Inked Up

by Terri Thayer

  “Hello?”

  She heard nothing but heavy breathing. Great, another geriatric. Probably with a check for five dollars. She prayed for patience. “Can I help you?”

  “I like your hair color,” a soft voice said.

  April strained to figure out what he was saying. “Okay?”

  “Your lips are so plump and pretty.”

  April gasped, unable to contain her surprise. Rocky looked questioningly at her. April realized she was staring wide-eyed at the phone. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “And your boobies look good in that sweater.”

  April jumped out of her seat, her hand covering the front of her. Some twisted sense of duty made her ask, “Would you like to pledge something?”

  Deana took the phone from her hand and hung it up quickly.

  “Did you get a pervert?” she asked. “Every time I volunteer at the public radio station, I get one.”

  April had never had that happen before.

  “It’s amazing how violated I feel right now,” April said. “I mean, he barely got started.”

  “That’s how he gets his jollies,” Suzi said. “Don’t let him get to you.”

  Across the room, another phone rang. Mary Lou answered and hung up after listening for several seconds. She exchanged a look with April. She raised her finger to her temple and twirled it, a time-honored sign of a nut job.

  On stage, Ferguson was introducing a local comedian who wore a porkpie hat and skinny tie. His untucked shirt was covered with a vest. He started out by mentioning that his girlfriend was homeless. She lived with him, but he was getting ready to toss her out. Funny.

  The phone rang again. April felt the jangling noise in her spine. Her hair crawled with anticipation. Rocky picked it up. She listened for a moment then said, “Really? You like them, huh?” She motioned for the cameraman to turn her way. He obliged.

  “I’ve got something special, just for you,” Rocky said, looking directly into the camera and standing. She turned her back on the camera. She unbuckled her belt and bent at the waist. Deana, who was closest to her, put a restraining hand on her waistband. Suzi gestured for the cameraman to change his focus and hung up the phone. The comedian appeared on the monitor.

  The stampers fell back in their chairs, laughing.

  “You really wouldn’t have mooned that guy, would you?” April said.

  “I would, too. He deserved it.”

  “Oh lord, it’s a good thing Mitch had to work today.”

  “He’s perfectly aware of what his sister is capable of,” Rocky sniffed.

  “Sad thing is,” Mary Lou said with heavy irony, “it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Rocky said, “Hey, I haven’t mooned anyone since the Red Barons got the Yankee franchise. The other team loved it.”

  “As I recall, they joined in,” Mary Lou said.

  The Campbells were manning a phone in the row behind April. She went over to say hello.

  “Nice of you to come,” April said. “I appreciate it. I didn’t realize Vince told you about Mitch’s cause.”

  Grizz Campbell looked blankly at her.

  Charlotte said, “We always work Scott’s telethons. We didn’t know you’d be here.”

  April backed away as fast as she could without appearing rude.

  Finally, it was Clive’s turn on stage. April felt a thrill of anticipation.

  “Here we go, girls,” she said. “Now the phones will ring.”

  She saw Bonnie enter the studio and waved her over. She shifted in her seat so Bonnie could share her chair. Bonnie sat, keeping her eyes on the stage. April could feel her knees shaking.

  “He’ll be great,” April said.

  Bonnie squeezed her hand. “He’s nervous.”

  April watched on the monitor as Clive took his position at the keyboard. Clive, so diminutive in person, was just the right size on the television. His toothy smile sparkled and his over-the-top gyrations worked on the small screen. He oozed personality. Anyone would want to be at a party where he was.

  He sang his old Kickapoos anthem. His voice wasn’t as pure as it once had been, but the gravelly quality that age had added gave the song additional verve. He slowed down the verse, but as soon as the familiar chorus began, the energy in the studio was electric. The stampers clapped and sang along. Mary Lou and Suzi reprised their Kickapoos kick like schoolgirls.

  It was a rousing first number. But no phones were ringing. Was Clive too far past his prime?

  April stared at the black phone, willing it to ring. Rocky waved her hand over hers as if she could magically make people call. Suzi and Mary Lou were still standing with their arms slung around each other. Deana shot April a concerned look.

  The first phone rang. Bonnie grabbed it before April could. Another phone rang.

  Soon all the stampers were busy. Bonnie had taken over April’s position and was cheerfully convincing the caller to double his pledge.

  Onstage, Clive took a seat next to Ferguson. “I was just a boy,” Ferguson began his interview, “when I first heard you sing.”

  April left her station to her mother and went back to where Vanesa was waiting. A boy with a French horn was chatting her up.

  “Scared?” April asked.

  “Not really,” the girl said. She kept her eyes front.

  April was scared enough for both of them. This could be a spectacular bad idea. At best, she had exposed Vanesa to ridicule and humiliation. At worst, she’d exploited the teen for her own purposes.

  Vanesa looked beautiful, dressed in a party dress that had clearly belonged to her mother. Sleeveless, it was a pretty shade of pink, with a full skirt and v-neck that left her arms and neck exposed. Her skin was unblemished, and she looked vulnerable and dangerous at the same time.

  She was standing taller than usual, and April glanced down to see she was in borrowed heels, too. The sight of the gap in the back of the shoe saddened April. Vanesa looked too much like a little girl playing dress up. Xenia was not around to tell her she’d break her neck wearing heels that were the wrong size.

  They heard Ferguson tell Clive how thrilled he was to have him on the telethon. Vanesa stood, readying herself to go on. She took a deep breath and moved toward the stage. The camera swung over to her, and she smiled radiantly. On the monitor, she looked possessed and in control.

  April felt a thrill of pride, misplaced though it may be. She’s trying so hard to be grown-up. Just as April finished the thought, Vanesa’s foot caught on the indoor-outdoor carpet covering the floor, and she tripped. April’s hand flew to her mouth. She felt as though she’d done it to her, thought a bad thought and had it come true. She was too far away to save her. Vanesa jumped up and smoothed her hair. She stumbled again.

  Onstage, Clive clowned at the keyboard, standing, brushing out imaginary tux tails and bowing. The cameraman swung over to him, leaving a red-faced Vanesa struggling to regain her composure in peace.

  Pedro came out of the hall that served as the wings and righted her. He kissed her forehead and gave her a gentle push. Vanesa gave him a weak smile. He whispered in her ear and she grinned. Mitch was at Pedro’s side.

  The phones stilled. April looked frantically at the volunteers, but not one person had a phone in hand. She felt her stomach try to crawl up into her throat and lodge there.

  What a stupid idea this had been. There was no way she could raise enough money to make a difference this way. April looked at Vanesa, so adultlike in her mother’s heels and makeup, but she was a child. April’s heart sank. What if she exposed the kids to real danger? She thought about the perv that’d called earlier.

  She rushed to the girl’s side. “Are you sure?”

  Vanesa looked at her dad and dismissed April with her eyes. “I’m going to Hollywood, remember?”

  Ferguson began, “I have a special treat for you tonight. Vanesa Villarreal, the oldest daughter of slain local resident, Xenia Villarreal . . .”

  April
cringed and watched Vanesa take the blow like a boxer might take a body shot. She straightened and faced the audience with her eyes glittering. April looked for Pedro. He was holding himself stiffly. April took her seat back at the phones. Her mother had found an empty spot vacated by one of the other volunteers.

  Clive played over Ferguson’s voice. April didn’t recognize the ballad, but Vanesa knew it. She closed her eyes and poured her soul into the phrasing. The melody soared. Her voice was pure, untrained. She was thin in the high notes, but her technical deficiencies were offset by her passion. Her body swayed, her fingers clutched, her knees bent as though she couldn’t bear the weight of the words.

  April felt her eyes fill with tears. She had to close them against the onset of the emotions that Vanesa was pulling out of her. She opened them when she realized that it didn’t help. Vanesa’s voice was penetrating every pore of her skin.

  “Don’t cry,” a soft voice said in her ear.

  Mitch. He scooted a chair over next to her and sat down. He put an arm around her, and she rested on his shoulder. Mitch’s foot tapped to the beat.

  “Where’s Pedro?” she asked, looking around for the father.

  “He went out to the parking lot. He couldn’t stand to listen.”

  “She sounds beautiful,” April said.

  “Yes she does, and she seems to love being on stage,” he said. “You can stop worrying about her.”

  The phone ringing in her ear brought her up short. Her pulse pounded. What if she got the weirdo again? She took a breath and picked up the receiver.

  The man’s voice on the other end was loud, nothing like the whispering pervert.

  “I’m pledging two hundred dollars,” he said. “Here’s my credit card information.”

  April took down the numbers and hung up. Her phone rang again. As she picked it up, she looked around. Everyone was on the phone. Rocky was scribbling fast, and Suzi had asked her pledger to slow down. As soon as a phone was set in its cradle, it rang again.

  “That girl sings like an angel,” the next caller told April. “She has the purest voice I’ve ever heard.”

  April took her information and hung up. Another caller was worried about the house. “I want to be sure she has a roof over her head. She and her sister and brothers deserve their own place.”

  Mitch pitched in, gathering up pledge sheets as the volunteers finished them and replenishing the supply. He took out a calculator and began to add up what they’d taken in.

  Onstage, Vanesa soared to a big finish and bowed. When she lifted her head, April gave her a thumbs-up.

  Ferguson circled his hand around, signaling the duo to sing again.

  Clive segued into a finger-snapping jive tune. Vanesa moved into it as though she’d been performing her whole life. Probably she had, in her bathroom mirror with a hairbrush.

  Ferguson was clapping now, his bony knee bopping up and down. The phones kept ringing.

  Vanesa and Clive did an encore, then left the stage. Ferguson closed the live portion of his show. The phones continued to ring nonstop for another half hour. April, Mitch and the stampers stuck around until the phones slowed. They found Clive, Vanesa and Pedro in the reception area, drinking hot tea and chatting with Mrs. Ferguson.

  Vanesa had changed into jeans and a hoodie, a teen again.

  “So how’d we do?” Clive said.

  Mitch said, “Fourteen thousand in credit card pledges that I saw.”

  “Add this to your totals,” Clive said, throwing down five one-hundred-dollar bills.

  “Clive!” April said. “You don’t have to . . .”

  “I know I don’t, but I want to.”

  Pedro said, “And Mr. Ferguson is going to donate the money to you, Mitch?”

  Ferguson entered from the studio. He pounded Pedro on the back. “That I am, sir. That I am. I expect we raised a quarter of a million dollars today.”

  “Really?” April had no idea that the local people had that kind of money to spare.

  He slung an arm around her neck. “You had a brilliant idea. Did you ever think about a career in talent management? You have two wonderful clients right here,” he said, pointing to Vanesa and Clive.

  “Not bloody likely,” Clive said. “I’m going back into retirement.”

  “Not to mention you were right. Bigger talent did translate into bigger donations. We did so well, I’ve decided to donate twenty percent to Mitch’s houses,” Ferguson said, obviously pleased with himself.

  He took his wife by the arm. “We’ll go do the paperwork. The missus here does all the credit card processing. You’ll see the money in your account tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”

  He and his wife said their good-byes and left.

  “He’s just going to put money in your account?” Rocky asked.

  “Well, the foundation’s account. Not mine. I gave him all the banking information. He’s going to do an online transfer.”

  “Nice,” she said.

  Mitch clasped Clive’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough. The Villarreals will be able to move in right away now. I can hire painters and upgrade the kitchen appliances. And I can get started on your neighbor’s house much sooner.”

  Pedro took Vanesa home, and Bonnie and Clive followed them out. The stampers and Mitch were still milling around, excited, unwilling to go home just yet.

  “Let’s go get a drink and celebrate,” Suzi said. April was glad to see Suzi felt like going out. She was beginning to shake off what had happened at the Pumpkin Express.

  “I’d love to have you over to the barn,” April said. “But I have roommates now.”

  “We heard,” Mary Lou said. “Vince’s parents?”

  “How’s that?” Suzi said. “Living with old folks?”

  “Must put a damper on your love life,” Rocky said with a dangerous grin.

  April felt herself blush. Mitch frowned at his sister.

  Rocky tried an innocent gaze, but it didn’t work. She laughed. “Come on,” she said. “Did you think no one would notice your Jeep heading over there every night?”

  “I’m still a married woman,” April said.

  “Not by choice,” she said.

  “Rocky, knock it off,” Mitch said. “What April and I have going on is none of your business.”

  Mitch ticked off on his fingers. “I can pay the supply house, and the well diggers. I’m thinking the second house should be a two-story. I can make that fifty grand go a long way to making the next family even more comfortable. I can move up the timetable, too. Get started right away instead of having to take a break.”

  April frowned and moved closer to him. “I was kind of looking forward to your taking a break. You’ve been working so hard, we barely see each other.”

  “I’m over every night,” he protested.

  “It’s not enough to suit me,” April said.

  “Really? Really?” Mitch caught her hair and swung her face around to meet his. His eyes were dancing, and a smile played around his lips. She was trapped, but she didn’t mind in the least.

  “Maybe we’re just not using our time wisely,” he said, his voice smooth and seductive. She felt his breath on her ear and it made her gasp. He unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. “All this idle chit chat.”

  “Idle,” April repeated, her mind going muddy. Mitch planted kisses on the bare skin of her neck. His eyelashes brushed the spots he’d just kissed, keeping the nerve endings at attention.

  She slumped against the back of Mitch’s couch.

  He leaned back, slightly breathless, his lips red and wet. She brushed a finger against them, and he tightened his teeth on it.

  “If we had more time,” she began.

  “It’s all about efficiency,” he said. “We just need to learn to use our time more wisely.”

  “Okay,” she said, her breath returning to normal.

  “I warn you, there’s a bit of a learning curve,” he said, his hand entwining in hers.


  “I’m a quick study,” she said.

  CHAPTER 20

  April drove carefully up the winding road to Trish’s place, taking the corners slowly so she wouldn’t slip. The road was covered with piles of slick, decomposing leaves.

  Trish had left a message while April was at the telethon, asking to meet with her Sunday afternoon. April had agreed by voice mail and so once again found herself navigating the twists and turns of Pine’s End.

  As she drove, April tried to decide how to play it with Trish. More forceful? Less? Give her everything she wants? Hold back?

  She had to know how much Trish knew about Xenia’s business activities.

  Suddenly her windshield filled with the sight of a red SUV sliding toward her. April felt a jolt of adrenalin hit her system and she sat up straight. Someone had taken the curve too quickly and was on her side of the road. A crack of thunder split the clouds, and April shut her eyes, waiting for the impact.

  She felt the cars hit, sending hers into a spin. Her foot stomped on the brake. Her father had spent hours teaching her how to drive, but after years of driving the hills of San Francisco, she couldn’t remember if she was supposed to steer into the spin or away. It didn’t matter. The wheel was moving without her.

  She felt her neck snap and had the sensation that her brain was moving inside her skull like a pinball. She could only hope that her innards would end up where they were supposed to be.

  She came to a stop under a bare tree. Alone. The other car was out of sight in her rear view, gone already. Either he hadn’t noticed the danger he’d put her in, or he simply didn’t care.

  April let her heart rate return to normal. She drew in several long breaths, letting her lungs fill with air and blowing it out forcefully. She shook out her shoulders and hands. She lifted her feet. Everything seemed to be working. She might be sore in the morning, but she seemed to be okay.

  She was close to Trish’s house. She started her car and continued on her way.

  April killed her headlights as she pulled into the driveway. A few of the outer house lights came on, triggered by a motion detector. Inside, the house was dark, however. Trish did not appear to be home. April knocked on the front door to be sure. No answer. She glanced over at the neighbors. No one seemed home there, either. The only light was coming from the street lamps.