by Gary Ruffin
So sue me.
Moving on, what really happened after the strip poker game, do you ask?
Well, five seconds after Cherry asked me to go double-or-nothing on one final hand to see which one of us would undress her, she became violently ill, and dashed to the bathroom as fast as her shaky legs could carry her. Thankfully, she made it to the toilet bowl, dropped to her knees, and voided the contents of her stomach as I held her famous red hair up.
Sexy, no? No. Definitely, no. So now you have all the facts.
Anyway, to change the subject: Have you ever been really embarrassed or humiliated, to the point that every single drop of blood in your body rushed to your face, clearly visible for all to see? Well, that was Hammond, as he realized that he’d been had. His face was so red, in fact, I was almost worried for him, blood pressure–wise. After a moment of going crimson, he turned his face away, and we never heard another word from him.
Within ten minutes, the Atlanta Task Force, several FBI agents, including Agent Carver, and various cops of all shapes and genders had made it up to the suite. Hammond was allowed to dress, and was then whisked away to the slammer as the law people got busy doing their jobs. Since they were going to be working the parlor as a crime scene, I called Sally Allen and told her me and Cherry would need to leave the suite, and asked if we could move to hers. She said of course, she could stay with Lynne for a while, so I called down and got a luggage cart to move my stuff out so I could pack to go home. I heaped all my clothes and suitcases on the cart, and took it and Cherry down the hall to Sally’s room. I put Cherry and my pile of clothes in the bedroom, and closed the door behind her. There would be plenty of time for Cherry to give her statement to the law, since she wasn’t leaving town like I was.
Sally was on the phone talking to Lynne, and when she got off, I said, “If you don’t mind, keep everyone away for a while. Cherry could use a little downtime. And, Sally—would you do me one last favor?”
“Of course,” she said, taking notes of my request before leaving.
I spent the next hour or so on the sofa with my cracked knuckle in a bowl of ice, listening to the radio. An exhausted Cherry called out from the bedroom that she was going to take a nap. At one point, I walked back to Cherry’s suite to see how things were progressing. Agent Carver took me aside, and said, “Chief Cooper, I’m sorry about all this. If we had done our jobs a little better—or a lot better—you wouldn’t have had to risk your life.”
“Agent, please. You guys did a fantastic job. It was pure luck that I came back here in time. If I could keep up with my wallet, Cherry would be dead, so it’s not like I did anything great. Let’s all just be thankful we got Hammond, and let it go, okay?”
Carver smiled, and said, “I’m with you on that, Chief. But you did what needed to be done, and I want you to know how grateful the Bureau is, and how grateful I am, as well. Besides, now that you’re a rich man, I want to stay on your good side.”
He smiled at the look on my face. I must’ve looked like a dog that heard a sound no human can hear. “Excuse me, Agent?”
Carver reached over, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “I talked to Miss Page’s producer—Mr. Lyndon-Bowen—and he assures me you’re getting the reward. Congratulations.”
Wow. It hit me. Jackpot.
I know it’s hard to believe, but until that moment, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind that I would actually get the reward. Cherry had mentioned it on our ride back from Neal’s house, but it didn’t register. Even while I had been talking to Hammond about money, it didn’t enter my mind as a reality; it was just a point of discussion in a conversation with an idiot. At that moment, though, it was real, and it had my head spinning for a few minutes. The sounds of the room died down as I considered the fact that I would be the second-richest guy in Gulf Front, after Mr. Milo. I might have to start using my full name, and demand to be referred to as Chief Samuel Cooper. Or not. Probably not.
I said a stunned good-bye to Agent Carver, went back to Sally’s suite, and spent the next couple of hours thinking about my windfall, listening to the radio some more, and waiting for my boss lady to wake up. I finally heard her call to me, went in the bedroom, and found Cherry wide awake and sitting up on the bed. Smiling, she stretched lazily and said, “I am now ready to give everyone an audience.”
I called Sally and told her that all was in place for the celebration, and to get the word out to the folks. Within a few minutes, Cherry’s people who were staying at the Ritz had shown up and were crowding the parlor: Guinness, her director; Lawrence Lyndon-Bowen, her unctuous producer and my new benefactor; Sally; Will; Lynne; and some of the actors and crew, all excitedly talking and hugging. Lawrence congratulated me on my newfound riches, and actually seemed happy for me. My low opinion of him changed somewhat when he greeted me with a firm handshake and a genuine smile.
As soon as the well-wishers were all gathered, I went in the bedroom and brought Cherry out. Her colleagues burst into raucous applause as she made her entrance, and another hug fest erupted. Lyndon-Bowen had ordered champagne from room service, and the corks popped and the juice flowed. At one point, I looked over and caught Cherry and Sally off to one side, whispering and giggling. Sally kept glancing in my direction, and I wondered what they were saying. They wouldn’t tell me, of course, so who knows?
I thought how incredibly poised Cherry was, and how well she had handled the life-and-death situation with Hammond, considering she’s not a cop. Especially after what had happened in the last week, and more especially, the last few hours. We didn’t have time to talk about it, but I made a note to ask her about her calm demeanor later.
Looking around the suite at the happy faces, I remembered the day we all met, and felt that pang once more, knowing I would never see those individuals again. But the bubbly had my spirits raised, and it was a time for joy, not pangs. Naturally, the cast and crew were buzzing around their star, but they all made a point of shaking my hand and offering congratulations and kudos. After a few minutes of revelry, I went out in the hall and called Penny. This time when I called, I knew what I was going to do: go home to my girlfriend and my real life.
“Hey Chief Prevost,” I said. “You’re not gonna believe this, but there’s more to the story about Cherry Page.”
She was stunned by my revelations, naturally, so I kept some of the tiny details from her, such as how I had wrestled a naked guy who was wielding a huge hunting knife, and the fact that I had a half million dollars coming my way. I held back on the financial news because I wanted to see her face when she learned of the reward. She didn’t cry during the conversation like she had before; maybe she had no tears left. Anyway, after we exchanged a few lewd and bawdy comments about what would happen once we got our hands on each other, we hung up.
While in the hall, I also called Neal, who had heard from Agent Carver about the latest information, and we spoke for a couple of minutes while Susan and his daughters hooted and hollered in the background about my newfound prosperity. We laughed about my new status as a rich fat cat, and joked about what we would do now that I was in his and Susan’s social class. He hadn’t yet seen a photo of Hammond, and was unaware that the monster had been among the crowd at the benefit for Poppy’s charity foundation, just as cowboy Tingle had been. Neal would later realize that Hammond had also been in Neal’s office on the day Joe Don was murdered, and that Joe Don had seen Hammond too. When I found that fact out later, it made me sick to know that the big young man from Texas had undoubtedly recognized his killer. Neal and I hung up after more congratulations and promises to spend large amounts of cash.
It felt pretty good to be rich, I must say. Besides, it’s not money that’s the root of all evil. It’s the love of money.
I don’t love money by any means, but I do kind of like it.
84
AFTER EVERYBODY LEFT, CHERRY TOOK ANOTHER SHOWER, AND I STOOD at the window of Sally’s suite, looking down on the late-Sunday-afternoon traffic.
A slight rain was drizzling, and when the sun broke through from behind a cloud, it reminded me of the day in kindergarten when I had my first brush with authority. Five-year-old me was childishly drawing freehand with crayons, and my subject was a landscape of sorts. I had drawn the green grass, the blue sky, and the yellow sun, and was busy adding big purple raindrops when my teacher came over and soothingly informed me that it doesn’t rain when the sun shines. What a dolt, I thought, or whatever a five-year-old Coop would have called her. She obviously had never been playing baseball in the summer with the older guys when a summer squall came in, bringing rain for several minutes as the sun continued to shine through. That moment was the beginning of my troubles with authority, I think. Of course, I’m authority now, so, whatever that means.
I was also reflecting on Penny and Cherry, and how they stack up against each other. No, not like that. I mean what each of them would bring to my life, and how I would be affected by my decision to turn down Cherry’s offer to be her permanent bodyguard, and possible romantic partner. The thought of being in the movie world was daunting, to say the least.
Besides, I’ve always felt sort of sorry for Hollywood types in a weird way. They appear to have the world on a string, but then you find out that so many of them are simply lost. We’re always hearing of some scandal, or one of them being in drug or alcohol rehab, or unending stupid things that one of them is doing, or has said. My point is this: over the past week or so, Cherry Page had shown over and over again that she isn’t like those showbiz types at all.
There has never been a hint of scandal in her career, not even a hint of drug use, she’s never publicly said or done anything stupid, and there’s not a phony or pretentious bone in her extraordinary body. She doesn’t mind being the center of attention, but she doesn’t require it. Cherry isn’t driven by the need to be loved by the public every minute, or to be a success as Hollywood measures it. She simply is loved and is a success by virtue of her virtues. She’s down-to-earth, and special for so many reasons, but maybe the most special thing about her is that she’s real.
But even as special as Cherry is, the problem, as I see it, would be the tremendous change in lifestyle that would occur if I took her up on her offer. In Gulf Front, I’m a big fish in a tiny pond. A tiny pond that just happens to be right next to one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Cherry’s world is a gigantic pond, and I would be the smaller of the two fishes in that pond. By far. I don’t think I would be too happy with that.
On the other hand, if Cherry wanted to give up her Hollywood life and move to Gulf Front, that would be a different story. That’s something to dream about. When I compare them physically as potential mates, it’s a toss-up. And yes, I realize how shallow that sounds, and how conceited, as if they both think of me in the same way, but it’s my dream, so there.
I also couldn’t help thinking if I had met Cherry when I was younger, and if we were the same age, say, twenty-one or so, that everything might have turned out differently.
But, time being what it is, he said philosophically, all these thoughts came and went, my remaining Ritz minutes quickly passed, and it was time to get packing.
Literally.
EPILOGUE
INVIGORATED AFTER HER SHOWER, CHERRY SAT WITH HER BARE FEET under her on the sofa in the parlor watching me pack the larger of my suitcases, or should I say stuff the larger of my suitcases. The suitcase in question is an ancient Samsonite, bought more than twenty years ago, when I was at the police academy. It was now almost six P.M., and I had plenty of time to make my flight, but I wanted to get a move on. Good-byes are not one of my specialties; I try to avoid them whenever possible.
We were both ignoring all that had happened in the past week, and the mood was lighter than it had any right to be. Cherry laughed at my packing efforts, and it was great to see her happy and free of the fear that had been following her. There was a lot of denial going on in that hotel suite, but there was no denying the fact that I was leaving for good. We both knew it, and were okay with it.
Cherry covered her eyes as I crammed my clothes into the suitcase, and said, “You’re going to absolutely ruin every article of clothing you own, Cooper! Won’t you please let me help you with that? I’m a professional packer, I practically live out of a suitcase, and I’m offering you my services for free. Won’t you—oh! I can’t look! That poor shirt!” She laughed again, and said, “I’m going to buy you a complete new wardrobe, and have it shipped to you in Gulf Front.”
“No you’re not, missy,” I said, still stuffing. “And besides, you don’t know where I live, anyway,” I said with a grunt as I tried to smash the clothes down into the suitcase.
Cherry said, “Hmmm. You’re quite right about that.” Pause. “Then I shall send it to Penny’s beach cottage. I have her address.”
“Well, I’ll tell the postman not to deliver any big packages to Penny unless he checks with me first.”
“Then I’ll send it by FedEx, or whatever you call it,” Cherry said.
I replied, “Well, then, okay, I’ll get a job at FedEx, and become an executive, and stop the package from being delivered, and take the clothes and send ’em to starving kids in Bangladesh.”
“Well, I don’t have an answer for that. But I will, given time. I know another thing I’m going to send you. A computer, so we can e-mail and send instant messages. Penny, too, of course.”
Continuing to try and close the suitcase, I said, “I can get my own computer, thank you very much.” More stuffing and grunting. “Although it would be kinda nice to learn how to do all that stuff. And I know Penny will be e-mailing you and using that messenger deal every five minutes.”
“And I’ll be happy to hear from the both of you, each and every single time.” She paused, her brow furrowed, and said, “But we shall have to come up with a username for you. Something that I’ll recognize immediately. A name that means something to you.”
“You mean like the one you chose—‘pal of poppy’?”
“Precisely. How ’bout ‘corny copper’? Or maybe ‘penny pincher’?”
“Those are pretty bad,” I said. “How ’bout, instead, let’s see. I know—‘idiot who did not shag cherry page when he had the chance.’”
Cherry cringed, and said, “Please, don’t remind me. I’m so embarrassed by my behavior, you cannot imagine. I want to thank you yet again for not taking advantage, Cooper. I now know that having a real relationship is more important than having notches on my bedpost.”
“Good. And if there’s one thing I’m sure of, boss, it’s that you’ll find somebody. Trust me on that.”
“How can I trust a self-proclaimed idiot who refused to shag me?” Cherry said with that sexy smile of hers. “You know, this talk about idiocy puts me in mind of something Joy said Friday night at the Feagins’ house. She said to say it to you the next time you said or did something dumb.”
“And just what did Joy tell you to say?”
“‘Girls go to college, to get more knowledge; boys go to Jupiter, to get more stupider.’”
We both laughed, but I felt another damned twinge of sadness as I realized that I was really, finally leaving her. I thought maybe she felt the same way, and I was right.
She said, “Cooper, I can’t believe this nightmare is finally over; I’m so happy about that, I can’t express it. But, at the same time, I feel so very, very sad that you won’t be here tomorrow when I wake up. Whatever shall I do?”
Still trying to pack the bastard suitcase, I said, “Well, you could always write your memoirs. I mean, you’re young and all, but you just went through a helluva week. It would certainly make a good book.”
Cherry said, “Yes, I suppose I could write a book about my life. It would most likely be well received, yeah?” She paused. “But what should the title of my memoir be?”
I pushed down with all my might on the suitcase, and said through gritted teeth, “How ’bout—The Cherry Pages?”
She shook
her head, and said, “See? That kind of quick thinking is one of the many things I’ll miss about having my own personal police chief.” She let out a big, phony, theatrical sigh, and continued, “I suppose I’ll simply have to go back to my dreary life as an international sex symbol and fabulous movie star.”
I stopped manhandling the suitcase for a second and looked to see if she was serious. I should’ve known better. She laughed one of her sweetest laughs, and I had to join in. I was really going to miss Miss Cherry Page.
I then told some truths and some lies. “Well, I tell ya somethin’. I’m gonna miss having you for a boss, and I’m really gonna miss being in show business. Now that I’ve had a taste of the High Life, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to live amongst the little people again. I mean, let’s face it. There’s not a single Bentley dealership in Gulf Front, and there’s almost no paparazzi down there, except Mike Rogers, the old guy who edits our hometown newspaper and doubles as one of its two photographers. Or Kelly Ann, Mike’s granddaughter, who snapped my picture for the front page earlier since Mike couldn’t make the trip. And another thing: who’s gonna cut my hair? Besides all that, what’ll I do if I need to disappear? I just don’t think it’s right for a man to have to do his own makeup.”
“I know. You’ve been quite the actor this past week. You could always go to Hollywood and find work.”
Resting for a moment, I said, “I’m no longer interested in acting now that I’ve mastered it.”