Acknowledgments I would like to thank my lover, Kathleen DeBold, whose invaluable advice and support guided me once more through the creative process. Thanks to Christine Cassidy, my editor, as always, a great help. I've received wonderful support from all my friends, but I'd like particularly to thank those who encouraged (i.e., nagged) me more than most: Becky, Cindy, Deborah, Dori Anne, Jim, Julie, Karl, and Peggy. An additional thanks to Julie and Joan, who provided additional Rehoboth Beach particulars. Thanks also to the following people, who lent their personalities: Amy, Babo, Deanna, Jessica, Pat, and Peg. I was fortunate to do booksignings for my first book, Stonehurst, at the following bookstores: 31st Street Bookstore (Baltimore, MD), Lammas (D.C.), OutRight Books (Virginia Beach, VA), Phoenix Rising (Richmond, VA), Out & About Books (Orlando, FL), and HerStory Bookstore (Hallam, PA). I thank them all for giving an unknown writer with a debut novel the opportunity to meet new people and gain new experiences. And finally, I would also like to thank the following gay-friendly or gay-owned businesses in Rehoboth Beach who have graciously given permission to use their real names: Blue Moon, Dream Cafe, Lambda Rising, Mano's, Paper Nautilus, Sand in My Shoes, Splash, and Square One. The Paper Nautilus, however, is no longer a B&B, but is now a wonderful Mexican restaurant called Dos Locos. If you have an occasion to visit Rehoboth, please patronize these businesses and tell them you read about them in The Beach Affair. Prologue Candy Emerson breathed the tangy, salty sea air as she walked along the wooden boardwalk to her gym. It was barely light, still too early for most anyone else to be up and about. She paused to watch some gulls attacking a crab scuttling about the sand, one of the unlucky few exposed with the retreat of the tide. The birds fought briefly over the tasty morsel before one screeched triumphantly and sailed away over the dark water. Candy grimaced slightly before continuing her walk. The gym shoes she wore squeaked, but muffled her footsteps on the old wood. At this far end of the boardwalk, no bright patches of new wood marred its weather-beaten surface. The last hurricane had seen fit to damage the south end where the gay men gathered. Some of the townspeople chose to see it as an omen, and they hoped it would keep the gays away. Candy laughed out loud. It would take more than a broken boardwalk to keep the pretty boys from working on their tans. The hair on her neck prickled as she heard running footsteps behind her. Since the gay bashing that had occurred a couple of weeks ago, everyone was on edge. She turned her head as the footsteps came closer, then smiled nervously and let out a deep breath when she saw the runner. It was Mr. Anderson who lived on Rodney Street. Seventy years old, and he still jogged every morning no matter what the weather. He waved enthusiastically as he swept past. Almost to the end of the boardwalk, Candy stopped in front of Bodies By the Beach, the gym she owned. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that its plate glass window had survived yet another night. Anti-gay sentiment was rising in the town, and at least three other gay-owned businesses had been recently vandalized. She'd thought about getting those metal, barred storefront protectors, but that seemed such a drastic measure, and an expensive one. Still, she was cautious as she put the key in the lock. She opened the door and turned on the lights, alert for any movement. Of course there was none. She was getting paranoid. She entered the gym and locked the door carefully behind her. Candy immediately turned off the alarm and then the harsh overhead lights; for her solitary workout, she preferred the more subdued night lights. She was surprised to see used towels and free weights scattered around the carpet in the workout area ? she'd have to talk to Stephan about making sure that everything was in order when he closed up at night. He'd been getting a little careless lately. She concluded he must have been totally distracted last night, and hoped he hadn't gotten bad news about Phillip. In a hurry to get started, Candy decided to leave the mess alone and went directly to the women's locker room. She stripped off her burgundy and gold sweats ? Washington Redskins colors ? and tucked the bottom of her white muscle T into her purple and black gym shorts. She put a terrycloth headband around her forehead, buckled her weight belt loosely around her waist, and put on a new pair of weight-training gloves. She rummaged through her gym bag for her bottle of Evian, then grabbed a fresh towel off the rack and headed to the workout area. In the dim light, the room was almost gloomy; the Nautilus equipment stood like silent sentinels in the eerie quiet. Candy couldn't shake a feeling of unease, but she controlled her jitters and got down to business. Just because she'd retired from professional bodybuilding didn't mean she would let her hard, muscled body go soft. She did a few light exercises ? stretches, calisthenics, some light weight work, the stationary bike ? making sure she could feel the warmth penetrating her muscles. When she felt ready to lift, she loaded two twenty-five-pound plates onto a forty-five-pound barbell and settled it into the grooved holders above the flat bench. She tightened her weight belt carefully and then lay on her back with her legs on either side of the bench. She knew that Stephan would be annoyed that she hadn't waited for him, but she'd been restless that morning and couldn't sleep. Stephan had to know that she'd never do any really heavy lifting without a spotter, but she expected he'd give her the mandatory lecture on the dangers of working out alone when he arrived. Candy lifted the barbell above her head and, inhaling loudly but evenly, brought the bar to her chest. A full exhale and the weight went up. She repeated the lift fourteen more times and then returned the weight to rest in the grooves. She rested only a few minutes before starting a set with twenty pounds more weight. She followed with a third set, then a fourth, adding ten more pounds each time. She sat up and shook out her arms. Only three more sets to go. Candy loved the way her body responded to pyramiding ? increasing the weight a little each time and cranking out the reps. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins, her muscles expanding as they pumped up. The rush it gave her was a physical high that no drug could replicate. She felt incredibly strong and powerful. Her body tingled, and she had the sensation of floating. She added ten more pounds to the bar and lay back down. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, wanting to block out all distractions. She raised the barbell and suddenly felt a sharp pain on her arm. Her muscle spasmed and the weight hit her chest, knocking the breath out of her. Her eyes flew open, but her vision was only a blur. Panicked, she struggled to get a grip on the barbell, but it eluded her. It rolled from her chest to her neck, crushing her windpipe. The pressure increased. She tried to gasp for air, but none came. She clawed at the barbell, her torso and legs moving violently as she tried to extricate herself from the heavy iron stranglehold. Another electric pain shot through her arm. Her body went limp, her arms hanging at her sides. Paralyzed, she felt the weight press down. Harder. A bright red light exploded behind her eyes, then blackness. CHAPTER 1 Lisa Anderson stuck her head into Colleen Fitzgerald's cramped office. "The boss wants to see you," she said. At Colleen's unspoken question, Lisa shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows before she left the room. Sighing, Colleen pulled her rumpled linen jacket over her white cotton blouse and rose from her chair. The fan on the floor in front of her desk made her Indian cotton skirt billow into a bell around her legs. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail as she trudged up the long hallway, passing several offices that were just like her own ? cramped and dingy and devoid of natural light. The faded brown carpet was stained, the walls a dirty white. The harsh fluorescent lighting did little to hide the dreariness of the downtown office building that was like so many others. And the air conditioning was on the fritz again. Colleen could feel the sweat begin to trickle between her breasts. God, another sweltering July day in our nation's capital. If she didn't get out of town soon, she would surely perish from the heat and humidity. She passed through a pair of glass doors and immediately the decor changed. The walls shone with new mauve paint; the plush mauve carpeting matched exactly. Fine reproductions of famous works of art hung in perfect symmetry on the walls, and potted plants held strategic positions. The Muzak wasn't as loud here as in Colleen's area of the building. She rounded the corner and came to a halt in a large airy room. Two secretaries sat at separate desks on either side. One was on the phone. Colleen could hear his voice, soothing and low, as if he were comforting a small child. The other secretary stood on tiptoe and watered a trailing philodendron that perched on top of a file cabinet. Her tight black miniskirt crept up her thighs. Nice legs, Colleen thought fleetingly as she approached the man talking on the phone. Obviously annoyed at the interruption, he looked up and covered the phone with his hand. "May I help you?" "I'm Colleen Fitzgerald." The secretary looked at her blankly. "Mr. Sampson wants to see me." "Just go in. He's on the phone, but shouldn't be long. Talking to his wife." He waved his hand in dismissal and turned his attention back to the call. "Thanks," Colle...
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