Legacy of Silence

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  He called the dog to his side and was about to loop the leash over Spero’s neck, briefly stating, “good night,” when Miranda’s temper flared. There was no Dragon in sight, but she quickly managed to sign Whoa! Wait one second, Mr. Gerik!

  “What?”

  Why are you acting like I’m as nasty as that dead squirrel Phoebe rolled in last week? Explain. Or are you going to continue to pout?

  He pulled the Dragon out of his backpack and held it out.

  “You are leaving for Manhattan in two days. Thanks so much for telling me about this film.”

  Miranda was astonished. “I thought you knew. Heck, I thought everyone in Birmingham knew. I’m surprised it hasn’t hit billboards and local TV the way Farrah has been spreading the word. She asked me about it at her dinner party that day we went to Darci’s gallery.”

  Russ’s jaw set. “If you’ll recall,” he said tersely, “the batteries in this device died and I spent most of the meal in silence.”

  She hesitated a second before saying, “Russ, I don’t really remember at what point in the evening someone asked me about the film and I’m truly sorry you didn’t know about it. I admit it’s a pretty big deal. Scratch that. It’s a huge deal. But I’ve been way too busy getting the show prepared and finishing inventory and taking care of Jesse to really think about it. I’m confused. Why are you so upset?”

  “Why am I upset? I’ve just discovered that Miranda Nolan, star of stage and screen, has obviously been having a grand old time playing at relationships during her short trip to Alabama. Apparently she’s now ready to resume her real life and her overly bustling career in New York. Is that a good enough reason?”

  “Hang on there. You’re implying that because I’m going to be working out of town for a lousy three months or so, suddenly I’m playing at relationships? You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Are you really trying to say you’ll be back? That you’re not planning to audition or interview or do whatever else your agent sets up to further your career?” He paused. “From what Farrah told me tonight this is the kind of role that could land you immediate work in other films. So, nice knowing you, Ms. Nolan, and I hope Phoebe loves being stuck inside an apartment ten hours a day before she gets a crummy walk. You’re one stellar actress. You made me believe we could have some kind of future with each other. Or was that to get your hands on the inheritance? Were you playing me so I’d relinquish my claim to the estate? Give the house to you so you could turn around and sell it.”

  “No! That’s not true!”

  Russ ignored her. “Brett had planned to start the paperwork a few days ago. After all, we had this great trust going, didn’t we? Even the nutcase judge thought so when he gave his permission for the two keys. But now I’m relieved he couldn’t get to it. Know this, Miranda—my part of the claim is still intact.”

  “Russ! You’re acting crazy!”

  He remained silent.

  Light dawned. “You really don’t think I’m coming back. Wow. Look, Russ, I’ve already told Bonnie I’ll be down for the fall classes. That’s late October. I told Darci I’d be here for Kam’s exhibition. I’m not auditioning while I’m in New York, and—you may not want to believe this—but I truly...care about you.” She stopped herself from saying love. He obviously didn’t want that word coming from her at this moment and she wasn’t sure of her own feelings, either. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to stay.”

  She thought Russ would calm down and believe her. But instead, he blurted out, “You sang tonight. Apparently it was wonderful because I saw the faces of the audience around me and I watched that standing ovation and felt the vibrations of several hundred people clapping their hands. I also saw your face while you were performing and when you took your bow. You want me to believe you’re going to give that up? For what? For a children’s theater in Birmingham, Alabama? For the possibility that you and I...”

  She stared at him for a long moment then she simply signed, Yes.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “There are places for me to perform in Birmingham. I don’t have to be on Broadway to have a career I’m happy with.”

  “If you mean that, you’ll pick up the phone right now, call your agent and explain that you’re not doing the movie.” he said.

  “What!”

  “Do I need to repeat that?”

  “No, Russ. I got it. And the answer is no. Good grief. I signed a contract. That’s a commitment. I don’t break commitments.”

  He shook his head. “Right. And you honestly expect me to believe that once you’re diving into work again in Manhattan you won’t stay? I’d say your commitment is to being selfish.”

  Miranda was so frustrated she was yelling, even though the Dragon could pick up her words at a softer volume. She’d never thrown anything at anyone in her entire life but suddenly she debated picking up the nearest object and hurling it at the wall. “Since when is it selfish to keep one’s promise? Why aren’t you listening to me?”

  “Because I can’t!” Russ shouted back. “And there’s no point in yelling! I can’t hear! Remember?”

  “This has nothing to do with your hearing issues. You’re not listening! You’re the one being selfish. So, I’m supposed to act irresponsibly and hurt a group of people who trust me to do a good job for them by—what? Calling and say, ‘Oops, sorry! Russ Gerik is acting like a toddler the first time his parents leave him with a babysitter and he’s throwing tantrums, so gee golly, y’all just need to hire someone else tomorrow morning.” She took a breath and tried to lighten the mood. “Sorry, Russ. I grew up with a lawyer, remember? I learned from the cradle that one honors a contract unless there’s a clause requiring serial killing or kidnapping politicians or smuggling drugs from Mexico.”

  Russ did not smile. It was clear he didn’t believe a word she’d said. “Fine. Go do your movie. Run off and overload yourself with career boosters. Have a great time. Just know that I will hang on to this house ’til my last breath to keep it out of your hands so you can’t turn around and sell it.”

  He grabbed the Dragon and the leash and pulled a worried-looking Spero toward him as he opened the door. “Meantime, I’ll look for you on the big screen.”

  Miranda snatched the Dragon back before Russ realized what she was doing. “And I’ll look for you in the nearest cave because that’s what this is really all about! You’re going back into hiding.” She took a breath, lowered her volume and handed the device to him. “If you ever decide to come out into the sunlight, let me know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE UPTOWN A TRAIN had been stalled for more than forty minutes. Thankfully, the air-conditioning was still blasting and Miranda’s car was mostly empty so she didn’t have to get too close to sweaty passengers or listen to loud complaints about New York transit. Miranda leaned back in her seat and idly tried to recall if she’d set her DVR to record The Maltese Falcon while she’d been out then mused that she didn’t really care. The adventures of Sam Spade couldn’t compare with the fun she’d had that evening, meeting with the other four actors who’d been killed in The Agency for a “zombie farewell.”

  They’d chatted about upcoming jobs, excitedly discussed the perks they’d receive if The Agency turned out to be next year’s big blockbuster, and joked that Miranda might not really be in the zombie club since her demise in the film had been one of those soap opera endings where no body is seen, which left the possibility of her character returning for the sequel. Then they’d sworn off shoptalk to discuss their personal lives. All five had agreed that filming played havoc with relationships. Miranda had ruefully admitted that her own romance had gone bust before she’d even arrived on set but noted that at least her dog still loved her. She’d found the best dog-walker/pet sitter in Upper Manhattan so Phoebe could keep a normal schedule

  After di
nner, the group had hit a small cabaret. She’d had a great time, but Miranda was ready to get home and grab some much needed sleep. She hadn’t originally viewed having to remain on the A train for an extra hour as the highlight of the night.

  Miranda suddenly realized she was relieved the train was stuck. For the first time in three months she had a chance to think. Shooting the movie had been strenuous. When she wasn’t dodging fake bullets or emitting wild martial-arts cries (which tended to coincide with wild martial-arts moves) she was learning lines or massaging arnica balm on her bruised arms and legs. At home, she would give Phoebe her last walk for the day, grab the food she’d picked up at the local deli or the Chinese restaurant around the corner then plop down in front of the TV to watch something mindless that didn’t involve bullets or martial arts.

  Each evening she checked her answering machine for messages. She’d checked her cell phone—which wasn’t allowed on set—and she’d checked her email. Tim and Farrah had enthusiastically told her about how much they liked little Jesse. They’d been allowed to have him over to their house with his temporary foster parents. Abra and Yusuf Durani emailed or called with updates on Kamyar’s show. Darci Becker had called twice about the same topic. Bonnie had managed to set up a Skype program and invited Jesse and his foster mom over to sign on Bonnie’s screen so Miranda could see him. Dave Brennan had called three times to let her know that the court date regarding the two wills had been postponed to October, then November, then early December and that as far as he knew, Russ was still in it to win it.

  She hadn’t heard from Russ. He hadn’t sent an email, hadn’t sent a text, hadn’t written a note saying “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you and of course you’re coming back and I miss you so much it hurts” on elegant stationery or even on a crummy page torn out of a spiral notebook.

  Miranda, for her part, did miss Russ so much it hurt. She would have assumed being insanely busy would have helped push thoughts of Russ out of her head but the scriptwriters for The Agency had apparently been stalking her in Alabama because they kept adding scenes that brought back recent memories.

  They’d filmed in an art gallery, having Miami Montreville meeting with a double agent determined to extract sensitive information about a mission. Miranda had immediately thought about her conversation with Darci Becker and Russ’s amused disdain for the “new, new” Impressionist paintings. During the few moments she had for a coffee break, Miranda reviewed some of Darci’s comments about Russ and relationships and wondered if he’d gotten so scared about his feelings that he’d used Miranda’s decision to honor her movie contract as an excuse to bail or if he simply had become too much a hermit to ever commit to another person.

  When a fortune cookie opened to reveal the words “You have a decision to make soon” while Miranda was shooting a scene in a Chinese restaurant whimsically called Wing Ding’s, Miranda began to wonder if Miss Virginia’s house had been bugged. She had to use all her skills as an actress to keep her focus on rolling under tables to avoid the super villain who was trying to use sharpened chopsticks to stab her. What she’d really wanted to do was run to a forbidden cell phone and call Abra to ask whether Russ had taken the job with the defense contractor or found a teaching job with one of the local colleges.

  The most bizarre situation was the fight in a hot-air balloon, which they’d filmed in a giant warehouse in Jersey City. Dangling over the side trying to escape the clutches of the villain (who’d failed with the chopsticks at Wing Ding’s) should have kept her mind off everything but falling. There was not an ounce of romance involved in the scene which called for Miranda to struggle with the villain and finally toss the villain overboard while keeping the balloon intact. Nonetheless, as Miranda grabbed her attacker and, with the aid of the stunt director and strong wires, carefully twisted and turned and kept the audience in suspense, she could feel Russ’s arms around her as they gazed down at the deer running through the woods.

  “Miranda?”

  She glanced up and blinked twice. What was Grant Spencer doing on the A train at nearly two in the morning?

  “Grant. Hey.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying not to fall asleep before I get back to my apartment. You?”

  He laughed. “The same. Believe it or not I bought a one-bedroom up on Arden Street last month. I’m about ten blocks from your place now.”

  Not for long, she thought. “That’s great. I know you always liked the neighborhood.”

  He nodded. “So, what are you up to workwise?”

  “Remember the audition back in May? For the spy movie?”

  “You got it?”

  “I did. Just finished wrapping up three months’ worth of action and not much dialogue.”

  He smiled. “I heard it was pretty stunt-heavy.”

  “It was,” she said. “My bruises have bruises.”

  “So, you’re through?”

  That’s what wrapping up means, Grant, flashed through her mind but she simply said, “Yep.”

  “Hmm. That’s fortuitous.”

  “O-kay. How so?”

  “We’re about to finish previews for Topaz in Delirium and are headed to Broadway once we’ve dealt with a few issues, one of which is the casting of a very crucial role. A role that has Ms. Miranda Nolan written all over it. Can I just say, we’re in dire need of a triple threat here? This is perfect running into you! I was actually going to call your agent Monday and tell him the producers are already on board with an offer of a contract.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.” He inhaled then said, “Look, I know I messed things up with you and I’m so sorry. For what it’s worth, the little fling with Cyan did not work out and I was an idiot for going out with her. I don’t know if we can ever get back to what we had, but I’d like to try. Also, you’re one of the best performers on the planet and you’d be an amazing asset to Delirium. If you need even more incentive, word after previews is that this one is going to break records for Tony nominations and that particular role is sure to get a nod for Best Featured Actress.”

  Miranda was stunned. Memories began flooding her mind, beginning with her confrontation with Grant late last spring. That scene was instantly replaced with the memory of Russ twirling her around, kissing her and telling her he cared. Russ offering to give up his claim to the estate for her. That vision suddenly changed to their last argument. Miranda could still hear the anger in Russ’s voice.

  Other visions quickly vied with each other for the winning spot in her mind.

  She heard herself telling Russ that her father had wondered if she kept busy because her mother hadn’t had the chance for a full life.

  Next, Miranda saw herself onstage in the final moments of Illumination, singing along with the rest of the chorus then bowing during the standing ovation. Accepting the roses and the high-fives from her fellow performers. That morphed into a vision of the future—Miranda giving an acceptance speech while holding her Tony Award. The image shifted. Miranda saw herself receiving a different type of prize. Jesse clasped a cheap bracelet around her wrist; a bracelet inscribed From Jesse to Miss Randi. She closed her eyes, picturing Jesse being carried in Russ’s arms after a full day at the carnival, then watching as Phoebe and Spero settled themselves securely around the child to keep him warm and safe and feeling loved as he slept. Jesse desperately needed more than foster families in his life, no matter how well they signed. He needed a real parent. Miranda remembered the look in Russ’s eyes when he said Jesse wasn’t the only one who needed her.

  Her mind flashed again—back to the warehouse theater used by Masquerade, but this time the image shifted to the faces of the audience that included her family, Abra and Yusuf and...Russ.

  For once Miranda’s brain supplied her with words other than “Ah.” She tried keeping those words civil—after all, s
he was on a train with no opportunity to make a grand exit. Miranda looked Grant squarely in the eye and said, “No offense, but it appears you’re not coloring with all the crayons in your box. I have no desire to resume a romantic relationship with you and I’m pretty insulted you imagine that could ever happen. I have no feelings for you anymore. While I truly don’t wish for you to be run over by a bus or anything, I also don’t particularly wish to be around you. As to the show? It sounds wonderful and I hope for the sake of everyone involved that it wins numerous awards, but I’m not going to be part of it. I thank you for believing I could be an asset and I’ll admit it’s tempting but there are more important things in my life now, and they’re not here.”

  The train lurched forward. The stall was over.

  Grant was clearly dumbfounded at her response, but he wisely chose not to argue or plead. “Well, I’m sorry. I wish you luck in whatever you’ve chosen for yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  Grant walked back to the other end of the car. His stop was the one before Miranda’s but Miranda didn’t bother to watch him exit the train. She was too busy focusing on the decision she’d just made and what she needed to do.

  First, she’d sublet her apartment to an actor from The Agency who’d been despairing of ever finding a place in Manhattan. Then she’d pack all the clothes, electronics and small pieces of furniture she owned, rent a truck and drive to Birmingham. She would grit her teeth and stay with Tim and Farrah until she found another place. She’d get in touch with an accompanist she’d worked with years before and see if she was interested in doing some cabaret gigs. She’d teach acting, dance, voice or all three at the children’s theater.

  Miranda resolved to get the stubborn, wounded Russ Gerik to understand that she loved him. Convince him to trust her. If he refused to be part of her life, she would cry and the pain would pierce her heart for a very long time. That thought nearly brought her to tears, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight.