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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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“Have you talked to her?” asked Nolan.
“Legally, I can't. You know the drill. I had someone approach her unofficially, but she's very timid and skittish. She wouldn't even talk to him. Luberman's aware that we're watching him, though. Sometimes, that can make a guy think twice.”
“But Luberman's lost his fear,” said Nolan. “If he ever had any to begin with.”
“If he's after Joanna,” said Jane, “maybe he'll leave this new woman alone.”
“Don't count on it,” said Hitchcock. “I've met some cold SOBs in my time, but he's by far the coldest.”
“You've talked to him?” said Nolan.
“Sure. I've had him in here at least half a dozen times. He never gives up a thing. The arrogant prick doesn't even ask for a lawyer. He thinks he's smarter than everybody else. It's like a game to him.”
“I have to say,” said Nolan, “that I expected he might still be stalking.” Standing, he reached to shake Hitchcock's hand again.
“I hope we can help each other,” said Hitchcock. “This is one dude I intend to put away for good.”
H
illary was on all fours in the bathroom, searching for a tiny garnet stud earring. If she didn't find it soon, she'd be late for work, which did nothing for her usual cranky morning mood.
“Hillary, will you hurry up,” called her father. “Jesus, you'd think you were about to be interviewed on
Good Morning America.
”
“Oh, hold your friggin' horses,” she shouted. He was such a baby. The stud had fallen off just as she was about to slip the back on. She simply had to wear these earrings this morning because she'd seen Joanna Kasimir wearing a pair very much like them yesterday at the airport. Of course, Joanna's had been rubies.
Hillary's dad banged on the door. “Open up or I'm going to break it down!”
“Go ahead,” she called back. “I'd like to see him try,” she muttered, moving closer to the toilet. “Probably give him a coronary.” That thought brought a smile to her lips. “There it is,” she cried.
“There what is?” came his muffled voice.
She grabbed the stud, which had lodged itself in a groove in the floor tile grout. She inserted the stud and clamped the back on, then took a long appraising look at her makeup to make sure it was as understated
as Joanna's, sprayed herself with a knockoff of Jean Patou's perfume Joy, and opened the door.
“Get out of my way,” said her father, barreling in before she could even leave the room. “God, it smells like a cheap whore in here.”
“You'd be the expert on that.”
“What's that supposed to mean? Hillary, I've never gone to a whore in my entire life.”
Maybe he should have, thought Hillary as she slammed the front door behind her. She drove to work listening to Rufus Wainwright, her newest musical passion. She had no idea what kind of music Joanna listened to, but in her mind she decided that Joanna would like Rufus.
Entering the hospital, Hillary took the elevator to the basement level. She stowed her purse in her locker, put on her pink smock, and unlocked the door to the flower shop. After switching on the lights and opening up the cash register, she stuck a sign in the door that read BACK IN TEN MINUTES, locked the room back up, and walked down the long hall to the cafeteria, which was already buzzing with people.
Stepping up to the pastry counter, Hillary ordered a chocolate doughnut and black coffee. The woman behind the counter, Carolyn Hanson, a gray-haired old shrew who thought she knew everything and was better than everybody else, gave her a lopsided grin. “So, did you see Joanna Kasimir yesterday like you said you would?”
Hillary could tell that Carolyn thought it was a big fat lie. Pulling a couple of ones out of her smock pocket, she said—as nonchalantly as she could manage—“Not only did I see her, we had dinner together.”
“Right.” The woman gave a phlegmatic nod. “Look, it's none of my business, Hill, but I don't understand why you spread this kind of ridiculous story around. A couple of the other servers told me you fed them the same line. You think by making stuff up, people are gonna like you better? 'Cause, it doesn't work like that. People just think you're bragging. Either that or you've got a screw loose.”
“Believe what you want,” said Hillary with a shrug. “I'll have pictures to show you in a few days. You can decide then if I'm telling the truth or not.”
The woman stopped pouring coffee. “You're bullshitting me, right? Why would a famous person like Joanna Kasimir even
be
in Minnesota?”
“She's from here, you know. Grew up in St. Paul.”
“I know that.
Everybody
knows that.”
“She's in town to do a play at the Allen Grimby. It was announced in the paper ages ago.” Hillary took a sip from the Styrofoam cup Carolyn handed her. “She said she'd get me front-row seats for opening night.”
Carolyn looked at her skeptically.
“My doughnut?”
“Huh?”
“You didn't give me my doughnut. And hey, Carolyn, if you play your cards right, maybe I can get you one of those front-row seats.”
Carolyn's hand hesitated just inside the pastry counter. “What about my husband?”
“Yeah, I suppose he should go, too.” Hillary was loving this. Carolyn didn't know what to believe. On the off chance that Hillary might be telling the truth, she knew she'd better act a little more respectfully, not give Hillary the worst-looking doughnut in the counter, like she usually did. “I'll take the one way on the left.”
“Sure. Right.” She covered it with the waxed paper, then dropped it into a white paper sack. Reflecting on it another second, she reached for another doughnut, this time a raised glazed. “On the house,” she said, giving Hillary a conspiratorial wink.
“See ya around,” said Hillary, grabbing some napkins on her way to an empty booth. She was on top of the world today. She'd have to send Joanna a special thank-you note.
Hillary was midway through the second doughnut when she spied her boyfriend, Cody Felton. Cody was a psych assistant up on five west. She thought he was working an evening shift tonight, but apparently not. As far as looks went, Cody was a total conundrum. Sometimes Hillary thought he was good-looking enough to be a model. Not a
GQ
model. Something more funky. More edgy. Calvin Klein, maybe. Other times, he could look a lot like the dad on
The Munsters.
This morning, with his spiky brown hair standing straight up—for God knew what reason—he leaned more toward the Frankenstein look.
“Hey, babe,” he said, striding up to the table. Psych PAs didn't have to wear uniforms, so he had on his usual khakis and a brown cotton sweater. “What's up? I called you last night, but your dad said you were out.”
“I was.”
He slid into the booth seat across from her. “At a movie?”
“No. You'll never guess.”
“I give.” He took a sip of her coffee.
“Remember I told you Joanna Kasimir was coming to town. Well, I met her at the airport. We ended up having dinner together.”
“Shit, Hill. Will you back off with that crap?”
“It's not crap! I did see her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I told her about you, what an incredible lover you are.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“No, it's true. I showed her your picture, the one of you on your motorcycle. She said you had an arresting profile. Exact words. Asked if you'd ever taken any acting classes.”
He grunted, but she could tell it was an interested grunt. “Where'd you eat?”
“The Lyme House. It's on Lake Harriet.”
“Cool, but kind of pricey.”
“She paid.”
“And … tell me again how you know her?”
“My mom was a distant cousin, but they kept in touch. I've known Joanna since I was a kid.”
“Huh. Just kind of blows my mind.”
“It shouldn't. I'll introduce you if you want.”
“When?”
“Well, she's kind of busy at the moment. She's starting rehearsals today for a play she's doing at a theater in St. Paul. But she'll make time for us. That is, if you really do want to meet her.”
“Hell, sure. She's, like, one of the most beautiful women in the world. Although, she's kind of old.”
“Forties isn't so old.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall.
“Jeez, look at the time. I gotta get back to work.” Having said that, she made no move to go. Instead, she propped her head on one hand.
“How long's your break?” asked Cody.
“I'm not actually on break. I opened up and then left.”
“God, Hill, I don't know how you expect to keep that job.”
“Don't be such a worrywart. My boss never comes in until after ten.”
“You should go. You've already had two warnings.”
“Oh, all right.” But she still didn't move.
“You know, sometimes, Hill … I don't know if you're telling me the truth. It bothers me.”
“You think I'd lie to you?”
“You lie all the time.”
She sat up straight. “Like what? Tell me one important thing I've ever lied about.”
“For starters, your journalism degree.”
“What about it?”
“You don't have one. You quit school your junior year.”
Now she was pissed. “Who told you that?”
“Your dad.”
“How the hell would he know?”
“Hillary, he was paying the bills. He knows when they stopped.”
“That's crap, Cody. Don't you believe it.” She stuffed the rest of the raised glazed in her mouth and chewed resentfully.
“You don't have to lie, you know.”
“Like you never lie.”
He groaned. “And what do I lie about?”
She sat back, folded her ams over her chest. “All this lovey-dovey crap. You just do it to get me in bed.”
“Oh, Hillary.”
“Admit it.”
He reached across the table with an open hand. “Why do you have such a hard time believing I love you?”
“Because,” she said, launching out of the booth, “if you loved me, you'd believe me, no questions asked. Besides, nobody ever really loves anybody. It's all self-interest.”
“Sometimes you scare me, Hill. You really do.”
“Yeah, well, live with it. Or dump me. It's up to you.” She turned to go but remembered her coffee. Scooping it off the table, she stomped out.
J
oanna and David sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table, staring blankly at each other. David was wearing a yellow-and-green tie-dyed T-shirt and faded jeans, and Joanna had on a blue chenille bathrobe.
“We must look like two people with bad hangovers,” Joanna muttered.
“I wonder why. What time is it?”
“Almost noon.” Her head was propped against her hand. If she didn't move, the banging wasn't quite as brutal. “Wish I had a cigarette.”
“I thought you quit smoking during your health-food period.”
“I did.”
He leaned sideways and pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes out of his back pocket. He shook two out, then dug in his front pocket for matches. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
They both lit up.
Blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth, Joanna said, “You didn't drink as much as I did last night.”
“No.”
“So why do you look so awful?”
“I slept on my face wrong.”
She glanced at the refrigerator. “Want some orange juice?”
“Not if I have to get up and get it.” He flicked his eyes to her, then tapped ash in a saucer.
“I thought I heard you roaming around out here in the middle of the night. And then again this morning.”
“Needed a glass of water.”
“No, it sounded like you went out the door.”
He shrugged. “What are your plans for the day?”
She hated to admit it, but with Gordon lurking around again, she felt trapped just like she had all those years ago. She wasn't sure what she'd do once rehearsals began. “Relax, I suppose. Sleep. Wait to hear from that PI I hired.” She took a quick puff off the cigarette, then leaned forward and looked David straight in the eyes. “I probably should have a heart-to-heart with my baby brother. Try to find out what's going on with him. If Diego cheated on you, babe, I'll help you kill him.”
“Don't get so worked up. It's nothing several dozen Valium and a fifth of whiskey can't solve.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
He blew smoke circles into the air. “Nah. But it's a good line, don't you think? Russell Crowe could deliver it with a straight face, God knows how.”
Sometimes Joanna didn't know how to read her brother. He had a habit of using humor to push away all the stuff that bothered him. As a teenager, he wore his heart on his sleeve and got it pretty badly mangled, so as an adult he sometimes adopted this frustratingly perfunctory view of life. Poses drove Joanna crazy. “I suppose you could help me run my lines.”
“Hell, if I know you, you had them all memorized three weeks ago.”
She dropped her head back on her hand. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you know me? Do either of us really know each other?”
“Uh-oh. I think we're moving into dangerous territory for this early in the day.”
“Be serious.”
“Why?” He pushed back from the table. “I've got stuff I need to do. But first, I have to make myself look pretty.”
“Like what stuff?”
“Weeeell, I don't suppose Jane told you what happened at her house.”
“No.” Before David could explain, there was a knock on the door.
Joanna nearly jumped out of her chair.
“Take it easy, Sis. I'm big and strong. I'll protect you.”
“This is a security building!”
He kissed her forehead on his way out of the room. “Then it has to be someone who lives in the building. Relax.”
Joanna followed him into the living room, watching as he turned around and moved backward toward the door.
“Hey, remember what Mom used to say to us at night when we were little? She didn't allow monsters in our house. I actually believed her, always felt safe. Well, you can believe
me
now, Sis. I won't allow any monsters in this loft. Okay?” He squinted through the peephole.
“Who is it?”
“Yikes!” He ducked down and cringed. “A monster!”
“You're nuts, you know that?”
He opened the door.
Joanna stood about ten feet behind him, feeling her stomach knot into a ball.
“Hi,” said David. “Can I help you?”
The elderly woman standing out in the hall held a plate with a small loaf of bread in the center. “I'm your neighbor. Faye O'Halleron? I live across the hall.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. O'Halleron.”
“Call me Faye.”
“Faye. I'm David Carlson.”
She peered over her bifocals. “Is Ms. Kasimir here?”
“That would be my eminent sister.” He turned to Joanna, asking with a lift of his eyebrows if he should let her in.
Joanna nodded.
“She sure is, in all her dazzling morning glory.” He swept his hand toward her.
“Oh my,” said Faye. Her hands began to shake. “Is it really you?”
“She's real,” said David, stifling a grin. “I agree, she's a little scary in the morning, but she's not dangerous.”
Joanna shot him a nasty look.
“I, ah, baked some pumpkin bread for you, Ms. Kasimir. Oh, and for your brother, too.” She smiled at him. “It's right out of the oven. Still warm.”
“That's so kind of you,” said Joanna. “David, will you take the bread in the kitchen?”
He bowed. “Yes, your grace.”
“Bag it,” she snarled.
“I hope you like it,” said Faye. “It's best with butter, if you can stand the extra calories, which you can. You're much thinner in person.”
“Would you like to sit down in the living room for a few minutes?”
“Sure! Thanks.”
“David, bring Faye a cup of coffee.”
“Of course, your grace.”
“My brother's in an odd mood this morning.”
“Yeah,” said Faye. “I can see that.” She sat down on the edge of the velvet couch. “I'm one of your biggest fans.”
“That's always nice to hear,” said Joanna, sinking down on a spindle rocking chair next to a chain-saw-carved bear sculpture.
“I've followed your career from the very beginning. When one of your movies is on TV, I always watch it.”
People didn't realize how difficult it was to have a conversation with someone who just wanted to tell you how great you were. What could you say in response?
Yes, I know I'm fabulous. I'm sure you're fabulous too.
“That's … nice. Have you lived here long?”
“Not long, no. I'm retired. Have been for a couple of years.”
“What did you do for a living?”
“I had my own beauty salon. Did hair. Nails. Facials. I employed four women and one man. When I decided to close up shop for good, two of the women offered to buy it, so I took them up on it.” She accepted the cup of coffee David handed her. “If you don't mind my saying so, your hair could use some conditioning.”
“Do you think so?”
She raised a hand. “May I?”
“Sure.”
She rose from the couch and stepped over to the rocking chair, rubbing Joanna's hair between her fingers. “Good texture but dry. And you have a lot of split ends. Is it dyed?”
“Yes.”
“Who's been looking after it?”
“I live in Idaho now. When I need something done, I go to a man in Sandpoint, that's the nearest town.”
“Well, I hope you don't pay him much. He's not very good.” This time Joanna's cell phone interrupted them. “I better get that,” she said, afraid that if she asked her brother to do it, she'd get another smart reply. Flipping it open, she said hello.
“Babycakes, it's me! I'm here!”
“My God. Freddy?”
“Just flew in last night. I'm staying at the Hyatt Regency. Did you read the screenplay yet?”
“What screenplay?”
“Didn't that woman I talked to last night tell you?”
“What woman? Tell me what?”
“Listen, babe, I mailed you a screenplay a few days ago. It's the best thing I've seen in years and it has an incredible part for you. No character piece, either. I'm talking the female lead! The shoot is in Sâo Paulo, Brazil. Everybody's on board except you. I'm directing, of course. We got Tim Robbins. Chris Cooper. God, I love that guy. He could play a toilet and he'd be great. And get this. Here's your leading man.”
“Who?”
“Kevin fucking Spacey!”
“You've got these people signed?”
“Signed, sealed, and delivered—if, and this is the if that concerns you—
if
I can get you for the female lead. The backers are ready with their checkbooks. Ron Sherry is producing.”
“Comedy or drama?”
“A little of both. Think
Titanic
meets
American Beauty.
”
“Is it a period piece?”
“Nineteen twenties.”
Joanna liked the twenties. Women weren't just furniture in men's lives in the twenties.
“It's quirky, funny, tragic. It's got everything—and the writing is phenomenal.”
“This is too fast, Fred. I mean … I can't commit right away. You know me. I need some time to think.”
“All right. Think all you like, as long as I get your signature on the contract by the middle of next week. Here's the deal. You gotta pull out of that play. Get your lawyer to look at the contract. Tell the theater … hell, tell them whatever you want. You're sick. Your back hurts. Your hemorrhoids are acting up.”
“Freddy, don't be gross.”
“I'm just giving you some ideas. We start shooting late November, give or take. Now, I sent the screenplay to the place you're staying. I got the address from Marybeth.”
Marybeth Flagg was her agent in L.A.
“Read it. If you read it and you don't like it, I swear I'll jump out of my hotel room window.”
“Okay, okay.” She laughed at his enthusiasm. Freddy always did that to her. Made her laugh. He was a complete creature of the movie industry, and yet she found him refreshing.
“When can I see you?”
“Give me a day to look at the script.”
“Call me, Babycakes. Room seven twelve, Hyatt Regency. I'm ready to fly on this one. I love you.”
“You do?”
“Hell, babe, I never stopped. Later.”
Joanna hung up the receiver, feeling utterly speechless.
“I take it that was your ex,” said David, sipping from a glass of orange juice. “He always has the same effect on you.”
“What effect?”
“You look like a deer in the headlights.”
She rolled her eyes. “He's shooting a film and wants me to be in it.”
“How terrible!” said Faye, setting down her coffee. “You're talking about your first husband, right? Fred Kasimir? You can't seriously think of working with him. He hurt you terribly.”
Joanna and David exchanged glances.
“It's okay, really,” said Joanna. “Our breakup wasn't all his fault.” She was a bit taken aback by the intensity of Faye's response.
“Oh, but you gotta be careful. I've followed him in the news. He's a womanizer. He'll only hurt you again if you get mixed up with him.”
“This would be a business deal,” said Joanna. It occurred to her now that if she left the country, it was unlikely that Gordon would follow her all the way to Brazil.
“But … you're not going to do it, are you?” asked Faye.
“I'll read the script. I owe him that much.”
“If you don't mind my saying so,” said Faye, looking like a woman who was used to giving her opinion and having it listened to, “you don't owe him a thing.”
“No, but if the script's good—”
“Stay away from him,” said Faye, her voice firm. “He's nothing but poison.”
“I always kinda liked him,” said David, standing next to the bear sculpture, his arm propped on the head.
“Davey?” said Joanna, chewing on her lower lip, her mind spinning in a million different directions.

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