Painted Black

by Greg Kihn

  When they were delivered, Brian ripped open the envelope and studied the eight-by-ten color prints with a magnifier. The technician had thoughtfully included the contact sheets as well so Brian could watch the sequence of events.

  The photographic images were just as Dust Bin Bob had described them. He looked at the two women’s faces and registered a chill. The face of Claudine Jillian looked back at him, so beautiful even in death. Her delicate fingertips touched the surface of the mirror from the other side leaving ghostly fingerprints on the glass. Her lips were slightly parted as if she were about to speak. It caused a sharp pain in his heart. Was she trying to talk to him? What did she want to say?

  He flipped to the ghostly image of the girl they called Eleanor Rigby. Something familiar in her face haunted him. Had they been lovers in a previous lifetime? Eleanor’s face was so sad and beautiful that it was hard for Brian to look at it for more than a few seconds. What had Dust Bin Bob called it? The face of infinite sadness? That it was.

  It reminded Brian of one of his favorite songs by the Searchers, “Needles and Pins.” He remembered Jack Nitzsche telling the story of how he came to write it with Sonny Bono waiting around after a Phil Spector session in Hollywood. Jack sang along with the record when it came on the radio driving down Sunset Boulevard in Jack’s Cadillac convertible. Brian looked up at the palm trees and let the lyrics wash over him.

  “I saw her today, I saw her face. It was a face I loved …” Jack howled out the window like Wolfman Jack. “Come on Brian, give me some harmonies!”

  “Needles and pins!”

  The song brought back memories of when it was fun being in the Rolling Stones.

  It was hard for Brian to look at Eleanor Rigby for too long, but he found himself drawn into her face. He put it in the back of the envelope and closed his eyes for a moment to clear his mind. He took a deep breath and looked at the last picture.

  It showed Brian flying. He was up in the night sky with his arms outstretched. His hair was blowing magnificently in the wind. It was a dramatic image.

  Bobby called from Paris. “I’m coming home tonight. I should be at the railway station by ten.”

  “Why? You’re in Paris. Have breakfast and leave in the morning.”

  “No, I’m coming back tonight. Something is telling me to do it.”

  They talked about the mirror-gazing photographs, and Bobby corroborated what he’d seen. The two girl’s faces, one was unmistakably Eleanor Rigby, the other Claudine Jillian—both dead, both desperately trying to contact Brian from the other side. There could be no doubt. The images were indistinct and otherworldly but with just enough detail to make them 100 percent familiar. Like impressionism, it required you to think and respond, and if you did, you could see great detail. Otherwise it was just a grainy image.

  It was the final print that excited Brian.

  “It looks like me, and I’m flying under the stars with my arms outstretched over my head and my hair blowing in the wind.”

  Dust Bin Bob agreed and said, “That’s exactly what I saw.”

  “Maybe I should have it framed.” Brian’s voice sounded upbeat. “I’m having a hell of a day, man. I just got word that the new Neve console has arrived from Germany. Clovis has been dispatched down to Hartfield to pick it up.”

  “Great! Maybe I can get there before Clovis leaves. My plane is boarding now.” Brian could hear female announcers on the public address system in the background, announcing flights in French.

  “Listen, Brian, before I ring off … You’re not doing any more mirror gazing are you?”

  “Who, me? Nah! I just use it to shave.”

  “Don’t be so cavalier, my friend. I don’t think you should be messing around with that mirror anymore. You have no idea what you’re doing. Suki called me and she’s very concerned.”

  “She worries too much.”

  “Tell me the truth, are you doing it?”

  “Well, just a little. The meditation helps relieve my headaches. It’s actually beneficial.”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about that mirror. I don’t like the hold it’s got on you.”

  Brian snapped. “I know, you’ve made your feelings known. I got the message.”

  Brian changed the subject, saying, “Clovis should be back with the console at any time. I can’t wait to start working.”

  “It’s great to hear you’re so positive, Brian.”

  Brian paused. “There’s only one last thing to take care of now; that bastard Frank Thorogood and the Pep Boys. I’m going to sack them all today. I’ve already contacted the Stones office and had their pay stopped. That should freak them out.”

  Dust Bin Bob paused. “Maybe you should wait until I get back before you do that.”

  “No, I have to do it myself. No help from anyone. Just me. It’s something I have to do. I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately. I have to confront my fears and break free of this horrible paranoia. It’s the only way.”

  “Yes, but is it safe? Frank and his goons might get rough with you. Who’s there with you? Why don’t you wait until Clovis gets back from Hartfield? I’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “I really don’t think that’s an issue.”

  Clovis returned to the train station, his frustration beginning to show.

  “Where is my freight?”

  “We can’t release it until the stationmaster gets here and signs for it.”

  “But where is he?”

  “He went home. He wasn’t feeling well. His brother is coming.”

  “Can his brother sign the release form?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. He will be here soon.”

  Clovis phoned Brian and informed him of the delay. He assured him that he would get it all sussed out and he’d return with the console before the day was over. Brian told Clovis that Dust Bin Bob was expected in Hartfield in a few hours, Clovis agreed to keep an eye out for him if he was still there.

  But by now, the shadows had grown long and still no stationmaster or his brother.

  Among other males, Brian was as nonconfrontational a fellow as you’d ever meet. He didn’t like bad scenes. He hated to yell at them or be yelled at. So it was extra difficult for Brian to find the courage to fire Frank Thorogood.

  Today would be different. The deed could not be put off any longer. In Brian’s mind, it had reached a critical point. He had to take care of this problem himself.

  “Er, Frank, might I have a word?”

  “Sure, Brian. What’s on your mind?”

  Brian paused for a second, then let it all out. “Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.”

  Frank laughed, “Let me go? You can’t fire me.”

  “I already have. Tom Keylock’s getting another bloke lined up. I hate to do it Frank, I really do. It was the picket fence that finally did it. When you couldn’t put up a fuckin’ picket fence, I figured that was it. You and your whole crew are sacked.”

  Frank’s jaw hung lose. He looked Brian like he didn’t believe it what he was hearing.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But I thought you liked what we were doing.”

  “When you ordered the furniture, you ordered two sets, one for your house and one for mine.”

  Frank paced the floor, acting guilty. “Oh, Brian, don’t be so petty. … Surely, you don’t begrudge me basic furniture. Besides, you can afford it.”

  “And overcharging me up the wazoo for work, food, booze, everything. It all winds up on my tab.”

  “Well, I can explain that. You see, those are business write-offs for the Stones office. I was told to bill everything through them.”

  Brian spat. “Write offs? I’m afraid it’s more like rip-offs.”

  “No, Brian, you got it all wrong. I was hi
red by the Stones office to take care of you.”

  “Frank, you’re out. Call Tom Keylock if you have any questions. He’s been instructed to settle up with you.”

  Frank sputtered. His anger rose but he said nothing.

  “You can stay the night and have dinner with us, but tomorrow you have to move out. It’s over, Frank.”

  Brian walked out of the room leaving Frank feeling dazed.

  That evening, Clovis still hadn’t returned from town. After watching Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In on TV, Brian decided to go for a swim with Anna.

  In a typical Brian Jones mood swing, Brian felt guilty that he had fired Frank Thorogood earlier in the day. To show that there were no hard feelings, Frank offered to prepare their dinner, as he often did, and ate with Brian, Anna, and Frank’s girlfriend, Janet Lawson. They were all convivial and Frank’s sacking was never discussed.

  Later, shortly before ten in the evening, Brian walked over to Frank’s flat over the garage and invited Frank and Janet for a swim.

  Anna changed into her bathing suit and took Brian’s dogs, Emily and Luther, down to the water’s edge. Luther, an Afghan hound, was high-strung and very protective of Brian. They playfully ran up and down the length of the pool, barking and nipping at each other.

  Brian came back with Frank and they had another drink. The vibe was not weird, which made Brian slightly suspicious. Shouldn’t Frank be upset?

  Maybe he thought Brian was just ranting and raving and didn’t mean a word of it. Janet came down to the pool with her swimsuit on. Brian and Frank dove in and swam from end to end to the delight of the dogs, who ran back and forth and barked at them. Anna went into the water but after a few minutes complained that it was too warm. She got out and went into the house. Janet didn’t want to go in the water. She thought it was dangerous to swim at night after drinking. She warned them to be careful then she slipped back into the house as well.

  Brian kept several of his asthma inhalers around the pool so they’d be easy to grab if he felt the need. He reached for one and took a long hit on it and put it back. His asthma had been bothering him for the past few hours. His lungs were full of fluid. He took a tranquillizer to steady his breathing.

  Renee and Skully drove back the way they had come earlier in the day.

  “Something’s going on here,” Skully whispered. “Come on, let’s check it out.

  As the shadows lengthened, they slipped out of the car and crept toward the house.

  The insects sang in the foliage, filling the early evening with a grand symphony of natural sounds. The smell of newly cut grass mixed with the chlorine smell of the pool. Steam rose off the eighty-degree pool water. Brian kept the pool warmer than most people preferred.

  The bust of Christopher Robin near the famous A. A. Milne sundial in the center of the garden seemed to keep watch over the tranquil scene. It bore more than a passing resemblance to Brian.

  Renee and Skully hid together behind some rhododendrons. They settled in for the wait.

  Skully whispered, “As soon as this is done, we’ll get the hell out of here. What will you do next?”

  “I don’t know. Commit suicide, maybe.”

  “Why would a beautiful young girl like you throw her life away?”

  “Boredom. Brian. Ennui …”

  “Forget about Brian. He’s a loser. You want to come along with me?”

  “Where?”

  Skully paused. “I can’t tell you.”

  “The M Group is going to kill another rock star, aren’t they?”

  “Clever girl.”

  “Who?”

  “No, not the Who. Somebody you already know. Does that excite you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Renee thought of Brian. She had become obsessed with him. In the early days while she stalked him, she kept a professional distance, but as time went by she wanted him more. Once she slept with him, and they had fabulous sex all night, she couldn’t get him off her mind. Brian was a devil all right. He became her private incubus.

  Skully allowed Renee her insecurities, even helped her kill that model bitch Claudine Jillian out of sheer revenge. That one was a freebie. Skully hated those kinds of chicks anyway. It was good to let Renee run wild now and then. Renee was a good lover and a skilled assassin when she had to be. So was Skully.

  Neither Renee nor Skully spoke for a while. Renee eventually broke the silence.

  “Does it ever get to you?”

  “Does what get to me?”

  “This.”

  Skully thought for a moment. “Don’t flake on me now, girl. We’re just getting started. I recruited you for this, remember?”

  Renee’s voice became tiny, barely audible. “Did you know I’m in love with Brian?”

  Skully looked at her suspiciously. Was she losing her nerve?

  “That’s okay, as long as you can kill him.”

  “How can you kill somebody you love?”

  “You always kill the ones you love. Isn’t that an old Mills Brothers song?” He sang the chorus of “You Always Hurt the Ones You Love” with the new lyrics he’d just made up.

  “You always kill, the ones you love, the ones you shouldn’t kill at all,” he sang.

  “It scares me,” Renee said.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet. But it’s your destiny, Renee. Quit worrying so much about it. When we met, you told me your life had no meaning. I told you I could fulfill all your fantasies. You stick with me and together we’ll change the world.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mirror Gazing

  Skully watched as the two women went inside the house, toweling themselves as they walked. Now it was just Frank and Brian in the pool, swimming lazily back and forth. The dogs had retreated back into the building, and it was quiet but for the water lapping against the sides of the pool and the low buzz of the nocturnal insects.

  The oasis of light illuminated by the floodlights was bright, but beyond its beam it was as dark as outer space. Living in a country house meant no streetlights, no traffic, and no police sirens. It could be incredibly dark when the lights were out.

  They crept closer. Frank and Brian were still swimming.

  The moment was at hand.

  “Watch out! Don’t drop it. Easy, easy … there,” Clovis said. The Neve console seemed to weigh a ton.

  They put the huge wooden crate in the truck bed. The big guy named Doug he hired to lift the crate asked him what it was.

  “It’s part of a recording studio.”

  “You mean, like, for rock and roll?”

  “Yep.”

  “Blimey, you’d think these yobbos would jump at the chance to move one of these. ’Oo’s it for? Da ’Oo?”

  “No, it’s not the Who.”

  “Faces?”

  “Not likely. Look, why don’t I just tell you and—”

  “No! Don’t tell me! Let me guess!”

  “ELO? David Bowie? Led Zep? Cream?”

  “Stop! It’s for Brian Jones!”

  The big guy scratched his head.

  “Brian Jones? Never heard of him.”

  “From the Stones.”

  “Oh, THAT Brian Jones. I thought they broke up.”

  Clovis spat like a cowboy. “I have to get started back to Cotchford Farm. I gave you directions. Come out first thing in the morning, and help me get this thing off the truck and into the studio. I’ll pay you double.”

  “I’ll be there, mate!”

  Clovis knew the Neve would make all the difference in the world when it came to Brian’s music. With his home studio up to professional standards, he could literally make albums in his house. That meant anytime he had an idea, or a guest musician, he could cut a professional track on the spot.

  It would only be a matter of time until Brian wou
ld have enough for a solo album. Clovis visualized connecting the board; it seemed easy in his mind. He daydreamed about recording there with people like John Lennon and Jimi Hendrix.

  As they were closing the back of the truck, the final train to Hartfield pulled out of the station. It left two people on the platform as the smoke and steam evaporated.

  Dust Bin Bob stood triumphantly with his suitcase. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the situation. He had made it back from Paris to Hartfield on the same night against all odds. The other passenger from the train disappeared into the shadows.

  Bobby walked to the empty cabstands and saw Clovis and another big guy closing a truck. What incredible timing.

  “Hey! Is that the Neve board?” Clovis looked up, surprised to hear Bobby’s voice.

  “It sure is. Looks like you’re in the right place at the right time, pardner. Climb in.”

  Bobby looked around at the nearly deserted station, wondering where the other passenger had gone. He hadn’t noticed the man’s face because he sat in the car behind him.

  “Let’s roll.”

  On the other side of the building, hidden from view, a car and a driver are waiting with their lights off.

  Bruce Spangler got into the car and nodded to the driver. Without saying a word, he started the car and drove off.

  Brian Jones felt good. The warm water felt pleasant against his skin. He launched himself forward through the water with swift, strong strokes. He had always been an excellent swimmer. His asthma had been bothering him, but swimming seemed to help.

  He heard splashing behind him and turned his head to see another swimmer. Was it Frank? Who else would it be? Brian skimmed through the water effortlessly.

  His mind had been racing all night; it was as if it were a machine he couldn’t turn off. He kept thinking about the mirror, the ghost girl, and Claudine. The mirror was his connection to them, and he fought the constant urge to hide away and gaze into it all the time. It was the only way to make his headaches go away.

  So deep in thought was Brian that he hardly noticed when someone grabbed his foot.