The Grey Tier

by Michele Scott

  “A barrier?”

  “From anyone or anything seeking to cause you harm.”

  “How?”

  He smiled. “You will learn about it in time. But I need to go now. I’ll return. Promise.”

  And with those words Lucas, like Hototo, slid through an invisible door and quickly faded away.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  AS A RESULT OF my wacky night, I woke up tired and wishing I had someone to talk to. I even picked up the phone twice to call my mother but kept changing my mind. Thing is, I was sure she’d hear something off in my voice and insist I come home. And what exactly did I plan to tell her anyway? “Hi Mama. Yes, I’m fine. Oh, I’ve even met someone! You’d love him . . . if only he weren’t dead and haunting my house.” In the end, I called Betty LaRue, who seemed happy to talk to me. But she couldn’t really hear that well, which meant most of our conversation involved a lot of shouting and repetition. Finally I yelled that I’d write soon and hung up.

  Tired or not, I had to get my butt in gear because Simone was going to be filming a new video and she had three “face” changes needed. I’d done a few sketches to outline her various looks, and I knew it was going to be a long day, especially since I planned to go to the bar again in the evening (but tonight I was leaving early . . . no way was I going to be the last person out the door after what happened last night).

  Simone’s video was being filmed at a back lot in Studio City. I drove over bright and early, bringing the obligatory caffeinated beverages. She was in her trailer, waiting for the crew to set up. As I walked over to her trailer door, I spotted what appeared to be a large, glass box dotted with small holes and filled with butterflies. Next to that, a caged jaguar. The big cat stared at me as I opened the door. I’m a big animal lover, but there was something unnerving about its stare. Suddenly, I had a pretty good idea how it felt to be a gazelle in one of those nature programs.

  I stepped into the trailer as quickly as I could, almost slamming the door behind me. “Hey,” I said, sounding out of breath.

  “Holy shit, Evie. Did you see that fucking tiger out there?”

  “It’s a jaguar.” I placed her latte down on the table.

  “Whatever.” She opened up a prescription bottle and dropped a pill into her hand. “I need a Xanax. The director tells me the cat and I are going to be walking together through a field of fucking butterflies.”

  “Where’s the field?” I asked.

  “It’s all computer generated. I’ll be using a green screen.” She jerked her head back and swallowed the pill, and then stared at me. Her eyes slowly narrowed into slits. “There is something different about you. You’re all, like, glowy and, I don’t know . . . you look happy.” She sucked in some air, her eyes widening. “You got laid, didn’t you!”

  “No, Simone, I did not.” Why did she always assume happy looking people must be having sex?

  She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, “Well, whatever it is, you definitely seem different. If I had to guess, I’d say it had to do with a man.” She paused to gauge my reaction and then a sly smile spread across her face. “You like somebody, don’t you? Who is he?! Please tell me he’s not some loser from the bar.”

  Since when did self-absorbed Simone become so intuitive?

  “There’s nobody, Simone. I swear. I would tell you.” I wasn’t completely lying to her, right? It’s not like Lucas was human or anything.

  “You would tell me? You promise?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Now can we talk about something else?” Because this lying business was really making me uncomfortable.

  She stood up from her chair and wrapped her arms around me.

  “I’m so excited to finally have a real friend . . . someone who would share secrets with me. Let’s go to Denny’s tonight! We can go have some of that fried steak shit. God, that stuff is good.”

  It was bad enough I was lying to her but now I had to turn her down too. Definitely not one of my more stellar days.

  “Um, I can’t. I have my other job.”

  She pulled away from me and frowned. “Oh yeah.” And then a big smile broke across her face. “You know what I am going to do tonight?”

  “No?”

  “I am going to come to hear you sing.”

  “Really?” My stomach lurched. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this.

  “Really! I’ll be in disguise, of course. Just remember to call me Stacy, okay?” She winked at me.

  “Okay.”

  “Great! It’s a date then.” She rubbed her hands together excitedly. Honestly, you’d have thought we were heading off to an Oscar after-party. I worried how she might behave at the bar . . . clearly it was far beneath her standards. Simone tapped me on the shoulder, “Earth to Evie. Time for my butterfly face. My outfit is over there.” She pointed to a few strips of turquoise-colored chiffon hanging on a closet door.

  I walked over, brushing my fingers across the delicate bits of fabric. I turned back to her, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief. “This is what you’re wearing? But there’s nothing there!”

  She shrugged. “I guess they’ll put that sticky tape shit across my boobs.” She sat herself down in a salon-style chair and gestured to the silver box that held all my makeup products. “Let’s get started.”

  A couple of hours later, Simone looked like an extra from Avatar. Her face and body were covered in silver, turquoise, and purple, and her skin shimmered with a fine mist of metallic body glitter. The strips of turquoise chiffon were glued across her breasts and her privates, leaving the rest of her body exposed. While the costume guy was carefully applying her outfit, she leaned over to me and whispered, “I am so fucking glad I got a Brazilian at the spa the other day. Otherwise, can you imagine how awful it would be ungluing this shit from my crotch?”

  Three hours later, Simone had the jaguar on a leash. They were walking across the set, a large green screen towering behind them while swarms of butterflies fluttered around the room. The jaguar’s trainer was a French guy named Pierre (I know, right? Cliché-o-rama). He was rail thin with a scraggly mustache, a black turtle-neck, and black pants. At one point, he sidled up next to me and winked.

  “Bonjour, ma petite. Isn’t my Anastasia gorgeous?” I followed his eyes to the sleek bundle of muscles next to Simone. He kissed his fingers. “She is almost as beautiful as Simone and you.”

  I thought I might barf. Was this guy for real? “The cat is very beautiful,” I said, trying to sound appreciative.

  “Cat?!” He spat and moved away, glaring at me contemptuously. “She is more than just a cat, idiot!” Pierre turned on his heel and marched to the other side of the set, muttering to himself.

  Honestly, the sooner I was done with today’s job, the better. I leaned back against the wall, watching Simone stroll back and forth with Anastasia. She gazed around her, wide-eyed as if she was in awe of her surroundings. I was looking forward to seeing the final video once the CGI stuff was in place.

  At one point, I made the mistake of glancing back over at Pierre. He stood sulking in a corner, giving me the evil eye. Seriously, some people were just creepy. I looked away, back towards Simone and the jaguar. And that’s likely what saved my life. Because had I still been staring at Monsieur Freak, I most definitely wouldn’t have seen Anastasia pull sharply away from Simone and begin running straight at me.

  Simone screamed, and my life flashed before my eyes as death sprinted towards me in a lithe blur of yellow, brown, and black. My blood roared in my ears deafeningly.

  From a distance I heard Pierre command, “Anastasia!” followed by a loud whistle. And just like that, the jaguar stopped in her tracks. Pierre walked quickly to her and led her back to her cage. He promptly returned, out of breath and with a contrite expression on his face.

  “I am so sorry, Mademoiselle. I don’t know what got into her. She must be tired. Please accept my apologies.”

  I couldn’t speak. My hands we
re up around my neck, shaking. Simone was, if possible, more upset than me. She moved like a snake, fast and dangerous, and got right into Pierre’s face.

  “What the fuck was that?!” she screamed shrilly. “That—that fucking thing almost killed my friend!”

  The animal trainer looked shocked . . . either at Simone’s accusation, or that she’d changed from a demure, ethereal beauty to screaming Amazon in seconds flat.

  “But no!” he replied, his voice shaky. “Anastasia would not have killed her. She has no claws!”

  “She has fucking teeth, you dumbass. I want you and your cat out of here!” Simone was still yelling loudly at the top of her lungs. Beyond her, I could see Anastasia in her cage, pacing in agitation, her eyes trained on me.

  Dwight quickly appeared on the set. Where he had come from, I had no idea. I hadn’t seen him the entire time we’d been there. He looked at me and quietly asked, “Are you okay, Evie?”

  I nodded, finally finding my voice.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I laid a hand on Simone’s arm. “It was an accident, Simone. There’s always a risk when working with wild animals, trained or otherwise.”

  Pierre darted a look at me and nodded. “Yes, yes. This is true. It’s in the contract, clause eight.”

  Simone was still trying hard to relax. She shot Pierre a hostile glare, “You’d better shut it, buddy. If it were up to me, I’d have that animal euthanized.” The trainer paled, his eyes darting nervously to Anastasia in her cage.

  “It’s okay, Simone. Really. But if you don’t mind, can I go home?” My voice shook, sounding awkward. I took a deep breath and tried to focus. The perspiration beaded my forehead and ran a slick trail down my back. I felt off, and I needed to get out of there.

  Simone put her arm around me. “Of course you can. You still going to the bar tonight?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  She hugged me.

  “I’ll be there.” She turned to the gathering crowd. “Let’s pack this shit up!” she called out. “We’ll be back tomorrow.” She looked at Dwight. “And no more big cats! Got it?”

  He nodded nervously.

  “Fuck up like that again, and I’ll fire you! Stupid idea, Dwight.”

  Simone turned on her heels, golden hair whipping around, and shook her finger at the director who was white as a sheet.

  “Get me some hot chicks who can dance, a shitload of Cristal, a bunch of gold crap, and bring the fucking butterflies back, but not that cat.” She pointed at Anastasia, and even though the animal had lunged at me, I felt sorry for her. I was never entirely comfortable with wild animals being used like trained monkeys.

  I started back towards the trailer to get my things when Pierre jogged up to me. “I am so sorry, Mademoiselle. Anastasia is a good girl, but sometimes . . . well, she has a sense.”

  “A sense? She wanted to kill me!”

  He smiled at me then, and in spite of all his apologies, goose bumps spread across my arms. He raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice to a bare whisper.

  “Maybe you should be careful. My sweet kitty may not be the only want who wants you dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE SHAKING IN MY HANDS didn’t stop until I got behind the bar at Nick’s and mixed myself a Jack and Coke. I’m not a big drinker. But sometimes, well . . . a Jack and Coke is exactly what the doctor ordered. It was the one drink I saw my mother make Daddy three days after the police showed up at the door, speaking in hushed tones. That was when I knew Hannah wasn’t coming home. I can always tell when my dad misses my sister because he’ll ask mom to make him the same drink—just one. I wondered if my father missed me, now, too. Honestly, I really hoped he wasn’t completely disappointed in the choices I’d made so far.

  Before heading to the bar, I’d gone home, feeling hopeful Lucas might be there. Or even Bob or Janis, but I was especially hoping for Lucas. But aside from the animals, the house was empty. Cass and Mac did what they could to comfort me.

  Cass licked my hand while I sat on the sofa, a cup of hot tea cooling on the coffee table. I wondered what deep spiritual quote she might be sending my way. I had taken up looking up Buddhist quotes on the internet when time permitted. There were some good ones out there. I had even been able to memorize a few.

  Perhaps Cass was thinking something like, “Even death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely.” Honestly though, I wasn’t in the mood for quotes. Especially not from my dog. I rolled my eyes at her, grabbed my tea, and headed out to the patio.

  She did not follow.

  Mac did, though. He climbed into my lap on the lounge chair and made himself at home. Being a pretty straightforward cat, I’m pretty sure any quotes rolling around in his head were of the, “Give me some damn food,” and “Your lap is comfy” variety. That worked for me.

  I sat drinking my lukewarm tea, fat cat in my lap, as dusk set in. No Lucas. No Bob. No Janis. No Hototo, who I would have gladly accepted at this point. I thought more information about power animals and such could prove very interesting. But alas, no insight.

  Eventually, when it got too dark to see clearly and those little, nasty black gnats that only come out at night appeared, I shifted Mac off of my lap and went inside. I gave my face a quick wash, threw on a blouse, and sat down at the vanity in the bedroom to dab a little makeup on. I kept the desk neat, with the bare essentials in cosmetics and the handful of eagle feathers, along with a small, semi-shrine for my sister.

  I picked up one of the feathers and brushed it across my face, then set it down. Were the feathers the key to my abilities? Did they contain the memory of what happened to Hannah? Were they also the key to keeping me safe? I didn’t know, but I figured they were at the very least a part of the solution. Would I ever find all of the answers? Probably not. But I’d take whatever I could get.

  I hoped Lucas could help me as he insisted he could. I hoped we would find out who murdered Nick and why, and I also hoped I would find answers surrounding Hannah’s disappearance. I had no more time to ponder or be melancholy, so I finished my hair and makeup, fed my creatures, and headed out the door.

  The bar felt a bit different than usual. For one thing, Gwen Stefani’s voice was singing “I’m Just A Girl” through the speakers. It was loud, fierce, and beautiful, like Gwen herself (yes, I am a huge Gwen Stefani fan). For another, the lighting was different inside. The bulbs behind the bar had been switched over to green, and the bulbs on the customer side were light purple. Had I stumbled into some sort of ‘80s theme night?

  That was about the time I fixed myself the Jack and Coke. Mumbles picked his head up from his Southern Comfort and 7-Up and gave me a knowing look. His unpatched green eye gleamed brightly.

  “Things change, Evie,” he mumbled. “Not always good. Lights kinda weird.”

  I had a dishtowel in my free hand and used it as a buffer between us while I reached my hand out and touched his aging hand through the towel. He didn’t seem to mind. For some reason, I had been very cautious, even more so than with others, at touching either Candace or Mumbles. I really felt both of them had something deep and tragic inside of them that, for the time being, I was not prepared to see. And I’d become even more cautious after I had heard Mumbles sufferings. Eventually, I would have to go there. But for now, I kept the buffers between us. I noticed liver spots sprinkled amongst the wrinkles on Mumble’s hand.

  “True, Mumbles, it isn’t always good. But you never know, sometimes it’s for the best.”

  “I like your music. Better.”

  “Really? You like my music?”

  He smiled and nodded. I leaned across the bar and lowered my voice.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded again.

  “Why are you here? You seem like a good person. How did you get to the point where you spend almost every night in a bar?”

  One seat down, Candace cleared her throat loudly. “Oh, sweet pea, his story is boring. I doubt he wants to talk about it,�
� she slurred.

  “Let’s give him a chance, okay, Candace?” I snapped, feeling frustrated and not a little protective of poor Mumbles. Candace was so controlling of him. I didn’t quite understand their relationship.

  Mumbles looked over at Candace and then back at me. “Lost my eye, Evie.”

  “I know. How?” I was starting to think I would find the answers to his personal tragedy without a physical touch.

  Candace sighed, stirring her drink. “He was a stunt guy back in the day, and he lost it on the set.” She leaned back in the bar stool and crossed her arms.

  Mumbles nodded. “On a movie set.”

  “Really?” I was going to go out on a limb here, but didn’t feel I had much to lose with my next question. “Were you on a movie set with Nick? Was it a movie he was making?” Neither said anything.

  “What? Why so secretive?”

  I felt an arm slide around my waist. I hadn’t seen Jackson step behind the bar and sidle up to me. I’d been too intent on questioning Mumbles and Candace. He leaned down towards my ear, his nearness stirring up a confusing mixture of emotions.

  “What they aren’t telling you, Evie, is Mumbles here introduced Roger and Nick. Remember Roger? Some say Roger and Nick were the reason Mumbles lost his eye. He was Roger’s stunt double. Back in the day, Mumbles was a pretty good looking guy, a real lady killer. I don’t know the details, but rumor has it Nick and Roger coerced Mumbles, whose real name is Dale Sharp, by the way, into doing a stunt he wasn’t prepared or conditioned for.”

  “That’s a crock of shit!” Candace chimed in, clearly angry.

  Mumbles didn’t say a word, but I watched Bradley Verne, who had come in a few minutes before, walk up to the bar. Jackson pulled me in closer to him and I squirmed uncomfortably. He leaned into me and whispered, “It’s all true, you little Daphne, you.” He poked me in the ribs. Fortunately the buffer between us was our clothing.