by M. S. Parker
My mom? That wasn't so simple to answer.
Wise and responsible weren't things she discarded necessarily, but she understood the heart far better than Dad did. She’d sometimes joked that his heart hadn’t even started to beat until he met her.
Mom had been there when I'd cried over my first crush—and my second, and my third.
She’d know how hard it was to think about walking away from the man I loved.
Should I stay?
Should I go?
Glenn was an ache inside, but he’d proven things just weren’t going to happen between us. He hadn’t called, not even once. He hadn’t even called Florence to check on me. I knew, because I’d stupidly asked her.
Closing my eyes, I snuggled deeper into the cushions.
“Am I doing the right thing?”
But there was no answer. Just silence.
Four
Glenn
It was barely ten, and I was already exhausted. It didn't help that I’d had to be on set at five in the morning. That meant getting here even earlier, so I could get through wardrobe and makeup.
On top of that, I was back to sleeping like I’d been the first few months after Maya had disappeared.
As in…I wasn’t sleeping.
I’m pregnant.
Pregnant.
The words stuck inside me like some alien creature, and I couldn’t keep them out of my head for long.
“Mr. Jackson.”
I looked at the assistant and saw the glass of water he held out. Nodding my thanks, I took and drained it, sweat rolling down my back. It was hot under the stage lights, and the director was huddled up with my co-star, talking in a low, serious voice.
She nodded, her lips pressed together.
Poor kid.
He was raking her over the coals for missing her cue.
“One more take, you people. Let’s get it right!”
I passed off the glass and took my place across from her, giving her an encouraging smile.
Twenty minutes later, we were done.
“Take a break! Thirty minutes and get your asses back here!”
Ignoring the prick in the director’s chair, I grabbed my shirt and pulled it on. Sweat made it stick to me, but after spending half the morning without it on, I was ready to be clothed. I don’t know why they were determined for me to spend half this movie wearing nothing but blue jeans.
“Hello, Glenn.”
That voice stopped me in my tracks.
My belly was rumbling in a hungry demand and I eyed the rest of the people heading for the cafeteria with some disgust. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to have much of an appetite in a few minutes.
Finally, I turned and looked at Florence.
She wore a bright blue dress, her hair pulled back and secured at her nape. There were shadows under her eyes, and her fingers were white from clutching the pocketbook she carried.
The pale set to her features and the way she fidgeted told me a hundred things.
Something was wrong.
I shoved the worry down.
I had to break away from this. There wasn’t any other option. “If you’re here about Maya, I don’t want to talk about her, okay?”
“Are you that angry with her?” Florence lifted her chin, reminding me that she wasn’t the quiet, uncertain girl she’d been a few years ago. There was a challenge in her eyes, but also something that looked like fear—and desperation.
Okay, that had me a little worried.
“I’m not…” Sighing, I shoved my hair back from my face. It was damp from so many hours under the hot lights of the set, but I ignored it as I moved closer. I didn’t want everybody here—actually, anybody here—catching word of what we were talking about. “Maybe I’m a little angry. But I’ve accepted something—she’s got problems. She needs to deal with them. I can’t help her. You and me both learned that the hard way. When it comes to some things, we can only each help ourselves.”
“Problems.” She pursed her lips. “Yes, she does. She’s pregnant. She’s alone. I’d say those are problems.”
“She’s got you, apparently.” The guilt stung me again. “But I’m not the father. I can’t be. Be the mama hen with her if you need to, Florence, but take care of yourself. Don’t get sucked into that crazy of hers.”
Turning away, I started down the hall.
“She’s not crazy, you jerk.” The anger in her voice was like a slap, but I kept walking.
Her next words, though…I paused at them.
“Maya moved out. She insisted she had to figure out a way to start a life of her own.”
Slowly, I turned and met her eyes. “What?”
“You heard me. She moved out. She has a place of her own. She was supposed to start her new job today. She bought a ring and is telling people she’s a war widow.” She raked me up and down with a look. “But you don’t want to hear about her. I just hope she’s safe.”
Florence turned on her heel then and started to walk.
She couldn’t have said anything that would’ve gotten me to worry more.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You don’t want to discuss her, remember?”
“Damn it, Florence!” I caught up with her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Please.”
She glared at me, her eyes mutinous. “She moved to Willowbrook.”
I shook my head, not following.
“Do you ever pay attention to anything? There was an…incident near there last night. Fights broke out between some black people who live in Watts and the cops. They’re rioting—and Maya is practically right on top of it.”
“Have you called her and told her to come back to your place?” I demanded.
“She doesn’t exactly have a car—or a phone. She just moved in yesterday.” Florence looked like she wanted to cry. “Harrison went down there, but that was hours ago and I haven’t heard from him. I don’t even know the phone number for her landlady.”
“Shit.” Turning away, I shoved the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to think.
It was probably nothing.
There had been a few blow-ups in the area over the past year, but nothing much had ever happened.
Riots?
Here?
Abruptly, I turned and headed for the nearest office. It belonged to the assistant director, but he’d be in the cafeteria, eating with everybody else. He had a television set in there, though. That was what I wanted.
A few minutes later, I was leaning back against his desk, feeling sick.
The newscaster was talking about the ‘incident in Watts’. Police were on scene. They had pictures and talked about how they expected to have everything under control shortly.
But what were they going to say? It’s a fucking mess, get out, get out, get out?!
“I’m going to go down there,” Florence said, her voice faint.
“Like hell you are. Astor would kick my ass.” I was tempted to do that anyway. “Just…I need a minute.”
Turning off the TV, I edged around her and headed for the cafeteria. Gone were the days when I could throw my weight around and demand whatever I wanted. I wasn’t the golden boy anymore, and if I wanted some time off, I needed to play it carefully.
I also needed to ask the right man.
That man was Pauly Jacobs, the assistant director—the man whose office I’d just borrowed.
He was sitting at a table, watching one of the TVs set up there. I wasn’t surprised to see the news on, nor was I surprised to see him riveted. Pauly was big into the social rights movement, talked endlessly about the time he’d met Dr. King. “A mess, huh?” I asked as I took the seat next to him.
“Yeah. I’m sure the police will doctor it so that their story is the only one that gets told.” He made a disgusted noise under his breath and reached for the soda on the table.
“How it goes, isn’t it?” Leaning forward, I nudged him with my arm and said, “Listen, I’ve got…well, I’ve g
ot a problem. A friend of Florence’s lives down in Willowbrook.”
His eyes widened. “Damn.”
“Florence is talking about going to get her. That’s…I can’t let her. Astor can’t get away from his patients until later, and she’s scared to death. We’re close to done for the day…is there any way you can work the schedule, help me out?”
Pauly gave me a pained look. “You know the director is going to chew my ass over this.”
“If I don’t go, she’s going to.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Okay. Get out of here before we get called back to the set.”
I didn’t wait around another minute.
“She’s not here. She’s at work.”
Maya’s landlord, a woman in her early fifties, was blushing like a teenage girl and kept patting at her hair as I leaned across the counter. I stared out the window at the garage where Maya now lived.
Her landlord—Jean Murphy she’d told me—had gaped at me in shock when I knocked on her door, then all but passed out when I’d told her I was looking for Maya.
We’re friends. The lie had come easier than I’d liked. We weren’t friends, not really. I couldn’t describe what we were, and now ‘friends’ wasn’t even close. But even when things had been good between us, had the word friends been anything remotely adequate to describe what we had?
No.
After convincing her I was serious, Jean had let me go back and knock on Maya’s door, but she’d told me she was almost certain Maya wasn’t there.
I’d knocked. Then I’d charmed her into letting me use the key to check.Then, having exhausted all other avenues, I asked if I could use the phone.
While Jean stared at me, I put a call into Florence.
Silence reigned on the other end of the line, finally broken by her soft sigh. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it.”
“Have you heard from Harrison?”
“He…yes. He actually came back about a half-hour ago. On foot. He had to leave the car behind. He won’t tell me what happened, but…Glenn, he looked scared.”
I understood why.
I’d seen the crowds myself, and I wasn’t even in Watts.
“You said she had a job…where?”
She told me and I jotted it down on a pad of paper that had been left by the telephone. “I’ll look there. Don’t worry, Florence. I’m going to find her.”
“Of course.”
Once I disconnected, I tore the paper off. “Can you give me directions to the library, ma’am?”
“Why…yes.” She no longer sounded so stunned and offered easy directions—it was just two blocks away.
I jotted down enough that I’d be able to find my way and then put the paper in my pocket.
“Can I offer you some advice?” I asked.
She blinked. “Of course, Mr. Jackson.”
“If you’ve got family or friends someplace a little farther away from here, you might want to go there,” I said. Trying to soften the words with a smile, I gestured to the television she had left playing in the living room. We could hear the news. “Hopefully this will blow over. But you never know…it could be like what happened in New York last year.”
Her face went pale. “Surely you’re not serious?”
“I’m just being cautious. That’s why I’m trying to find Maya. Florence is worried about her.”
“Florence…” Jean licked her lips, her eyes brightening. “That was Florence Wood, wasn’t it? My word. The young woman renting my apartment is friends with movie stars.”
Shit, this wasn’t going well.
I said her name with more intensity than needed, but it got her to look back at me. “Do you have family you can go stay with?”
She patted her hair. “Well, I’ve got a sister in San Diego. But it’s such a long drive…”
“And you’ll be safe.” Pulling out my wallet, I fished a few bills out. “Here…let me give you some cash to help with gas and such. I’ll stay until you’re packed, just to make sure you’re safe.”
She packed quicker than anything I’d ever seen, taking the fifty dollars like it was pure gold.
In less than fifteen minutes, she was gone, and I leaned against my car for a minute to catch a breath.
“Alright, now to find this damn library.”
Five
Maya
I’d been worried about oversleeping and being late.
But I’d ended up waking sometime before five, and all I could do was lay in my bed and stare out the window close to my bed.
Every so often, my eyes would blur and sleep would almost come.
But something would startle me awake.
Once it was sirens.
Then there was a loud truck that kept backfiring as it drove down the road.
Sometimes it was just…me. Me and thoughts so loud, it was a wonder my neighbors couldn’t hear them.
Finally, a little after seven, I gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. Taking a shower in the miserable bathroom wasn’t much different than trying to take a shower in a coffin—I felt trapped and confined, and kept slamming into the walls when I tried to turn.
“This is really going to be fun when I have a belly so big I can’t see my feet,” I muttered.
With that cheery thought in mind, I turned off the tepid spray and grabbed a towel—one of the gifts from Florence. Wrapping it around my head, I used another to wrap around my body and left the steamy enclosure of the bathroom behind for the cooler, but much larger room outside.
I’d rather be out here and chilly than in there and wondering if the walls were going to close in on me.
I’d never been claustrophobic before, but there was always a first time for everything.
Last night, I’d tried to fill up the emptiness and silence by selecting clothes for my first day.
As expected, there was a dress code, so from my limited selection, I chose a plain navy skirt and white shirt with a round collar. It was dull and mundane. “I wonder if this is where the stereotype about librarians being boring started,” I mused, fingering the collar as I stared at my reflection.
As I sat down to breakfast, I still had nearly an hour before work started, and it would take all of fifteen minutes to get there.
There was going to be an awful lot of emptiness in the days and months ahead.
The thought was almost enough to make me cry.
Because I refused to give into that, I rushed through breakfast, brushed my teeth and left early.
My landlord was on the porch getting her newspaper when I walked by.
“Where are you off to?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
“Work.” I gave her a smile I didn’t really feel, and gestured down the street. “I was offered a job at the library. I start today.”
She pressed her lips together and looked back at the open door behind her, before looking at me. “There was some trouble in Watts last night. It’s still going on today. You best be careful going in there and come straight back here when you’re done.”
Watts. I still couldn’t remember why that sounded familiar, but I’d figure it out sooner or later. “I’ll be careful, thank you.”
Nodding at her, I started down the sidewalk, eyes on the intersection ahead where I’d need to turn right.
At the next intersection, I paused, trying to remember if I went left here, or one more block. The streets were oddly quiet, with hardly any cars about considering it was the normal time when one would expect to see people going to work.
A raised voice caught my ears and I glanced down the street.
A pretty young black woman was leaning against a fence, cowering from two men who hovering over her, shouting.
“What were you doing there? Breaking in?” one of them demanded.
She had a bag at her feet. Rags and bottles spilled out of it. “I clean there! I work for the lady who lives here!”
“And where is she? You breaking in to steal from her?”
“No!”
One of the men grabbed her arm.
Furious, I strode forward. “Hey!” I shouted.
They didn’t even look at me. “Leave her alone!” I snapped, moving quicker and pushing my way to her side.
She gaped at me.
“You know this bitch?” one of them demanded. He smelled of cigarette smoke, and the stink of it threatened to turn my stomach.
Shaking my head, I said, “No, but it sounds like you don’t either. Why don’t you let her do her job?”
“Because she’s breaking into a house.” The other leered at me.
“With cleaning supplies? What was she going to do? Polish and dust?” I laughed mockingly. “Sounds like quite the threat to me.”
One of them grabbed my arm. I twisted away and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
“What seems to be the problem here?”
Turning my head, I found myself staring a cop. The uniform was different, yes, but still, he was a cop. His cruiser was parked on the other side of the road. Blowing out a breath, I muttered, “Thank goodness.”
The young woman at my side, though, she sucked in a breath and it sounded like a sob. “Ma’am,” she whispered. “Maybe you should just go. I…I appreciate you trying to help, but I don’t want you to have trouble, too.”
“It’s okay,” I said. Patting her on the shoulder, I smiled at her. Everything was going to be okay. Then I looked at the officer. “These two men were hassling this woman. She works at this house, takes care of the cleaning. And they were accusing her of breaking in.”
The officer eyed me for a long moment, then shifting his gaze to the woman. “Who do you clean for, girl?”
“Helga Tidwell,” she said in a soft voice, staring down at her feet.
“And is she home so we can check your story?” the cop demanded.
“No, sir. She’s working.” A shudder escaped the girl.
“How were you going to get inside?”
“I’ve got a key. Miss Helga gave it to me when I started cleaning for her.”
“See?” I smiled at the cop.
He didn’t smile back. “She can’t prove anything more than she has a key she got from somewhere.”
