The Truth About Gretchen Read online

  The scene finally ends, and his expectant eyes search my face. “Thank you for coming in,” I blurt, praying that he leaves. He does, and I exhale.

  Jocelyn chortles. “Oh, for crying out loud. He was terrible!”

  “The worst,” Tabitha adds.

  “I don’t know how he landed all these roles,” I say, pointing to his resume.

  “Sorry I wasted your time with that one,” Jocelyn says. “That’s a wrap.” She breaks into an awkward-looking cha-cha. Tabitha and I laugh. Flickering lights and rolling thunder shut down the dancing and giggles.

  “We’d better head out,” I say.

  “Yikes. The freeway is going to be one big parking lot,” Jocelyn says, gathering her belongings. “We had a good day though. Only one no-show.”

  “I’m not sure what happened to Regina Wilson,” Tabitha says. “She signed in. Since we were running behind, maybe she had to leave for another audition.”

  “I’ll call her agent,” Jocelyn says. “It’s unprofessional and unacceptable for an actor to leave without saying anything.”

  “Well, I’m happy with the people we have on the callback list,” I say, collecting their photos. “We have five Hims and five Sandras. Vanessa and Lillian are my top picks for Sandra, and Edward Jones and Phillip Ellington are my top picks for Him.”

  “I’ll have the video uploaded on Vimeo by tomorrow for you to review,” Tabitha says.

  “Great. I want to pair them up for the callback. Once we have the mother and son cast, we can focus on the smaller roles.”

  “Will your producer be at the callbacks next week?” Jocelyn says.

  “Yes, Patty will be there,” I say, looking at my vibrating phone. “I need to answer this,” I say, grabbing it. “Lance, is everything okay?”

  “I should be asking you that. I haven’t heard from you since this morning. It’s after 5:00 p.m.”

  “Bye, Gretchen,” the women say.

  “I’ll touch base with you later,” I tell them as they leave, then turn my attention back to Lance.

  “You’ll touch base with me later? We haven’t talked all day.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Lance.”

  “You’re never talking to me, Greeet-cheeen.”

  “Wow, thanks for ruining what has been an incredible day.” I flop down at the table, tempted to hang up.

  “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that a lot is going on. I’ve been texting you, and I’ve left several messages. I’m sorry for being such a nag, but I wouldn’t need to bother you if you were more responsive.”

  “I’m sorry too, but after I talked to Patty this morning, I put my phone on vibrate. The auditions went on longer than expected, and I barely took a lunch break. I was so in the zone; I didn’t hear my phone vibrating.” I stand and pace the room, hoping I didn’t miss something important. A few of the actors had mentioned that there was some flooding in the area, but at the time, I didn’t think it was that serious.

  “Well, that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Gretchen, there were bomb threats at five different schools in the area. On the news they say it may be the work of a terrorist organization. On top of that, Dancing Hills and the surrounding areas are in unprecedented gridlock because of major flooding and parents leaving work to check on their children. And with the storm—you know you guys can’t drive in the rain—there’ve been a million accidents, and I’m stuck at a local shelter with my colleagues and eight hundred and fifty frightened middle schoolers, with their parents surrounding the building and ready to charge it any minute now.”

  “Oh my god. Was Shady Grove Middle School one of the schools targeted?”

  “No, we weren’t, but the superintendent has put all schools on lockdown, and every school is being searched. The bomb threats have gotten national coverage. My parents and my sister called me. And get this—Trisha told me I’d better not get hurt because she already bought my Christmas gift, and she can’t wait to give it to me when we get there.”

  “Your niece is twelve going on forty,” I say. “Really though, I had no idea things were that bad. I’ve been hunkered down in the audition room with Jocelyn, Tabitha, and the actors. It seems as if the world has ended.” I stop pacing as I once again realize how much the film has preoccupied me. My fiancé could’ve been blown to smithereens today, and I wouldn’t even have known.

  “Thank god it hasn’t. I couldn’t imagine it ending without having a chance to tell you how much I love you, Red.”

  “Aww, sweetie. I love you, too,” I say as I resume pacing. “Anyway, what do you think I should do?”

  “I’d stay put until the rain and traffic eases up. You probably won’t be able to get through anyway.”

  “Wow. What a mess. Are you okay?” I grab the remote off the wall hook and turn on the TV. The screen fills with images of traffic jams, flooding, and bomb squads surrounding schools.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m glad you’re okay. Did you find any good actors?”

  “I did. I’ll have to tell you about them when we get home—if we get home. I’m going to check on my parents, make sure they’re not caught up in any of this. They should be closing the shop right about now.”

  “Be safe, Red. I love you.”

  “I will. Love you too,” I say. I click off the TV and peer at the skylight. Drops of water hit my face. “Boy, it’s coming down.” I grab the wastebasket near the door and put it under the skylight. I hang the remote back on the hook, collect my belongings, and head to the lobby, wondering if Jocelyn and Tabitha were able to make it to the freeway.

  Standing in the lobby, I stare at the glass exit door, barely able to see through it, the rain is so heavy. It’s gotten dark, and uneasiness washes over me. I’m probably alone in the building. What’s even more frightening is the mess the actors have left behind. I gasp at the sight of paper cups, candy wrappers, soda cans, and a few fast food bags littering the sofa, chairs, and floor.

  I set down my purse and tote and collect the rubbish, surprised that Tabitha left without tidying up. I look around for a trash can and spot one near the water fountain. I toss the garbage, then start to turn away, but I glimpse something shiny. I use a tissue from my purse to rifle through the trash. “What’s this?”

  I retrieve what appears to be a metal water bottle, covered in coffee stains. I turn it over, and a mixture of terror and excitement grips me. I stumble backward, landing on my butt. I stare at the young man looking back at me. It’s Him. Oh my god, it’s Him. “It’s you! It’s you!” I run my trembling fingers along his bushy brows, round nose, and full lips. I place the tip of my fingernail on the dimple in his chin. I press on his dark, curly hair. “It’s you. What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

  A scream fills the lobby, and it takes a second to identify the noise as my own. Coming face to face with the man who has haunted my dreams for the past two years renders me helpless. It doesn’t matter that it’s a photograph—it’s no less harrowing, but at the same time freeing.

  I gaze at the photo. It’s mesmerizing. My eyes drift from the picture to the lobby walls, which seem to be tilting, then caving in. Cold sweat dampens my skin, pooling on the now-spinning floor. I press my wet hand on the floor to brace myself. I feel sick, like I’m going to pass out, and I do.

  ******

  I come to in a dark tunnel. I meander down it, and from a distance I can see a light. I continue until I reach a long hallway that dead ends at a door. Light pours from underneath. My whole being fills with dread. But I feel different—bigger, stronger. Not like myself. I feel powerful. My arm and leg muscles feel powerful. Broad shoulders and a bulge between my legs. I’m male. I’m Him. I rub my huge hands over my curly hair—rugged, quick hands. The door opens, and someone appears in the shadows. I can’t make out the figure. It slinks away like a snake. I want to go after whomever it is, but my massive feet are glued to the floor. Someone’s crying. I can’t make out who. The cries turn into laugh
ing, cheering, clapping. Now I’m outside. I look up. The dark sky lights up with colorful fireworks. I swivel my head when I hear voices in the distance. Who’s there?

  “Happy New Year.”

  I don’t feel happy. I feel sad. I know something, and I must tell someone. Someone calls my name.

  “Robert.”

  That’s who I am. I’m Robert. I turn, and the blood drains from my face.

  “Happy birthday, Robert.”

  “Don’t. No. Don’t.”

  There’s a blast, and my head explodes like a cherry bomb. Red, red, red. Blood. I’m down. I’m out.

  ******

  “I’m out. I’m out. Help me. I’m dying. Don’t let me die.”

  “Miss? Miss, what’s wrong?”

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  “Gretchen! Gretchen! Snap out of it! Gretchen!”

  “Don’t kill me! Please, don’t kill me. Please.”

  “Gretchen, I’m not going to kill you.”

  My eyes snap open, and the person standing over me is a blur. Lightheaded, I squint. He’s clearer now. He’s holding my open wallet. There’s a badge on his jacket. He’s a security guard. “Where … where am I? What happened?” I try to stand, but my legs give out from under me. He helps me to my feet, then hands me my wallet. Disoriented, I take it.

  “Gretchen, you’re at Dancing Hills University in John Blakely Hall. I’m Henry Farley, the evening security guard. I found you sitting here on the floor sobbing, thrashing around. I took your wallet out of your purse, so I could see your I.D. Are you epileptic?”

  “No … no … I’m not,” I say, my sluggish eyes searching for the water bottle.

  “Are you looking for this?” The security guard picks it up off the floor near the trash can.

  “Yes.” He hands it to me, and I struggle to grasp it. “I’m sorry. I’m a graduate student here. I’ve been in auditions all day. I think I overdid it. I haven’t eaten much today.”

  “Is there someone I should call?” he says, his questioning eyes traveling my length. “You don’t look well, and there’s flooding and traffic jams all over the city. Do you want me to call Robert?”

  My stomach flips. “Robert?”

  “You were calling for him when I found you.”

  “Oh … No. I’ll be okay.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I appreciate your concern,” I say, reaching for my purse and tote. I put my wallet into my purse. “Can you please walk me to my car?”

  “Of course,” he says, sidling up next to me, helping me to the door.

  He opens it, and I step into the rain, thinking about my surreal experience, holding on to the water bottle. I … I need … uh … to find out who left it here. Finding that person is the first step in finding out who the mystery man is, why he’s haunting me, and why someone wanted to kill him. And now I have a name—Robert.

  Chapter 6

  Regina

  The waitress in the diner I’ve been sitting in for the past few hours stares at the wall-mounted TV above the soda fountain. Sitting at the counter, I watch along with her, wondering when the freeway will reopen, hoping I won’t have to spend the night in Shady Grove. The only other person who wants me to get home worse than I do is Taylor. Poor thing is going crazy. He’s threatened to come and rescue me, but from the looks of it, he’d need to rent a boat to get here. I can’t believe it’s raining as hard as it is.

  “Well, Regina, I’m crossing my fingers, my toes, and my eyes for ya.”

  “Thank you, Kate.”

  She sends a reassuring, gummy smile my way. She reminds me of Flo from that show Alice. She’s bony, with a stiff, blond beehive, quick with one liners and sass to spare.

  “I haven’t seen rain like this in ten years. You hang in there, though. Can I bring you another slice of pie and a refill on your coffee?”

  “No thank you. I shouldn’t have had the first slice,” I say, looking down at my thighs spreading across the counter stool. “I’m on a diet.”

  She rolls her blue eyes and hisses. “To hell with a diet. I wish I had your figure. Only dogs like bones, and that’s what I usually end up with.” She points to a couple of guys sitting in the rear. “See the one over there with no hair? I used to date him. No good. And he has the nerve to still show up here. If I weren’t a Christian woman, I’d put rat poison in his coffee.”

  I force a smile, still thinking about my water bottle, wondering where it is, hoping someone turned it in to the lost and found. I called the school, but when the operator transferred me to the cinema department, of course I got voicemail. As soon as I discovered the bottle was missing, I headed back to the university, but I couldn’t get past the traffic jams and the flash floods. I figured that’s where I had left it and why Mr. Afro had called out to me. Stupid me didn’t have my purse closed, and it probably fell out when I bolted from the audition. I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t find it. Kate, who patiently let me vent for the past two hours when I ran in here to escape the storm, believes I’ll find it. I hope she’s right.

  She slams down a small plate in front of me, and I snap out of my thoughts. “Have some more pie,” she demands.

  “You’re worse than my husband,” I say, digging in.

  “I used to have one of those.” Suddenly, Breaking News flashes across the TV screen. “I’d better turn that up. Might be something about those terrorists planting those bombs. Who does that, for Christ’s sake? At schools where innocent kids can be killed.”

  She reaches for the remote, and the lights and TV go out. Rumbling thunder resonates throughout the diner, followed by flashing lights. Now I wish I’d let Taylor come and get me.

  “Dammit!” Kate screams.

  “Calm down, Kate. It’s just lightning.” The bald man, Kate’s ex, approaches us. “Where’s the fuse box?”

  “In the back,” she says, her voice quavering.

  “Where in the back?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Before either of them take another step, the lights and TV come back on. I breathe a sigh of relief. I have to get out of here. I’m going stir-crazy. The door opens, and a gust of wet wind blows through it, sending chills through me.

  “Shut the door!” Kate screams.

  “I’m trying.” The rail-thin man, his raincoat flapping in the wind, seems to be fighting a losing battle.

  “Gus, help him.”

  Kate’s ex runs to the door and shuts it. “Thanks,” the man says.

  “No problem.” Gus blows into his cupped hands and returns to his table.

  The stranger squints at me and says, “Don’t I know you?”

  That’s the oldest line in the book. I’m married, and he’s not my type. “I don’t think so.”

  “I never forget a face.” He perches next to me at the counter and grins, revealing snaggleteeth. He removes his raincoat, and I eye his matted, mismatched suit. I turn away when his body odor assails up my nostrils.

  “Maybe you’ve seen her on TV. She’s an actress!” Kate says.

  In Los Angeles and the surrounding area, every other chick with big boobs and pouty lips is an actress. I used to be embarrassed to tell people I was an actress, because the first thing they wanted to know is what I’ve been in. But after a while, I got over it. I came to appreciate the roles I’ve landed, and I’ve enjoyed doing every one of them. Robert used to tell me I was a born actress. I would perform skits for him and his friends and our family and put on plays in the neighborhood. I loved the look on everyone’s faces when they watched my makeshift productions. I loved making them laugh and sometimes even cry. It was a good feeling.

  But I didn’t become serious about acting until I saw Waiting to Exhale, starring Whitney Houston, Angela Bassett, Loretta Devine, and Lela Rochon. I was twenty when the film came out, and it’s my all-time favorite movie. I’ve been studying my craft and beating the pavement ever since, and I don’t plan on stopping. I know my big break is just around the corner, and I want to be ready.
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  “What’s your name?” he says.

  “Regina … Regina Wilson.”

  He jumps up from his seat. “I knew it. I’ll be damned. You Bobby’s sister. Regina. Little Gina. Girl, you done filled out. Hell, last time I saw you, you was jailbait. Flat chested, skinny legs. Baby girl, you done grew up.”

  “Bobby?”

  “Robert. But sometimes we called him Bobby,” he says, returning to his seat. “We lived ’round the corner from y’all on Ivescrest in those green apartments. The Carters. I’m Ron. You played with my sister, Marlene. I have an older brother named Craig.”

  It all comes back to me. The Carters. The poorest family in the neighborhood. Always borrowing stuff from us, and my stepfather couldn’t stand any of them. “Yeah, I remember you guys. How’s Marlene?” I ask, trying to keep my expression judgment free. He looks like he’s lived a hard life. I barely recognize him.

  He passes his hand over his gaunt face and sighs. “She passed away ten years ago. OD’ed on meth. Left behind three beautiful kids. My mom raised them.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s too bad,” Kate chimes in. “Let me get you some pie and coffee on the house. Make you feel better,” she says, leaving us.

  My eyes sting, thinking about my childhood friend dying that way. After Robert was killed, I shut down. Didn’t hang around anyone. We moved a year later. “What about Craig?”

  He perks up. I’m not sure if he’s happy about the pie and coffee Kate places in front of him or that he has good news about Craig. I hope it’s the latter.

  “He moved down south—Atlanta. Has a string of barbershops. I’m headed that way. He’s going to set me up. So you an actress?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You in anything I’ve seen?”

  “Nothing big. I’ve guest starred on some shows. I’ve done commercials. I’m still trying to get my big break. That’s why I’m in Shady Grove. I had an audition today in Dancing Hills at the university. I stopped in here to get out of the storm.”