by Gary Ruffin
Halfway there, she decided instead to make her rounds, and called in on the radio to tell Doreen. The spring air would make her feel better, she thought, and she was right. Ten minutes after she passed the city line she was in high spirits again, even able to laugh at herself for worrying about the tabloid photos. Her friends would know it was all a bunch of nonsense, and the ones who didn’t know weren’t much good to her as friends, anyway.
Everything was calm on the highway that led north from Gulf Front, and she waved back to the drivers who waved as they saw her. As usual, traffic was light, and she drove at a leisurely pace as she surveyed her borrowed kingdom. Truth be told, Penny Prevost could get used to this chief-of-police arrangement; it was actually kind of nice to be in charge.
Feeling slightly antsy, she got on the interstate and headed towards Pensacola. Once there, she went for an early lunch at a soul food restaurant that she and Coop frequented at least once a month. “Ludie’s Soul Kitchen” opened for lunch at eleven, and Penny was the third person standing in line when the doors opened.
She talked easily with the customers and the servers, and sat down to eat with the owner’s recently married niece at a table in the center of the small room. They talked about married life, minivans, and police tactics, and Penny felt her anxiety melting away with each bite of lunch.
After a meal of fried chicken, turnip greens with corn bread, baked yellow squash, and sweet-potato pie, she was ready to take on the world.
On the ride back to Gulf, she felt so much better that she decided to give Coop a pass on his reluctance to pick up a telephone. Maybe there really was a reasonable explanation for his not calling. The day before, Susan had put her mind at ease when they had talked, and she knew from the news reports that he was at least alive and well. Maybe a little too well, if the tabloids were to be believed, but she didn’t really think that there was anything improper happening in Atlanta.
But—if she didn’t hear from him by tomorrow, he was in for an earful, which she would deliver at high volume.
The sweet boy.
Cherry and I were showered and dressed and had long ago finished breakfast when we finally heard from Will at 11:40.
He said he’d be right over, and arrived a few minutes later with his Cherry-Page-Disappearing-Case, and a few items to make me disappear also. This was made necessary by the fact that I was fast becoming a recognizable face to the photographers. Like my newfound “success” with women over the last year, my newsworthiness had increased greatly over the same period as well. Last year’s New Orleans murder case had put me near the national spotlight for the first time in my long career, and of course, now I was worldwide. It was beginning to look as if I might get sixteen minutes of fame.
Will came straggling in a little after noon, causing us to be over ninety minutes late for our getaway preparations. He looked like he’d slept in his clothes in an alley somewhere, but maybe he was just being fashionable.
Putting his big case down in the middle of the room, he said in his thick Cockney accent, “It turns out your Atlanta has quite a gay nightlife scene, know what I mean?”
I said, “Actually, no, I don’t know what you mean. But if you had a good time, who am I to question it?”
He laughed, which made him cough, and said, “I woke up in some bloke’s house in Midtown with a—never you mind. No need for sordid details. Let’s just say old Will had a right laugh, and get on with the bleedin’ disappearin’, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Cherry and I said in unison.
Thirty minutes later, Cherry was her “old” self, and yours truly was dressed in a light blue running suit with wraparound sunglasses, a gray wig and moustache, and an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. I must admit Will’s a genius at disguise. Our closest friends wouldn’t have recognized us.
As we stood in the middle of the big suite admiring Will’s handiwork, someone knocked on the door.
With a sly smile on her wrinkled old face, Cherry asked, “Would you mind getting the door, Cooper?”
Suspicious, I said, “I don’t mind in the least. What’s with the devilish look?”
“Nothing. Nothing a’tall.” She and Will exchanged a glance, and both looked at me as if waiting for me to move.
Another round of door knocking.
“Just a minute,” I said, and went over and opened the door.
An old cliché became true: You could have knocked me over with a feather.
Standing in the hall smiling at me was an absolute dead ringer for Cherry. The body, the hair, the resemblance was astonishing. I thought she was a twin sister until she spoke.
She asked, in what I would learn was an Australian accent: “I do have the right suite number? I’m looking for Cherry Page.” She obviously didn’t recognize me, but maybe she would have, had I not been disguised by Will. She said, “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you a relative?”
I closed my mouth before flies started moving in, and said, “Uh, no, I’m Cooper. I mean, Coop. I’m the bodyguard. Uh, won’t you come in?”
She said, “Oh, yeah, now I see. Will has already done a job on you. You look much younger on the telly.”
She walked in and when she saw old lady Cherry and Will, they all came together in a group hug. I stood by and stared like an owl. Except I wasn’t wise to the situation.
They unclenched, and Cherry said to me, “Cooper. Meet Bev Morgan, my stand-in and body double. We called her in early just for this occasion. Isn’t she the loveliest thing ever?”
“She sure is,” I said, and shook her hand. “You look so much like Cherry, it’s amazing. The eyes, the hair—almost identical.”
Bev touched her chest and said, “Well, there is a little padding up top to fill me out like our girl, and the eyes are colored contacts—my eyes are blue. And the hair? Actually, my hair is the exact same color as yours. But Will cuts it just like he cuts Cherry’s, and with a little red coloring added, we come out looking much the same.”
“You sure do,” I said, still staring. “Where’d they find you?”
“Australia. Tasmania, actually. I worked at a resort in Wynyard, near the beach, and met Sally when she was on holiday there a few years back. She stole me from my boss, and here I am.”
“Uncanny resemblance,” I said, unable to take my eyes off her.
Cherry laughed at my astonished look, and said to Bev: “We found a chap who works here in the hotel to play the part of Cooper in our little farce.” To me: “Will is going to make him look just like you, and then we can all go our merry ways.”
Another knock at the door, and a guy who was roughly my size came in and introduced himself as Justin. He looked like he was about eighteen years old, so I took it as a compliment that he had been chosen to impersonate me.
Will burst my bubble when he said, “Blimey, I don’t think I have near enough product to make this bloke look like Coop. Maybe I better send out for a few cases of pancake makeup.”
Everyone chuckled, so I had to act like I thought it was funny, too. Actually, I did.
I said, “Just try to keep your roving hands to yourself, Will old buddy.” To Justin: “Make sure you don’t fall asleep in the chair while he’s workin’ on you.”
Justin looked nervously at Will, then me, and said, “They told me if I came up here and followed the program, there was five hundred bucks in it for me, and a small part in the movie. But, hey, if there’s gonna be some kind of—”
Cherry took Justin’s arm in hers, and said in her old-lady voice, “Don’t you worry one little bit, Justin. I’m Will’s grandmother, and he does everything I tell him to do. And nothing more.”
That calmed the kid down, and fifteen minutes later, Justin was me, Bev was Cherry, and we were ready to put our plan into action. Cherry made us all lock pinkies and swear to remain silent, and we all wished each other good luck.
We were gonna need it, as it turned out.
Suitcases in hand, Cherry and I went down the hall to Sally’s room�
�in case cameras were trained on Cherry’s window—to watch our look-alikes escape. Sally opened her door, laughed, and said, “Are you a pair, or what? Coop, you’ve gone gray overnight.”
“The pressures of my job, Sal.”
We walked to the window and opened the curtain just enough to see the action play out five stories below. From our vantage point, Justin was a passable replica of me, but Bev was a dead ringer for Cherry in her sunglasses and tennis visor. Justin really didn’t have to be all that much of a copy of me, since all eyes are always on Cherry. Even when it’s not her.
The photographers were fooled, waved at Bev, and called out with the usual clamor: “Cherry, over here! Cherry, look up! Cherry, how do you feel?”
Justin and Bev got into the Bentley, drove away from the Ritz, and the usual three or four paparazzi-mobiles inevitably followed. Justin headed down Lenox Road as if the destination was the theater, and that made the coast clear for Cherry and me to make our great escape. We were already more than a couple of hours behind schedule, but if we hit the road, we could still make it to Gulf Front before dark. I was hoping to give Cherry a little tour of the town, and then take her to meet Penny at the beach cottage.
Sally called down for a bellhop, and when he knocked at the door, I said to the ladies, “Okay, I think it’s safe to go now. Sally, have a nice vacation, and call if you need anything.”
Sally hugged Cherry, and said, “I intend to be as still as possible for the next few days, Coop. Take good care of Miss Page, and have a safe trip.”
Cherry and I made it to the elevators, the unaware bellhop following behind with our suitcases. We rode down with a young couple, and Cherry’s coughing and hacking routine kept them as far away as they could get in the elevator. The bellhop kept his eyes locked on the numbers, no doubt hoping time itself would speed up. I moved away from Cherry, too, my face twisted in disgust.
When we got to the lobby, we both shuffled out of the elevator, Cherry coughing as if she might lose a lung at any moment. I patterned my walk after an old guy who lives in my apartment complex. I thought if my landlady, Mrs. Wiley, had seen me, she would have fallen for me on the spot. They say your mind’s the first thing to go when you start to age, or is it your legs? Whichever, I had both bases covered.
People moved aside as we made our way to the hotel’s back entrance; it may have been Cherry’s coughing act, or it may have been my light blue running suit. Baby blue just isn’t my color. It washes out my complexion terribly.
Kidding.
When we got outside, I tipped the bellhop, dialed Joe Don Kendrick, Neal’s P.I. associate, and told him we were ready for takeoff. He had been waiting in the upper parking area in the Lexus, and drove to where we stood. He left the car running, and headed inside the Ritz without a word. Cherry got in the passenger’s side; I tossed our bags in the backseat and got behind the wheel.
Cherry asked, “Who was that big fellow?”
“Name’s Joe Don Kendrick. He works for Feagin Investigations.”
“Glad he’s on our side. Well, drive on, old man.”
“Yes, mum.”
I put the car in gear, and we drove out of the Ritz and into traffic, luckily hitting it at just the right time. Highway 400 had an entrance ramp within a hundred yards or so of the Ritz, and I got on it with no problem. We made our way to I-85 south, which would take us to Alabama, where we could take smaller highways and back roads south into Gulf Front.
It was a beautiful day, the traffic was moderate, and driving the Lexus felt pretty good. Of course, it was no Bentley, but I was willing to sacrifice luxury for a little privacy.
As Cherry said, I’m the best.
When Justin and Bev arrived at the Candler Community Theater, Justin parked the Bentley in the assigned spot next to the front steps. Two large male police officers opened the car doors and escorted them inside. The reporters and photographers were kept far enough away that they didn’t notice that two impostors had replaced Cherry and her bodyguard. The officers didn’t notice either, as they were too involved with getting the look-alikes safely into the building.
Chuck Guinness met them as they walked in, and said to Justin, “Stay away from the stage, and keep out of sight.” Chuck pointed to the balcony stairs and Justin nodded and walked across the lobby. He took the stairs to the balcony and Chuck took Bev down the aisle to the stage, where the table was set up for the reading of the script, and addressed the cast and crew.
“Good morning, boys and girls. I’m afraid Cherry won’t be joining us today, she’s turned up missing.” When several cast members looked concerned, he said, “Don’t worry, nothing dreadful has happened to our star, it merely appears that she may have made a break for it. Can’t say as I really blame her, what with all the pressure she’s been under of late, but we need to keep working as if she were here. Let me introduce Bev Morgan to those of you who don’t already know her. She is Cherry’s stand-in and body double, and will be reading for her today. Hopefully, we shall know more about Cherry’s whereabouts soon, but for now, let’s get on with it, shall we? I want us all to pull together and treat this as any other day. We don’t need to put in a full eight hours, but I want to work on a few things we discussed yesterday. Please turn to page fourteen, and let’s start with you, Molly. Begin with your first line.”
Molly Harkins, who played the college dean’s assistant, began to speak her lines, and everyone got over the fact that Cherry was not there, and got down to the business of rehearsing. Lawrence Lyndon-Bowen, who was sitting in a chair a few feet from the table, smiled at his director, and Guinness nodded in recognition.
Everything was falling smoothly into place, and the disappearance of Cherry Page was now on the record.
33
ONCE WE WERE OUT OF THE ATLANTA AREA, CHERRY CLIMBED INTO THE backseat and began to take off her disguise. Under all the camouflage, she was dressed in black shorts and a yellow tee shirt. She climbed back to the front, pulled down the passenger’s mirror, and spent a few minutes fixing her face, as if she needed it. Finished, she put the mirror back in place, and asked, “Isn’t that running suit a bit warm?”
“Yes, it is. Help me get out of it.”
She pulled on my sleeve as I got my right arm out, and then helped me pull it off over my left arm. I took off the wig and the cap, and we settled back to enjoy the ride. Alongside the interstate, flowers were blooming and trees were beginning to fill out. We saw a few cows and horses, too, and Cherry seemed to be enjoying herself. I know I was.
I’d been thinking and driving silently for five minutes or so, when she said, “Penny for your thoughts about Penny.”
“How do you know I was thinkin’ about Penny? Maybe I was thinkin’ about gas mileage, or where to stop for lunch. What are you, psychic, or somethin’?”
“I am, as a matter of fact, but it doesn’t take a mind reader to know that she’s the focus of your thoughts today.”
I said, “I was thinkin’ about her, actually, but nothing too deep. I was just thinkin’ how happy she’ll be when she meets you. And that’s the truth.”
She looked out her window, and said wistfully, “I wish I had a man like you thinking about me. It must be very nice indeed to be the object of a good man’s affection.”
I said, “You gotta be kiddin’ me. You’re the object of a billion men’s affections. And that’s a conservative estimate.”
“Being the object of a man’s lust is not the same thing, and you know it.” She turned to look at me, and said, “I know I sound like such a ninny when I get serious, seeing as my life appears to be so easy and glamorous to those who don’t know me, but I have never truly been loved for my self. Even before I became famous, which again, sounds so egotistical and stupid, even when I was just a girl growing up in London, I could never be sure that I was liked for myself alone. The fact that my father was so bloody wealthy made me suspect the motives of all the boys who came ’round during my teen years. Again, it sounds so stupid! Compla
ining about being rich! Complaining about being famous! It’s so—asinine.
“But, sometimes I wish I had been born to a shopkeeper, or a farmer, or anything other than a rich father. Being born into wealth can be a curse as well as a blessing, believe it or not. In fact, I often think I’m cursed, I really mean that. And, as dreadfully trite as it might sound, I want to be loved for myself, for what’s in my heart, what’s in my soul. I want to be special to someone, and not because I make movies, or have a rich daddy. I want to be special to someone the way Penny is special to you, the way you’re special to her. I want—I want to be special. That’s all, really.”
I noticed a tear in her eye, so I said as reassuringly as I could, “Cherry, you’re gonna have to trust me on this, but I know you’ll find someone to love you the way you want to be loved. You’re such a good person, and a good friend, it’s bound to happen for you, and sooner than you think. Look at me, I liked you immediately, and I hate everybody.”
Laughing and crying, she said, “No, you don’t. You get on with everyone. You most certainly do not hate everybody.”
“I most certainly do hate everybody. I hate everybody all day long. But—like I said—with you, it was different. Hell, I hate Penny half the time, and she hates me almost all the time.”
She laughed and wiped her eyes with the bottom of her tee shirt, and said, “Penny loves you all the time. She just can’t stand you all the time. There’s a difference.”
“Tell me about it. I’m lucky she even talks to me half the time. But, to be serious for a moment, you’ll find a guy to love you someday. Take it from a guy who thinks you’re very special. And I haven’t even seen one Cherry Page movie. So take that, and put it in your pipe.”
At that moment, the left rear tire blew, and the car swerved as I got it back under control. Luckily, there wasn’t a car within half a mile of us. I pulled off to the side of the highway and came to a stop in the middle of nowhere.
Cherry said, “See? That’s what you get for being nice to me. Like I told you, I’m cursed.”
