by Davis Bunn
“Let me handle the makeup.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. Well, not me personally.” Stella turned to where a wide-eyed Chloe tracked their every word. “But you can, right?”
She nodded vigorously. “Veronica’s been explaining everything, you know, so I’ll be able to copy her work when she’s not around.”
Kirsten asked, “Veronica?”
Stella explained, “A professional photographer who’s helped put together Chloe’s portfolio.”
Kirsten gave that a moment’s deliberation, then turned and called through the open door, “Daniel, time to get started.”
* * *
Kirsten personally escorted them down the production hall. They passed a sound stage filled with bright lights and two people seated on a mock stage, while another woman made hand gestures in front of a blank green wall and described the weather. The man seated at the stage was checking his hair in a hand mirror, while the woman next to him reviewed pages of script. Kirsten let them hover in the doorway for a moment, long enough for a man with earphones standing behind the central camera to say, “Twenty seconds.”
The woman set her pages below her desk, and the man closed his compact. Kirsten said quietly, “Let’s go.”
Nicole whispered, “This is so totally awesome.”
Where the hallway took a sharp left turn, Kirsten stopped by a door on the right, knocked once, and entered. Stella saw a long narrow room with an adjoining bathroom at the back. The entire left-hand wall held a mirror rimmed by lights. A woman was seated in a high-backed office chair, the collar of her dress shirt protected with a long strip of paper towels. She texted on her phone while a cosmetician worked on her hair. Kirsten snapped her fingers. “Everyone out.”
The woman did not look up. “She’s not done, and I’m on set in—”
“Now. You too, Doris. No, leave your kit.”
The woman ripped the towels from her collar and gave Kirsten a dark look as she passed. When the room was empty, Kirsten ushered them inside. “You, Chloe, get to work. I’ll go see to those sandwiches. Daniel, nineteen minutes.”
He spoke for the first time since leaving the conference room. “I don’t have any clothes.”
“Forty-four long, right? We’re seeing to that. Okay, everyone. The clock is counting down.”
When the door closed behind her, Nicole said again, “Awesome.”
CHAPTER 41
Stella leaned against the shelf running beneath the wall-sized mirror and watched Chloe work on Daniel’s face. She felt intensely calm. Perhaps she had carried this with her all day, she couldn’t remember. Only now her internal state was contrasted against the studio’s frenetic energy. A television mounted in the upper corner showed the two anchors smiling at the camera, then the scene cut to a drug ad. A voice from somewhere down the hall called, “Ninety seconds!”
In response, a woman shrieked, “The monitor’s still down! Where are the pages for my next segment!”
In response, Daniel shivered.
People came and went in a steady stream. The cosmetician named Doris brought a navy jacket and shirt and tie in plastic wraps. Stella thanked her and draped them over the chair back next to Daniel. Doris inspected Chloe’s work on Daniel’s face and nodded approval. She departed just as Kirsten arrived. She asked, “How’s our star?”
“He’ll be fine,” Stella replied.
The news chief checked on Chloe and allowed, “Very nice work.”
“Thanks.”
Kirsten said, “You never know how someone will respond to pressure.”
Chloe replied, “Hey. I was made for this.”
Kirsten studied her a moment, then said to Daniel, “Our top business analyst is also our best writer. She’s still working on your intro and first segment. Something about a last-minute announcement from Treasury. The pages will be here soon, or somebody will be looking for a new job.”
Daniel did not show any interest in responding, so Stella said, “Daniel will be ready.”
“I’m counting on that.” Kirsten crossed the room, opened the door, then turned back. “The writer’s name is Radley. She’s young, she’s eager, and she’s smarter than all my anchors put together. I want you to be nice to her. There toward the end I lost too many good people to your tantrums. I don’t want that happening with her, understand?”
After Kirsten left, Stella touched Chloe’s arm and motioned for her to join the other two girls by the back wall. Daniel continued to glare at his reflection, the stone mask firmly in place. Closing himself off from everything. Emotions, people, the place, what was about to come. Shielding himself from what he never wanted to endure again.
Stella studied him and saw a male version of her own attitude for seven long years.
Outside their little dressing room, people raced up and down the hall. Voices shouted. A woman laughed, her voice strident, one notch off a full-throated shriek. In contrast, Stella found herself thinking of the lake in front of Tranquility Falls. Standing there by the blooming meadow, watching the girls dance. Wanting desperately to join them.
She knew whatever she said would be inadequate. Just the same, it had to be said. “You’re going to be great.”
Daniel continued to stare sightlessly at his own reflection.
“You’re not that Daniel anymore. That man is not you.”
Daniel did not respond.
There were a hundred things she wanted to tell him. Starting with how, for the first time since the death of her child, she thought hope might be real. For her. She could actually taste it. The flavor rested on her tongue like a spice from younger, headier days. But now wasn’t the time for such confessions. This wasn’t about her at all. Now Daniel needed to hear her say, “It’s not the cameras or the lights that scare you. You’re a pro. You don’t lose that.”
Nicole said softly, “Like riding a bike.”
Stella nodded. “What scares you is who you were. What you did. And you’re afraid you’ll do it all again. Fall down and never get up.”
He looked at her, really looked. Revealing the shadows and the fear.
Stella shifted around so she stood by his right shoulder and lowered her face so that it was in line with his. She pointed at the three girls standing by the rear wall. “That’s how I know, Daniel. These four people whose lives are better because of who you’ve become.”
Daniel tasted the air, but the words did not emerge.
She gripped his shoulders in as fierce an embrace as she could manage, crouched down like that. “You’re a good man, and you’re getting better.”
CHAPTER 42
A woman in her early twenties rushed into the room. Her dark, shoulder-length hair held alternating pink and purple streaks. “Mr. Riffkin, I’m Radley, your writer-analyst.” She offered a sheaf of pages. “I’ve got your intro and the first story you’ll be covering.”
“Thanks.”
Stella could not say whose hand trembled more. She retreated to the doorway and waited. Radley wore a black sweater over a white shirt with dangling cuffs and shirttails, and black trousers. Her dark eyes were covered by dark, round glasses. The absence of color magnified her hair’s highlights. As Daniel read, she shifted back and forth from one foot to the other, adjusted her glasses, then said, “I guess I better get back—”
“Give me another minute.”
It seemed to Stella that Daniel steadied as he read. He finished the final page, tapped them together on his leg, then asked, “You wrote this?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“It’s very good.”
Her voice rose a full two octaves. “Really?”
“Actually, it’s better than that.” He pointed to the pages. “Treasury just made this decision public?”
“Fifteen minutes ago. That’s why I’m late.”
“You’re not late. You’re right on time.” Daniel looked at his reflection. Thinking. “What’s the second segment?”
“The original headli
ner. Three blue-chips announced earnings well below market expectations.”
“You’ll tie this to what Treasury has?”
“Sure, that is, if you think . . .”
“After-market trading will go nuts. You know that, right?” When she nodded, he went on, “Give them both barrels. Anyone who’s exposed is going to get scalded. They need to dump.”
“I’m on it.” She opened the door, then turned back and said, “I grew up watching you, Mr. Riffkin. It’s an honor. Really.”
When the door closed, Nicole said, “That’s my uncle she’s talking about.”
“They’re about to start singing your tune.” Stella hugged him a second time. “Go get dressed for the dance.”
* * *
Back toward the end of his time in LA, Daniel had started seeing the television studio in a totally different way. Before, it was like standing in the middle of a whirlwind. The people swarmed, the lights gleamed, everyone was massed and ready for him to step onto the stage and perform. Precision equipment, the glassed-in balcony housing the production staff gleaming with all the flashing screens, the crew making him beautiful for the audience. The thrill was incredible, the high so intense it was the easiest thing in the world to step off the stage and enter into whatever high was next on offer that night.
But during the last couple of months before the accident that killed his fiancée, when he entered the soundstage, what he saw were the shadows.
All the light and energy and equipment were focused upon the set piece where he would sit and speak. Beyond the lights’ reach loomed a dark realm. Out there, shadows gathered and waited for the chance to devour him whole.
Daniel walked the long hall leading to the soundstage and felt as though the only thing holding him in place was Stella’s grip on his hand. The soundstage was a massive cave, a cube fifty feet to a side. Steel girders and dolly systems ran overhead like man-made stalactites. Sounds echoed back from the rushing technicians. The cameras squeaked and whispered as they shifted on their rubber wheels. Technicians readjusted the lights by whacking them with rubber hammers. Stella walked him up to where the technician held his mike and battery pack. He let himself be wired and thought he heard the shadows laugh at him once more.
But when he was seated, and the final countdown began, and his heart was beating frantically to escape the cage of his chest, he saw them. The four figures who defied the shadows. Stella’s words came back to him, more clearly than when she had spoken.
He was not the same man.
Then the evening anchor turned to him and said, “Today, we have a special guest to walk us through a roundup of the markets. Hello, Daniel, it’s good to have you back.”
Daniel was able to reply, “It’s good to be here.”
And he almost meant it.
CHAPTER 43
Thursday was Chloe’s chance to shine.
A little before five, Daniel and Stella managed a few quiet minutes over coffee in the lobby. She was headed back to Miramar, hoping to arrive in time for Amber’s school day.
He accompanied Stella as she booked a car at the Hertz counter in the lobby. She tried to argue when he insisted on paying, but it was a polite public quarrel between two friends. Daniel finished the discussion by leaning in close and telling her how much he was making for his session in front of the camera. She gave him a look of suitable astonishment and let the Hertz lady take his credit card.
On the way back to her room, they shared a few words, mostly just reassuring one another that the previous day had been real. Amber was still fast asleep. Stella carried their cases while Daniel held the child. He loved the feel of her feathery hair on his cheek, loved the sleepy fragrance. The valet had Stella’s ride out front. The air was chilly and smelled of eucalyptus. Daniel settled Amber into the rear seat, then stepped back so Stella could tuck a blanket around her and fasten the belt. They spoke a few more words, shared a final embrace and kiss, then he stood and watched as she drove into the gray light of dawn.
Daniel had agreed to return for that afternoon’s Market Roundup, basically because Kirsten had given him no choice. He bought another coffee from the lobby café, returned to his room, and began a process that had once been routine. Radley had set him up with a password to the station’s news feed. He studied the alerts that had come in during the night. He read the midnight previews, the newest quarterly reports, the standard stream of data that had formed his morning hours for years. As he completed the tasks, an e-mail popped in from Kirsten announcing that their regular business anchor was still tied up in the Vegas courts, and they had not been able to reach the South American honeymooner. Which meant Daniel would be needed for a third day. Kirsten did not ask, nor did she threaten. There was no need for either.
When Nicole and Chloe phoned to say they were headed downstairs for breakfast, he was writing a memo to Radley, outlining the points he thought they should cover in that day’s feed. By the time he finished and arrived downstairs, the girls were waiting in the lobby. Both looked nervous to the point of becoming physically sick. As they waited for the valet to bring his pickup around, Daniel started to reassure them. But, in the end, he decided silence was a more honest approach to what lay ahead.
Veronica had sent Chloe’s portfolio to three agencies where she still had senior-level contacts. All three had agreed to meet her. The agencies were based in the Beverly Hills–West Hollywood area, all in swank buildings with polished interiors, all filled with beautiful people. The receptionists showed Chloe the sort of mild contempt that Daniel knew all too well. Chloe sat between Daniel and Nicole until it was her turn to go inside. Afterward, Daniel held her hand as they walked back to the car. Her fingers were like ice.
Chloe kept it together until after the third meeting. It was approaching the lunch hour by then, so Daniel stopped for smoothies. Chloe only drank when Daniel urged her to put something in her stomach. She managed a couple of sips, then asked softly, “Why are they like that?”
Nicole said, “Anyone as young and beautiful as you is a threat.”
“If they can make you feel small and unwanted, so much the better,” Daniel agreed.
Another sip, then, “The women in the offices were nice. Two of them, anyway. But the look in their eyes scares me.”
Daniel started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Your time here is just beginning. I think you have a good chance of making it.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” Nicole said. She was seated in the back seat, directly behind Chloe. “Daniel wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t so.”
He went on, “You need to fashion a response to the people who would rather see you fail. Something that protects you and doesn’t give them a reason to snipe.”
Chloe drank more of her smoothie. Thinking. “You just defined high school.”
“There you go.” Daniel glanced in the rearview mirror. “Back to the hotel?”
Nicole’s face pinched up tighter than Chloe’s. “No.”
“You sure?”
Nicole’s only response was to fasten her attention on the world beyond her side window.
Daniel took Beverly Glen up past the LA Country Club. The route grew increasingly steep as it entered Holmby Hills, the narrow development that formed the boundary between Beverly Hills and Bel Air. So many things were exactly as he remembered, the same perfectly manicured lawns, the same glitzy cars, the same gardeners making things perfect for the rich and famous. As he took a left on St. Pierre and entered Bel Air, he glanced back at Nicole. She had withdrawn into a tight little shell by the side window.
Their home on Nimes Road had originally been built in the sixties, then expanded and renovated any number of times. Daniel had always considered it a beautiful place, with Italianate columns curving out from the large front door like a pair of welcoming arms. The front garden held a number of blooming cherry trees. Daniel parked down the road, beneath the shade of a massive magnolia.
He cut the motor, settled
back, and waited.
Chloe finally said, “For the past two years, I kept her Vanity Fair cover taped to my bedroom mirror.” She looked at Daniel. “She really said she’d help me?”
“At this point, Lisa is only willing to meet you.” Daniel chose his words very carefully. “You need to understand, my sister can be very difficult.”
“Mom’s had two protégés,” Nicole said. She addressed her words to the side window. “She called them interns. They get coffee, they carry cases, they fetch dry cleaning, they drive her car, they shop for groceries. They stand around all day holding outfits and fielding calls. When Mom’s on a shoot, the whole crew uses her interns as unpaid runners. One left after a year and is back home somewhere—Des Moines, I think. She hates Mom.”
Chloe continued to inspect the silent house. “The other?”
“She models with Anne Ford. Mom’s agency. She hates Mom too. But politely.”
“After this morning . . . do I have any choice?”
“Absolutely,” Daniel said. “Go home. Finish school. Take lessons. Come back.”
“I can’t hold my breath that long.”
Nicole said, “There’s an upside to interning with Mom. Now or later, she’ll tell you about what happened on her second shoot. The head of the magazine invited her to dinner at his hotel cabana. She shows up, he’s in a robe. Nothing else. He’s sixty-something, Mom’s just turned fifteen.”
When Nicole went silent, Chloe pressed, “What happened?”
“No idea. I only know that much because I was sneaking around and heard her tell the story to both interns. She promised it would never happen to them.”
Chloe leaned forward and squinted at the house. Thinking. She glanced at Daniel, showing real fear. “What do you think I should do?”
He had been waiting for that. “Talk to Lisa. See if there’s a chemistry. We’ll go back to the hotel, and you can sleep on it tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll put you on the train back to Miramar.”
“I just told you . . .”
He halted her with an upraised hand. “Go home,” he repeated. “Talk it through with your parents. Try and make peace. If you succeed, give them the chance to drive you down. Let them be part of this.”
