Sarah closed her eyes and tried to think. Ed would not like this. But she couldn’t make a decision like this based solely on what he would think. A promotion, this early in her career. That was worth something. She hated Lester Myles’ secrecy, but on another level, she found it intriguing. If she quit, she would never find out what Nightfinger was up to.
“Are you still thinking?” said Myles.
Sarah sighed. “So what exactly will I be doing as a senior A&R Assistant?”
“The same thing you’ve been doing. You’ll still be delivering things for me. Contracts and demos, just like before. Plus a few other things.”
She did find the idea intriguing. “What other things?”
“I can’t say.”
“Would I be helping you hurt anybody?”
“I don’t believe in hurting people unless they ask me to. Everything we do is perfectly legal.”
“And do you promise me this isn’t all a big joke?”
“Life is all a big joke,” said Lester. “But this is pretty serious.”
“Then I want five thousand,” she replied.
“No.”
“Four.”
There was silence on the line, and for a moment she was afraid he had hung up. But then he said, “This has to stay absolutely secret. Especially from that boyfriend of yours. He wouldn’t understand. If you’ll swear on your father’s grave that you won’t tell a soul, I’ll give you your two thousand dollar raise plus a thousand-dollar bonus when your year is up. But I need an answer right now. Yes or no?”
Sarah knew she shouldn’t make such a big decision at three in the morning. But that was a lot of money. And Myles had sworn that it was all legal. And… Sarah wanted, more than anything, to prove that she could make it. That she didn’t need a rich father—or any man—to pay her way. She took a deep breath and said, “Yes.”
* * *
An hour later, she was sure she’d made a mistake. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Ed wasn’t home, so Sarah called the only other person she was sure would be awake at this hour.
“I want to know more about this Lester person,” said Joy.
“Somehow he knows about Ed, that he doesn’t like me working for Nightfinger. And then he said, ‘Swear on your father’s grave.’ Like he knew my father was dead. I’m telling you, this record company is some kind of spy operation. Do you think Lester’s a spy?”
“He could be a spy,” Joy said. “One time, when I was in Denver, I found out that all the radio stations and two television stations were being run by spies. Nasty ones. They stole my boyfriend’s brain.”
“Oh!” Sarah frowned, unsure whether Joy was being serious.
“I got it back, but he was never the same after that. So we broke up.”
“Oh.”
Joy perked up again in an instant. “But then I started having those weird dreams about Ed and I found Rayfield and it all turned out just fine. Isn’t Rayfield just amazing?”
“Well,” Sarah said carefully, “he is really something.”
“Yeah,” Joy said dreamily. Then her tone changed. “You never slept with him, did you? Before you met Ed?”
Sarah sat up in her bed. “With Rayfield? No! I would never! I mean, the Guru would never let that happen.”
Joy sounded greatly relieved. “That’s good. So you took the job?”
“The promotion? Yeah. I couldn’t turn down that kind of money.”
“Does Ed know? You should tell Ed. I don’t know if he’d want you working as a spy.”
“I wasn’t planning on telling him that part. Besides, I don’t know that for sure.” She didn’t want to mention how long it had been since she’d spoken to Ed.
“You haven’t been coming to the meetings,” said Joy.
“I’m always so tired.”
“Oh, you’re not fooling anybody. You’re just mad at Ed. Rayfield says you stay mad a long time.”
“That’s not true.” She’d never stayed mad at anyone for more than a few weeks at a time. Her sister held grudges far longer than Sarah ever did.
The sun was coming up. Sarah yawned, and she heard an answering yawn from Joy. “There’s another meeting tomorrow night,” Joy said. “Tonight, I mean. Today is tomorrow. You should come. Ed will want to see you.”
Without warning, Sarah burst into tears. “Joy, what did I do? I don’t want to be a spy!”
“It’ll be okay. I think you’ll make a very good spy. Oooh, are you going to carry a gun?”
That made her cry even harder. “I don’t know! I didn’t even think to ask him that! Ed’s going to kill me.”
The tears subsided a few minutes later, and Sarah decided they were just a sign that she was over-tired. “I’ll be okay,” she assured Joy. “I’ll come to the meeting tonight and… and I’ll talk to him.” She wasn’t sure how she’d explain what she had signed up for, but something would come to her.
“That’s wonderful!” squeaked Joy. “I’ll tell Rayfield and Perla!” And she hung up the phone before Sarah could say another word.
* * *
“The funny thing is, she’s never even met this man. He just gives her instructions over the phone.” Joy took a sip of her ginger ale.
“Never met him? Not even once?” said her new friend, a pretty brunette who would have been just Joy’s type, if Joy had been into girls, which she wasn’t. “That’s strange.”
“I know! He’s just a voice on the phone. Who knows if he’s even real?”
Joy was sitting at the bar on Wilshire to wait for Rayfield, who was forty minutes late. That was his way; he always had trouble getting places on time. Joy didn’t mind. She had arrived thirty minutes late herself. That was her way, too. The bar had a nice view of the street through its large front window, so she could watch for him to arrive. The dark-haired young woman had taken a seat beside her and Joy had struck up a conversation. Her new friend’s name was Kate.
“I don’t know if I’d want a job that was so… mysterious. Would you?”
Joy looked at the ceiling as she pondered the question. “I don’t think I’d mind it. I like mysteries. That’s why I went into journalism, I guess. I enjoy telling stories.”
“I can tell,” said Kate. “What paper do you work for?”
Joy made a face. “None at the moment. I applied to several, but I get the feeling they’re looking for reporters who are a little more male than I am. What do you do? I bet you’re an actress.”
Kate laughed. “How did you guess?”
“You look like an actress. Every girl in L.A. is an actress. Except me. What have you been in?”
“Drama school,” Kate said, blushing a little. “I just graduated.”
“Are you from around here?”
“No, New York. I’m only here on vacation.”
“Oh.” Joy tried to hide her disappointment. She had never met a real Hollywood actress, a famous one, and had thought this was finally her chance.
“But I was just cast in a show called Dark Shadows.”
“I’ve seen that! Is your character alive or dead?”
“Dead,” said Kate.
“That’s far out.”
“Yeah!”
They both fell silent and sipped their drinks.
“I’ve been thinking of writing a screenplay,” Joy said.
“A mystery?”
“Yes. No. Sort of a mystery, I guess. I know a guy who’s had some wild things happen to him. His life would make a pretty good movie, you know? I’m going to call it Night of the Gnome, because there was a gnome that used to show up and talk to him sometimes. A creepy one.”
“That sounds interesting,” said Kate. “You really should write it.”
“I think I will,” said Joy.
“How intriguing,” Kate said to herself. “The boss is just a voice on the phone. That’d be a perfect idea for a television show, don’t you think? A team of spies working for a man, but they never see him. They only hear his voic
e.” She considered that for a moment. “They’d have to be girl spies. Male spies are boring.”
But Joy’s attention had already been drawn away by a noise on the street outside. Someone was honking a car horn incessantly, and she could hear the revving of an engine. A crowd of people scattered as a Volkswagen microbus swerved onto the sidewalk. It was covered from top to bottom with stickers, and on the front was a large phallus shaped out of aluminum foil. The idea of putting stickers on it had been Joy’s, but the metal penis had been Perla’s idea. The vehicle screeched to a stop in front of the restaurant, rocking heavily on its suspension. Rayfield was in the driver’s seat, honking and waving for her to come out. There was a woman sitting next to him in the passenger seat. That was unexpected.
“My ride’s here,” Joy said to Kate. “It was nice meeting you.” She left a modest tip for the bartender and went outside.
* * *
Rachael was walking down Beverly Drive with her two best friends, Susan and Barbara. Perhaps ‘Best friends’ was too a strong term for what they were. They had all been friends since the third grade, but Rachael wasn’t sure how much she liked them anymore. She hadn’t been talking to Susan very much lately, because Susan had not been very nice to her ever since the Gary Chapman incident. Susan had a way of turning on people suddenly, especially when she let her hormones take the wheel. Rachael didn’t appreciate betrayal, and had stopped talking to Susan ever since the Gary situation, and would not have been hanging around with Susan if Barbara hadn’t insisted on bringing her along.
Barbara was nice, but she existed on a different social stratum from Rachael, so Rachael didn’t talk to her much anymore. They had been inseparable as kids, and with their similar outfits and matching brown hair, people had always thought they were sisters. Rachael supposed there was some resemblance, although her real sister looked a lot more like her than Barbara did. But Barbara had gotten chunky, while Rachael had stayed skinny, so people didn’t take them for sisters anymore.
At school Rachael would not have been caught talking to either one of them, but it was summertime and she didn’t feel like sitting around at home by herself. They were a quiet group as they walked past the shops in the sun, browsing but not buying anything.
Rachael was not buying anything because her mother had forbidden her to buy any more clothes. She would have died before she let the others know this. But Barbara and Susan seemed content to window-shop, so they just kept walking along without saying much.
“Is that the store where Scarface works, Ray-Ray?” asked Barbara. Rachael hated being called Ray-Ray. It was a name her sister had come up with when they were little. Once a name like that stuck to you it was never going away. Names were like gum in the hair, except that no amount of peanut butter would make a bad nickname go away.
Rachael looked where Barbara was pointing. “That’s the place,” she said. She wasn’t about to let on that the name bothered her. Let them think she didn’t care, and they might not use it anymore. She looked through the store window and saw the immaculately-dressed manager talking to a customer, but there was no sign of the girl with the scar on her face. Rachael was relieved, although she was careful not to show it. “I should’ve gone back to buy that red skirt.”
“You could buy it now,” Susan said obnoxiously. “Unless your mom won’t let you.”
So she knew Rachael was being punished. Or she suspected. Rachael ignored her.
“What would you do if you ran into Scarface again?” asked Barbara. “I’d call the police.”
“Ray-Ray wouldn’t have a chance to call the police,” said Susan. “Scarface would cut her throat before she could get to a phone.”
Rachael tried to think of a witty retort. Nothing came to mind right away, and then it was too late for a proper retort. She walked along in silence, pretending to be interested in the dresses in the window. She had almost reached the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard when she noticed that the other two were no longer with her. Turning around, she saw them both staring in horror at her.
“What’s going on?” Rachael asked them, feeling foolish for having walked on without them. Was this their idea of a joke?
“Oh my God,” Barbara said, at the same instant that Susan cried, “Look out!”
The rapid clicking of high heels on concrete was the only warning Rachael had before someone tackled her from behind and knocked her to the ground. The wind rushed out of her lungs and she gasped painfully for air, making a hooting noise like an owl as she did so. It was humiliating, being tackled in front of her friends, and the humiliation made her temper rise. She rolled over, dumping her attacker off her back and onto the hot sidewalk.
It was Scarface. She sneered at Rachael and got to her feet, wobbling on her high heels as she caught her balance. “You almost got me fired!” Scarface said.
“What is your problem?” Rachael complained, fighting back tears. “I don’t even know you!”
“You do know me,” said the woman with the scar. “You did this to me!” She pointed to her scar, which stood out even more sharply now that she was out in the sun.
“I didn’t!” Rachael protested. “Who are you?”
The woman seemed insulted again. She had an awfully thin skin. “My name is Maggie!” she snapped. “Stop playing dumb! I know you remember me.”
A few people walked by, giving Rachael and her attacker plenty of room. Every one of them was looking another way, as if ignoring this little altercation would make it someone else’s problem. Rachael turned to look back at her friends, who were both staring at the scene as it unfolded in front of them. They said nothing and made no move to help. It was like they were watching a television show. “Well?” Rachael said to them. “Can’t you call the cops or something?”
“Rachael!” Barbara shouted. “Look what she’s got!”
“Just tell me what she’s got!” Rachael snapped. She was in no mood for guessing games. She turned her attention back to Maggie, who was approaching with a Swiss Army knife, its blade flashing in the sun. “Oh, Jesus,” Rachael muttered.
“Let’s see how you like it!” said Maggie, and she lunged at Rachael’s face with the knife. But the crazy woman’s shoes betrayed her. Her ankles wobbled precariously, and the attack fell short as she lost her balance and fell on her face again. The knife tumbled out of her grip and skittered across the sidewalk. She screamed in fury. Now her scarred face was also bloody, and she looked twice as angry as before.
Rachael was screaming too, and so were her friends. She lurched to her feet and her friends ran with her down Beverly Drive, away from the lunatic with the knife. When Rachael looked over her shoulder, she saw the woman take off her shoes and carry them by the straps so she could run without breaking her ankles. Rachael decided to do the same, and soon she was outpacing her two friends.
Then a thought occurred to her. “Oh!” she said, stopping suddenly. Barbara and Susan nearly bumped into her. “My sister!”
“What about your sister?” Susan asked in a shaky voice that was close to a wail. Her ponytail had come undone, and her hair was sticking to her sweaty face.
Maggie caught up to them quickly, snarling and brandishing her knife. She seemed baffled as to why Rachael had stopped running.
“I figured it out!” Rachael explained to her. “You have me confused with my sister.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Maggie demanded. She had a fresh scrape on her forehead that was oozing blood. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Well—no,” said Rachael. Barbara and Susan both shook their heads emphatically. “I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re just mixed up.” Rachael looked at the cars driving by. She knew the drivers could see the crazy woman with the knife. Why was nobody stopping to help?
Maggie spat blood on the pavement. “I’m mixed up,” she repeated.
“Yeah. Just a mix-up.” With that settled, Rachael nodded once and started backing away from the woman. “It was nice seeing you aga
in,” she said, because she had no idea what to say in a situation like this.
“Mixed up!” Maggie said again. She laughed a hateful laugh, showing teeth that were red with blood. She must have bitten her tongue when she fell.
Susan and Barbara were distancing themselves from her. Some friends they were. When Maggie launched herself at Rachael again, they were already halfway down the block, running and crying. Rachael raised her arm and tried to dodge the woman’s next attack, but she was too slow and the blade made a shallow cut on her forearm. She screamed in fear and pain when she saw blood dripping from the wound.
“What is the matter with you?” she cried, but Maggie was preparing to strike with the knife again. For lack of any better ideas, Rachael ran out into Wilshire Boulevard. She heard tires screeching. Horns blared and people yelled, but no one got out to help.
She had dropped her shoes somewhere. Those were expensive shoes! Scarface would have to pay her back for those. How would she explain to her mother when she went home with no shoes on?
Maggie was only a few feet behind her, running barefoot and waving her knife. Surely someone would see that and do something. Rachael remembered someone telling her once that if you were chased by a cheetah, your best bet was to run in a zigzag pattern. The cheetah would still eat you, but at least you would tire it out first. She tried this now, weaving left and right in the street while the drivers honked at her. Maggie was gaining on her, snarling and growling like an animal.
Rachael heard the sound of a revving engine just ahead. A Volkswagen microbus squealed out of a side street and turned sharply onto Wilshire, narrowly avoiding collisions with several speeding vehicles. The bus was blue, but the paint color was hard to discern because the whole thing was covered with stickers. It accelerated along the center line straight toward Rachael. This was it: her life was over. She stopped running and closed her eyes, waiting for death by knife or Volkswagen.
She heard the skidding of the vehicle as it swerved, and couldn’t help but open her eyes. The driver jerked the wheel at the last possible moment, missing her by inches, and stopped his vehicle so it was between Rachael and Maggie. Maggie, finding that her path was blocked, shrieked and ran around the front of the bus. Rachael ran around behind it. They circled the vehicle twice, until the driver swung his door open just in time to clobber Maggie as she was running past. Scarface hit her head hard on the window and fell on her butt with a grunt.
The Music of the Machine (The Book of Terwilliger 2) Page 20