Page 20 of Bookworm and the Beast
Busy restaurants, upscale boutiques, art galleries, ice cream stands, and tourist shops stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the bustling downtown and lined its charming waterfront main street.
All of it was centered around Eastport Bay where sailboats dotted the deep blue water, and a yacht-filled harbor spoke of the town’s worldwide reputation as an oasis on the “classic coast” of New England.
When we turned onto famous Oceanview Avenue, the gorgeous scenery and reach-out-and-touch-it connection with nature stole my breath.
Fresh air came in through the window as waves crashed against the rocky shore. Mansion after mansion decorated the hills across the street from the coastline, and even more impressive homes sat atop stone outcroppings that jutted into the Atlantic like the outstretched fingers of a giant’s hand. I counted no less than eight chimneys on one of them.
As we made our way slowly down the winding seaside drive, the driver pointed out massive mansions once owned by wealthy families with names like Vanderbilt, Astor, Duke and Rockefeller.
He said they’d served as sumptuous summer getaways for the industrialist tycoons of the 1920’s before their descendants had given them over to the Eastport Bay Historical Society to preserve and use as museums.
Some of the privately-owned homes were just as beautiful and imposing. It was hard to believe there were people who really lived like this. Whowerethey andwhatdid they do for a living?
Well, I knew who one of them was—Jack Bestia. The driver had known where his house was without me even having to give him the address.
“Oh, I drive people there all the time,” he explained. “He’s got a lot of fans.” Tossing a glance back over his shoulder he asked, “You ever read those Onyx Throne books?”
“Yes. They’re very good.”
“That’s what I hear. I don’t have time to read books that thick, you know? I watch the show, though. Can’t wait for the final season. I hope that Bestia guy finishes the book on time.”
You and everyone else, I thought to myself. Aloud I said, “Me too.”
The car stopped in front of a set of massive iron gates. Beyond them I caught a glimpse of a huge stone mansion so close to the water I wondered if the ocean spray blew into its windows when they were open.
I swiped my credit card to pay the fare and tip. “Thanks for the ride. See you in a couple hours, okay?”
“Call and I’ll be here.” The driver gave a smile before leaving me standing outside the gates.
No one was there to greet me. I looked around and spotted a call box off to one side of the drive. Walking over to it, I pushed a button and waited.
“Yes?” a male voice answered.
A ripple of nerves ran down my spine.You can do this.
“Mr. Bestia? It’s Bonnie Hamelin.”
“Oh no. This is Harrison, Mr. Bestia’s butler. I’ll buzz you in. Just walk up the drive and come to the front doors.”
Oh, the butler.
I told my nerves to stand down anddid as he instructed, waiting until the huge gates swung slowly inward then walking through them and up the short drive to the house.
The property was large, stretching sideways up and down the coastline rather than being deep.
On one side, pristine green grass led to an intriguing tall hedge growing in the pattern of a large square. On the other, the lawn sloped downward toward a rectangular pool and beyond it, a private beach.
Must be nice.
Approaching the tall front door of the mansion, I rang the bell. Even from outside I could hear the rich peels of its melody.
This is it.
My fingers squeezed tightly around the straps of my oversized bag. I was about to see Jack Bestia in person—again. I could only pray he didn’t recognize me from our first humiliating encounter. And that his genitalia had survived it intact.
Be cool, Bonnie. Get in, get the interview, get out.Don’tthink about his genitals.
Hopefully the self-talk would work better this time than last.
