Scrunching under the ambulance, he grabbed one of the blades and pulled. Nothing. He wiggled his way back out and stood up, met by Claire’s worried look. “What is it?”
“I ran over a lawn mower when I hung the U-turn, we need a tow.”
Claire picked up the mic. “Unit 88 needs 1241.”
Rye could hear her calling in their location as he walked around the front of the ambulance. He suddenly stopped.
She hung up the mic, puzzled when he turned on the flashlight and dropped out of sight. Claire peered through the windshield and over the hood, then got out. When she came around the front, Rye was squatting, shinning the light on the left headlight and the smashed grill. When she got to his side he was pointing the light at an ever-growing pool of antifreeze.
“Looks like you really clipped that van,” she said.
He just nodded.
A few minutes later the tow truck arrived. The driver reached across and opened the passenger-side door. Rye grabbed a bar on the dashboard and pulled himself in, then reached out to give Claire a hand. It was a tight fit.
“Man I’d hate to see the other dude’s car. That’s a helluva gash in your grill, you’re gonna need a new radiator for sure.” The driver paused to call in his destination. “And what the hell is that underneath?”
Rye smiled. “A lawn mower.”
The driver did a double take. “Right.”
They rode in silence to the garage. Claire stayed in the cab of the tow truck, while Rye filled out papers and explained for the second time about the lawn mower. He watched the tow-truck driver unhitch the beast, wanting to rush over a tell him to be careful.
Task finished, the tow-truck driver looked over at Rye and smiled. “Get in, I’ll take you and the missus home.”
“You sure? We could call a cab,” Rye said.
“No problem, I’m headed down Snoop anyway.”
Claire got out allowing Rye to sit in the middle. The shift arm would cause her to sit at an angle to keep it from going between her legs, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit like that all the way home.
As they stood on the darkened porch watching the tow truck pull away, Rye put his arm around Claire. “Long day, huh?” She sagged into his shoulder, wrinkled her nose.
“You smell like grease,” she said smiling.
“You didn’t have to sit next to the driver,” Rye said, as he fished in his pocket for the keys to the door.
“What did the mechanic say about the Beast?”
He fumbled with the key in the dark. “Said he’d give us a call tomorrow after he checked it out, could be a week if he has to order anything.” He jiggled the front door knob to get the key out, and shouldered the door open.
The lights from the clock radio, computer, and the alarm dimly lighted the living room. The phone machine light was blinking. Rye disarmed the house, thumbed the switch that brought the two lamps to life and walked across the floor to check the message; Claire bee-lined it to the bathroom.
The mirror fogged up as she adjusted the water as hot as she could stand it, attempting to work the knots out of her neck and shoulders. She desperately wanted to wash her hair but found her scalp too sensitive.
“Damn, we need a bigger hot water heater,” she yelled, practically leaping from the shower as the water turned cold. She dried off, then wrapped only in a towel walked to the bedroom, noting that Rye was on the phone. When she emerged barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt, he was just hanging up.
“Long phone call.”
Rye grimaced. “Jeff Olden. Better sit down for this.”
She plopped into her favorite chair, tucking her legs under her. “OK, you have my attention.”
Rye sat on the couch across from her. “You were right.”
She sat puzzled for just a heartbeat. “Oh shit. It’s Rusty isn’t it? Somebody came to claim the body and he wasn’t there.”
“Something like that. Olden has reduced our status until Rusty shows up.”
Claire was on her feet. “Great, we’ll be answering every midnight call until they find him.” She folded her arms. “The doctor broke procedure, Olden knows we can’t argue with hospital staff.” She turned an accusing eye on Rye. “Did you tell him about the doctor?”
He stood, took a step extending his arms. “Claire I…”
She spun out of his intended embrace re-crossing her arms over her chest. “That asshole!” She could feel hot tears running down her cheeks. “Goddamn it, what was I supposed to do? What do we do now?”
Chapter Four
Erin von seagram looked down at the storyboard for the tenth time, then up at the couple on the lawn by the pool. The positions were right: man astride woman who was on all fours. But the couple seemed cardboard and moving in slow motion.
Camera one had the long shot, which was too long, making the couple appear too small, their activity indefinable. Camera two was the front shot, but was too tight, cutting off the woman’s breasts so you could hardly see that she had any. The forward thrusting motion and the head-and-shoulder shot of the man looked more like a college wrestler trying for a take down than two people having sex.
Von Seagram shook his head. This was supposed to be pornography, damn it. “This, this is a joke,” he said, slamming down the storyboard. Picking up the loud hailer, he yelled, “Cut. Everyone back on the set in one hour.”
Billy Spanning extracted himself and walked over to admire the pool. As if in shock, his co-star lay still for a full minute then slowly climbed to her feet, head down, shoulders slumped, not even trying to cover herself.
The production assistant strode across the lawn carrying two towels and two terrycloth robes. Billy snatched the towel and robe. “Thanks, Jerry.”
Jerry approached the woman, leering at her breasts. When she grabbed for the towel he pulled it just out of reach.
Von Seagram was watching. “Goddamn it Jerry, give her the towel.”
The woman grabbed the towel and robe. “Fuck you, Jerry.”
Crystal Cassidy was incensed and embarrassed. Putting on the robe, she pulled it tight, and stormed across the set to her tiny trailer, slamming the door behind her as she entered.
How had she come to this? Jan had never mentioned how debasing it was, all she had to do was stand nude in a swimming pool.
Crystal raged, clenching and unclenching her jaw. Her stomach churned as she let the terrycloth robe puddle around her ankles. Tears streamed down her face as she walked into the bathroom, adjusted the shower temperature, and stepped in. The steaming water pounded against the fiberglass walls of the tiny stall as she scrubbed with the harsh loofa brush. When she had scraped her skin pink, Crystal squatted down in the bottom of the tub, letting the shower envelope her. She pulled her knees tight against her chest, and remembered.
It had all started out so innocently, moving to Hollywood to escape her tiny hometown of Garland, Iowa. She’d teamed up with a friend, Jan Eckert. An acquaintance really, she met in her senior year. They shared the same ideas. The two of them thought they were so tough, so worldly. They’d combined cars and cash, united in the goal of fleeing their hometown as soon as they graduated. They were going to move to Los Angeles and break into show business.
The turning point came when Jan returned to their seedy L.A. apartment with the news that she’d been fired. She turned, shut and locked the door, dropped her purse on the floor, oblivious to the sounds of the pinball machines coming up through the floor from the Pizza Haven restaurant located directly below.
She walked to her friend’s side, nervously chewing her gum. “Jan, what’s wrong?”
Crystal had seen her friend in many moods but dejection was not among them. Throughout their adventure Jan had always been the optimistic one.