Clueless Chase

by Wendy Meadows

  “Of course. Sorry,” Betty said in a nervous voice. She picked up the notepad lying on her lap. “I’m ready.”

  “Okay. Run the announcement and add an open invitation to all interested persons. I’ll call the crowded cities in our fine state…Chattanooga…Nashville…Memphis…and have them run the talent show notice in their papers. I’m sure by the time our talent show begins in two weeks we’ll have a full house.”

  Betty scribbled down a few notes. “When will Monroe Baker…be arriving?” she dared to ask.

  “He asked me to call him back tonight,” Mary explained. “After I reserve the best room at the hotel for him, of course. And,” Mary added, “he wants me to talk to the mayor and have the entire town waiting for him at the train station when he arrives.”

  “Oh dear,” Betty moaned again.

  “You said it,” Mary agreed. “But,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t think I’ll have any problems rounding up a crowd to meet him at the train station. Every girl in Pineville will most likely be lined up on the platform when he arrives.” Mary shook her head. “Boy, talk about a rotten idea. I should have never suggested Monroe Baker. I was just tossing names into the air, for crying out loud.”

  “Heather Norton and her big mouth,” Betty complained.

  “Heather Norton and her big mouth,” Mary joined Betty. She tossed down her pencil and dropped her chin down onto the palm of her hand. “Well, what’s done is done. Monroe has agreed to headline our show and for better or worse, he is a big name that will bring in a crowd.” Mary looked at Betty. “Our objective is to raise money for our wounded boys and Monroe will help us do that. We might as well dig in our heels and suffer through him for the sake of our boys.”

  “For the sake…of our boys,” Betty forced her mouth to speak. She stood up and pushed at her dress. “I’ll go prepare the story. I’ll have the first draft back ready for you in an hour.”

  “That’s fine, honey,” Mary told Betty. She waited until Betty left the office and grabbed her phone and quickly called Monroe Baker back. “Hello, Monroe, this is Mary Holland again.”

  A handsome man with shiny black hair tossed a Lucky Strike into his mouth and sat down in a fancy brown sitting chair resting in a large den. The den was housed in a mansion sitting on a manicured lawn surrounded by lush flower gardens and bright green shrubbery. The mansion was old and once belonged to a writer who vanished in the middle of the night and was never seen again. Such stories didn’t bother the likes of Monroe Baker. He was a logical man who didn’t bother with pointless tales. He was a big man and a big name and that was all that mattered to him.

  “Is there a problem, Mary?” he asked in a voice that sounded like the two were old friends.

  “No, no, there’s no problem,” Mary said in a quick voice. “I was calling because…well, I know I called out of the blue…and well, if you’re too busy, maybe you could send a friend in your place…someone you know in the movies?”

  Monroe let out an amused laugh. “Mary, Mary,” he said, “in this business, a man has no friends. He has mere acquaintances.” Monroe studied his den and smiled. Yes, he was a big man and a big name. He didn’t need anyone to help him draw in a crowd, especially in a hick town like Pineville, Tennessee. He had only agreed to headline the talent show because doing charity work for wounded soldiers would help further his career. “Now,” he said, “it’s almost tennis time.” Monroe glanced down at the white tennis shirt and green shorts he was wearing. He felt powerful and invincible.

  Mary rolled her eyes. So much for trying to wiggle out of a bad situation, she thought, and then kicked herself. Here she was making a mountain out of a molehill instead of Betty. “Okay, Monroe, go play tennis. I’ll call you with more details tonight.”

  “Very good,” Monroe said. He lifted his right hand and rubbed his smooth face. “I want the absolute best, Mary. After all, a man of my stature can accept nothing less.”

  Mary rolled her eyes again. “Monroe, you were raised in Pineville, Tennessee and used to run barefoot in the summer and get mud between your toes.”

  Monroe stiffened. He preferred to minimize his memories that were connected to Pineville. He was a “movie” man now, living in a mansion located within the sunny landscape of Los Angeles. He was an “important” man who drove fancy cars and wore expensive suits. He was a “headline” man who would simply humor a charity talent show in order to promote his career to a higher level. He was not a barefoot kid with mud between his toes.

  “Mary, we are adults now. My time spent in Pineville is of no interest to me. Los Angeles is my home…Pineville is not.”

  “I understand,” Mary told Monroe in a polite voice, even though she felt like vomiting. “I’ll call the hotel and reserve the best room for you as soon as we hang up.”

  “And don’t forget the welcome committee,” Monroe reminded Mary. He looked at the fancy desk sitting in front of an antique bookshelf lined with expensive books. “It wouldn’t be…proper…for a man of my stature to arrive unseen and unheard,” he told Mary as he lit his Lucky Strike and relaxed. The den was dim and shadowy, just the way he liked it. Outside, the world hummed loudly, but inside his mansion—inside his den—the beautiful peace and quiet was priceless. His den was also coated with security—security that kept a certain foe at bay.

  “I’m sure every girl in town will be waiting for you at the train platform,” Mary told Monroe. “Right now, Heather Norton, the town gossip, is shouting your name from the rooftops.”

  Monroe smiled. “Heather Norton will receive a high word of praise from me when I arrive.” Monroe took a drag off his Lucky Strike. “I’ll—” Monroe stopped speaking when the door to his den crept open and a shadowy figure appeared. “I have to go now,” he told Mary and ended the call.

  Mary looked at the phone, shrugged her shoulders, and hung up. “What a character,” she sighed, not realizing that the man she was insulting was in danger.

  After making a few more calls and going over the announcement a dozen times before approving a final draft, Mary made her way home to have a quiet glass of cold tea on her back porch. All the talk about the war and wounded soldiers made her think about John. What if John…what if…her husband was shot down over enemy territory…or was wounded and came home…crippled? As Mary stood in the old kitchen of her home and poured herself a glass of tea, many horrible, depressing, and scary thoughts ran through her mind. She saw her husband’s plane being shot down…she saw her husband bailing out…then she saw her husband sitting crumpled over in the pilot seat, wounded and unable to bail out…and then her mind saw the plane landing and the body of a very badly wounded man being dragged out on a stretcher.

  “Don’t think of such things,” she begged herself. “John is going to come home safe.”

  Mary walked out onto the back porch and sat down in a rocking chair. The day was growing tired and long. After surviving the likes of Vince Green, she felt grateful to be alive and to be able to sit out on her back porch. The thought of her husband being killed or wounded, however, destroyed her peace. Sure, she had managed to win a horrible battle against a deadly opponent, but so what? Her husband was still far away, flying dangerous missions over enemy territory. The enemy, Mary fretted as she sipped a cold glass of sweet tea and stared at a beautiful flowerbed housing bright tulips, was ruthless and merciless, determined to kill and destroy.

  “Oh, John,” she whispered as a tear dropped from her eye, “what if your plane gets shot down?”

  “Hello?” a voice called out.

  Mary almost spilled her tea. She quickly wiped away her tear and looked to her right. She saw Heather Norton appear at the side of the house. “I knocked on the front door but didn’t get an answer.”

  “Hello, Heather,” Mary said in a tired voice. “I was just having a glass of tea.”

  Heather quickly hurried up on the back porch. “I talked with the girls,” she said in an excited voice. “We have decided to form a welcome
committee.” Heather grabbed Mary’s glass of tea and took a drink. “A tad too much sugar, honey,” she said and handed Mary the glass.

  “I’ll try and remember that,” Mary sighed.

  Heather nodded. “You do that. Now, about the welcome committee,” she said and began to pace back and forth on excited legs. “I talked to the mayor and he’s agreed to loan me the town band. Jim Frost is getting the guys together right now and we’re going to meet at my house in an hour to decide on what songs will be played when Monroe Baker arrives. I’m thinking something patriotic.”

  Mary stared at Heather. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with a silly woman acting like a lovestruck girl. “Heather—”

  Heather threw her hand at Mary. “Now, what we need to know is the exact time and date Monroe is going to arrive, honey.” Heather grabbed Mary’s glass of tea and took a second drink. “Too much sugar,” she pointed out again and handed the glass of tea back to Mary.

  “Heather, this talent show is being organized to help raise money for our wounded boys returning home from the war. Monroe Baker is just a name being used to draw in a crowd. Our real focus is on our boys fighting in the war.”

  “Yeah, yeah, the war.” Heather shrugged Mary’s words off into the air. “Now, honey, Monroe Baker is a star. We have to make sure everything goes exactly right when he arrives, while he’s here, and when he leaves. Nothing can go wrong.” Heather looked at Mary. “I need you to come to the meeting.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Heather asked in a shocked voice. “Why, because this talent show was your idea, Mary, and you’re the one who managed to talk Monroe Baker into taking time out from behind the camera to visit our drab little town. It wouldn’t be fitting to leave you out in the cold. Besides,” Heather added, “the mayor insisted I come and fetch you. He’s worried some of the girls might become too distracted with Monroe and forget their duties. He wants a level-headed woman around—you know, you and me.”

  Mary shook her head and looked at the flowerbed. “Heather, Monroe Baker is just a man like any other. Just because he makes movies doesn’t mean he’s any more special than our boys fighting in the war and—”

  “Watch your mouth, Mary Holland!” Heather gasped. “Monroe Baker is a dream!”

  “Monroe Baker poops sitting down just like anyone else,” Mary exclaimed. The worry she was feeling for her husband was weighing heavy on her heart. The last thing in the world she felt like doing was having a silly, pointless, annoying conversation with Heather Norton. “Heather, go tell the mayor that I won’t be able to make the meeting. I have…other business to tend to tonight.”

  Heather stared at Mary in shock. “You must not be feeling well,” she said. “I can call Dr. Lucas over and have him—”

  “I feel fine, Heather,” Mary said. “I’m just very worried about my husband, that’s all. You see, John is my star, not Monroe Baker.”

  Heather looked deeply into Mary’s eyes and somewhere in her mind, a light went off. “Oh, honey,” she said and patted Mary’s arm, “I understand. I’ll go tell the mayor you’re busy with other chores.”

  “Thank you, Heather.”

  Heather began to walk away and then paused. She turned and stared at Mary with sad eyes. “I’m a real nobody, Mary. I’m a telephone operator living in a small town. And out there,” Heather waved her right hand in the air, “is a beautiful life that is passing me by. Monroe Baker represents that life…he represents everything I’ve always wanted. And while he’s here…maybe for a short time…I can have what I want. I hope that doesn’t make you think badly of me.”

  “Not at all,” Mary promised Heather. “But please remember that being a star in the eyes of two people who love you is a lot better than being a star in the eyes of a thousand people who don’t know who you really are.”

  Heather stared at Mary and then walked away without saying a word. Mary went back to her tea and spent the rest of the evening thinking about her husband, not knowing a storm was about to cover her town once again.

  Chapter 2

  The big day arrived. Mary was standing on a crowded platform with Betty waiting for the 12:05 train to arrive. Behind the platform stood a small wooden house that had been transformed into a cozy train station. Open, beautiful, lush green land surrounded the train station, snuggling up to the railroad tracks like an old friend with a warm story to tell. Mary liked that the train station was located a mile north of town, sitting alone, untouched by time and change. The train station was a tender love in her mind…the last place she had seen her husband…and the first place she would see him when he arrived home. For the time being, though, she would have to settle for welcoming a spoiled actor.

  “There’s so many people,” Betty said in a nervous voice. She hugged her notepad and studied the blue dress she was wearing. “I look like a blueberry.”

  “You look lovely,” Mary told Betty, speaking over the busy, excited voices of women who were anxiously waiting to see Monroe Baker.

  Betty looked at the dark brown dress Mary had chosen to wear. The dress wasn’t very flattering. Betty guessed that’s exactly how Mary wanted her dress to appear to Monroe Baker. “It’s almost twelve-oh-five.”

  Mary glanced over her shoulder and studied the clock attached over the doorway leading away from the platform and down to the train station. “Yeah, it is,” she agreed. She put her eyes forward and walked them around the platform. The town band was stationed off to the right, dressed in their red and white band uniforms and holding different instruments. The mayor, a short, fat little man, was standing next to a wooden podium dressed in his best gray suit and speaking happily to his wife. Behind the mayor sat a “Chair of Honor” reserved for Monroe Baker. Sheriff Mables, forced to be present by the mayor, was standing beside the chair holding a Key to the City; the poor man looked miserable and irritated. Red, white, and blue ribbons were hung everywhere along with a large banner that read: “Welcome Home Monroe Baker.”

  Mary shook her head. “You would think we were expecting the President.”

  Betty nodded. “The Welcome Committee did a good job,” she admitted and looked around at all the women waiting to see Monroe. Bored husbands stood at the back of the platform, smoking Lucky Strikes or cigars, talking about how silly their wives were acting. Not one single husband appeared interested in meeting a spoiled actor.

  “I was worried about Monroe Baker coming to town, Mary,” Betty confessed. “I can see now that he will draw in big crowds that will help us raise money for our wounded soldiers. I’m sorry I acted so…childish.”

  “You weren’t acting childish, honey,” Mary assured Betty and patted her arm. She searched for William and Millie and found her crew working the crowd, asking a few questions, jotting down a few statements, the usual. She was glad to see William and Millie out of the office for a change. The breath of fresh air was obviously doing them both a world of good. “We’ll keep running daily stories about the talent show…who is going to perform…how the performances went the night before…really put some bright lights to every story and jazz them up a bit.”

  Betty scribbled down Mary’s thoughts. “William has a witty pen,” she pointed out. “Millie is fresh but she’s still nervous about stepping out of the lines.”

  Mary was impressed with Betty’s insight. “We’ll have William write up each story and keep Millie on the local stuff. I’ll team up with Millie and take over William’s chores until the talent show ends.”

  Betty scribbled down some more notes. Then, in the far distance, she heard a train whistle. She snapped up her head and looked at the railroad tracks. “Oh dear,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “Everything will be fine,” Mary assured Betty. She worked her way through the crowd toward the front of the platform. She stepped up next to Heather Norton, who was dressed like a queen wearing the silliest blue and pink dress Mary had ever seen in her life. Heather was hugging a photo of Monroe and looked down the railroad tracks. “Hello, Hea
ther.”

  “He’s almost here,” Heather said in an excited voice. “Just a few more minutes now.”

  Mary folded her arms, glanced over her shoulder, saw the mayor nod his head at her, and then focused on Heather. “Try not to faint,” she teased, deciding to show humor instead of appearing annoyed. After all, she thought, thinking back to the night she was worried over her husband, what was the point of letting her own personal fears disrupt everyone’s good time? The talent show had been her idea, raising money for wounded soldiers had been her goal, and Monroe Baker had agreed to help her. All Mary had to do was tough it out for one week with a bratty actor and then send him on his way and afterward count how much money had been raised for her cause.

  “Very funny,” Heather said and stuck her tongue out at Mary.

  Mary grinned. “If you faint you might hit your head on the train. And, oh my,” Mary said through her hands over her mouth, “what would Monroe Baker think?”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “You’re a regular funny woman today, Mary Holland. Maybe you should start writing a humor column in the paper.”

  “I just might,” Mary laughed and nudged Heather with her shoulder.

  Heather smiled and focused on the approaching train. The train was a beautiful, soothing, dark blue and white Streamliner that made everyone gasp—even the bored husbands. Mary had heard rumors that new Streamliners were traveling the rails but had yet to see one. She was still used to the older models that chugged through Pineville. The blue and white Streamliner that traveled up to the train platform was simply breathtaking. The Great Depression had caused a dark cloud to form over the rail industry, but it seemed—at least to Mary—the dark cloud was fading away.

  “My,” Heather gasped as steam hissed from under the train and slowly seeped out onto the tracks.

  Mary folded her arms and studied the train. “Sure is a beautiful Streamliner,” she admitted just as the band began playing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” She watched an elderly train conductor wearing a dark blue uniform climb down from the first passenger car, retrieve a wooden step stand, place it down on the platform, and look around. A few seconds later, Monroe Baker appeared, wearing an expensive, flashy, blue suit. The first thing Mary noticed with surprise was not the blue suit but the worried expression haunting Monroe Baker’s eyes.