by Tonya Muir
The bartender puts a beer down by me. "Sent by the woman at the end of the bar."
I glance down and see the blonde I had last night. I raise the glass to my lips and smile at her. Doesn’t hurt to be polite.
"I don’t want to talk about work, Gary."
"You haven’t want to talk about work for two weeks. What the hell happened up in Ohio?"
"Omaha, you idiot. Nothing."
"You sure?"
I put the glass down a bit more forcefully than I should. "Nothing happened. Just drop it."
"Ice Bitch getting to you?" he asks, teasing me.
"Don’t call her that," I growl.
"What’s wrong, Harper?" Suddenly, Gary is all serious and sincere. "Something’s eating at you."
"I wish," I mutter.
"What?"
"Nothing. Look, Gary, it’s been a long couple weeks. I nearly had my fucking head blown off in Omaha and we’ve been pushing it hard lately."
"Has she been able to do much? I saw her parading around with that actor boyfriend of hers last night. They were on all the news broadcasts – even your rivals."
"I don’t want to talk about her, Gary."
"Because you can’t have her?"
"Goddammit!" I slam the mug down on the bar, sloshing some of the amber liquid onto the counter. Heads turn our way, but I don’t care. "Enough about her! Jesus H. Christ, since when did you become so interested in my sex life?"
"Since I can’t seem to have one of my own," Gary replies softly, realizing he’s been an asshole of first rate.
"Well, Gary, you gotta stop wearing those fucking plaid shirts. Jesus, man, you look like a lumberjack. People will think you come complete with Babe the Blue Ox."
He guffaws, nearly snorting beer out his nose. "God, what an image."
"Tell me about it. Scares the crap out of me." Then I join him in the laughter.
We’re all right now. That’s what I like most about Gary. He’s so much like my brothers. We give each other shit all the time, but it never lasts long. So different from women. They hold grudges. Forever.
Forever and ever.
And Kelsey is all woman.
I spy the little blonde. Ooo … she is sweet. She’s small, but not in the important areas, and she has a nice smile. She looks friendly. I could use friendly in my life around now.
Imagine Kelsey thinking I sent her flowers.
Yeah right.
Maybe dead roses. I hear there are places in LA that will send them. Perhaps I’ll look into that.
But, now, I have better things to look in to. The blonde’s blouse is cut low. And I am quite tall. "Excuse me for a bit, Gar."
"But of course. I’ll just sit here by my little lonesome. Again."
"Change the shirt, I tell ya. It would do wonders." I give him my parting advice as I amble over toward the blonde.
* * *
As I climb out of the Mercedes and make my way into the studio, I take stock of everything that’s going on in my very screwed up life at the moment.
I saw Erik off at the airport this morning. He’ll be gone for over a month filming on location in North Carolina. The press showed up at the airport so we were required to share a rather intense little kiss at the gate. Whoever taught him to kiss really should receive a thank you note.
I miss him already.
Maybe I really am straight.
Oh, I don’t think so. All evidence is certainly to the contrary. I mean, I do have witnesses.
Maybe I just need more friends.
Bingo! Give that woman a cigar. Or some other phallic shaped device.
I shake my head, wondering what has gotten into it. God, Kels, you’ve been alone too much lately. And you’ll be alone for Thanksgiving, too. Yet another holiday spent in the movie theatre eating popcorn instead of turkey.
Well, at least I did receive one bit of good news: the judge who is hearing my parents’ case pushed it back on his docket until after the first of the year.
I love it. Make them suffer through the holidays, too.
I had Beth handle that mess for me. She told me I owed her "big." I look forward to paying her back when I fly to New York in January for the hearing. That’s the only up-side to that trip. No matter how bad it might get, Beth will make it better.
And seeing Martha will make it better as well. I smile at the thought. I wish I saw her more often. My parents’ retired housekeeper was my one constant friend growing up. And even then …
I need to send her flowers.
And stop being so damn melancholy.
My thoughts betray me and stray to Harper.
Jesus, she’s been pushing us hard lately. The NRA had its executive meeting here in LA for the last three days. Of course, that sparked protests three days before, during and after. We covered the protests, the meeting itself, NRA advocates, and more. Of course, the shooting of a child a block away from the meeting took on epic significance. In one day, I think we did almost 100 cut-aways for our affiliates nationwide. We’re all exhausted from the pace we’ve kept for the last two weeks. Not that I mind, it’s been nice to be focused since Harper and I don’t seem to be speaking to each other yet.
As I consider that fact, I sort of feel a little bad. I wish she’d come clean about what happened in Omaha. I know she knows. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have laughed at me like that when I asked her. She would have admitted it. Right?
I asked her to be honest with me. She promised me she would. Then she laughed at me. That hurt worse than anything else. She laughed at me.
As I make my way into the building, I see Harper ahead of me in the hallway. She’s waiting for the elevator. I take a deep breath and enter through the glass door. As I take my place beside her waiting for the elevator, she glances down at me.
"Good morning," she says as she resumes her stare at the door.
"Good morning. What’s on the agenda for today?" I am proud of myself for being so civilized and polite.
"The guys are going to do some final editing on a couple of the pieces. Then we’re gonna sit down and talk over a few story ideas. Is that all right with you?"
"Un-huh."
"Good." We have just had this conversation without ever looking at each other. I follow her onto the elevator with a sigh. No words are spoken on the trip up. As the doors slide open and we exit, the office messenger meets me.
"This came for you this morning, Miss Stanton." He hands me a medium-sized, stuffed, white teddy bear holding a rose. "I was going to put it in your office, but the door was locked."
"It was locked?" I echo. I never lock my door. I glance at Harper, immediately suspicious. "Did you lock it?"
She makes a face. "Hardly."
The messenger kid pipes up, trying to diffuse the tension he can feel between us. "There’s a new janitor working the third shift. Maybe he locked it."
"I’ll have to leave him a note about it. I tend to leave my keys in my desk drawer. Which would be bad if he locks the door." I explain all of this unnecessarily. I realize I am babbling because I know I was just a bitch to Harper.
What is wrong with me?
"Do you need me to take anything for you, Ms. Stanton?"
"No, thanks."
He smiles shyly and leaves.
I risk a glance at Harper who still looks annoyed at me. "Sorry."
"It’s nothing," she replies, but I know it isn’t.
I notice the card attached to the rose as we continue our walk toward our offices. I open the card up and read, "From your secret admirer." "Oh no, not again," I groan.
"What’s up?"
I’m surprised she asks so I decide to answer her, and to try to be friendly about it. We’re both feeling annoyed enough at the moment without it getting any worse.
"You remember the roses day before yesterday?"
"Yeah."
"Well, yesterday it was Godiva chocolates and today this." I shake the teddy bear at her. "All from someone claiming to be ‘A secret admir
er’."
"Isn’t that sweet?" she offers as she stops to make herself a cup of coffee.
I lean against the wall. "I mean, does he really think this is going to make me fall in love with him?"
Harper smirks. "How do you know it’s a man?"
She’s right. I don’t know for sure. "Just a gut feeling."
Harper sips her coffee. "Sure the stuff isn’t from Erik or Beth?"
"Nope, I already asked them both. They aren’t doing it. That’s why I asked you about the roses."
Her back stiffens. "You didn’t ask, you accused."
"Yeah, I know. I’m…"
She waves it off. "Whatever. Water under the bridge, right?"
I suppose. But I still don’t completely believe her denials.
We’ve arrived outside my office. I try the doorknob. It’s definitely locked.
"You got the key?"
"Hold on." I hand her the teddy bear and start looking through my purse for the key.
As I lay a few things out on a desk, I hear her laugh and I look up. She’s grinning down at me holding a diaphragm case in her hands. "This is priceless. What do you do, keep mints in it?" She laughs again as she shakes her head.
"It’s for show. In case I lose my purse."
"Everything you do is for show."
Ouch. "Yeah, I know. Disgusting, isn’t it? Not everyone can be so open about things as you are. Do you know what I would give for just one day of being allowed to be myself?"
She doesn’t answer, but I didn’t really expect her to.
I finally retrieve the key from the bottom of my purse, cram everything back into it, then turn and unlock my door.
"Everything look okay?" Harper asks from the doorway.
"Seems to be." I glance around the office, nothing seems out of place. In fact, everything seems cleaner than normal. I like the new cleaning guy, if we can just skip the door locking in the future. "Your office or here for the meeting?"
She shrugs. "Doesn’t matter. Ah hell, let’s do it here so we can take a look at the morning news too. Chambers still hasn’t installed TV’s in my office yet. Let me get my notes." She tosses the teddy bear at me and then the diaphragm. "Here you might need this."
"Ha, ha, very fucking funny," I call as she turns to go to her office.
Gail comes in. She’s in an absolute panic as she lays a few files on my desk and hands me my tea. "I’m sorry. I’m running a little late today."
"Relax, I just got here too." I settle into my chair and turn on the TV’s. I sip my tea and watch the morning news while I wait for Harper. She finally comes back in and takes a seat on my couch. She glances up at one of the screens and gestures to it.
"Turn that up. That’s Ted Brice. He’s a detective on the LAPD and a buddy of mine."
I raise the volume on the TV and Harper scoots forward watching and listening to the report about a body that had been found in one of the parks.
Ah, real news.
* * *
Tonight I’m sitting at a table in The Rio, not at the bar. It’s Wednesday. Poker night.
To my left is Gary. For all his failings with women, he’s a terrific poker player. He always has the same damn expression on his face no matter what the hand he’s dealt. He’s sitting with a majority of the cash in front of him right now. I intend to rectify that situation soon.
To my right is Bear, a.k.a. Ted, the one who was on television earlier today. He got his nickname because he’s a big fella and quite hairy. Teddy Bear. He’s a pretty good poker player, but he tends to whistle when he has a really good hand. None of us have ever bothered to point out that fact to him, though.
Our fourth is Justin, another detective. He’s another good player, but tends to be a bit overly aggressive. But, his money is good and I like taking some of it every week.
We’ve been playing for about an hour already. Justin pulls out a cigar from his jacket pocket and takes an appreciative sniff. "Anyone?" he asks, offering another wrapped one out to us.
"Sure," I say, taking it. I don’t smoke cigars often, but tonight I really want one. "Thanks." I remove the wrapper, bite off one end, and light up.
"That was a helluva thing today, Bear," Gary says dealing out the next hand. We play five card draw. Nothing wild; no weird shit like deuces wild if you hold a one-eyed jack. Simple and pure poker.
Bear nods solemnly. "Yeah, pretty girl. Kinda like the ones you go for, Harper: blonde, all-American, athletic. She was a grad student at UCLA."
"Boyfriend do her?" I ask. Most women know their murderers intimately.
"He’s got a rock solid alibi. Was in a lecture hall with two hundred students at the time of her murder."
"It’s easy to slip out of a lecture like that," Gary observes.
Bear chuckles, "Not when you’re giving it." He calls Justin’s opening bet.
"Well, maybe not," I counter. "I remember my art history professor slipped out one time. He pre-recorded his comments on the slides he was going to show us. He gave some opening remarks, then he had a grad student put in the tape and work the projector." I call as well, tossing a Susan B. Anthony into the pile.
"God," Gary interrupts, "you Louisianians are corrupt even in education."
"Well, hell, yes. We require it. I don’t trust a man I can trust."
We all laugh at the absurdity of the statement. Gary folds, and looks to Justin to see if he wants any new cards.
"Nah, he was right in front of the kids the entire time," Bear tells us. "He’s a grad student in the math department. Teaching calculus. He was standing by a chalkboard in clear view of a couple hundred witnesses."
"Two," Justin says, laying down two cards and picking up the two new ones that Gary deals him. He puts them in his hand and almost reorganizes them.
Hmm … a good hand, at least something matched up or fit in.
"Three," I say, holding on to the two aces I was dealt previously. In turn, I receive another ace and two eight’s.
Bear takes two cards. "The murder seemed personal though, like the perp knew her, had a grudge against her."
"An ex-boyfriend?"
"We’re looking into it, but, that’s what it seems like." Bear looks around and then leans forward. "None of this is public," he warns.
Over the years, our foursome has developed a strong code of silence. All we have to say is something isn’t public and none of us will repeat what we know. Gary and I have enjoyed the insight into investigations, and the scoops when we can go public. In return, Justin and Bear have heard comments from witnesses they wouldn’t have otherwise. In this strange world we live in, people would rather talk to a reporter than a cop. Go figure.
"He cut her hair before he killed her."
"This is a makeover gone bad?" I joke, although it isn’t funny. Sick fucker killed a vibrant twenty-four year old. "He shave it off or something?" I add two more dollars into the pot, calling Justin’s new bet.
"No. She had it long, almost to her hips. He cut it shoulder length. We’re trying to find out if she wore her hair shorter in the past. See who her boyfriend was then. Maybe he was trying to recapture the past."
"Bastard."
"Yep, that he is," Bear agrees. He folds.
"Straight, jack high." Justin reaches for the pot.
"Keep your hand off my money. Full house." I lay my cards down and begin raking in the money.
Bear looks at my cards. "Dead man’s hand. Not a good sign, Harper."
I snort, "I don’t believe in signs."
That’s a fucking lie. I’m from New Orleans and grew up with a blend of Catholicism, voodoo and good old superstition. If it is a sign, I’m fucked.
Some weeks, nothing seems to go right.
Scenes from Next Week’s Must Read TV:
The mourning news. That’s what I call the early broadcast because they routinely just recap all the murders which took place the night before.
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I glance to my left as a very attractive woman steps onto the treadmill there. She looks over and smiles at me as she sets her timer and the machine comes to life.
Oh, she could make me come to life too.
She holds up her hand and nods. "I’m sure of it. I know how the business works, Kelsey. Okay, let me try to simplify your life. I’m attracted to you. I think you’re attracted to me, and I would very much like to spend the night with you. I’m not asking for a commitment or a long-term relationship. But I do hope to see more of you."
Episode Thirteen: Torch Song Trilogy
Looking down at the timer, I drop my head a little, ten more minutes. Christ, I’m not sure why I’m on a treadmill at this hour of the morning. I have the day off and some part of me told me that an early trip to the gym would be good. I need to hurt that part of me.
No, what I need to do is learn to relax. Right. Like that’ll happen anytime soon.
I look up at the TV screen and see that it’s tuned to my station. The early morning anchors are delivering the news. The new guy, Jack Towne, isn’t half bad, but the woman has to go. Jesus. Fake breasts, fake nose, fake chin, and not a damn bit of brain stem activity taking place. The volume is down so as not to interfere with the music playing through the gym. They do have the closed captioning on, though, and I read as I continue my walk to nowhere on the treadmill.
The mourning news. That’s what I call the early broadcast because they routinely just recap all the murders which took place the night before. True to form, No Brain is introducing a segment on a body found on the beach. Another young woman, mid-twenties, petite, attractive and blonde.
Jesus. This is what, number two or three?
The police aren’t confirming it publicly, but our sources tell us it’s the work of a single killer. Apparently, he likes blondes. All of the victims were raped before their death. But, other than the victims’ physical characteristics and the rapes, the cops aren’t acknowledging any other similarities.
I sigh, thanking God I’m not a homicide cop. My job is hard enough as it is. I’d hate to get yanked out of bed in the middle of the night to go look at dead bodies all of the time.
