The Notorious Pagan Jones

by Nina Berry

  She thought back. There had been no fights, not that Pagan had seen. No visitors.

  The day before Eva Jones hung herself, she’d sung a German lullaby to Ava to get her to sleep.

  The morning of her death, Daddy had kissed Mama goodbye before he headed off to drive Ava to school and Pagan to the studio. He’d seemed perfectly contented on that drive. It had been when Pagan got in that evening that the world had fallen apart. So whatever had spurred her mother to her death remained a mystery.

  And what of the shadowy Rolf von Albrecht? Was he a member of Mama’s extended family who had needed help because he was some kind of criminal?

  Or was he something worse than a criminal?

  Pagan shoved the thought and all its implications from her mind. It was too much. She was still tipsy and not making good decisions. She needed help. She needed perspective.

  Call Mercedes. That’s what she had to do. She was padding across the darkened bedroom toward her door when she heard the front door to the suite open.

  Devin. It all came rushing back—the fight with Nicky, her drinking, Bennie’s banishment. She’d failed Devin, too. He’d tried to keep her sober and moved heaven and earth to get her on this film, and now that was gone. Everything was gone.

  “Pagan?” Devin said loudly.

  She backed away from the door until she bumped into the edge of her bed.

  “Are you here?” His voice was getting closer. “It’s okay. I know what happened.”

  Something rang, loud and jarring. She jumped, heart skittering.

  The ring came again. The phone in their suite. She paused. Would he keep walking toward her room, or…?

  Click, and Devin picked up the receiver. “Hallo? Yes, sir.”

  Sir? Who did Devin Black call “sir”? Could it be studio head Albert Dorskind?

  “Yes, sir. Can you wait for a moment while I check?” The headset clicked on the table, and his footsteps moved toward her bedroom again.

  Panicking, not wanting to face him, she darted into her closet and shut the door. Maybe he’d get his phone call over with quickly and leave her alone again. That’s all she wanted, a few minutes alone to talk to Mercedes.

  Her bedroom door clunked open, and the lights flicked on. “Pagan?”

  His shadow crossed her bedroom to the bathroom. He flicked the light on there, too, then crossed back rapidly to the phone, leaving her bedroom door half-open. “She’s not here, sir, but she was. From the wet towel and water on the floor, it looks as if she took a shower and left again.”

  Why was he discussing Pagan with whomever? Also, his voice now held a distinct accent. Not exactly an English one, but more of a Scottish burr, with rolled Rs, softer vowels, and crisper consonants. As if answering a question, he said, “No, I have no idea why. I’ll find out now if you let me go look for her.”

  He sighed, listening. Pagan would have given her left kidney to hear what was being said on the other end of the line.

  “I have been reporting in precisely on schedule,” Devin said, irritation creeping into voice. The Scottish accent grew thicker the angrier he got. “I’d be with Pagan now, but you insisted I meet up with Felfe’s girl only to have her tell me precisely nothing. Yes, Felfe’s got nothing new, and I spent all night finding that out. Nothing on troop movements, police preparations, or new supplies being brought in. No offense, sir, but Felfe’s a great useless pile of dung.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was crisper. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  Troop movements? That wasn’t something an art thief reported to someone about, and on a schedule, too. It wasn’t something a studio head like Albert Dorskind would give a damn about. There was only one explanation that fit all the facts.

  Devin Black was a spy.

  But for whom? And was “Felfe’s girl” the same one he’d been dancing with just a little while ago? It sounded as if she was some sort of contact for information rather than a true date. Pagan might even be able to like the girl now.

  “No, sir, I haven’t heard back from my contact yet, but of course he can’t call from over there with all their phones tapped.”

  Over there? Phones tapped? That had to mean he was waiting to hear from someone in East Berlin. He must’ve been going to meet that contact when she’d tried to follow him.

  And if Devin was worried about the East Germans overhearing—did that make him a spy for the West? Her brain was spinning too fast for her to work it all out, but that made the most sense.

  “I’ll see him tomorrow if I can, while the girl’s at that party with Kruger.”

  The girl. He was talking about Pagan again. Is that why he’d given her permission to go to that stupid garden party? So he could meet up freely with that East German contact?

  Devin paused and then replied, “That’s all going very well. She’s not falling for him, not in the way you mean. Which is just as well. But she’s agreed to go tomorrow, so he’s in. Yes.” He waited, listening. “There was a bit of a close call today when Kruger’s mother talked to someone about her grandparents. It’s been useful to have her so driven to find out more, but perhaps we’ve manipulated that piece of intelligence enough. She’s been through so much. We could just let her uncover the truth now.”

  Pagan’s chest was thumping like the snare drum during “Rock Around the Clock.” So Devin did know something about her grandparents. He’d found it useful. He wanted her to try to find it out, but not yet.

  But why? Was it somehow connected to what she’d just learned about her mother?

  “No, but she’s clever, brave, and extremely determined, so we might as well… No, sir!” This last protestation was startled and vehement. “No, that’s just an honest assessment. Of course I’m objective enough to continue.”

  Pagan strained, but could hear nothing of the other end of the conversation. She heard Devin exhale, as if deeply agitated.

  “Have you heard anything specific, sir?” A pause. “That’s disappointing. Yes, I’ll report in tomorrow. I’d better go find her now. Good night, sir.” He hung up the receiver and said in the thickest Scottish burr she’d ever heard: “Ya glaikit skelly old tosser.”

  He left, slamming the door behind him. She was alone again.

  Pagan exited the closet fizzing with confusion and apprehension. Who was Devin working for? He’d yakked about gathering information on East German troop movements. That and his Scottish accent implied that he worked for the West, probably the British.

  But maybe the accent was a fake. Maybe that conversation was a double bluff and he was actually working for the East Germans, trying to find out how much the West knew.

  Her head hurt thinking up all the possible angles. Or maybe that was the alcohol. She took some aspirin and hastily donned a cotton skirt and blouse. She stared at her bare face in the mirror. Dark circles had lodged under her eyes.

  She’d seen them there before, after a long night of drinking. They were a sign of her mistake. She’d lost the tasty role of a lifetime in Violet Houlihan. She’d be facing the consequences for years to come, maybe the rest of her life.

  But hearing Devin’s phone conversation was a reminder that she and her troubles were tiny things, dust mite in the air of the grand theater of life. She was in a city split between world powers, the epicenter of conflict where information about troop movements and supplies could trigger a war. Nuclear war.

  Somehow she was connected to that. Overhearing Devin’s conversation on the phone just now was a strange gift. Now she had a reason to sober up and try again. She had to know the truth.

  She wished she could call Mercedes, but Devin could be back any second and she had to decide what to do before he returned. She could either confront Devin with everything she knew, or she could make her own plans, play this out, and see where it went.

  The answe
r was obvious. She donned a bulky coat, tied a dark scarf over her messy bright hair, and slunk out of the suite. Down in the lobby, she passed the unmanned front desk, lurked behind a pillar until the doorman came inside for a bathroom break, and trotted out of the hotel.

  The night air was cool but not cold. It did little to clear her head. Clouds covered the stars, shrouding the city in a murky darkness. She didn’t like the heaviness in the air, the long shadows cast by the streetlights, the anonymous cars with blinding headlights rushing past.

  Pagan walked briskly around the block unmolested, then took off her scarf and bounced up the stairs through the Hilton’s front doors. The doorman, back from his break, hastened to get the door for her.

  “Miss Jones,” he said, touching his cap.

  So far so good. She made her way up to the suite and found Devin still gone. She deposited her coat on her bed, repacked the scarf in her luggage, and made herself a big glass of ice water. By then the door had clicked open, and Devin was back.

  “There you are,” he said. His hair was ruffled, as if he’d been out in the wind. “I was out looking for you. Everything okay?”

  His accent was once again perfectly, blandly American. The difference was startling. As an actress who’d mastered a few accents herself, Pagan knew real talent when she heard it, and this boy was good.

  “If by okay you mean horrible, then yeah, sure,” she said.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, shedding his jacket. “I’ve been trying to find you.”

  “Sorry.” She took a long drink. “I went for a walk. Had to clear my head.”

  “Yeah, the doorman told me he saw you come in a couple minutes ago,” he said, removing his jacket. His eyes went to the half-open door of her bedroom, where he could see her coat lying on the bed. “That’s all you did? Go for a walk?”

  Time for her confession. She cast herself back to the time, just a few hours ago, when Bennie had confronted her. Her eyes filled.

  “I got fired,” she said, her voice thick. It was all too true. “I had a couple of drinks and messed everything up, Devin. I’m sorry. The studio’s never going to put me on another picture, are they?”

  He set his jacket down on the back of an armchair and took a few steps toward her. “Bennie told me.”

  She glanced up through wet eyelashes and saw his face. The firm mouth and expressive eyebrows were calm, controlled. But his eyes were ablaze.

  “So you know.” She set her water glass down. “I had two drinks. Well, more like two halves of two drinks. Not that it matters. I drank the first one after what happened with Nicky, and then I couldn’t stop.”

  “You could have,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “But you didn’t.”

  “Yes.” She blinked and tears spilled out of each eye. She brushed them away with an angry swipe of her hand. “Yes, yes to all of the proper A.A. terminology. Time for a fearless moral inventory.” She took a deep breath. If she really was going to be fearless about this, she knew all too well the one thing she really needed to do. “Mercedes told me I should attend a meeting. She was right. Do you think they have them in Berlin? Or maybe I should just pack my bags.”

  “Don’t pack yet,” he said. “Let Bennie cool down.”

  He took a clean linen handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her. She took it and blew her nose. “He’s not going to change his mind.”

  “Probably not,” Devin said. “But we should sleep on this before we make any drastic decisions.”

  “So you’re not sticking me on a plane first thing tomorrow?” She knew damned well he wasn’t. He wanted her to go to that stupid garden party with Thomas so that he could head into East Berlin and do whatever secret things he did there. Meanwhile, she could do her own secret things without him hovering around.

  “There’s no rush,” he said, and turned away from her, easing his tie loose and heading for his own bedroom door. “Besides­—” his voice was oh, so casual “—you’re going out with Thomas tomorrow.”

  You bet she was. But she couldn’t seem enthusiastic about that. “He won’t mind if I cancel on him. He’ll understand.”

  “Cancel?” He disappeared into his room, calling out behind him. “Why?”

  “Because I’m not feeling up to it!” She let it spout out of her angrily. “After tonight I don’t want to ever go anywhere again.”

  Devin stuck his head out of his bedroom. “See how you feel in the morning,” he said as if it were just a suggestion. “Don’t make any big decisions now.”

  Subtle and thoughtful all at once. He knew just how to play this. He didn’t know she was playing, too. She nodded. “Fine. See you in the morning.”

  He stepped fully out of his room. “It’s going to work out, Pagan,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”

  She looked at him, standing there with his shirt half-­unbuttoned, his belt off, his long-lidded eyes shadowed with fatigue and concern.

  They were alone in their suite together, tired after a terrible day, and it would be so easy to walk over and kiss him. She imagined how it would feel as she stood on her bare tiptoes and set her lips softly against his. He’d want to pull away; he’d tell her it was wrong; and then he’d wrap his arms around her and hold her all night long until they were out of breath.

  Except that wasn’t how it would go. However much he might like it, Devin Black wouldn’t bed her tonight. He wouldn’t even allow her to kiss him, because right now it was wrong.

  Maybe it was something connected to that souvenir bullet he kept with his gun. Maybe it was the shame she’d seen in his face when he spoke of his criminal past. But Devin was trying to make up for something, and he wouldn’t do the wrong thing, however right it might feel at the time. That self-­control of his, that need to do the decent thing, was one of the reasons she wanted to kiss him now. That and his knowing, unhappy blue eyes, his warm elegant hands, and the way the long muscles in his shoulders slanted up the line of his neck.

  That…and because he wasn’t Nicky.

  Which was why she shouldn’t kiss him. Not yet.

  “You made a mistake tonight,” he said. “But you can start over again. You can do this.”

  She set her empty water glass on the table with a click. “At least nobody died,” she said, and went to her bedroom and shut the door.

  * * *

  She slept in the next day and had breakfast in her room, nursing the expected hangover headache until the aspirin and coffee kicked in. When Devin yelled out that she better be dressed by noon, she told him to sit on a duck, but threw on some clothes.

  Around twelve o’clock, someone tapped on the door, and when Devin let them in it turned out to be Matthew Smalls and the actor Hans Petermann, dressed in casual pants and crisp white shirts for a summer’s day out.

  “Someone here to see you,” Devin said, and departed the suite.

  Pagan stared at the two men, taken aback. “Gentlemen. Hello,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “We were hoping to have a meeting,” Matthew said. “But we don’t know where to go in Berlin.”

  “A meeting?” They were both looking at her expectantly, as if she should know what they were talking about.

  “Matthew and I are in the program,” Hans said. “Your friend Mister Black said we could have a meeting in here.”

  Her mouth had fallen open. She shut it, blushing as the sense of what they were saying sank in. “You’re both…”

  “Drunks,” Matthew said, and laughed. “Sober three years, two months, and five days now.”

  “Six months, twenty days,” Hans said.

  Pagan gulped. Devin had arranged this. He must have. For her. “Twelve hours.”

  “Is it okay if we have a seat?” Matthew asked, his voice gentle.

  They left an hour la
ter. Pagan watched them walk toward the elevator, then went back inside the suite, smiling. Maybe it was knowing she wasn’t the only one who wanted a drink. Or maybe it was the fact that Devin had gone out of his way to do her the best favor in the world. But she felt like she just might make it through the day without repeating last night’s mistake. Devin came back a little while later with two tall iced teas and some takeout. The French fries were congealing a bit, but the chicken kebabs on little wooden sticks were delicious.

  “Thanks,” she said. “For arranging that meeting today.”

  His eyes rested on her face, smiling faintly. “You’re welcome.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d still be nice to me,” she said. “Now that I’m off the movie.”

  “You don’t really think that’s why I’m nice to you,” he said.

  “I guess.” She studied him. “I know you’re using me to get something else, something important.”

  He got very still, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Just as you’re using me,” he said. “To get to Berlin and learn more about your mother, and to try to revive your career.”

  “And to get out of reform school,” she said. “Is that all relationships are? Using each other?”

  He shook his head. “At that reform school last week, you could’ve left Mercedes behind and gotten away. Instead, you climbed back over the fence to help her fight those other girls. That wasn’t in your best interest. But you did it anyway, because you care about her.”

  “Yeah, but I need her,” she said. “It was selfish because I can’t imagine life without her.”

  “Is that what you were thinking when you climbed back over the fence?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I’ll bet you Miss Edwards’s Zippo lighter it wasn’t.”

  She snorted and shook her head. “This garden party. It seems innocuous, but it isn’t really, is it?”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, weighing her question. “Anytime you’re in the same building as the leadership of a country on the brink of nuclear war, it’s anything but innocuous. But if you remain harmless, they shouldn’t harm you.”