by A. W. Gray
He said, “Listen, do you…”
Meg waited.
“…want a drink?” he finished.
Come on, Meg thought, out with it. So you and old Victoria used to do the number. I can handle it. She crossed the living room, switched on a lamp, and sat on the sofa. “Oh, I’ll have a Coke,” she said casually. The apartment was twenty or thirty years old, the carpet thinning. Frank’s furniture was bought used; a couch, some end tables, a TV set on a rolling stand. The bare bones.
He went into the kitchen, set a two-liter bottle on the counter, produced two tumblers from the cabinet, and peered at her through the opening above the bar. “Ice?”
“Yes. Sure “
He opened the freezer compartment and fished in the ice-maker. “Mrs. Reed spelling you at the dorm this weekend?”
She is, Frank, Meg thought, just as Mrs. Reed stays at the dorm every Friday and Saturday night, as you damn well know. “Yes,” she said.
He dropped shards into the tumblers. “You’re lucky you’ve got her. We’re lucky.”
Meg shrugged. “She’s getting paid. It’s a part-time job for her. She’s retired, so…”
“I mean, it’s good that the school could find somebody.”
“I suppose it is.” The suspense was killing her.
He poured Coke into both glasses and recapped the bottle, then carried the drinks over and set one beside her on an end table. “Listen, Meg.”
She crossed her legs, smoothed her black skirt, and arched an eyebrow.
He took off his coat and yanked down his tie. “There was this situation one time.”
His face is getting red, she thought. Well, it ought to.
He folded his coat and laid it across the back of the sofa. “I don’t know how to begin.” He sat down beside her.
She concentrated on the console stereo, somewhat of a relic, hand-carved Spanish-style wood. “You could try the beginning.”
He leaned forward, forearms on thighs, and held his drink between his knees. “That actress?”
She sipped cold, fizzy Coke. “Oh? What actress is that?”
“You know. That Victoria Lee.”
She looked at him. “Oh. That actress.”
“Well, that’s not her name.”
Her lips parted.
He watched the floor. “I knew her in California.”
“Before you met me.”
“Well…yeah.”
“I’d say that’s your business, then,” she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
She tilted her chin. You don’t, huh? Let me guess, she’s the best you ever had. “I can handle it, Frank,” she finally said.
“I was…”
“Sometimes if you blurt it out.” she said, “that makes it easier. Look, if you had a thing with her, so what?”
“What the hell. I was in prison.”
Her body sagged. “Frank, I…”
“I was a cop.”
She felt relief. “You mean, you worked at a prison. What’s so—?”
“You remember, six years ago, a cop shooting a black guy here in Dallas? Big federal trial, all in the papers.”
She vaguely did. In those days she was more interested in the next Fiji party. Phi Delt, whatever. “I seem to,” she said.
“Well, that was me. I did some time over it, in California.”
She felt an odd emotion, somewhere between pity and anger. “That’s the real reason you were out there? You weren’t working in California, like you’ve told me.”
“In the federal prison system they have a rule that law enforcement people get sent far away from home. For protection, to keep them from running into somebody they arrested.”
Meg sat up straighter and returned her drink to the end table. “All this time, you’ve never told me. I’d be a better actress than Victoria Lee if I shrugged this off, Frank. Not that that’s a primo accomplishment.”
“Listen, I’ve wanted to.”
She was suddenly calm. “Wanting to scores no points. What was she, some kind of prison groupie? She seems like a kook.”
He fiddled with the ends of his tie. “She was an inmate. Darla Bern’s her real name.”
“Holy smoke, Frank…”
“We were at—”
“…you two share the same rockpile, or—?”
“—Pleasanton, California, together. At the same time, not really together. It was coed.”
She’d heard of federal boy-girl prisons and of what went on in there. “Were you two…?”
He watched his knees. “Yeah. Yes.” He looked at her. “Nothing emotional. I doubt if she’s got any emotion in her body. Strictly a thing where she’d sneak into the men’s dorm. Happened a lot in there, those women. Guys without any…you go a long time without…it affects you, you know?”
“God, spare me the details. Is she really even an actress? You couldn’t tell by her performance.”
He nodded. “She had bit parts. She showed me a picture once, of her and Julia Roberts on the set of Pretty Woman.”
“I’ll bet she was playing a whore.”
Frank grinned. “How did you know?”
“Call me psychic.” Meg tilted her head back, wheels turning. “Wonder why the pseudo. Darla Bern’s a better stage name than what she’s using.”
“I guess it’s ‘cause she doesn’t want anybody knowing she did time. A lot of ex-cons use aliases. I’ve even thought about it myself. Probably would, if I wasn’t on parole.”
“What’s she want to tour a school for? She doesn’t even have any kids.”
“I don’t even think she finished school herself,” Frank said.
Meg had a sudden cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“In fact I remember,” he said, “that she hates kids. Gave me a blow-by-blow description of this abortion she had when she was, about fifteen, I think.”
“I’ve got to let Mrs. Dunn in on this,” Meg said. “I hope the poor woman doesn’t have a heart attack.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Exclusive private school,” Meg said. “Kids out there whose folks are worth millions.” She drained her glass. “Your prison girlfriend taking a tour, that’s a little on the fishy side.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. You are. Listen, Darla’s not what you’d call a criminal mastermind. Strictly a dope fiend. It wasn’t just me in the joint, she used to have some guards bring her grass, even some coke one time.”
“How lovely. Whatever, she wasn’t at the school to research a teacher’s role she’s going to play. God, that horny Howard Molly guy.”
“Who?”
“The director of the Theater Center. He’s the one that referred Miss Cellblock Poontang to the school. Probably took some in trade.”
Frank got up. “You’re guessing about that.”
“Maybe. But better safe than, you know.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Look, up front and with no dodging. Where does all this put us?”
Her features softened. “You mean, your prison term?”
“Sure. Hell, you wouldn’t be the only one worried about hanging around with a jailbird. I’ve got experience in that.”
She hesitated, then stood up and touched his cheek. “I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I’ll have to think on it. Off the top of my head I’d say that it would depend on how much the convict beats himself up over his past. For now, let’s just go to bed. I feel like being held, okay?” She took a couple of steps toward the bedroom and looked at him over her shoulder. “Want me to dress in stripes?” she said. “Maybe pretend I’m sneaking into your cell?”
Meg lay on her side, her cheek resting on her palm, watching the illuminated clock/radio digits change as if by mag
ic to read 2:32. An easy-listening station was on low volume, old-time movie tunes, an orchestral version of the theme from Picnic. Bedsheets rustled behind her, weight impressing the mattress, moving up close, Frank’s voice a near-whisper, practically in her ear. “You asleep?”
“Mmm.”
“Me, neither. Tomorrow’s going to be hell, with no sleep.”
“Double mmm.”
He raised up on his elbow. Stubble on his chin scratched her shoulder. “There’s more I didn’t tell you.”
The song on the radio ended, the mellow violins now blending into the theme from A Summer Place. Meg hummed softly along.
“Do you want to hear it?” he said.
“Sure. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re an ax murderer. If you’re going to bury a blade in my back, I’d rather be surprised.”
“I wasn’t telling the whole truth, about Darla not having any emotion.”
She scooted onto her back, cast the sheet aside, flattened one foot on the mattress and rested her ankle on her knee. She watched him, the outline of his face and shock of hair, a dark shape against a background of ceiling tinted red by the light from the radio.
“After we’d been seeing each other awhile,” he said.
“Is that what you call it? Seeing each other? Seeing up close, right?”
“I didn’t know anything about her at first. I was the new guy in the compound.”
“Sort of the rookie.”
“It isn’t funny, Meg.”
“I agree with you.”
He sat up, folded his legs yoga fashion, and hunched over. “She got a lot of favors from the guards in prison. Some of the other inmates.”
“She wasn’t your exclusive property.”
“That’s putting it mildly. What we had only lasted three or four months, while I was too much of a greenhorn to know what was going on with her. When I found out what she really was, I cut it off.”
She raised her arms and interlocked her fingers behind her head. “How painful for you.”
He lifted his chin. “You just make all the remarks you want to. I was in prison. Different world, you’d just have to be there. I gave up trying to tell people I didn’t commit any crime a couple
of years ago, because nobody believes you no matter what you tell them. The fact that the guy I killed was stoned on crack and doing his damnedest to cut my windpipe open doesn’t matter anymore. What does matter to me, though, is what you think. And I’m telling you all this because I wouldn’t want you finding it out from somebody else.”
His bedroom window was open a fraction, and the breeze cooled her thighs. There was mist in her eyes and an odd pain in her throat. “I’ve got a problem with it, Frank. If she hadn’t suddenly appeared, I’m not sure whether you’d have ever told me this. Maybe I’m supposed to say just, been there, done that, and go on, but I can’t.”
He looked at the ceiling, then back at Meg. “As soon as I quit having anything to do with her, she turned on me hard. Made a lot of scenes. I’d pass her on the compound and she’d scream out a lot of…I won’t repeat some of the things she said.”
He reached for her. She pulled away. “Not now, Frank. I want to hear all of this, but from a safe distance.”
“I never would have believed she could be that vicious,” Frank said. “Then sometimes she’d go the opposite, sidling up to me and trying to, you know, start things all over again. One time she got high on some wine a guy used to make, came up to my cubicle and tried to force her way in bed with me. I had to throw her out bodily.”
“Why, anybody that’s been through high school,” Meg said, “could see right through that act. Might be it’s more rustic in prison, but the same thing. The scorned-lover syndrome.”
He scratched his bare shin. “She had all these other guys. Why me?”
“It doesn’t matter who else she had. You were the one she couldn’t have. Good-looking women who have a lot of men around them all the time are the worst losers in the world when something doesn’t go their way.” Meg wondered how anyone who’d been through what Frank had could possibly be this naive. Like a big, tough little boy.
“Whatever her motives.” Frank said, “she almost drove me crazy. She got her release from prison about a year after I first went to Pleasanton. Doing time sure wasn’t fun for me, but it was a whole lot more bearable after she was gone.
“Once she got out,” Frank said, “I thought I’d never see or hear from her again. And I didn’t, until about a year ago.”
Meg took her ankle down from its resting place on her knee and straightened her legs. “I don’t know if I want to hear this part, Frank. Before you met me, that’s one thing. Please don’t tell me you’ve been seeing this woman the whole time we’ve been…”
“Hell no, Meg. And much as I care about you, that’s not the main reason I don’t want to have anything to do with her. I wouldn’t want to see Darla again if I never touched another female. She’s downright scary.
“About a year ago,” Frank said, “my phone rings one night about ten, ten-thirty, and it’s her. Drunk as a skunk, I thought at first, but thinking on it she was probably high on drugs. She was calling from California, and starts in on this, how she missed me so much and wanted to hop on a plane for Dallas right then. I’ve never been able to get downright rude with anybody, and I talked to her longer than I probably should have. Told her, thanks for calling, but no thanks. Jesus, she went on and on.
“I should have been rude,” Frank said, “because that started this series of calls, every day. If I wasn’t home she’d leave messages on my machine, sometimes as many as ten in a two or three-hour period. Sometimes her messages were nasty as hell, calling me names for not getting back to her. She’d keep calling until I got home, even if it was four in the morning or something.”
“It’s obvious she needs help,” Meg said. “What I’m wondering is, do I need more help than she does.”
“She’s not going to get any help from the people she hangs around. I finally moved, my lease was up anyway, changed my phone number, and had it unlisted. I thought, with her in California, that would be the end of it.”
“Obviously it wasn’t.”
“Right on. Sometime back, I can’t remember exactly when, a guy came by where I work. Wilbur Dale. He’s the only person I did time with that lives in Dallas, that I know of. I really didn’t think much of it at the time, sort of old home week, you know? Wilbur’s still on parole, the same as me, and it was no trick at all for him to find out where I worked if he wanted to see me. All these parole officers, a guy’s file’s supposed to be confidential, but those people talk like the old ladies’ bridge club.
“Anyway,” Frank said, “I didn’t mind because I always sort of liked Wilbur, and sometimes it helps to talk to somebody with the same problems you’ve got. Sort of like A.A., I guess. He wanted to know if I had any girlfriends. I didn’t see anything unusual about the question, and I told him all about you.”
Meg sat up. Her lips parted.
“Hey, okay, I was wrong,” Frank said. “But I was excited about you, what can I say? Wilbur had a sundae or something, we talked awhile and he left. No big deal, I thought at the time. Actually, I don’t think Wilbur Dale crossed my mind again until last week.”
“He came by again?” Meg said.
“Nope. Darla called.”
Meg stretched out on the bed and watched him. “I can forgive a lot. I don’t know if things can be the same, but I can forgive. But, criminy, if you’ve put me in danger from this…”
“She somehow got the number of the pay phone across the lobby from the ice-cream place,” Frank said, “which is what made me think of Wilbur Dale. He’s the only connection, that knows both me and Darla, and the only way she could know where I’m working is through him. This time she was calling from here in Dallas. She wanted me to meet her,
so I did.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Meg said. “It’s just egging her on.”
“Obviously my life hasn’t been free of screwups,” Frank said, “so you can just add this one to the list. I talked to her in a bar on the East Side, by Tenison Park Golf Course. Told her to leave me alone and wound up with her in a screaming fit. She hasn’t called me at home yet, so I don’t guess she’s found my number. Wilbur Dale doesn’t have it, thank God. And then tonight, there she was onstage. She absolutely collared me at the cast party. Jesus, where were you?”
“Getting collared myself,” Meg said, “by that Howard Molly.”
“Anyway, that’s the story,” Frank said. “She’s here, so she’s here. I don’t know for how long and don’t care. I don’t think Darla would try to do anything to you, but you need to keep your guard up.”
“Her taking a tour of Riverbend wasn’t a coincidence, Frank.”
“I’d like to think that’s what it was,” Frank said. “But you’re right, it wasn’t. Jesus, Meg, I hate getting you mixed up in—”
“Hush.” She put two fingers over his lips. “I’ve got to think this out. First of all, for precaution’s sake, I need to let the school in on her past.”
“I wouldn’t think Darla’s any kidnapper,” Frank said. “All that she’s ever been, other than crazy, is a dope fiend. She did mention that she’s not in town alone. Said she could get in trouble with her friends if they knew she’d contacted me. With somebody to lead her, Darla might be mixed up in anything. And you’re right to put the school on notice. You just never know.”
“School on notice, check,” Meg said. “They’ll be grateful. Putting Daddy on notice, that’s going to be different.”
Frank rested his hand on her thigh. “Daddy who?”
“My daddy. My father. And my mother. Who you were going to have the pleasure of meeting next weekend.”
“All I know about your folks,” Frank said, “is that they live someplace in North Dallas.”
“Well, I may be forward, but you were about to get invited home with me. I see them once a week, Tuesday afternoons. This week I was going to clear the decks, to get you invited to dinner next Saturday night. It was going to be a relief for them, since they’ve decided I’ve become a total hermit.” Meg sat back up. “Now I just don’t know, Frank.”