Katy Lee - Permanent Vacancy

“No can do, ma’am.” A black-bearded face popped out from behind the camera. It was her first glimpse of the cameraman. He looked nice enough with his round head and big cheeks, even if his words weren’t what she wanted to hear. “You signed the release and accepted the terms. We determine what to film.”

“Terms?” A sudden flash of the stack of papers she signed: lots of liability or lack thereof on her side. The camera lens reflected her wavering image. As she stared at herself she watched resignation take over. She’d have to get used to it, beginning now. “Yes, I remember. Let’s just start over, then.” She looked to the host. “Mr. McCrae, would you like that tour now?”

“Call me Colm.” The host leaned in even more. The red flag waved again. Then Gretchen saw that he wore a small black microphone clipped to the lapel of his denim shirt. A sudden realization hit her. Her voice wouldn’t be recorded properly if she wasn’t speaking into a microphone. That had to be why he stood so close.

Gretchen almost laughed aloud at her misplaced paranoia. What was wrong with her? Just because one man in her life had been a bully didn’t make all men bullies.

“Actually, Gretchen,” Colm said, “I’d love to hear more about this town meeting. A bit of tension in the town about a B&B opening on its island could be grand for ratings, wouldn’t you say, Nate?”

The cameraman, who could only be Nate, grunted. “I don’t think that’s what the boss has in mind. He’ll want something more exciting than a town meeting to spike ratings.”

Gretchen searched Colm McCrae’s face. Nate’s was hidden again behind his equipment. “More exciting? Ratings?” she said. “Please don’t tell me you’re looking to fabricate a problem just so you can spike your rankings. I thought this show was about educating people to renovate their homes. I thought you were above such manipulating tactics.”

Nate and Colm laughed, Colm’s more rich than the cameraman’s. “I’m not sure there’s a show out there that isn’t concerned with ratings, Miss Bauer.”

“Well, there’s no big story to tell here, so you can get that out of your head. Now, do you want the tour, or don’t you?”

Colm leaned down mere inches from her face. He put his arm over her shoulder. She felt his cool, minty breath on the same cheek that held a memory of a hot, searing pain. She held stock-still and gave nothing away. The door squeaked behind her as Colm pushed it wider and said, “After you, love.”

Gretchen swung around to enter, welcoming the space between them. Colm’s boots hit her wooden floors with heavy clunks as he followed her in. She flinched with every stomp, still a bit unnerved.

He passed her and surveyed the foyer with a growing frown on his clean-shaven face. His gaze fell on the pitiful staircase and stopped. Where once a grand flight of stairs had curved up to the second-floor balcony, now only stair treads remained, the railing gone.

“The door needs a little oil and it’ll be right as rain,” Colm announced. “But the interior is a whole other story. Three weeks to completion? We won’t have the house done this side of Christmas.” He covered his mic and whispered, “Troy’s lost his mind.”

Gretchen’s ears perked to Colm McCrae’s last words. Not so much the words but how he said them.

He’d dropped his Irish accent.

“Wait,” she interrupted. “You’re not really Irish?”

He swung a quick look at her. “Of course I’m Irish.” He flashed a smile of straight white teeth. “You want to kiss me?”

“What? No!” She shook her head to clear the image he’d conjured up in her mind. “I know I just heard you speak with no accent. Or at least not an Irish one.”

Colm’s grin deepened. “Good catch. I suppose I slipped. Don’t tell anyone. I have an image to uphold.” At his wink Gretchen pressed her lips together. The past eight years of her life were about upholding a man’s image. She wasn’t about to start again for another, not even the famous Colm McCrae.

She folded her arms. “I can’t believe this. You’re nothing but a big phony.”

Colm’s smile evaporated. “Don’t worry about the tour, Miss Bauer. We have a lot of work to do. I’ll inspect the place today myself and decide what projects to start with. You’re welcome to check in periodically.”

“Check in? Mr. McCrae, I live here.”

“You live here? Kind of dangerous, don’t you think? Especially with your asthma.”

“My asthma is under control as long as I have my inhaler, not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Does this place even have running water and electricity?”

“Surprise, surprise, Mr. McCrae, I not only have good ears, but I’m also pretty handy.” She wished she could have handled the whole renovation, but that would have taken years, and money she didn’t have.

“Pretty.” He looked right at her. “Aye, I see that.”

Gretchen opened her mouth at his gall.

He held up his hands. “Look, Goldie, I’ll admit I’m impressed with your skills, but even still, it’s not customary to have the home owner on-site during renovating and shooting. It’s a work zone. It could be right dangerous. Murder, really. Troy would never allow—”

“Too bad, because I’m not going anywhere. I have a vested interest in the outcome of this project. This is my home, but in four weeks, it will also be my business and my future.”

Colm sputtered, “Love, I hate to tell you, but there’s no way you’re opening in four weeks.”

“Your director promised me three. I’m holding you all to it. Now, if you’ll follow me upstairs, I’ll show you the guest rooms you’re to start with. Once you’re finished upstairs I can begin decorating.”

“Seems like you have things all planned out.”

“I’m in charge now, if that’s what you mean.” Gretchen stepped past him. “This way, Mr. McCr— Aaah!” Splintering wood smothered her scream. One moment she stood in her foyer, the next, her floor swallowed her whole.

* * *

“Gretchen!” Colm dropped to his knees and approached the gap in the floor where less than a second ago the home owner with her mass of golden curls fell through. “Are you all right?”

“McCrae, Irish accent,” Nate said from behind. A quick glimpse showed the camera still rolling. Colm clenched his fists and jaw. The show was the last thing he cared about at the moment. Nate’s raised bushy eyebrows reminded him what he cared about didn’t matter. He wasn’t the boss.

“Goldie, love, are you all right?” He pushed out the thick brogue, hating it more now than ever—but not as much as the fact that she didn’t respond. Please, God, be with the young woman.

Colm peered past the broken boards into a dark and dank cellar. His eyes adjusted quickly enough to capture Gretchen lying right below. She didn’t look to have fallen far, from what he could tell by the low basement ceiling, but he couldn’t be sure. “Our home owner has taken a tumble through her foyer floor,” Colm said, trying to play his part for the camera, when really he wanted to jump in after her. “This could be right serious and just woeful. She’s not responding to my call.”

Colm stood abruptly, knowing Nate would follow on his heels. After two years of working together on the show, they’d learned each other’s movements, even though nothing like this had ever happened on location. Sure, there were mishaps, but those were minor or typically used for commercial breaks. Viewers liked the excitement of staying tuned in to find out what happened. And when the accident had been remedied and all was well again, they sat back on their couches and watched on. Minor mishaps worked great, but a serious injury could ruin him. It could send him back to the place he never wanted to go again.