Fade to Black (38 page)

Why hasn’t Mallory called?

What if she doesn’t come back to L.A.?

What if she doesn’t come back to him?

He can’t ignore that it’s a distinct possibility. Can’t forget how she had threatened to fire him that last summer, when both their lives seemed to be falling apart around them.

Everyone will be expecting her to be his client once again, but what if she no longer wants him? What if she wants a fresh start with someone else?

“Her first project,” de Lisser announces, “is going to be my film.”

Flynn nods. He has been anticipating this.

Still, he has to ask …

“What about Rae?”

De Lisser lets out a low, almost mocking chuckle. “Why would I want a Mallory Eden imitation when I can get the real thing?”

“We don’t know that Mallory is planning to return to acting,” Flynn says, intending a gentle reminder.

But it comes out rather sharply, and de Lisser is silent for a moment afterward.

Then he says somewhat icily, “I suggest that you find out, Flynn, at your earliest convenience.”

“I’ll do that …”

“And,” de Lisser continues, “I suggest that if she isn’t inclined to return to acting, you do your very best to convince her.”

“I will.” Flynn clears his throat. “And … what should I tell Rae in the meantime?”

“Why do you need to tell her anything? she’s an intelligent woman. She’ll figure out where she stands, if she hasn’t already.”

In other words, Rae will be
out
if Mallory should decide she wants
in
.

And if Mallory doesn’t want
in
—

Or want Flynn—

Or want to return to acting-

Then
Flynn
will be out.

Left again to the bleak, mundane existence of an aging retiree.

A has-been.

Just last week you were retired. And you didn’t feel that that was a fate worse than death
, he reminds himself.

But now that he’s had another taste of that heady, high-powered tinseltown status, he simply can’t allow himself to sink back into oblivion.

If he loses the strategic foothold he’s gained by his association with the most influential director in town, he knows what he’ll have.

Nothing.

Nothing but the booze and the gambling and the one-night stands that were almost the death of him once in his life.

“F
rank,” his lawyer says, swooping into the small meeting room and shaking his hand. He’s chewing gum, as always, working it rapidly in the front of his mouth. “How are you doing? Hanging in there?”

“What do you think?” He glowers at Stan Bauer, but the attorney doesn’t seem fazed.

“I have news for you,” he tells Frank, whose heart lurches.

“What news?”

“she’s gone.”

“Pamela? Oh, Christ, I knew she wouldn’t—”

“Not Pamela. Mallory Eden. She left for the airport an hour ago, to fly back to Los Angeles.”

“But … how can she just pick up and leave?”

Bauer shrugs. “She’ll be back, I’m sure, to testify against you.”

“Oh,
that’s
good news.” Frank buries his head in his handcuffed hands for a moment, then looks up at his lawyer. “She has to tell them that it wasn’t me in L.A. That I’m not the one who stalked her there, who shot her.”

“Look, Frank, she’s not going to do that. She—and everyone else—thinks you were the one. She never got a good look at whoever shot her, and there’s circumstantial evidence pointing to you as the—”

“I didn’t do it. You’ve got to let me talk to her. I’ve got to tell her that it wasn’t me!”

“Calm down, Frank. I know you’re upset about this. But we’ll straighten it out.”

“she’s the only one who can straighten it out. She has to convince them that it wasn’t me.”

“First we have to convince her,” Stan says calmly, still chewing his gum. “Pamela went over there and tried talking to her yesterday.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t good.”

“Christ.”

“Don’t get all worked up, Frank.”

“You’ve got to get me out of here, Stan.”

“I know. I’m working on getting them to set bail. Like I told your wife last night, I plan to get you out of here by the end of today. Just hang in there.”

Frank shakes his head sullenly, hating Stan, hating Pam, hating Mallory Eden most of all.

“I
have a collect call from Mallory; will you accept?”

Rae’s heart leaps into her throat.

“I’ll accept.”

There’s a click, and then her old friend’s voice is on the line, asking, “Rae? Are you there?”

She swallows, sits down, hard, on a chair.

“I’m here,” she manages to say.

“It’s me …”

“I know …”

And somehow all she can think of is Mallory’s ghost. How frightened she’s been, for five years now, that Mallory’s ghost would come back to haunt her.

“Well … I guess I have some explaining to do,” Mallory says, sounding nervous.

“I guess you do,” Rae agrees softly, and bites her lip to keep it from trembling.

“Pardon?”

She forces her voice out again, louder this time. “I guess you do have some explaining to do, Mal,” she says.

“I’d like to do it in person, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s … fine.”

“Good. My flight is boarding. I’ll be landing at LAX this afternoon.”

“Do … you want me to meet you there?”

Mallory exhales, her relief obvious. “Would you?”

“No problem. Just give me a minute to find a pen, and I’ll write down the information.” Rae crosses to the kitchenette on shaky legs, fumbling in the drawer for a pen and something to write on.

“This is so damned strange, Rae.”

Mallory’s comment startles her. “What do you mean?”

“Here we are, making plans to meet, like nothing ever happened. Remember how you used to meet me at LAX sometimes when I was on my way back from location? Remember how we’d go straight out to the beach so that I could feel like I was home again?”

Rae is still, staring off into space. “I remember.”

“Listen, would it be all right … would you mind if I stayed with you awhile?”

“Sure,” Rae says after only the slightest hesitation. “Sure, it would be fine.”

“I know it’s weird of me to ask, but I really have nowhere else to go.”

“It’s okay.”

“Thank you. But, Rae … would you do me a favor? Would you not tell anyone that I’m coming?”

Rae falters for only a moment before saying, “I won’t.”

“Thanks. I knew I could trust you. God, I have a lot to tell you, Rae. And I know you must have a lot to tell me.” Mallory sounds nervous, chatty. “I watched you on
Morning, Noon, and Night
… you were terrific.”

“That’s … thanks.”

“And I don’t even know if you’re married—”

“Married?” She chuckles humorlessly. “God, no. Never even came close.”

“Still have a one-track mind, huh? Totally focused on career?”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t even know what you’re working on these days.”

I was about to replace you, Mallory
.

Imagine if Rae blurted that out.

But of course, she won’t.

Mallory will find out about that soon enough.

And what about you, Mallory? What are your plans? Are you coming back to acting?

Rae longs to ask the question, to put an end to the awful suspense. But that, too, will have to wait.

She clears her throat, blindly grabs a white paper napkin from the holder on the counter, and holds the pen poised over it.

“Okay, Mal,” she says, “I’m all set to write down your flight information. Go ahead....”

“T
he next flight to Los Angeles departs in fifteen minutes, connecting through Denver,” says the short, stout woman at the airline reservations desk at T. F. Green State Airport. “We have plenty of seats available, but you’ll have to hur—”

“I’ll take a one-way ticket,” Brawley cuts in brusquely. “First class.”

“All right, sir.” The ticket agent’s fingers fly over her keyboard.

He raps his knuckles impatiently on the countertop, looking around anxiously, hoping for a glimpse of Mallory. She’s nowhere in sight, of course.

She’ll be down by the gate, getting ready to board.

This is the first flight to Los Angeles from Providence today; it has to be the one she’s taking.

And she has to be in first class.

As soon as he boards, he’ll request that his seat be changed so that he can be next to her.

He smiles faintly despite his impatience, imagining her surprise when she sees him.

She’ll probably—

“I just need your credit card, then, sir.”

He nods and pulls it from his wallet, shoving it into her outstretched hand.

Mallory will probably do a double take when she sees him.

She’ll get that startled expression she used to have when he would unexpectedly show up to meet her on the set of her first movie—

Her first
real
movie, after calling herself Babie Love for Jazz Taylor’s low-budget porn film.

Back then, when she was on the road to becoming a legitimate actress, and he would show up on the set, she would be all surprised. Pleasantly surprised. At least, that was what she said, although sometimes he wasn’t so sure.

Especially later, looking back, after she’d dumped him.

That was when he started to wonder if maybe she was a better actress than he’d given her credit for being.

If maybe she was acting like she cared about him, when all along she was using him. Even back in Custer Creek.

Using him to impress all her friends, who had thought it was cool for her to be dating an older guy …

Using him to prove a point to her grandmother, who thought she could keep Cindy locked up and obedient in that old farmhouse, like a prisoner.

And still, she’d had the nerve, later, when she was Mallory Eden and she no longer needed him, to accuse
him
of using
her
.

She had actually said—

“Sir? There seems to be a problem. This isn’t going through.”

He blinks, then frowns at the ticket agent who’s interrupted his thoughts. “What isn’t going through? The ticket?”

“The credit card. It says you’ve exceeded your limit.”

“Damn.” He fumbles in his wallet. “I must have given you the wrong one. Try this.”

She takes the card he hands her.

He watches, again thrumming his fingers on the countertop, watching intently as she attempts to make the transaction.

“I’m sorry,” she says at last, handing the second card back to him. “I’m getting the same thing.”

“Something must be wrong with your machine,” he says angrily, glancing at the clock. “I’m going to miss this flight if you don’t—”

“There’s nothing wrong with this machine, sir,” she cuts in.

He hates her dumb, round, ugly face and he hates the way she’s looking at him from behind those dumb, round, ugly glasses.

“Try this card,” he says, tossing another one at her. This one, he knows, is maxed out. But he’s starting to feel panicky, like he’ll do anything—
anything
—to get onto that plane with Mallory Eden.

The woman bends to retrieve the card, which has fallen to the floor. She turns to glare at him before inserting it into the slot on her machine.

“What was that look for?” he demands, leaning toward her.

She ignores him, pressing buttons.

His blood boils.

The clock ticks.

The plane is going to leave without him.

Mallory is going to leave without him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says smugly. “This one won’t go through either.”

“Then you must be doing something wrong! What the hell are you doing? You’re going to make me miss my plane!”

“Don’t you yell at me!” bellows the woman.

“I have to get on that plane!” Brawley hollers. “Do you understand me? I
have
to get on that plane!”

“Y
es, Ms. Dodd, we did forward your message to Mallory Eden,” says the harried male voice who answered the phone at the Windmere Cove police station.

“Isn’t there any way you can give me her number?” Gretchen asks him, frustrated.

“I’m sorry, even if I were able to do that, it’s too late to reach her here in town.”

“What do you mean?”

“I understand that she left this morning for Los Angeles.”

“I see.” Gretchen hangs up the phone without another word.