by Rex Baron
“Hello, Molly,” he answered. “I can only guess why you're calling.”
“Should I tell you I missed you? Even if I did, you wouldn't believe me,” she replied.
“You're becoming as much of a realist as I, my dear,” David laughed. “That's refreshing in someone your age.”
Celia carefully plucked the receiver next to the bed out of its cradle and brought it to her ear. Careful to stand clear of the mouthpiece that stood upright on the table, she sunk down onto the bed and listened.
“My age didn't seem to be an issue when we met,” Molly said coyly. “In fact, I rather thought it was somewhat to my advantage.”
“And you've had much to your advantage since we've met,” David answered.
Celia held her hand to her mouth, trying to control the rate of breath heaving in and out of her lungs. She felt the blood rushing out of her brain, making it impossible for her to comprehend what she was hearing.
“Not all the advantages that were promised have materialized,” Molly got to the point, “and that's why I had to call, even though you asked me not to. The truth is, David, that I must have the money for the shop now. My name is in the papers at the moment and...”
“As a result of your designing costumes for my operas,” he reminded her.
“That and other things,” she bantered. “The fact remains... it's a good time for an investment. I need the money now David. There are important people interested in me, watching me, and it's now or never.”
“Then let these voyeuristic, important friends of yours lend you the money for the business,” David said in a controlled whisper. “As I've told you, my money is tied up at the moment in my next season. A lot depends on how my little German girl does with these god-awful films. We've over extended ourselves, so, if it’s a choice between now and never, you'll have to accept the latter.”
“You're trying to back out on me,“ Molly shouted. “If you think that's a good idea, I'd think again.”
“Is this where you threaten me and remind me that I was foolishly romantic enough to give you a cigarette case inscribed with my name on it?”
“Stupid enough are the words I'd use. But I'm not complaining. Things might work out to my advantage after all.”
David laughed an angry laugh. “Might I remind you that blackmail requires considerable skill and cunning, far more than is possessed by an ambitious little seamstress,” he snarled.
“It's not so difficult,” the voice on the other end of the wire stated calmly. “All I need do is make certain that your dear, deluded little wife finds out the reason for all those expensive frocks you bought for her... that they were merely an excuse to be able to see me. Wouldn't she be amused to know about the apartment, and the reason for all those Sunday rehearsals. If she's not an idiot, she probably already knows.”
“I won't have this conversation with you over the telephone. You must be mad to say such things. You're treading on dangerous ground, my dear. Those who would destroy are often themselves destroyed,” David said, regaining his composure.
“I don't want to hurt anyone,” Molly softened. “I just want this chance. I need that money. You promised it to me. I worked for it and I earned it.”
“Are you calling yourself a whore?” David asked coldly. “At least then I won't have to. You're right, you've earned your money for your services, but they're no longer required.”
“I'll ruin you. I'll smear your name all over this town,” Molly shrieked. “I swear to God I will.”
It was Celia who held the line while the young girl screamed her threats, then burst into contrite tears. It was she who heard the pleading, the uncontrollable sobbing and the protestations of love after David had rung off.
Exhausted, she put the phone on its hook. She slumped back onto the satin coverlet and stared at the painted flower border on the ceiling, wondering how it could have gone so far without her knowing.
But she had known. Her growing dislike of young people and their inappropriate ways had been a secret knowledge of a disease that was spreading. She had lost to a younger woman. It was now more than a sick feeling in her stomach, every time a waitress or a shop girl returned his smile. It was a deathly and dangerous truth that seemed to rack her body with physical pain, making her joints ache at the knees and at the base of her neck. She started to cry, tears of penance for aging, passing the years too quickly unchecked, unable to remain anything but familiar. She lay there breathless, anticipating the pain in her head, the migraine that visited her whenever her life seeped outside its comfortable shape. But the throbbing did not come. An idea visited her in its place, like an Archangel sent with tidings of resurrection.
She was not afraid, not in the slightest. Perhaps for the first time, she knew exactly what she would do.
David was too irritated to read the paper or to worry about lunch. He left the confines of the house and walked in the tangle of garden overlooking the valley. He needed to be out of the house, away from Celia and the high pitch of emotion hovering about him after the telephone call.
Near the end of the garden he saw the small figure of a woman huddled over on the dusty flagstones. As he approached, she turned toward him, an ancient woman with white hair tied up in a black cloth. She rose to her feet and backed away from him, inching her way along the crumbling wall with one hand and repeatedly making the sign of the cross with the other.
“You there, what are you doing here?” David asked sharply.
“I did not know people had returned to the house. I came because of my grandson,” she said, as if the fragment of information would illuminate her purpose. She turned to leave.
“Stop,” David shouted, “I demand to know what you are doing.”
She pointed her finger at him with the confidence of a weapon. She muttered low words in a language that he did not understand.
“Don't bother to curse me,” he said indignantly. “I've been cursed by the best. Today seems to be the day for threats.”
“You will suffer for the suffering you have inflicted,” she whispered menacingly. She reached for the handle of the gate and hurriedly pushed her way through the opening, then disappeared down the hillside.
David closed the gate and fastened the useless rusted latch.
“A pox on the old hag,” he sniffed.
On the flagstones where the old woman had knelt was drawn a circle with a five-pointed star inscribed inside. Over the circle, in chalk, were written the words: Wednesday, Mercury, and under the circle the name Pi-Hermes. Alongside the drawing, she had left a small bundle of old rags.
David kicked at it with his foot. With the tip of his shoe he poked an opening in the wrapping to discover the severed head of a dog. He recoiled in disgust, calling repeatedly for the gardener to come and remove the atrocity.
Celia poked her head out of the upstairs window.
“What's all the fuss?” she asked.
“Nothing... it's only that it’s a little wilder here in the Wild West than even I anticipated.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
1922 Los Angeles
Helen smiled down at her own image in the newspaper she held in her hands. There was a photograph in the morning Herald from last night’s party at the Coconut Grove showing her dancing with William Desmond Taylor.
“Well, haven’t we come up in the world,” Helen asked herself aloud, as she reached for her coffee and took a sip. She placed the cup back down on its saucer with a sigh of self-satisfaction, and leaned in closer to read the tiny caption next to the photo.
“This glamorous newcomer has obviously turned the head of Director Bill Taylor at the Ambassador Hotel last night, and we’d wager has garnered more than her share of admiring stares from the moving picture fans, as well as her Hollywood compatriots.”
Helen threw her head back in an outburst of unrestrained laughter.
“I’m suddenly a newsworthy celebrity... and without even starring in a sing
le picture.”
She put the paper aside, with the intention of cutting out the photo and keeping it as a minor milestone in her rise to stardom. She would do it later, because now, she had to find her precious silver ring and recharge it for another day filled with opportunities. She knew that all she needed was a chance to meet the right people. She had more talent than most of the girls in this town, and certainly more sex appeal that that bloodless girl they had imported from Germany, to croak out her high-toned operas that the movie-going public would fortunately never have to hear. All she needed was an opportunity to prove herself. And with a ring that made her invisible, she had done pretty well so far.
Helen had left her ring in plain sight on the sideboard of the kitchen sink, so that she would not forget to recharge its secret energies before she left the house. She had buried it during the night in a seemingly harmless flower pot filled with belladonna, on the window sill in the kitchen, and had retrieved it early that morning, so that it could absorb the first rays of the sun. She carefully picked it up and rinsed it with cold water from under the tap. It never ceased to amaze her how the ring sparkled after it had spent a night underground and was then exposed to the first light of morning. She dried the ancient ring on the side of the florid dressing gown she had thrown on over her camisole and knickers, then cradled her prized possession in her palm, and brought it up for closer inspection. A small insignia had been embossed into the shining surface of its silver face, a simple five-pointed star, outlined with the thinnest trace of twenty-four carat gold. It was a pretty little thing, probably originally a pinky ring for a wealthy and powerful man of some former century. One would hardly suspect it of having supernatural powers, but Helen had come to understand its secret, only weeks after the curious way in which it had come into her possession.
She had been riding on the subway train from the Twenty-third Street station up to Fifty-ninth Street and her job at Countess Du Prey’s, when she noticed that a haggard looking old woman was staring at her from the seat facing, across the aisle. She tried to avoid the crone’s insistent gaze, but found that she was repeatedly drawn back to it and felt transfixed by it, unable to move. She was annoyed at first and then a bit frightened, as she tried to look away but couldn’t.
She had grown up amongst migrant workers, who were superstitious people and knew all about things such as muttered curses and the “evil eye”. After a few moments of being under the relentless stare of the woman, she surmised that her interest was not malicious, but was more in the nature of a kind of recognition... and the more she tried to look away, the more the old woman struggled to get her attention. Finally, she surrendered in the apparent game of cat and mouse, and succumbed to the penetrating gaze emanating from across the aisle. When she did, and looked directly into the old woman’s eyes, she was suddenly aware of a series of foreign images that played across her mind, like magic lantern slides. She saw a man in a white powdered wig staring at his reflection in a mirror. Inexplicably, he touched his tongue to the surface of a silver ring he was wearing, and then entered the bedroom of a sleeping woman without appearing to be noticed by the men who guarded her door. Next, her mind’s eye filled with an impression of a woman, dressed in a dark-coloured evening dress from the former century, moving, apparently unnoticed, through a room teeming with party guests. She made her way to a lovely young woman and unfastened the rope of pearls from around her neck and concealed them in the folds of her dress. Then, she made her escape back toward the door, without any of those present appearing to be aware of the theft, or bothered by it in the least.
But what did these images, that were ravaging her brain, have to do with her? Helen asked herself, as she looked back at the amused eyes that held her captive. She felt suddenly alarmed by the unsettling encounter with this grandmother, and rose to leave the train at an earlier stop. She would get off at Fifty-first Street and be rid of the creature for good. But as the train eased to a stop in the station and she stepped off, she realized that she had been followed. She was intent on hurrying away but heard the old woman call out after her.
“Don’t be alarmed, my dear,” she said in a kindly voice. “It is not my intention to frighten you, but rather to give you the benefit of some ancient wisdom.”
Helen stopped in her flight and turned to face her follower, who appeared frail and much less sinister than she had under the harsh lights of the train’s interior.
“What do you want from me,” Helen asked.
The old woman expelled a feeble cough of a laugh.
“I want nothing from you,” she said, “... in fact, it is I that have something to give to you.”
“I don’t want anything from you, and I don’t have any extra money to give you... so, get lost.”
“I see, you have chosen to see the world as a harsh, unfriendly place, and to act accordingly,” the old woman answered with a gentle smile. “You have not learned that whatever you want may flow into your life, effortlessly, if only you will allow it.”
Helen turned to walk away but an instinct deep inside her told her to remain.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” she answered with a harsh little grin that only served to confirm the elder’s observation. “What’s the angle? Why did you pick me, out of all the girls in this town?”
“But I didn’t... you picked me. When you got on the train and sat opposite me, a little alarm went off in my head and I took a good look at you as my response.”
“Yeah... so?” Helen snapped back impatiently.
“I knew the moment I looked in your eyes that you were one of us... one of the Chosen Women.
Helen answered with a look of dismay.
“Witches dear,” the old woman explained. “We are all witches... and you are presumably one of the most gifted.”
“Listen... I don’t like being called names and, if you ask me, it’s a little early in the day to be hitting the bottle. I’m surprised I can’t smell the fumes from here,” Helen stated harshly. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to be late for work. I have to catch this train.”
As the next local train glided gently along the platform up to where they stood, the crone pressed a lace handkerchief into Helen’s hand and quickly hurried away.
Helen boarded the train and sat down in order to collect her thoughts and try to make sense of what had just happened to her. She stared down at the crumpled mass of linen and lace in her hand, and realized that her fingertips felt something hard inside the folds of fabric. Carefully, she poked with her finger into the cloth and discovered that a small silver signet ring had been wrapped inside. It was a pretty, shiny little bauble, and Helen wondered if it might be of any value. She put it in the pocket of her coat and thought no more about it.
Then, one day, about a week later, she rediscovered the ring as she was putting on her coat to leave her apartment, and decided to wear it to the salon. She could always try one of the pawnshops on Second Avenue on her way home, to find out what it might be worth. But when she slipped the silver ring on her hand and was poking with her fingertip at the uneven wisps of hair around her face, she became aware that she could not see the ring reflected on her finger as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her brain struggled with the idea, and after a moment, she was reminded of the vision she had witnessed on the train that day, before the old woman had pressed the trinket into her hand. She remembered the man in the periwig, holding his hand up to the looking glass and smiling, as the reflection of the ring was absent... just as it was now for her.
Tenuously, she touched the tip of her tongue to the cold surface of the silver ring, just as she had seen him do in her vision, and she felt a strange sensation surge through her body, as if a cool breeze was wafting through her limbs. She felt fine, other than a strange tingling, and she appeared to be quite normal as she carefully examined her countenance in the mirror. But she remembered that in the vision, the man in the wig had been able to sneak into a woman’s boudoir without being seen... even under t
he watchful eyes of the very men who guarded the door.
Helen shook her head, doubting her own sanity, as she stepped out of her apartment into the hallway and approached the landlady, who was down on her hands and knees scrubbing violently at a spot on the carpet. Helen did not say a word, but crept up, right next to her, and stood over her. She realized at once that as curious as it seemed, she was not casting a shadow from the lighting fixture mounted next to her on the wall.
The woman continued her work, unperturbed, and was totally oblivious to Helen’s presence. Within an instant, one of the apartment doors opened and a man in a grey felt hat stepped into the corridor and walked past Helen without notice. When he had gone down the stairs and she heard the front door slam, she spoke up, in a low voice, directing her comment to the woman scrubbing on her knees.
“You missed a spot there, Mrs. Coogan. Why don’t you break down and get rid of that ratty old thing and buy a decent carpet for this dump?”
The woman stopped her work and looked up, peering around her for the unseen source of the insult. Helen laughed a hearty laugh, prompting the poor landlady to scramble to her feet and head downstairs, leaving her bottle of solvent and her smelly cleaning cloth lying on the carpet.
Helen had had the ring in her possession for over a year now. She had decided, without hesitation, not to pawn the ring for a one-time profit, but had used the fact that it could render her invisible to allow her to enter nearly any shop of her choosing and pilfer objects of limited value that she might trade or sell later to get some cash. She had gone into exclusive dress shops and tried on expensive undergarments, then walked out wearing them under her clothes, without the sales staff even seeing her take them from the counter. She was careful not to take objects that would be immediately missed, or that might be recognized as having enormous value, if she tried to fence them later. She determined that the objects she took must be within a range of value that would be overlooked if found missing, or the absence of which might simply be credited to absent-mindedness or confusion. She much enjoyed how the ring had allowed her to have expensive cosmetics and bits of jewelry that she could snatch up, right from under the very noses of the shop girls without being seen.
