“I don’t want apologies. I want my fucking movie!”
“All right, this is getting out of hand,” Hannah announced. “We can’t help you, Mr. Hall. And you’re being abusive. You need to leave the store.”
“Oh, really? Are you going to make me, bitch?”
“That’s it,” Scott said. “I’m calling the cops on you.”
“No need. I’ll show him out.”
Craig Tollman stepped up to the counter beside Lester Hall. He smiled at the silver-haired man. “Let’s go.”
Dumbfounded, Hannah stared at them. She hadn’t seen Craig in a few days. She had to admire his timing.
Lester Hall was mad and drunk, but he wasn’t about to tangle with Craig. He turned to Hannah. “I want a credit on my account!” he demanded. “I should get a free movie!”
She nodded. “I’ll tell the manager exactly what happened.”
Craig nudged at him. “Now say good-bye.”
Lester Hall didn’t say anything. He stomped out of the store—with Craig right behind him.
“Thanks for shopping with us!” Scott called out, for the benefit of the other customers in the store. Some of them laughed. One person applauded.
But Hannah was staring out the window. Lester Hall retreated down the street, while Craig seemed to stand guard outside the door. He glanced in the store window, and gave Hannah a little salute.
She nodded at Craig and managed to smile.
“Do you know that black guy?” Scott whispered. “He’s a major babe. I didn’t even see him come into the store. Did you?”
Hannah just shook her head. She looked back outside, but Craig was gone. She wondered how long he’d been in the store before stepping up to the counter. How long had he been there watching her?
“You’re shaking a little, Hannah,” Scott said. “You okay?”
Britt patted her on the back. “God, you really stood up to that creep. It was all my fault. I’m sorry, Hannah. I’m the one who screwed up—”
“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” Hannah said, with a nervous laugh. She started collecting returns from the drop-off bin.
“Sure you don’t want to take five in the back room or something?” Scott asked.
Hannah began checking in the return videos. “I’ll be fine; nothing to worry about.” She said it again, hoping she might actually believe it. “Nothing to worry about at all.”
He watched Lester Hall climb into a black Mercedes. Then he hurried back to his own car so he could follow Lester home. Small wonder the son of a bitch was peeved about not getting his porn DVD. He lived about eight miles away—in a sprawling, white stucco ranch house on a big, secluded lot near Lake Washington.
He videotaped Lester stepping inside his house. The results on these night shots always left a lot to be desired, but the picture quality didn’t have to be perfect for Lester the Letch.
The camera panned across the house, then tracked down a slope and past a gate to a side garden. Through various windows, snippets of videotape caught Peeping Tom shots of Lester moving about the house. He took off his jacket, shirt, and some kind of corset to hold in his girth. Then he walked around in his slacks and V-neck T-shirt.
In the back, a row of bushes against the house provided some camouflage, while sliding glass doors offered a view into Lester’s recreation room—with a state-of-the-art entertainment center, a fireplace, and bar. No family pictures. The guy was probably divorced. His place looked too much like a bachelor pad for any woman to be living there.
Lester made a couple of phone calls, poured himself a drink at the bar, and finally settled down in front of an adult movie on his flat, wide-screen TV. The camera zoomed in on the girl-on-girl action. It must have been from his private DVD collection. Through the glass doors, the audio caught muffled purrs and moans from the two porn actresses pleasuring each other.
The camera’s audio also captured the sound of a car pulling up the front drive. Lester Hall must have heard it, too. He switched off his movie.
The next image caught on video was a tall brunette taking a duffel bag and a large folded-up case from the backseat of a cab. She wore tight jeans, a stylishly torn sweatshirt, and heels. The camera zoomed in for a close-up. Her hair was pulled back in a small ponytail. She’d overdone the mascara, and her maroon lips appeared swollen by collagen. She paid the cab driver and carried the bag and bulky case to Lester’s front door. The audio picked up the curious click-click of her high heels on the pavement.
Lester greeted her at the door, then ushered her inside. A series of shots into the windows along the side of the house yielded nothing but images of empty rooms. It was back in the large recreation room that Lester and his guest settled. He didn’t bother helping her with her case or the bag. But he did fix her a drink at the bar.
The woman opened the oblong case, which turned out to be a massage table. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna call,” she said, the words barely audible through the glass doors.
“It’s every Tuesday night,” he said, handing her a drink. “Shouldn’t be too tough to remember.”
“I remembered. I thought you’d forgotten.” She pulled out a folded sheet from the duffel bag and spread it over the table. Lester Hall grabbed the remote and clicked on some jazz music; then he began to undress.
So did the girl. Lester stopped to watch her shed the torn jersey top, then peel down her jeans. For a moment, she posed for him, running her hands up and down her tanned body, stopping to caress her breasts. All she wore was a red thong. She pointed to the table, whispered something, then sauntered away—most likely to the bathroom.
While she was gone, Lester finished undressing. With his barrel chest, protruding gut, and spindly legs, he didn’t look good naked. Despite the porn earlier and the girl stripping for him just now, Lester’s penis looked small and flaccid. He sipped his drink before laying facedown on the table.
A minute passed before the tall brunette returned. She pulled down the flimsy thong, then reached for a bottle of oil. She started massaging his back.
The camera zoomed in on her face. It caught a flicker of sadness in those heavily made-up eyes.
As was now his custom, Paul Gulletti took the empty seat beside Hannah in class that Thursday night. Hannah furtively glanced at his assistant, Seth, who rolled his eyes and smirked at her. He was standing in his usual spot by the windows. He strolled over to the projector and switched on the movie, Chinatown.
Ben Sturges sat in the back of the room tonight. At the beginning of class, Hannah had peeked over her shoulder at him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. The tall, black transvestite, Dede or Dodo or whatever her name was, had been bending his ear about something.
During the movie, Paul leaned over and asked if she was free for dinner one night during the upcoming week. “I was thinking of the Hotel Monaco,” he whispered. “They have a wonderful restaurant there. You’ll love it.”
Hannah tried to smile. “Well, Paul, I’d like go over my notes with you on movies that broke the blacklist. But I think the Hotel Monaco is a bit too fancy for something like that.” She shrugged. “I’ll have my notebook and a couple of library books with me. Maybe we can meet someplace for coffee instead, a Starbucks or—”
“Hannah, I’m trying to ask you out for a lovely dinner,” he whispered. “We can discuss the blacklist project some other time. I think we both owe ourselves a nice evening out.”
Hannah glanced up at the movie for a moment; then she turned to Paul again and leaned closer to him. “Um, Paul, I want to help you with your project, and I’ll gladly meet you for coffee or something. But if you’re asking me out on a date, I don’t date married men.”
He frowned a little. “Funny, I thought you were serious about wanting that job at my newspaper.”
“I’m very serious about it,” Hannah replied.
“Well, you sure fooled me,” Paul grumbled. Then he settled back to watch the film.
Hannah turned toward the screen. Sh
e yearned to tell him, You’re the one who’s not serious about this job possibility. You just want to get me into bed, you sleaze-bucket. But she didn’t risk saying it. What if he really did intend to help her out? Maybe socializing a bit with him was a part of that.
When the movie ended and the lights came on, Paul said to her under his breath, “Listen, stick around after class, okay? We should talk.”
With a sigh, Hannah nodded, then retreated to the hallway. She bought a box of Milk Duds from the vending machine.
“How are you doing?”
She turned to see Ben Sturges smiling at her.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Hannah coolly replied, taking a little step back.
He leaned against the vending machine. “I want to apologize for acting like such a horse’s ass last week. It’s really none of my business whether or not you’re—ah, involved with the teacher. I was way out of line. I’m sorry.”
Hannah glanced down at the box of Milk Duds in her hand. “Well, for the record, I’m not involved with Paul Gulletti. He’s married, and I don’t date married men.” She shrugged. “So, would you like a Milk Dud?”
He held out his hand. “Yeah, thanks.”
Hannah shook a couple of Milk Duds into his palm. She had a hard time looking directly at him. His apology was endearing, and she found him very attractive. Maybe that was why she couldn’t really trust him. It was part of her history that she had lousy taste in guys.
“Great movie, huh?” he said. “Have you seen any other Roman Polanski movies?”
“Knife in the Water, Tess, and Rosemary’s Baby.” She popped a Milk Dud in her mouth. “In fact, someone just loaned me a video of Rosemary’s Baby last week.”
“That’s weird. You have people loaning you videos? I figured you could rent them for free.”
Hannah stared at him, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you work in a video store, don’t you?”
“Yes, but how do you know that? I didn’t tell you.”
“I asked around.”
Hannah frowned. “Were you at the video store last week, asking around about me and my son?”
He shrugged. “I—I came by looking for you. I wanted to apologize—”
“And you asked about me and my little boy?” she pressed, a sharp edge in her tone. “Do you know how creepy that is? Are you following me around?”
His back against the vending machine, Ben glanced at the other students in the hallway. Hannah now noticed a few of them staring.
Ben shook his head at her. “No, I’m not following you around.”
She didn’t believe him. She stared into those cold blue eyes of his. “You’re lying,” she whispered. “I can tell. Listen, I don’t know what you want or what kind of game you’re playing. But you need to leave me alone.”
He let out a little laugh, and kept shaking his head.
“Understand?” she said loudly. “Leave me alone!”
She ran back into the classroom, and grabbed her coat.
Sitting on the edge of his desk, Paul glanced up from the Film Comment magazine he was reading. “Hannah? What’s wrong?”
Ignoring him, she hurried out to the corridor, then down the stairwell. She didn’t look back at Ben Sturges—or at the others who were staring at her. She just kept running.
He didn’t follow Hannah home from the community college. But he came by her apartment building around ten-thirty that night. From the parking lot of a neighboring building, he had a good view of her door and the living-room window. For nearly an hour, he watched. It was a beautiful, unseasonably warm night, with a smell in the air of impending rain. Her windows were open. From the flickering light inside, he could tell she was watching TV.
Her door opened. He hadn’t expected her to be stepping out at this time of night. Hannah came out to the balcony walkway for a minute. She retreated back inside, then reemerged with a straight-back chair and a glass of wine. She wasn’t going anywhere after all. She sat down, gazed out at the Space Needle, and sipped her wine. He saw her wipe her eyes several times, and he realized she was crying.
It began to rain, yet he remained, hiding behind a minivan in the lot. For a moment he thought she’d noticed him, but it was a false alarm. Around midnight, she finally went back inside, taking her chair and wineglass.
Ben stayed until he saw the light go out in her window.
He caught the bus back to his studio apartment in one of the seedier neighborhoods of town. His place was on the first floor. The iron bars somewhat defeated the purpose of his large picture window, but it didn’t matter. He had a view of a dumpster, an abandoned car, and the dirty street.
Ben didn’t bother turning on the light. He flopped down on the daybed sofa, which wasn’t so bad. The place came furnished—early fire-sale stuff. Kicking off his shoes, he glanced over at his answering machine on the beat-up old desk. The message light was blinking.
With a sigh, Ben pulled himself up and pressed the message button. “Ben? Ben, it’s Jennifer….” She sounded as if she’d been crying.
“Are you there? Please pick up. Please? Listen, I’m really worried about you….”
Frowning, he shuffled over to the refrigerator and took out a beer.
“Please, call me, okay? I miss you, honey. I want you to come home. I want to take care of you. We’ll make everything right. I think we should see somebody, don’t you? Get some help? Wouldn’t that be good?”
In the dark, dingy apartment, Ben sat back down on the bed and sipped his beer.
“I have a feeling you’re there, listening to me,” she went on. “Please pick up. Ben? Are you there?”
Six
Hannah knew Paul Gulletti taught another film class at the community college on Friday afternoons. But she hadn’t come to the college during her break to see Paul. In fact, she hoped they wouldn’t run into each other.
Sometimes, when she arrived for class early, she’d spot Paul’s assistant, Seth Stroud, in the cafeteria, sitting alone at a table with a cup of coffee and some film book.
That was where she hoped to find him today. She needed Seth’s help with something. And she didn’t dare ask Paul.
The cafeteria, with its two dozen cafe tables, a counter along the wall, and a painted mural of the Seattle skyline, wasn’t too crowded at twenty to three that Friday afternoon. Hannah could see right away Seth wasn’t there.
She slumped against the cafeteria’s arched entrance. As long as she was on her break, she decided to grab a late lunch. Seth could still show up before Paul’s class.
Hannah got a tray and went to the food counter. She was assessing the entrees on display when someone nudged her arm. Hannah turned to see the young man with spiked brown hair and designer glasses. He had a cup of coffee, a donut, and a copy of Movieline magazine on his tray.
“Hey, Seth,” Hannah said. “I was hoping I’d run into you here.”
“Yeah? Well, steer clear of the hot dogs. Might as well eat a time bomb.”
“Is the salad safe?”
He shrugged. “They can’t screw that up too much.”
She nodded at the food on his tray. “Is that all you’re having?”
“Yeah, just a snack to get me through the next couple of hours. How are you doing? You left class in such a hurry last night, I thought you might be sick or something.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Hannah said, taking a small plastic container of salad. “Let me pay for yours, okay? I want to hit you up for a favor.”
“Sounds mysterious.” He grinned. “Okay. I’ll get us a table.”
The cafeteria started to fill up while Hannah was paying for the food. She met Seth at a small table in the corner.
“So, what’s going on?” he asked.
“It’s just a little favor,” Hannah said, settling back and opening her salad container. “I was hoping you could save me from going through a lot of red tape. You know Ben Sturges, the tall, blond-haired guy in class?”
“T
he dude who looks like the Marlboro Man?” Seth nodded over his coffee cup. “Yeah, I know him.”
“Well, I guess he found out I work at a video store. He asked if I knew anyone who deals in out-of-print videos. I found a local dealer who has this video Ben wants, only the guy’s leaving town tomorrow. Anyway, I can’t get a hold of Ben on the phone. I have the information all written down. So I thought I’d go by his place—”
Seth chuckled. “And you’d like me to get his address for you.”
Bewildered, Hannah nodded. “Yeah. What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just smart you came to me with this instead of Professor G, because he absolutely hates that guy.”
Hannah nibbled at her salad. “Why is that?”
“Because Paul thinks Ben’s making the moves on you. And the Prof has a thing for you. In fact, he’s really kind of obsessed.”
Hannah shrugged. “Well, I’ve never done anything to encourage him. And I’m not interested in Ben Sturges, either. I’m just trying to do him a favor.” She managed to smile. “So—think you could get his address for me?”
Seth nodded. “No sweat, Hannah. What movie?”
“Hmmm?”
“What hard-to-find movie is Ben Sturges looking for?”
“Oh. Bonjour Tristesse.” In the store this morning, Hannah had waited on a customer who wanted to buy the out-of-print video. It was how she came up with the excuse for wanting Ben Sturges’s address.
“Bonjour Tristesse.” Seth nodded with approval. “Good one. Otto Preminger directed, 1958. I saw an interview with Deborah Kerr about making that. She was talking about how Preminger picked on and screamed at Jean Seberg all during the filming. The critics had roasted him the year before for casting her in Saint Joan. She was his discovery, and he was going to show them they were wrong about Jean Seberg—even if it killed her.”
“Interesting,” Hannah said, picking at her salad.
“A lot of great directors put their leading ladies through the wringer, especially when they’ve ‘discovered’ them. You know, the old Svengali and Trilby story. Maybe it’s an artist’s control thing, all part of realizing a vision.”
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