by M. S. Parker
The rooms were vacant. I'd walked around, feeling like a stalker as I peeked in windows. No furniture in most of the rooms. Finally, near the back, I found one room that had large pieces, all covered with dust cloths.
Vacant.
How could he have given up on me after just a few weeks?
I had no idea where to look for him, but I had to find him.
And if I wanted to do that, I’d have to find a phone.
After taking a few minutes to breathe, I set off the from the porch and began to walk.
It took far too long to find a place that had a phone. The shoes that had been such a detriment earlier were now coming in handy. Tennis shoes and jeans made it easier to trek for well over an hour. Glenn had preferred his privacy and I had understood his reasons, but now I wished he'd had more neighbors. The man who lived across the street must have moved because the gates were boarded up, the little building used by security vacant.
I was turned away by a grouchy security guard at the next house, nearly a mile down the road.
Finally, I found somebody who let me use the phone—and she offered me a glass of lemonade as well. Grateful, I accepted and after she poured a glass, she left me alone in a bright, pretty kitchen.
My hands shook as I lifted the glass to my lips. "Calm down, Maya. Calm down."
The walk had given me plenty of time to think about my next step so after another drink, I picked up the phone and went to dial.
But just as the rotary phone made its slow way back around, something caught my eye.
The paper.
It lay just to the left of where I sat, along with a glass of lemonade.
I must have interrupted her when I knocked.
The paper lay open so the reader could see the front page.
But it wasn’t the picture or the by-line that caught my eye.
It was the date.
The phone fell from my numb hands.
My fingers shook.
It took three tries to finally pick the paper up and stare at the small, precise lettering.
The date.
It was all wrong.
“How is this possible?” I whispered.
The date read 1965.
I’d been gone for three years.
7
Glenn
I wanted a drink. It wasn't an option, but I wanted it anyway.
I'd spent the first two and a half years after Maya’s disappearance, trying to climb out of the hole I'd dug for myself, but I'd failed so many times, it was a wonder I’d even kept trying.
The first six months––when it had hurt the most––Mrs. B had done her best to make sure that there were always something cooking to fill the hole in my belly. She kept me straight.
But then one morning, I walked into the kitchen and found her lying still on the floor.
I think what little had been holding me together snapped when I knelt and touched her cheek. Felt the cool skin under my fingers.
She’d been the one person who’d been there, trying to understand.
Gone.
Then, two years after I’d discovered Mrs. B on the floor, I found myself standing at the foot of her grave. I hadn’t been sober when I got there. I’d lost my keys. I ended up just sitting down and talking, then crying, then talking some more.
I hadn’t had an acting job in over a year. Nobody wants to hire a drunk bum who can’t remember his lines or forget to show up. My dad had trouble getting work not long after Mom died, and I began to understand why things were so hard for him.
But I couldn’t just give up.
Some part of me kept thinking Maya might still be out there.
That she might still be okay.
That was what I’d told Mrs. B.
And like she was standing there, I swear I heard the old woman’s voice say, then maybe you should straighten yourself out, Glenn.
Of course, she was right, so, six months ago, I'd finally did something about it.
It had taken every bit of my willpower and for the past five months, I’d been sober.
And two months ago, I’d walked into Peter’s office and told him I wanted my life back.
He’d accepted to help me under the condition that I wouldn’t question him and his methods.
I still wasn’t entirely certain I liked the methods though.
“Glenn!”
I looked over at the knock-out gorgeous woman who was calling me. Her long red hair was swept up into an elegant knot, baring the curve of her neck, and her dark eyes smiled up at me. But the smile wasn’t genuine.
There wasn’t much of anything about Kimberly Larkin that was genuine.
“Yes, Kimberly?”
She reached out a hand and placed it on my arm. “The children want to know if you’re going to do the fireworks with them.”
Her eyes seemed to shout nooooo.
But the two of us had been given explicit instructions from Peter.
The children who lived at the orphanage in the southern part of L.A. didn’t really get to do much in the way of the holidays, and Peter had gotten wind of the picnic they were holding for the kids. We were out here to show support and have our pictures taken, and make sure residents around the city—and the whole damn state—knew there were kids who needed homes.
Looking away from Kimberly, I met the hopeful eyes of a little girl staring at me.
“I love fireworks,” I said to her, managing to smile. In all honesty, I could care less about the festivities taking place, and being here with coolers full of beer and servers wandering around with cocktails was enough to have me grinding my teeth.
But, I’d rather be around kids and fireworks, than having a one-on-one with Kimberly.
The two of us had been pretty much pushed together by Peter. She had developed the reputation of being a pit viper—and I could see why.
I was trying to rebuild my career that had gone down in flames. Why in the hell Peter thought two fucked-up individuals like us could make the public love us, I had no idea.
But then again, I had promised not to question his methods and I stand by my word.
As the girl with the solemn eyes continued to watch me, I crouched down in front of her. She had freckles all over her nose and thick, curly hair that somebody had tried to tame into submission with a bow. “You’ve got pretty hair,” I told her.
She went pink. “Miss Carol says it’s a nightmare.”
“Miss Carol is probably jealous because she doesn’t have pretty hair.” The girl smiled now, a real smile that displayed a gap in her teeth. “Looks like somebody had a visit from the tooth fairy.”
The smile dimmed then. “The tooth fairy doesn’t know how to find me.”
My heart broke a little for her and I wanted to kick my own ass. Stupid moron. “She can’t find you, huh?” Shifting around until I could dig into my pocket, I pulled out a few bills. “That’s awful. You know…being in the movies, you get to know a lot of people. I got connections. I’ll see if I can figure out a way to let her know where you are. In the meantime, though…” I pushed the bills into her hand. It was five bucks. At this carnival, it would stretch forever. Plenty of the booths were free for the kids to play, but there were things that cost money. “Why don’t you find your friends and see if you can’t spend some of this? I’ll square up with the tooth fairy if I ever track her down, okay?”
“Wow!” She stared at the money with wide eyes, then looked at me. “Thank you.”
She hurtled off as though she feared I’d take the money back. That smile of hers lingered with me as I stood and met Kimberly’s eyes.
“You’ve done your good deed for the day, darling.” As she spoke, she plucked a cigarette from her clutch and held it to her lips. “Can we go?”
She leaned forward slightly, her intent obvious.
Without batting a lash, I said, “I don’t have a lighter. I quit smoking, remember?”
“Damn.” She fumbled her clutch open and stared inside. “I
didn’t bring mine. It ruined the line of my purse.”
The glare she shot me made it clear that was my fault. I shrugged, turning to skim the crowd, smiling absently when people waved or met my gaze.
“Now that I can’t smoke—and I promised Freddie I wouldn’t drink—can we please go?” Her voice pitched an octave higher at the end, making me grind my teeth just that little bit more.
“I promised Peter I’d stay until the end.” I lifted a shoulder when she started to grumble under her breath. “Hey, we said we’d come. We’re here. It will be over soon.”
She moved in closer to me then, eliminating all but a few inches between us. With her hand on my arm, she stared up at me. “Will you at least spend the night and make one thing about this day worth it?”
8
Maya
Three years.
It didn’t make sense.
How could I have been gone for three years?
A soft knock at the kitchen entry had me jumping in my seat.
Spinning around, I met the soft, kind eyes of the older woman who’d let me use her phone—the phone, damn it!
“Do you have everything you need? Were you able to make your call?” My good Samaritan friend smiled at me, the lines around her eyes fanning out.
“Ah, no. Well…” I laughed weakly and gestured to the phone. “Not with any luck. My friend didn’t answer. I’m going to try one other person, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” She beamed at me. “I’d hate for a young lady such as yourself to be stranded. If you can’t get a hold of anybody, I can drive you wherever you need to go. My husband bought me a car for our twentieth anniversary. Isn’t that something? A car.”
That bright smile was so warm and happy, but all I could do was nod. The uneasiness in me was growing by the minute.
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s very kind of you.”
She turned and walked out again. As her footsteps retreated, I reached for the phone again and dialed. “Please let this be the right number,” I muttered. “Please…”
A woman’s crisp voice came on, giving the name of Peter Hammond’s agency. I managed not to sigh with relief and just said, “Hello. May I speak to Peter? It’s…it’s Maya Cruz.”
There was a faint pause. The woman cleared her throat and said, “Did you say Maya Cruz?”
That alone made me realize this wasn’t going to be an easy call.
Seconds passed.
Finally, she came back on the line and said, “I’m sorry, Miss Cruz, but Mr. Hammond is unavailable to you.”
Those words. “Unavailable…to me specifically.”
“Yes, ma’am. Please don’t call again.”
My good Samaritan friend was named Martha.
She was chatty and sweet and filled the silence with talk of her children—two of them—and a grandchild that was on the way.
“We married so young…”
“Bill is in the Army. I worry so much…”
“Are you an actress? My William is a producer. It’s a small company, but it’s growing…”
By the time we reached Peter’s office, my head was so full of her words I could barely think. And that was absolutely perfect because I didn’t want to think.
Three years had passed.
Peter had hung up on me.
The house where I’d lived with Glenn was empty.
I had no doubt that whatever waited for me at Peter’s offices wasn’t going to be pretty.
Martha let me out in front of the building and I thanked her, waiting for her to pull off before I turned to the doors.
Because I knew I would be turned away if I went in through the front, I circled the block. I’d been here with Glenn several times. There was a small, private parking lot out back, and Peter had a private entrance to his office that opened directly to the lot—for his big-name stars.
He didn’t lock it during the day.
I hoped that hadn’t changed.
When I found it unlocked, I breathed a sigh of relief and slid in, peeking around the door. Peter was in there, talking. It was a one-sided conversation, though, so he was probably on the phone. Either that or his audience was very captive.
Easing into the room, I shut the door behind me as quietly as I could.
But it wasn’t quiet enough.
He was indeed on the phone and he started to turn, a hand lifted to indicate he’d need a moment.
Then he caught sight of me and his face went tight.
“Simone, we’ll have to finish this later. I…yes, yes, I know. Later, darling. Thank you.”
He slammed the phone down into the cradle and turned away, storming over to the drink service in the corner.
I said nothing as he poured himself a drink. When he turned back to glare at me, drink in hand, I met his eyes.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, Maya,” he said softly.
Sweat broke out on my brow. “Hello, Peter.”
“Hello…” He shook his head. After taking a sip of his drink, he muttered, “Hello, she says. Like she hasn’t been missing for three years.”
I flinched, but there was really nothing I could say to that.
“Who in the hell do you think you are, showing up here after all this time?”
“Peter, I—” Swallowing, I fought the tears I could already feel burning in my eyes. “I went to see Glenn. The house…it looks like nobody lives there anymore. Can you tell me where he is?”
He gaped at me. “You…” He tossed back the rest of his drink, then splashed more into his glass. It was Jack Daniels. The label clearly hadn’t changed much. “You show up after all this time and you want me to tell you where Glenn is?! Why in the hell would I tell you?”
“Because I love him!”
“Yeah?” He sneered at me, the derision plain to see. “And I guess you loved him before. Nice way you had of showing it. You know, Maya, if you really do love him, you’d just leave. Leave and never come back. He’s just now starting to get his life back together.”
I thought I couldn’t hurt anymore, but every word Peter said was another wound.
“Do you have any idea what you did to him? You all but destroyed him, Maya! Do you hear me?” He stormed over to me, jabbing a finger at me. “His career is in threads now. It’s going to take everything I have to put it back together. And it’s because of you.”
“Peter, that’s not…” My throat closed around the words that’s not fair. Life wasn’t about being fair, was it? “There were circumstances, Peter. They were out of my control. I couldn’t come back. I didn’t even want to leave. But I couldn’t come back. And I wanted to. I tried. It just…it took this long.”
“Circumstances?” He skimmed a look over me, clearly doubtful.
Could I blame him? No, not really.
“What kind of circumstances? Were you abducted by aliens?”
I almost lied. I almost said yes. The fear of alien abductions was big in the sixties. Many people believed it did happen. But I couldn’t build any sort of life here on a lie. Besides, Peter wasn't one of the believers I was sure. If I told him I’d been abducted by aliens, he would laugh at me before throwing me out. It would never work.
“No. I wasn’t abducted by aliens.” I’m from the future and I got yanked back into my time the morning after he proposed. But I didn’t want to go!
I could see myself saying that. They’d have the men in white coats coming for me in no time.
“But you still want me to believe you had no choice? That you couldn’t contact him? Leave a letter?” Peter shook his head and turned away, moving back over to the desk. “Look, sweetheart. So what…you’re back. It doesn’t matter. It took him a long time, but Glenn is finally over you. He’s got a new woman in his life and it’s somebody who understands what kind of man he is. You never were right for him anyway.”
Something black, ugly and bitter, welled inside me. “He’s seeing somebody?”
“Yeah. Ain’t that a punch in
the gut for you?” Amusement laced his words. “You finally drag yourself back here, and he’s taken. Guess you shouldn’t have waited so long.”
“He’s…” The rest of the words trapped themselves in my throat. My heart split open, spilling out that ugly bitterness.
He was involved with somebody else.
You all but destroyed him.
“Get out of here, Maya.” Peter gave me a cold look.
Shivering, chilled to my bones, I looked at the door, then back at him. I didn’t have any place to go. But how I was to tell him that?
“Get out,” he said again, slowly and carefully. A vein pulsed in his cheek, and his eyes were burning with rage. “Now. Before I call the cops.”
I didn’t really have any choice.
I left.
9
Maya
Peter's words were still echoing in my mind nearly an hour later. I was sitting at a bus stop, with my hands on my lap and my mind so twisted up, the knots would probably never unravel.
The ache in my chest was so huge, I could barely breathe around it.
Glenn was involved with somebody else.
Did he love her?
I was torn between wanting to cry and giving into the well of jealousy that threatened to overtake me.
I’d been gone for three years—how could I not have expected something like this?
Okay, granted, I hadn’t read anything about him falling in love. But that didn’t mean anything.
A noisy car rattled down the street, belching smoke and making so much noise the couple next to me raised their voices to be heard. They’d been there for a few minutes and were on their feet as the next bus slowed down.
I’d been sitting there for what felt like a life time, watching as people came and went, trying to figure out what to do.
The couple climbed onto the bus and others disembarked, a cycle I’d watched several times over. What was I going to do? Peter wasn’t likely to help me.
I had no money. I had no food.
I had no way of finding Glenn, not without Peter’s help. If he was on location, it could be weeks before he got back.
