River: A Bad Boy Romance (14 page)

I
n a TV studio reception area, a young actress by the name of Alexis Carver flicks through a gossip magazine and waits patiently to be called. She's half way through an article titled, 'Fifty ways I please my lover', when the production assistant rushes out.

“Alexis?” she says, addressing the bright eyed girl. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Tina, please come through.”

As they walk down the corridor to the studio, Tina hands her a script.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice”, she says.

“So, wait, what, who am I supposed to be again?” Alexis says. “They just told me to come over and read something.”

“They didn't tell you what it was for?”

Alexis shakes her head. She has long eyelashes and fake nails. Her high heels look difficult to walk in. For the first time Tina looks her up and down, taking the girl in. By contrast, Tina's never painted nails have been bitten to the stubs, and the one and only pair of high heels she owns, bought as a present by an ex-boyfriend, remain at the bottom of her wardrobe, never worn.

“That's typical”, Tina says.

“Does it matter?” Alexis says. “They said it wasn't a difficult job. I've done TV work before. Adverts mostly. I'm really more of a model.”

“A woman was kidnapped this morning”, Tina says by way of an explanation. “We need you to make an appeal to her robber to try and get him to release her.”

“That's what this is?” Alexis asks, holding up the script.

“More or less. It's a guide. Kind of like a timeline of your history together”, Tina says. “Stuff you've done, how long you've been friends, that kind of thing.”

“And the rest?”

“Well that's up to you”, Tina says. “I can call the agency again, if you don't want to do it.”

“I can do it”, Alexis says confidently.

“Good”, Tina says, and leads her from the corridor into the studio.

Alexis adjusts her hair and posture, and pouts down the barrel of the camera, while the sound recordist mics her up.

“Where the fuck did you find this girl?” the director says, via the microphone and headphone system all of the crew are plugged into. In a professional sense, it's a communication system that means everyone in the gallery can pass important technical or creative information to the studio floor, without any of the 'talent', hearing them. More importantly, and most usually, it's also used to bitch and gossip about the 'talent', without them having any idea that they are being talked about.

“That's who they sent”, Tina whispers, making sure she is quiet enough that the sound doesn't travel across the studio floor to Alexis.

“You want me to cry?” Alexis says to the hunched shadow of the floor manager, who's crouched behind the cameraman. “I can cry really easily if you want.”

“Tell her to bawl her eyes out as much as possible”, the director says to the floor manager.

“Cry as much as you can, sweetie”, he says to her.

“Without looking over the top”, the producer adds.

“But try and make it look convincing”, the floor manager says.

Alexis begins to tear up, waving her hand theatrically in front of her face as though she's trying to waft away a fart. “How's that?” she asks, tears already rolling down her cheeks.

“Perfect”, the floor manager tells her. “Are we ready to go?”

“Ok, wait”, Alexis says. She sweeps her hair behind her neck and undoes her top button so a decent amount of her cleavage is showing.

“Fucking hell”, Tina whispers to herself. “Are you kidding me?”

“Everyone wants to be a star”, the producer says.

“Everyone wants to be a whore more like it”, the director says. “You reckon she can do this or shall we get someone else as back up?”

“Are you asking me that question?” Tina asks.

“This is seriously the best we could get?” the producer says.

“I think she's hot”, the cameraman says, zooming in and out of her cleavage.

“Shut up, Matt”, the producer says.

“Are we ready to go?” the director says. “She's giving me a headache.”

“Are we ready to go, Alexis?” the floor manager says.

Alexis nods. “Sorry, it's just, I think I'm crying for real now. It happens sometimes.”

Tina puts her head in her hands. She could have done the appeal herself instead of having to deal with this. She did an acting course at college as part of her media degree and could have had this over with in ten minutes.

“We've got thirty minutes to pull together a five minute appeal”, the director says. “Just roll on this and try and get her talking.”

“Already rolling”, Matt says.

“Less cleavage, Matt, let's keep this tasteful”, the producer says.

“Shame to waste it”, Matt whispers, before reluctantly readjusting the framing.

“In your own time”, the floor manager says.

“As long as it's now”, the director says to himself.

Alexis stares through the barrel of the camera. She rubs tears away from her eyes with the palm of her hand.

“My name is Alexis Carver”, she says. “I'm Maddy Parker's best friend, and I have a message for the person that took her.”

“What if Maddy sees this, and not the robber?”, the director asks. “She's going to wonder who the fuck this woman is.”

“That's not our problem”, the producer says. “The police pay, we film it and broadcast it.”

“And if it comes out that we've lied? That we've got an actress in here”, the director says. “I don't want to get into trouble over this.”

“Actress is pretty strong”, Tina says.

“Nobody will give a shit if it gets her back”, the producer says.

“Nobody gives a shit anyway”, Matt whispers.

“Please bring her back home”, Alexis continues, her performance on the hammy side of theatrical. “I know you're a good person really, and I know you probably feel just as scared and alone as she does. Please think about Maddy. Please think about what you're doing to her. Think about her family, and her friends and her life, her life that you are busy now ruining for her. She didn't ask to be taken, so all I'm asking now is for you to do the decent thing and give her up. Please give her up. Please bring Maddy back home.”

Alexis breaks down into tears again, her shoulders shaking as she gasps heavily. Half a minute later she looks up, her face back to normal.

“Do you need more?” Alexis asks.

“What do you think?” the director asks the producer, his hand covering the mic. “I can cut a promo out of the crying, and a longer piece with the entire message. We've got her for a bit longer though, you want to try and do some questions?”

“Do you think she can handle it?” the producer asks.

“Might as well give it a go, that wasn't too bad after all”, the director says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Sometimes I wonder how you ever made it up there with judgement like that”, Matt says.

“By being right”, the director says. “Soapy is exactly what people want. That's a ratings winning performance right there.”

“Her tits might bring in the punters, but her performance won't”, Matt says sarcastically.

“Tina?” the producer says.

“I know”, she responds, “I'm already on it.”

“Keep it light. Don't give her too much she can fuck up on. Just talk about their history and some emotive bollocks about what makes them friends. How much of a good person Maddy is. Blah, blah, blah. You know, make her sound normal and likeable.”

“Nothing like she is then”, Tina says.

“Well it wouldn't be TV if we didn't make people into who they weren't”, the producer says.

“Welcome to the dream factory”, Matt says, the lens of his camera once again zooming in and out of Alexis's well proportioned cleavage.

There is an artist's sketched picture of a man in a balaclava with a cigarette in his mouth, at the centre of a large map of the city of Albuquerque, the New Mexico desert and the surrounding area, all of which have been pinned to a movable white board next to Garland's desk. Mugshots of the dead robbers occupy one corner, while red lines connect each one of them to a list of various names, some of which have been crossed off already. On the other side of the board, there is a photo of Buck Tavern, with a big question mark next to it, and a similar list of names of business associates and family members underneath. Half way down, is the name River Woods.

Garland clicks off his computer, pushes the white board into the corner of the room, and goes to find Frank. He is, unsurprisingly, still at his desk, working his way through the bottle of scotch.

“They're going to run the appeal on the ten o'clock bulletin”, Garland says. “I have a copy if you'd like to see it?”

“Have you watched it?” Frank asks.

“Yes”, Garland says. “She's not exactly Audrey Hepburn, but it works.”

“So, where are we, Garland? Someone robs a bank in our city and turns into a ghost. But before that, he rubs our faces in it. We've had no sightings and so far none of the stolen cars have turned up with him in it.”

“There are still two to find”, Garland says optimistically.

“He could be on foot for all we know. He could even be right here in the city and we wouldn't have a clue.”

Frank sips at his whiskey, wincing as the poor quality scotch burns all the way down to his partially eroded stomach.

“He'll show up”, Garland says, even though he thinks otherwise. “This is America, after all, nobody disappears for long. Especially someone with a hostage. He'll make a mistake somewhere along the line, and then we'll be there to catch him.”

“You really think that?” Frank says, hopefully.

“Absolutely, sir, you taught me so”, Garland lies.

“Sit down, Garland, have a drink with me.”

“I can't sir, I have to get back home. My wife. Maybe when we catch him”, he says.

“I guess I don't have the same commitments”, Frank says.

“I got prints from the car”, Garland says keen to raise Frank's spirits. “The lab will get the results back to us tomorrow. If he's in the system we'll have a name.”

“That's good work, Garland.”

“Go home, sir”, Garland says. “There isn't anything else we can do here today.”

“There isn't anything else I can do there either”, Frank says.

“Goodnight, sir”, Garland says, and makes his way back out.

Frank sighs heavily, picks up the appeal tape recording that Garland has left for him, and dumps it straight into the bin. He fills his mug again, and puts the scotch bottle back into the top drawer of his desk, where it sits on top of the photo of his wife and two children, that once used to take pride of place on his wall.

River leads Maddy across a crowded dance floor, towards the bar. This is definitely not the kind of place Maddy would normally ever find herself in, and the lecherous looks and occasional wolf whistles from the mostly male clientèle is making her skin crawl. In the corner, a heavy metal band thrashes out a tuneless wall of noise so offensive to Maddy's ears, it makes her want to throw up.

“Can't we go somewhere else?” Maddy shouts into River's ear.

“There isn't anywhere else to go”, River says. “Now, what do you want to drink?”

“Water”, Maddy shouts to him.

While River shouts the order across to the barman, Maddy keeps as close as she can to him, not because she thinks he'll shoot her if she doesn't, but that she feels safer with him than she does alone.

When River turns back round, he has two beers in his hand, one of which he gives to Maddy.

“They don't have water that's safe enough to drink”, he says, and leads her by the hand to a table in the far corner, far enough away from the music that they can talk to each other.

The place is full of drunks and old men dressed in leather. The only women she can see either seem to be waiting tables, or gyrating like crazy on the dance floor.

“You look like you've got your eyes on stalks”, River says.

“Are we safe in here?” Maddy asks, her eyes as big as dinner plates, taking in everything around her. It seems pretty much like everyone is taking her in too.

“Are you seriously asking me that question?” River says.

“Everyone is looking at me strangely”, Maddy says.

“You mean to tell me you've never had people look at you like that before?”

“I've never been somewhere like this, for them to look at me like that”, Maddy says.

“You're something else, you know that”, River says, and smiles.

“Is that meant to make me feel better?”

“Look, if anyone has a problem, I've got a solution”, he says and indicates the gun that sits ready, tucked into his jeans at the small of his back. “We won't need it though, I can promise you that. This may look like a rough bar to you, but believe me, it ain't.”

Maddy politely sips her beer. She can't stop looking around her, and it's making River smile. He takes the pre-rolled cigarette from behind his ear, sparks it up and relaxes into the well beaten leather backing of the bench he's sat on.

“What did you want to be when you grew up, Maddy?” River asks her.

“Is that what you normally ask girls on a first date?”

“We're not on a date remember”, River says.

“In that case, I didn't get a choice”, Maddy says.

“What do you mean you didn't get a choice? Everyone gets a choice of what they want to be, even if it never happens. Nobody chooses your dreams for you.”

“Somebody chose mine. My father to be exact. From as young as I can remember, he knew what I was going to do”, Maddy says.

“And what did
you
want to do?”

“I don't know, make him happy, I guess”, she says sadly. “Don't we all want to make our father's happy?”

“I couldn't give a rat's ass about my father's happiness. He never cared about mine”, River says.

“I bet you did once though.”

“I wouldn't count on it”, River says. “Just thinking about him puts a bad taste in my mouth.”

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Maddy says, turning the conversation around.

“I wanted to work with animals. Horses maybe”, River says, and Maddy nearly spits out her beer.

“Something funny about that, Princess?”

“I just didn't see it, that's all. You don't look like the type.”