Venus was about to pop out of his forehead. Ian didn’t know what that meant but he heard a teacher at school talk about how the goddess Venus was born when she burst out of another God’s head. That’s what Ian felt like.
He sat up on his little bed and got a look at his reflection in the window. His eyes were red and puffy, the right one almost swollen shut. Blood had caked on his temple where one of the rocks Howie Shupe had thrown at him connected.
Ian pulled down the collar of his tee shirt, now ripped and holey. He looked at the slashes that cat had made. It wasn’t the cat’s fault. Howie had picked up the stray by the scruff, shook it in the air and then threw it on him. Still, Ian hated cats. He jumped when he touched the scratches the claws had made in his neck and shoulder.
His head was just pounding. He could see himself holding his head in his hands, his reflection divided by the crack in the window. He reached out and put his fingers on the crack, hoping not too much cold air would come in when the winter came.
“Boy!” He heard his uncle yell. It made him jump. Uncle Nate’s squalls always made him jump. “Boy, I said git yer worthless butt in here! Don’t make me come afta you!”
Ian was still a little wobbly but managed to get up off the bed and open the bedroom door. He could see his Uncle Nate standing there, hands on his hips and fire in his eyes. Before he could take a step more, Nate grabbed him by the scruff and yanked him the rest of the way in the room.
Uncle Nate slammed him down on the floor and pointed. “You give this kid that shiner?”
Ian tried to focus his eyes. The swift kick in the pants didn’t help much. “Answer me boy!”
The drawn back fist came into focus. Ian looked toward the two figures that had been in the corner of his eyes. There stood fat old Howie Shupe, arms crossed, smile on his face and a big black eye. Beside him was his Mama, hands balled into fists and steam coming out her nostrils.
“Don’t you even try to lie yer way outta this one, young man. Two other little boys already told me what you done.” Mrs. Shupe sneered.
Nate yanked the boy to his feet. Ian looked at his Uncle. “Yes, sir. I whomped him.”
“You got a devil in you child. I swan, you just the devil reborned.” Nate popped him on the back of the head. “Why’d you beat up this boy?”
“I didn’t beat ‘im up, Uncle Nate. I was a tryin’ to git away from ‘im”. Ian swore.
“You liar!” Howie had a speech problem, so it sounded more like “Ew why-ah!” He looked at Nate and then to his mother. “He done hid a hind a twee, den jumped on my back and beat me up! I tawt he gonna keyuw me.”
He rubbed his fat little hands together and faked some sobs to his mother. “I was so skeered, Mommy. I tawt I was gonna die!”
“Oooh, sweetheart.” Mrs. Shupe pulled the boy to her hip and kissed the top of his head. “The little rat is gonna get punished. Mommy promises.” She whipped her head to Nate.
Howie squinted his eyes and smiled at Ian. Ian waited for whatever was coming next. He knew he didn’t have a choice. It came in the form of his Uncle Nate grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off the ground.
“Why’d you beat this boy?” Nate shook him and Ian struggled for breath. “He’s fat and ugly but that ain’t no scuse.”
Ian clawed at the hands around his throat. Mrs. Shupe reached over and swatted at his Uncle. “Lan’ sakes, Nate Ransom, don’ kill the little brat until we gets a good confession.”
Nate threw Ian down in the floor. His uncle kicked at the pile he’d made of Ian. “Kitch yer breath dammit, and tell me why.”
“I dint do it, Uncle Nate. I swear. I was jus’ tryin to git away. I swan!” Ian gasped. “He was a beatin’ me up!”
“Ew whyah!” Howie screamed.
Nate whipped his head toward Ian’s accuser. “Shut up, Butterball! I’m talkin’ to the devil. When I wants a list a yer sins, I’ll ask.”
“Nate Ransom, there is no sense in…”
“You, too, bitch.” Nate cut Miss Shupe off and raised his backhand. She grabbed her son and took a step backwards. “Now, what was the fat kid a beatin’ ya up fer?”
“Which time?” Ian had to ask.
“Which time?” Nate straightened up his shoulders. “Whatcha mean which time?”
Ian had had enough. He wobbled up off the floor and put his hands on his hips in defiance. “Ain’t that hard a question Uncle Nate. If ya wants to know why he was a beatin’ me up, ya gots to tell me if was this morning when he riled that old stray cat up and hit me wif it until I gived him ma lunch, or after school when he threw rocks at me cause he didn’t like the butter sandwiches I had in m’poke!”
“He ain’t done it!” He incensed mother insisted. “That child’s a lyin’!”
Ian was busy looking at Howie who was looking back with a grin. Ian almost yelled when he felt his uncle’s rough hands grab him. “Let me see you, boy.”
Nate grabbed Ian by the chin and craned Ian’s head roughly from side to side. He touched the bloody knot on his temple. Then he ripped up his shirt and touched the bloody scratches all over Ian’s belly. “I’ll be damned.”
Ian had never seen that look on his uncle’s face before. He put his hands on Ian’s trembling shoulders and he slowly turned his head until he locked eyes with Howie Shupe. Nate was on his knees, so he and the boy were eye to eye.
Howie Shupe started trembling. “I dint do dat. That kid’s cwazee, a cwazze whyah. He jump me aftuh school an’ beat me up.”
Nate stood up and reached behind the boy and his mother. Ian took a shocked breath when Nate whipped his shotgun from the frame of the door, cocked it and pointed it at Howie. Mrs. Shupe screamed.
Nate whipped his aim from Howie to his mother. “Shet the fuck up bitch. I got two shots. You wanna go first, open yer trap one more time…” Ian knew the man meant business.
“Now…” Nate pointed the Winchester back at Howie. “Fat ass, why you beat this boy up? He aint got nothing, and you decide ta whip ‘is ass fer his lunch. Then do it agin, cause ya didn’t like the spoilins?”
Howie was physically shaking. His tears weren’t fake this time. “I don’ wike buttah sanniches…” he wined.
“Sa that gives you the right ta jump this boy twict?” Uncle Nate’s eye was beading done the barrel. “Who’s the “whyah” now fat ass?”
Howie peed in the floor. “I sawwy.”
“Tain’t good ‘nuff.” Nate spit. “First ya beats this kid twict, then when he pokes ya in the eye ya go running home ta mommy like the fat ass sissy you is and lie.” Nate took a step toward the in shocked mother and the urine smelly kid. “Whip ‘is ass woman.”
“What?” Mrs, Shupe said.
He flashed the gun at her. “I said whoop his ass! Now!”
Sobbing, Mrs. Shupe turned the boy across her knee and swatted at his behind.
“I said whoop it, not tap his hiney!”
Ian could see the woman grit her teeth. The next crack made a pop. The next even louder. When she was satisfied Nate was satisfied she stood up and let the screaming child fall to the floor. Nate reached down and yanked the chubby boy to his feet.
“You listen ta me, kid. You ever come near Ian agin, if you so much as even look at him from crossed the road…I’ll kill ya.”
“Yeth tha.” Howie rubbed his eye and nodded. “I stay fah fah away.”
“Now git!” Nate kicked the door open. Howie was out almost faster than humanly possible for a child of his girth to move.
“There won’t be any more trouble Mr. Ransom.” Mrs. Shupe tried to be dignified.
“No they won’t.” He grinned at her, gun still pointed in her direction. “I never make a promise I don’t keep.”
Mrs. Shupe nodded her head and backed slowly out the door. When she disappeared from view, Ian saw her shaky hand come back and quietly pull the door to.
It was quiet for a moment, the stink of urine and sweat filled Ian’s nostrils. He should have been prepared for the swift whap of his uncle’s backhand across his cheek. It caught Ian by surprise and knocked him to the floor.
“Don’t you ever make me hafta fight yer battles agin!” Nate reached down and grabbed Ian off the floor by the shirt and britches. It knocked his breath out when he slammed him back down on the floor.
Ian could feel Howie’s urine soaking into his clothes as his uncle used Ian’s body as a rag to clean the floor. The urine stung the scratches already there and the new ones being made by the splinters of the old floor as he was drug back and forth across it.
Showing posts with label The Past. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Past. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Vignette #141: Nobody Remembers
David Turner sat stunned in his penthouse suite. The cat purred quietly in his lap as he stroked it, closing its eyes in contentment.
The old man stared at the phone. He was torn. Should he go? Should he stay? He wished he could say that it was the first time in his life that his heart was crushed and he didn’t know what to do next. He closed his eyes and prayed silently, “Please God let this be the last.”
He remembered sitting in a hospital room once before thinking that it had all come tumbling down. He remembered staring at the body in the bed and being more paralyzed than the man hooked up to all the wires and tubes. It was the end of it all, and he knew it.
But something else happened. Someone else came along with a lifeline. He feared it. He was so ready for it all to be over, no matter what the consequences. What did happen? What was it that spared him the shame and kept the ball rolling?
“Oh yes…yes.” He said out loud.
The room had very little light. It must have been about this same time of night. David was so much younger then, and so much more worried about the consequences. The accident had been bad enough, but this? How did this happen?
He looked at the once handsome man in the bed, the one now with a face stitched back together like an old quilt. They could fix most of it eventually, but he’d never be the same, look the same. They could afford the best. Things had paid off. They had the money, plenty of money. Now they just didn’t have the handsome leading man.
The man would live, but they both knew his fate. He didn’t say much; too much pain, too much in mourning for what was lost. The doctors could fix him, but who was going to fix them?
He had to tell him. David had no choice. He had to know. The man’s face was gone, and now he had to be told his wife was gone as well.
The patient moaned. It was almost as if he could read his mind. David smiled bitterly. It had always been like that. It’s what had made them the perfect team. If they could just figure out what to do next, maybe they still could be. Without her was it even possible?
David hadn’t heard the other man come in the room. He barely remembered a small light flooding the gray and then going dark again. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Dave?”
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and focus. David hoped the man could see his weak smile in the dark.
“How’s he doing?” He asked.
David just nodded his head.
“Does he know?”
Turner sighed. “About her?” The following silence answered both their questions.
“I almost didn’t find him. You weren’t in your room and I knew good and well he wasn’t using his real name. Then I remembered…Ernie Newcastle.”
“What better way to hide than to use your real name, the one nobody remembers or even knew.”
“Lucille knew all the tricks.”
David whipped his head around and stared him down in the dark. “Shhh!”
“You’re right.” David felt the apologetic pat on his shoulder. “Let’s step back to your room, where we can talk without disturbing him.”
David made sure the bedclothes were snug and pulled tight before they left and walked in silence to the nicer end of the hospital.
“They’re releasing me tomorrow.” David said as they shut his door.
“You should have been released a week ago.”
“Without Lucille here to make sure I stayed…”
The man shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would she do something like this?”
David sighed and thumped down on the bed. “Jamey and I always used to joke ‘Whose wife is crazier’. I always thought it was mine hands down, turns out it was his.”
“Are you sure that body is Lucille’s?”
“I’d give anything right now if it wasn’t. If it was my wife, I’d know that everything was under control.”
“You have no doubt?”
“There will always be doubt.” David looked up. “I had to do the I.D. There was no way to tell from the body, but the jewelry. The jewelry was hers, almost all of it.”
“All of it?”
“It was like she snapped, covered her self in every ring and necklace she ever owned, set fire to the house and then hung herself as the place burned down around her.” David looked at the floor. “It was her body, but the actions? That definitely wasn’t Lucille.”
The man sat down beside David on the bed. “And your wife?”
“Haven’t seen or heard from her, not since the phone call. Lucille said was handling it. She always took care of the messy stuff.” David stood up and walked to the window, staring out into the dark. “Somewhere out there is my lunatic wife and my baby boy.”
“Maybe once she hears about Lucille she’ll come back.”
Turner almost laughed. “Not a chance. She wasn’t nearly as crazy as we thought. She’s gone, and no one’s going to find her.”
“We’ll find her.” He stood and walked over to where his friend forlornly gazed out the window. “I promise you David, some day, some how. We’ll find her.”
David turned around to face him. “It’s too late, the game’s over. This is the end. Without Lucille, the jig is up.”
His friend nodded and walked to a chair in the corner. He started to sit, but froze. He put his fingers to his lips and stood up. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” David scoffed. “Lucille knew it was over. She took the chicken’s way out and left Jamey and I holding the bag.”
“Of course she knew, but you know as well as I do that Lucille would never take the easy way out.” He began to pace the room. “She never did anything, anything, unless it was the means to an end.”
“End is right.” David snorted.
“No.” Herman Elysian smiled. “Every end leads to a beginning, my friend. I’ve got an idea…”
The old man stared at the phone. He was torn. Should he go? Should he stay? He wished he could say that it was the first time in his life that his heart was crushed and he didn’t know what to do next. He closed his eyes and prayed silently, “Please God let this be the last.”
He remembered sitting in a hospital room once before thinking that it had all come tumbling down. He remembered staring at the body in the bed and being more paralyzed than the man hooked up to all the wires and tubes. It was the end of it all, and he knew it.
But something else happened. Someone else came along with a lifeline. He feared it. He was so ready for it all to be over, no matter what the consequences. What did happen? What was it that spared him the shame and kept the ball rolling?
“Oh yes…yes.” He said out loud.
The room had very little light. It must have been about this same time of night. David was so much younger then, and so much more worried about the consequences. The accident had been bad enough, but this? How did this happen?
He looked at the once handsome man in the bed, the one now with a face stitched back together like an old quilt. They could fix most of it eventually, but he’d never be the same, look the same. They could afford the best. Things had paid off. They had the money, plenty of money. Now they just didn’t have the handsome leading man.
The man would live, but they both knew his fate. He didn’t say much; too much pain, too much in mourning for what was lost. The doctors could fix him, but who was going to fix them?
He had to tell him. David had no choice. He had to know. The man’s face was gone, and now he had to be told his wife was gone as well.
The patient moaned. It was almost as if he could read his mind. David smiled bitterly. It had always been like that. It’s what had made them the perfect team. If they could just figure out what to do next, maybe they still could be. Without her was it even possible?
David hadn’t heard the other man come in the room. He barely remembered a small light flooding the gray and then going dark again. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Dave?”
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and focus. David hoped the man could see his weak smile in the dark.
“How’s he doing?” He asked.
David just nodded his head.
“Does he know?”
Turner sighed. “About her?” The following silence answered both their questions.
“I almost didn’t find him. You weren’t in your room and I knew good and well he wasn’t using his real name. Then I remembered…Ernie Newcastle.”
“What better way to hide than to use your real name, the one nobody remembers or even knew.”
“Lucille knew all the tricks.”
David whipped his head around and stared him down in the dark. “Shhh!”
“You’re right.” David felt the apologetic pat on his shoulder. “Let’s step back to your room, where we can talk without disturbing him.”
David made sure the bedclothes were snug and pulled tight before they left and walked in silence to the nicer end of the hospital.
“They’re releasing me tomorrow.” David said as they shut his door.
“You should have been released a week ago.”
“Without Lucille here to make sure I stayed…”
The man shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would she do something like this?”
David sighed and thumped down on the bed. “Jamey and I always used to joke ‘Whose wife is crazier’. I always thought it was mine hands down, turns out it was his.”
“Are you sure that body is Lucille’s?”
“I’d give anything right now if it wasn’t. If it was my wife, I’d know that everything was under control.”
“You have no doubt?”
“There will always be doubt.” David looked up. “I had to do the I.D. There was no way to tell from the body, but the jewelry. The jewelry was hers, almost all of it.”
“All of it?”
“It was like she snapped, covered her self in every ring and necklace she ever owned, set fire to the house and then hung herself as the place burned down around her.” David looked at the floor. “It was her body, but the actions? That definitely wasn’t Lucille.”
The man sat down beside David on the bed. “And your wife?”
“Haven’t seen or heard from her, not since the phone call. Lucille said was handling it. She always took care of the messy stuff.” David stood up and walked to the window, staring out into the dark. “Somewhere out there is my lunatic wife and my baby boy.”
“Maybe once she hears about Lucille she’ll come back.”
Turner almost laughed. “Not a chance. She wasn’t nearly as crazy as we thought. She’s gone, and no one’s going to find her.”
“We’ll find her.” He stood and walked over to where his friend forlornly gazed out the window. “I promise you David, some day, some how. We’ll find her.”
David turned around to face him. “It’s too late, the game’s over. This is the end. Without Lucille, the jig is up.”
His friend nodded and walked to a chair in the corner. He started to sit, but froze. He put his fingers to his lips and stood up. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” David scoffed. “Lucille knew it was over. She took the chicken’s way out and left Jamey and I holding the bag.”
“Of course she knew, but you know as well as I do that Lucille would never take the easy way out.” He began to pace the room. “She never did anything, anything, unless it was the means to an end.”
“End is right.” David snorted.
“No.” Herman Elysian smiled. “Every end leads to a beginning, my friend. I’ve got an idea…”
Friday, January 14, 2011
Chapter 27: Body Bags
Book Two: Yesterday Echoes
David Turner sat stunned in his penthouse suite. The cat purred quietly in his lap as he stroked it, closing its eyes in contentment.
The old man stared at the phone. He was torn. Should he go? Should he stay? He wished he could say that it was the first time in his life that his heart had been crushed and he just didn’t know what to do next. He closed his eyes and prayed silently to “Please God let this be the last.”
He remembered sitting in a hospital room once before thinking that it had all come tumbling down. He remembered staring at the body in the bed and being more paralyzed than the man hooked up to all the wires and tubes. It was the end of it all, and he knew it.
But something else happened. Someone else came along with a lifeline. He feared it. He was so ready for it all to be over, no matter what the consequences. What did happen? What was it that spared him the shame and kept the ball rolling?
“Oh yes…yes.” He said out loud.
The room had very little light. It must have been about this same time of night. David was so much younger then, and so much more worried about the consequences. The accident had been bad enough, but this? How did this happen?
He looked at the once handsome man in the bed, the one now with a face stitched back together like an old quilt. They could fix most of it eventually, but he’d never be the same, look the same. They could afford the best. Things had paid off. They had the money, plenty of money. Now they just didn’t have the handsome leading man. They didn't have anything anymore.
The man would live, but they both knew his fate. He didn’t say much; too much pain, too much in mourning for what was lost. The doctors could fix him, but who would to fix them?
He had to tell him. David had no choice. He had to know. The man’s face was gone, and now he had to be told his wife was gone as well.
The patient moaned. It was almost as if he could read his mind. David smiled bitterly. It had always been like that. It’s what had made them the perfect team. If they could just figure out what to do next, maybe they still could be. Without her was it even possible?
David hadn’t heard the other man come in the room. He barely remembered a small light flooding the gray and then going dark again. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Dave?”
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and focus. David hoped the man could see his weak smile in the dark.
“How’s he doing?” He asked.
David just nodded his head.
“Does he know?”
Turner sighed. “About her?” The following silence answered both their questions.
“I almost didn’t find him. You weren’t in your room and I knew good and well he wasn’t using his real name. Then I remembered…Ernie Newcastle.”
“What better way to hide than to use the name nobody remembers or even knows.”
“Lucille knew all the tricks.”
David whipped his head around and stared him down in the dark. “Shhh!”
“You’re right.” David felt the apologetic pat on his shoulder. “Let’s step back to your room, where we can talk without disturbing him.”
David made sure the bedclothes were snug and pulled tight before they left and walked in silence to the nicer end of the hospital.
“They’re releasing me tomorrow.” David said as they shut his door.
“You should have been released a week ago.”
“Without Lucille here to make sure I stayed…”
The man shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would she do something like this?”
David sighed and thumped down on the bed. “Jamey and I always used to joke about ‘Whose wife is crazier’. I always thought it was mine hands down, turns out it was his.”
“Are you sure that body is Lucille’s?”
“I’d give anything right now if it wasn’t. If it was my wife, I’d know that everything was under control.”
“You have no doubt?”
“There will always be doubt.” David looked up. “They made me identify her. There was no way to tell from the body, but the jewelry. The jewelry was hers, almost all of it.”
“All of it?”
“It was like she snapped, covered her self in every ring and necklace she ever owned, set fire to the house and then hung herself as the place burned down around her.” David looked at the floor. “It was her body, but the actions? That definitely wasn’t Lucille.”
The man sat down beside David on the bed. “And your wife?”
“Haven’t seen or heard from her, not since the phone call. Lucille said she was handling it. She always took care of the messy stuff.” David stood up and walked to the window, staring out into the dark. “Somewhere out there is my lunatic wife and my baby boy.”
“Maybe once she hears about Lucille she’ll come back.”
Turner almost laughed. “Not a chance. She wasn’t nearly as crazy as we thought. She’s gone, and no one’s going to find her.”
“We’ll find her.” He stood and walked over to where he’s friend forlornly gazed out the window. “I promise you David, some day, some how. We’ll find her.”
David turned around to face him. “It’s too late, the game’s over. This is the end. Without Lucille, the jig is up.”
His friend nodded and walked to a chair in the corner. He started to sit, but froze. He put his fingers to his lips and stood up. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” David scoffed. “Lucille knew it was over. She took the chicken’s way out and left Jamey and I holding the bag.”
“Of course she knew, but you know as well as I do that Lucille would never take the easy way out.” He began to pace the room. “She never did anything, anything, unless it was the means to an end.”
“End is right.” David snorted.
“No.” Herman Elysian smiled. “Every end leads to a beginning, my friend. I’ve got an idea…”
It had come in a three fisted punch. He knew he was falling and for the first time in his life he didn’t care. It had happened so fast and so unexpectedly he was still reeling. The speed at which it all took place was the sucker punch he never saw coming.
The cold zip of a body bag drew his attention. He couldn’t help but stiffen up as the men picked up the body and placed it on another gurney. He watched it wheeled around the house out of sight. He shook his head. How many more body bags would he have to watch roll out of sight?
Reese Shores put his head in his hands and begged for it all to stop. He sat shivering in the cold night air, dressed in a towel on the steps of the balcony. Ralphie, wet and smelling like a dog sat quietly beside him, watching silently as men dressed in blue, men dressed in green and white and graying figures walked all around them.
It was a nightmare. The blood and the questions. The sirens and the questions. The needles and the wires. The condemning faces and the questions. The reporters trying to cross the police tape, the neighbors shouting what happened, and the questions.
Reese stared into the now pink water of the pool. How could something so wonderful turn so quickly into such a bloody mess? Would everything he touched always have such an unhappy ending?
“Thought you might could use these.” A disembodied hand shoved a bundle of clothes under his nose.
He looked up. “Thanks, Jess.”
His brother nodded as Reese stood and pulled on the sweat pants. He started to pull the tee over his head when he noticed the writing. He held it up for his brother to read, “It’s big and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Sorry, dude. I just grabbed something from the drawer.” He apologized.
“Jerk.” Reese mumbled and put it on anyway. He sat back down beside Ralphie as he pulled on the sneakers. “Where’s Dad?”
“He found the cat, she tried to get in the ambulance with Ian. Dad took it over to the house.”
“Ronnie…oh God.” Reese started to panic. “Some one needs to tell Ronnie. He can’t just see this on the television.”
Jesse put his arm around his brother. “Calm down, we’ve already called Susan and Jeremy. They’re gonna go ahead and take him fishing at the crack of dawn, keep him away from anything and everything until we know something for sure.”
“But what if…” Reese started to ask.
“Don’t go there, Reese.” Jesse warned. “The little guy’s been through enough. Ian will pull through. There is no way God gave his son back to him just in time for…”
“Yeah…” Reese looked at the pool water again. “Mom?”
“Went in the ambulance with Ian. Dad and I will stay here until the police finish up. Are they through with you or do you have to go down to the station, too?”
“I have to go down in the morning and sign a statement.” Reese looked back at his brother. “I don’t understand why they carted Kellen off like that.”
“Dude, he’s a former cop. He fired a gun and killed somebody.”
“It was self defense.” Reese insisted.
“But you didn’t see the shots. The only one’s that did can’t verify it was self-defense. He’ll be cleared but until they get it all verified they’ll keep him in custody.”
The brothers were silent, watching the spectacle that had once been peace darting all around them.
“Reese?” Jesse finally asked. “What happened?”
Reese shook his head. “All I know is one minute it was heaven and the next bodies were falling out of the sky.”
“Man…”
“Been happening way too much for me.” Reese choked back the burning in his throat. “Afghanistan…Iraq…the funeral and now this.”
“None of that was your fault.”
“I know, bro, but how many times do I have to be in the right place at the wrong time?”
“Look, everything’s gonna work out. This will all be over with soon and things will get back to normal.”
Reese looked his brother in the eye. “Jesse, things are never going to be normal again.”
Jesse punched his brother as hard as he could in the shoulder. “Dammit, Reese, don’t you do that again! Don’t you go pulling yourself into that weird little ball. I swear Reese I will beat the ever living crap outta you.”
A man dressed in white and green came over to stand in front of them. “Which one of you is Reese?”
“I am.” Reese stood up.
The man read his tee shirt and smirked. “Figures.”
“I’m Reese Shores. Why?”
“He’s asking for you. Won’t let us take him to the hospital without you.”
Reece’s ears weren’t sure they heard correctly, “He’s awake?”
“And won’t talk to anyone but you…follow me.”
In a moment Reese was being helped into the back of an ambulance. The man got in behind him,shut the doors and banged on the windows, “Okay, let’s go…”
Reese lost his balance as the ambulance took off, siren beginning to blare. He looked at Billy, whiter than any human being should be, gauze stuffed into a hole in his shoulder, but smiling into his eyes.
“Reese…”
“Shhh…don’t talk. You’re going to be fine. We’re all gonna be fine.” Reese grabbed Billy’s hand.
“What a weekend…” Billy coughed.
“Yeah, this is one to talk about back home.”
“Reese…”
“Shh…be quiet now, just rest…”
“We’ve given him something for the pain. He’ll be out in a second.” An attendant said.
“No, no…” Billy struggled, “I gotta know…?”
“What? Billy, what?”
Billy’s eyes started to flutter, falling into the sedative drip. He slurred but Reese understood him fully, “Who the hell is Darla Hutton?”
She wished she had brought the baseball bat after all. No one seemed to recognize her, and no one cared. It had taken her an hour to just get from the parking lot to the Emergency Room entrance itself.
Fortunately the one person who did recognize her was that bulldozer of a guy from “Open Fields”. He stood in front of her and pushed through to the doors. Cops were lined across the entrance arm in arm to keep the pandemonium from breaking inside.
“No one gets through.” The cop stared down the bulldozer. The bulldozer huffed. “Sorry.”
She peered around him and pulled down the dark glasses, showing off her red, bloodshot eyes. The cop recognized her. It took him a second but he put two and two together. She heard him say clearly but softly. “Let her through.”
A small opening was made. She felt herself being shoved toward it. She grabbed the bulldozer’s hand. “Him, too.”
“Just you ma’am.” The cop said.
“He’s my brother.” She lied. “We’re like his family.”
The cop took a deep breath. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” They popped through the line of cops and found themselves standing inside in ER.
“You didn’t have to do that, Ms. Allen.” The bulldozer said.
“I’d still be in the parking lot if it weren’t for you.” She said. “I know you…from…”
“Yes, ma’am. Ripley, Ripley Gunther.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I got a call from Jeremy Tyson.” He said. “He told me what happened.”
“Ronnie.” Saxon blurted out. “Have they told Ronnie?”
Ripley shook his head. “No ma’am. They won’t say anything, sticking with the plan.”
“What plan?”
“At sun up, Mr. Tyson gets the boys on a boat away from everything. As soon as they know something definite they’ll come to shore.”
“He’s been through so much.” Saxon looked around to see if she could get some information.
“They’re worried ma’am. Kellen’s downtown, they asked me to keep Mr. Justyn safe.”
“Safe?”
“Some one tried to kill him, ma’am. I’m to stay as close as possible until we know what happened.”
Saxon nodded her head. A nurse came up to them. “Miss Allen, come this way.” The duo started to follow, but the nurse stopped. “Not him.”
“He’s Ian’s bodyguard.” Saxon insisted.
The nurse looked Ripley up and down. “Not doin’ a very good job so far.”
“I was on a coffee break.” He sneared. “It won’t happen again.”
“Whatever.” She turned and headed into the ER. “Follow me.”
They were ushered through a maze of doors and hallways. Finally Saxon heard her name called.
“Tippy?” She said softly as the women embraced. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know.” She dabbed her eyes with Kleenex. “He’s alive or was before they left me alone in the ambulance and took off with him.”
Saxon grabbed Tippy’s hand. “Tippy this is Ripley. Jeremy called him, to keep an eye on things.”
“Oh thanks, honey.” Tippy took Ripley’s hand and squeezed it.
“Mr. Tyson said to tell you the boys are asleep.”
She nodded. “I just talked to Susan. She said Jeremy was trying to get hold of somebody. Glad you came.”
“Mr. Justyn is a nice man.” Ripley smiled. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“Oh God…” Tippy plopped in a chair. “I don’t even want to think about that. Why would anyone do this?”
“Excuse me…” a man in scrubs holding a clipboard said. “I’m looking for Ian Justyn’s family.”
Tippy stood and grabbed Saxon’s hand. “We’re his family.”
He looked at the paperwork. “Mr. Justyn’s insurance lists a William Jarvis as next of kin.” He looked up at Ripley. “Is that you?”
“No, sir.”
“Billy Jarvis is the other…victim.” Tippy trembled as she said it. “They brought Ian first. Billy should be arriving any moment.”
“Mr. Justyn is critical, ma’am. I need his next of kin’s consent to do surgery.”
“Ian doesn’t have any family, other than a ten year old son.” Tippy squeaked. “He’s like a son to me, does that count?”
“It has to be a blood relative.”
Ripley stepped forward. “Any of us will take responsibility.”
“That’s not the point.” The doctor said.
“I don’t care what the point is. If Ian needs surgery, do it or you will personally answer to me.” Ripley growled.
“Well, I guess I could…”
“Now!” Ripley snapped.
“Yes, sir.” The doctor stepped back. “We’ll just deal with all the paperwork later.” He was gone in an instant.
“This is an ER, surely all that is taken in to account.” Tippy said.
“It’s also California, Tippy, the sue me capitol of the world.” Saxon put her arm around the woman.
A man in a security guard came over to them “Which one of you is the hired goon?”
“Guess.” Ripley puffed out his chest.
The man jerked his head towards the desk. “Follow me.”
“I’ll be right back.” Ripley told the ladies softly.
“Tippy, what exactly happened?” Saxon had to ask.
“Oh, honey. I’m not really sure. We were sitting by the pool over at our house, having a cup of tea and all of a sudden we heard shots, and glass breaking. We ran over to Ian’s as quick as we could. Billy was floating face down in the pool, Ian was covered in blood with a dead man laying across him and Kellen was standing there with a gun in his hand.”
“Kellen?” Saxon helped Tippy sit down. “Kellen Jackson did this?”
Tippy shook her head. “No. He said he saw Ian and a man fighting, and then Billy joined in, and somehow they all fell over the balcony and before Kellen could do anything the man shot Billy.”
“He shot Billy?”
“Yes.” Tippy was almost breathless. “And Kellen fired at the man before he could shoot Ian. Kellen says the man was aiming for Ian’s head at almost point blank range.”
“But why?”
“Nobody knows.”
“Billy…is Billy alright?” Saxon asked, ashamed she hadn’t asked before.
“I think he will be.” Tippy said. “Colton and Jesse helped Reese pull him from the pool. They gave him mouth to mouth and Colton said it looked like he took the bullet in the shoulder. There was so much blood…”
Ripley came over and knealed before them. “Ladies, they’ve taken Ian to surgery. Someone will be over in a moment to take you up to a private waiting room on the surgical floor.”
“Do you know how he’s doing?” They both practically asked.
He put up his hand. “All I know is that they’ve rushed him to surgery, something about broken ribs puncturing his organs. Now, Mrs. Shores….”
“Tippy,” she tried to smile. “Call me Tippy, darlin’.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ripley nodded. “I need a list of everyone that you called or might come to the hospital. No one gets in or around either Ian or anyone in the family without my say so.”
“Okay.”
“Now here’s my cell phone number. Let me have yours so we can stay in touch.” Ripley handed her a piece of paper.
“Yes, yes of course.” She gave him the number that he programmed immediately into his phone.
“Do not talk to anyone outside the family, but me.”
“What about the doctors?” Saxon asked.
“Check their I.D. of any medical personnel first.” He pointed to his chest. “They’ll all have little badges. Make a mental note of names and faces.”
Tippy nodded and began to make a list.
“Can you tell me if anything in the house is missing?” An officer asked.
Colton and Jesse looked at each other. “Maybe, Ian was pretty systematic. We could tell you if something was out of place.” Colton finally said.
“If that’s the best you can do.” The man said.
“Neither of us lived here officer, but we’ve been around enough to know about the basics.” Jesse wanted to deck the guy for his attitude alone.
“Let’s start with the first floor.” Two officers led the father and son on a meticulous search of the house. The first floor looked as always expected, nothing out of place and not a speck of dust. You couldn’t have guessed there was a party earlier that day, let alone an event that left one dead so far.
Colton walked past Jesse on the stairway landing. As he past, Jesse touched his father’s shoulder. “Does something look different about this painting to you?”
He stepped to the swirls of color, examining it closely. “No.”
Jesse cocked his head. “Are you sure? Something about it just looks odd to me.” He reached to touch it.
“Don’t touch anything!” The cop standing with them bellowed. Jesse snatched his hand back quickly. “You say there’s something odd about it, other than the fact that it’s ugly?”
The officer was given a dirty look in reply. “It’s not worth a fortune Detective, but its worth more donuts than you’ll eat in a year.” Jesse told him.
“I hate donuts.” The man said.
“Yeah, right.” Jesse started to move on after directing the comment toward the man’s waist.
“Wait, son.” Colton stopped him. “What’s odd about it?”
Jesse shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about the light, it just seems different.”
“Looks the same to me.” His father said.
“Could just be I’ve never noticed it with the bright lights coming from upstairs. Ian usually just has the landing lights on.”
“Now that we’ve discussed the gallery display can we move upstairs, please?” The detective moaned.
“Sorry.” Jesse looked at the man. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Balouche.” The man rolled his eyes and grunted.
“I apologize Detective Balouche, but two good friends and my brother were almost murdered in this house tonight. I thought you wanted to know every detail we could come up with.” Jesse looked him in the eyes.
“You watch too much television kid. I doubt light refraction on a really bad paint by number will tell us why a man was shot to death trying to rip the place off.”
“What if this turns out to be what he was after?” Colton asked.
Balouche looked at him. “Unless he changed the position of a light bulb, it sounds like the painting itself hasn’t been touched.”
“Fine.” Jesse stomped up the remaining stairs, Colton and Balouche closely behind.
Balouche took a step in front of them. “Do not touch anything.” He reminded. “The forensics team is still working. Don’t even step on the broken glass. Try to just look around and see if anything's missing.”
“This is the only room you know for sure the guy was in?” Colton asked.
“According to the statement from Kellen Jackson. He saw the man now identified as Blue Richards step out of the closet over there and fire at Justyn from about here. He said Justyn walked over to the glass and waved at him. He saw the perp step from the closet toward the door there, then turn around aim and fire.”
“Can we look in the closet?” Jesse asked.
The detective shrugged. “Just don’t…”
“…touch anything…got it.” Jesse said taking a precarious step toward the open closet door. He turned to his father. “Dad?”
“Something missing?” Balouche asked, hopefully.
Colton turned his head from the position he had taken behind Jesse. “Not missing, but definitely askew.”
Balouche pushed the men aside and looked in the closet, eyes scanning top to bottom. He saw a walk in closet that looked like it had just been cleaned and straightened. He turned to the men. “Blue Richards cleaned the man’s closet then tried to kill him?”
Jesse smiled. “No but it’s definitely been rifled through.” Colton nodded his head.
“You’re kidding?” Balouche said.
Colton pointed to a bureau drawer. “Detective, open that drawer.”
“Why?”
“Just open it. It will prove a point.”
He shook his head, grabbed a pen out of his pocket and slowly pulled a drawer open in the chest. The contents of the drawer were perfect; every sock, every pair of underwear was folded as though still on the store shelf and fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Balouche whistled and slid the drawer shut with the pen.
Walking back to the closet, he scanned it again nodding his head. Boxes were piled neatly, but not perfectly. Clothes were hung but not even, and the shoes were matched but looked like they’d just been tossed side by side in a line.
Balouche turned to the men working in the bedroom. “Dust everything in that closet for prints, and I mean everything.”
“Especially that.” Jesse pointed.
He got the man’s attention. “What is it?”
“A jewelry box that belonged to Ian’s Aunt.” Colton said.
“Her jewels were in there?” Balouche’s ears perked up.
Colton laughed. “Nothing expensive. She was an old black woman who raised him. She passed away. I don’t know what the man would want in there, but he definitely went through it.”
“I’d say it was what he was going through just before he realized Ian was home.” Jesse added.
“Why?” Balouche got out his notebook.
“Look at it.” Jesse said. “There’s stuff sticking out of it, and it’s not anywhere near Ian put it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I watched Ian take it down before he went out.” Jesse recalled. “He got something out of it that he wanted to give to Saxon…”
“Saxon Allen?” Balouche clarified.
“Yeah. They went bowling this evening. He told me there was something he wanted her to have.”
“And he got it out of that box?”
“Yes. He took it off the top rack there, put it on the bed, got what he wanted and I put it back for him.” Jesse pointed to the rack above the suits. “See there’s the place where it fits exactly.”
“Have you boys taken shots of the closet?” Balouche asked one of the men. When the man confirmed. “Can we take this box out and examine the contents then?”
When the man nodded, Balouche put on some gloves he was handed. He carefully stepped in the closet and lifted the box taking it over to the bed and opening the lid. “Can you tell me if you notice anything missing?”
Jesse peered into the top. “He didn’t open the top. There’s a little compartment to the back. Push the back of it toward the bottom…” He instructed.
Balouche fumbled a minute, but finally a little bottom panel slid open.
“There. Ian got something wrapped in tissue paper from there. He said his Aunt Hil put it there years ago. He remembered just as he was leaving. He was excited it was still there.”
“It’s empty.” Balouche turned to him. “Must have been all that was in there.”
“No.” Jesse was sure. “I personally picked up some envelopes that were in there. I remember the look on his face. He turned to me and smiled, but Saxon was waiting on him downstairs. He went running and I put everything back for him.”
“You’re positive he put them back in this cubby hole?” Balouche asked.
“No, detective, I’m positive I put them back and shut the drawer myself. Then I put the whole box back on the rack exactly where it goes.”
“Any idea what was in the envelopes?”
“No. Just that Ian was excited about finding the little gift for Saxon that was in there. He said it was something he gave to his Aunt for safe keeping years ago.”
Colton looked at his son. “Detective, do you think this could be connected with what happened in Lost Mountain?”
“Lost Mountain?” Balouche said. “What happened in Lost Mountain?”
“I’m sorry to just leave a message like this, but I guess you heard what happened, and I just don’t think I’ll be in for a few days.” She said into the phone. “He didn’t have any family, so I’ve got to make all the arrangements. Thanks…Bye.”
She hit the end button and bit her lip. “This is a nightmare,” Was all she said out loud. She took a deep breath. She hating piling lies on top of lies, but at this point she had to buy time to save herself.
Looking around her apartment one last time, she threw the duffle bag over her shoulder. She opened her oversized purse and swept the contents of the table in, saving one envelope.
She shook it. “Please, please let this be the right place.” And then stuffed it into her purse with the others.
The police had already been there once. She was shocked to tears but Blue had already warned her. She begged him not to do anything stupid, but he’d gotten himself killed anyway.
He was stupid enough not to know he was being used by them and her. How could she be all that surprised he’d gotten himself killed? Too bad, she really, really liked him.
It might take them awhile to make the connection, but they didn’t know for sure that she knew anything. Unfortunately, she knew all they had to do was connect one dot and she’d be next on their list. The second ‘visit’ from the cops would be her last.
Ella turned off the lights in the apartment and peered out the window to the street below. There was only one place she could go. Hopefully she could get there and stay alive long enough to do the work she was hired to do.
They’d all stumbled into this mess blindly, both sides. She was just supposed to be on the sidelines. It got out of hand. Now there were too many directions she could go with what she knew.
One direction could make her a hero. One direction could make her rich. One direction could make her another one of the corpses that seemed to be piling up. Right now, the direction she wanted to go in would avoid that last one.
She quietly slipped out of her apartment and down the hallway. Looking both ways, she tried to look like she was only strolling along just in case some one was watching. She heard the plunk go down the mail shoot.
“One piece down.” She said in her head.
Hopefully, that would go to the right place and be found in enough time for her to get out of this mess. All she had to do is get all the puzzle pieces in one place. She just had to stay alive until she got them all, until then she would look like one of the bad guys.
She wasn’t, but no one knew that. Okay, so she wasn’t an innocent bystander but sometimes it takes a few crunches to get to the gooey chocolate center. Ella was pretty sure she’d gotten to the center, and she was pretty sure that no one else knew what it was.
It was a simple complicated scam. They thought they were going to take the money and run, leaving a couple of idiots behind with dirty fingers. She’d gotten out of the business, but she’d been trained too well. She had kept quiet and watched from the sidelines and this was one of those cases that took someone from the sidelines to put the puzzle together.
Damn but she was the cat, and it looked like curiosity was going to kill her after all. She should have made the phone call earlier. That’s all she would have had to do, but no she wanted to have it all but wrapped up first. Damn her ego and pride.
The cab pulled up. She stepped out of the shadows in the street and slipped in. Handing the cabbie a fifty and a sheet of paper. “There’s another fifty if you take me to that address and say you took me somewhere else, if you have to say anything at all.”
The man smiled. “For a hundred bucks, lady, you’re a drunk dude who stiffed me.” He turned the meter off and pulled away from the curb.
Ella smiled and sat back in the seat, scrunching down to make it hard to see her from the windows. She ran down what she had to get accomplished in her head as they drove. She knew it wasn’t safe for her to be out in the open. She had no desire to end up like Bambi, Max and Blue.
Bambi and Max were clueless. Bambi had no idea she could identify Bruno. Max was just dumb enough to be seen talking to Ian. Poor Blue, he probably would have been around awhile longer, but he was a dumb pretty boy, unfortunately heavy on the dumb part.
Well, he was dumb enough to fall for her and smart enough to tell her everything. He wasn’t supposed to do that, and they didn’t know he had. Ella wasn’t even sure Blue was smart enough to know she had figured out what was up. She was too good at what she did.
She was also smart enough to know that Bruno and partner weren’t about to leave a loose end. Ella knew that if nothing else, she was a loose end like Bambi, especially now that Blue had gotten himself killed. Maybe the smart thing for her do to was stay put, but she failed Sitting Duck 101.
The cab pulled up to the bus station. Ella slipped out and walked right in. It was practically empty. She told the sleepy surfer dude behind the counter she wanted a ticket for the next bus out of town. She plopped her cash down and slipped the ticket in her pocket.
Immediately walking back out the door, she strolled toward a dark corner. She pulled out her cell phone and checked to make sure there was a signal. She hit a few buttons and paced. She got voice mail.
“It’s Isabella. I’m in deep, buddy, too deep. This is big, bigger than what we thought. If you don’t hear from me in two days, come looking. I can’t say anything else. Just get here. Hopefully, even if I’m dead I’ve managed to get most of the pieces piled in the right place. Just get here and help Ian figure it out.”
After powering off the phone, she sat her duffel bag on the ground and pulled out a mirror and scissors. Within minutes her dark hair was short and punky, almost back to it’s natural color. Scissors and mirror went back in her purse, the cut hairs and the bus ticket went in a paper bag she set on fire and dropped to the ground.
While she watched it burn, she stripped off the top layer of clothes and buried them in the trashcan. She stood back until the bag was pretty much ashes, smoking three cigarettes at once to mask the odor. Spreading the remains with her feet she leaned over to see if anyone was around.
She saw the bus go by and looked at her watch. Yup, that was her bus. She waited for it to load and pull away. When it left for whatever city the dude said it was headed for, Ella stepped out of the alley wearing black jeans and a matching tee instead of the khakis and blue blouse she’d arrived wearing.
Ella ran a hand through her now spiky auburn hair, instead of her identifiable black tresses and headed for the one place Blue had stumbled on that even Bruno didn’t know about. As long as she wasn’t caught, she knew she’d be safe right under everyone’s nose.
David Turner sat stunned in his penthouse suite. The cat purred quietly in his lap as he stroked it, closing its eyes in contentment.
The old man stared at the phone. He was torn. Should he go? Should he stay? He wished he could say that it was the first time in his life that his heart had been crushed and he just didn’t know what to do next. He closed his eyes and prayed silently to “Please God let this be the last.”
He remembered sitting in a hospital room once before thinking that it had all come tumbling down. He remembered staring at the body in the bed and being more paralyzed than the man hooked up to all the wires and tubes. It was the end of it all, and he knew it.
But something else happened. Someone else came along with a lifeline. He feared it. He was so ready for it all to be over, no matter what the consequences. What did happen? What was it that spared him the shame and kept the ball rolling?
“Oh yes…yes.” He said out loud.
The room had very little light. It must have been about this same time of night. David was so much younger then, and so much more worried about the consequences. The accident had been bad enough, but this? How did this happen?
He looked at the once handsome man in the bed, the one now with a face stitched back together like an old quilt. They could fix most of it eventually, but he’d never be the same, look the same. They could afford the best. Things had paid off. They had the money, plenty of money. Now they just didn’t have the handsome leading man. They didn't have anything anymore.
The man would live, but they both knew his fate. He didn’t say much; too much pain, too much in mourning for what was lost. The doctors could fix him, but who would to fix them?
He had to tell him. David had no choice. He had to know. The man’s face was gone, and now he had to be told his wife was gone as well.
The patient moaned. It was almost as if he could read his mind. David smiled bitterly. It had always been like that. It’s what had made them the perfect team. If they could just figure out what to do next, maybe they still could be. Without her was it even possible?
David hadn’t heard the other man come in the room. He barely remembered a small light flooding the gray and then going dark again. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Dave?”
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and focus. David hoped the man could see his weak smile in the dark.
“How’s he doing?” He asked.
David just nodded his head.
“Does he know?”
Turner sighed. “About her?” The following silence answered both their questions.
“I almost didn’t find him. You weren’t in your room and I knew good and well he wasn’t using his real name. Then I remembered…Ernie Newcastle.”
“What better way to hide than to use the name nobody remembers or even knows.”
“Lucille knew all the tricks.”
David whipped his head around and stared him down in the dark. “Shhh!”
“You’re right.” David felt the apologetic pat on his shoulder. “Let’s step back to your room, where we can talk without disturbing him.”
David made sure the bedclothes were snug and pulled tight before they left and walked in silence to the nicer end of the hospital.
“They’re releasing me tomorrow.” David said as they shut his door.
“You should have been released a week ago.”
“Without Lucille here to make sure I stayed…”
The man shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would she do something like this?”
David sighed and thumped down on the bed. “Jamey and I always used to joke about ‘Whose wife is crazier’. I always thought it was mine hands down, turns out it was his.”
“Are you sure that body is Lucille’s?”
“I’d give anything right now if it wasn’t. If it was my wife, I’d know that everything was under control.”
“You have no doubt?”
“There will always be doubt.” David looked up. “They made me identify her. There was no way to tell from the body, but the jewelry. The jewelry was hers, almost all of it.”
“All of it?”
“It was like she snapped, covered her self in every ring and necklace she ever owned, set fire to the house and then hung herself as the place burned down around her.” David looked at the floor. “It was her body, but the actions? That definitely wasn’t Lucille.”
The man sat down beside David on the bed. “And your wife?”
“Haven’t seen or heard from her, not since the phone call. Lucille said she was handling it. She always took care of the messy stuff.” David stood up and walked to the window, staring out into the dark. “Somewhere out there is my lunatic wife and my baby boy.”
“Maybe once she hears about Lucille she’ll come back.”
Turner almost laughed. “Not a chance. She wasn’t nearly as crazy as we thought. She’s gone, and no one’s going to find her.”
“We’ll find her.” He stood and walked over to where he’s friend forlornly gazed out the window. “I promise you David, some day, some how. We’ll find her.”
David turned around to face him. “It’s too late, the game’s over. This is the end. Without Lucille, the jig is up.”
His friend nodded and walked to a chair in the corner. He started to sit, but froze. He put his fingers to his lips and stood up. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” David scoffed. “Lucille knew it was over. She took the chicken’s way out and left Jamey and I holding the bag.”
“Of course she knew, but you know as well as I do that Lucille would never take the easy way out.” He began to pace the room. “She never did anything, anything, unless it was the means to an end.”
“End is right.” David snorted.
“No.” Herman Elysian smiled. “Every end leads to a beginning, my friend. I’ve got an idea…”
It had come in a three fisted punch. He knew he was falling and for the first time in his life he didn’t care. It had happened so fast and so unexpectedly he was still reeling. The speed at which it all took place was the sucker punch he never saw coming.
The cold zip of a body bag drew his attention. He couldn’t help but stiffen up as the men picked up the body and placed it on another gurney. He watched it wheeled around the house out of sight. He shook his head. How many more body bags would he have to watch roll out of sight?
Reese Shores put his head in his hands and begged for it all to stop. He sat shivering in the cold night air, dressed in a towel on the steps of the balcony. Ralphie, wet and smelling like a dog sat quietly beside him, watching silently as men dressed in blue, men dressed in green and white and graying figures walked all around them.
It was a nightmare. The blood and the questions. The sirens and the questions. The needles and the wires. The condemning faces and the questions. The reporters trying to cross the police tape, the neighbors shouting what happened, and the questions.
Reese stared into the now pink water of the pool. How could something so wonderful turn so quickly into such a bloody mess? Would everything he touched always have such an unhappy ending?
“Thought you might could use these.” A disembodied hand shoved a bundle of clothes under his nose.
He looked up. “Thanks, Jess.”
His brother nodded as Reese stood and pulled on the sweat pants. He started to pull the tee over his head when he noticed the writing. He held it up for his brother to read, “It’s big and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Sorry, dude. I just grabbed something from the drawer.” He apologized.
“Jerk.” Reese mumbled and put it on anyway. He sat back down beside Ralphie as he pulled on the sneakers. “Where’s Dad?”
“He found the cat, she tried to get in the ambulance with Ian. Dad took it over to the house.”
“Ronnie…oh God.” Reese started to panic. “Some one needs to tell Ronnie. He can’t just see this on the television.”
Jesse put his arm around his brother. “Calm down, we’ve already called Susan and Jeremy. They’re gonna go ahead and take him fishing at the crack of dawn, keep him away from anything and everything until we know something for sure.”
“But what if…” Reese started to ask.
“Don’t go there, Reese.” Jesse warned. “The little guy’s been through enough. Ian will pull through. There is no way God gave his son back to him just in time for…”
“Yeah…” Reese looked at the pool water again. “Mom?”
“Went in the ambulance with Ian. Dad and I will stay here until the police finish up. Are they through with you or do you have to go down to the station, too?”
“I have to go down in the morning and sign a statement.” Reese looked back at his brother. “I don’t understand why they carted Kellen off like that.”
“Dude, he’s a former cop. He fired a gun and killed somebody.”
“It was self defense.” Reese insisted.
“But you didn’t see the shots. The only one’s that did can’t verify it was self-defense. He’ll be cleared but until they get it all verified they’ll keep him in custody.”
The brothers were silent, watching the spectacle that had once been peace darting all around them.
“Reese?” Jesse finally asked. “What happened?”
Reese shook his head. “All I know is one minute it was heaven and the next bodies were falling out of the sky.”
“Man…”
“Been happening way too much for me.” Reese choked back the burning in his throat. “Afghanistan…Iraq…the funeral and now this.”
“None of that was your fault.”
“I know, bro, but how many times do I have to be in the right place at the wrong time?”
“Look, everything’s gonna work out. This will all be over with soon and things will get back to normal.”
Reese looked his brother in the eye. “Jesse, things are never going to be normal again.”
Jesse punched his brother as hard as he could in the shoulder. “Dammit, Reese, don’t you do that again! Don’t you go pulling yourself into that weird little ball. I swear Reese I will beat the ever living crap outta you.”
A man dressed in white and green came over to stand in front of them. “Which one of you is Reese?”
“I am.” Reese stood up.
The man read his tee shirt and smirked. “Figures.”
“I’m Reese Shores. Why?”
“He’s asking for you. Won’t let us take him to the hospital without you.”
Reece’s ears weren’t sure they heard correctly, “He’s awake?”
“And won’t talk to anyone but you…follow me.”
In a moment Reese was being helped into the back of an ambulance. The man got in behind him,shut the doors and banged on the windows, “Okay, let’s go…”
Reese lost his balance as the ambulance took off, siren beginning to blare. He looked at Billy, whiter than any human being should be, gauze stuffed into a hole in his shoulder, but smiling into his eyes.
“Reese…”
“Shhh…don’t talk. You’re going to be fine. We’re all gonna be fine.” Reese grabbed Billy’s hand.
“What a weekend…” Billy coughed.
“Yeah, this is one to talk about back home.”
“Reese…”
“Shh…be quiet now, just rest…”
“We’ve given him something for the pain. He’ll be out in a second.” An attendant said.
“No, no…” Billy struggled, “I gotta know…?”
“What? Billy, what?”
Billy’s eyes started to flutter, falling into the sedative drip. He slurred but Reese understood him fully, “Who the hell is Darla Hutton?”
She wished she had brought the baseball bat after all. No one seemed to recognize her, and no one cared. It had taken her an hour to just get from the parking lot to the Emergency Room entrance itself.
Fortunately the one person who did recognize her was that bulldozer of a guy from “Open Fields”. He stood in front of her and pushed through to the doors. Cops were lined across the entrance arm in arm to keep the pandemonium from breaking inside.
“No one gets through.” The cop stared down the bulldozer. The bulldozer huffed. “Sorry.”
She peered around him and pulled down the dark glasses, showing off her red, bloodshot eyes. The cop recognized her. It took him a second but he put two and two together. She heard him say clearly but softly. “Let her through.”
A small opening was made. She felt herself being shoved toward it. She grabbed the bulldozer’s hand. “Him, too.”
“Just you ma’am.” The cop said.
“He’s my brother.” She lied. “We’re like his family.”
The cop took a deep breath. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” They popped through the line of cops and found themselves standing inside in ER.
“You didn’t have to do that, Ms. Allen.” The bulldozer said.
“I’d still be in the parking lot if it weren’t for you.” She said. “I know you…from…”
“Yes, ma’am. Ripley, Ripley Gunther.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I got a call from Jeremy Tyson.” He said. “He told me what happened.”
“Ronnie.” Saxon blurted out. “Have they told Ronnie?”
Ripley shook his head. “No ma’am. They won’t say anything, sticking with the plan.”
“What plan?”
“At sun up, Mr. Tyson gets the boys on a boat away from everything. As soon as they know something definite they’ll come to shore.”
“He’s been through so much.” Saxon looked around to see if she could get some information.
“They’re worried ma’am. Kellen’s downtown, they asked me to keep Mr. Justyn safe.”
“Safe?”
“Some one tried to kill him, ma’am. I’m to stay as close as possible until we know what happened.”
Saxon nodded her head. A nurse came up to them. “Miss Allen, come this way.” The duo started to follow, but the nurse stopped. “Not him.”
“He’s Ian’s bodyguard.” Saxon insisted.
The nurse looked Ripley up and down. “Not doin’ a very good job so far.”
“I was on a coffee break.” He sneared. “It won’t happen again.”
“Whatever.” She turned and headed into the ER. “Follow me.”
They were ushered through a maze of doors and hallways. Finally Saxon heard her name called.
“Tippy?” She said softly as the women embraced. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know.” She dabbed her eyes with Kleenex. “He’s alive or was before they left me alone in the ambulance and took off with him.”
Saxon grabbed Tippy’s hand. “Tippy this is Ripley. Jeremy called him, to keep an eye on things.”
“Oh thanks, honey.” Tippy took Ripley’s hand and squeezed it.
“Mr. Tyson said to tell you the boys are asleep.”
She nodded. “I just talked to Susan. She said Jeremy was trying to get hold of somebody. Glad you came.”
“Mr. Justyn is a nice man.” Ripley smiled. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“Oh God…” Tippy plopped in a chair. “I don’t even want to think about that. Why would anyone do this?”
“Excuse me…” a man in scrubs holding a clipboard said. “I’m looking for Ian Justyn’s family.”
Tippy stood and grabbed Saxon’s hand. “We’re his family.”
He looked at the paperwork. “Mr. Justyn’s insurance lists a William Jarvis as next of kin.” He looked up at Ripley. “Is that you?”
“No, sir.”
“Billy Jarvis is the other…victim.” Tippy trembled as she said it. “They brought Ian first. Billy should be arriving any moment.”
“Mr. Justyn is critical, ma’am. I need his next of kin’s consent to do surgery.”
“Ian doesn’t have any family, other than a ten year old son.” Tippy squeaked. “He’s like a son to me, does that count?”
“It has to be a blood relative.”
Ripley stepped forward. “Any of us will take responsibility.”
“That’s not the point.” The doctor said.
“I don’t care what the point is. If Ian needs surgery, do it or you will personally answer to me.” Ripley growled.
“Well, I guess I could…”
“Now!” Ripley snapped.
“Yes, sir.” The doctor stepped back. “We’ll just deal with all the paperwork later.” He was gone in an instant.
“This is an ER, surely all that is taken in to account.” Tippy said.
“It’s also California, Tippy, the sue me capitol of the world.” Saxon put her arm around the woman.
A man in a security guard came over to them “Which one of you is the hired goon?”
“Guess.” Ripley puffed out his chest.
The man jerked his head towards the desk. “Follow me.”
“I’ll be right back.” Ripley told the ladies softly.
“Tippy, what exactly happened?” Saxon had to ask.
“Oh, honey. I’m not really sure. We were sitting by the pool over at our house, having a cup of tea and all of a sudden we heard shots, and glass breaking. We ran over to Ian’s as quick as we could. Billy was floating face down in the pool, Ian was covered in blood with a dead man laying across him and Kellen was standing there with a gun in his hand.”
“Kellen?” Saxon helped Tippy sit down. “Kellen Jackson did this?”
Tippy shook her head. “No. He said he saw Ian and a man fighting, and then Billy joined in, and somehow they all fell over the balcony and before Kellen could do anything the man shot Billy.”
“He shot Billy?”
“Yes.” Tippy was almost breathless. “And Kellen fired at the man before he could shoot Ian. Kellen says the man was aiming for Ian’s head at almost point blank range.”
“But why?”
“Nobody knows.”
“Billy…is Billy alright?” Saxon asked, ashamed she hadn’t asked before.
“I think he will be.” Tippy said. “Colton and Jesse helped Reese pull him from the pool. They gave him mouth to mouth and Colton said it looked like he took the bullet in the shoulder. There was so much blood…”
Ripley came over and knealed before them. “Ladies, they’ve taken Ian to surgery. Someone will be over in a moment to take you up to a private waiting room on the surgical floor.”
“Do you know how he’s doing?” They both practically asked.
He put up his hand. “All I know is that they’ve rushed him to surgery, something about broken ribs puncturing his organs. Now, Mrs. Shores….”
“Tippy,” she tried to smile. “Call me Tippy, darlin’.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ripley nodded. “I need a list of everyone that you called or might come to the hospital. No one gets in or around either Ian or anyone in the family without my say so.”
“Okay.”
“Now here’s my cell phone number. Let me have yours so we can stay in touch.” Ripley handed her a piece of paper.
“Yes, yes of course.” She gave him the number that he programmed immediately into his phone.
“Do not talk to anyone outside the family, but me.”
“What about the doctors?” Saxon asked.
“Check their I.D. of any medical personnel first.” He pointed to his chest. “They’ll all have little badges. Make a mental note of names and faces.”
Tippy nodded and began to make a list.
“Can you tell me if anything in the house is missing?” An officer asked.
Colton and Jesse looked at each other. “Maybe, Ian was pretty systematic. We could tell you if something was out of place.” Colton finally said.
“If that’s the best you can do.” The man said.
“Neither of us lived here officer, but we’ve been around enough to know about the basics.” Jesse wanted to deck the guy for his attitude alone.
“Let’s start with the first floor.” Two officers led the father and son on a meticulous search of the house. The first floor looked as always expected, nothing out of place and not a speck of dust. You couldn’t have guessed there was a party earlier that day, let alone an event that left one dead so far.
Colton walked past Jesse on the stairway landing. As he past, Jesse touched his father’s shoulder. “Does something look different about this painting to you?”
He stepped to the swirls of color, examining it closely. “No.”
Jesse cocked his head. “Are you sure? Something about it just looks odd to me.” He reached to touch it.
“Don’t touch anything!” The cop standing with them bellowed. Jesse snatched his hand back quickly. “You say there’s something odd about it, other than the fact that it’s ugly?”
The officer was given a dirty look in reply. “It’s not worth a fortune Detective, but its worth more donuts than you’ll eat in a year.” Jesse told him.
“I hate donuts.” The man said.
“Yeah, right.” Jesse started to move on after directing the comment toward the man’s waist.
“Wait, son.” Colton stopped him. “What’s odd about it?”
Jesse shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about the light, it just seems different.”
“Looks the same to me.” His father said.
“Could just be I’ve never noticed it with the bright lights coming from upstairs. Ian usually just has the landing lights on.”
“Now that we’ve discussed the gallery display can we move upstairs, please?” The detective moaned.
“Sorry.” Jesse looked at the man. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Balouche.” The man rolled his eyes and grunted.
“I apologize Detective Balouche, but two good friends and my brother were almost murdered in this house tonight. I thought you wanted to know every detail we could come up with.” Jesse looked him in the eyes.
“You watch too much television kid. I doubt light refraction on a really bad paint by number will tell us why a man was shot to death trying to rip the place off.”
“What if this turns out to be what he was after?” Colton asked.
Balouche looked at him. “Unless he changed the position of a light bulb, it sounds like the painting itself hasn’t been touched.”
“Fine.” Jesse stomped up the remaining stairs, Colton and Balouche closely behind.
Balouche took a step in front of them. “Do not touch anything.” He reminded. “The forensics team is still working. Don’t even step on the broken glass. Try to just look around and see if anything's missing.”
“This is the only room you know for sure the guy was in?” Colton asked.
“According to the statement from Kellen Jackson. He saw the man now identified as Blue Richards step out of the closet over there and fire at Justyn from about here. He said Justyn walked over to the glass and waved at him. He saw the perp step from the closet toward the door there, then turn around aim and fire.”
“Can we look in the closet?” Jesse asked.
The detective shrugged. “Just don’t…”
“…touch anything…got it.” Jesse said taking a precarious step toward the open closet door. He turned to his father. “Dad?”
“Something missing?” Balouche asked, hopefully.
Colton turned his head from the position he had taken behind Jesse. “Not missing, but definitely askew.”
Balouche pushed the men aside and looked in the closet, eyes scanning top to bottom. He saw a walk in closet that looked like it had just been cleaned and straightened. He turned to the men. “Blue Richards cleaned the man’s closet then tried to kill him?”
Jesse smiled. “No but it’s definitely been rifled through.” Colton nodded his head.
“You’re kidding?” Balouche said.
Colton pointed to a bureau drawer. “Detective, open that drawer.”
“Why?”
“Just open it. It will prove a point.”
He shook his head, grabbed a pen out of his pocket and slowly pulled a drawer open in the chest. The contents of the drawer were perfect; every sock, every pair of underwear was folded as though still on the store shelf and fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Balouche whistled and slid the drawer shut with the pen.
Walking back to the closet, he scanned it again nodding his head. Boxes were piled neatly, but not perfectly. Clothes were hung but not even, and the shoes were matched but looked like they’d just been tossed side by side in a line.
Balouche turned to the men working in the bedroom. “Dust everything in that closet for prints, and I mean everything.”
“Especially that.” Jesse pointed.
He got the man’s attention. “What is it?”
“A jewelry box that belonged to Ian’s Aunt.” Colton said.
“Her jewels were in there?” Balouche’s ears perked up.
Colton laughed. “Nothing expensive. She was an old black woman who raised him. She passed away. I don’t know what the man would want in there, but he definitely went through it.”
“I’d say it was what he was going through just before he realized Ian was home.” Jesse added.
“Why?” Balouche got out his notebook.
“Look at it.” Jesse said. “There’s stuff sticking out of it, and it’s not anywhere near Ian put it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I watched Ian take it down before he went out.” Jesse recalled. “He got something out of it that he wanted to give to Saxon…”
“Saxon Allen?” Balouche clarified.
“Yeah. They went bowling this evening. He told me there was something he wanted her to have.”
“And he got it out of that box?”
“Yes. He took it off the top rack there, put it on the bed, got what he wanted and I put it back for him.” Jesse pointed to the rack above the suits. “See there’s the place where it fits exactly.”
“Have you boys taken shots of the closet?” Balouche asked one of the men. When the man confirmed. “Can we take this box out and examine the contents then?”
When the man nodded, Balouche put on some gloves he was handed. He carefully stepped in the closet and lifted the box taking it over to the bed and opening the lid. “Can you tell me if you notice anything missing?”
Jesse peered into the top. “He didn’t open the top. There’s a little compartment to the back. Push the back of it toward the bottom…” He instructed.
Balouche fumbled a minute, but finally a little bottom panel slid open.
“There. Ian got something wrapped in tissue paper from there. He said his Aunt Hil put it there years ago. He remembered just as he was leaving. He was excited it was still there.”
“It’s empty.” Balouche turned to him. “Must have been all that was in there.”
“No.” Jesse was sure. “I personally picked up some envelopes that were in there. I remember the look on his face. He turned to me and smiled, but Saxon was waiting on him downstairs. He went running and I put everything back for him.”
“You’re positive he put them back in this cubby hole?” Balouche asked.
“No, detective, I’m positive I put them back and shut the drawer myself. Then I put the whole box back on the rack exactly where it goes.”
“Any idea what was in the envelopes?”
“No. Just that Ian was excited about finding the little gift for Saxon that was in there. He said it was something he gave to his Aunt for safe keeping years ago.”
Colton looked at his son. “Detective, do you think this could be connected with what happened in Lost Mountain?”
“Lost Mountain?” Balouche said. “What happened in Lost Mountain?”
“I’m sorry to just leave a message like this, but I guess you heard what happened, and I just don’t think I’ll be in for a few days.” She said into the phone. “He didn’t have any family, so I’ve got to make all the arrangements. Thanks…Bye.”
She hit the end button and bit her lip. “This is a nightmare,” Was all she said out loud. She took a deep breath. She hating piling lies on top of lies, but at this point she had to buy time to save herself.
Looking around her apartment one last time, she threw the duffle bag over her shoulder. She opened her oversized purse and swept the contents of the table in, saving one envelope.
She shook it. “Please, please let this be the right place.” And then stuffed it into her purse with the others.
The police had already been there once. She was shocked to tears but Blue had already warned her. She begged him not to do anything stupid, but he’d gotten himself killed anyway.
He was stupid enough not to know he was being used by them and her. How could she be all that surprised he’d gotten himself killed? Too bad, she really, really liked him.
It might take them awhile to make the connection, but they didn’t know for sure that she knew anything. Unfortunately, she knew all they had to do was connect one dot and she’d be next on their list. The second ‘visit’ from the cops would be her last.
Ella turned off the lights in the apartment and peered out the window to the street below. There was only one place she could go. Hopefully she could get there and stay alive long enough to do the work she was hired to do.
They’d all stumbled into this mess blindly, both sides. She was just supposed to be on the sidelines. It got out of hand. Now there were too many directions she could go with what she knew.
One direction could make her a hero. One direction could make her rich. One direction could make her another one of the corpses that seemed to be piling up. Right now, the direction she wanted to go in would avoid that last one.
She quietly slipped out of her apartment and down the hallway. Looking both ways, she tried to look like she was only strolling along just in case some one was watching. She heard the plunk go down the mail shoot.
“One piece down.” She said in her head.
Hopefully, that would go to the right place and be found in enough time for her to get out of this mess. All she had to do is get all the puzzle pieces in one place. She just had to stay alive until she got them all, until then she would look like one of the bad guys.
She wasn’t, but no one knew that. Okay, so she wasn’t an innocent bystander but sometimes it takes a few crunches to get to the gooey chocolate center. Ella was pretty sure she’d gotten to the center, and she was pretty sure that no one else knew what it was.
It was a simple complicated scam. They thought they were going to take the money and run, leaving a couple of idiots behind with dirty fingers. She’d gotten out of the business, but she’d been trained too well. She had kept quiet and watched from the sidelines and this was one of those cases that took someone from the sidelines to put the puzzle together.
Damn but she was the cat, and it looked like curiosity was going to kill her after all. She should have made the phone call earlier. That’s all she would have had to do, but no she wanted to have it all but wrapped up first. Damn her ego and pride.
The cab pulled up. She stepped out of the shadows in the street and slipped in. Handing the cabbie a fifty and a sheet of paper. “There’s another fifty if you take me to that address and say you took me somewhere else, if you have to say anything at all.”
The man smiled. “For a hundred bucks, lady, you’re a drunk dude who stiffed me.” He turned the meter off and pulled away from the curb.
Ella smiled and sat back in the seat, scrunching down to make it hard to see her from the windows. She ran down what she had to get accomplished in her head as they drove. She knew it wasn’t safe for her to be out in the open. She had no desire to end up like Bambi, Max and Blue.
Bambi and Max were clueless. Bambi had no idea she could identify Bruno. Max was just dumb enough to be seen talking to Ian. Poor Blue, he probably would have been around awhile longer, but he was a dumb pretty boy, unfortunately heavy on the dumb part.
Well, he was dumb enough to fall for her and smart enough to tell her everything. He wasn’t supposed to do that, and they didn’t know he had. Ella wasn’t even sure Blue was smart enough to know she had figured out what was up. She was too good at what she did.
She was also smart enough to know that Bruno and partner weren’t about to leave a loose end. Ella knew that if nothing else, she was a loose end like Bambi, especially now that Blue had gotten himself killed. Maybe the smart thing for her do to was stay put, but she failed Sitting Duck 101.
The cab pulled up to the bus station. Ella slipped out and walked right in. It was practically empty. She told the sleepy surfer dude behind the counter she wanted a ticket for the next bus out of town. She plopped her cash down and slipped the ticket in her pocket.
Immediately walking back out the door, she strolled toward a dark corner. She pulled out her cell phone and checked to make sure there was a signal. She hit a few buttons and paced. She got voice mail.
“It’s Isabella. I’m in deep, buddy, too deep. This is big, bigger than what we thought. If you don’t hear from me in two days, come looking. I can’t say anything else. Just get here. Hopefully, even if I’m dead I’ve managed to get most of the pieces piled in the right place. Just get here and help Ian figure it out.”
After powering off the phone, she sat her duffel bag on the ground and pulled out a mirror and scissors. Within minutes her dark hair was short and punky, almost back to it’s natural color. Scissors and mirror went back in her purse, the cut hairs and the bus ticket went in a paper bag she set on fire and dropped to the ground.
While she watched it burn, she stripped off the top layer of clothes and buried them in the trashcan. She stood back until the bag was pretty much ashes, smoking three cigarettes at once to mask the odor. Spreading the remains with her feet she leaned over to see if anyone was around.
She saw the bus go by and looked at her watch. Yup, that was her bus. She waited for it to load and pull away. When it left for whatever city the dude said it was headed for, Ella stepped out of the alley wearing black jeans and a matching tee instead of the khakis and blue blouse she’d arrived wearing.
Ella ran a hand through her now spiky auburn hair, instead of her identifiable black tresses and headed for the one place Blue had stumbled on that even Bruno didn’t know about. As long as she wasn’t caught, she knew she’d be safe right under everyone’s nose.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Vignette #138: Breathe
David Turner was a wreck. They’d finally done it. Four Stars Studios had found a way to sabotage his film. He paced the set back and forth.
This was a disaster. Not the film, “Breathe” had gone better than he had hoped. It was the lack of a female lead. Malvina Golden had bailed. At the last minute she bailed on them.
Her last film with the studio kept running later and later. David had gone ahead and began production of “Breathe” without her, filming every scene but those that required her. That kept them from missing their own deadlines and kept her from getting in legal trouble with Four Stars.
Then Four Stars made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Turner couldn’t blame her. She called this morning and apologized. Great, she was sorry, so was everyone else’s bank balance.
Today was the last day they could use this rented space. The ballroom set needed to be struck so the next renter could move in. If they didn’t get this scene, the whole film was for naught.
It was the final scene, a ballroom. All Turner needed was to find an actress to fit into the already designed and fitted gown, descend the staircase and reach out her hand to the camera. They’d already filmed the dancers, Redfield’s entrance, dialogue and close ups.
They had even talked Herman’s sister into standing in for the moment the camera sees the two hands touching, the two hands fated to live happily ever after, the final moment of “Breathe”. The whole film hinged now on the “actress” who belonged to that “hand” coming down “that” staircase.
He had begged Herman’s sister to do the part. She was ungodly shy. Just the camera on her hand took eighteen takes. She kept bursting into tears and ruining the shot. She finally cried herself out and they got the perfect shot.
“Okay.” Herman came rushing to him. “Get it set up. We’re ready.”
“What?” David was shocked.
“Heat up the lights, point the camera and scream action, stupid. We’re ready.” Herman was puffing, struggling for air having run full speed ahead from somewhere.
“Malvina showed after all?” David eyes lit up.
“No.” Herman put his hands on David’s shoulder. “Trust me. We found the perfect replacement. It took some work, but we’re ready.”
“Who?”
“Stop wasting time.” Herman shoved him toward the cameramen. “We’ve got just enough time to get this scene in the can and get the set struck. We’ll talk contracts later.”
“Uh…”
“Just do it!” Herman hissed.
In ten minutes they were ready. The professionals, excited they were finally going to get this masterpiece back underway, pulled it all together. The bright lights hit the staircase and the A.D. cued the sound.
“Ready up there?” Turner dared ask before he gave the final call.
“Ready.” A distinctly familiar voice called back.
“Let’s get this down in one take.” Turner called back with a directorial command.
“Piece of cake.” Was the response unseen from the top of the staircase.
Turner nodded his head. The clapboard slipped in front of the camera. “Breathe finale take one.” Came the voice followed by the clap.
“And action!” David called and held his breath.
The music swelled and he looked to the top of the stairs. He saw the dress first. The costume designer had created a masterpiece. It caught his attention immediately and then led his eyes directly to the form of the elegant young woman wearing it.
She hesitated at the top of the stairs. He knew the camera was slowly and smoothly zooming in on her face. David saw her shy smile, the nervous dart of her eyes. His jaw dropped.
It was Herman’s sister after all. She stepped to the top. A moment before taking that first timid step she smiled. It lit up the room. She blushed shyly, biting her lip looking down at her feet.
David’s heart pounded. She was perfect. She was beautiful. She genteelly picked up the billowing folds of that gown and began to descend, each step stronger, each step determined, each step toward destiny, just as they had imagined.
She reached the bottom, smoothed her gown and almost unnoticeably curtsied. She took a deep breath and radiated that heart-stopping smile again, finally reaching out her hand, shyly determined but with courage.
“Cut!” David said. “Print it!” He said with relief.
He looked at the woman who had saved his life. “Young lady, I have just fallen in love.”
The woman threw back her head and laughed.
David’s jaw dropped again. He knew that laugh. “Oh my God!” He thought out loud.
This was a disaster. Not the film, “Breathe” had gone better than he had hoped. It was the lack of a female lead. Malvina Golden had bailed. At the last minute she bailed on them.
Her last film with the studio kept running later and later. David had gone ahead and began production of “Breathe” without her, filming every scene but those that required her. That kept them from missing their own deadlines and kept her from getting in legal trouble with Four Stars.
Then Four Stars made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Turner couldn’t blame her. She called this morning and apologized. Great, she was sorry, so was everyone else’s bank balance.
Today was the last day they could use this rented space. The ballroom set needed to be struck so the next renter could move in. If they didn’t get this scene, the whole film was for naught.
It was the final scene, a ballroom. All Turner needed was to find an actress to fit into the already designed and fitted gown, descend the staircase and reach out her hand to the camera. They’d already filmed the dancers, Redfield’s entrance, dialogue and close ups.
They had even talked Herman’s sister into standing in for the moment the camera sees the two hands touching, the two hands fated to live happily ever after, the final moment of “Breathe”. The whole film hinged now on the “actress” who belonged to that “hand” coming down “that” staircase.
He had begged Herman’s sister to do the part. She was ungodly shy. Just the camera on her hand took eighteen takes. She kept bursting into tears and ruining the shot. She finally cried herself out and they got the perfect shot.
“Okay.” Herman came rushing to him. “Get it set up. We’re ready.”
“What?” David was shocked.
“Heat up the lights, point the camera and scream action, stupid. We’re ready.” Herman was puffing, struggling for air having run full speed ahead from somewhere.
“Malvina showed after all?” David eyes lit up.
“No.” Herman put his hands on David’s shoulder. “Trust me. We found the perfect replacement. It took some work, but we’re ready.”
“Who?”
“Stop wasting time.” Herman shoved him toward the cameramen. “We’ve got just enough time to get this scene in the can and get the set struck. We’ll talk contracts later.”
“Uh…”
“Just do it!” Herman hissed.
In ten minutes they were ready. The professionals, excited they were finally going to get this masterpiece back underway, pulled it all together. The bright lights hit the staircase and the A.D. cued the sound.
“Ready up there?” Turner dared ask before he gave the final call.
“Ready.” A distinctly familiar voice called back.
“Let’s get this down in one take.” Turner called back with a directorial command.
“Piece of cake.” Was the response unseen from the top of the staircase.
Turner nodded his head. The clapboard slipped in front of the camera. “Breathe finale take one.” Came the voice followed by the clap.
“And action!” David called and held his breath.
The music swelled and he looked to the top of the stairs. He saw the dress first. The costume designer had created a masterpiece. It caught his attention immediately and then led his eyes directly to the form of the elegant young woman wearing it.
She hesitated at the top of the stairs. He knew the camera was slowly and smoothly zooming in on her face. David saw her shy smile, the nervous dart of her eyes. His jaw dropped.
It was Herman’s sister after all. She stepped to the top. A moment before taking that first timid step she smiled. It lit up the room. She blushed shyly, biting her lip looking down at her feet.
David’s heart pounded. She was perfect. She was beautiful. She genteelly picked up the billowing folds of that gown and began to descend, each step stronger, each step determined, each step toward destiny, just as they had imagined.
She reached the bottom, smoothed her gown and almost unnoticeably curtsied. She took a deep breath and radiated that heart-stopping smile again, finally reaching out her hand, shyly determined but with courage.
“Cut!” David said. “Print it!” He said with relief.
He looked at the woman who had saved his life. “Young lady, I have just fallen in love.”
The woman threw back her head and laughed.
David’s jaw dropped again. He knew that laugh. “Oh my God!” He thought out loud.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Vignette #125: Patches
The old man held the cat in his lap. It was curled into a white spotted ball in his lap purring. He stroked it gently and smiled. This was a good thing.
He lay back in his chair and sighed. It had been a long time since there had been anything else in this place at night but him. He looked down again at the cat.
It needed a little cleaning up, but it looked healthy. He shook his head and smiled.
“A barn cat.” She scrunched up her nose, suddenly there. “That’s the last thing we need is a mangy old barn cat.”
“I thought it might keep you company.”
“I just need you to keep me company.” She sighed. She looked down at the four-legged creature rubbing itself against his legs. “Where did you get that thing anyway?”
“It was by the side of the road. I passed it this morning and it was still there when I came back tonight. So I brought it home. I thought you’d like it.”
She put her hands of her hips. “You thought I’d like trash someone didn’t care enough about to even put in the can?”
“It’s not trash, sweetheart.” He told her. “It’s a cat.”
She looked at it again. It looked back and took a smooth feline step toward her. “Ugh! Don’t let that thing near me. This is Chinese silk. It’ll ruin it.”
David reached down and picked up the stray, cradling it in one hand and rubbing it’s head with the other. “It won’t hurt your dress. See how gentle it is?”
“Get rid of it!” She whined. “Take back out to the road and dump it where you found it.”
“That’s cruel.”
She balled up her fists at her side and puffed. “Get…rid…of…it!”
David nodded. “There’s a farm down the road. I’ll take it there in the morning.”
Before he could turn away, she reached out and snatched the cat from his arms. She grabbed it by the head and cracked it like a whip. David heard the snap and saw the cat go limp. Hiking up her blue Chinese silk, she stomped over to the trash and slammed the body in.
She brushed her hands and looked down. “Oh, look what you’ve done! She stared up at him. “I have that nasty cat hair all over my dress.” She stomped up stairs and left him standing there.
David shivered until he was old again. He looked down in his lap, making sure it was just a dream. The little thing raised its head and looked at him.
“Patches.” He smiled and stroked the fur contented. “I’ll call you Patches.”
He lay back in his chair and sighed. It had been a long time since there had been anything else in this place at night but him. He looked down again at the cat.
It needed a little cleaning up, but it looked healthy. He shook his head and smiled.
“A barn cat.” She scrunched up her nose, suddenly there. “That’s the last thing we need is a mangy old barn cat.”
“I thought it might keep you company.”
“I just need you to keep me company.” She sighed. She looked down at the four-legged creature rubbing itself against his legs. “Where did you get that thing anyway?”
“It was by the side of the road. I passed it this morning and it was still there when I came back tonight. So I brought it home. I thought you’d like it.”
She put her hands of her hips. “You thought I’d like trash someone didn’t care enough about to even put in the can?”
“It’s not trash, sweetheart.” He told her. “It’s a cat.”
She looked at it again. It looked back and took a smooth feline step toward her. “Ugh! Don’t let that thing near me. This is Chinese silk. It’ll ruin it.”
David reached down and picked up the stray, cradling it in one hand and rubbing it’s head with the other. “It won’t hurt your dress. See how gentle it is?”
“Get rid of it!” She whined. “Take back out to the road and dump it where you found it.”
“That’s cruel.”
She balled up her fists at her side and puffed. “Get…rid…of…it!”
David nodded. “There’s a farm down the road. I’ll take it there in the morning.”
Before he could turn away, she reached out and snatched the cat from his arms. She grabbed it by the head and cracked it like a whip. David heard the snap and saw the cat go limp. Hiking up her blue Chinese silk, she stomped over to the trash and slammed the body in.
She brushed her hands and looked down. “Oh, look what you’ve done! She stared up at him. “I have that nasty cat hair all over my dress.” She stomped up stairs and left him standing there.
David shivered until he was old again. He looked down in his lap, making sure it was just a dream. The little thing raised its head and looked at him.
“Patches.” He smiled and stroked the fur contented. “I’ll call you Patches.”
Friday, December 3, 2010
Vignette #114: Traditions
Ian was trying hard not to laugh when she handed him her little closing night gift. It was wrapped in blue Kleenex tied together with a little gold Christmas ribbon.
“Go ahead.” Saxon crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d think it was funny.”
“I’m so sorry, Bessie.” Ian stifled the last giggle. “But the irony…”
“Just stop.” She smiled with him. “I get it. Kleenex girl wraps her gifts in Kleenex. I didn’t have time to run out and buy proper paper so I just used what was at hand.”
Ian guffawed.
“Okay, that didn’t come out right.” She said and then couldn’t help but laugh herself. “If my Granny knew that teaching me that being a lady meant you always kept a tissue under your brassiere strap for emergencies would lead to a nickname she’d be rolling over in her grave.”
“If your Granny knew you’d have the sniffles on the first day of acting seminar, she’d have told you not to be seated anywhere near that snooty curr from Kingsport.” Ian told her.
“You mean Clare Humphreys?” Saxon asked.
“Whatever her name is.” Ian said, his attention back to the little gift in his hand. “Shall I open this or wait for the cast party?”
“Open it, Clem.” Saxon was excited. “I don’t want to have to explain it to everyone.”
“Or have them see the wrapping paper…” Ian teased.
Saxon snorted. Ian loved it when he made her snort. “Stop…or I’ll take it back.”
Ian carefully untied the ribbon and waded through the layers of blue tissues. When he got it all folded back he looked at what was swaddled there in the palm of his hand. “A penny cut in half?” He looked up at her.
Saxon smiled. “Remember dress tech?”
“When those nasty kids from Abingdon High started throwing coins on the stage?” Ian recalled. “And during your final monologue one went down your bodice?”
“The very one.” She pointed. “Jeff Munson and I struggled to get it in a vice and cut it in half.”
“Why in half?”
“Because one part is for you and one part is for me.” She smiled and reached over and plucked one from the palm of Ian’s hand. “Think of it sort of as a physical reminder of our promise.”
“Which one?” Ian knew, but he liked to tease her.
“The big one.” Saxon kissed her half penny and dropped it in her clutch. “Which ever one of us gets nominated for the Oscar first…”
Ian shook his head. “…Takes the other as their date.”
“Then we can put the penny back together.” Saxon sighed. “Reunited symbolically like Romeo and Juliet.”
“From whence the penny came.” Ian said.
“I knew you’d understand.”
“Here give it a kiss for luck.”
He held his half penny to her lips. She smiled and kissed the shiny copper before he slipped it in his pocket.
“Don’t lose that.” Saxon warned. “I’ll have to kill you if you do.”
“I’ll give it to Aunt Hil. She’ll know where to put it for safe keeping.” Ian assured her. “Now, my Juliet I have something for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” But she was thrilled he did.
Ian held out a little white box tied together in a red Christmas ribbon. “Open it now, so I don’t have to explain to everyone. Besides that will take the karma off it.”
Saxon eagerly slipped the ribbon off and opened the lid. Peering inside, she found a single rosebud nested in a layer of white cotton. She looked up at Ian with a question in her eyes.
“It’s an almost forgotten theatre tradition.” Ian explained. “I read about it in a book. When you have your first lead in a play, you keep the most perfect rose bud from the first bouquet you are presented on Opening Night. On Closing Night you present it to the person in the cast you think is destined to be the biggest star.”
“Oh Ian.” Saxon didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or kiss him. She did all three.
“Go ahead.” Saxon crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d think it was funny.”
“I’m so sorry, Bessie.” Ian stifled the last giggle. “But the irony…”
“Just stop.” She smiled with him. “I get it. Kleenex girl wraps her gifts in Kleenex. I didn’t have time to run out and buy proper paper so I just used what was at hand.”
Ian guffawed.
“Okay, that didn’t come out right.” She said and then couldn’t help but laugh herself. “If my Granny knew that teaching me that being a lady meant you always kept a tissue under your brassiere strap for emergencies would lead to a nickname she’d be rolling over in her grave.”
“If your Granny knew you’d have the sniffles on the first day of acting seminar, she’d have told you not to be seated anywhere near that snooty curr from Kingsport.” Ian told her.
“You mean Clare Humphreys?” Saxon asked.
“Whatever her name is.” Ian said, his attention back to the little gift in his hand. “Shall I open this or wait for the cast party?”
“Open it, Clem.” Saxon was excited. “I don’t want to have to explain it to everyone.”
“Or have them see the wrapping paper…” Ian teased.
Saxon snorted. Ian loved it when he made her snort. “Stop…or I’ll take it back.”
Ian carefully untied the ribbon and waded through the layers of blue tissues. When he got it all folded back he looked at what was swaddled there in the palm of his hand. “A penny cut in half?” He looked up at her.
Saxon smiled. “Remember dress tech?”
“When those nasty kids from Abingdon High started throwing coins on the stage?” Ian recalled. “And during your final monologue one went down your bodice?”
“The very one.” She pointed. “Jeff Munson and I struggled to get it in a vice and cut it in half.”
“Why in half?”
“Because one part is for you and one part is for me.” She smiled and reached over and plucked one from the palm of Ian’s hand. “Think of it sort of as a physical reminder of our promise.”
“Which one?” Ian knew, but he liked to tease her.
“The big one.” Saxon kissed her half penny and dropped it in her clutch. “Which ever one of us gets nominated for the Oscar first…”
Ian shook his head. “…Takes the other as their date.”
“Then we can put the penny back together.” Saxon sighed. “Reunited symbolically like Romeo and Juliet.”
“From whence the penny came.” Ian said.
“I knew you’d understand.”
“Here give it a kiss for luck.”
He held his half penny to her lips. She smiled and kissed the shiny copper before he slipped it in his pocket.
“Don’t lose that.” Saxon warned. “I’ll have to kill you if you do.”
“I’ll give it to Aunt Hil. She’ll know where to put it for safe keeping.” Ian assured her. “Now, my Juliet I have something for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” But she was thrilled he did.
Ian held out a little white box tied together in a red Christmas ribbon. “Open it now, so I don’t have to explain to everyone. Besides that will take the karma off it.”
Saxon eagerly slipped the ribbon off and opened the lid. Peering inside, she found a single rosebud nested in a layer of white cotton. She looked up at Ian with a question in her eyes.
“It’s an almost forgotten theatre tradition.” Ian explained. “I read about it in a book. When you have your first lead in a play, you keep the most perfect rose bud from the first bouquet you are presented on Opening Night. On Closing Night you present it to the person in the cast you think is destined to be the biggest star.”
“Oh Ian.” Saxon didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or kiss him. She did all three.
Vignette #112: HRT
“Just a roast beef sandwich on white please.” He handed the menu back to the waiter. “Hold the mayo.”
“To drink, sir?”
“A tall glass of milk. It’s been a long time since I’ve had just a simple glass of milk.” He smiled as he turned back to his companions.
“Going back to the basics, Jamey?”
James Redfield shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? We may all be right back where we started soon.”
“Don’t curse it, for God’s sake.”
“Sorry, not being negative, Dave. We know this is a gamble, I’m just trying to be frugal.”
“Not a thing wrong with that.” Lucille smirked. “This time next year, we can rub the studio’s nose in it. A diet of nice basic fiber will only make it all the richer.”
“We’re all putting everything we have into this film.” Turner said. “It’s either the beginning or the end.”
“This was your idea, Dave.” She glared at him. “Don’t tell us you’re having second thoughts now.”
“Not at all.” He sighed. “The studios don’t like it. They’ll try everything they can think of to stop us. I’m just bracing for a difficult time.”
“You know they offered to buy the script.” Redfield admitted. “When I told them I wouldn’t sign the new contract unless they let us do it.”
Lucille perked up, half mad, half intrigued. “They made a counter offer? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Not a counter offer.” James picked a pack of crackers up from the basket in the center of the table. “They offered to buy the script, but they didn’t want me in it and didn’t want Dave to direct.”
“Bastards.” Dave mused.
“It’s a period piece they said.” Redfield mashed the crackers in the package to let off steam. “You don’t do period pieces well, Fairbanks is perfect. We'll decide on your next picture. Don’t go thinking beyond your abilities. What an insult.”
“What did they say about Dave directing?” Lucille asked.
“I’m not sure I want to hear this.” Dave leaned on the table. “Or if I even care.”
“Too large a scope for a B-movie mindset.” Redfield said anyway.
“They made an offer for the script.” The fourth companion said. “Booker called me and told me they offered him the moon.”
“He didn’t sell it on us, did he?” Dave sat straight up.
“Of course not.” The man said. “He’s as fed up with the studio as we are.”
“How did Forbush react when Booker turned them down?” Jamey smiled. “I assume it was Forbush.”
The man nodded his head. “Oh the usual, told him Four Stars could make the picture the way it should be made, guarantee a big market push even offered a contract for just two more films…of their choice.”
“And?” Someone at the table encouraged.
“Booker said the man turned into Rumpelstiltskin when he told him to kiss his behind.” The group laughed. “Threatened none of us would ever get this made and no one would ever work again.”
“We’ll get it made.” Dave was determined.
“And I can guarantee distribution.” Lucille smirked. “Four Stars has ticked off enough houses, and I’ve got the goods on enough others to make sure that we get it in every major market for at least a week.”
“If it’s a bomb though, none of us will ever work again.” James reminded everyone.
“I will.” The fourth man said. “No one gives a rat’s ass about make up people.”
“If worse comes to worse, you may have to teach us all.” Dave smiled.
“Jamey’s pretty good at it already.” He laughed.
“What are you talking about?” Jamey wanted to know.
“Remember last Halloween? You got drunk and dressed up in Lucille’s ball gown?”
Lucille laughed and James turned red. “Herman, do not remind me.”
“I thought you looked real pretty.” Lucille pinched her husband’s cheek.
“I couldn’t get over how much you looked like my sister.” Herman joked.
“I guess I’ve got a career in Vaudeville then, if there’s even a Vaudeville left.” James sighed. “Has anyone heard from Malvina?” He changed the embarrassing subject.
“She’s in.” Dave confirmed. “She just has to finish up this last picture and her contract with Four Stars is complete. She’ll jump right in.”
“Malvina Golden and James Redfield in ‘Breathe’ directed by David Turner.” Three of last year’s Oscar nominees in one film, that will pack ‘em in.” Lucille drummed happily on the tabletop.
“Four Stars won’t know what hit them!” Turner added.
The waiter came carrying a tray with their order. He began to serve. As he put Lucille’s fillet in front of her she sneered at him.
“It’s about time.”
“Sorry for the delay, Mrs. Redfield.” The waiter apologized. “The chef wanted to make sure everything was perfect. It’s not every day stars of your caliber grace our humble establishment.”
It was just what she wanted to hear. “Give him our gratitude. We are always willing to wait on perfection.”
“Of course, Mrs. Redfield.”
“To drink, sir?”
“A tall glass of milk. It’s been a long time since I’ve had just a simple glass of milk.” He smiled as he turned back to his companions.
“Going back to the basics, Jamey?”
James Redfield shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? We may all be right back where we started soon.”
“Don’t curse it, for God’s sake.”
“Sorry, not being negative, Dave. We know this is a gamble, I’m just trying to be frugal.”
“Not a thing wrong with that.” Lucille smirked. “This time next year, we can rub the studio’s nose in it. A diet of nice basic fiber will only make it all the richer.”
“We’re all putting everything we have into this film.” Turner said. “It’s either the beginning or the end.”
“This was your idea, Dave.” She glared at him. “Don’t tell us you’re having second thoughts now.”
“Not at all.” He sighed. “The studios don’t like it. They’ll try everything they can think of to stop us. I’m just bracing for a difficult time.”
“You know they offered to buy the script.” Redfield admitted. “When I told them I wouldn’t sign the new contract unless they let us do it.”
Lucille perked up, half mad, half intrigued. “They made a counter offer? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Not a counter offer.” James picked a pack of crackers up from the basket in the center of the table. “They offered to buy the script, but they didn’t want me in it and didn’t want Dave to direct.”
“Bastards.” Dave mused.
“It’s a period piece they said.” Redfield mashed the crackers in the package to let off steam. “You don’t do period pieces well, Fairbanks is perfect. We'll decide on your next picture. Don’t go thinking beyond your abilities. What an insult.”
“What did they say about Dave directing?” Lucille asked.
“I’m not sure I want to hear this.” Dave leaned on the table. “Or if I even care.”
“Too large a scope for a B-movie mindset.” Redfield said anyway.
“They made an offer for the script.” The fourth companion said. “Booker called me and told me they offered him the moon.”
“He didn’t sell it on us, did he?” Dave sat straight up.
“Of course not.” The man said. “He’s as fed up with the studio as we are.”
“How did Forbush react when Booker turned them down?” Jamey smiled. “I assume it was Forbush.”
The man nodded his head. “Oh the usual, told him Four Stars could make the picture the way it should be made, guarantee a big market push even offered a contract for just two more films…of their choice.”
“And?” Someone at the table encouraged.
“Booker said the man turned into Rumpelstiltskin when he told him to kiss his behind.” The group laughed. “Threatened none of us would ever get this made and no one would ever work again.”
“We’ll get it made.” Dave was determined.
“And I can guarantee distribution.” Lucille smirked. “Four Stars has ticked off enough houses, and I’ve got the goods on enough others to make sure that we get it in every major market for at least a week.”
“If it’s a bomb though, none of us will ever work again.” James reminded everyone.
“I will.” The fourth man said. “No one gives a rat’s ass about make up people.”
“If worse comes to worse, you may have to teach us all.” Dave smiled.
“Jamey’s pretty good at it already.” He laughed.
“What are you talking about?” Jamey wanted to know.
“Remember last Halloween? You got drunk and dressed up in Lucille’s ball gown?”
Lucille laughed and James turned red. “Herman, do not remind me.”
“I thought you looked real pretty.” Lucille pinched her husband’s cheek.
“I couldn’t get over how much you looked like my sister.” Herman joked.
“I guess I’ve got a career in Vaudeville then, if there’s even a Vaudeville left.” James sighed. “Has anyone heard from Malvina?” He changed the embarrassing subject.
“She’s in.” Dave confirmed. “She just has to finish up this last picture and her contract with Four Stars is complete. She’ll jump right in.”
“Malvina Golden and James Redfield in ‘Breathe’ directed by David Turner.” Three of last year’s Oscar nominees in one film, that will pack ‘em in.” Lucille drummed happily on the tabletop.
“Four Stars won’t know what hit them!” Turner added.
The waiter came carrying a tray with their order. He began to serve. As he put Lucille’s fillet in front of her she sneered at him.
“It’s about time.”
“Sorry for the delay, Mrs. Redfield.” The waiter apologized. “The chef wanted to make sure everything was perfect. It’s not every day stars of your caliber grace our humble establishment.”
It was just what she wanted to hear. “Give him our gratitude. We are always willing to wait on perfection.”
“Of course, Mrs. Redfield.”
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Chapter Twenty One: Time
This was the time of day he enjoyed the most, alone after dark while his Papa was sleeping. He always woke up in the middle of the night. He always had. He didn’t know why.
He used to just lie in bed and count the tiles in his ceiling, but that was before. Now he’d slip on his robe and the neat slippers Tippy had bought for him and roam.
This place was so big. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his other home, but this place was different. Before, any little noise he made, any little noise anyone made at night would roust someone. Now he could quietly explore, just a little.
He slipped his feet in the bed shoes kept right where he could stick his feet in them and pulled on the robe, hung within reach. As he tied the belt, he looked at the nightstand and smiled. Looking back at him from the frame were four faces. One of them was his, the other were three people he missed so much. His mother and Miz Hil were gone.
His Grampaw Jude he spoke to every day. It wasn’t the same as being able to touch him. It wasn’t the same as being able to take in the smell of him. Sweet wood and evergreen, Jude always smelled of sweet wood and evergreen.
His mother always smelled of biscuits and lilacs. Miz Hill was roses, she always smelled of roses. Ronnie took a deep breath remember the scents that added up to home.
He didn’t think of his Daddy. Oh he loved him, and there were times he missed him, but Ronnie couldn’t get lots of things about the man out of his head, things that scared him. Things that made him cry.
He felt Rodie stir on the bed. Ronnie looked at the kitty and put his fingers to his lips. “Shhh!” He stood and padded toward the door. As he opened it, he heard the cat lightly pounce to the floor and knew she wouldn’t be far behind his every step.
Ronnie liked the fact that it was never pitch black in his new home. It was dark, but not the scary monsters lurking in the corner kind. If you forgot to put something away, it was dark enough to trip over it, but bright enough to lead the way anywhere you wanted to go.
He knew exactly where he wanted to go. It was his little midnight ritual. First he stopped and looked at that painting in the stairwell. His Papa was right. It was almost like the one he had found in the barn, but Ronnie liked this one better. He could stare at it for hours and always see something new.
Rodie would wind herself around Ronnie’s feet as he looked, rubbing her soft fluff on his bare ankles. Then she’d purr. Ronnie loved the sound of his cat purring in the quiet of the night, a happy sound in the dark.
He reached down and picked her up, Rodie quickly making herself comfortable as they padded to the kitchen. The room would flood with light as Ronnie opened the fridge and get them a snack. Tonight it was cream for her and a leftover cinnamon roll for him.
There was always food in the refrigerator now. Not that he went hungry on Lost Mountain. You just didn’t snack a lot, snacking was a special treat that you never did without asking. It was still a special treat. He just didn’t have to feel guilty that he’d eaten something his Mama had saved for her lunch.
As Rodie licked her paws, Ronnie rinsed her bowl and put it in the special spot for her dirty dishes. He always liked to peer out the kitchen door as he put Rodie’s things away.
Sometimes he’d see Ralphie being walked if Uncle Kellen had gotten home late again.
The best thing was watching the moonlight on the pool. That was just way too cool. Not only did he have a big old pool right in his own back yard, but every night the moon came and danced all over it just for him. Ronnie thought that was God’s way of telling Ronnie He was looking after him.
Ronnie picked Rodie up after the smiles of the moonlight on the water made him sigh a time or two. He went to his favorite place in the whole world. They went right to the staircase again, making sure not to get distracted by the painting and stood in the doorway.
There he was, sleeping in his big old bed. Ronnie put the cat down and quietly rolled a little ottoman to the bedside. He sat on it, putting his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Ronnie loved to watch his Papa, to just sit there and watch him breathe.
He sighed. Things were right. They were so different, but they were finally right. That feeling that he had, the one in the bottom of his belly was gone. Whenever he felt it, all he had to do was look at his Papa and it went away.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love his Mommy and Daddy, he just never felt like he belonged. He was happy and they loved him, but somehow he always knew. He never really knew what that was until he came to live with his Papa.
He’d heard the whispers that he didn’t really understand. He could hear the things people said when they knew his mother was too busy to be paying attention. He never understood why they didn’t know that he could hear what they said. It was kinda mean.
Then Stevie Rose told him flat out and he mean it to be mean. At first he just thought he was lying, but it made him so sad. Finally his Mama asked him if he wanted to talk about whatever had made him so said.
He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop crying. “Stevie Rose says nobody ever wanted me. That I ain’t really yours. He said that a horrible monster left me on your doorstep and you took me in because you were afraid he’d come back and eat you if you didn’t.”
“Aw Honeypot.” His Mama smiled. She always called him Honeypot, and when she smiled there was always that little sad place right in the corner. She pulled him into to her biscuit and lilac smell and told him.
She told him that Stevie Rose was just being mean. When he asked her why he would be so mean, she told him that he was just jealous, because his Mama and Daddy didn’t get to choose him, but Ronnie was special because his Mama and Daddy did.
From that day on Ronnie understood a little better. When that feeling would come into the bottom of his belly, he would just remind it how special he was and that Stevie Rose’s parents got stuck with a loser.
Now they were all gone. Sometimes it made him sad, but it was a different kind of sad like knowing you’d eaten the last candy in the bottom of your Trick or Treat bag. He knew it was gone and things would never be quite the same, but he had such sweet memories that far outweighed the sad.
This was where he was supposed to be, in his favorite spot in the whole wide world watching his Papa sleep. He looked so peaceful, most of the time. Ronnie liked it when he’d steal into the bedroom at night at his Papa would be sprawled out gently breathing.
Once and a while he’d let out a big old sigh, just like he’d finished doing something he loved more than anything. His Papa would then smile in his sleep, his face relaxing and his body melted into the bed.
Ronnie gently reached out and wiped his fingers across the sleeping man’s forehead pushing that stubborn tuft of black hair back into place. His Papa seemed so at peace. Ronnie liked to think he was having a happy dream. He didn’t seem to have too many of those.
It wasn’t fair. All his Papa needed was a little peace and a whole lot of love. He looked happy all the time, but Ronnie knew better. He could feel it, like the strange tickle that used to always be in his belly only this was in his father’s eyes.
Sometimes when he didn’t know you were watching this look came over his face. Ronnie couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew it wasn’t good. It was like he was watching the family dog get run over in slow motion and knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
But tonight was a good night. His Papa was sleeping so peacefully Ronnie had to watch his chest just to be sure he was still breathing. It was the best place in the world to be.
Sometimes, Ronnie needed to be there. Some nights, his Papa’s eyes would dart back and forth beneath closed eyelids. He’d tremble and sweat, sometimes moaning in pain. He’d ball the sheets up in his fists until his knuckles turned white, lying still but thrashing his head back and forth.
And there were the nights his father would sit up and scream. It didn’t scare Ronnie, it only made him feel bad that he wasn’t there to hold him and soothe him back down to sleep. It didn’t happen too often, but the two or three times it had were two or three times way too many.
Ronnie wanted his Papa to be happy. He wanted him to not have bad dreams, especially the ones that made him scream in his sleep. He knew it was impossible not to have a nightmare once and a while, but his Papa had had more nightmares asleep and awake that any one person deserved.
His Papa stirred. Ronnie leaned in close, just in case. The sleeping man sighed and relaxed. It made Ronnie smile.
Ronnie got up and quietly pushed the ottoman back to its place in the corner. He walked back to the bed and watched him sleep for just a second longer. He leaned over and kissed his sleeping Papa’s cheek.
As Ronnie turned to go he saw his father’s eyes flutter. Those half sleepy blue eyes shined in the dark. His Papa smiled.
Ronnie smiled back.
His Papa lifted the covers and Ronnie scooted in beside him. In a moment his Papa’s arms held him tightly and the boy was all nestled in his father’s perfect loving warm. He heard the cat leap lightly on the bed and roll up in a ball at his feet. Ronnie sighed and drifted off to sleep.
He was wrong. This was his favorite place to be.
“Just a roast beef sandwich on white please.” He handed the menu back to the waiter. “Hold the mayo.”
“To drink, sir?”
“A tall glass of milk. It’s been a long time since I’ve had just a simple glass of milk.” He smiled as he turned back to his companions.
“Going back to the basics, Jamey?”
James Redfield shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? We may all be right back where we started soon.”
“Don’t curse it, for God’s sake.”
“Sorry, not being negative, Dave. We know this is a gamble, I’m just trying to be frugal.”
“Not a thing wrong with that.” Lucille smirked. “This time next year, we can rub the studio’s nose in it. A diet of nice basic fiber will only make it all the richer.”
“We’re all putting everything we have into this film.” Turner said. “It’s either the beginning or the end.”
“This was your idea, Dave.” She glared at him. “Don’t tell us you’re having second thoughts now.”
“Not at all.” He sighed. “The studios don’t like it. They’ll try everything they can think of to stop us. I’m just bracing for a difficult time.”
“You know they offered to buy the script.” Redfield admitted. “When I told them I wouldn’t sign the new contract unless they let us do it.”
Lucille perked up, half mad, half intrigued. “They made a counter offer? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Not a counter offer.” James picked a pack of crackers up from the basket in the center of the table. “They offered to buy the script, but they didn’t want me in it and didn’t want Dave to direct.”
“Bastards.” Dave mused.
“It’s a period piece they said.” Redfield mashed the crackers in the package to let off steam. “You don’t do period pieces well, Fairbanks is perfect. Well decide on your next picture. Don’t go thinking beyond your abilities. What an insult.”
“What did they say about Dave directing?” Lucille asked.
“I’m not sure I want to hear this.” Dave leaned on the table. “Or if I even care.”
“Too large a scope for a B-movie mindset.” Redfield said anyway.
“They made an offer for the script.” The fourth companion said. “Booker called me and told me they offered him the moon.”
“He didn’t sell it on us, did he?” Dave sat straight up.
“Of course not.” The man said. “He’s as fed up with the studio as we are.”
“How did Forbush react when Booker turned them down?” Jamey smiled. “I assume it was Forbush.”
The man nodded his head. “Oh the usual, told him Four Stars could make the picture the way it should be made, guarantee a big market push even offered a contract for just two more films…of their choice.”
“And?” Someone at the table encouraged.
“Booker said the man turned into Rumpelstiltskin when he told him to kiss his behind.” The group laughed. “Threatened none of us would ever get this made and no one would ever work again.”
“We’ll get it made.” Dave was determined.
“And I can guarantee distribution.” Lucille smirked. “Four Stars has ticked off enough houses, and I’ve got the goods on enough others to make sure that we get it in every major market for at least a week.”
“If it’s a bomb though, none of us will ever work again.” James reminded everyone.
“I will.” The fourth man said. “No one gives a rat’s ass about make up people.”
“If worse comes to worse, you may have to teach us all.” Dave smiled.
“Jamey’s pretty good at it already.” He laughed.
“What are you talking about?” Jamey wanted to know.
“Remember last Halloween? You got drunk and dressed up in Lucille’s ball gown?”
Lucille laughed and James turned red. “Herman, do not remind me.”
“I thought you looked real pretty.” Lucille pinched her husband’s cheek.
“I couldn’t get over how much you looked like my sister.” Herman joked.
“I guess I’ve got a career in Vaudeville then, if there’s even a Vaudeville left.” James sighed. “Has anyone heard from Malvina?” He changed the embarrassing subject.
“She’s in.” Dave confirmed. “She just has to finish up this last picture and her contract with Four Stars is complete. She’ll jump right in.”
“Malvina Golden and James Redfield in ‘Breathe’ directed by David Turner.” Three of last year’s Oscar nominees in one film, that will pack ‘em in.” Lucille drummed happily on the tabletop.
“Four Stars won’t know what hit them!” Turner added.
The waiter came carrying a tray with their order. He began to serve. As he put Lucille’s filet in front of her she sneered at him.
“It’s about time.”
“Sorry for the delay, Mrs. Redfield.” The waiter apologized. “The chef wanted to make sure everything was perfect. It’s not every day stars of your caliber grace our humble establishment.”
It was just what she wanted to hear. “Give him our gratitude. We are always willing to wait on perfection.”
“Of course, Mrs. Redfield.”
“Okay, where are you?” She asked as she searched, not quite in panicked desperation, just a few seconds from it.
She was sure she’d slipped it off and laid it right on her dressing table. She remembered distinctly sitting there when she took her make up off last night, holding it up and watching it twirl in the mirror. It had to be right there.
Saxon pushed her freshly dried curls behind her ears and took a seat at the vanity. She didn’t reach for her brush. She pushed the bottles and loose earrings around.
“I can’t have lost it, not now.” She sighed and pushed a bottle of nail polish aside. “I know I put it right here.” She crossed her arms and pouted in the mirror.
“That always helps.” She could hear him say in her head. Funny, no matter what, no matter where, it was always Ian’s voice she heard in her head.
“Oh, sugar.” She uncrossed her arms and stood up banging her knee, as always, on some corner determined to keep her black and blue.
She rubbed her boo boo and watched the bottle of Aztec Blue nail polish rock and sway, fall to its side and roll off the vanity. She watched its free fall to the plush carpet. Fortunately the lid was on tight. She reached down to pick it up.
There in the plush white carpet was her treasure. She smiled as she squatted and picked it up. She placed the nail polish firmly in place and looked in the mirror as she put her treasure around her neck.
It was just a little half penny, dangling on a little gold chain. She held the penny in her fingers and looked at it. She kept it polished and rarely took it off, only when she showered before bed and when she walked down the aisle the first time.
The first time she got married Josh knew all about it. He knew all her secrets. She knew all of his. They thought it the reason people got married because they knew each other well enough to share it all, the good and the bad and that made the heart grow fonder.
They were best friends, suddenly in a maelstrom of publicity. They had known each other for two years, roommates for most of it. They were starving artists trying to hit it big in the big city. She was a poor small town girl from Grundy, Virginia. He was spoiled rich kid from Chicago running away from the parents who wanted him to go into the family business.
Josh’s family didn’t approve of his choice of professions and cut his monthly allowance down to just enough to keep him from living in a hovel and starving to death. They had met in a workshop on how to survive in show business. The opposites attracted immediately. Saxon was a survivor. Josh needed to learn how.
She taught him how to live frugally. He taught her how to light up a screen. She wanted to be an actress. He wanted to be a director. She had a monologue. He had a camera.
She taught him how to save money eating meals of peanut butter instead of Bruschetta. He taught her how to use make up to make the most of her features. She taught him that the endless auditions and interviews where all performances to be enjoyed and relished. He taught her how to develop a performance for the camera with subtlety and nuance.
They struggled together, making the most of every rejection. She did under fives on daytime television and a commercial for Wendy’s. He videoed weddings and birthday parties, and uploaded original shorts for You Tube.
Then his great aunt died and left him enough money to make his own little film. It was just $75,000, but that would be enough to guerrilla a little indie with enough left over to take it to a few film festivals.
Saxon pulled together a few actor friends and they made up a script as they went along. It was a silly little horror film, done with a hand held camera in eight days. Instead of monsters and vampires, they made the camera the monster.
They called it “Watching You”. Josh culled every horror movie cliché and deftly told it from the unseen monster’s point of view. It was at times horrifying, at times side splittingly funny and throughout ironically tragic.
It became the talk of the film fest circuit. Josh was invited to enter it in Sundance and it won the Audience award. It touched off a bidding war between distributors, Lion’s Gate finally winning. The little film became an instant hit and raked in big bucks for everyone.
Saxon and Josh went from nobody to royalty overnight. Offers came pouring in. They were smart enough to take advantage and make the right choices. She smartly did a small series of Scream Queen roles, and he stayed with small budget features he could maintain artistic control of.
Then they combined forces again, in a parody of their own careers achieving even bigger success. Disney came calling. They were smart enough to answer. They also thought they were smart enough to get married. Neither turned out to be the brightest decision either had made.
Disney stuck them both to a quick series of generic family comedies. None were successes. I do’s and a marriage license didn’t change their relationship at all. When their quick contracts ended, Disney sent Josh packing, but wanted Saxon for a small role in a series.
Saxon wanted more than television. She had always wanted to be a movie star, and with Josh’s encouragement, turned down the series and stuck it out. It turned out to be the right choice for her career, but the wrong one for the marriage.
It was a pseudo scream queen role, the damsel in distress in a sci-fi action flick starring Jeremy Tyson. It was a guaranteed hit adding box office luster back to Saxon’s resume. The reviews were better than average, critics latching on to the romantic chemistry and the comic edge Saxon brought to a thankless role. It led her to the series of romantic comedies that made her a superstar.
It also led Josh to meeting Caleb Hunter, the villain’s sidekick in the picture. It was a match made in heaven. Saxon had always known that Josh was gay. She just assumed she could live with it. It turned out she couldn’t.
They quietly divorced. Josh and Caleb went off to live openly ever after. Saxon had lost a husband, but gained a career. She carried on, remaining in the spotlight as America’s sweetheart.
Josh, too, carved out a good career in quirky independents. They remained dear friends. She even starred in one of his biggest mainstream hits, parodying once again her own career and netting her first Oscar nomination.
In between she thought she’d found love again. This time with Brady Brandon, a Canadian hockey player. It was love at first sight, a whirlwind courtship and as traditional a marriage as possible.
Saxon put behind all loves and hopes of the past. She concentrated on being a good wife and hopefully one day a good mother. She put the career on the backburner and followed Brady around the continent being his number one cheerleader as well as his wife. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of.
Then Brady got caught with his pants down in the locker room after a big game. He claimed the couple got him drunk and he thought it was all a big joke. Unfortunately the girl got the whole story with her cell phone camera and anyone with Internet could see the antics.
Saxon believed him and stood behind her husband. He was a hockey player for crying out loud and he was obviously under the influence of something. It wasn’t until she came home one evening early to surprise her husband and caught him in bed with the pool boy that the truth finally hit her.
She had hoped for another quiet friendly divorce, and it was, until Brady went on a daytime talk show on National Coming Out Day and came out. By the time the Nightly News came on, Saxon found herself embroiled in a very public divorce to another gay man.
It made her a martyr to every woman in America and an icon to every gay man in the universe. She plunged back into her career and just assumed that her private life would always be a very public disaster. Very few men wanted to be seen with her, assuming the public and the paparazzi would assume the worst.
Saxon became a team player, appearing in public with every costar. She was secretly called America’s Favorite Beard. She did what she had to and ignored the title hoping someday the right man would come along.
And Ian Justyn dropped right back into her life. She’d never forgotten him. How could she? Sure he was handsome. Sure he made her laugh and forget about all the silly difficulties of the past and present. Somehow, he was the other half of her soul.
She hadn’t realized how incomplete she felt until he appeared in the room. How could someone do that? How could some one just waltz in from the past and instantly make all the insane mistakes seem so insignificant? Most of all, why couldn’t either of them let go of it all enough to just let go.
Saxon smiled as she clutched the half penny and tucked it beneath her shirt. It had meant so much to her and it was the one thing he didn’t remember. She sighed and sat back down at the vanity in an attempt to tame her morning locks and not think about the only time Ian Justyn ever disappointed her.
Ian was trying hard not to laugh when she handed him her little closing night gift. It was wrapped in blue Kleenex tied together with a little gold Christmas ribbon.
“Go ahead.” Saxon crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d think it was funny.”
“I’m so sorry, Bessie.” Ian stifled the last giggle. “But the irony…”
“Just stop.” She smiled with him. “I get it. Kleenex girl wraps her gifts in Kleenex. I didn’t have time to run out and buy proper paper so I just used what was at hand.”
Ian guffawed.
“Okay, that didn’t come out right.” She said and then couldn’t help but laugh herself. “If my Granny knew that teaching me that being a lady meant you always kept a tissue under your brassiere strap for emergencies would lead to a nickname she’d be rolling over in her grave.”
“If your Granny knew you’d have the sniffles on the first day of acting seminar, she’d have told you not to be seated anywhere near that snooty curr from Kingsport.” Ian told her.
“You mean Clare Humphreys?” Saxon asked.
“Whatever her name is.” Ian said, his attention back to the little gift in his hand. “Shall I open this or wait for the cast party?”
“Open it, Clem.” Saxon was excited. “I don’t want to have to explain it to everyone.”
“Or have them see the wrapping paper…” Ian teased.
Saxon snorted. Ian loved it when he made her snort. “Stop…or I’ll take it back.”
Ian carefully untied the ribbon and waded through the layers of blue tissues. When he got it all folded back he looked at what was swaddled there in the palm of his hand. “A penny cut in half?” He looked up at her.
Saxon smiled. “Remember dress tech?”
“When those nasty kids from Abingdon High started throwing coins on the stage?” Ian recalled. “And during your final monologue one went down your bodice?”
“The very one.” She pointed. “Jeff Munson and I struggled to get it in a vice and cut it in half.”
“Why in half?”
“Because one part is for you and one part is for me.” She smiled and reached over and plucked one of the palm of Ian’s hand. “Think of it sort of as a physical reminder of our promise.”
“Which one?” Ian knew, but he liked to tease her.
“The big one.” Saxon kissed her half penny and dropped it in her clutch. “Which ever one of us gets nominated for the Oscar first…”
Ian shook his head. “…Takes the other as their date.”
“Then we can put the penny back together.” Saxon sighed. “Reunited symbolically like Romeo and Juliet.”
“From whence the penny came.” Ian said.
“I knew you’d understand.”
“Here give it a kiss for luck.”
He held his half penny to her lips. She smiled and kissed the shiny copper before he slipped it in his pocket.
“Don’t lose that.” Saxon warned. “I’ll have to kill you if you do.”
“I’ll give it to Aunt Hil. She’ll know where to put it for safe keeping.” Ian assured her. “Now, my Juliet I have something for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” But she was thrilled he did.
Ian held out a little white box tied together in a red Christmas ribbon. “Open it now, so I don’t have to explain to everyone. Besides that will take the karma off it.”
Saxon eager slipped the ribbon off and opened the lid. Peering inside, she found a single rosebud nested in a layer of white cotton. She looked up at Ian with a question in her eyes.
“It’s an almost forgotten theatre tradition.” Ian explained. “I read about it in a book. When you have your first lead in a play, you keep the most perfect rose bud from the first bouquet you are presented on Opening Night. On Closing Night you present it to the person in the cast you think is destined to be the biggest star.”
“Oh Ian.” Saxon didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or kiss him. She did all three.
Marco Dane sneered as he signed in that morning. Rusty was all smiles as usual. It was too early in the morning for all that cheer. He scribbled his name on the pad, tossed the pen on the counter and grabbed his caramel macchiato taking a big swig as an excuse not to have to respond to whatever positive mumbo jumbo Rusty was spewing.
He hated having to wait for the elevator almost as much as he hated having to be in the office that early, but his boss was on a mission. He hated his boss, and his boss didn’t care. His boss went through assistants like peanuts. Marco was determined to hang on.
Simon Kent was soon to be the most powerful man at HRT, next to the big boss. As long as Marco kissed his butt and praised his every breath as brilliant, Kent would take him along for the ride.
Sooner or later, someone would figure out that all of Kent’s “brilliance” came from Marco. His boss did little beside figure out ways to get rid of Ian Justyn; everything else was of little importance to him. Marco did it all and as long as he kept Kent’s ego fed, he’d be allowed to keep doing it.
The elevator slowed to a stop. Marco looked at the floor, rolled his eyes and slumped against the back wall. The last thing he wanted to do was to even have to smile at whatever miserable creature was about to walk through the door.
The doors slid open and he dared to look. He couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. “Sorry, Wella, going up…not down.” Marco started to push the button.
“Me, too, Marco.” She beamed, balanced a box and pressed the number two as she got in the elevator.
“Returning a few things to the big cheese before someone finds they’re missing?” He shouldn’t be so mean, but he loved the smell of defeat.
Wella just laughed, then had the audacity to turn and ignore him. Marco stepped up beside her.
“You’re in early.” He said wanting to make small talk, hoping to get a rise out of her.
“Nope.” Wella smiled at him and then turned back to stare at the closed door.
Marco tried to nonchalantly peer into the box Wella was holding. Kent was already calling decorators for the second floor. It wasn’t official, and Marco was supposed to be the only one who knew, but he was dying to rub it in. Sometime today the announcement would be made that he was the assistant to the future VP of the network and everyone would find out that Justyn and his team had been sent packing.
He decided on another approach. “Is there anything I can do for you, Wella? I know our bosses never got along, but let’s just let all that be between them. The best man won. No hard feelings?”
“Of course not.” Wella smiled but didn’t look at him.
“I guess your working hard to clear out the office today.” Marco decided to just put out there. There was always the possibility she didn’t know. “I’ve got pretty full schedule, but I’ll be happy to help out if I can.”
“Thanks, Marco, but other than these personal items everything else is being taken care of for us.” A smile crept across her face, and this little glimmer in the corner of her eye flickered. “I’m just gonna plop this box in my new office and then go get my hair done.”
“New office?” Okay, there was some bit of information he didn’t know. If he didn’t know it, Kent didn’t know it.
“Didn’t you hear, honey?” Wella finally turned to look at him. “The team got a promotion. We’re all moving to the second floor.”
“Promotion?” That word was harder to get out than he thought. “Second floor?”
“Uh huh.” Wella turned back to face the door.
She was enjoying this too much. Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but better piecing it together from Wella Johnson than have it come bellowing at ear splitting decibels from Simon Kent.
“Second floor? That’s were the VP of the network is supposed to office…” He tried to say nonchalantly.
“Uh huh.” Was all the woman would say.
Marco heard the little bell and the door came open. He stood there looking at Wella. She finally turned to him.
“Isn’t this your floor?” She asked.
“Oh…uh…yes.” He had no choice but to step out into the foyer of his office suite. He turned back to her to see if he could come up with an excuse to get back in the elevator or get more information.
Wella grinned from ear to ear. “The best man won, Marco. No hard feelings?”
The doors shut before he could answer.
He used to just lie in bed and count the tiles in his ceiling, but that was before. Now he’d slip on his robe and the neat slippers Tippy had bought for him and roam.
This place was so big. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his other home, but this place was different. Before, any little noise he made, any little noise anyone made at night would roust someone. Now he could quietly explore, just a little.
He slipped his feet in the bed shoes kept right where he could stick his feet in them and pulled on the robe, hung within reach. As he tied the belt, he looked at the nightstand and smiled. Looking back at him from the frame were four faces. One of them was his, the other were three people he missed so much. His mother and Miz Hil were gone.
His Grampaw Jude he spoke to every day. It wasn’t the same as being able to touch him. It wasn’t the same as being able to take in the smell of him. Sweet wood and evergreen, Jude always smelled of sweet wood and evergreen.
His mother always smelled of biscuits and lilacs. Miz Hill was roses, she always smelled of roses. Ronnie took a deep breath remember the scents that added up to home.
He didn’t think of his Daddy. Oh he loved him, and there were times he missed him, but Ronnie couldn’t get lots of things about the man out of his head, things that scared him. Things that made him cry.
He felt Rodie stir on the bed. Ronnie looked at the kitty and put his fingers to his lips. “Shhh!” He stood and padded toward the door. As he opened it, he heard the cat lightly pounce to the floor and knew she wouldn’t be far behind his every step.
Ronnie liked the fact that it was never pitch black in his new home. It was dark, but not the scary monsters lurking in the corner kind. If you forgot to put something away, it was dark enough to trip over it, but bright enough to lead the way anywhere you wanted to go.
He knew exactly where he wanted to go. It was his little midnight ritual. First he stopped and looked at that painting in the stairwell. His Papa was right. It was almost like the one he had found in the barn, but Ronnie liked this one better. He could stare at it for hours and always see something new.
Rodie would wind herself around Ronnie’s feet as he looked, rubbing her soft fluff on his bare ankles. Then she’d purr. Ronnie loved the sound of his cat purring in the quiet of the night, a happy sound in the dark.
He reached down and picked her up, Rodie quickly making herself comfortable as they padded to the kitchen. The room would flood with light as Ronnie opened the fridge and get them a snack. Tonight it was cream for her and a leftover cinnamon roll for him.
There was always food in the refrigerator now. Not that he went hungry on Lost Mountain. You just didn’t snack a lot, snacking was a special treat that you never did without asking. It was still a special treat. He just didn’t have to feel guilty that he’d eaten something his Mama had saved for her lunch.
As Rodie licked her paws, Ronnie rinsed her bowl and put it in the special spot for her dirty dishes. He always liked to peer out the kitchen door as he put Rodie’s things away.
Sometimes he’d see Ralphie being walked if Uncle Kellen had gotten home late again.
The best thing was watching the moonlight on the pool. That was just way too cool. Not only did he have a big old pool right in his own back yard, but every night the moon came and danced all over it just for him. Ronnie thought that was God’s way of telling Ronnie He was looking after him.
Ronnie picked Rodie up after the smiles of the moonlight on the water made him sigh a time or two. He went to his favorite place in the whole world. They went right to the staircase again, making sure not to get distracted by the painting and stood in the doorway.
There he was, sleeping in his big old bed. Ronnie put the cat down and quietly rolled a little ottoman to the bedside. He sat on it, putting his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Ronnie loved to watch his Papa, to just sit there and watch him breathe.
He sighed. Things were right. They were so different, but they were finally right. That feeling that he had, the one in the bottom of his belly was gone. Whenever he felt it, all he had to do was look at his Papa and it went away.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love his Mommy and Daddy, he just never felt like he belonged. He was happy and they loved him, but somehow he always knew. He never really knew what that was until he came to live with his Papa.
He’d heard the whispers that he didn’t really understand. He could hear the things people said when they knew his mother was too busy to be paying attention. He never understood why they didn’t know that he could hear what they said. It was kinda mean.
Then Stevie Rose told him flat out and he mean it to be mean. At first he just thought he was lying, but it made him so sad. Finally his Mama asked him if he wanted to talk about whatever had made him so said.
He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop crying. “Stevie Rose says nobody ever wanted me. That I ain’t really yours. He said that a horrible monster left me on your doorstep and you took me in because you were afraid he’d come back and eat you if you didn’t.”
“Aw Honeypot.” His Mama smiled. She always called him Honeypot, and when she smiled there was always that little sad place right in the corner. She pulled him into to her biscuit and lilac smell and told him.
She told him that Stevie Rose was just being mean. When he asked her why he would be so mean, she told him that he was just jealous, because his Mama and Daddy didn’t get to choose him, but Ronnie was special because his Mama and Daddy did.
From that day on Ronnie understood a little better. When that feeling would come into the bottom of his belly, he would just remind it how special he was and that Stevie Rose’s parents got stuck with a loser.
Now they were all gone. Sometimes it made him sad, but it was a different kind of sad like knowing you’d eaten the last candy in the bottom of your Trick or Treat bag. He knew it was gone and things would never be quite the same, but he had such sweet memories that far outweighed the sad.
This was where he was supposed to be, in his favorite spot in the whole wide world watching his Papa sleep. He looked so peaceful, most of the time. Ronnie liked it when he’d steal into the bedroom at night at his Papa would be sprawled out gently breathing.
Once and a while he’d let out a big old sigh, just like he’d finished doing something he loved more than anything. His Papa would then smile in his sleep, his face relaxing and his body melted into the bed.
Ronnie gently reached out and wiped his fingers across the sleeping man’s forehead pushing that stubborn tuft of black hair back into place. His Papa seemed so at peace. Ronnie liked to think he was having a happy dream. He didn’t seem to have too many of those.
It wasn’t fair. All his Papa needed was a little peace and a whole lot of love. He looked happy all the time, but Ronnie knew better. He could feel it, like the strange tickle that used to always be in his belly only this was in his father’s eyes.
Sometimes when he didn’t know you were watching this look came over his face. Ronnie couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew it wasn’t good. It was like he was watching the family dog get run over in slow motion and knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
But tonight was a good night. His Papa was sleeping so peacefully Ronnie had to watch his chest just to be sure he was still breathing. It was the best place in the world to be.
Sometimes, Ronnie needed to be there. Some nights, his Papa’s eyes would dart back and forth beneath closed eyelids. He’d tremble and sweat, sometimes moaning in pain. He’d ball the sheets up in his fists until his knuckles turned white, lying still but thrashing his head back and forth.
And there were the nights his father would sit up and scream. It didn’t scare Ronnie, it only made him feel bad that he wasn’t there to hold him and soothe him back down to sleep. It didn’t happen too often, but the two or three times it had were two or three times way too many.
Ronnie wanted his Papa to be happy. He wanted him to not have bad dreams, especially the ones that made him scream in his sleep. He knew it was impossible not to have a nightmare once and a while, but his Papa had had more nightmares asleep and awake that any one person deserved.
His Papa stirred. Ronnie leaned in close, just in case. The sleeping man sighed and relaxed. It made Ronnie smile.
Ronnie got up and quietly pushed the ottoman back to its place in the corner. He walked back to the bed and watched him sleep for just a second longer. He leaned over and kissed his sleeping Papa’s cheek.
As Ronnie turned to go he saw his father’s eyes flutter. Those half sleepy blue eyes shined in the dark. His Papa smiled.
Ronnie smiled back.
His Papa lifted the covers and Ronnie scooted in beside him. In a moment his Papa’s arms held him tightly and the boy was all nestled in his father’s perfect loving warm. He heard the cat leap lightly on the bed and roll up in a ball at his feet. Ronnie sighed and drifted off to sleep.
He was wrong. This was his favorite place to be.
“Just a roast beef sandwich on white please.” He handed the menu back to the waiter. “Hold the mayo.”
“To drink, sir?”
“A tall glass of milk. It’s been a long time since I’ve had just a simple glass of milk.” He smiled as he turned back to his companions.
“Going back to the basics, Jamey?”
James Redfield shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? We may all be right back where we started soon.”
“Don’t curse it, for God’s sake.”
“Sorry, not being negative, Dave. We know this is a gamble, I’m just trying to be frugal.”
“Not a thing wrong with that.” Lucille smirked. “This time next year, we can rub the studio’s nose in it. A diet of nice basic fiber will only make it all the richer.”
“We’re all putting everything we have into this film.” Turner said. “It’s either the beginning or the end.”
“This was your idea, Dave.” She glared at him. “Don’t tell us you’re having second thoughts now.”
“Not at all.” He sighed. “The studios don’t like it. They’ll try everything they can think of to stop us. I’m just bracing for a difficult time.”
“You know they offered to buy the script.” Redfield admitted. “When I told them I wouldn’t sign the new contract unless they let us do it.”
Lucille perked up, half mad, half intrigued. “They made a counter offer? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Not a counter offer.” James picked a pack of crackers up from the basket in the center of the table. “They offered to buy the script, but they didn’t want me in it and didn’t want Dave to direct.”
“Bastards.” Dave mused.
“It’s a period piece they said.” Redfield mashed the crackers in the package to let off steam. “You don’t do period pieces well, Fairbanks is perfect. Well decide on your next picture. Don’t go thinking beyond your abilities. What an insult.”
“What did they say about Dave directing?” Lucille asked.
“I’m not sure I want to hear this.” Dave leaned on the table. “Or if I even care.”
“Too large a scope for a B-movie mindset.” Redfield said anyway.
“They made an offer for the script.” The fourth companion said. “Booker called me and told me they offered him the moon.”
“He didn’t sell it on us, did he?” Dave sat straight up.
“Of course not.” The man said. “He’s as fed up with the studio as we are.”
“How did Forbush react when Booker turned them down?” Jamey smiled. “I assume it was Forbush.”
The man nodded his head. “Oh the usual, told him Four Stars could make the picture the way it should be made, guarantee a big market push even offered a contract for just two more films…of their choice.”
“And?” Someone at the table encouraged.
“Booker said the man turned into Rumpelstiltskin when he told him to kiss his behind.” The group laughed. “Threatened none of us would ever get this made and no one would ever work again.”
“We’ll get it made.” Dave was determined.
“And I can guarantee distribution.” Lucille smirked. “Four Stars has ticked off enough houses, and I’ve got the goods on enough others to make sure that we get it in every major market for at least a week.”
“If it’s a bomb though, none of us will ever work again.” James reminded everyone.
“I will.” The fourth man said. “No one gives a rat’s ass about make up people.”
“If worse comes to worse, you may have to teach us all.” Dave smiled.
“Jamey’s pretty good at it already.” He laughed.
“What are you talking about?” Jamey wanted to know.
“Remember last Halloween? You got drunk and dressed up in Lucille’s ball gown?”
Lucille laughed and James turned red. “Herman, do not remind me.”
“I thought you looked real pretty.” Lucille pinched her husband’s cheek.
“I couldn’t get over how much you looked like my sister.” Herman joked.
“I guess I’ve got a career in Vaudeville then, if there’s even a Vaudeville left.” James sighed. “Has anyone heard from Malvina?” He changed the embarrassing subject.
“She’s in.” Dave confirmed. “She just has to finish up this last picture and her contract with Four Stars is complete. She’ll jump right in.”
“Malvina Golden and James Redfield in ‘Breathe’ directed by David Turner.” Three of last year’s Oscar nominees in one film, that will pack ‘em in.” Lucille drummed happily on the tabletop.
“Four Stars won’t know what hit them!” Turner added.
The waiter came carrying a tray with their order. He began to serve. As he put Lucille’s filet in front of her she sneered at him.
“It’s about time.”
“Sorry for the delay, Mrs. Redfield.” The waiter apologized. “The chef wanted to make sure everything was perfect. It’s not every day stars of your caliber grace our humble establishment.”
It was just what she wanted to hear. “Give him our gratitude. We are always willing to wait on perfection.”
“Of course, Mrs. Redfield.”
“Okay, where are you?” She asked as she searched, not quite in panicked desperation, just a few seconds from it.
She was sure she’d slipped it off and laid it right on her dressing table. She remembered distinctly sitting there when she took her make up off last night, holding it up and watching it twirl in the mirror. It had to be right there.
Saxon pushed her freshly dried curls behind her ears and took a seat at the vanity. She didn’t reach for her brush. She pushed the bottles and loose earrings around.
“I can’t have lost it, not now.” She sighed and pushed a bottle of nail polish aside. “I know I put it right here.” She crossed her arms and pouted in the mirror.
“That always helps.” She could hear him say in her head. Funny, no matter what, no matter where, it was always Ian’s voice she heard in her head.
“Oh, sugar.” She uncrossed her arms and stood up banging her knee, as always, on some corner determined to keep her black and blue.
She rubbed her boo boo and watched the bottle of Aztec Blue nail polish rock and sway, fall to its side and roll off the vanity. She watched its free fall to the plush carpet. Fortunately the lid was on tight. She reached down to pick it up.
There in the plush white carpet was her treasure. She smiled as she squatted and picked it up. She placed the nail polish firmly in place and looked in the mirror as she put her treasure around her neck.
It was just a little half penny, dangling on a little gold chain. She held the penny in her fingers and looked at it. She kept it polished and rarely took it off, only when she showered before bed and when she walked down the aisle the first time.
The first time she got married Josh knew all about it. He knew all her secrets. She knew all of his. They thought it the reason people got married because they knew each other well enough to share it all, the good and the bad and that made the heart grow fonder.
They were best friends, suddenly in a maelstrom of publicity. They had known each other for two years, roommates for most of it. They were starving artists trying to hit it big in the big city. She was a poor small town girl from Grundy, Virginia. He was spoiled rich kid from Chicago running away from the parents who wanted him to go into the family business.
Josh’s family didn’t approve of his choice of professions and cut his monthly allowance down to just enough to keep him from living in a hovel and starving to death. They had met in a workshop on how to survive in show business. The opposites attracted immediately. Saxon was a survivor. Josh needed to learn how.
She taught him how to live frugally. He taught her how to light up a screen. She wanted to be an actress. He wanted to be a director. She had a monologue. He had a camera.
She taught him how to save money eating meals of peanut butter instead of Bruschetta. He taught her how to use make up to make the most of her features. She taught him that the endless auditions and interviews where all performances to be enjoyed and relished. He taught her how to develop a performance for the camera with subtlety and nuance.
They struggled together, making the most of every rejection. She did under fives on daytime television and a commercial for Wendy’s. He videoed weddings and birthday parties, and uploaded original shorts for You Tube.
Then his great aunt died and left him enough money to make his own little film. It was just $75,000, but that would be enough to guerrilla a little indie with enough left over to take it to a few film festivals.
Saxon pulled together a few actor friends and they made up a script as they went along. It was a silly little horror film, done with a hand held camera in eight days. Instead of monsters and vampires, they made the camera the monster.
They called it “Watching You”. Josh culled every horror movie cliché and deftly told it from the unseen monster’s point of view. It was at times horrifying, at times side splittingly funny and throughout ironically tragic.
It became the talk of the film fest circuit. Josh was invited to enter it in Sundance and it won the Audience award. It touched off a bidding war between distributors, Lion’s Gate finally winning. The little film became an instant hit and raked in big bucks for everyone.
Saxon and Josh went from nobody to royalty overnight. Offers came pouring in. They were smart enough to take advantage and make the right choices. She smartly did a small series of Scream Queen roles, and he stayed with small budget features he could maintain artistic control of.
Then they combined forces again, in a parody of their own careers achieving even bigger success. Disney came calling. They were smart enough to answer. They also thought they were smart enough to get married. Neither turned out to be the brightest decision either had made.
Disney stuck them both to a quick series of generic family comedies. None were successes. I do’s and a marriage license didn’t change their relationship at all. When their quick contracts ended, Disney sent Josh packing, but wanted Saxon for a small role in a series.
Saxon wanted more than television. She had always wanted to be a movie star, and with Josh’s encouragement, turned down the series and stuck it out. It turned out to be the right choice for her career, but the wrong one for the marriage.
It was a pseudo scream queen role, the damsel in distress in a sci-fi action flick starring Jeremy Tyson. It was a guaranteed hit adding box office luster back to Saxon’s resume. The reviews were better than average, critics latching on to the romantic chemistry and the comic edge Saxon brought to a thankless role. It led her to the series of romantic comedies that made her a superstar.
It also led Josh to meeting Caleb Hunter, the villain’s sidekick in the picture. It was a match made in heaven. Saxon had always known that Josh was gay. She just assumed she could live with it. It turned out she couldn’t.
They quietly divorced. Josh and Caleb went off to live openly ever after. Saxon had lost a husband, but gained a career. She carried on, remaining in the spotlight as America’s sweetheart.
Josh, too, carved out a good career in quirky independents. They remained dear friends. She even starred in one of his biggest mainstream hits, parodying once again her own career and netting her first Oscar nomination.
In between she thought she’d found love again. This time with Brady Brandon, a Canadian hockey player. It was love at first sight, a whirlwind courtship and as traditional a marriage as possible.
Saxon put behind all loves and hopes of the past. She concentrated on being a good wife and hopefully one day a good mother. She put the career on the backburner and followed Brady around the continent being his number one cheerleader as well as his wife. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of.
Then Brady got caught with his pants down in the locker room after a big game. He claimed the couple got him drunk and he thought it was all a big joke. Unfortunately the girl got the whole story with her cell phone camera and anyone with Internet could see the antics.
Saxon believed him and stood behind her husband. He was a hockey player for crying out loud and he was obviously under the influence of something. It wasn’t until she came home one evening early to surprise her husband and caught him in bed with the pool boy that the truth finally hit her.
She had hoped for another quiet friendly divorce, and it was, until Brady went on a daytime talk show on National Coming Out Day and came out. By the time the Nightly News came on, Saxon found herself embroiled in a very public divorce to another gay man.
It made her a martyr to every woman in America and an icon to every gay man in the universe. She plunged back into her career and just assumed that her private life would always be a very public disaster. Very few men wanted to be seen with her, assuming the public and the paparazzi would assume the worst.
Saxon became a team player, appearing in public with every costar. She was secretly called America’s Favorite Beard. She did what she had to and ignored the title hoping someday the right man would come along.
And Ian Justyn dropped right back into her life. She’d never forgotten him. How could she? Sure he was handsome. Sure he made her laugh and forget about all the silly difficulties of the past and present. Somehow, he was the other half of her soul.
She hadn’t realized how incomplete she felt until he appeared in the room. How could someone do that? How could some one just waltz in from the past and instantly make all the insane mistakes seem so insignificant? Most of all, why couldn’t either of them let go of it all enough to just let go.
Saxon smiled as she clutched the half penny and tucked it beneath her shirt. It had meant so much to her and it was the one thing he didn’t remember. She sighed and sat back down at the vanity in an attempt to tame her morning locks and not think about the only time Ian Justyn ever disappointed her.
Ian was trying hard not to laugh when she handed him her little closing night gift. It was wrapped in blue Kleenex tied together with a little gold Christmas ribbon.
“Go ahead.” Saxon crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d think it was funny.”
“I’m so sorry, Bessie.” Ian stifled the last giggle. “But the irony…”
“Just stop.” She smiled with him. “I get it. Kleenex girl wraps her gifts in Kleenex. I didn’t have time to run out and buy proper paper so I just used what was at hand.”
Ian guffawed.
“Okay, that didn’t come out right.” She said and then couldn’t help but laugh herself. “If my Granny knew that teaching me that being a lady meant you always kept a tissue under your brassiere strap for emergencies would lead to a nickname she’d be rolling over in her grave.”
“If your Granny knew you’d have the sniffles on the first day of acting seminar, she’d have told you not to be seated anywhere near that snooty curr from Kingsport.” Ian told her.
“You mean Clare Humphreys?” Saxon asked.
“Whatever her name is.” Ian said, his attention back to the little gift in his hand. “Shall I open this or wait for the cast party?”
“Open it, Clem.” Saxon was excited. “I don’t want to have to explain it to everyone.”
“Or have them see the wrapping paper…” Ian teased.
Saxon snorted. Ian loved it when he made her snort. “Stop…or I’ll take it back.”
Ian carefully untied the ribbon and waded through the layers of blue tissues. When he got it all folded back he looked at what was swaddled there in the palm of his hand. “A penny cut in half?” He looked up at her.
Saxon smiled. “Remember dress tech?”
“When those nasty kids from Abingdon High started throwing coins on the stage?” Ian recalled. “And during your final monologue one went down your bodice?”
“The very one.” She pointed. “Jeff Munson and I struggled to get it in a vice and cut it in half.”
“Why in half?”
“Because one part is for you and one part is for me.” She smiled and reached over and plucked one of the palm of Ian’s hand. “Think of it sort of as a physical reminder of our promise.”
“Which one?” Ian knew, but he liked to tease her.
“The big one.” Saxon kissed her half penny and dropped it in her clutch. “Which ever one of us gets nominated for the Oscar first…”
Ian shook his head. “…Takes the other as their date.”
“Then we can put the penny back together.” Saxon sighed. “Reunited symbolically like Romeo and Juliet.”
“From whence the penny came.” Ian said.
“I knew you’d understand.”
“Here give it a kiss for luck.”
He held his half penny to her lips. She smiled and kissed the shiny copper before he slipped it in his pocket.
“Don’t lose that.” Saxon warned. “I’ll have to kill you if you do.”
“I’ll give it to Aunt Hil. She’ll know where to put it for safe keeping.” Ian assured her. “Now, my Juliet I have something for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” But she was thrilled he did.
Ian held out a little white box tied together in a red Christmas ribbon. “Open it now, so I don’t have to explain to everyone. Besides that will take the karma off it.”
Saxon eager slipped the ribbon off and opened the lid. Peering inside, she found a single rosebud nested in a layer of white cotton. She looked up at Ian with a question in her eyes.
“It’s an almost forgotten theatre tradition.” Ian explained. “I read about it in a book. When you have your first lead in a play, you keep the most perfect rose bud from the first bouquet you are presented on Opening Night. On Closing Night you present it to the person in the cast you think is destined to be the biggest star.”
“Oh Ian.” Saxon didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or kiss him. She did all three.
Marco Dane sneered as he signed in that morning. Rusty was all smiles as usual. It was too early in the morning for all that cheer. He scribbled his name on the pad, tossed the pen on the counter and grabbed his caramel macchiato taking a big swig as an excuse not to have to respond to whatever positive mumbo jumbo Rusty was spewing.
He hated having to wait for the elevator almost as much as he hated having to be in the office that early, but his boss was on a mission. He hated his boss, and his boss didn’t care. His boss went through assistants like peanuts. Marco was determined to hang on.
Simon Kent was soon to be the most powerful man at HRT, next to the big boss. As long as Marco kissed his butt and praised his every breath as brilliant, Kent would take him along for the ride.
Sooner or later, someone would figure out that all of Kent’s “brilliance” came from Marco. His boss did little beside figure out ways to get rid of Ian Justyn; everything else was of little importance to him. Marco did it all and as long as he kept Kent’s ego fed, he’d be allowed to keep doing it.
The elevator slowed to a stop. Marco looked at the floor, rolled his eyes and slumped against the back wall. The last thing he wanted to do was to even have to smile at whatever miserable creature was about to walk through the door.
The doors slid open and he dared to look. He couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. “Sorry, Wella, going up…not down.” Marco started to push the button.
“Me, too, Marco.” She beamed, balanced a box and pressed the number two as she got in the elevator.
“Returning a few things to the big cheese before someone finds they’re missing?” He shouldn’t be so mean, but he loved the smell of defeat.
Wella just laughed, then had the audacity to turn and ignore him. Marco stepped up beside her.
“You’re in early.” He said wanting to make small talk, hoping to get a rise out of her.
“Nope.” Wella smiled at him and then turned back to stare at the closed door.
Marco tried to nonchalantly peer into the box Wella was holding. Kent was already calling decorators for the second floor. It wasn’t official, and Marco was supposed to be the only one who knew, but he was dying to rub it in. Sometime today the announcement would be made that he was the assistant to the future VP of the network and everyone would find out that Justyn and his team had been sent packing.
He decided on another approach. “Is there anything I can do for you, Wella? I know our bosses never got along, but let’s just let all that be between them. The best man won. No hard feelings?”
“Of course not.” Wella smiled but didn’t look at him.
“I guess your working hard to clear out the office today.” Marco decided to just put out there. There was always the possibility she didn’t know. “I’ve got pretty full schedule, but I’ll be happy to help out if I can.”
“Thanks, Marco, but other than these personal items everything else is being taken care of for us.” A smile crept across her face, and this little glimmer in the corner of her eye flickered. “I’m just gonna plop this box in my new office and then go get my hair done.”
“New office?” Okay, there was some bit of information he didn’t know. If he didn’t know it, Kent didn’t know it.
“Didn’t you hear, honey?” Wella finally turned to look at him. “The team got a promotion. We’re all moving to the second floor.”
“Promotion?” That word was harder to get out than he thought. “Second floor?”
“Uh huh.” Wella turned back to face the door.
She was enjoying this too much. Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but better piecing it together from Wella Johnson than have it come bellowing at ear splitting decibels from Simon Kent.
“Second floor? That’s were the VP of the network is supposed to office…” He tried to say nonchalantly.
“Uh huh.” Was all the woman would say.
Marco heard the little bell and the door came open. He stood there looking at Wella. She finally turned to him.
“Isn’t this your floor?” She asked.
“Oh…uh…yes.” He had no choice but to step out into the foyer of his office suite. He turned back to her to see if he could come up with an excuse to get back in the elevator or get more information.
Wella grinned from ear to ear. “The best man won, Marco. No hard feelings?”
The doors shut before he could answer.
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