Diva's Last Curtain Call (22 page)

I was so lost in thought I didn’t see Winette Barlow charging toward my car with blood in her eyes. Her mouth was set in a hard angry line. Her hands were curled into fists. I frantically looked over at Rollins, who had his back to us, oblivious to everything except the dirty car in front of him. I quickly started up my car and pulled away from the curb just as Winette Barlow’s well-aimed kick grazed my driver’s-side door. Crazy bitch. She was yelling something at me that I didn’t catch. I had no time for her drama. I had a best friend to save. I wasn’t sure Cartwright Auditorium was still open. It was going on seven o’clock. But I had to try and get into Joyce Clark’s office.

I was about three blocks from the auditorium when a car pulled up behind me and started frantically honking. I looked in my rearview mirror. It was Winette Barlow. Crap! She was gesturing for me to pull over, probably so she could lodge one of her expensive leather pumps in my ass. This was not good. I ignored her and kept on driving. To my relief, I lost her at a red light and kept driving until I got to the auditorium. My heart sank when I saw that the parking lot was empty, indicating that everyone had gone home for the day. I parked, got out and tried the front doors. They were locked. Great. I headed around to the side of the building and my heart sank even further when I saw Winette pull into the parking lot and jump out of her car.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Winette, but I’m not arguing with you,” I said as she came charging over to me.

“Who said anything about arguing? I told you to stay away from my man. Now, you’re gonna to pay the piper, sweetie.” I watched as she kicked off her pumps. This heifer wanted to fight me.

“You want to fight me over some man? I thought you were classier than this, Winette.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone emerging from the side door of the auditorium. I turned to see that it was the custodian emptying a trash can into the Dumpster. He had his Walkman on and didn’t notice us. He went back inside and I could see the door hadn’t shut completely behind him. I had to get in there. I made a run for the door. Winette was hot on my heels.

“You come back here and get what you got comin’ to you,” she screamed.

Fortunately for me, Winette couldn’t run very fast in her bare feet across a parking lot strewn with tiny rocks and debris. I heard her curse when I reached the side door and turned to see her picking what looked like glass out of her foot. She threw it at me and I ducked inside the door and pulled it shut behind me.

I
found myself in what I thought was a dimly lit hallway. I started walking, noting the heavy curtains along the way, and realized I must be behind the curtains on the stage. I could hear someone, probably the custodian, whistling softly somewhere on the other side of the curtains. I came upon a set of about six steps that led down to an open doorway. I headed down the steps and out the doorway, listening to hear if the custodian’s whistling sounded like it was getting any closer. To my relief, I ended up in the lobby. Joyce Clark’s office was dark. The door was closed and—surprise, surprise—locked. The clock in the lobby told me it was five past seven. I debated whether to leave and head for the park, but I needed all the leverage I could get for my meeting with Cliff. I needed that necklace in case he tried to get cute.

The door to Joyce’s office looked like the type that opened with a key but locked when she left each night and pulled it shut, meaning that it could be opened from the inside. There was a large mail slot in the middle of the door. I pushed it open and stuck my hand through the slot. I was able to reach up to the doorknob on the other side but grabbing the knob and turning it was something else entirely. I pulled my hand out and had almost made up my mind to break the glass in the door when I noticed there was a gap of about an inch between the bottom of the door and the floor. I lay on my stomach and looked under the door. Light was streaming in from the office’s window and I could see the edge of the lost and found board propped up against the inner wall right by the door. If I could reach it, then I’d be able to pull it out from under the door.

I couldn’t fit my arm under the door to reach the board. I looked around the lobby and saw a broom, the nylon kind with plastic bristles, propped against the far wall. I ran over and grabbed it then stopped to listen for the custodian. He was still whistling in the auditorium. I slid the broom under the door until the bristles touched the board then shoved gently until the board slid down the wall and landed flat on the floor. Then I lifted the broom slightly and put it on top of the board and pulled hard. The board slid across the floor and wedged under the door. Once I pulled the broom out, I was able to pull the board from under the door. Feeling entirely too pleased with myself, I started to take a look at the board when I heard the custodian’s whistling getting louder. He was headed my way. I ran across the lobby into the women’s restroom. The noisy clack of the items pinned to the board echoed loudly in the empty lobby.

I let out a breath and took a look at the board. Nestled amongst two sets of keys, a comb, a tarnished hoop earring, a man’s tie and a watch with a broken strap was the set of dog tags that I’d noticed when I’d been in Joyce Clark’s office the first time. They were army dog tags. This had to be the necklace Vivianne had lost. The chain was broken. The name on the tags was Jasper Hairston, which must be Cliff’s real name. This must be what Vivianne had told Harriet she had that would keep Cliff off her back. She must have been frantic when she lost the tags.

I had to hand it to Vivianne. She’d thought it all out. She knew what would happen once her book was published. Anybody who knew anything at all about her would read the book and notice all the parallels to her life. People would wonder what was true and what was fiction. Anyone curious enough to do a little research would look up Cliff Preston and find out it wasn’t his real name. Vivianne wouldn’t have had to say a thing. The reading public and the scandal-loving media would expose Cliff for her. Cliff wouldn’t dare sue her for slander, either. It was brilliant.

I stuffed the tags in my pocket and put my ear to the door. I couldn’t hear anything. I pushed the bathroom door open and peeked out. The custodian was mopping the lobby and there was no way he wouldn’t see me if I left the bathroom. My watch read 7:18 p.m. One of the bathroom’s two large windows over the row of sinks was open a crack. I climbed up onto one of the sinks, pushed the window open all the way, and with great effort, hoisted myself up and climbed out. One foot caught on the ledge and I fell right into the bushes a few feet below, scratching up my arms and knocking the wind out of me. But at least I was out and nothing was broken. I dusted myself off and ran across the parking lot to my car—and stopped cold. Since she hadn’t been able to get her hands on me, Winette had settled for my car. It was trashed. The windows were all busted out, the word
Bitch
had been keyed into the paint on the hood, but that wasn’t the worst part. All four of my tires had been punctured and were flat as pancakes. It was 7:27 p.m.

I had about thirty minutes to get to a park that was fifteen minutes away and now I had no car. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to call a cab but hung up when I realized I had exactly five dollars to my name. It would cost more than five dollars to take a cab to Yellow Springs. I had more money in my bank account. All I needed to do was find an ATM machine. I spotted a Dairy Mart a half block up the street and took off running. My heart rejoiced when I saw the sign indicating they had an ATM machine. I rushed inside. I had my card out of my purse and swiped before I read the message on the screen: Temporarily Out of Order. Wonderful.

“Do you know if there’s another ATM around here?” I frantically asked the woman behind the counter. She shook her head without even looking up from her
Cosmo
magazine with Cindy Crawford pouting sexily on the cover.

“
No,
there isn’t another ATM around here, or
no,
you don’t know if there’s another ATM machine around?”

“Only other ATM I know of is about six blocks from here,” she replied, still not looking up.

I left and took off walking. It was 7:32 p.m. Six blocks would put me downtown. I could go to my own bank. I spotted a city bus headed downtown and flagged it down at the nearest corner. I got on and handed the driver my five-dollar bill.

“One way, please,” I said breathlessly.

“I need seventy-five cents. I can’t change a five,” said the driver, a squinty-eyed skinny man with slicked-back hair. He pointed a bony finger at a sign taped to the corner of the windshield: Must Have Exact Fare. Driver Can’t Make Change. Great! I didn’t have any other change.

“You can’t make an exception this one time? I’m really in a hurry. It’s an emergency.”

“And I’m on a schedule, lady. Either give me seventy-five cents or get off my bus.”

“No need to get nasty,” I said turning to the other passengers on the bus. “Is there anyone here who can loan me seventy-five cents?” I pleaded.

No one spoke up and few turned away to stare out the window. It was 7:38 p.m. I didn’t have time to argue or plead any further. I scowled at the driver and got off the bus. He left me in a cloud of exhaust that made me nauseous. I started walking and about a block later, spotted a yard sale down a quiet tree-lined side street. As much as I love yard sales, garage sales, tag sales and estate sales, now was not the time to indulge in my love for second-hand treasure. But then I spied something propped up against a tree in the yard and made a quick detour. Once I got to the house in question, I could see that my eyes hadn’t deceived me. There was a ten-speed bike propped against the tree. The tag said twenty dollars. If there was one thing that my appreciation of second-hand goods had taught me, it was how to bargain.

“Would you take five for the bike?” I asked the pleasant-looking man rocking on the front porch. He got up from his rocker, opened the screen door of the house and yelled inside.

“Son, someone’s interested in your bike.” Seconds later, the screen door banged open with a thud and out walked Fuzzy Wayne, my library nemesis. This could not be happening. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. It was him all right, in all his glory, still wearing the same tight T-shirt. Now that he was actually upright, I could see his love handles spilling out over the top of his equally tight jeans. He tugged the shirt down but it didn’t do much good.

It wasn’t until he got closer that he recognized me from the library, though I was surprised he could see anything with all that hair falling in his face. He gave me a nasty look.

“Bet you’re sorry you weren’t nicer to me, huh? The price just went up to fifty dollars.”

“The tag says twenty,” I said patiently.

“It’s my bike. I can change my mind if I want.” Actually, I was surprised he wasn’t selling it for a lot more. It didn’t look like it had ever been ridden. Looking at Fuzzy’s less than buff physique, I knew there was no way his wide behind had ever even sat on the seat.

I turned to walk away. “Hey, wait,” he said stopping me. “How much ya got?”

“Five dollars,” I replied. He burst out laughing.

“No way I’m selling my bike for five dollars. But I got another bike for you. You interested?”

“Does it work?” I asked walking into the yard. Beggars can’t be choosers and it was now 7:45 p.m.

“’Course it works. I’ll let you have it for ten dollars and not a penny less,” he said smirking. I wanted to wipe up the pavement with his face. But I needed that bike so I decided to appeal to his appetite, instead.

“Look, I work at Estelle’s restaurant. How about I give you the five plus a week’s worth of free dinners?”

“Deal,” he said, snatching the five-dollar bill out of my hand. He disappeared into the house and emerged with a purple kid’s bike complete with a white banana seat and sparkly streamers trailing from the handles. My mouth fell open. Oh, hell, no.

Fuzzy could barely contain his laughter. “Here it is. And I’ll be in tonight for my first free meal.”

Lesson learned: Never piss off a nerd.

I took off on the bike, trying to ignore the stares and laughter. My face was burning and my legs, which were too long for a bike that size, soon started to cramp up. I kept on pedaling. There was a bike path that led from Willow to Yellow Springs. So at least I was spared the indignity of being on the road with cars. Instead, I endured the curious and amused looks of my fellow bike-path riders.

“What a pretty bike,” said one woman, pedaling past me on an expensive mountain bike.

“Yeah, I think I had one just like that when I was ten,” said the woman’s companion. They laughed and pedaled away and were soon specks on the path.

To keep my mind off the pain in my legs, I started thinking about Vivianne’s book. There was something about the book that didn’t quite make sense to me. I could completely understand why Vivianne had painted the character of Elwood Smalls with such contempt. But why had she made Roxanne Gayle, the character based on her own life, so unsavory, as well? In fact, the character of Roxanne Gayle was in many ways worse than Elwood Smalls’. Her drug abuse and neglect had caused the death of her own child, and she was a prostitute. Vivianne had played a prostitute in her most famous role in
Asphalt City,
which had to be where the prostitute angle came from, but I’d never heard anything about her being on drugs except for, according to Harriet, the occasional sleeping pill. With everything she’d gone through with Cliff, it seemed like Vivianne would have made Roxanne a more sympathetic character. Why hadn’t she?

I was so lost in thought that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was riding. The front tire of my bike hit a big rock that was lying in the middle of the path. I went flying over the handlebars of the bike and landed hard on my back. I was paralyzed for a few minutes as pain coursed through my body. I rolled over onto my stomach and caught a glimpse of my watch. It was eight o’clock. It was also starting to get dark. Tears pricked my eyes as I painfully got to my feet. I went over to inspect the bike. The front end was bent to hell. There was no way I’d be riding it to the park. I started walking, or limping to be more precise. My back hurt, my head hurt and my legs felt like jelly. It was completely dark by the time I reached the park. I was twenty minutes late. I prayed Lynette was still alive as I made my way back to the campground.

The park was full of campers. No one paid much attention to me. I finally came upon a row of six log cabins. All the cabins appeared occupied except cabin number four, the one the note said for me to go to. That cabin was dark. My heart jumped into my stomach. Was Lynette in there dead? I approached the cabin and knocked softly on the door. Nothing. After knocking again with no response, I turned the knob. It was unlocked. I opened the door.

“Hello? I’m here and I have the disk.” I walked into the dark cabin. I hadn’t taken five steps inside when someone grabbed me from behind. A cold, ammonia-soaked rag covered my face. Chloroform. Panic welled up in me. I struggled, but the arms around me were too strong. Then everything went black.

I was dreaming. I dreamt I was Pearly Monroe standing on a corner under a streetlamp and swinging the little black purse I’d bought from Cabot’s Cave. Men kept driving by trying to get me in their cars. Each one of them waved something in my face trying to entice me. Carl had a fist full of money. I turned my back on him. Cliff Preston had a diamond ring. I stuck my tongue out at him. Fuzzy Wayne offered me a new bike. I spat on him. It wasn’t until Morris Rollins, dressed like Super Fly, walked up and offered me a hot fudge cake that was concealed under his fur coat, that I left my corner and got into his car. He pulled out a knife to cut the cake. But instead plunged it right into my heart. Ouch! I woke with a start.

It took a while for me to get my bearings and remember what had happened. But once I did, I soon realized my hands and ankles were tied with plastic ties, my mouth was taped and I was lying on the floor. I was in a cabin but it couldn’t have been cabin number four, which had been dark and empty when I arrived; I must have been one of the other cabins. The floor beneath me was hard wood. I rolled over and saw Lynette, also tied up and gagged, lying in the bottom bunk of a set of bunk beds against the wall. Her whole body was shaking and her eyes were opened wide. She started blinking frantically and rolling her eyes upwards. At first I thought she might be having a seizure. Then I realized she was wanting me to look up. I did and wished I hadn’t. On the top bunk was another person covered up with a sky-blue blanket and not moving. I could see spiky red hair peeking out from beneath the blanket. The blanket was stained with dried blood. Noelle was no longer missing. I could think of nothing I wanted as badly as I wanted out of that cabin.