Craving Midnight

by A. M. Hargrove

  The question flies through my mind whether she actually had plastic surgery to make this happen.

  When she asks, “Hey there, puddin’, what can I do for ya?” my fix-it radar starts buzzing. Dammit! Why now?

  Leaning against the counter, I ask, “Is the manager here today?”

  “Yeah. Hang on a sec.” After she winks and blows an enormous bubble, she sashays away.

  My associate mumbles, “Takes all kinds, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  A few minutes pass when a man who seriously enjoys too many beers and sports a receding hairline approaches. “You asked for the manager?”

  “I did. Is that you?”

  “No, I’m Muhammad Ali. Whad’ya want?”

  I flash a glance over at my sidekick and he shrugs.

  “We need to ask you some questions. Who was working your front desk on Wednesday night?”

  “I was. Why?”

  “Perfect. Then maybe you can help us out. A friend of ours was brought in here by a couple of men, against her will. She was drugged. Do you remember that?”

  “Nope, not that I recall.” He looks me square in the eyes without flinching.

  “Is that so? Then can I see your security tapes?”

  “Don’t have any.”

  Gino glances at me and I look pointedly toward the corner of the room at a camera mounted up high on the wall.

  Gesturing toward it, I say, “What do you call that thing?”

  The Harley look-alike giggles. The manager shoots her a nasty look and she quickly shuts up.

  “It’s fake.”

  “I see.” Gino pulls a chair underneath it and climbs up.

  The manager yells, “Hey, what’re you doing?”

  “He’s pulling it down. If it’s fake, you don’t really need it, do you?”

  “Okay, stop. It’s real.”

  That was easy enough. Now that he sees we’re not here for a picnic, things should progress a bit faster.

  “Good. We want to have a look at your videos from Wednesday night.”

  He rubs his nose and answers, “Yeah, well, I don’t think I have any.”

  “That a fact? What happened to them?”

  “Yeah, about that. Someone came in here and stole ’em.”

  “Stole ’em?”

  “Yeah. You can ask her.” He gestures toward Harley.

  Harley’s bubble pops on her face and gum is plastered all over her nose and cheeks. She pulls it off and pops it back into her mouth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, unless you mean that dickface Trent. He came in here with his friend—”

  “Shut up, you idiot.”

  I blink at Gino, and in a matter of a second, Mr. Manager finds himself in a chokehold. Then I smile at Harley and say, “How about you and I go for a little walk?”

  Her eyes widen, but I reassure her by adding, “I’m not Trent. I’m not going to hurt you. Trent hurt a friend of mine and I want to find him.”

  “Oh.”

  Mr. Manager’s eyes bulge. Maybe he’s worried about what Harley is going to tell me. Or it could be that Gino is applying too much pressure. I don’t really give a shit. Either way, I’m going to find out some badly needed information.

  “If you help me, I can help you in return,” I tell Harley.

  “Look, mister, I may look like that kind of girl, but I’m not.”

  I smile again. “And you know what? I’m not that kind of guy. So it looks like there’s a possibility we can be friends. Can I ask you what your name is?”

  “Helen. Helen Reddy.”

  Is she shitting me? “Really? Like the singer from back in the ’70s?”

  “Yeah. I guess my mom really thought she was woman.” She’s referring to the song I Am Woman that made Helen Reddy famous. Then she throws back her head and laughs. It’s fucking contagious.

  “Did she roar?” I ask, still laughing, thinking of the lyrics I am woman hear me roar. My mother used to sing that song all the time.

  “You bet she did. Especially when she found I discovered her weed and liquor stash when I was thirteen. Then she sent me to live with my dad.”

  Her face loses its softness and all signs of humor. I don’t want to go down this road but I have many ideas this is why Helen needs fixing.

  Out of the blue, I ask, “Helen, do you need a job?”

  “I have a job.”

  “You won’t after you help me and I leave here this morning.”

  She tugs on one of her pigtails, then twirls it around her finger. “Then yeah, I guess I do.”

  “Show me the security tapes. You know where they are, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. Come on.” She motions with her hand, but suddenly stops. “Hey, what’s your name?” She pops another bubble.

  “You can call me Harry for now.”

  We walk down a hall and into another room. Helen likes to chat and before long, I have the video I need, along with a name. Then I ask if she can pull up all the records from Wednesday night.

  “Sure.”

  She logs into one of the computers and there is Trent’s name along with his credit card information. But I’m still unclear as to what connection Trent has with Midnight. Is it just a coincidence, or is there more behind this?

  I take photos of everything and download a copy of the video to a flash drive, and then we’re done.

  “So, Helen, do you have family here, a dog, an aging aunt you can’t possibly bear to leave behind, or a hamster that would starve to death without you?”

  She lets out a bubbly laugh. “No, why?”

  “There isn’t a single person who would miss you if you left? Not your mom or dad?”

  “Fuck, no.”

  “No boyfriend?”

  “Look, mister. I may not be super smart, but I ain’t stupid either. No means no. I don’t have anyone, unless you count that asshole I work for.”

  Chuckling, I say, “Okay, you want to work for me?”

  “Sure. You seem nice enough.”

  “In LA.”

  “What? Wait, I can’t move. That’d cost a lot.”

  “I’d take care of it.”

  She pinches her lip a second, then blows out another bubble. “How would I get there? I ain’t got a car.”

  “Better English, please. You’d leave in”—I check my watch—“an hour.”

  “You’re a crazy fucker.”

  “I could send someone later to pack up your belongings. In the meantime, I’d set you up in a place to live. You’d have a job doing admin work. You have good computer skills, right?”

  “Well, sure.”

  “You in or out?”

  She’s quiet, so I add, “I need an answer. I’m on a tight schedule, Helen. The plane leaves soon.”

  “I’m in.”

  “And if you don’t get along with the rest of the team, that’s a hard limit for all of us.”

  “Oh, I get along with everyone. I swear I do.” Her eyes are as clear and bright blue as the sky on a spring day.

  “Do you do drugs?”

  “No.”

  “You will have to submit to a drug test when we get to LA. Are you good with that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Grab your things and let’s go.” I can see Misha and Emily taking this one under their wings.

  “I ain’t got ...” When she notices my expression, she quickly says, “I don’t have noth ... anything but my purse here.”

  “Okay.”

  We walk up front where Gino still has Mr. Manager in his clutches. “Nice work, my friend,” I say. Then I hand Gino a huge roll of bills. He nods as Helen and I walk past. “Oh, you can let him go. I have everything I need.”

  “Thanks, boss. See you next time.”

  I hail a cab and direct him to where the helicopter waits to take us to Westchester County Airport. It’s where the jet is waiting to fly us back to LA.

  By the time we arrive, everyone’s on board. When we get inside,
I introduce Helen around. The look on Midnight’s face is priceless. I take a seat next to her.

  “Who the hell is she?” she asks.

  “Don’t worry about her. She needed a job.”

  “What the hell? Do you take in strays or something?”

  “Something like that. It’s fine.” I pat her arm. “She was very helpful in identifying the man who brought you into the hotel. Once we’re on the plane, we’ll get more information.”

  As soon as we arrive at the airport, a car drives us directly to the waiting plane. Before we know it, we’re LA bound.

  Chapter 8

  Midnight

  Who is this person Harrison dragged along? Helen Reddy? Is she in costume for a Suicide Squad party? What the hell? Is he going to pick up the Joker and Deadshot too? Maybe I need a costume. I’m as fucked up as any of those characters, only I don’t have a superpower to fit in. Wait ... I can fuck like a champ. And blow jobs ... no one can out-suck me. I probably could slide right in with that group of misfits.

  “What’s that look all about?” Harrison asks, still sitting next to me.

  “What look?” I don’t dare confess my thoughts to the man. Besides, I need to pull myself together here.

  “I’m not quite sure I can put a name on it.”

  Switching topics, sort of, I ask, “Tell me about Helen over there.” I reach in my purse for a handful of gummy bears and pop one in my mouth. He eyes me with curiosity.

  “She was a huge help in getting the security tapes from the hotel. The manager was not cooperative. I had to offer her a job because after we left, I’m sure he would’ve fired her.”

  “And a move to LA comes with her employment package?”

  He laughs at my question. “Yeah, it does. But we got the name and credit card info of one of the guys who hurt you. Before the end of the week, I’ll have everything I need on why they picked you.”

  “Will you know why he’s stalking me?” I chew on another gummy bear.

  “Can I have one of those?” Harrison asks. I hand him a green one, my least favorite. He holds it up and says, “Wow. You’re really generous with these things.”

  “I don’t do drugs. I do gummies. It’s why I don’t share them.” It’s not intended as a comical statement but he smiles anyway.

  “So, go on,” I prod.

  “Yeah. I’ll let you know what we find and to your question, we will find out why he targeted you. If there was some kind of deep motive, we’ll figure it out.”

  “How?”

  “I have ways.”

  He’s not forthcoming on what his ways are and I don’t really want to know. He can beat the shit out of those creeps for what they did. I would, however, want to look them in the eye and find out for myself. It doesn’t look as though I’ll get the chance.

  He’s silent for a few and then adds, “Emily says the first responses to your statement are coming in and they are more favorable than we expected. You should check your Twitter account. People are showing you all kinds of love, Midnight.”

  “Great. Thanks.” My emotionless response has him sitting up straighter in his seat.

  “You need to respond to some of them while you can. Maybe say you’re flying back to the West Coast and are so humbled by all the love. Hashtag rehab so they know you’re all in.”

  I glare at him. “I’m all in. A good way to put it.”

  “You should have a better attitude.”

  “Yeah, like I should be happy someone drugged and raped me and now I have to go to rehab.”

  “Damn, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. What I should’ve said was you should be happy they’re buying the story.”

  I huff out, “The story about being abused isn’t a story. It’s the truth. I don’t want someone’s love for what I went through.” This conversation needs to end. My glass walls are about to shatter and I’m in the wrong place for that to happen.

  He gives no response, of which I’m grateful. Several minutes pass before he moves to sit by Helen. She’s chomping on bubble gum like I am gummy bears. I signal the flight attendant and ask for water. Since I eat so many of these things, I’m conscious of drinking lots of water to get the sugar out of my mouth. The last thing I want is a bunch of cavities. I laugh. I could be any man’s dream—the toothless blow job giver.

  Leaning my head back in the cushy seat, I close my eyes and am surprised when Harrison jiggles my arm.

  “Hey, we’re here.”

  “Where?”

  “LA. Where else?”

  “So soon?”

  “You snored the whole flight.”

  I swipe my hand across my mouth and sure enough, it comes back wet from drool. Nice, Midnight. I’m sure it was a pretty sight.

  Everyone moves to grab their belongings, except for Harley, I mean, Helen. She beebops out of her seat and practically dances to the door, acting like the happiest person on earth. And why the hell shouldn’t she be? Harrison just rescued her from a shit job, gave her a new one, and is moving her to LA, all expenses paid. I’d be happy as fuck too. And she doesn’t have to go to rehab.

  Harrison is the last one off the plane. He stays behind, thanking everyone. It’s easy to see why everyone enjoys working for him because he does show his gratitude. I’m sure they are well compensated too.

  We pile into the waiting limo and everyone gets dropped off, except for Harrison and me. I guess he’s my escort to the rehab facility. By this time, I want to crawl out of my skin. The dread of going to this place is unbearable.

  When we arrive, they are expecting us. And this place is posh. I can’t imagine how much I’ll be in debt after this.

  We get a brief tour, at Harrison’s insistence. The take-charge guy in him emerges, and everyone jumps at his requests. When we get to my room, I realize I never went home to unpack and repack.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks.

  “My things. We never stopped at my place for me to switch them out. I don’t have any clothes, other than what I took to New York.”

  He slides a hand over his squared jaw, which is covered in scruff. I ignore the tightening of my stomach muscles because for once, I’m not angry or bitter as I glance at him. He exudes a raw sexuality that I respond to. Why now of all times?

  “I can get Emily or Misha to run by and grab some things for you.”

  “Guess that’ll have to do.”

  The person checking me in says, “You’ll only need casual things while you’re here. We have yoga classes and other exercise groups you can join. You’ll need those types of clothes too.”

  “Running shoes,” I say. “I don’t have anything like this. Maybe I need to run home and do this and then come back.”

  “Um, I’m sorry. Once you’re here, you’re here,” the check-in person says.

  “Excuse me, what’s your name again?” I ask.

  “Melody.” She smiles.

  “Can’t you make an exception just once?” I ask sweetly.

  “I’m sorry, but we never do that here.”

  My temper flares and I want to punch her, but what good will that do? Probably land me in solitary confinement.

  “Midnight, I promise Misha or Emily will handle this,” Harrison says in a soothing voice. The problem is, I don’t want two strangers rifling through the contents of my drawers, or my apartment for that matter. It’s more than a little unsettling. But what other choice do I have?

  “Yeah, fine.”

  Merry Melody chirps away about how lucky I am they had a spot open and then she talks up the room I’ve been assigned. It is nice, I’ll grant her that. But for the undisclosed price tag, I should probably be back at The Plaza.

  We tour the rest of the facility, and my knees almost buckle when we get to the group therapy room. I have no idea why this comes as such a shock, but it does. How the fuck will I get through this? Acting 510—the truest test of how good I am. Maybe it’ll propel me to the top of the list of contenders for the envied Oscar. Doubtful, but a
girl might as well dream.

  Harrison leaves me to my new home for the next thirty days and I scurry back to my little cave. Tomorrow begins a new life for me, bright and early at 6:00 a.m. This should prove interesting, to say the least.

  Chapter 9

  Harrison

  The week after Midnight checks into rehab, I’m sitting in my office when Misha and Leland walk in. I can tell by their frowns this won’t be a happy-dance kind of visit.

  Misha doesn’t mince words. “Ward is filing a suit against Alta.”

  “Ward?”

  “Holt Ward, Midnight’s costar in the film,” she explains.

  “Why?”

  “He says the delay will cost him another role in a different film.”

  “And what do you say?” I ask.

  “I call bullshit. Midnight said he didn’t want her as a costar from the beginning. He’s using this as an out. The bad thing is Alta’s hands are tied.”

  I gesture to the door, indicating for Leland to close it. I have an open-door policy here but in this case, we need privacy. When we’re away from prying ears, I ask, “What do we have on him?”

  Leland groans. “He’s squeaky clean. I’ve tried to dig up something, but it’s a blank slate.”

  “No one is a blank slate.”

  Misha laughs. “You are.”

  She’s right. The only thing anyone can find on me are a few speeding tickets and that I rent the occasional porn flick. “Okay. Then we’ll manufacture something.”

  “What do you want?” Leland asks.

  “Something so damaging, it would ruin any chances of him acting again.”

  Leland is quiet for so long, I figure I’ve lost him. Then he says, “Connections to the Russian mob.”

  Misha’s head snaps toward him. “No fucking way. If the Mafia gets wind of that, we’re all six feet under.”

  “How would they?” Leland asks. “Why the hell would he leak that, because we certainly wouldn’t?”