in the reports that was over my head.
But, whatever happened, NBC aired two hours of Law and Order reruns last Wednesday rather than the much-anticipated Clinton White interview. ”
Kenny leapt to her feet, threw back her neck with her hands on her head, took a deep breath, and then put her hands on her knees and hovered over J.P. who was staring up at her with a look of bewilderment.
“Do you know what this means? This means my life and career isn’t over! I want to kiss you right now!”
J.P.’s bewilderment turned to amusement. He couldn’t wait to hear what was going to come out of Kenny’s mouth next. He didn’t know her well, but he was thoroughly entertained by the show unfolding in front of him.
“Oh my God,” Kenny blurted. “Did I say that out loud? I don’t really want to kiss you right now.
It’s just an expression, you know? I don’t even know you.
It would be like kissing a stranger. And, well, who goes around kissing strangers?
People do, but not people like me. Don’t worry, I don’t do that. ”
“I’m just going to sit right here and let you have your moment,” J.P. said with a wink and provoking smile. “It seems you have a lot of thoughts flying through that pretty little head, so I’ll give you time to talk through them.”
J.P. watched as Kenny ungracefully plopped back down on the mat next to him, extended her legs long in front of her, crossed her ankles and stared quietly out into the ocean.
J.P. knew he was spot-on with his internal assessment. Thoughts flew through Kenny’s head like cars on the autobahn, at a fast and furious pace. But she grew comfortable driving through the chaos and loud noise of life at rapid speeds. That’s how J.P. operated, too.
He hoped that, even just for this moment, she would find peace in the sound of crashing waves, the intoxicating smell of salt air, the warmth from the sun and gentle breeze. And maybe silence.
“I’m sorry about that.” Kenny clenched her teeth and shook her head.
“In case it wasn’t abundantly clear, the Clinton White story has been a source of tension in my life lately.
I’ll save you the details but losing that interview took a hit on my ego and career.
So much so that I abruptly left town for five weeks to recharge.
This trip is, by far, the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done.
I don’t even cross Central Park from the West Side to the East Side of Manhattan after 7:00 p.m. without weighing the pros and cons. ”
“No need to apologize, Kenny,” J.P. said in a sympathetic tone.
“You found yourself in the right place if you needed to get away from it all. Thinking and reflecting and processing life while sitting on this beach has worked wonders for me over the years,” he continued as he picked up the green tennis ball, tossed it and directed Cliff to go fetch it.
“Thanks, J.P.” Kenny smiled and lifted her oversized tortoise shell sunglasses to her face.
“As for the kiss, the ladies on Sex and the City went around hooking up with strangers all the time. If that’s how you New Yorkers deal with things, don’t let a good ole’ Southern boy like me stop you.
” J.P. tried to change the trajectory of the conversation from serious and personal back to flirty and casual.
“Something tells me you’re not as good and na?ve as you pretend you are, Casanova. And you don’t sound like you’re from the South.” Kenny laughed and playfully tapped her foot against his leg.
“Look at you go all investigative reporter on me. I might have been born and raised in Ohio, but I picked up this Southern charm years ago.”
“I can’t disagree with that. It was very thoughtful of you to have Jose hand-deliver the key lime pie cookies to my door yesterday when he came to check on the pool. I’m not sure I ever tasted anything like those.”
“I wasn’t sure they were going to make it to you.” J.P. smirked insinuating Jose might’ve eaten them mid-delivery. “Those cookies are like crack and Miss Luana is the only dealer on the island with the recipe.”
“I try to stay away from sweets, but I had no control when it came to those. I finished them for breakfast this morning.”
“They have that effect on people. Miss Luana is the head of housekeeping for Low Country Hospitality and when she took them to a company potluck picnic a few summers ago, people nearly lost their minds. She refuses to share the family recipe so people can only get their fix on Thursdays when she bakes for the farmers market. Occasionally, she’ll make a few dozen for a coworker’s birthday or a holiday. ”
“Mr. Cunningham ought to take a play out of the DoubleTree’s playbook and offer Miss Luana’s cookies at check-in.”
“You know about those warm front-desk chocolate chip cookies?” J.P. asked with a smile.
“I’m on the road so much for work that I keep a packed suitcase under my desk.
I know the pros and cons of all the hotel chains, airlines, and car rental companies.
” Kenny laughed. “The complimentary cookies score the Hilton chain a few points in my travel log. But they have nothing on those key lime pie cookies.”
“You might be onto something. Mr. C. is always looking for ways to enhance the customer experience,” J.P. said in a serious tone. “He’ll be gone by the time I get back to the office tonight, but I’ll remember to bring that up with him next week.”
“I can’t believe it’s already after four, I should really get going,” Kenny abruptly announced while she strapped her Apple Watch back on her wrist. “I’ve been out here since this morning,” she said and took a big gulp from her green bottle.
“It looks like you put in a full day,” J.P. smirked motioning to the burn lines on her legs. “When you were sleeping, I noticed your stomach got a bit pink, too. The hot water in your shower is going to sting tonight.” J.P. laughed all while doubting himself.
Again.
Had he gone too far? At what tee, on what course had he lost his confidence in witty banter?
“I guess I missed a few spots,” she tapped her shins as she stood up.
J.P. felt the burn. He knew the skin was crunching around her fire engine red kneecaps. All golfers have suffered that unintentional burn when a match goes to a shootout and your sunscreen is still in the locker room.
Kenny started to gather her belongings while J.P. sat quietly, contemplating his next move. He wasn’t sure if her cheeks were pink from the sun or flushed with embarrassment.
“One last thought about customer satisfaction. Mr. Cunningham is playing with the idea of supplying water toys—kayaks, paddle boards, that kind of thing—to the rental properties,” J.P.
said, methodically thinking about every word and trying to sound business-like.
“He ordered in a few kayaks to test durability and quality. See if they’d be safe for renters to use on their own or if they’d be a liability.
We debate the same issues with gas grills and outdoor electric heaters.
Anyway, I was going to check them out tomorrow.
Since you seem to be a career hotel-hopper, maybe you’d want to join me and share guest feedback? ”
“You want me to be a water toy product tester?” Kenny clarified.
“How would that work? Are you going to send me out into the ocean on a kayak and see if I get swept out by the current? Don’t forget you’re talking to a true crime producer.
This sounds like it has all the elements of a perfect murder,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I almost forgot you’re a trained skeptical overthinker.
” J.P. laughed, half relieved that Kenny’s first thought didn’t jump to the invitation being interpreted as a date, though it easily could have been.
Maybe some part of him wanted her to perceive it that way.
“I appreciate the reminder. The next time I conjure up a murder mystery plot, my target victim will not be a jilted news producer.” J.P. laughed.
“You’re welcome.” Kenny coyly smiled.
“Don’t forget I’ve seen you swim. So, in this plotline you would be the heroine tasked with saving both of us if something were to go wrong while we’re out there.” He tipped his chin to the ocean.
“I feel like I’m being taken advantage of because of my aquatic abilities but I’ll try to look past it,” Kenny joked. “When and where should I meet you?”
“How about 10:00 a.m.? Down the beach a bit,” he said, pointing to the left with his ball launcher.
“There’s a discreet, narrow walkway off the bike path between Whistling Swan and Oyster Catcher.
You’ll see a small sign that says, ‘Private Access.’ Follow the sign and take that path, I’ll meet you at the end on the beach. ”
“Sounds great, I’ll be there.” Kenny flashed a smile as she finished folding up her beach mat and walked towards the dunes.
“See you tomorrow, Kenny.” J.P. beamed as he walked in the opposite direction and launched the tennis ball that Cliff darted after.