by Nina Berry
“Very well.” Her mother had often used that phrase, and Pagan enjoyed the way it sounded coming from her own lips. She ran her eyes over the last page of the contract. It looked like standard language, except for a clause about her being on parole and having a court-appointed guardian with all the power of a parent on hand during the film shoot and thereafter at the court’s discretion.
“My father’s lawyer is going to be at the film shoot?” she asked. At their confused looks, she added, “He’s my court-appointed guardian, and it says here—”
“A new guardian will be appointed,” Devin said.
She looked back and forth between them. “Who?”
“You’ll be the first—or the second—to know,” Jerry said.
Which probably meant it would be someone the studio approved of, to keep an eye on their investment. That chafed, but given her history it was hard to blame them. She leaned down and signed her name. Devin Black’s eyes followed her hand, watching as the jagged lines of her signature formed.
“Never thought anyone would ask me to sign a contract again,” she said. “The world is a very strange place.”
“You have no idea.” Jerry stuffed the contract into the briefcase. “Go pack your things.”
She went to the door and turned. “What if I’d put on weight?” she asked. “Or sprouted a million pimples? Or cut off all my hair?”
Jerry darted a glance at Devin Black. “Enquiries were made.”
She nodded. Of course. “I imagine Miss Edwards is very bribable.”
“You’ll learn that anyone can be made to do just about anything,” Jerry said, grabbing his hat with an angry swipe.
“You’re walking back into a different world than the one you left nine months ago.” Devin Black slid himself between her and the door so that he could open it for her, as if they were coming to the end of a formal date rather than an exercise in blackmail. “Have you kept up on the news? There’s a new president, a new attitude, and new fears.”
Pagan took a few steps into the hallway, her heart lifting. She’d be leaving this place today. It was really happening.
A shiver overtook her and she wrapped her arms around herself to make it stop. She couldn’t tell if she was thrilled or terrified.
Miss Edwards waited just down the hall, bony arms crossed. Pagan ignored her and tilted her head up at Devin Black. “I keep up on the news that matters, Mister Black, thanks to Ed Sullivan reruns and old copies of Photoplay. Elizabeth Taylor’s going to be Cleopatra, the new Dior suit dresses are divine, and everyone’s twisting again with Chubby Checker.” She flashed him a genuine smile. Warmth was spreading through her, a feeling perilously close to happiness. “Is every hit song getting a sequel now?”
Devin Black loosed the first spontaneous grin she’d seen from him. “Why not? I can’t wait to hear ‘Cathy’s Clown Gets a Job under the Big Top.’”
Caught by surprise, Pagan laughed. Devin’s smile widened, lighting up his face and the whole dreary hallway, a thousand times more genuine and charming than his earlier studied elegance.
“How about ‘Fallen Teen Angel’?” Pagan said. “That could be my theme song.”
Devin loosed a hoot of laughter, nodding at her knowingly, as if to say touché.
“I think,” Miss Edwards’s icy voice cut in, “I’d better get you back to solitary, young lady.”
“That won’t be necessary, Miss Edwards.” Devin’s grin soured into something formidable as he turned to her. The playful boy vanished behind the man’s sharp gaze. “Miss Jones will be going to the infirmary immediately to see Miss Duran, where they will be allowed to converse in private for at least an hour.”
The color drained from Miss Edwards’s face. “Oh, I… Is Mercedes back? I hadn’t heard.”
“You know very well she’s been here since last night,” Devin said. “It’s a shame you didn’t bother to inform her worried roommate. I’m sure the judge will find that detail of my visit quite illuminating.”
Miss Edwards’s countenance became positively chalky. “No need for that, Mister Black, I’m sure. I’ve been and will be happy to abide by the judge’s orders, of course. But I’m a busy woman. I can’t be expected to—”
“When Miss Duran is released from the infirmary,” Devin said, in tones that brooked no further discussion, “she is to be allowed all of her normal privileges. Her attackers are being removed to a more appropriate facility as we speak. If we hear of any further injury to or issue with Miss Duran, we will take further action.” He paused. “Action you may not appreciate.”
How could a mere studio executive know these things and wield such power? Still, it did Pagan’s heart good to see fright fill Miss Edwards’s perfectly lined eyes, to watch the lips in their expensive red lipstick press themselves together as if pushing back a desire to plead or to protest. “I understand,” the matron said.
Devin’s smile was chilly. “Meanwhile, Miss Jones will leave this facility for good at four o’clock this afternoon. See to it her things are ready when the car arrives.”
Miss Edwards opened her mouth, but Devin Black simply stared at her, and the woman shut her lips again. It was like magic.
He turned to Pagan and took her hand again to shake it. “The studio will make all the arrangements. Welcome back, Miss Jones.”
She pressed his strong fingers with her own firmly. “Thank you.” She slid her eyes to Miss Edwards. “For everything.”
He held her hand for a long moment. Her heart was hammering, but that didn’t mean anything. She was just out of practice when it came to boys. Well, she’d mend that soon enough. Carefully, maintaining composure, she removed her hand and walked out of the office, into the hallway.
“Wish me luck, Jerry,” Pagan said over her shoulder. “I’ll do the same for you.”
“Good luck, Pagan,” Jerry said, adding under his breath, “We’re both going to need it.”
The hallway. As she moved down it after the erect form of the headmistress, Pagan slowed, remembering how the strange acoustics of the bent corridor sent sounds bouncing from one end to the other. If she hovered in the sweet spot for a moment, she might catch some of Jerry and Devin’s private conversation.
They were speaking now, but she couldn’t distinguish the words over her own footsteps and Miss Edwards’s. Miss Edwards, at least, was in front, her back to Pagan, and pulling away rapidly. Pagan slackened her pace and softened her footfalls.
“You’re not as cool a customer as I thought, Jerry.” That was Devin. He sounded different. More clipped, or something. It was hard to tell from the hallway echo. “Next time, don’t smoke so much.”
“Next time?” Jerry’s voice got louder with alarm. “Why should there be a next time?”
Devin’s voice moved farther away. He must be heading toward the stairs that led down to the first floor. “You never know.”
“Keep up!” Miss Edwards’s command cut through her thoughts. Pagan began walking again, straining to hear more.
Jerry was saying, peeved, “One drink and she could sink the whole thing. And that girl has a lot of reasons to drink.”
Pagan was nearing the next bend in the hallway, after which she wouldn’t be able to hear any more. Miss Edwards had already turned the corner, so Pagan dropped to one knee and slowly tied her sneaker laces.
“Go home, Jerry.” Devin Black’s footsteps trotted lightly down the stairs, nearly out of range. “We got what we wanted.”
His steps faded into nothing. A moment of silence.
“Who,” Jerry asked of the empty echoes, “is we?”
Mercedes was asleep when Pagan got to the infirmary, so she sat down quietly next to the bed and stared at the wad of bandages wrapped around her friend’s shoulder.
That was where Susan Mahoney’s stiletto had slid into Merc
edes. It had made a sickeningly slick noise as she’d yanked out the thin, shiny blade. Blood had dripped from the knife’s tip as Susan had poised it over Mercedes’s throat.
Stop thinking about that, stop! The important thing was that Susan hadn’t succeeded in finishing off Mercedes. She was going to be okay.
Pagan focused on her friend’s relaxed left hand, studying the smooth brown skin and clear nails. They were cut short, but not too short. Pagan had begun to keep hers the same length after Mercedes had explained that you needed enough nail to effectively rake your enemy’s face or neck to draw blood. But let the nails grow too long, and they’d bend back or snap during a fight, which not only hurt but might distract you at a crucial moment.
Not exactly something Pagan’s manicurist had chatted about, back in the day. Life in Lighthouse had been horrible, but it had taught her a few things Hollywood couldn’t. Not just how to put your body weight into a punch or how to choke down canned meat for dinner, but things like how to know when someone meant you harm, and how stay in the moment. Mercedes had impressed upon her that if you let too many thoughts of the past or fears of the future cloud your thoughts, you might not survive the present.
All those lessons might come in handy if she was going back into the real world.
If she was going to stay sober.
Mercedes’s eyelids fluttered and snapped open. Like Pagan, she slept lightly and woke all at once. It was one of the many things they’d been surprised to find they had in common.
“Hey,” said Pagan. She wanted to squeeze Mercedes’s hand, but she refrained. M didn’t care for sentimental words or physical demonstrations of affection. “You’re doing great.”
The brown eyes studied her, crinkling a little at the corners. “Thanks,” Mercedes said. Her normally smooth, deep voice was scratchy but calm. “For saving my life.”
Oh, right. Pagan had so thoroughly avoided thinking about how Susan Mahoney had almost succeeded in stabbing Mercedes a second time, how the big redhead had aimed for the throat, that she had also blanked out how she herself had stopped it. Her vision had narrowed down to the freckled hand holding that stiletto, and a strange conviction had taken over.
Not this time.
Somehow, despite her own injuries, Pagan had fought her way to her feet and propelled herself into Susan, tearing her off Mercedes before Pagan had blacked out.
“Thanks for not dying,” Pagan said, her voice hoarse but steady.
Mercedes let out the barest breath of a laugh. “Anytime.” Her gaze traveled over Pagan and the room they were in, empty except for the bed and some medical equipment. “It’s not like the witch to lock us in here together.”
“We’re not locked in,” Pagan said. “We’re free. Well, free of solitary anyway.” As Mercedes listened, frowning, Pagan told her all that had happened that morning, stumbling a little as she tried to convey the bizarre dynamic between Devin Black and Jerry Allenberg.
“I’m hoping I can call you from Berlin,” she said. “So if Miss Edwards tries to retaliate against you at all, you let me know.”
“I’ll be fine.” Mercedes was dismissive. “It’s your situation that’s radioactive, so you better call me.”
“It’s just a movie shoot,” Pagan said, sounding as casual as she could. “It’s not life and death.”
Mercedes slanted her eyes at Pagan in her best who are you kidding look. “First thing, you go to one of those meetings.”
“A.A.” Pagan shifted uneasily on the bed. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” Mercedes raised her eyebrows. “You promise me you’ll go?”
Pagan waved one hand airily. “I’m fine, really.”
Mercedes’s brown eyes took on an implacable look. “Promise me you’ll go to a meeting.”
Pagan looked at her best friend, her only friend, and said reluctantly, “If there’s time, and if they have meetings in Berlin, I’ll go.”
“If, if!” Mercedes made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Just go.”
“Okay, okay!” Pagan threw up her hands. “Can I hang out here with you for a bit longer before I leave, at least?”
Mercedes relaxed. “Who’s going to tell me crazy stories about the guests on Ed Sullivan after you’re gone?”
“You won’t need Ed Sullivan,” Pagan said. “I’m going to send you every single brand-new tabloid magazine I can lay my hands on.”
“Coolsville,” Mercedes said, looking sly. “I can read what they’re saying about you.”
* * *
The tiny windowless room they’d shared felt so empty without Mercedes. Miss Edwards had brought Pagan the suit she’d worn the day she walked into Lighthouse, but it was now too big in the chest and the hips. Prison was apparently an excellent dieting tool.
Now the suit looked like something another girl would wear. Pagan wasn’t sure who that girl was—a spoiled drunk movie star or a sad orphan going off to juvenile detention—but she wasn’t either of those people anymore, and the outfit was all wrong. After they allowed her to shower, she folded up the suit and her old white gloves and left them behind for Mercedes to trade, donning her saggy garters, stockings, and scuffed flat shoes under the scratchy gray Lighthouse uniform for the last time.
She didn’t take anything else with her. As Miss Edwards clomped angrily in front of her toward the front door, Pagan paused to listen to the voices of the girls in the distant classroom, now reciting geometry proofs. Their chant faded behind her as she walked out the double doors and the sunshine hit her face.
All the snappy last words she had prepared to say to Miss Edwards fled her brain the moment she gazed up at the azure sky. Hot, dry August air swept through her hair. After nine long months, she was free.
At the bottom of the steps lurked a long black limousine with fins like a shark. Leaning against it with the passenger door open beside him was Devin Black.
He pulled the door open wider. “Ready to go home?”
Home. Without a family waiting for her, she didn’t know what that meant anymore.
In a blink everything seemed oppressive—the heat; the hard yellow light; the empty, waiting house that still held Ava’s stuffed animals and Daddy’s golf clubs.
And the car. It wasn’t remotely red or a convertible, but the thought of getting in it made her queasy. Nine months since the accident, and the memories were waiting there, circling like vultures.
“What are you waiting for? You can’t stay here.” Miss Edwards’s voice sliced through the dread. “Even if you’re not ready to go.”
Pagan glanced over her shoulder. Something about Miss Edwards’s condescending smirk made the big scary world out there a lot more appealing. “Thanks ever so much for all your kindness.” She bestowed a wide, fake smile on the woman. “I’ll be sure to mention you in my first magazine interview.”
Miss Edwards’s face froze. Knowing that she probably looked more like a war refugee than a movie star in her stained uniform and ponytail, Pagan nonetheless did her best model sashay down the steps. The dark depths of the car swallowed her. She didn’t look back as Devin got in after her and slammed the door.
Inside it was air-conditioned. She sank back into the smooth, deeply cushioned black leather seats as the driver stepped on the accelerator and they glided away. The limo’s velvety bounce was nothing like the low-down rumble of her Corvette, and she began to relax. Low storefronts and empty, fenced yards flashed past as they headed west. She was free.
Or was she? The unreadable expression on Devin Black’s face wasn’t reassuring.
“Does the car bring back bad memories?” he asked, his voice mild.
“The car?” Dang, he was perceptive. She’d have to be careful around him. “It’s no big deal. I’m cool.”
He leaned forward and opened a small cabinet set into the partition between them a
nd the driver. “Something to drink?”
She stared at the tiny refrigerator. The luxury of it being here, inside a car, reminded her of her old life. Limousines, movie premieres, and fridges full of alcohol. She’d never appreciated it, or feared it, the way she did now. “Got a Coke?”
“Sure.” He grabbed a bottle and used an opener to remove the cap. She took it and sipped, her first taste of Coke in months. It was delicious and icy cold.
Devin reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out a red-and-white pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”
Winston. Her brand. This guy had done his homework. But why? She took the unopened pack, and the plastic wrap crackled in her hand. She could almost taste the smoothly acrid smoke and feel the filter of the cigarette between her index and middle fingers. All she needed was a martini in the other hand. Cigarettes and alcohol went together like drive-in movies and making out. One without the other just didn’t make sense.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll save these for later.”
He nodded and removed his sunglasses. In the cool dark of the limousine interior, his eyes were shadowed. “The plan was to take you directly home. We got permission from Judge Tennison to air out your house. The studio has sent over a designer with some clothes for you to choose from, with a hairdresser and manicurist on standby. Is there anywhere you’d like to go first?”
“You mean, like a record store?” She tucked the cigarettes away in her skirt pocket. Maybe one day she could face them without a drink. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what’s new from Ray Charles.”
“We could do that if you like. Or is there some sort of organizational meeting you should attend?” When she looked at him blankly, he added, “The Friends of Bill W?”
Pagan nearly did a spit take with her Coke. “A.A?”
He regarded her, his face neutral, and said nothing.
Of course, he meant well, and she had promised Mercedes. So she’d go. She really would. But certainly not with Devin Black tagging along. She’d attended exactly two meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous between getting out on bail after her arrest and being sentenced to Lighthouse. Everyone there had been her parents’ age or older. They’d tried so hard not to stare at her that she’d felt both conspicuous and invisible, like a ghost no one wants to admit is haunting their house.