Chapter 12

Saturday, November 2

It had been a long day, but a productive one. Mike felt as if that merited a small celebration, so he’d splurged and sent Jim to Provincetown House of Pizza, on Sam’s recommendation.

Pizza, I can afford.

It was everything else that was going to break the bank.

Then he shoved the thought aside. Depression left a sour taste in his mouth, and that would spoil his enjoyment of the pizza. He’d wait until after they’d finished eating to share the bad news.

They sat around the kitchen table, squabbling over who got the last piece of the House Special and the Chicken Bacon Ranch, and drinking soda. It was a great atmosphere.

Have I really only known these guys for three days?

It felt way longer than that.

“Damn, that was good.” Sam let out a contented sigh.

Mike bit his lip. “You have a bit of sauce on your chin.” He resisted the urge to wipe it away.

Sam pinked. “Oops.” He picked up his napkin. “Point me in the right direction, then.”

Fuck it.

Mike grabbed his own napkin and removed the smear of white sauce. “There.”

“Thank you.” Sam’s gaze locked on his.

Mike’s heart did a little jig. Then he spied Ashley reaching toward his last bit of pizza, and he growled. “Do it, and you lose a finger.”

She snorted. “Damn. I thought I’d launch a sneak attack while you were… occupied.”

Mike narrowed his gaze. “I’m never that occupied when it comes to pizza.”

Sam coughed. “Good to know.”

When they’d demolished every last piece, and Jim had let out some very impressive belches, it was time to clear away the boxes and talk. Before he could launch into his speech, Ashley got in first.

“Can I get your opinion on something?” She reached for her laptop and opened the lid. “I’ve been working on flyers, and I wanted you to see them before I hit Send.” She turned the laptop around. “This one is for the Thanksgiving brunch. All it needs is the price.”

Mike smiled. “That looks awesome.” The colors were eye-catching, and she’d put a note across the bottom to say no alcohol would be sold on the premises.

Elliott pointed to that part. “You know they’re gonna turn up with flasks, don’t you? To add a little something to their soda?”

“A flask is one thing. What we don’t want is people turning up with a case of wine.” Mike had visions of the police being called to remove drunken diners.

“Nah, that won’t happen.” Jim’s voice rang with confidence. “I made it clear to everyone I spoke with.”

He stilled. “Everyone you—just who have you been talking to? And what have you been saying?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Have you any idea how many people I ran into on my way to pick up pizza? The streets are full out there. It’s Saturday night, remember?”

Anthony huffed. “Yeah, I remember those. It’s been a while.” He chuckled. “ Now we know why it took you so long. I was about to send out a search party.” He rolled his eyes. “And Provincetown House of Pizza isn’t exactly far from here, is it? I mean, it’s a block away.”

“So I took the long way round. So what? Besides, most folks were on Commercial, and you weren’t gonna starve while I chatted, were ya?” Then Jim grinned. “Aw, you were worried about me. That’s so sweet.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Gone for five minutes, and she panics. Cute. Anyhow, I told everyone I met about Mike, the hotel being relaunched, the brunch, the club, even the classes and recitals.” Jim beamed. “Everything. I even mentioned the no alcohol bit.” His face tightened. “I also told them who’s been sniffing around with his fucked-up offer. That raised a few hackles, I can tell you.”

“You told them about the classes?” Mike gaped at him. “But… we haven’t confirmed that Stephan is prepared to do them yet, and—”

Elliott coughed. “He messaged me half an hour ago. It’s a go. He says he can start next week, and can offer two per week. He also said it doesn’t matter if we only have a few people to start with. Once word gets around…”

Ashley grinned. “I’ll get to work on finishing that flyer, then. I’ve already started it.” She tapped the keyboard.

“Wait a sec. We haven’t even decided what we’re going to charge people yet,” Mike protested.

She rolled her eyes. “Then jump to it. I’m on a roll here.”

“The club is the only thing around here that doesn’t require upgrading,” Sam reminded him. “We’ve got a DJ. All we need to do is buy in the sodas and bottled water, and we’re good to go. I’ve already checked the sound system. Hell, we can organize the first night for this coming Friday.”

Ashley’s eyes sparkled. “Another flyer. I’m on it.” She giggled. “God, this is fun.”

Mike, however, felt as though he was being pulled along by a runaway train.

Sam touched his hand. “It’s all good,” he said quietly. “We need to move fast. We’ve got a lot to get in place if we’re going to put on the shows and bring this place back to life.”

He drew in a deep breath. “I take it your pianist connection came through for you,” he said to Anthony, who nodded, smiling.

“Yeah. Phil spoke with the owners of the Crown & Anchor, and they’re happy for him to come here and play when he’s not working there. They’ve got several acts they use on a regular basis, so it’s not like he’ll leave a hole in their schedule. I said we hadn’t decided on a ticket price yet, but he didn’t seem too concerned about that. I guess it’s all good publicity for him, right?”

“Come up with a price, and I’ll produce a flyer for that too. And if I’m quick, we could have them all by the middle of the week.” Ashley beamed. “It’s like they say in that old TV series. I love it when a plan comes together.”

Mike sighed. Flyers were cheap enough to have printed. The real cost was going to be the renovations.

“By the way, guys…” Ashley smiled. “Thanks for getting my room ready. I can’t wait to use it for the first time tonight. I really appreciate having my own space.”

Anthony inclined his head toward Mike. “A snorer, huh?” The others chuckled.

Mike gasped. “I do not snore.” He frowned and glanced at Ashley. “I don’t, do I?”

“No, but you sure are a wriggler. I don’t want to even ask what you were doing in your dreams last night.” That grin was pure wickedness.

“No, but I do.” Anthony leaned forward, his chin resting on his clasped hands, and batted his lashes. “Do tell, honey. And make it R-rated. We could do with a little heat around here.”

Sam nudged Mike. “You’ve got to tell them sooner or later.”

“Tell us what?” Elliott demanded.

Mike’s heart sank. “I love it that you’re all so enthusiastic, and it’s great that everything’s coming together, but the truth is…” He let out a sigh. “Sam and I went through the whole hotel yesterday and this morning, and what we found is… disturbing.”

Suddenly the room was quiet.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Anthony murmured. “Not that we didn’t have an idea. We’re not blind.”

“Did Nick have any work done on the fabric of the building since he took over the place?”

Sam looked at Jim. “You were here first. What can you tell us?”

Jim twisted his napkin. “Nick bought the place in 2011, using money from the sale of both his house in Boston, and his company. He sank every penny he had into the purchase. But he didn’t put a lot of effort into running the hotel. I guess he assumed people would come stay because hey, this was Provincetown. The drag acts started seven years ago, and they brought in money, sure, but not as much as the hotel could’ve done. And when Polly did her disappearing act, Nick went to pieces. He didn’t care about anything anymore.”

Jim’s words were like an icy layer that settled on them, dispersing their previous good humor.

“We know it looks pretty shabby,” Anthony admitted.

Mike consulted his list. “Any hotel can expect wear and tear, but there’s a lot of it. Door frames, windowsills, nightstands, bed frames… I don’t know when the rooms were last painted, but I’m guessing it was a while ago. The third floor seems to be in the worst state. To breathe new life into the place, we’re talking lumber, paint—a lot of paint—repairs…” He paused. “And that’s not taking the bathrooms into account. There are thirty-three rooms in this hotel, and Sam and I estimate that eighteen of the bathrooms are crying out for an upgrade. For God’s sake, the plumbing alone looks as if it’s still in the nineteenth century.” He dropped the notepad onto the table. “I know I said we’d reopen the hotel, but when you look at what it needs… Sorry, guys, but we just can’t afford it.”

It had been worse than Mike had imagined.

“So what you’re saying is, we need a miracle.” Elliott sighed. “And unfortunately, those are in short supply.”

“That’s if you believe in miracles in the first place.” Anthony stood and placed all the pizza boxes into a pile. “I’ll take these out to the recycling bin.”

It was a somber group of people who sat around the table.

Ashely pushed back her chair. “I think I’ll go to my room and carry on working on these.” She closed her laptop and left the kitchen.

Elliott folded his arms on the table and laid his head on them. “Well, that’s depressed the fuck out of me.”

Mike glanced toward the door. “Where did I leave the bottle of whiskey?”

“Wherever it is, it can stay there,” Sam said in a firm tone. “That won’t help.”

“And that sounds like the voice of experience.”

Sam met his gaze. “I’m not a big drinker, but I once lived with someone who was. It isn’t pretty, watching someone you love slide into oblivion.”

Mike opened his mouth to speak just as Anthony barged into the kitchen.

“Can y’all come with me? Now?” His eyes shone.

They got up and followed him into the lobby. A man stood there, clad in jeans and a thick shirt, covered by a leather jacket. He was maybe in his late forties.

Anthony gestured to Mike. “This is Nick’s nephew. Mike, this is Gabe Driscoll.”

Mike gave Gabe a polite nod. “Good evening.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “I’ll come straight to the point. I’d like two tickets for this Thanksgiving brunch you’re organizing. Jim told me all about it when we met in town.”

Mike smiled. “That’s great, but one, the tickets haven’t even been printed yet, and two, we—”

“That’s okay,” Gabe said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t have any money on me right now anyway.”

“Then just how did you intend paying for them?” Sam demanded.

Gabe’s eyes glittered. “Well, I did think you’d give them to me.”

Jim blinked. “Oh, you did, did you? I don’t recall me telling you they’d be free.”

He chuckled. “Let me explain. I’ll pay for them, but not with cash.” Gabe smiled. “I had something else in mind.”

Elliott snickered. “I’d take some of that in a heartbeat, but your husband would be after me with his shotgun.”

Gabe flushed. “I’m flattered, and yeah, he would, but that isn’t what I meant.” He turned to Mike. “I’m a carpenter by trade. I’m offering my services, to take care of any repairs that need doing. I can supply the lumber too.”

Mike stared at him, his brain unable to compute. “All that—for two tickets?”

Gabe smiled. “I know how it sounds. But I loved Nick like a brother. We became friends not long after he moved here.” His face tightened. “I’m not a man who cries easily, but Nick brought me to tears twice. Once, when that—when someone walked out on him, and again when he died.” He gestured to the hotel. “This was his dream, his happy place. If you want to continue that dream because that’s what Nick would have wanted, then I want to help in any way I can.” His eyes held warmth. “And you might as well know, I’m not the only person around here who thinks like that. Nick was a special guy. If someone—I won’t say his name, but it rhymes with harp—gets his way—P-town would lose part of its history, and those of us who’ve built homes and businesses here? That’s the last thing we want. So expect a lot of offers of help and support.”

Tears pricked the corners of Mike’s eyes as he shook Gabe’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you so much. I … I don’t know what to say.”

Gabe grinned. “ It’s a deal will do just fine.”

He laughed. “Then it’s a deal.”

“I’d better start a list of attendees for the brunch,” Sam said, heading to the front desk.

The door opened, and a man entered. Mike estimated him to be in his late fifties, early sixties.

Gabe broke into a wide grin. “I thought it wouldn’t be long before you showed up.”

The man came forward, offering his hand. “Mike O’Neill? I’m Harry Dexter. I own Provincetown Supplies, a hardware store, near the pier.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Mike shook his hand. “What can I do for you?”

“I met Jim earlier. And we got to discussing your plans for the Velvet House.” His face flushed. “By the way, I love the name change. Nick would love that.”

“You knew my uncle well?”

Harry gave a proud smile. “We were fellow veterans. Nick was a good man.”

“He was a veteran?” Mike had had no idea.

Harry widened his eyes. “Of course. Nick was in Grenada in 1983, when he was just nineteen. After that, he was in Libya, then Iraq. He ended up in the IRR—that’s the Individual Ready Reserve—for four years, and got called up for Panama in ’89. He collected his papers in 1993.”

“Three years before I was born,” Mike murmured. “No one ever told me any of this.” He paused. “I’d love to talk with you sometime about all this.”

“Of course.” Harry’s face glowed. “But as to why I’m here, Jim says you’re gonna renovate the hotel, so whatever you need—timber, paint, you name it—I’ll supply it. Anything for Nick’s Place.”

Mike glanced at Jim. “You really earned your pizza tonight.”

He grinned and puffed out his chest. “Damn, I’m good.”

Mike returned his attention to Harry. “Thank you doesn’t even come close. But I should add a note of caution. You have no idea how much paint we’re going to need. A few cans won’t cover it—literally.”

Harry sighed. “I know Nick never carried out any refurbishments. And he never let on about how bad things were. So yeah, I have a fair idea of what it’ll need. And I’m still offering to supply it.”

Gabe chuckled. “I told you. You’re going to have business owners and townspeople crawling out of the woodwork all over the place to support you.”

It was a little overwhelming. No, scratch that—it was overwhelming as fuck.

Mike’s face grew hot. “Thank you, gentlemen. And I know Nick would thank you too.”

“Now all you need is a lot of hands to make this work.” Harry smiled. “But I don’t think you’ll have to look far. We take care of our own around here.”

“I don’t suppose you guys know of a company that supplies toilets, sinks, tubs, etc., that would be willing to give us a whole load of their stock for free?” Sam asked in a hopeful voice.

Both Gabe and Harry laughed.

“Nothing comes to mind, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” Harry assured him.

They all shook hands once more, and then the two businessmen left. Mike stared at the departing figures through the door.

Provincetown was full of surprises.

We’re going to give it our best shot, Nick.