Night Hunter

by Carol Davis Luce

  “Slow down, Johnnie,” his aunt said, “you’ll get the tummyache.”

  “I told Sanders I’d relieve him early today. His kid’s in a school play.”

  “You go home when I come in at six,” Charlie said. “You have taken no nights off in ... in, I don’t know when. I took on a new bartender. He begins tonight.”

  John looked up, startled. “Why?”

  “Business has been good. I know you want to help out, but you are young, you have a life too. Play on the weekends.”

  “I’ve got nothing else planned.”

  “You could find a nice girl,” Aunt Anna mumbled.

  “I thought that was your job?”

  She pushed his shoulder playfully. Then, without looking at him she asked, “Johnnie, have you met Louie’s grandniece?”

  “I have. She’s very pretty. I’m sure she’ll make someone a wonderful wife.”

  Both Anna’s and Charlie’s heads bobbed in agreement, pleased that he thought so.

  “She wants to have children,” Anna said. “She’s good with children.”

  She wants to be a citizen of the good ol’ U.S. A, John said to himself. To his aunt he said, “What do you know about the new tenants in 2B?”

  “Aghhh,” she grunted, shrugging her shoulders. “The girl is just a baby and the woman is ...”

  “Too old to have children?” he answered for her.

  “Johnnie, stop. The woman is not szep —not beautiful and young like…” she let the words die away.

  “Like Ilona?”

  His aunt shrugged.

  “Do you think I should be interested in only young, beautiful women, Auntie Anna?”

  “You are interested in women who are not good for you. That Axelrod one was too old. And before her there was the one who drank too much. A good Hungarian girl, a pretty Hungarian girl who is smart and loves children, does not interest you, I suppose.”

  “They all interest me. I just don’t want to marry any of them.”

  “Six years is long enough to mourn, Johnnie. Aghhh, do what you want,” she said, waving a hand. “I don’t butt in.”

  John smiled. He went back to his meal but the memory was too strong to ignore. Ten years ago his family had had no trouble accepting the woman of his choice. Darlene was English, like John’s father Eric Davie. She’d had a zest for life and loved children. John was twenty-eight when he met Darlene Goodnight, six years his junior, in London. She was a model on assignment for a fashion magazine. They fell in love, married, then moved to the United States. Fourteen months later Darlene gave birth to a son, Andrew. After four years of living on the California coast, Darlene, homesick and bored, wanted to resume her career in England. With grave misgivings, John put his wife and three-year-old son on a plane to Great Britain. He told himself she would return when reality reared its ugly head. But when her career took off again as though the four-year absence had never happened, John was forced to make a decision: insist his wife come back to him, or go to her. She argued, and justifiably so, that her contacts were exclusive to Great Britain, whereas he could write anywhere. He was still in the process of making a decision when a ferry she and Andrew were on capsized and sank. They both drowned.

  A year later he dedicated his book to Darlene and Andy.

  Charlie pointed at John with his fork. “At six I will be at the bar and you will come home.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll start stripping the paint off the upstairs banister.”

  Charlie nodded and went back to eating.

  CHAPTER 15

  The lounge at KSGO TV was nothing more than a long room with several round tables, molded plastic chairs, a coffee dispenser, and a snack and soft drink machine.

  Regina, pacing nervously from one end to the other, looked up to see a tall, dark-haired woman with striking coloring and angular features, dressed in white, enter.

  As cool and sleek as the belly of the snake.

  “Amelia,” Regina said with a grin, moving to meet her.

  “Regina, sweetie. We just don’t see enough of each other.” Amelia leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Am I the first?”

  “Um-hm.” Regina resisted the urge to rub at Amelia’s lipstick that she knew was on her face. “Coffee? Coke?”

  Amelia eyed the vending machines with disdain. “Thank you, no. Where can I find Donna?”

  “She’ll be along in a minute.”

  “I’d like to speak to her in private before the show.”

  “Is there a problem with today’s shooting?” Regina asked.

  “No. This concerns a future show.”

  “Perhaps I can help. I’m in charge of schedul—”

  “I’ll wait and speak to Donna,” Amelia said, smiling.

  Tammy entered. From where Regina stood she could see that Tammy had lost a great deal of weight. Aside from her extreme thinness, she had a rather severely sunburned face.

  The bright green shade of the leather dress tended to accentuate the redness. Tammy’s daughters, holding hands, followed her in.

  Regina waved.

  “Regina!” Tammy said excitedly, rushing forward. “Who’s that with you? Amelia? It is, it’s Amelia. Long time no see, huh? Goddamn, isn’t this just too much?” Tammy hugged Regina, then Amelia. “Amelia, you’ve never met my kids, have you? Kerry, Sherry, this is Amelia Corde.”

  Amelia nodded to them, then turned to Regina. “Will Corinne be here?”

  “All I can say is that she accepted our invitation.”

  At that moment the door swung open. “Hi, everyone,” Donna said, sailing in. “I’m so glad you could come. Amelia, you look stunning, as always. Tammy—” She stopped abruptly, staring. “My word, Tammy, you’ve gotten so thin. Are you all right? And what’s happened to your face?”

  Tammy lightly patted her cheek. “A little too much sun. But I’ve never felt better. I left Gary a few months back, y’know, and the single life keeps me going, going—too busy to eat.”

  “How can anyone be too busy to eat?” Donna asked.

  “He wants us to reconcile,” Tammy went on. “And who knows, maybe I’ll take him back for the girls’ sake.”

  Donna gave her a distracted smile, then glanced at Regina and did a double take, but said nothing.

  Donna turned back to Amelia and Tammy. “I’d love to visit with both of you, and we will later, but we have a show to put on, so I’d better run through the procedure.”

  “Corinne’s not coming?” Tammy asked.

  Donna went on as if she hadn’t heard. “Now, what we intend to do is open the show in the usual way. I’ll be in the studio and I’ll introduce you one by one. As soon as I say your name, a picture of you, taken from the pageant photos, will be displayed on the screen. Watch the floor director. In approximately three seconds he’ll give you a cue to enter. That’s when you walk out, all smiles, and wow ‘em with your mature beauty and charm.” She put an arm around Kerry and Sherry.“We’ll put you girls in the audience. Any questions?”

  Regina saw Amelia open her mouth, but close it abruptly when Donna said, “Good—excuse us a moment.” She steered Regina toward the door and practically pushed her out of the room into the hall.

  “It’s all falling apart,” Donna spoke rapidly, wringing her hands. “She’s not answering her phone. She’s not coming. Nolan is having a tizzy because he promoted this damn exposé to some bigwigs solely on Corinne’s misfortune, and she bailed out. Nolan blames—”

  “Stop.” Regina took Donna by the shoulders and squeezed. She had never seen her friend so flustered. “The show will be great, just like you promised me. Did you look at those women in there?” She nodded toward the lounge. “They’re beautiful and unique and they’re not afraid of the limelight. The viewers will eat it up.” With a wily grin she added, “And what about me, don’t I look like a very brilliant, successful chick?”

  Donna visibly sagged. She threw her arms around Regina and hugged. “Oh, God, you’re right. It’s just that when Nol
an gets--y’know—I tend to fall apart. He’s blaming you.”

  “When is he not blaming me?” Regina said lightly. “Go hide out somewhere, take a minute to relax. I’ll handle things up here.”

  Donna, hugging the clipboard to her chest, turned to leave. She turned back and, looking hard at her friend, smiled. “Regina, you’re beautiful.”

  “Kristy to the rescue.” Regina stood the collar up on the jacket. “A little makeup, some bright shiny duds.”

  “It goes deeper than that.” With her fingertips she gently rubbed at a spot on Regina’s cheek. “Amelia’s mark.”

  The door to the lounge opened and Amelia strode out, smiling. “Donna, I have to talk to you.”

  “Can it wait till after the show, Amelia? I’m swamped.”

  “This will only take a moment.” Amelia looked to Regina, but when Regina failed to take the hint to leave them, Amelia went on to pitch Global Model Enterprises.

  “Terrific,” Donna said. “Here’s the perfect opportunity to get in a plug.”

  “Donna, what I want is to be invited on the show in the very near future, along with Mr. Kincade, my business partner, at which time we can go into the entire operation in depth.”

  “We had something like that featured not too long ago,” Regina said. “Model and Talent Productions aired the last week in February.”

  “GME is not the same as MTP, we have more to offer,” Amelia said to Donna.

  Donna looked imploringly at Regina.

  “I’m sorry, but to us it’s the same,” Regina said. “In this business we have to be diversified. Maybe next year.”

  “We need the publicity this year,” Amelia said, her voice rising.

  “Then you’ll have to plug it today. I’m sorry, Amelia, we can’t do better than that.”

  “No, not today,” Amelia said sharply. “Don’t you dare mention it on today’s show.”

  “Whatever you say.” Donna turned and strode down the hall.

  Amelia stared after her with a dark expression on her face.

  Regina excused herself and escaped to the production department, leaving Amelia fuming in the hallway.

  Standing at her desk, Regina washed down a Tylenol with cold coffee. Her phone rang as she was leaving to go back to the lounge. She leaned across the desk and picked up the receiver.

  “Yes,” she said into the phone.

  “That show must not go on,” a hoarse voice said.

  She was suddenly cold. “Which show is th—?”

  “If it does, someone will be sorry.”

  “Are you referring to the Miss Classic format on ‘City--’”

  “First will be last and last will be first.”

  “I don’t understand ...”

  “Crucify the flesh with cleansing spirits.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” There was something odd about the conversation, it was as if the caller was delivering a message and nothing more. “Answer me.” The line hummed. “Hello? Hello?”

  Damnit, she had to stop the show.

  Regina found Donna on the set talking to the director. Nolan was at a table a few feet away.

  She strode up to Donna.

  “I want to cancel the show, she said abruptly.

  Tom Gansing whirled around, his mouth forming an O.

  “We had another phone threat.”

  “When?”

  “Just now. Donna, I can’t do it.”

  “Reggie, it’s not like you to get spooked this way.”

  “I know. Look, we can put on last month’s trade show at the Cow Palace. It’s already in the can and—”

  “What does this mean?” Tom interrupted.

  “Acid,” Regina said. “Another contestant could be a victim right here on the show.”

  Tom looked to Donna, his boyish face clearly showing concern. Regina suspected the concern was for Donna. Tom had worked for ‘City Gallery’ since its conception, and his adoration for the hostess had become more obvious with each passing year.

  “Donna,” Tom said, his voice troubled, “if Regina thinks—”

  Donna turned to look at her husband. Nolan pushed away from the table, strolled across the room, stopping within a foot of Regina, his gaze unflinchingly meeting hers. “We have a problem?” he asked casually.

  Regina hated herself for being the first to break eye contact. “Another call. A definite threat.”

  “A drunk playing games,” he replied.

  “I don’t think so. I think we should cancel the show.”

  “Just because some crank makes a drunken threat, we’re supposed to call in the militia? Get serious, Van Raven. Try to show some professionalism here. We have a show to do. So let’s do it... without the hysterics ”

  Ignoring Nolan, Regina pleaded, “Donna, do it for me. Please.”

  Donna glanced at Nolan. “I can’t, Reg. Not this time.”

  Turning on her heel, Regina stormed from the room.

  Forty minutes later Amelia, Tammy, and Regina stood behind staggered partitions waiting for the hostess of ‘City Gallery’ to invite them into her little piece of the world. Regina was as anxious as the others. Only for a different reason.

  “She hasn’t shown up yet?” Nolan asked, coming behind the set. His question was directed at Regina. She knew he meant Corinne.

  “She’s not going to, Nolan.”

  “If she shows before the crew goes home, we tape again,” he said evenly.

  “Count me out.”

  “I will.” He turned and walked away.

  Regina looked around to see Amelia staring intently at her. She smiled complacently. “Get ready. Any moment now.”

  The three women, viewing a backstage monitor, watched Donna stand and say, “Please welcome Miss Classic, third runner-up, Tamara Blanco Kowalski.”

  Enthusiastic applause came from the two dozen or so people that made up the live audience. Regina suspected the shrill whistles came from the twin girls.

  Tammy pulled in a deep breath, waited for her cue, then moved around the partition and onto the set.

  Regina glanced at Amelia. Except for a tightness around the mouth, she looked calm and cool. Again Regina was reminded of a snake’s belly.

  “Nervous?” Regina asked.

  “No. You?”

  “Scared to death.”

  Amelia’s eyes looked somewhat contemptuous before looking away.

  “Miss Classic, second runner-up, Amelia Travis Corde,” Donna’s voice rang out.

  Amelia stiffened. Then with a look of sheer malevolence, she turned to glare at Regina. “You were supposed to be next. I should go last,” she spit the words out venomously. “I was the queen.”

  Regina lifted her shoulders and shook her head in confusion. There was a mix-up. Donna was supposed to call them in the order they had ended up, with Amelia claiming the title.

  Stork, the lanky young floor director in a tank top and safari shorts, counted down, then gave the cue for Amelia to enter. She stood ramrod straight, not a muscle twitched.

  “Amelia ... ?” Regina said.

  “No.”

  “You’ve got to go,” Regina pleaded under her breath.

  “You’re not going to gang up on me again,” Amelia hissed. She seemed to be in a trance. “I was the queen.”

  Donna called her name again.

  Regina pushed gently but firmly. “Please, Amelia, we’ll get it straightened out.”

  Amelia seemed to snap out of it, and then, smiling broadly, she stepped around the partition and moved onto the hushed set with long, regal strides, befitting a queen.

  The applause, sporadic at first, became loud and steady.

  Regina closed her eyes and let the air escape in a whoosh from her lungs.

  Instead of sitting down, Amelia faced the camera and said, “As Miss Classic 1970, I wish to offer my prayers and best wishes to the lovely contestants of the 1990 Miss Golden Gate Model Search. Good luck, ladies, and may God be with you.”

>   “Ladies and gentlemen,” Donna said when Amelia finally sat, “my co-producer and very dear friend, Regina Houston Van Raven.”

  Stunned by the backstage incident, Regina felt numb, displaced. She moved out on cue, just wanting to get the whole crazy affair over with.

  In a monitor to her right, inset in the corner of the screen, she saw a black-and-white picture of herself in an early seventies swimsuit. As she entered, she saw an image in bronze and teal with a halo of dark brown hair moving across the set, and wondered if that lovely woman was truly she.

  Regina sat in the club chair at the far end of the semicircle. Donna directed several questions to her, which, thanks to the numb state she was in, she answered without a trace of self- consciousness. The others were brought into the conversation.

  Regina heard a rushing in her head, like the sound of a seashell at her ear. She looked from one woman to another, seeing but not hearing. Tammy was talking, gesticulating broadly, her lips moving rapidly, her pale brows glistening on her bright crimson face. Amelia sat tall, her legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded neatly in her lap, her porcelain skin a striking contrast to her ebony hair. When she spoke her eyes closed briefly, then fluttered open. Very effective, Regina thought. There was something almost hypnotic about the gesture, making it difficult to look away from her face. Donna leaned into her guests, her expression amiable, benevolent — the peacemaker, the saint, the mother figure who encompassed all others with love and caring. Donna was the security blanket, the chicken soup, the cool hand to the fevered brow.

  Regina snapped out of the trance with the following words “…food poisoning at the pageant.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Amelia said, her long lashes lowered, then fluttered upward. “The seafood at the banquet was bad. More than half of the contestants were gravely ill. I had a touch of it myself.”

  “I almost broke my neck coming down those stairs on stage,” Tammy said. “Halfway down my heel fell off. Just fell off.”

  “I’d forgotten about that,” Regina said softly under her breath, visibly perplexed.

  “One more freakish incident to confirm the jinx theory,” Amelia added.