by Angela Henry
I had to hand it to Vivianne. She’d thought it all out. She knew what would happen once her book was published. Anybody who knew anything at all about her would read the book and notice all the parallels to her life. People would wonder what was true and what was fiction. Anyone curious enough to do a little research would look up Cliff Preston and find out it wasn’t his real name. Vivianne wouldn’t have had to say a thing. The reading public and the scandal-loving media would expose Cliff for her. Cliff wouldn’t dare sue her for slander, either. It was brilliant.
I stuffed the tags in my pocket and put my ear to the door. I couldn’t hear anything. I pushed the bathroom door open and peeked out. The custodian was mopping the lobby and there was no way he wouldn’t see me if I left the bathroom. My watch read 7:18 p.m. One of the bathroom’s two large windows over the row of sinks was open a crack. I climbed up onto one of the sinks, pushed the window open all the way, and with great effort, hoisted myself up and climbed out. One foot caught on the ledge and I fell right into the bushes a few feet below, scratching up my arms and knocking the wind out of me. But at least I was out and nothing was broken. I dusted myself off and ran across the parking lot to my car—and stopped cold. Since she hadn’t been able to get her hands on me, Winette had settled for my car. It was trashed. The windows were all busted out, the word Bitch had been keyed into the paint on the hood, but that wasn’t the worst part. All four of my tires had been punctured and were flat as pancakes. It was 7:27 p.m.
I had about thirty minutes to get to a park that was fifteen minutes away and now I had no car. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to call a cab but hung up when I realized I had exactly five dollars to my name. It would cost more than five dollars to take a cab to Yellow Springs. I had more money in my bank account. All I needed to do was find an ATM machine. I spotted a Dairy Mart a half block up the street and took off running. My heart rejoiced when I saw the sign indicating they had an ATM machine. I rushed inside. I had my card out of my purse and swiped before I read the message on the screen: Temporarily Out of Order. Wonderful.
“Do you know if there’s another ATM around here?” I frantically asked the woman behind the counter. She shook her head without even looking up from her Cosmo magazine with Cindy Crawford pouting sexily on the cover.
“No, there isn’t another ATM around here, or no, you don’t know if there’s another ATM machine around?”
“Only other ATM I know of is about six blocks from here,” she replied, still not looking up.
I left and took off walking. It was 7:32 p.m. Six blocks would put me downtown. I could go to my own bank. I spotted a city bus headed downtown and flagged it down at the nearest corner. I got on and handed the driver my five-dollar bill.
“One way, please,” I said breathlessly.
“I need seventy-five cents. I can’t change a five,” said the driver, a squinty-eyed skinny man with slicked-back hair. He pointed a bony finger at a sign taped to the corner of the windshield: Must Have Exact Fare. Driver Can’t Make Change. Great! I didn’t have any other change.
“You can’t make an exception this one time? I’m really in a hurry. It’s an emergency.”
“And I’m on a schedule, lady. Either give me seventy-five cents or get off my bus.”
“No need to get nasty,” I said turning to the other passengers on the bus. “Is there anyone here who can loan me seventy-five cents?” I pleaded.
No one spoke up and few turned away to stare out the window. It was 7:38 p.m. I didn’t have time to argue or plead any further. I scowled at the driver and got off the bus. He left me in a cloud of exhaust that made me nauseous. I started walking and about a block later, spotted a yard sale down a quiet tree-lined side street. As much as I love yard sales, garage sales, tag sales and estate sales, now was not the time to indulge in my love for second-hand treasure. But then I spied something propped up against a tree in the yard and made a quick detour. Once I got to the house in question, I could see that my eyes hadn’t deceived me. There was a ten-speed bike propped against the tree. The tag said twenty dollars. If there was one thing that my appreciation of second-hand goods had taught me, it was how to bargain.
“Would you take five for the bike?” I asked the pleasant-looking man rocking on the front porch. He got up from his rocker, opened the screen door of the house and yelled inside.
“Son, someone’s interested in your bike.” Seconds later, the screen door banged open with a thud and out walked Fuzzy Wayne, my library nemesis. This could not be happening. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. It was him all right, in all his glory, still wearing the same tight T-shirt. Now that he was actually upright, I could see his love handles spilling out over the top of his equally tight jeans. He tugged the shirt down but it didn’t do much good.
It wasn’t until he got closer that he recognized me from the library, though I was surprised he could see anything with all that hair falling in his face. He gave me a nasty look.
“Bet you’re sorry you weren’t nicer to me, huh? The price just went up to fifty dollars.”
“The tag says twenty,” I said patiently.
“It’s my bike. I can change my mind if I want.” Actually, I was surprised he wasn’t selling it for a lot more. It didn’t look like it had ever been ridden. Looking at Fuzzy’s less than buff physique, I knew there was no way his wide behind had ever even sat on the seat.
I turned to walk away. “Hey, wait,” he said stopping me. “How much ya got?”
“Five dollars,” I replied. He burst out laughing.
“No way I’m selling my bike for five dollars. But I got another bike for you. You interested?”
“Does it work?” I asked walking into the yard. Beggars can’t be choosers and it was now 7:45 p.m.
“’Course it works. I’ll let you have it for ten dollars and not a penny less,” he said smirking. I wanted to wipe up the pavement with his face. But I needed that bike so I decided to appeal to his appetite, instead.
“Look, I work at Estelle’s restaurant. How about I give you the five plus a week’s worth of free dinners?”
“Deal,” he said, snatching the five-dollar bill out of my hand. He disappeared into the house and emerged with a purple kid’s bike complete with a white banana seat and sparkly streamers trailing from the handles. My mouth fell open. Oh, hell, no.
Fuzzy could barely contain his laughter. “Here it is. And I’ll be in tonight for my first free meal.”
Lesson learned: Never piss off a nerd.
I took off on the bike, trying to ignore the stares and laughter. My face was burning and my legs, which were too long for a bike that size, soon started to cramp up. I kept on pedaling. There was a bike path that led from Willow to Yellow Springs. So at least I was spared the indignity of being on the road with cars. Instead, I endured the curious and amused looks of my fellow bike-path riders.
“What a pretty bike,” said one woman, pedaling past me on an expensive mountain bike.
“Yeah, I think I had one just like that when I was ten,” said the woman’s companion. They laughed and pedaled away and were soon specks on the path.
To keep my mind off the pain in my legs, I started thinking about Vivianne’s book. There was something about the book that didn’t quite make sense to me. I could completely understand why Vivianne had painted the character of Elwood Smalls with such contempt. But why had she made Roxanne Gayle, the character based on her own life, so unsavory, as well? In fact, the character of Roxanne Gayle was in many ways worse than Elwood Smalls’. Her drug abuse and neglect had caused the death of her own child, and she was a prostitute. Vivianne had played a prostitute in her most famous role in Asphalt City, which had to be where the prostitute angle came from, but I’d never heard anything about her being on drugs except for, according to Harriet, the occasional sleeping pill. With everything she’d gone through with Cliff, it seemed like Vivianne would have made Roxanne a more sympathetic character. Why hadn’t she?
I was
so lost in thought that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was riding. The front tire of my bike hit a big rock that was lying in the middle of the path. I went flying over the handlebars of the bike and landed hard on my back. I was paralyzed for a few minutes as pain coursed through my body. I rolled over onto my stomach and caught a glimpse of my watch. It was eight o’clock. It was also starting to get dark. Tears pricked my eyes as I painfully got to my feet. I went over to inspect the bike. The front end was bent to hell. There was no way I’d be riding it to the park. I started walking, or limping to be more precise. My back hurt, my head hurt and my legs felt like jelly. It was completely dark by the time I reached the park. I was twenty minutes late. I prayed Lynette was still alive as I made my way back to the campground.
The park was full of campers. No one paid much attention to me. I finally came upon a row of six log cabins. All the cabins appeared occupied except cabin number four, the one the note said for me to go to. That cabin was dark. My heart jumped into my stomach. Was Lynette in there dead? I approached the cabin and knocked softly on the door. Nothing. After knocking again with no response, I turned the knob. It was unlocked. I opened the door.
“Hello? I’m here and I have the disk.” I walked into the dark cabin. I hadn’t taken five steps inside when someone grabbed me from behind. A cold, ammonia-soaked rag covered my face. Chloroform. Panic welled up in me. I struggled, but the arms around me were too strong. Then everything went black.
I was dreaming. I dreamt I was Pearly Monroe standing on a corner under a streetlamp and swinging the little black purse I’d bought from Cabot’s Cave. Men kept driving by trying to get me in their cars. Each one of them waved something in my face trying to entice me. Carl had a fist full of money. I turned my back on him. Cliff Preston had a diamond ring. I stuck my tongue out at him. Fuzzy Wayne offered me a new bike. I spat on him. It wasn’t until Morris Rollins, dressed like Super Fly, walked up and offered me a hot fudge cake that was concealed under his fur coat, that I left my corner and got into his car. He pulled out a knife to cut the cake. But instead plunged it right into my heart. Ouch! I woke with a start.
It took a while for me to get my bearings and remember what had happened. But once I did, I soon realized my hands and ankles were tied with plastic ties, my mouth was taped and I was lying on the floor. I was in a cabin but it couldn’t have been cabin number four, which had been dark and empty when I arrived; I must have been one of the other cabins. The floor beneath me was hard wood. I rolled over and saw Lynette, also tied up and gagged, lying in the bottom bunk of a set of bunk beds against the wall. Her whole body was shaking and her eyes were opened wide. She started blinking frantically and rolling her eyes upwards. At first I thought she might be having a seizure. Then I realized she was wanting me to look up. I did and wished I hadn’t. On the top bunk was another person covered up with a sky-blue blanket and not moving. I could see spiky red hair peeking out from beneath the blanket. The blanket was stained with dried blood. Noelle was no longer missing. I could think of nothing I wanted as badly as I wanted out of that cabin.
I rolled across the floor to Lynette. The bunk bed was metal and bolted to the floor. I scraped my face against one of the bolts until the tape over my mouth came away. I managed to sit up and leaned over Lynette like I was about to kiss her. It took me a couple of tries, and I inadvertently gave her face a faint hickey, but I was able to pull the tape off her mouth with my teeth.
“You okay?” I asked Lynette.
“What’s going on, Kendra? How did you know where I was?” she asked. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“First we’ve got to get out of here. There are campers out there. If we make enough noise, we might be able to attract some attention.”
“We’ll have to hurry. That crazy person is coming back soon,” she said, sounding slightly hysterical.
“It’s Cliff Preston, isn’t it?” I asked. She shook her head in confusion.
“I don’t know. I was grabbed from behind when I was about to leave this morning. Someone put chloroform over my face and I woke up here. The person wears a ski mask and hasn’t spoken a word to me.”
The door to the cabin opened and Lynette and I both jumped. A figure dressed in black walked in. It wasn’t Cliff Preston. When I saw who it was, I realized just how wrong I’d been and why. Something in the back of my mind hadn’t quite been able to understand how Cliff Preston would figure out that Vivianne’s computer disk was in the purse I bought from Cabot’s Cave. Men don’t notice things like purses. Women did.
“Hello, Stephanie,” I said. I swung my legs around and twisted my body so I was facing her.
Her face was pale and devoid of its usual thick layer of makeup. She looked even harder and older and her bleached hair was frizzy and wild. I could see a vivid bruise on her left cheek. A gift from her husband, most likely. She was carrying a gas can, which she set on the rolltop desk by the door. I tried hard not to stare at the can. But knowing she’d set Diamond Publishing on fire wasn’t making me feel very hopeful that Lynette and I would be getting out of this situation unsinged.
“Hi, yourself, Kendra. And just in case you thought you were being slick, I knew all along who you were at Vivianne’s memorial service. I think you missed your calling as an actress. And by the way,” she said waving a square of blue plastic, “thanks for bringing the disk.”
“I made a copy, Stephanie.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “So, what?”
“So what? You killed Vivianne and you kidnapped my friend to get your hands on that disk. When the other disk surfaces, Cliff’s secret will be out. Everyone will know he’s been passing for white all these years and wonder what happened to the man whose identity he stole.”
“Whatever happens to Cliff he more than deserves,” Stephanie said. She sat down at the desk and pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her pocket and lit one up. She took a long drag and blew smoke in our direction.
“Why, because he’s black?” I asked. She looked genuinely offended.
“I don’t give a damn what color he is. All I wanted was a child. I love Kurt but I wanted a child of my very own and he took that away from me. I haven’t loved Cliff since the day I found out he got that vasectomy behind my back. He ruined my second chance to be a mother,” she said, bitterly wiping a tear from her eye.
“Your second chance?” Then I knew. “You’re Roxanne Gayle, aren’t you?”
“Roxanne who?” she asked, frowning. Deep wrinkles popped out on her forehead.
“In Viviane’s book. There’s a character named Roxanne. A Broadway actress whose child dies when she gets into her stash of drugs. You’re Roxanne.” Stephanie quickly stubbed out the cigarette.
“All I know is that bitch was about to rake everything back up again in that damned book of hers. She said everyone was going to know what kind of a mother I really was, especially Kurt.”
And all this time I’d thought it was Cliff who was the main focus of Vivianne’s revenge. It had been Stephanie all along. Stephanie, the woman who stole the love of her only child, Kurt. Stephanie who hadn’t been the mother she should have been to her own daughter while Vivianne’s reputation had been falsely tainted. Cliff’s secret being revealed in the process was just icing on the cake.
“What happened to your daughter?” I had to keep her talking so she wouldn’t notice I was rubbing the plastic tie around my wrists against the edge of the bunk bed’s frame.
“I tried to be a good mother. I really did try. But a kid just wasn’t in the plan. I wanted to be a showgirl on the Vegas strip. I wanted my name in lights and my face plastered on billboards all over Vegas. Instead, I ended up shaking my ass in a titty bar off the strip called the Kontiki Lounge. Dancing was all I did for the first six months. Then I saw how much money the other girls were making by spending time with the high rollers after work, and I started doing it, too. I got addicted to the money. Then I got addicted to drugs. Not hard drugs, mind you. Mai
nly painkillers. Anything that would dull the pain.” She paused to light up another cigarette.
“I got pregnant by one of my regulars. Some married insurance salesman from Phoenix. He flipped out when I told him he’d knocked me up. Said it couldn’t be his. Gave me five hundred dollars for an abortion. Never saw him again. I couldn’t go through with it. I used the money to buy a crib and stuff for the baby. After my daughter, Lilly, was born, I got an office job that paid four bucks an hour. That got old real quick. By the time Lilly was a year old, I was back at the Kontiki. Back to stripping, turning tricks and popping pills.”
“It must have been really hard for you raising a child under those circumstances.” I couldn’t break the tie but I felt it start to stretch and loosen.
“Babysitters were hard to come by. I could find someone to watch her during the day. But at night I had to bring tricks home with me. I’d lock Lilly in her room. I didn’t want any of those lowlifes near my baby. And believe me, some of those dirt bags thought if they paid me enough, I’d let them have Lilly, too.”
“What happened to Lilly?” I asked coaxing her to continue. Stephanie’s face collapsed and she turned to stare at the wall.
“One night I brought home this real high roller. Everyone called him Doc because he was a walking pharmacy. Every kind of pill you could think of, he had. That night we drank, fucked, and popped pills until we passed out. Next day, when I woke up, I found Lilly on the floor in her room. She was dead. I’d forgotten to lock her bedroom door when I got home the night before. She was only four. She must have seen the pills lying out on the living-room table and thought they were candy.”
