Deadline

by K. A. Tracy

  “Big Daddy was his best role, but the snowman was Burl’s greatest performance of all time. Let’s face it: his rendition of “Holly Jolly Christmas” is a classic. And the way he did it without ever moving his little snowman face or changing expression was unequaled…with the possible exception of Elizabeth Berkley in Showgirls.”

  Ellen laughed out loud then caught herself. “Actors rarely have control over the finished product.”

  “Spoken like a true politician.”

  “I’ve always wanted to do Cat on a Hot Tin Roof on stage,” Ellen said. “Or Streetcar Named Desire. Blanche is a great character. What you are talking about is desire, just brutal desire.” Ellen’s accent was magnolia perfect as she abruptly transformed into Blanche, her body loose and languid. “I don’t want realism. I want magic! I do misrepresent things. I don’t tell the truth. I tell what ought to be truth.”

  “That was my last boyfriend’s philosophy, too,” Joe said dryly, making Ellen laugh.

  “I see you more as Maggie,” Sam told her.

  “I strike you as being immersed in mendacity?” Ellen asked lightly then leaned closer. “I get lonely…very. How long does it have to go on? This punishment? Haven’t I done time enough, haven’t I served my term, can’t I apply for a pardon? You know what I feel like? I feel all the time like a cat on a hot tin roof…But I can stay on it just as long as I have to.”

  Then just like that, Ellen was back. “God, I love Williams.”

  “It’s like sitting next to Sybil,” Sam told her, referring to the famous multiple personality case.

  Ellen smiled, flattered. “Oddly, that’s one of the nicest reviews I’ve ever gotten.”

  “So, when your kids were little,” Joe asked, “did you have fun freaking them out by becoming different people at the dinner table?”

  “Only on holidays.”

  Laughing, he stood up. “I left my jacket outside, and I hear the prime rib calling me for seconds. I’ll be back.”

  Ellen held her hand out for Sam’s glass and went behind the bar to make them another round. Sam walked onto the balcony and stared out at the desert, dimly lit by the moon. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear Ellen approaching and instinctively flinched when she touched her arm to hand over the glass.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she apologized.

  “Old reflex.”

  When Sam didn’t elaborate, Ellen prodded, “You don’t like being touched?”

  “That’s not it at all.” Sam poked at the glass in her ice. “Mommy Dearest’s penchant for dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night left me a bit skittish about someone coming up behind me when I’m not expecting it. You must have been a cat in a previous life.”

  Ellen leaned forward so that their foreheads briefly touched. “I’ll try to be noisier next time,” she promised and then raised her glass. “Cheers.”

  They touched glasses. Sam also touched the railing.

  Ellen paused. “I thought it was bless the bar.”

  “The bar…the railing…whatever. At home, it’s usually my dogs. Blessing knows no bounds.”

  Smiling, Ellen touched the rail and took a sip. She could smell Sam’s scent. “What perfume are you wearing?”

  “Amarige.”

  “I like it very much.”

  “Thank you. I notice you wear Bal à Versailles.”

  “Not many people would recognize it,” Ellen said, pleased they shared another connection. They stood in companionable silence, staring out at the night sky, the sounds of talking and activity drifting over from the yard. Ellen tried to remember the last time she felt this at peace, this content, and couldn’t. She turned to face the rail, so their arms touched.

  “This is a great view.” Sam pointed toward the mountains. “I never knew there was a wash here.”

  “It doesn’t look like much now but you should see it during a storm. You know the sound a strong earthquake makes?

  “That roar?”

  “Exactly. Before you can see the water you can feel and hear its vibration coming down the mountain. When the water comes down at night it’s like a freight train outside your window. I don’t know if you can see now, but the only things growing in the channel are high up on the sides because anything on the bottom gets completely washed away.”

  “The desert’s not a place I’d want to be out alone in at night, rainy or otherwise.” The air around them was hot and thick. Sam blew down the front of her shirt. “I’m going to start carrying around a portable shower if this weather doesn’t break soon.”

  Ellen took a deep breath. “It smells like it’s going to rain. We’re overdue; we haven’t had a thunderstorm in probably six months.” She turned around so her back rested against the railing and stretched out her legs. They were face to face, their arms again resting against one another. “I’m really glad you’re here, Sam. Thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for having me. I’m glad I’m here, too. Tonight’s been a lot of fun.”

  “Is O’Shea really your middle name?”

  She nodded, taking a sip of her drink. “My paternal grandfather came over from Ireland, so it was supposedly a nod to my Gaelic heritage. I personally suspect it was just an homage to his favorite pub.”

  “Whatever the origin, it fits you. It’s unique and unexpected.”

  Sam looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re not what I expected, either.”

  Ellen twirled the ice in her drink. “When’s your birthday?”

  “February 21.”

  “A Pisces, huh?” she smiled. “That’s interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “My makeup lady on the series was always telling me Pisces are the most compatible with us Cancers.”

  “Maybe that’s why I feel so at ease with you.” Even though Sam could hear the sounds of talking and laughter from the party, it felt as if they were the only ones in the world at that moment. “At the risk of sounding silly, it’s as if I knew you before we ever met.”

  “It’s not silly at all. I feel the same way,” Ellen assured her, briefly cupping Sam’s face. “Would you like to go to dinner tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to. You’re not worried about getting grief for consorting with a known journalist?”

  “Not remotely. It’s been a long time since I met someone I feel so comfortable talking to. And what you said the other day is true. It does get lonely. Maybe it’s time for some heart-to-hearts.”

  Sam grinned. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine?”

  Ellen raised an eyebrow. “We can do that, too.”

  “Uh-oh…I think my face is smoldering.”

  Ellen’s smile faded at the sound of footsteps walking briskly across the den’s wooden floor. Sam turned her head and saw Lena approaching, her face inscrutable but her posture stiff with irritation. She straightened up, but Ellen didn’t move other than to take another sip of her drink.

  Lena stopped in the doorway and looked from one to the other, then addressed Ellen. “You should really come out to say goodnight to your guests.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Sam gestured toward the den, “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Don’t leave,” Ellen lightly tugged at the hem of her shirt. “I’ll be right in.”

  Sam closed the bathroom door and let out a long breath. She washed her hands and rinsed her face with cold water. The idea that she and Ellen could be friends and confidantes thrilled her. She was well aware her attraction to Ellen went beyond friendship but unconsummated desire was a small price to pay to have the woman in her life.

  When Sam came out of the bathroom Lena and Ellen were still on the balcony speaking in low, clipped tones. Although she couldn’t hear what they were saying, their body language was strained. She strolled over to the fireplace and browsed the pictures lining the mantel. Many of the photos appeared to be from past vacations. Several showed Ellen and a man she assumed was her late husband along with two young children who were all grins and yo
uthful energy.

  Sam remembered reading at the library that Ellen had married cameraman Seamus Evans right after she turned twenty-two and they adopted a little boy and his younger sister within a month of their marriage. Sam could see why they had been considered Hollywood’s golden family. Seamus had been killed in a traffic accident six years earlier.

  Beside the older family photos was a more recent picture of Luke posing with friends on a boat that was positively Kennedy-esque. Next, there was a group shot of young people Sam didn’t recognize, but the picture after that brought her up short. It was a family Christmas portrait from two years earlier of Ellen and her now-grown kids. Sam was surprised to realize that Annie from the campaign headquarters was Ellen’s daughter, Anne.

  “Talk about keeping a low profile,” Sam muttered, studying the picture. Despite the festive occasion Anne’s eyes were remote, head held at a downward angle as if trying to disappear into the background.

  Reexamining the group picture of high school-aged youths, Sam was now able to pick out Anne. It was like looking at two completely different individuals. This Anne was smiling, head held up, her eyes engaged with whoever was behind the camera.

  “Where did you go?” Sam wondered. Anne was hugging the arm of the boy standing next to her. He wore a mustache and projected the cocky aura of teenage testosterone. Something about him seemed familiar but Sam couldn’t place it.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Ellen said, walking in from the balcony. She joined Sam by the fireplace. “For as big as this house is it can still be ridiculously difficult to have a conversation without getting interrupted.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Sam saw the balcony was empty, Lena apparently exiting through the rear yard gate rather than come back through the den. She sat on the arm of the couch. “I know we were joking earlier, but seriously, is there a particular reason Lena is so hostile? Part of it is clearly directed at me, but there’s a whole lot of free-floating ill will toward the world at large there, too.”

  Ellen sat across from Sam and absently twisted the watch on her wrist. “Lee’s very focused, so she comes across as off-putting to a lot of people. But you shouldn’t take it personally.”

  “Even when it’s directed at my person?”

  “That’s probably in part because you’re a reporter,” she acknowledged, “and in larger part because you make me laugh more than anyone has in a long while.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  “Obviously, to me it isn’t. I really enjoy your company, but she sees it as a distraction. Lee thinks I should devote 100 percent of my thoughts and energy into the campaign. I don’t agree it has to be all-consuming, so that’s where we butt heads, which I’m afraid is what you got the brunt of this evening.”

  “Why does she get such a vote?”

  Ellen hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “She’s been with me a long time and feels she’s earned the right to express her opinion. But you need to know in the end I make my own decisions, okay?”

  “Okay.” Sam pointed toward the mantel. “I didn’t realize that was your daughter.”

  “You’ve met?”

  Sam was surprised that Ellen sounded this much concerned. “Twice, actually. The first time was when I stopped by your headquarters on Sunday. She’s the one who directed me to talk to Luke and your delightful campaign manager, Darth. Then last night Joe and I were walking by after dinner, and I stopped in again.”

  “Why?”

  “To show Joe but mostly just to see if Phil was there for me to antagonize,” Sam admitted. “I just love the way that vein pops out on his temple when I talk to him.”

  Ellen laughed at Sam’s unabashed glee in provoking Phil. “You really are bad, you know that?”

  “Yeah, and that’s what makes me so good. But anyway, she was the only one in the place, so I introduced myself before leaving. She said her name was Annie, but I didn’t make the connection, so on second thought I’m obviously not that good. She seems very…introverted.”

  “Anne used to be very outgoing. Running was her life.” Ellen stood up and looked at the pictures. “That’s her with the high school cross country team. But as she got older, she became more and more withdrawn. She quit the team and quit running. That was the beginning of…it was a rough time for her.” She sat back down on the coffee table, facing Sam. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “That jacket in the photos you showed me, how did you happen to have a picture of it? It didn’t look like it was taken where the other shots were.”

  Normally, Sam would circle her journalistic wagons, answering a question with a question. But with Ellen she was navigating on pure intuition. “I found it in the desert about a half-mile from the crime scene. His driver’s license was in it, and one of your campaign buttons was pinned to the front pocket flap. That’s why I showed up at your headquarters.”

  “You called me on the basis of a button?” Ellen asked, fascinated at the whimsy of fate.

  “No. I called you after I saw the photo he kept of you and him in his apartment. It seemed obvious you meant something to him beyond just a preferred candidate. And your inscription on the picture indicated more than just a passing acquaintance. Why did you ask about the jacket?”

  “Because it was Annie’s.”

  Sam slid onto the couch to be eye level with Ellen, their knees touching. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. For Christmas one year she bought all the members of her team that same jacket. During the winter they would often still be training after dark and were always dodging cars. The streets in our part of Beverly Hills, up in Coldwater Canyon, were not well lit, but those racing stripes could be seen a mile away and made them all feel safer.”

  “So why would Jeff have it?”

  “Right after he started working for me he was here late one evening, and it had gotten chilly. He was wearing a T-shirt and didn’t have a coat with him, so Annie took the jacket from her closet and gave it to him. She joked it would protect him.”

  “Are things better for your daughter now?”

  “I think she’s turning a corner in her life. I hope so. Earlier this year she got her own place in town with a roommate although she still stays here a couple nights a week.” Ellen stood, glanced at her watch, and sighed. “As much as I’d rather stay in here talking to you, I need to go make a final round.”

  “I’ll walk out with you. Joe must have made some new friends.”

  As they went out onto the balcony, Sam’s cell phone rang. Ellen waited by the back gate while she answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m looking for Samantha Perry.”

  “This is she. Who’s this?”

  “My name is Gerald Alvarez. Kylie at the Desert Diner gave me your card. She also told me about Jeff. I’m in shock.”

  Abruptly shifting gears from cocktail happy-and-relaxed to journalist-focused was a little jarring. Sam mentally hustled to organize her thoughts. “Thank you so much for calling. Listen, I know it’s kind of late, but is there any chance you can see me this evening?”

  “That would be fine. Let me give you the address.”

  Sam automatically reached for her notebook before remembering she didn’t have it. “I’m sorry. Could you do me a favor? I don’t have a pen handy, so would you mind calling this number back and leaving the address on my voicemail?”

  “Sure. What time did you want to meet?”

  “How about a half-hour?”

  “I’ll be expecting you.”

  Sam waited until her phone rang again before putting it back in her pocket. Ellen watched with interest. “You have to work tonight?”

  “This should be interesting; nothing like doing an interview with a buzz going.”

  “Does this have to do with the story?”

  “Actually, yeah.” Sam walked over to the gate.

  Instead of opening it, Ellen hugged her. “I mean it,” she squeezed for emphasis, �
�you’re welcome here anytime.”

  Sam squeezed back, her heart hammering. They held onto each other a moment longer then with a sigh, Ellen gave Sam a final squeeze and opened the gate. The yard was still filled with people although the crowd had noticeably thinned.

  “I’m going to find Joe and then hit it out of here.”

  “Hold on.” Ellen took Sam’s cell phone out of her pocket and programmed in a number. “I just wanted you to have my cell,” she said, handing it back. “Call me tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “You better.” Ellen raised her hand in goodbye. She had only taken a few steps before being engulfed by a group of people wanting a piece of her time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam found Alvarez’s address in the middle of a well-tended block a block off Indian Drive. It was a modest house located directly next to a small Catholic church on a dark, people-deserted street.

  Joe looked around in exasperation. “This city doesn’t believe in street lamps, do they?”

  “No, actually, it doesn’t. They prefer people being able to see the stars.” Sam grabbed her backpack and tossed Joe the keys. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  She walked up the sidewalk and rang the doorbell. While waiting, she glanced over at the church and noticed the doors were padlocked. She remembered when churches were open 24/7. Apparently, she thought dourly, people needed to have their spiritual or personal crises during business hours. Because Sam was still silently decrying the limitations of organized religion in the modern world, she was particularly thrown off balance when a priest answered the door.

  “Hi…” she hesitated, wondering if she had the wrong address. “I’m looking for Gerald Alvarez.”

  “I’m Gerry Alvarez. You must be Sam. Please come in.”

  He led her to a small but comfortable living room. “We can talk in here. Can I get you anything? Water, a soft drink, some wine?”

  “Actually some ice water would be great. Thank you.”

  The priest excused himself, and Sam took in her surroundings. Except for a crucifix on the wall, and a stack of the Catholic magazine America on the end table, the home was devoid of overt religious trimmings.