Craving Midnight

by A. M. Hargrove

  “Vivi Renard.” He says her name like she’s a goddess.

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t remember. She went to Crestview.”

  “Did you fuck her, like all the other girls there?” I laugh.

  “No, I did not fuck her. Christ. I didn’t fuck every single girl in school.”

  My brow practically hits the ceiling. Who is he kidding? “I’m not buying the Brooklyn Bridge, asshat.”

  “She did my homework.”

  “I only remember that girl you used to pay, but her name doesn’t come to mind.”

  “She’s the one,” he says.

  “You ran into her? The brainiac? Is she a nuclear physicist or something now?”

  “Not even close. She works in a coffee shop.”

  I lean back and blink. “You’re fucking with me. Not that girl.”

  The waiter chooses that moment to deliver our food.

  “So, tell me about her. Other than she works at a coffee shop.”

  “I think she does something with their IT. But she’s changed.”

  “Oh? What does she look like? I hate to say it, but I don’t remember her face.”

  “Sort of average,” he says in a nonchalant manner. I don’t buy it for a second.

  “Bull-fucking-shit. That’s why you’re off your usual Scotty game. It’s Vivi, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I ran into her. That’s all. But I didn’t come here to discuss Vivi. I’m more interested in hearing about Midnight Drake and her video. How’re you going to fix it?”

  “It’s fixed. Tomorrow, she’ll make a statement, then we check her into rehab. They delay filming for a month or so, but it saves her career. We’ve built a story about how she was abused as a teen and never told anyone.”

  “Is it true?”

  “Yeah. But she wasn’t keen on talking about it. It happened in foster care. I had to wheedle it out of her.”

  Our plates are both polished and the waiter swoops in to clear them away.

  “Harrison, what happens to the people she was with?”

  “We’re working on that.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  My expression loses all signs of friendliness. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

  “Fair enough. I don’t want to know anyway.”

  “No, you really don’t.” If I tell him, that’s one more person I have to worry about.

  Prescott says, “Let’s blow this place and go to mine. I have some great weed at home.”

  “Actually, I need to get back. We have an early morning call to run through her announcement and then the cleanup. Hey, come out to the West Coast. It would be a good trip for you. Get away from it all.”

  “Yeah, I might just do that.”

  He won’t. He’s been saying that for a while now. Something weird is going on with him. But he has to figure it out, and I have a full plate of my own, most of which is occupied by Midnight Drake.

  Chapter 6

  Midnight

  When the door closes behind him, I run to the bathroom, strip off my clothes, and talk myself out of throwing up. Visions of their filthy hands touching my skin keep coming back to me. It worsens by the minute, making me feel nasty and soiled, like the vile creature I am. Maybe I should forget about this ... go back to porn. Maybe that’s where I belong after all.

  The scalding water stings my skin as I scrub away the reminders of what they did to me. Hazy images come into view, but no faces, only hands and fingers digging into my flesh. There is no pain or pleasure, only numbness. I should be happy there is an absence of sensation, but if I felt pain, at least there would be something. It’s the lack of anything that pushes me to the edge.

  Grabbing chunks of my hair, I pull, trying to make myself feel. Only that produces memories of one of them having his hand wrapped in my hair. Hopeless ... that’s what my situation is. Harrison Kirkland is confident he has the answers, only I’m not so sure.

  Finishing my shower, I scrub the water droplets off with the soft towel. I’m wrapping myself in the towel when I hear a soft knock on the door. I look through the peephole to find Misha standing there.

  “Hi,” I say, waving her in.

  “I’ve ordered you dinner.”

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “I have strict orders to make sure you eat,” she says with a smile.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Do you want me to leave so you can dress?”

  “No. You probably think I’m obsessed with showering.”

  “Not at all. I won’t pretend to imagine how you feel.”

  Her sympathetic gaze gives me pause. I press my lips between my teeth because I don’t want to talk about this.

  “Midnight, you barely know Harrison, but when he goes after something, he gets the job done.”

  “I don’t doubt that. It’s just that it’s all built on lies.”

  “But is it?”

  The question looms before me. The foster care thing isn’t a lie. That’s a cold, hard fact. One I wanted buried forever.

  A knock interrupts us. It must be room service.

  “Go into the bathroom. I’ll handle this.”

  I do as she says, closing the door behind me. I put on the oversized plush robe hanging on the door. It swallows me up, but it’s cozy and I love that it wraps me in a cocoon of comfort—something I currently crave.

  I listen for the man to leave and then I join Misha. Everything is set up on the table.

  “Have you eaten?” I ask.

  “No, but I’m getting ready to.” She suddenly laughs and I see there are two places set.

  “Good. I don’t like to eat alone.”

  At first, my stomach rebels, so I take it slow, forcing each bite down.

  “Having a hard time with that?” Misha asks.

  It’s chicken soup and crackers. There’s a baked potato and bread too. You’d think I’d be able to inhale this since the last meal I ate was with Danny the night before.

  “A little.”

  “You’re doing the right thing. You know, eating slowly. But you need the food. It’ll make you feel better.”

  A frustrated huff gusts out of me. “I just want to feel something. All I am is numb.”

  Misha sets her fork down and leans back. “Have you stopped to think that maybe it’s for the best? Maybe your brain doesn’t want you to feel?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes the body only deals with what it can tolerate and throws out the rest. Maybe that’s what yours is doing now.”

  Thinking back to the other traumatic points in my life—and there have been several—maybe she’s right. My brain doesn’t want to go there.

  “But I want to remember their faces,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to have someone to direct all this anger toward. Now it’s just a blank slate.”

  “But then they’d haunt your dreams and who the hell wants that?”

  She has no idea that my dreams have been haunted since I was fourteen. Tortured is more like it. That’s a subject that I don’t dare open with her. I’d rather take a dose of haunting. Anything’s better than what I lived through.

  Her stare is intense before she says, “Maybe after a good night’s sleep, you’ll feel differently.”

  Misha looks as though she’s never had to deal with anything difficult before. Her clothes are expensive, her nails are perfectly manicured, and even though she’s been eating and drinking, her lipstick still looks freshly applied. Her long, blond hair gleams in the dim light of my room and she probably spends lots of money on hair products. Just watching her throws me back to another time, a time when I could barely afford soap to take a bath.

  “It’s going to be okay, Midnight.”

  “Nothing about this is ever going to be okay. The fact that I was pumped full of heroin and felt like I was on cloud nine makes it worse. I
can’t even explain that part. No, wait. How’s this? Imagine getting raped and knowing you’re being raped, but liking it and feeling cozy while it’s happening.”

  I’ve hit the mark because she can’t make eye contact.

  “Now I have to make up a story about being addicted to drugs, when I’m not, but was raped. Don’t you see how completely wrong this is in my brain and why I’m having a difficult time with it?”

  She scratches her temple and then clears her throat. “Yeah, I do. I’m sorry. It’s awful. But you have to put your faith and trust in Harrison. He knows what he’s doing. It’s not right. But given that you didn’t want to go to the police, it’s the only way to salvage your career. If you don’t care about that, then it’s another matter entirely.”

  “I just don’t understand why we have to lie and do this rehab thing.” Frustration bleeds from my voice.

  Misha sits up straighter and suddenly appears a foot taller in her chair. Her soft tone is replaced by a commanding one. There is much more to this woman than I initially believed.

  “Yes, you do, Midnight. Perception is everything, and you were seen online getting fucked, high as a kite. What will people automatically think?”

  She’s as silent as I am.

  She snaps her fingers. “Come on, I’m waiting.”

  Anger pools in my gut. “That I deserved it.”

  “And?”

  “And wanted it. But—”

  “I don’t give a damn about your buts. It’s what they think that counts. And even though you did nothing wrong, even though you are a victim, they’re not going to believe it. No police report was filed. That was your choice. And let’s not even talk about if they find out you were Lusty Rhoades in the past.”

  “That’s unfair.”

  “Not everything in life is fair. Get used to it.”

  She’s right. I learned that long ago.

  “Are you done whining?” she asks.

  “What?” I ask, my anger returning.

  “I’m not making light of what happened to you. I’m simply trying to get you to understand what Harrison is doing. You’re being hardheaded and making our jobs too difficult. We don’t like dealing with clients we have to beg. Stop making us beg, Midnight.”

  She leans back and crosses her arms. Misha just threw down the gloves.

  “Okay. I got it.”

  “Good. Now eat. It’s the last time I’m telling you. We can’t have you passing out in front of the camera tomorrow. We need you looking strong.”

  She’s right. Several more bites in and I begin feeling much better, only I don’t let her know. I’m going to give myself one more night of self-pity, and then it’s onto the next stage of life for Midnight. Rehab 101. I wonder if I’ll pass or fail.

  Chapter 7

  Harrison

  “So you were tough with her?”

  Misha fills me in on their dinner.

  “Yeah, but I got her to commit. I have to say, I felt pretty bad about it.”

  “That’s a first.” I laugh. Misha usually isn’t a softie when it comes to clients.

  She flips me off.

  “Keep in mind we’re doing the right thing for her in the long run. I thought having it come from another woman would be helpful,” I say.

  “I like her, Harrison. A lot. She’s genuine and not egotistical, which is rare in the film world.”

  “Agreed. I got that too. Maybe she’ll stay that way.”

  After Misha leaves, I sit and think. It’s difficult to find any information on Midnight. Even her foster care records are a dead end for the most part, which is unusual. It bothers me that she was so frightened. Whatever she’s concealing must be some serious shit.

  We’re all about privacy so her location won’t be revealed. Safety is a priority, and I’ll have someone keep an eye out for anything unusual. Names won’t be mentioned so it shouldn’t pose an issue.

  The next morning, we assemble in the small meeting room. Midnight looks better, though she must not have slept very well. Purple crescents still lurk beneath her eyes, casting deep shadows. She offers a weak smile.

  “There’s coffee and breakfast over there if you’d like,” I say, pointing to the sideboard.

  “That would be nice, thanks.”

  Emily ordered breakfast so I tell her to help herself. I watch as she puts a croissant on a plate, along with some fruit. Good. At least she’s eating.

  When everyone is seated, we run through the agenda. Misha explains how Emily will video Midnight’s statement and then forward it to the various media outlets. It’ll be just a quick testimony with a couple of staged questions.

  “That’s it?” Midnight asks.

  “That’s it. Finish your breakfast and we’ll get to it.”

  Midnight brushes a hand through her hair and I ask if she’s ready to begin.

  “Yeah.”

  We get situated again and Misha reviews what needs to be done.

  Emily moves in with her makeup and conceals the weariness that lines Midnight’s face.

  Misha sets up the camera on the tripod and she’s ready to go. She has Midnight sit in one of the chairs and we do a run-through.

  Once we’re satisfied, in a breathy voice, she begins, “As many of you may be aware, an incident occurred the other night of which I’m taking responsibility for.” She stops and inhales deeply. “As a result of this, I will be checking myself into rehab. Due to some issues I faced as a teenager involving abuse, I sought help in the form of drugs. Obviously, that wasn’t the right choice. Now I will face the problem and rectify it. Thank you for your support and understanding in these difficult times.” Then she dabs at her eye. I’m not sure if it’s real, but she has me one hundred percent. I motion with a finger across my neck to Misha and she turns off the camera.

  “That was perfect.”

  Midnight doesn’t move.

  “Misha, pull that up for me. I want to see the replay, just to make sure we have everything we need.”

  “Oh, we caught it. And she was perfection.”

  Everyone in the room smiles, except Midnight. Then she blurts, “Does anyone have a cigarette?”

  “Uh, this is a nonsmoking hotel,” Emily answers.

  “I can go outside. I don’t care.”

  There’s a small balcony off the bedroom and I have cigarettes. Sometimes I smoke when I drink, a bad habit, I confess.

  “Come with me.”

  She follows me to my room and I reach into my messenger bag to pull out a pack of Marlboros. I hand her one, along with a lighter, and we walk outside the sliding glass door.

  “After everything you said yesterday, I didn’t take you for a smoker.”

  “I don’t smoke,” she says.

  My brows shoot up.

  “My nerves are shot. I needed something.”

  “Technically speaking, nicotine increases anxiety levels.”

  She offers me a blank stare.

  “If you don’t believe me, google it. It’s the withdrawal from it that people feel, and when they smoke, they’re soothing the symptoms, so they automatically feel it calms them. It’s only taking away their withdrawal symptoms. Nicotine is as addictive as heroin.”

  In a husky voice, the one that was so hot on her porn films (yes, I watched a couple of them last night), she asks, “Then why do you smoke?”

  The corner of my mouth lifts. “I smoke when I drink. They sort of go hand in hand for me.”

  She takes a long puff on the cigarette, then coughs. No, she’s not a smoker.

  Laughing, I say, “Feel better?”

  “No.”

  Her pouty expression is pretty damn cute. “I’m going to ask that you let me keep your phone while you’re in rehab.”

  “Why do you need my phone?”

  She’s doesn’t sound keen on this idea, so I continue. “It’s customary for rehab facilities to ask their patients to give up their phones and computers, and not to communicate with anyone except through written co
rrespondence. It helps with their success rate. I’m fairly confident this place will be the same. If not, I’ll give you the phone back in a week or two. I’d like one of us to have it, just in case your attacker calls again so we can maybe get a lead on him.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Her giving in means she may be seeing the light. This will make our job much easier. But in reality, our job is almost over. Once we drop her off and make sure the public sees her as the victim, we basically walk away, unless some other issue arises.

  “Great.” She hands me her phone and I stick it in my pocket. “I promise to return it safely.”

  When she’s finished with her cigarette, we return to the other room. The team is wrapping up, and I ask for a progress report.

  “Everything’s sent. I’m sure we’ll be fielding calls, but we’ll forward everything to her agent,” Leland says.

  “Good. I need to call Rashid to see if he’s found anything.”

  “Rashid?” Midnight asks.

  With a flick of my head toward Misha, I motion for her to handle Midnight while I go to my room to make the call.

  Rashid says they have the videos but the men on them aren’t easily identifiable. He’s working with the hotel on it.

  “Do you think they know anything? Were credit cards used to pay?”

  “I’m not sure. The manager wasn’t very helpful,” Rashid says.

  “Okay. I’ll handle him. You just keep working on the tech part.”

  “Will do.”

  I need to run an errand or two before we leave. There’s a guy I know—Gino—who can help me, so I call and ask him to meet me at the hotel. He says he’ll be over in an hour.

  Pulling Leland aside, I fill him in on where I’m going. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, stay here. You need to make sure everyone boards the plane by noon.”

  “Got it.”

  The team finishes handling some things with Midnight’s agent on a conference call while I grab a taxi.

  I arrive at the hotel, closely followed by Gino. He’s a burly dude, even bigger than me, and I’m not anything to sneeze at. When I’m getting ready to rough someone up, size spells comfort. This isn’t the classiest hotel in the city. Only I’m in for a little surprise. The person at the front desk isn’t a man. It’s a woman who bears an uncanny resemblance to Harley Quinn, right down to her rainbow-colored pigtails and bright red lipstick. She’s even chewing bubble gum like there’s no tomorrow. The only thing missing is the smudged eye makeup.