by Adam Carter
“What?” Corsac asked. “To do with me?”
“No. Liz.”
“She all right?” Corsac’s concern was obvious.
“Think so. Who knows? Seems she got a call last night, after recording finished. Call from someone she used to go out with. Some fella, didn’t catch his name.”
“Richard,” Corsac supplied.
“Might’ve been. Probably. Anyway, he’s causing her trouble, she was mighty upset about it. Don’t know the specifics, but I don’t like seeing our glamorous assistant upset. Can’t go to prime time with the hottie’s eyes all bloodshot. Not that she’s dressed for people to be looking at her eyes, but you know what I’m getting at.”
“Who is this Richard?” Sam cut in. “What does he want? Money?”
“No idea,” Castle said. “From what I could get out of Liz, guy’s a nut job. Thought maybe you could talk with her, Jack. Seem to get along well together. Maybe she’ll open up to you.”
“I’ll try.”
“Do more than that,” Castle insisted. “We’re moving up in the world and we can’t afford any changes to upset that. And this, Jack, would be drastic.”
“I’ll sort it.”
“Do that.”
Sam and her father left Castle’s office, and it was clear the comedian was troubled by what he had heard. “What are you going to do about it?” Sam asked.
“You heard the man. Talk with Liz.”
“And how are you gonna sort out this problem of hers?”
“I’ll have to talk with her first. Then maybe I can figure out just what’s going on.”
Sam shook her head. “You really don’t need this sort of problem. It’s not your job.”
“No, but if I want to keep my job I’d best do it. Besides, Liz is a friend, Sam. I don’t like to see her hurt.”
“Good luck, Dad.”
“Ta.”
“Need any help? Maybe she’ll open up more to a woman.”
“Thanks, Sam, but this is something I think I have to do by myself.”
Sam kissed her father and departed; leaving Corsac to gather his wits and try to sort everything out in his mind on his way to Liz’s flat.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She did not regret walking out on Richard. Liz lived with a firm belief in fate. The world turned and events happened as they were destined to have happened. Therefore to have regrets was pointless, since there was nothing that could have been done about those things to begin with. Wishes, however, were the antitheses of regrets. One could wish things had gone differently, one could wish people had not acted or spoken as they had; but to regret such things was foolish.
Liz did not regret walking out on Richard, but that did not mean she wished she had not had reason to.
Richard Starke was a strange man, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. That he had problems was obvious to anyone who spent any time with him. It was entirely possible to spend an evening with him and put such from one’s mind, but it was always there. That was not to say Richard was himself unpleasant to be around – on the contrary, she would not have stayed with him for so long if that was the case – but eventually the little rituals, the washing of the hands, the counting had finally grated on her nerves. Liz did not like to believe herself to be so narrow-minded as to accept that she had split up with him because of his bad habits, except that she knew it was true. Perhaps that was why she was so upset about his phone call now. She knew he was right in everything he had said; plus, she knew she was a jerk, even if Richard had been too nice to actually come out and tell her so.
And he was nice. There was no getting around that aspect of his character. There was nothing Richard would not do for someone he loved, for her. There was no mountain he would not climb, no tiger he would not wrestle: literally, if it was ever put to the test. Richard was a nice guy, a strange guy, and that was what made him unique.
Liz felt terrible for having walked out on him, but she knew she had been left with no choice.
The worst thing of the matter was that she had taken the phone call whilst at the studio, which meant several people overheard her conversation. Castle had found out about it and she had taken off for home before he could confront her. She didn’t mind talking to Castle about anything, but she would be more able to convince him there was no problem if she was not too busy sniffling her tears. She’d sleep on it and go back to work as though nothing had happened. Castle would ask offhandedly whether there was a problem, she would reply with something like “Nothing which might affect my work, boss,” he’d nod, walk off, and that would be the end of the matter.
There came a knock at the door.
Who knocked in this day and age? Liz had no idea why anyone would knock on the door when there was a perfectly good doorbell. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Liz moved to the door and opened it. She was taken aback by the man standing beyond.
“Jack?”
“Hey, Liz. Uh, hope you don’t mind me dropping by like this.”
“I ... mind, J? Come on in.”
She had no idea what she was thinking upon seeing him there, how she was feeling. Jack Corsac was a man with more grouch than ouch, which was her way of saying he complained a lot but would never truly harm anyone. He was famous when she was young and she had thrilled at the chance to work with him. Now he was knocking on her door just when she needed a friend.
Liz was lost for words.
Corsac wandered aimlessly through to her living-room. The flat was scarcely furnished, but she had managed to put up a couple of pictures and had an ornament or two standing on cupboards. She’d set some books and DVDs on a shelf if only to make it look more like a home, to make it look lived in. In truth since she had split up with Richard she’d moved to this flat and had yet to really unpack anything. Liz had never been one for too many material possessions – physical baggage never seemed too important – but what she did have mattered to her. Or so she liked to tell herself.
“Nice place.”
“I’m moving out.”
“Oh. Nothing I said, was it?”
“No, I’m just moving out. That’s why I’m packed.”
“Haven’t you just moved in, though?”
“Yeah. Go figure. Can I get you some coffee?” she asked and quickly corrected herself. “Sorry, I meant tea.”
“Sure.” Corsac seemed uncomfortable and she moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She opened a cupboard, looking for some biscuits she’d meant to buy the other night but hadn’t got around to.
The kettle took forever to bring to the boil and when she brought it into the living-room she found Corsac sitting on her settee perusing her bookshelf. “Lot of books,” he noted. “Thought there were more than there were, until I realised a lot of ‘em were DVDs.”
“Don’t play the old-man card with me, Mr J,” she said, setting down his tea. “You know what a DVD is.”
“Might have one out myself one day.”
“I’d want my copy signed.”
“It’s a promise.”
They had spoken in dull tones, for they both knew Corsac had not come to see her in order to discuss her DVD collection. Nor did they speak of anything at all for several minutes while they sat and sipped their hot tea.
Finally Corsac said, “You had a fight with Richard.”
“I had a call from Richard.”
“And you had a fight with him.”
“We just ... Richard and I don’t see eye to eye any more.”
“Castle’s afraid it’s gonna affect your work.”
“It’s not.”
“He thinks it might.”
“It won’t.”
“I know.”
Liz paused. “Did you tell him that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said instead I’d come and talk it over with you.”
“Why not just tell him it wouldn’t affect my work and leave it at that?”
“Be
cause I wanted to come and talk it over with you.” He sipped his tea again.
“Sorry,” Liz said, “we’re out of biscuits.”
“I didn’t come for biscuits, Liz. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I ... yes.”
“That a no?”
“No.”
Corsac concentrated on his tea a moment. “Liz, sometimes you just have to talk. No matter who you are, no matter how strong you like to think you are, you just have to talk. Now, I know you split up with this guy. Is he bothering you because of the show? Does he want to get back with you because you’re famous?”
Liz laughed shortly. “I’m not famous.”
“I beg to differ. OK, you haven’t quite reached the action-figure stage, but you’re getting to be a household name.”
“The show is, J, not me.”
“The show is, and you.” He paused. “The costume helps.”
“Exactly. It’s not me that’s becoming famous, if anything it’s my ... I’m not even gonna say it.”
“Is that why he phoned you?”
“No.” Liz had been on the verge of tears before Corsac had walked in, had not been able to compose herself as much as she would have liked while she was making the tea, but now she was beyond that stage. Now she was filled with frustration. Not rage, for she could never bring herself to hate Richard no matter what he did, but certainly she could be frustrated with him. With Richard there was never the ability to leave something well alone. He just had to keep picking at something until it was ruined through his attentions. And that was the way their relationship had finally gone.
“Liz?”
“He wants us to start over.”
“And you’re not going to?”
“No.”
“And you told him that?”
“Yes.”
“And he didn’t accept it?”
“J, Richard only ever hears what he wants to hear. He only understands what he wants to understand. You’ve never met him, you couldn’t understand, but he ... he sees the world in such a strange way.”
“How?”
“He thinks it’s perfect. He thinks it’s this one giant ball of perfection, but that ... I don’t know. That we’re being tested, constantly tested. To see whether we’re worthy to be happy, I guess. He thinks us splitting up is just a test, he thinks we should get back together because we should be.”
“Sounds to me like the guy has a God complex.”
Liz looked up at him sharply, although she could see Corsac had not been joking. She thought about it and shook her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe, I guess.”
“You want me to have a word with him?”
“God, no!”
“I could tell him precisely how you feel.”
“And how do you know how I feel?”
Corsac looked away a moment. He rose. “I’m sorry, I’m being presumptuous. I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, no,” Liz said, rising quickly to stop him from running off. She laid a hand on his arm. “No, I’m glad you did. I ... appreciate you coming to see me, J.”
“Liz, if there’s anything I can do ...”
“You’ve already done enough, Mr J. Really, I ... I don’t know anybody who would’ve come round to see if I was all right. Except you.”
“You don’t have any family, Liz?”
“Yeah, I got family. I just ... I’ve never been too close to them. That’s why I found it sad you didn’t get on with your daughter.”
“I don’t not get on with Sam. Why does everyone keep telling me I don’t get on with Sam?”
“Have you called her lately?”
“I will.”
Liz laughed and Corsac found himself joining her. Liz hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re sweet, J. Thanks for stopping by.”
Corsac departed without quite knowing what he had accomplished. He was under the impression something had been achieved by his visit, but he had no idea what. He felt a great deal of anger about what was happening, about how this Richard character was treating her, but there was nothing he could do about it. If Liz didn’t want him involved then he shouldn’t get involved. The last thing he wanted to do was get on Liz’s bad side. The very last thing he would ever want to do.
Actually, the very last thing he would do would be to stop breathing, but the joke wasn’t even funny so he disregarded it immediately. There were some thoughts which just should not be written down or remembered. While others should never be forgotten.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Liz didn’t want to talk. That told Richard Starke a great deal. When last they had spoken, she had said she would call him. She had told him not to call her again, but that she would call him instead. That meant she was compromised, that it would be dangerous for him to call her. He had found out where she worked, though (the disguise she wore on TV hadn’t fooled him for a moment) and he had eventually succumbed to the temptation of phoning her himself. She had been abrupt, startled by the sound of his voice. She had also sounded worried, and he knew the line wasn’t safe. Whatever was happening, whoever had a hold over her, he knew she was the one in trouble. And that meant he would have to rescue her.
But would she want him blundering in? Perhaps she had the situation well in hand and his appearance would only ruin everything? He thought back to what she had said, worked through every word of it in search of some subtle clue which might reveal something of her actual plight. There were several possibilities in what she had said, but nothing concrete. He was loath to act unless he could be certain, but this was Liz’s life he was talking about.
His mind drifted to the gangsters who had come by the shop earlier: the men searching for Uncle Pete’s money. He couldn’t remember clearly but didn’t think they had got away with anything. Either way, they would be back. And then there was the girl from the fish-and-chip shop. The girl who came in packing an Uzi. Starke knew all these things were connected and was not about to put it all down to coincidence. Starke no more believe in coincidence than he did Bigfoot, less so in fact.
He thought about Bigfoot. The actual physical evidence was there, truth be told. There were in the world four known species of great ape: man, gorilla, orang-utan and something else. Chimpanzee, he thought. Since there were vast areas of South America which remained unexplored (where even planes had been lost forever), did it not stand to reason there might be a fifth, as yet unaccounted for, species of great ape living in this unexplored region? Looking at the evidence, people had found the footprints and the dodgy people in even dodgier suits. Discounting all of that, there were still the hairs that had been found. Some had even been identified as having come from a species of great ape, but no known species of great ape. The only logical conclusion to Starke’s understanding was that the hairs therefore came from a species of unknown great ape.
And everyone always talked of the Bigfoot as though it had to be the missing link. Why? Surely, if evolution was to be believed, there would indeed be a definitive point at which apes evolved into men. But that would have happened a million years or so ago, and it wouldn’t now be wandering around a South American rainforest. Why did people for even one moment think that?
And you never heard anyone talking about any other missing links, except the link between dinosaurs and birds. What about the squirrel missing link? The creature that a squirrel evolved from? No one ever went out searching for the squirrel’s missing link and expected to find it.
The problem was that people thought themselves superior to every other species. As such their missing link was important and must still be around somewhere, even though by definition it would have to have existed years ago and died out by now. And if it hadn’t died out yet, there wouldn’t really be any humans around at the moment.
People were dumb, Starke concluded. But what else did he expect?
He thought of Liz again. That was what he should have been concentrating
on in the first place but had somehow managed to get himself waylaid by the Bigfoot. (And what was the plural? Bigfoots? Bigfeet? Bigfoot?)
Liz needed help, and she was counting on him to be there when she needed him.
Starke moved through his shop, wondering just what he should be taking with him. Should he storm the set of the show? Should he talk to her at home? Should he just take her at her word and leave her alone?
His eyes fell upon the poetry section where he had a copy of The Odyssey. The classic story of a man fighting to return to the woman he loves, surmounting a vast array of insurmountable odds, while his beloved remained at home fending off her many suitors through clever and coy deception. He could just imagine Liz acting in this fashion, making certain she could buy the time necessary for him to find a way to rescue her. Yet in order to effect a proper rescue he needed to know precisely her predicament. He considered phoning her again but put it off. There had to be a way to get close to her without alerting their enemies. Her suitors.
First he had to identify her suitors, which wasn’t difficult since it would have to be someone from her new job. Possibly a whole lot of someones.
An idea began to form in his mind, for there was only one way he could think of which would enable him to get close enough to Liz now. He knew where she was and he just had to find her.
A small smile formed upon his lips. A plan was forming. He hadn’t lost her yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The contestants were in and Corsac was nervous. It was their first show which would be broadcast at the later time of day, which meant the money had gone up. Instead of winning one hundred pounds for every five correct answers given in the final, the contestant would receive one hundred pounds for every correct answer. Potentially there was two thousand six hundred pounds to be had, but if the entire pyramid was cleared there would be a bonus, as before. This time, however, the total potential prize money on offer was five thousand pounds, which meant the jackpot had pretty much doubled.
Still, it wasn’t that much money, all things considered. They were still not talking about life-changing sums. Castle had explained that should they ever reach an evening slot, the money on offer would shoot through the roof, but that until then this was far enough. Corsac thought it was a load of baloney. Castle was acting as though the show had to prove itself, but Corsac figured it had already done that by hitting the front page of the newspapers, by being on everyone’s tongues and by generally being a good show. It had been moved to a half-four slot and the money should now, in Corsac’s opinion, be rivalling that which other shows of the same time were offering. It was all about life-changing sums of money, which – quite frankly – they were not offering.