The Truth About Gretchen Page 6

  All the best,

  Lillian Brown

  “Oh well,” I say, trying to stay encouraged. I grab the remote out of the desk drawer and click on the TV. I go to the DVR and turn on the game. The Patriots won 41 to 16. I fast-forward, checking out the highlights. My vibrating phone demands my attention. I snatch it off my desk and look at the number. My mother’s finally calling me back.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Sorry we didn’t return your call sooner, sweetie, but your father and I were stuck in traffic. The power was out on my phone, and I didn’t have my car charger.”

  “Are you just getting home? It’s almost 11:00 p.m.”

  “We stayed late at the print shop. We’re getting a lot of holiday orders, and then we had a little fender bender. The police came. It was a mess.”

  “Are you guys okay?” I say, standing, pacing, my stomach somersaulting, thinking about my parents being injured.

  “We’re fine, darling. Don’t worry. How did your auditions go?”

  “Great. I think I’ve found my two leads.”

  “That’s wonderful. Here’s your father.”

  “How’s my girl doing?”

  I crack a huge daddy’s girl smile. “Hi, Dad. Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine. Your mother needs a new bumper. I’ve already called Carl at the shop. By the way, the last time you were here, I noticed your tires were a little bald. I asked Carl to order some. It’s not safe, especially with the rainy weather. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Dad.”

  “I know you’re busy with the film, and Lance is busy at school. It’s no problem. So the auditions went well?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s Lance? We heard about the bomb threats. Was his school involved?”

  “He’s fine, and his school is fine.”

  “Good. Well, your mother and I are going to get warm and find something to eat. We’re opening early tomorrow. Things are busy. Why don’t you stop by if you can? Did you get caught up on the game?”

  “I was watching it when you called. I recorded it.”

  “Brady! Brady! Brady!” we say in unison.

  “That’s my girl. Sweet dreams, baby. I hope you don’t—”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m making progress with the dream. I’ll have to tell you about it one day. Soon.”

  “Okay, sweetie.”

  I hang up, then click off the TV. My mind drifts to the out-of-body experience. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to recapture it, but I draw a blank. “Happy New Year.” Yeah, I remember that. I remember Happy New Year, and I remember someone saying, “Happy birthday.” It was New Year’s Day. There was a celebration. Today is my baby’s birthday. Today—January 1. That’s what I wrote. In the trance, people were saying, “Happy New Year.” I made his birthday January 1 because that’s my birthday. Is that a coincidence? Dammit, that wasn’t a dream I had at school today. It wasn’t a vision. It was real. I was there. I was him. It was New Year’s Day. He was killed on that day, on his birthday, for real. How did I know that? I press on my head, trying to remember, trying to see the past.

  I grab the water bottle and shake it as if it were a Magic 8 Ball, waiting for it to give me the answers to all my questions. Nothing. I lie on the cot, one hand on my head, thinking about my recurring dream. It starts with Robert walking backward in slow motion. He’s smiling and beckoning to me. He disappears and reappears. When he returns, he’s angry, crying, screaming, running. I feel his terror. Then he disappears again. Then he reappears, and he’s motionless because he’s in a casket. There’s a hole in his head. When the dream gets to this part, I always try to wake up, but I can’t. Then his eyes open, and they’re filled with blood. That’s when I wake up. Now I understand why he’s in the casket. I assumed he was shot, but how did I know? Who shot him and why? He knew something. What did you know, Robert?

  While studying the photo, the room shifts. Startled, I grip the cot’s edge. Oh no—the room is spinning like it did at school. I take short breaths, while sweat beads on my forehead. Nausea rises in my gut, and I press my stomach to keep from throwing up.

  ******

  My body is jerked to the ceiling, and I tumble into a dark tunnel. My weightless body flips and spins, and I land on my huge feet in the same dark hallway I saw during my out-of-body experience at the university. As before, I know that I’m Him. The scene plays out the same, and suddenly I’m outside, and it’s dark. I look up, and red, white, and blue stars and stripes fill—

  ******

  “Gretchen! Gretchen! What’s wrong?”

  Where’s the sky? Where am I? I’m suspended in space. I’m lost. Where am I? I have to open my eyes. Open. Open. Open dammit. I force them open, and my gaze locks on the blurry image of a man standing over me. I bolt upright, drenched in sweat. Hazy. Out of it. The water bottle clatters to the floor. I leap toward the floor for it, and a familiar hand grips me.

  “Gretchen, you’re going to fall.”

  “Lance … Lance … what … who … what’s happening?”

  “You were having the nightmare again. I heard you screaming.”

  “No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was … was real. I was there.”

  He points at the floor. “What’s that doing in here again? I thought you put it in the car.” He picks up the water bottle. “Who is this?”

  “That’s … that’s … the man in my dreams.”

  “What the hell?” I get up from the cot, and my legs buckle. Lance catches me as I tumble over. “Red, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, clinging onto him.

  Chapter 8

  Regina

  Sitting at the breakfast nook in our kitchen that Taylor built, my eyes scan his handiwork—cherry cabinets and a cherry island are the highlights of the open room, where we take turns whipping up meals that, unfortunately for me, are mostly fattening. The sink, sandwiched between a stainless-steel refrigerator and matching flattop range, sits under a bay window. I love looking out of it, into the backyard filled with fruit trees and fragrant flowers. And on clear nights you can see the most beautiful sunsets. Ones that make you want to open a bottle of bubbly and play Luther Vandross’s greatest hits. But on this night, not even a majestic sunset could lift my spirits. Not even the plate of greens, brown rice, and steak Taylor sets in front of me.

  Taylor sits next to me, his eyes sympathetic. He takes a fork off the table and stabs at the greens. He lifts the fork to my mouth, and I turn away, once more feeling like his little girl. “I told you I don’t have an appetite, Taylor. And it’s after 11:00 p.m. Too late to eat.”

  He sets down the fork. “That’s because you had all that pie.” I push away the plate and his face drops. “You’re gonna find it. Stop worrying. Anyway, how did the audition go?”

  Damn, I forgot about that.

  “How’d it go?”

  I cast my eyes to the ceiling. Lie. Truth. Lie. Truth. “I didn’t do the audition.”

  He shoves away from the table. I wait for his tirade. Instead, he stares at me. His eyes flash disappointment, and I feel an urge to hold him in my arms, love on him, make him feel better. But I keep my size-sixteen butt in the chair and wait for him to flip out on me.

  “Why?” he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “I was waiting to go in, and the actress who auditioned before me was good. She was emotional, and it destroyed me inside. It brought back that night. It brought back the anger and the fear and the feeling of being lost.”

  He covers my hands with his. “Baby, you really need to talk to someone about your feelings.”

  “A shrink?”

  “You can’t go on like this. It’s not even about the acting. It’s about your life. Your quality of life—our quality of life.”

  His words pierce my heart. The thought of him being dissatisfied with our relationship saddens me. “Are you saying you’re not happy with me?”

  “Woman, I’m sayin
g you’re not happy—happy wife, happy life. And you’re not going to be happy until you resolve your issues.”

  “I don’t think I can move on until Robert’s killer is found.”

  He stands and leaves me sitting there. I watch him disappear into the garage, adjacent to the kitchen. He converted the garage into a man cave. I run after him.

  “We need to end this conversation, Regina, because you’re talking crazy.” He settles onto the sofa and props his feet on the wooden table engraved with beer bottle caps.

  I sit next to him. “Taylor, somebody knows who killed Robert.”

  “So you think you can do what the police couldn’t?”

  “They didn’t care. Robert had some slight gang affiliation, and the media and police ran with that. They went through the motions. As far as they were concerned, he was just another dead gangbanger.”

  “Your brother was a star quarterback for the Dallas Enforcers. He was somebody. I’m sure the police didn’t just go through the motions.”

  “He was black. And he had a lot of haters. People weren’t talking back then, but I think they might now. Ron thinks they will too.”

  His eyes shoot poison daggers at me. “Please, don’t mention this Ron person again. The way you described him; he sounds like some slick-ass con from the street trying to get one over on you. And I don’t want you going near him. You let people in too easily.”

  I stand up. “Taylor, when did you decide you can start telling me who I can and cannot talk to?”

  He also stands, hovering over me like a giant. I thrust out my chest, prepared for battle. Before he can speak, my phone rings inside the house. I jump up, nearly falling on my face, hoping somebody from the cinema department is calling.

  “Regina, stop running before you fall.”

  I ignore Taylor and reach my phone before the call goes to voicemail. “Hello,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

  “Girl, what’s wrong with you? You sound like you’ve been running track.”

  “Hi, Ma,” I say, unable to disguise my disappointment.

  “It’s nice to talk to you too,” she says with attitude. “I’ve been calling you all day. I was worried about you out there in all that rain. It was nonstop here in Inglewood.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day.” I sit at the breakfast nook and pick at the food still on my plate. Nervous eating. My mother has that effect on me. “It didn’t rain in Culver City at all today.”

  “Anyway, your father and I were worried about you.” I imagine my stepfather lying next to her, egging her on.

  “He’s not my father.”

  “Regina, Curt has been there for you since you were in kindergarten. He’s the only father you’ve known. Curt loves you, and he loved Robert.”

  I get up from the table. “Please don’t say ‘love’ and ‘Curt’ in the same sentence. And he was only team Robert because he saw Robert as his meal ticket. Everything he did for Robert; he did with dollar signs and fame in his eyes.”

  “Curt was devastated when Robert was killed.”

  “Don’t get it twisted, Ma. He was devastated that he was going to have to keep cleaning carpets.”

  A loud sigh sounds through the phone. “Okay, Gina. I see I caught you at a bad time. I wanted to check on you. I hope your auditions went okay.”

  I flop back into my chair. Guilt nips at my insides. “I’m sorry, Ma. I didn’t mean to come off like that.”

  “I’m used to it. You always act like this around the holidays, leading up to Robert’s birthday. Gina, if I could bring Robert back, I would. I promise you I would.”

  “I lost my keepsake.”

  “Lord, have mercy. Where? How?”

  “I think I left it in the lobby at Dancing Hills University, where I had my audition.”

  “Did you call them?”

  “I did. I’ll follow up first thing in the morning.”

  “What were you doing having an audition way out there? That’s where all that flooding was.”

  “It’s this woman’s thesis project.”

  “You know we used to live near Dancing Hills—Shady Grove, the poor side.”

  “I know, but it’s not poor anymore. The west side where we used to live has been gentrified.”

  “You don’t say.” I hear my stepfather in the background, then my mother says, “Okay, baby, I have to get up early tomorrow, to take Miss Brown to the doctor. Shoot, I don’t need to be in the homecare business—I need somebody to take care of me. Curt can’t because he’s busy with his carpet cleaning business. I wish he could retire.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “I’m sixty-seven. Same thing. All these aches and pains.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No worries. You get that Oscar-winning part and become rich and famous, so you can hire a full-time masseuse for me. Tell Taylor I said hi. How’s his latest construction project?”

  “Good. He had to fire one of his guys though. Caught him drinking on the job.”

  “Drinking on the job? That’s crazy. I’m so glad Curt stopped. I shudder when I think about how out of control he was back in the day.”

  If only she knew how out of control he really was. “Okay, Ma. I’d better let you go. Love you.”

  “Love you too.” She hangs up. I stare at the plate of food, and I wonder if Taylor plans to sleep in his man cave tonight.

  “Regina!”

  Oh Lord. Here we go. “What, Taylor?”

  “Who was on the phone?”

  I head his way with one hand on my hip. “Why do you need to know who I’m talking to all the time?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do. I know you love me. I know you want to protect me, but you have to give me some space. I’m not Sharon.” Damn, why did I say that? He drops his head, and I run to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “Maybe I’d better sleep in here tonight. Give you some space.” He pushes me away.

  “Okay, Taylor.” I leave him and head to my office, which was a walk-in closet before Taylor renovated it. I scan the shelves he built, the cabinets, the computer desk. This man has put his mark on every inch of this house and on every inch of my heart. I can be mad at him one minute and feel sorry for him the next. I sit at my computer and boot it up, wishing I could start the day over. I scroll through my email.

  My heart flutters when I see an email with the subject Project HIM. Maybe my prayers have been answered. My hopes are dashed when I read the sender’s email address.

  From: CTurner@agency.com

  To: RWilson@pvtemail.com

  Subject: Project HIM

  Regina, I received a call from Jocelyn Burns, the casting director for Project HIM. She said you checked into the audition but left without notice. Needless to say, I was embarrassed and mortified to receive a call from a top casting director telling me that one of my clients behaved in such an unprofessional manner. Please come by the office tomorrow. We need to talk. I hope you made the print audition. No one has notified me otherwise, so I trust you were there.

  ~Carol

  Damn. She’s pissed. Hell, everybody’s mad at me. Maybe I do need to see somebody about all these crazy feelings of mine.

  ******

  In front of the kitchen bay window, I stare at the blue sky, hoping for a better day. I’ve named today Terrific Tuesday. I woke up determined to have a better attitude. I’m going to be positive. I’m going to find my water bottle. An arm winds around my thick waist, drawing me away from the sink.

  “Good morning, baby.” I look up at Taylor, who also seems to have adopted my new attitude. Dressed in a red flannel shirt, black jeans, and his work boots, he’s all smiles. I chuckle when I realize we could be twins today. I’m wearing a red turtleneck sweater, black jeans, and my UGG boots. “I’m sorry about last night. Come and sit down.” He leads me to the breakfast nook. I sit, one eye on him and one eye on my cell phone on the island. I’m waiting for a return call from Dancing H
ills University. A woman I spoke to this morning is contacting Gretchen Holloway and the casting director. Between the two of them, I should find out something.

  “I forgive you,” I say.

  “No, you’re right. I need to stop treating you like a child.” I smile and give him my undivided attention. “I guess the age difference messes with my head. Fifteen years is a lot of years. You’re not that much older than Cookie. After all this time I’m still a little shell-shocked after losing Sharon to cancer. I don’t think I could endure another loss like that.”

  I place my hands on his and lean in, so he hears me good—really good. “Tay, I’m not going anywhere. I’m in this with you. I have too many things I want to do before I leave here. I love that you’re into me, because I dated so many guys who weren’t. But you have to trust that I can handle myself.”

  He hesitates, then tugs on his goatee as though he’s trying to decide if I can or not. “I know you can. I’ll get better, but I can’t change overnight. I’ll work on it.”

  “I appreciate that, and I’ll work on myself too. I’ll try to keep things in perspective about Robert. I do miss him, and I still have this need to find out what happened. But I’ll be careful. So don’t worry.” He nods. “I fixed breakfast.” I point at the plate of bacon, grits, eggs, and toast on the stove.

  He licks his full lips and stands. “I’ll take it to go. I have a guy meeting me at the worksite. He might be able to fill the open position. What do you have—? Never mind. You don’t have to tell me. Just do you.”

  I take a fork out of the drawer and Saran wrap out of the cabinet. I put it over his plate and hand it to him. “I don’t mind sharing my plans with you. I’m going to pick up the water—”

  “They found it?”

  “I’m thinking positive. I’m going to pick it up, then I’m stopping by Carol’s office. The casting director called her and told her I ditched the audition.”