"Yes, thank you, we understand. Listen, could you check on something for us, please? Is there a woman employed by the St. James named Gretta Hughes? I'm not sure what she does, but we are old friends of hers."
"Miss Hughes? Of course she works here. What I mean is, she is a member of the troupe. Miss Hughes is the understudy of Miss Abbie Clearwater. As a matter of fact, Miss Clearwater is ill with the flu today, Miss Hughes will be center stage tonight. It should be a marvelous opportunity, her first starring performance." The man smiled, turned away, and was gone.
Lawrence turned to Gretta and smiled. "There you have it. Your aunt is famous, or at least a damn fine actress who might be getting ready to become famous. Want to go back stage and see if we can find her?"
A Broadway actress…in a starring role. The possibility was boggling the girl's mind, paralyzing her.
"No, no, no. She'll probably be a nervous wreck. Maybe we can catch her after the show. It starts in fifty minutes. I can wait." She was thinking hard, not sure what to do. "That gives us time to get a bite to eat, if you're hungry."
"Starved. That's the best idea you've had since lunch." He took her hand, and the two of them strolled up West 44th street, walking through, around, and with the theater crowd, an exciting and stimulating experience for Gretta, further convincing her that New York, the Big Apple, was exactly where she belonged.
They found a small cafe a block over from 44th, an Italian restaurant called Santiago's, the dining room smelling of pasta and tomatoes, the garlic so strong you could almost feel it creeping into the skin. The atmosphere was what they needed, loud and comfortable, casual, a place where they could talk. And they did, telling each other about themselves. Gretta was entranced by Lawrence, impressed with his dedication to his education, a poor Brooklyn kid who worked hard, saved every penny, and got exactly what he wanted. He was a wonderful success story.
"How did you get the scar," she asked softly, reaching across and softly tracing the line down his face with her long, thin finger.
"Actually, a case of being in the wrong place at the right time," he laughed lightly. "I was leaving a night class at Queens College, that's out in Flushing, oh, about four years ago. I had about made it across the campus to my bus stop when I heard a scream, ran toward it without thinking, and came upon these three guys pulling a girl into a car. She was kicking and screaming, and her clothes were ripped all to hell. So, I did what anyone would have done, I jumped right into the middle of it, swinging, punching, getting the hell beat out of me. Somewhere in the melee, I noticed I couldn't see out of my eye, it kept getting filled with something I thought must be sweat. It wasn't, it was blood. One of them had cut me, pretty badly. I was lucky not to lose the eye. Anyway, the three guys took off, the woman took off, and I was left lying in the street, bleeding all over everything."
"She left you there, after you rescued her? How awful."
"Yep, but it was the one brave thing I've done, and I'm glad I was there to do it. I tell myself that I probably saved her life, but in reality, I don't even know. Anyway, the scar gives me a mysterious look, don't you think?" He was smiling at her, capturing her heart.
"It gives you a beautiful look," she said.
She opened up to him, talking of high school, about Shauna and Carl Alan, about her dad being in jail. She told him about acting in school plays and about singing the blues at Drew's. She didn't give him specifics, knowing that if he ever investigated, he would end up more confused than he was now. She was content to sit here with him, enjoy his company, love him for these few brief moments they had together. While they were talking, Gretta was watching the clock on the wall, timing the evening's performance, anxious to get back to the theater near the end of the show. At about the time she was going to suggest to Lawrence that they leave, he stood and said he had to use the rest room.
Bending down to Gretta, his face inches from hers, he whispered, "You've finally given me something to plan for, to love. Thank you, Gretta Hughes."
And then he kissed her, the sweetest, gentlest kiss Gretta had ever received. She thought momentarily back to the kiss from Jody, scant hours ago, the gentleness much the same. But this, from the man she was sure she loved, was so much better, stirring her in places she hadn't known existed. He walked away, into the back of the restaurant. Gretta watched him walk, watched the door shut behind him.
She motioned to the waitress, borrowed her pencil, and, on a napkin, wrote, "I love you, and I'll find you. Just wait, no matter how long it takes. All my heart, G.
Choking back the lump in her throat, she stood, looked toward the door he had passed through, turned and walked out of the restaurant, breaking into a trot back in the direction of the St. James. As she reached the theater doors, she first checked for ushers or doormen who might try to block her entrance, nobody in sight. She walked right into the front door, not a soul in sight to question her intrusion. She knew the show had to be almost over, and she hoped that nobody would notice her, dressed as casually as she was. She moved to the stairs leading up to the balcony, climbed them silently, heard the sounds of the orchestra, the singing of the cast members, and then suddenly, she was there, watching the end of a real, live Broadway performance.
She found herself looking over the heads of the seated audience, enjoying a clear view of the stage, of the show's star. Gretta Hughes, Broadway understudy, was pronouncing the final lines of the play. The audience, as one, was rising to their feet in appreciation, showering this newest Broadway star with applause and shouts of "Bravo, Bravo!"
Gretta was clapping with the audience, goosebumps covering her arms, staring at the girl in the center of the stage, the new star taking her bows. She watched the older, more beautiful Gretta Hughes take curtain call after curtain call, willed the woman to look up. She finally felt the eye contact, their looks meeting for one split second, the same smile on each of their faces, the same tears in their eyes, the actress raising her hand in what might have been a quick wave of recognition.
Then the curtain dropped for the final time, leaving Gretta Hughes once again in the fog.
20
She heard the voices before her eyes had time to adjust to the night. The campfire was blazing brightly, Gretta feeling as though she were waking from a nap. She felt a pressure on her hand, a squeeze, and heard the question.
"Hey, are you all right? You've been out of it for a few minutes," Jody was asking, holding her hand tightly. As Gretta blinked her eyes and looked around the circle of friends, her gaze stopped on the Wizard, a tiny, mischievous smile on his face, the golden eyes full of fun, the previous melancholy temporarily missing, as if the two of them were sharing a joke. Or a secret.
"I guess that didn't work, huh," Andy said. "About all you got was a five minute nap."
She started to speak, then stood and crossed over to the stranger, who stood to meet her. She reached up and hugged him tightly around the neck, kissing him on the cheek.
"Thank you, oh, thank you; it was the most wonderful, marvelous day of my life. I can't wait to get there."
"Get where?" Susie was asking. "You didn't go anywhere."
"Oh, but I did," Gretta answered, sitting back down next to Jody. "And it was the most spectacular experience of my life."
"Tell us, tell us," Susie begged, but before Gretta could begin, the Wizard spoke.
"Maybe later. If you each feel like talking about your experience, you'll have an opportunity, although I think maybe you won't want to. But, of course, that will be up to each of you. And Gretta Hughes, I am happy for you, for what you have learned. But I must warn each of you, sometimes our expectations don't always turn out the way we plan them. Occasionally, we face harsh realities, broken dreams and unhappiness. Think about that before you decide on your wishes."
His voice was soft, mesmerizing, his gaze again meeting those of each person in the circle.
"Did you really go somewhere, Gretta? How? You've been here the whole time. It's only been a few minutes s
ince he told you to count," Shauna quizzed her friend.
"Oh yes, I went somewhere, somewhere wonderful and exciting. And God, I can't wait to get back there. I left something behind I have got to go back and find."
"I want a wish, I'm ready." Rod spoke up, standing and facing the Wizard, a look of pleading on his face. "I need my wish next."
Without moving his lips, the Wizard spoke to Rod, quietly, forcefully. "Not yet, Rodney, not yet. When it becomes your turn, I'll tell you. Sit down."
And the boy, without another word, sat.
The others sensed something happening between the two, but nobody had heard a word. The silence was uncomfortable, finally broken by Susie. "Are you going to try this or not, Rod?" she asked. The boy shook his head from side to side, not answering, not trusting his voice.
"Well then, I want to do it," Susie declared. "My life up to now has been absolute shit, a great big zero. I've accomplished nothing worthwhile, except scoring a bunch of baskets, my love life has been a big nothing, and my parents don't even know I exist. Okay, let me see if the rest of my life is going to be all about nothing, too."
"Where do you want to go, Susie, how far forward do you wish to see? Nothing to link you to the past isn't that right. Once is quite enough, isn't it, child?"
"How was ten years, Gretta? Was that cool?" Susie asked.
"Oh, Susie, it was the most wonderful, exciting time."
"I don't know, ten would make me 28. How about 15, that would make me 33. Can I do 15 years?”
That soft voice, the lips unmoving, began to speak, to whisper to the beautiful girl, the unhappy blonde heiress. "Of course, whatever you want, it's your wish. And remember, child, happiness is what you make it, not what others want or think. Happiness, contentment, joy, those are all personal, intimate things. Only you can decide what brings those things."
And then, out loud, the others hanging on his every word, the Wizard whispering. "Now, close your eyes, Susie Hall. Close your eyes and take three deep breaths, count backwards from ten to one. Yes, like that…wonderful, child, wonderful."
21
Susie came out of the thick fog, took one look around her, and was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. The girl, who was soon to be worth more money than many small nations, found herself in a totally alien environment, a place that she had only seen in movies or news shows. Shit, this is a ghetto, she thought, a really bad, dark ghetto.
Nice wish, dumb-ass.
The apartment buildings that lined the street looked empty, probably condemned with roofs falling in, not a window left intact, and many of the doors missing, or hanging by the hinges, every inch of the walls covered with old graffiti. The yards were filled with dumped garbage, dogs and other animals scavenging through the disgusting, rotting mess. Up and down the street there were hints of life, small groups of people huddled together, several standing around a 50-gallon drum, a bright fire burning inside the can, the group handing around what appeared to be a bottle of wine. Just past the last apartment building there was a strip of bars, loud music coming from within the recesses of the doors.
She knew that she had to get off of this block, that her safety was in immediate danger, her life possibly dependent on her speed. Taking a look behind her, seeing nothing but total darkness, she headed toward the most active area of the street, jogging directly toward the row of clubs. Passing the group around the fire, she felt a hand on her arm, pulled hard away from the touch and started running faster.
"Hey, bitch, I jus' wanted to get to know you," a voice called after her. "Screw you, then, ya white piece of shit." She picked up her pace, not sure of her destination, wanting to put as much space between her and this street as possible.
Susie thought momentarily of ducking into one of the clubs, thought better of that idea, seeing only angry, black faces staring out at her. She kept up her pace toward the corner, her long legs feeling good, her athleticism paying huge dividends. Blonde hair blowing in the wind, the girl veered off in the direction of the automobile sounds, the intersection in the distance showing more signs of a traffic pattern than this side avenue. Rounding the corner, she was expertly grabbed around the neck and pulled down a flight of basement steps, the entire assault taking mere seconds. She was screaming and kicking, her efforts not having any effect on the choke-hold of her abductor. She was thrown against a metal door, the impact knocking the air out of her, the fear making her want to vomit. Choking back the bile she was tasting, she faced her attacker, only then seeing that it was three men, two blacks and a Spanish looking guy, none more than twenty or so, the full moon giving enough light for her to see into their dead-looking, intoxicated eyes.
"Okay, bitch, now you're gonna make us real happy campers," one of them hissed, taking a step toward her, his breath horribly rank, his hand reaching our and grabbing her left breast, squeezing it hard, hurting her. She screamed, hoping that someone would hear her. The three men laughed, the Spanish one hissing, "Scream all you want, bitch, nobody in this place gives a shit about some white slut. Scream, bitch!"
The evilness in his voice made Susie stop shrieking, now taking full stock of her desperate situation. These men could kill her, and nobody would ever know. She was horrified but her mind was working. She was trying desperately to disassociate the grimy hands on her body, telling herself to stay calm. As if in slow motion, Susie watched a brown hand reach for her shorts, pulling them open and down around her knees, leaving her covered only by her tiny bikini panties, the girl following the entire process as though she were watching it happen to someone else, her mind now disembodied. She held on to her shorts with one hand to keep them from falling on the ground, suddenly losing her temper, striking out at the man's face with her other hand, making a claw out of her long nails.
The girl felt her nails take a bite out of his cheek, could tell by the wetness that she had drawn blood, wanted to kill, briefly satisfied to have taken aggressive action. She was aiming for his eyes with her next blow when he backhanded her across the face, missing his mark, striking her in the ear, not connecting solidly but stunning her enough that she temporarily ended the resistance. The filthy hand disappeared down the front of her panties, hurting her, pulling her hairs, probing in her groin, working to penetrate her with his greasy fingers, making her cry out in agony, trying mightily to squeeze her legs together. She started crying, degraded and in pain, the hand hurting her, feeling a sudden urge to pee, squeezing to refrain it. She knew she was going to be raped, was trying to decide whether to fight or submit, trying to remember what the cops had told them in school about this type of situation, another one of those boring lectures that had put her to sleep. She had never expected to be faced with three bastards who were intent on harming her, attempting to abuse her body in such a filthy, horrible manner. Nobody did this kind of thing in Radford, she thought. Not to a Turner.
Her mind was working a hundred miles an hour, weighing her options, trying desperately to decide what course to take, all this in a split second, so hard was her concentration that she failed to notice the hand in her pants go limp, the man's entire body collapsing, falling in front of her, the hand stuck in the elastic, ripping the front of her panties in the process. Her fallen attacker was quickly followed by his two accomplices, each making a slight exhalation of air as the breath left them, the three lying unconscious on the doorstep in a heap, their bodies falling in a strange pattern of disarray, arms and legs sticking out at grossly unnatural angles.
Susie was stunned, staring at the bodies, thinking they were dead, wondering how she had done that, wondering if she had somehow killed them and experiencing a tremendous explosion of relief. Hearing another noise, she realized that she wasn't alone, a fourth man was standing in the shadows, alerting her that the assault wasn't over, trying to will herself to fight on. As the man stepped into the light, Susie looked up into the face of an exceptionally tall, very black, bearded man dressed in an outfit that looked terrifying to Susie, solid black l
eather pants, motorcycle boots, and a long flowing black leather duster. Her first thought was that she was being rescued by a super-hero, a black Iron Man, realized how stupid that was, quickly figured she didn't have time to hang around and find out. One thing she knew how to do well was run, and she meant to prove that right now.
"Excuse me, Batman," she said, darting around him, trying to escape, running up the steps as quickly as she could, tripping over her pants, stopping momentarily to pull them up around her waist, taking off again, trying to escape this nightmare.
"Wait one minute, little girl," he said, grabbing her by the arm in a tight grip, his fingers feeling like bands of steel. "What the hell you doing down here dressed like that? Or undressed like that, your pants down around your knees?"
Susie pulled her arm, not able to break the hold. She looked down at herself, noting that she had on the same outfit she had worn to the lake, white shorts and purple sleeveless top, the pants open and unzipped, her panties bunched low where the man had assaulted her, ripped beyond use, not exactly evening wear in the ghetto.
Unless a girl was trying to peddle her ass, she thought suddenly, a light bulb clicking on in her head.
Great, this guy thinks I'm a whore. Hell, I look like a whore. She reached down with her loose hand, arranged her panties as best she could, zipped her pants up and fastened them, ready once again for battle.
"Let me go!" she screamed, pulling her arm away. "I swear I’ll call the cops!" She kicked out at the giant, catching him in the knee, feeling her tennis shoe strike leather, realizing she had kicked his high-cut boot, hurting her foot way more than she had hurt her attacker. She swung her free hand balled in a fist, the punch bouncing harmlessly off the giant's chest, doing no damage except to Susie's ego.
He was laughing, apparently tickled by something she had said.
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