Fade to Black Read online

  Even though she’s positive that he is.

  All she has to do is catch him in the act.

  She’s been waiting.

  Watching.

  A blind, white, violent rage fills Pamela at the thought of her husband with …

  Her.

  She pauses at the top of the stairs and takes several deep breaths before going calmly back into the kitchen, where both her children are now sobbing loudly and Frank is hollering, “What the hell is going on? I’m trying to get some sleep!”

  Pamela takes Hannah out of her high chair, sets her on the floor with a hug, and reaches for Jason, who silences the moment she picks him up.

  Then she turns to her husband, who is standing in the doorway, wearing only a pair of shorts.

  “Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep,” she tells him sweetly, then turns away, seething inside.

  Manny spots a figure standing at the edge of the clearing around the park pavilion, and freezes on the path.

  For a moment, with the sun glinting into his eyes, he thinks it’s his mother again.

  But then the person takes a few steps closer, waves, and he realizes it’s her.

  “Elizabeth!” he calls out, running toward her.

  She looks so pretty, he thinks, in her blue and white sundress.

  She has sandals on her feet, and her hair is hanging down loose today. She hardly ever wears it like that.

  “Hi, Manny.” She smiles as he draws near.

  But he can tell something’s wrong, even though he can’t see her eyes behind the dark sunglasses.

  “What’s the matter with your face?” he asks, spotting a faint red mark, like a bruise, on her cheek.

  She reaches up, her fingers touching the skin, and says, “Oh, this? I just … I bumped into a door.”

  He thinks she might be lying, but he can’t imagine why she’d do that. “How come you’re here?”

  “I knew you’d be going to rehearsal for the play … do you have a minute before you start?”

  He nods, glancing over his shoulder at the stone pavilion. He sees Rhonda and a few other counselors and kids gathered around the picnic tables, but not everyone is there yet.

  “I looked for you yesterday afternoon at the playground,” Elizabeth tells him.

  “You did?” A bad feeling steals over him as he remembers what happened yesterday.

  His mother.

  At the playground.

  “You weren’t there,” Elizabeth continues, “but somebody was. I met your mom, Manny.”

  “She isn’t my mom,” he says quickly.

  Elizabeth pauses, looking puzzled.

  “She’s my mother, but not a ‘mom,’” he explains, and somehow she seems to understand.

  “I know how you feel, Manny. And I want to help you.”

  “Help me what? Did she tell you she’s taking me away?”

  The expression on Elizabeth’s face reveals that no, his mother didn’t tell her that.

  “What are you talking about? She threatened to take you away, Manny? When was that?”

  He shrugs. “The other day. She said she’s going to take me, no matter what my grandparents say.”

  Elizabeth frowns. “Did you tell anyone? Did you tell your grandparents?”

  “Nah.”

  He doesn’t tell her that he’s afraid they won’t mind—that maybe they’ll want his mother to take him so that they won’t have to take care of him anymore.

  He wants so badly to ask Elizabeth to help him—to let him live with her. To be his new mom.

  But he doesn’t.

  He can’t.

  He already knows, somehow, what her answer will be.

  No.

  She’ll find some nice way to say it, but no matter what, it would still be no.

  And he can’t stand the thought of hearing that from her.

  Because she’s the one person in the world who has never hurt him.

  And if she does, he doesn’t know how he’ll stand it.

  “What did my mother say to you yesterday?” he asks her, shuddering at the thought of his dear Elizabeth meeting up with that terrible, scary woman at the playground, the way he had.

  “She wanted to know if I was trying to steal you away from her,” Elizabeth says. Again her hand flutters up to touch the red mark on her cheek, then back down again as though she’s realized what she was doing.

  “But she doesn’t have me!” Manny feels sick to his stomach; the dry, stale toast he’d eaten for breakfast threatens to come up in his throat.

  “Manny, I know she doesn’t have you.” Elizabeth places both her hands gently on his shoulders. “I know she hasn’t been a mother to you.”

  He’s shaking. “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing. Just that I’m your friend, and that’s all.”

  That’s all.

  Just a friend.

  If he had been wondering whether she might want to be his mom—and he hadn’t been wondering, because he knows the answer, but still—

  If he had been wondering, he wouldn’t be anymore.

  Elizabeth is just his friend.

  Friends are good things to have, he tells himself, trying to be positive despite the sinking feeling in his stomach.

  But friends don’t live with you.

  They don’t adopt you.

  “Manny,” Elizabeth is saying, “I’m worried about you.”

  He looks up. “You are?”

  She nods. “You need to tell someone what’s going on, Manny.”

  “Tell who?”

  “Your grandparents.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t. There’s nothing they can do.”

  “They can tell the police that your mother’s bothering you, making threats.”

  “Can’t you tell the police for me?”

  Elizabeth hesitates, then says, “I could tell them. But I think that’s up to your grandparents. Why don’t you want them to know?”

  Because I’m afraid they won’t do anything about it.

  I’m afraid that if I tell them my mother wants me back, they’ll be glad.

  That they’ll say that she can take me.

  “Manny …?”

  “Elizabeth, it’s okay. I’ll tell my grandparents,” he lies.

  She looks doubtful. “Are you afraid they’ll get angry at you? That they’ll hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Because this isn’t your fault, Manny. And no one is going to get angry at you.”

  She looks as though she’s trying to convince herself of that, along with him.

  And anyway, that isn’t it. He isn’t afraid that his grandparents will hurt him physically. That, he could take.

  He’s afraid …

  “Manny, you really should tell them. They need to know what’s going on.”

  “I will. I’ll tell them.” He nods at her. “You’re right. They need to know. They can tell the police. I’ll let them know tonight.”

  “Okay,” she says after watching him carefully for a moment. Though he can’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, he knows they’re focused intently on his face.

  “I have to go to my rehearsal,” he says, squirming under her probing gaze. “They’re probably waiting for me.”

  He looks over at the pavilion. He can tell that not everyone is there yet, but he doesn’t want to stand there, lying to Elizabeth, any longer.

  “Okay, go ahead. I’ll meet you at the playground tomorrow and you can tell me what’s going on. And, Manny, don’t forget that you have my phone number. You can call me if you need me.”

  He nods, turns, and starts walking away, toward the pavilion. Then, remembering something, he looks back over his shoulder.

  She’s still standing there, watching him.

  “Hey, Elizabeth?” he calls. “How are my costumes coming? Have you had time to—”

  “They’re almost ready for you, Manny,” she calls back. “The frog is just about done.”

  “Thanks
,” he says, giving her a double thumbs-up, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  He continues walking slowly toward his rehearsal, wondering why he’s wasting his time.

  When the curtain goes up on the show next week, somebody else will be playing the lead role....

  Because he’ll be long gone.

  He can’t stay and wait for his mother to come and take him away.

  He has no choice but to go on his own.

  As soon as he figures out where to go, and how to get there, he’ll be out of there.

  Rae Hamilton has been to the Skybar at the Mondrian Hotel dozens of times, but never with Flynn Soderland.

  So many people stop by to greet him despite the relatively sheltered seats they’ve chosen, off in a corner on a big white cushion, that it takes nearly an hour before he is finally able to turn his attention to her and get straight to the point, without interruption.

  “Do you know Martin de Lisser?” he asks, watching her over the rim of the glass as he takes a sip from his second martini.

  A wispy cloud of cigarette smoke around his face seems to suit the ethereal setting, shrouding the once-high-powered agent in an aura of mystique.

  “Know him personally? No. But of course I know who he is. Who doesn’t? Why do you ask?”

  “He’s holding an open casting call for his new film. He’s looking for the new Mallory Eden.” He reaches into his Armani blazer, pulls out a folded piece of paper, and hands it to her.

  She scans the ad from yesterday’s issue of Variety, which is still sitting, unread, on her table at home.

  “I spoke with him last night.”

  “I didn’t know you knew him.”

  “We’ve never met. I got in touch with him through a mutual friend.”

  She nods. Flynn Soderland may be retired, but his name still opens seemingly impenetrable doors in this town.

  “He was honest with me about the casting call, which, of course, is a publicity stunt,” Flynn is saying. “De Lisser isn’t interested in casting a nobody from Podunk, no matter what he’s telling the press. And he hasn’t secretly cast the role yet either. He wants to meet with you, Rae.”

  Her heart begins to pound. She doesn’t betray her excitement, merely takes a sip of Perrier before asking, “Why?”

  “He wants you to read for the lead role.” He exhales twin streams of smoke from his nostrils and adds, “Tomorrow. At his house in Napa. Are you interested?”

  “Are you kidding? Sure, I’m interested, but …” She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand, struggling not to seem overeager. She doesn’t want anyone, not even Flynn, to know how desperately she needs a break. “Has he seen any of my work? Is that why—”

  “He’s never heard of you. I called him and told him about you.”

  “Oh.” Her disappointment is fleeting. “What did you tell him, exactly?”

  “That you’re a talented actress. That you’re currently available. And that you’re a dead ringer for Mallory Eden, and you were her closest friend.”

  “I see.”

  “1 pointed out that as he so clearly already knows, Mallory is still a bankable commodity in this town, and her popularity doesn’t seem to be waning even after five years. I also reminded him that the press has been lending considerable coverage to the anniversary of her death last weekend, which means she’s on people’s minds.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He knew all of that, of course. He’s not just a talented director, Rae. He’s a shrewd businessman. Why do you think he chose now to search for the new Mallory?”

  “He wants me to be the new Mallory?” she asks, careful to keep her tone level, not to give anything away.

  “He isn’t opposed to the idea. The press would go nuts. Mallory’s lookalike best friend stepping into the spotlight as Hollywood’s newest film goddess … It’s ideal.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  “There’s only one problem.”

  “What?”

  Flynn holds up a finger, indicating for her to wait while he stubs out his cigarette, tilts his glass, and drains the last of his martini.

  She watches, wondering when he started drinking again. She’s familiar with his past bout with alcoholism—not because he’s opened up to her about it. Even if she hadn’t been privy to Mallory’s concerns about her agent’s drinking, it’s been common knowledge in Hollywood for some time now that Soderland is an AA veteran.

  At their lunch the other day he’d had a club soda.

  Now he’s motioning the bartender for a third martini.

  “What’s the one problem?” Rae asks him impatiently.

  “Your image.”

  “What image?”

  “That’s the problem. You need to create a new Rae. You need to loosen up a little, laugh a lot, be a screwball.”

  “You want me to re-create the old Mallory, not create a new Rae.”

  “Exactly.”

  She nods coolly, sipping her Perrier.

  “Do you know what I mean?”

  “I think so.”

  “De Lisser’s looking for the new Mallory Eden, Rae. That’s what you’ve got to give him.”

  The waiter sets another martini in front of Flynn, and he reaches for it greedily. He takes a gulp, then says, obviously feigning nonchalance, “Oh, and there’s another little potential problem.”

  She sighs. “What is it, Flynn?”

  “Your agent.”

  “Enough said. I’ll ditch Buddy today. I had been planning on doing it anyway.”

  “What about your contract?”

  “What contract? There hasn’t been a contract in a few years now. He hasn’t gotten me anything decent, Flynn. I need someone like you to represent me.”

  Flynn nods. “I’ll represent you, Rae.”

  “What about retirement?”

  “Screw retirement,” he says, lifting his glass again and lighting another cigarette. “It’s no fun.”

  The phone is ringing.

  Elizabeth, sitting on the floor surrounded by purple fabric and sequins, is looking at it.

  She can’t answer it.

  What if it’s that voice, the eerie, guttural voice from five years ago?

  The one that said, “Prepare to die, Mallory Eden.”

  But she had told Manny to call her if he needed her.

  It could be him.

  Or it could be Harper Smith.

  Or it could be the voice.

  There’s only one way to find out.

  Elizabeth stands and moves slowly toward the phone, reaching out with a shaking hand.

  She lifts the receiver …

  Just in time to hear a click.

  Whoever it was had hung up.

  What if it was Manny?

  Or Harper?

  What if it was the voice?

  She stands there, trembling, wondering what to do.

  Should she take advantage of modern technology and press *69?

  If she does, she knows, her phone will automatically dial the number of whoever just called her.

  And she’ll know.

  So …

  Do it, she commands herself.

  Just do it.

  But before she can move, the phone rings again.

  Her heart pounds wildly as, still holding the receiver, she takes her thumb off the talk button and says in a whisper, “Hello?”

  “Hello, I’m calling on behalf of Bay View magazine. Are you familiar with our publication?”

  Elizabeth can’t speak, can’t move.

  “You’re not? Then please allow me a moment of your time to tell you a little bit about Bay View,” the friendly but detached female voice goes on, as if reading from a script. “We are a local environmental magazine devoted to—”

  “I’m sorry, I … I don’t have time right now,” Elizabeth cuts in.

  “But it will only take a—”

  “I have to go!” Elizabeth says almost frantically, and hangs up.
>
  Then realizes she should have asked the woman if she had tried to call a minute earlier.

  Had she been the one who hung up when Elizabeth answered?

  But why would she do that?

  And if she hadn’t …

  Who had?

  You’ll never know, Elizabeth tells herself, realizing that now it’s too late to press *69.

  She goes back to her sewing, forcing herself to stop thinking about the phone call.

  The television is on. Entertainment Tonight. Even after all these years, she’s still curious about the industry news and gossip.

  Every once in a while, she’ll see one of her old friends doing an interview.

  Good old Kenny Abner is always popping up, hyping his successful network comedy, Family of Foes.

  And Rae had been on last fall when she got the lead in that sitcom. Too bad it had been canceled after only one episode.

  Elizabeth feels a pang of regret at the thought of the friends she will never see again. It wasn’t easy to find true, loyal friendship in cut-throat, back-stabbing Hollywood. But she’d had Kenny and Rae and Flynn and …

  Gretchen.

  She wonders where her former assistant is now.

  One of her final acts as Mallory Eden had been to arrange for all of Gretchen’s medical bills to be sent to her. That way, she could cover anything that wasn’t covered by the insurance policy Mallory had supplied the year before, when she first hired Gretchen as an assistant.

  But what could her money heal, in the end?

  Gretchen would be disfigured for the rest of her life.

  And Elizabeth would carry the guilt with her for the rest of her life.

  If only she hadn’t been so out of it, recovering from her own surgery and the grim news that she would never bear children.

  As a child in Nebraska, she used to dream about the kind of mother she would be. So different from her own mother. She would never hurt her children, she would never even have to raise her voice. They would be little angels, the children she would have one day.

  She wanted lots of children; at the very least, two boys and two girls. That way, each boy would have a brother and each girl would have a sister.

  She had always longed for a sister. She used to dream that one day, her mother—transformed, of course, into a smiling model citizen—would come back to Custer Creek and present her with a baby sister.

  Funny how dreams, when they came true at all, could be warped versions of what you imagined.