Christmas at the Beach by Wendy Wax Read Free Book Online

would sort of defeat the
     purpose. This will never be a gated property. No one in his right mind would block
     150 feet of prime waterfront or the spectacular view out over the gulf.
    The paparazzi reposition themselves three hundred yards away as required—do they have
     tape measures in their heads? This puts them on the far edge of the no-man’s–land,
     and I hope they get stickers and seagull poop all over them. But the playhouse does
     help block their view of the loggia a little.
    I watch Dustin race in and out of the playhouse. He carries a favorite fire truck
     inside and then some other toys. Troy sets up his camera on a tripod and shoots. I’ve
     mostly given up trying to hide Dustin from the network camera. My famous child is
     one of the reasons we have a television show at all. There’s no getting around it.
     And the show’s too important to all of us for any one of us to walk.
    “You could have told me you were coming to shoot today.”
    “I figured you knew.” Troy is tall and good-looking, and although I don’t plan to
     tell him this any time soon, he’s a really good cameraman. If we needed one besides
     me, which we don’t, he’d definitely be a keeper. But we set out to do a renovation
     show, and when we arrived in South Beach last spring, we found out that the network
     had turned it into a reality series with Troy’s camera focused on us.
    “It’s Christmas Day.” He locks his camera down, leaving it aimed at the door of the
     playhouse to catch Dustin as he runs in and out. I hate that there’s nothing I can
     do about it. “Could there be a better time to let you know where the next season of
Do Over
will be shot?” He says this casually as if it’s not one more slap in the face. Part
     of the network’s strategy has been not revealing the house we’ll be renovating or
     its address until we arrive in the city they’ve selected. Which puts a real crimp
     in the ability to prep the renovation and adds a whole unnecessary layer of stress
     and panic that Troy gets to capture on camera.
    “Do you want to give me a small hint?” I ask because at the moment one more thing
     that I don’t know and have no control over could push me over the edge.
    “They didn’t tell me,” he says, and I look at his face to see if this is true. “They
     think I’ve been turned by the ‘enemy.’ That I have an unhealthy attraction to you.”
    I have no idea what to say to this. He did invite me to edit with him, which Lisa
     Hogan, the network head, whose nickname is “the chief bitch in charge,” didn’t like.
     And he did make fifteen minutes of the worst of our infighting disappear. Sort of
     like that seven minutes of Watergate conversation that took place in Nixon’s oval
     office that was accidentally erased.
    “All I have is a sealed envelope, which is supposed to be opened when you’re all together
     and on-camera.” He loosens the shot so that he can follow Dustin through the playhouse
     windows. I grit my teeth.
    “Time to open presents!” Mom pokes her head out to yell. Everyone troops inside. The
     smell of turkey infuses the air. Christmas music is playing. Mom has a tray of orange
     juices plus a couple of bottles of champagne to turn them into mimosas sitting on
     the game table. A platter of donuts, mini–cinnamon buns, and muffins sits nearby.
    There are a ton of presents piled under the tree. Even though it’s supposed to be
     in the seventies today, someone has lit a fire in the fireplace. We start to tear
     through the presents. In minutes there’s wrapping paper and ribbon all over the floor.
     Troy is filming, and for once I don’t care because it leaves me free to help Dustin
     open his gifts. My son is all about tools and transportation and everyone knows it,
     so he gets a set of toddler-sized tools tucked into an adorable tool belt from Avery
     and Deirdre, a truck pulling a speedboat on a trailer from the Hardins, and a whole
     fire station complete