The Cherry Pages

by Gary Ruffin

  No dice.

  “Neal Feagin, I know you know where they are. Do you think I’m goin’ to call the news and report ’em? Do you want the girls to leave the room so you can tell me? Are you afraid they’ll tell all their friends, is that it?”

  This brought a chorus of “we won’t tell anybody” and related remarks from the girls, and the decibel level went up accordingly.

  Neal put his hands over his ears as all four of his girls pleaded with him to spill the biggest beans of the year.

  He kept his hands over his ears, closed his eyes, and hummed loudly in the face of the female verbal assault. The girls and Susan finally gave up, and he opened his eyes to find his daughters all standing in front of him in the classic begging pose, and his wife putting her fists on her hips in the classic “boy, are you gonna get it” pose.

  Neal said, “Even if I did know where they were, you know I couldn’t tell. There is such a thing as ethics when it comes to bein’ a private eye, ya know. A little matter of employee-client privilege, remember?”

  The girls all whined, and Susan tried to keep her mean face on but couldn’t, and smiled at her husband before leaning down and kissing him.

  “You’re father’s right, girls. We can’t have him actin’ in an unethical manner. But it was worth a shot.”

  The girls all gave their dad a kiss good night, and headed upstairs to their respective bedrooms. Neal and Susan had moved into the downstairs guest room until his ankle healed so he wouldn’t have to climb the stairs.

  Susan sat down on the sofa beside Neal, put her arm around his shoulder, and whispered in his ear, “You know, your havin’ all this inside information is mighty sexy stuff. How ’bout you pull yourself together and use those crutches to come to bed?” She stood up and headed for the guest room, and said over her shoulder, “By the time you get there, I’ll be ready and waitin’ to show you just how sexy I think all this privileged information really is.”

  45

  Leaving the crappy little beach town without finishing the job on the chick cop was a drag, but better safe than sorry. The attempted hit on the bodyguard’s girlfriend was satisfying enough for now, even if the results were less than perfect. At least, it scared all of them to death figuratively, if not literally.

  Literally would come soon enough for all of them.

  It was nice to think about the confusion that the three had experienced, especially the moronic bodyguard. They were all probably huddled in that hovel on the beach, shaking in their sandals, and jumping at every strange sound. That would have to be satisfaction enough for the time being. There were more plans to make, and people to do.

  Finding the news/talk radio station out of Pensacola had been easy enough. Now there was a name to live up to. The Computer Killer! And a reward of five hundred thousand bucks for information leading to the capture; a bounty on the head of Baal’s servant! No doubt the police and the FBI would be inundated with calls and messages from hundreds of idiots giving false leads, hoping to be the one to get paid.

  It was becoming more fun by the minute.

  But now the radio station was starting to fade in and out as the vehicle made its way north, back to the Atlanta area, the cruise control making it seem as if the car knew the way home. The movie star’s so-called disappearance was big news at the top and bottom of each hour, second only to the reports concerning the latest White House scandal, which had knocked Cherry down from number one. Something about a member of the cabinet misusing his power, or some such nonsense.

  They probably had to make that the lead story to keep up appearances, but anyone listening was more interested in the whereabouts of Cherry Page than any political scandal, whether they would admit it or not. Washington was a sewer, and everyone knew it. Where was the news in that?

  It was so hard to decide what to do next! Wouldn’t it be fun to make an anonymous call to CNN, or Fox, and let them know where the two targets were? Give them the exact coordinates, right down to the flamingo on the mailbox.

  The thought of all those news trucks and vans suddenly showing up in that crummy little town, wreaking havoc wherever they went, driving the bumpkins crazy, was fun to consider. That alone would almost make it worthwhile to tell the true story of the vanishing act that was consuming all the cretins who had no lives of their own.

  But, it seemed somehow better to keep the truth from the masses. For now, at least.

  Having the power to dictate the news was another electrifying experience, but having it and not using it seemed even sexier! All those media snakes out looking under every rock for clues, and the only knowledgeable person was driving north on I-85 headed for Atlanta, listening to them blather on about this and that.

  All the useless speculation, the guessing games being played by the “experts” was entertainment at its finest when you knew it was all nothing more than a huge waste of time. Driving past town after town, completely unnoticed, utterly omniscient.

  Knowledge was power, and power was absolutely addictive.

  46

  PENNY HAD CHERRY BACKED UP AGAINST THE STOVE IN THE TINY kitchen, waving the tabloid magazine in her face and hissing at her in that weird whisper. Cherry was staring at the floor, apparently unable to make eye contact as the accusations flew. The film star was obviously no longer Penny’s favorite woman in the world; in fact, the star was suddenly in danger of becoming a punching bag.

  Penny’s voice became loud as she said in a hateful, accusatory tone, “And since you’re such a big, bad, movie star, I guess you think you can just have any damn man you lay your big green eyes on, is that it? All you have to do is pick out the man you want at any given moment, do your little sex symbol act, and every man is fair game because you’re gorgeous, and famous, and it’s your God-given right to have whatever you want, whenever you want it! Right? The whole world—no—the entire stinkin’ universe revolves around you and your desires, and everybody else’s feelings be damned! It’s all about what Cherry wants, what Cherry needs, and to hell with whoever gets hurt, right, Miss British Marilyn Monroe Bombshell? Well, let me tell you somethin’, movie star. You messed with the wrong man this time!”

  Still keeping her eyes on the floor, Cherry tried to defend herself, clearly cowed by Penny’s verbal assault, “Penny—I never realized how much—if I knew you—I never in a million years would have done the things I did. I’m just so, so sorry.”

  “Sorry? Sorry? You move in on my man, doing God knows what in that hotel room of yours, and all you can say is you’re sorry? Oh, lemme tell ya, bitch, you’re sorry all right. You’re about the sorriest excuse for a role model I’ve ever seen! I cannot believe that I ever thought you were someone that I could look up to. What a stupid little fool I’ve been, sittin’ here waitin’ for Coop to call, when you probably kept him as far away from a phone as you possibly could. And to think that I wanted him to take the job as your bodyguard. I must’ve been out of my mind!”

  Cherry continued to stare at the floor, completely defenseless, as Penny glared at her, daring Cherry to say another word. The tension in the room was palpable, and I was afraid that Penny was going to lose it and do something she’d regret for the rest of her life. That’s how serious the scene had become.

  I decided to make my presence known.

  “Uh, Penny? Cherry? What’s goin’ on here?” I asked in a tone I hoped wouldn’t turn Penny’s wrath towards me.

  Wrong tone.

  Penny wheeled around and shrieked at me in an even louder voice, “Well look who’s here! If it isn’t the British Bombshell’s hunky bodyguard! The ‘Cherry Picker’ himself, in all his two-faced glory! Why don’tcha come on in here and make your new girlfriend a cup of tea, or whatever it is that hunky bodyguards do for their bombshells!”

  The situation was escalating by the second. I was actually beginning to fear for Cherry’s safety. Trying to calm Penny down, I asked in my most soothing tone, “Penny. What in the heck are you talkin’ about?”

  T
hrowing the tabloid at me, she screamed, “This is what I’m talkin’ about, you thoughtless bastard!”

  The paper hit me in the face, and fell to the floor. I picked it up, saw Cherry kissing me, and read the lurid headlines. My heart literally stopped for a beat, and I felt the sweat begin to form on my forehead, just waiting for its chance to start sliding down my reddening face.

  Staring at the supermarket rag in disbelief, I figured I’d better try a new tone; I struggled to sound as innocent as possible. I said, “Penny, you can’t be serious. This, this piece of, these stupid tabloid things are, they’re all just a bunch of made-up lies. The people who buy this trash are either idiots, or they know damn well that these so-called newspapers are nothing more than … they’re like comic books for adults. You know better than to believe any of this.”

  Penny shrieked, “I believe what I see, buster! And what I see is the two of you goin’ at it in formal wear, in front of the whole damn world! That’s what I believe! Couldn’t you at least have waited until you got back to your fancy hotel suite before you started kissing her? Did it have to be right out in public for the entire planet to see? Not to mention photograph? And, not only do I believe what I see, I also believe what I hear! Your floozy movie star whore told me everything!”

  Uh-oh.

  Everything?

  My swimming head tried valiantly to come up with some kind of explanation for “everything.”

  Talk about being caught with your hand in the cookie jar. And the cookie jar was being no help whatsoever. Cherry was still staring at the floor, unable or unwilling to come to my rescue. What had she told Penny about our relationship? Wait. There was no relationship. Not really. I just needed a minute to think, to get my mind right. But it was impossible to think, what with Penny throwing daggers at me with her eyes, and Cherry hanging me out to dry.

  Should I come clean, and tell Penny the truth? That it was all Cherry’s doing, and that I was completely innocent in regards to “everything”? Inform her that I was on my best behavior at all times, at least on the outside, and that I was a victim of circumstance? Should I tell Penny about the sleeping arrangements, or Cherry scratching my back, or me seeing her half naked in the dim bedroom? Or tell her that I had managed to keep what was left of my virtue intact, even though the temptation was there twenty-four hours a day, and that the temptation was staring at the floor as we spoke?

  I tried to state my case, but a stammer was the best I could manage: “Penny, I—see?—the thing is—if—if you knew—I never—it was …”

  Staring me down, Penny barked, “Well? It was what?”

  I stood there openmouthed for a full ten seconds, stunned into silence.

  Then, the two of them suddenly collapsed into each other’s arms, laughing their beautiful asses off.

  I’d been had. Big-time.

  I tried to look as angry as I could, which only brought more laughter. They separated, and were holding their stomachs, Penny slapping the butcher-block island, and Cherry leaning back against the stove.

  I said, “Very funny. I mean, reeeaaallly hilarious.”

  More laughter, more stomach holding, more butcher-block slapping.

  I tried to gain some sympathy, “You know, the only reason I fell for your little performance is because I trust you both so much.”

  They actually went to the floor on that one, tears in their eyes brought on by all the hilarity at my expense.

  Barely able to breathe, Cherry said from her seat on the floor, “We really got you good, Cooper! The look on your face! Priceless!”

  Penny chimed in, “Oh! Oh, my stomach hurts! That was too much! What an egomaniac! You really thought I was—I told you, Coop—there’s no way you can get with my girl! Ow! My side! It’s killin’ me!”

  I let them laugh themselves out, acting as if I was angry, when in fact I was relieved. What if Cherry had actually felt the need to confess to Penny about our sleepovers? I inwardly celebrated, but kept my pissed-off face on as they helped each other to their feet, still giggling like maniacs. I walked over and tossed the tabloid into the trash can.

  Penny caught her breath, and said, “Oh. Man, Coop, I wish I had a picture of your face when—oh, man—too funny. Whew! I’m dyin’.”

  Cherry said, “I wish I had my film crew here.”

  That started another wave of laughter, not as hard or as long, because neither of them had the strength for it anymore.

  Finally, after another minute or so of mirth, Penny said, “Whew. I needed that.”

  Cherry hugged her, and said, “Me, too, darling. Oh—I almost wet my pants.”

  That brought on yet another bout of howling.

  When she was finally able to speak again, Cherry continued, “I’m sorry, Cooper. Penny put me up to it. It was all her idea.”

  Penny leaned away from her, and said, “Thanks a lot! Go ahead, blame me—oh—I’m dyin’. My jaw is killin’ me. My head’s still a little foggy. Let’s go sit down, before I fall down.”

  Arm in arm, they pushed past me into the living room, and fell out on the sofa. Penny whispered something in Cherry’s ear, and the laughter started up again.

  I took it like a man, and joined them in the living room, sitting in the stuffed armchair across from the sofa.

  I said, “Well, I hope you two brats had fun givin’ me all that grief, and only minutes after I slaved over a hot grill for y’all.”

  Cherry wiped the tears from her eyes, and said, “So sorry again, Cooper, but it was just too easy. And, again, I have to say, all the fault of your lovely better half.”

  I said, “Better half? Ha! That’s a good one. Your behavior—the both of you—inexcusable.”

  Penny said, “We both know I’m your better half, so just be glad I was only kidding, or I’d be your ‘used-to-be’ half. Yet again. Cherry explained about the kiss, that you had said somethin’ nice about Poppy, and that it was only a friendly peck, so you’re off the hook. For now. But come on, it was pretty damn funny, you gotta admit.”

  “Okay, I begrudgingly admit it.”

  “She also told me about your bed by the window in the parlor, as she calls it. Didn’t I tell ya you’d probably end up in her suite? Maybe now you’ll listen to me when I predict the future.”

  They were both lying back on the sofa, their bare feet propped up on the old coffee table. It was nice to see them getting along so well, but it was even nicer to know that the whole thing had been a joke.

  Whew, indeed.

  We sat in silence for a few moments. Then Penny giggled, and put her head back and closed her eyes.

  Cherry looked to make sure Penny’s eyes were still closed, and got my attention by waving her hand slightly. Then she pantomimed locking her lips with a key, and throwing it away, indicating to me that she would never tell Penny about our “relationship.”

  Knowing that Cherry was keeping quiet about our time together only made her more attractive. And if there was one thing I didn’t need in my mixed-up life, it was a Cherry Page that was even more attractive.

  Still, it was nice to know that she hadn’t told Penny about our relationship. Which really wasn’t a relationship.

  Or was it?

  47

  THE SUN WAS JUST COMING UP WHEN I FINALLY DOZED OFF IN THE living-room armchair, my Glock in my lap. True to her word, Penny had shared her bed with Cherry, and had made up the sofa for me with a sheet, quilt, and a pillow. But I was too wired after the attack to sleep, so I kept watch while gazing at the muted TV, flipping around looking for any sporting event. Twice during the night, I thought I heard something or someone outside, but when I checked, there was no one there. I was pretty sure that the murderer (I refused to use the moniker “Computer Killer”) was long gone after all, but being pretty sure still left plenty of room to worry.

  I was not only worried about a repeat performance of the attack on Penny—or one on Cherry—I was also worried that the moron might contact the media and give them our location. Penny d
oesn’t have cable, being so far from town, but she does have a satellite dish, so I had access to CNN and Fox.

  I periodically checked to see if they had been informed as to where Cherry and I were, but they never revealed our hiding spot. There were just the usual reports of the missing movie star, and endless replays of Lawrence Lyndon-Bowen’s speech to the press gathered outside the Candler Theater in Atlanta. Thankfully, I didn’t hear him.

  Penny came in and woke me with a soft kiss while Cherry was in the bathroom showering, but I was too tired to be her bicycle. I’m pretty sure Penny was secretly relieved by my refusal of her offer, what with her idol in the house, and all. She promised to take care of me the first chance she got, kissed my forehead, and headed to her room to get dressed for work.

  After a night of more TV than I watch in a week, I wanted to avoid it—and the radio—all day if possible, since it just made the day so much more pleasant. So I got up, walked to her door and said to Penny, “Call me if the our killer friend has ratted us out to the press.”

  She said, “I’ve been thinking the same thing, that he might tell on you guys. I’ll call right away if there’s any news.”

  At that moment, thunder started to sound, and dark clouds began to form out over the Gulf. Within five minutes, a full-blown thunderstorm was pouring buckets of rain on the cottage, and heavy wind and lightning joined the show. The wind was blowing the rain at an angle, causing water to come in the open windows. I went through the cottage and made sure all the windows were closed, and turned on the three overhead fans so we wouldn’t burn up in case the storm lasted awhile.