Late Checkout

by Carol J. Perry

  As Rhonda had promised, Francine and Marty sat in the golf cart parked close to the studio back door. It was a cute one, with a pink-and-white-striped awning. I climbed into the back seat, greeted the two, and pulled the show prep sheet from my bag. I studied Rhonda’s notes. Apparently the Pumpkin Walk has to do with all things pumpkin. Pumpkin displays, pumpkin-related food items, giant pumpkins, a pumpkin-carving contest. Francine had started our vehicle and we moved toward Derby Street where happy pumpkin walkers merrily interfered with traffic. I personally could not understand the humble pumpkin inspiring all this excitement, but as I said, Salem is crazy in October.

  We stuck close to the sidewalk, facing oncoming cars. Folks had begun to notice the large WICH-TV signs on either side of the cart and made way for us, smiling, waving, mugging for the camera. Marty focused on me and pointed. Go ahead, Moon,” she said. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

  “Welcome to the Great Salem Pumpkin Walk,” I said. “I’m Lee Barrett, reporting from Derby Street and heading by golf cart toward downtown Salem. You’ll notice that many of the walkers are holding maps.” Several of the people closest to us waved colorful sheets. “The maps are available at the Witch House. There are lots of local businesses starred. According to the rules, if you pick up ten special stickers from participating businesses, you’ll win a prize!” This brought cheers. “And you folks at home, it’s not too late to join the pumpkin walkers.” Marty slowly panned the camera over the crowd while I consulted Rhonda’s notes again. “You can park at the MBTA station and join the parade where many of the sponsoring businesses offer cider and donuts, pumpkin-flavored coffee, and even a haunted house experience.” I was beginning to understand the pumpkin people. The whole thing was just plain fun. I stuck my mic out of the cart and talked to costumed kids running along beside us. I talked with a couple of locals, a few from other states and one visitor from Ireland. Marty held up five fingers and gave me the cutoff sign. “Lee Barrett here reporting from the Great Salem Pumpkin Walk. There’s still time to join these folks, all celebrating the city’s Haunted Happenings, enjoying tasty pumpkin treats, and winning great prizes.”

  “Good job,” Francine said. “Now to figure out the easiest way to get back to the station.” We’d only traveled a little more than a mile, but between the slow-moving traffic and the jostling crowd, it wasn’t easy to reverse direction. Francine is an experienced driver, even in a pink-and-white golf cart, but when we arrived back at the station the noon news was over and we’d been away the better part of an hour. Is Professor Mercury still waiting for me?

  I knew my hair was messed up from the outdoor ride. “Is there a visor mirror in this thing?” I looked around the canvas edges of the topper. Is it silly to want to look good when meeting a childhood idol? I don’t think so. I fumbled around in my bag and pulled out a comb.”

  “Nope. Sorry,” Francine said.

  “I’ve got one. Here you go.” Marty handed me a round gold compact. Aunt Ibby has a similar one, with compressed powder and a little white disk thing for applying it on one side and a mirror on the other. I popped it open and squinted at the tiny round mirror—moved it around a little so I could see my unruly mop of curls. “Aargh,” I said. “I should have worn a hat.” I moved it down to eye level once again. But it wasn’t my own eyes I saw looking back at me. The eyes in the mirror were golden. Cat’s eyes. O’Ryan’s eyes. And there hadn’t even been a hint of the flashing lights or swirling colors that usually precede a vision. There’d been no warning. Maybe it’s just a small mirror thing.

  We pulled into an open space on the parking lot. The cat in the mirror disappeared. I handed the compact back to Marty and she and I tumbled out and headed for the studio door while Francine arranged for the return of the golf cart to whomever she’d sweet-talked into lending it to us. Marty went right to work on adding more Halloween décor—flying bats and jumping spiders—to River’s set while I stopped off at the studio dressing room to make repairs on my hair and makeup before meeting Jerry Mercury—if he was still there—and to wonder what my wise cat was doing in Marty’s gold compact.

  Jerry Mercury was indeed still there. During the time he and Mr. Doan had spent together it appeared that they’d become fast friends. Rhonda said they’d been in the manager’s office together ever since Professor Mercury had arrived at WICH-TV, asking to see me. I gave my hair one last pat and knocked on the station manager’s door.

  “Come in,” Bruce Doan called. “Here she is. Jerry and I just watched your pumpkin thing. Not bad for short notice. Not bad at all.”

  “Hello,” I said. “Took longer than I thought to get back here. What a crowd out there!”

  Professor Mercury stood as I approached. Amazingly, he looked almost the same as he had all those years ago when he taught me and thousands of other kids how to build an awesome volcano or to make a tornado in a box. (That one took first place in the sixth-grade science fair.)

  He wasn’t wearing his magician’s hat or his purple cape, of course, but even in jeans with white shirt, open at the neck, he was a commanding presence. He was average height, slim build, tanned complexion. There was a hint of gray at the temples of the slicked-back black hair.

  “Ms. Barrett, meet Jerry Mercury,” Mr. Doan said. “Jerry, Lee Barrett is one of our field reporters. You’ve probably seen her on the news.”

  Mercury extended his right hand. “I rarely have time to watch the news,” he said, “but it’s sincerely a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Barrett.” I shook his hand and realized that it was his eyes—those magician’s eyes—that gave the illusion of power.

  “How do you do,” I said as my mind flashed back to another pair of eyes—the golden cat’s eyes in Marty’s little round mirror.

  “Jerry here has agreed to be a part of our anniversary celebration,” Mr. Doan beamed—a rare sight—“and not only that—he’s going to perform at Buffy’s Halloween party!”

  “Fantastic,” I said, glancing around the office, wondering if I should sit. Jerry Mercury looked as though he was about to resume his seat, but he remained standing too.

  “Oh, have a seat, Ms. Barrett.” Bruce Doan waved in the direction of a purple club chair. “Jerry has been regaling me with tales about the old days here at WICH-TV. Back then there were lots of shows originating right here in this building. Not so much dependence on network, you know?”

  “I remember,” I said. “I was a big fan of Professor Mercury and Katie the Clown and Ranger Rob.” I looked directly at Jerry Mercury. “Do you ever see the others? Rob and Agnes?”

  He shook his head, those hypnotic eyes downcast. “Not as much as I’d like. I ran into Rob not too long ago—at a kid’s birthday party—but I do see Agnes once in a while. She does the children’s party circuit too. Still fits into her clown costume. Cute as ever.”

  Interesting. I didn’t know that.

  Bruce Doan looked back and forth between the magician and me. “I think our audience is going to love seeing the old gang together again. Maybe we’ll find some of the old scripts. Do a real reunion bit.”

  I decided to push the nostalgia envelope a little bit. “It’ll be hard to duplicate without Cactus and Marvel though, won’t it?”

  Doan looked confused. “Who?”

  “Sidekicks,” I reminded him.

  “Oh yeah, I remember. You mentioned them in your report on the dead man in the library.” A sad head shake. “Did you people know back then this Wee Willie guy was such a snake?”

  “I didn’t,” Jerry said. “Rob never liked him, though. And Agnes loved everybody. Probably still does.”

  I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate. It’s probably Agnes. Shall I answer it? Right here in the boss’s office? Curiosity won out over good manners. I reached for it.

  “Would you excuse me? I’m expecting an important call,” I said. I stood and moved toward the closed office door. “I’ll be right back.” The frown on Bruce Doan’s face was unmistakable. The professor’s expression didn’
t change. I ducked out into the reception area and pulled the door shut behind me.

  Rhonda looked up, surprised. “Everything okay?”

  I gave her a smile and a thumbs-up and spoke into the phone. “Hello. This is Lee Barrett.”

  “Hello. This is Agnes Hooper. Jim Litka said you’ve been looking for me. Why?”

  It wasn’t the sweet, happy, Katie the Clown voice I remembered and she didn’t sound much like somebody who loves everybody.

  Chapter 29

  “Oh, Ms. Hooper,” I said. “I’m so glad you called. This is Lee Barrett. WICH-TV.”

  “I know that. That’s what it says on your card. What do you want?” This is sweet little funny Katie the Clown?

  Might as well plunge right in, I decided. No small talk required here. “We’re planning a celebration of the station’s seventieth anniversary,” I said. “We’d like to invite you, as well as some of the other folks who’ve worked here over the years, to help us celebrate. Union scale, of course.”

  “Oh. Really?”

  I detected an immediate change in tone. “Of course,” I said. “It was the talented people like you who built WICH-TV. We haven’t forgotten it.”

  “Oh my goodness. I thought it was some kind of scam. You know, like you’ve won a trip or something when they just want you to change your cable service or buy their stuff. People are always trying to sell me things I don’t want. They’re on my phone. The internet. Tags hung on the front doorknob.” She giggled. “I should have known Jim Litka wouldn’t be part of anything like that! So do you want Katie the Clown? Or Princess Waterfall Raindrop? I was also Mrs. Santa Claus at Christmas and Witchy-Poo at Halloween, you know.” No, I did not know that. Another giggle. “I was even a lady gorilla once but the costume was so itchy it gave me hives and I refused to wear it again.”

  “I had no idea!” I admitted. “I was a faithful fan, and I never guessed that you were all those people. I’ll bet most of our audience didn’t know it either.” I was already planning a big on-camera reveal. “It’ll really be fun to let them in on the secret.”

  “It will, won’t it? You said some of the others are going to be there? Rob and Jerry?”

  “Yes to both names.”

  “It’ll be good to get together,” she said. “They both played more than one character too. We all wore many hats in those days.”

  We do too, in these days. Only not in costume. “That surprises me. Who was Ranger Rob, besides himself?”

  “Let’s see.” Short pause. “Well, for one, Rob was Officer Tom when I did the safety features on my show.” I remembered gruff-voiced Officer Tom. He had a pale complexion and a blond crew cut. Glasses too, and a kind of big nose. Used to scare us kids into following the rules. “Fooled you on that one, I bet. Didn’t look at all like the tanned, dark-haired, handsome cowboy, did he?”

  “Sure didn’t.”

  “It’s remarkable what makeup and wigs and nose putty can do, isn’t it?” she asked. “We all got good at it. And of course, we had amazing costumes. I guess most of the budget went for costumes back then. It was cheaper than hiring a bunch of extra people I suppose.”

  I hope Mr. Doan doesn’t get any ideas from this!

  I glanced at the gold sunburst clock. Maybe I’d better get back to the boss’s office. “Can I get together with you soon, Ms. Hooper, to firm up the plans for your appearance? I want to go and tell Mr. Doan the good news about your coming to help with the anniversary celebration.”

  She agreed and gave me her number. “Call me Agnes,” she said, “or Katie, if you want to.” I thanked her, called her Agnes, tapped the number into memory, made a couple of quick notations on index cards, and hurried back to the manager’s office, wishing I’d had time to find out what extra hats Professor Mercury had worn.

  I tapped on the door gently, then pushed it open. Both men looked up. “Sorry to run out like that,” I said, “but you’ll both be pleased to hear that Agnes Hooper, aka Katie the Clown, will be delighted to join us for the anniversary celebration!”

  “Good news.” Bruce Doan leaned back in his chair. “Glad to hear it. Can you think of any of the other old-timers we should invite, Jerry?”

  Jerry Mercury didn’t look too pleased with that “old-timer” tag, but murmured, “Not offhand.” Momentary pause. “Of course Wee Willie Wallace would have been a colorful addition to the group. Too bad about that. Say, maybe we can find another short person to wear the robot suit. Marvel never spoke and the audience wouldn’t know the difference.”

  “True. What do you think about that, Ms. Barrett?”

  “Quite a few people already know that Willie was Marvel,” I said. “I’ve mentioned it a couple of times in my reports and I’m sure the Boston stations have too. I think it’s best that we keep it real.” Mercury didn’t look pleased about that either.

  “I agree,” Doan said. “Keep it real. Anyway, I’m sure the robot costume is long gone.”

  Jerry Mercury stood up. “You’re probably right. Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” He reached across the desk and the men shook hands. He gave a polite nod in my direction. “Ms. Barrett. A pleasure to meet you. Look forward to working with you on the anniversary show.”

  “My pleasure,” I said, returning the polite nod. “If you’ll leave your number with Rhonda at the reception desk, we’ll stay in touch.”

  “There’s a contact link on my website,” he said. “Rhonda has my card.”

  “Your site was down earlier,” I said. “I’ll check with Rhonda.”

  Still no phone. No address for the mysterious Professor Mercury. He pulled the office door open, then turned back, facing me, those hypnotic eyes locking onto mine. “See you soon,” he said, and closed the door.

  “Nice fellow,” Mr. Doan declared. “Smart, too. He knows a lot about the television business. I’m almost tempted to hire him to help around here full time.”

  “I understand that he keeps pretty busy with the kids’ party magic shows he does,” I said, hoping the idea of hiring Jerry Mercury was just a passing thought and not a serious consideration. Call me silly. I just didn’t like to think about having those magician’s eyes on me every day.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He shuffled a few papers on his desk. “Well, I’m sure you have better things to do than hang around in here.” He gave a dismissive jerk of his head toward the door. “See if Rhonda has anything for you this afternoon. Howie has some kind of car trouble.”

  “Yessir,” I stood and moved toward the door, thinking maybe Howie should plan on either hiring a golf cart or leaving for work very early in the morning—before the tourists were awake. I checked with Rhonda and together we consulted the white board for possible assignments— preferably within walking distance. “I’m lucky. I live just across the common. Easy walk,” I told her. “How’s your commute working out?”

  “Easy,” she said. “One of Wanda’s boyfriends has a three-bedroom time-share right on the boulevard. Me and Marty and Wanda are bunking there until Halloween is over.”

  “Good deal,” I said. “Look. There’s an easy one.” I pointed to the board. “A Halloween costume pet parade at PetSmart. We can put portable equipment in Marty’s shopping cart and walk to it.” (Marty had some years ago acquired a vintage shopping cart from a now-defunct A&P store. Now spray-painted red and bearing a WICH-TV logo, it had turned out to be a most useful piece of equipment and—pleasing to the boss—it didn’t cost anything.)

  “Oh, I wish I could come with you for that one. I love seeing animals in costumes—especially the puppies and kittens.” Rhonda laughed. “I’ll bet O’Ryan wouldn’t wear one though, would he?”

  “I wouldn’t dare to even suggest it,” I said. “Much too undignified.”

  “I know. Listen, if you plan to be on camera this afternoon you could use a little more makeup. I’ll meet you in the ladies room in about two minutes. Okay?”

  I knew she was right. I generally refrained from using t
he confined space of the reception area’s cramped pink-and-lavender restroom with its purple plastic toilet seat in favor of the larger, less flamboyant facility in the downstairs studio. I pulled the pink door closed behind me and inspected my face in the star-shaped mirror. That was a mistake. This time, though, at least the flashing lights and swirling colors appeared before the vision. Maybe the instant pictures only happen on small reflective surfaces. Like visors and compacts.

  It was O’Ryan again. This time the picture showed the whole cat, not just eyes. He was sitting on what looked like an old-fashioned trunk. There were metal bands across the curved top of the thing, and an oblong plate with a big keyhole in it. It looked vaguely familiar. A few pieces of fabric trailed from the edges of the lid, as though it had been slammed down in a hurry.

  Okay, cat. What the heck are you trying to show me? This makes no sense at all.

  “You ready in there?” Rhonda tapped at the door. The cat disappeared and the confused redhead looked back at me.

  “All ready,” I said. “And you’re right. I definitely need more makeup.”

  I sat down on the purple seat lid and tried to relax as she worked her Mary Kay magic. “I called Francine,” she said. “She and Marty are loading up the shopping cart. They’ll meet you in the downstairs studio as soon as you’re ready. The pet parade starts at two o’clock. You’ve got about twenty minutes to get there and get set up.”

  Within a few minutes, hair brushed and makeup refreshed, I joined the other two. They were seated on River’s couch, the shopping cart, plainly marked with the WICH-TV logo on both sides, parked in the center aisle between sets. Marty had added some orange and black streamers to it, and had apparently liberated one of River’s spiders too. “Hope I didn’t take too long.” I sneaked a peek into the Saturday Business Hour cubicle and wondered how much more information waited to be discovered in that old file cabinet. One thing at a time, I told myself. “Let’s go look at the adorable pets,” I said. “I didn’t see anything else on the schedule that’s within walking distance and the crowds seem to be getting bigger.”