Charming Grace (19 page)

I squeezed her hand again then glared at the scowling guards. Boone stood between them and us with a look on his face that said no one was brushing past him, again. My gaze segued beyond Boone and the guards to the one male in the trailer who looked out of place in a war of testosterone.
Where’s Scooby Doo
? I thought instantly. Kind gray eyes gazed at me mournfully beneath a shank of brown-blonde hair. The tall, skinny, freckled, goateed young man in baggy jeans, a huge Knicks t-shirt, and a clunky, high-tech wristwatch couldn’t possibly be the issue of Stone Senterra’s Godzilla-like loins. This young guy looked . . . human. He leapt forward and held out a hand. “Mrs. Vance. It’s a major pleasure. Leo Senterra.”

Mika groaned and slapped her forehead. “Aunt Grace. Leo. Leo. My Aunt Grace. G. Natalie would kill me for being so
gauche
.” A DuLane did not forget to do introductions.

I shook Leo’s big, clammy hand. He smiled somberly but his gaze went to Mika. She cast a furtive glance up at him, then they both looked away. I eyed them. “Would either of you like to explain anything to me?”

“I’m innocent,” Mika said.

Leo’s mouth worked. He started to say something, but she gave him a look that made him freeze his face. “She’s innocent.”

Boone gave him a shrewd glance, then turned back to the guards. “End of discussion. We’re outta here.”

“Mr. Senterra’s son walked in on her. He caught her pilfering the script from Mr. Senterra’s personal files. I happened to be outside the trailer and heard a noise. I came in and found Mr. Senterra’s son trying to subdue her. He had her pinned to the desk.”

I stared at Leo Senterra in a way that could make paint peel off steel siding. Mika waved her hands frantically. “Don’t hurt him! I can explain!”

“Mrs. Vance,” Leo gulped. “She can explain.”

“That script is valuable and confidential,” No Neck growled. “I’m not letting this kid go.”

I stepped forward. “Wrong. I’m taking my niece home. Mika.
Up
. Let’s go.” Mika stood. She and Leo Senterra exchanged another round of furtive, heartfelt looks. Guatemalan lovebirds were less obvious.

“She’s not going anywhere,” No Neck insisted, “except down to the Lumpkin County Jail to cool her heels until I get a call back from Diamond. If Diamond says to file charges, I will.”

“If Diamond Senterra threatens my niece she’ll—”

“Don’t you threaten
me
, lady—”

Boone stopped me with an arm in front of my face. “Whoa, Gracie. I’ll take care of this.”

Gracie
. So I was
Gracie
, now. I looked over his arm at No Neck the way Snap hung his head over his stall door anytime he saw the cat coming. “If you think I’ll let you drag my niece to the sheriff’s office you better be packing more than one bullet and a bad attitude, Barney.”

“What did you call me?”

“Barney Fife. Barney Fife with steroid-induced stretch marks. On your
head
.”

“That’s it.” He pointed to one of his men. “Call the sheriff.”

The guard grabbed a cell phone off a desk. Boone turned to me. “If you’ll just let me pound my manly chest and be the alpha gorilla, I’ll take care of this.”

“I . . . well . . . ” At a rare loss for words, I gaped at him. The alpha gorilla? “Go ahead.”

He faced No Neck. “Don’t make that call.” His voice was very low, his attitude almost regretful. “If you don’t want to listen to me, then let me get Stone on the phone. I can promise you right now he doesn’t want Mrs. Vance’s niece turned in for pilfering his script.”

“Noleene, I’ll say it again.
Back off
. I’m in control of this compound and
I’m
a professional.
I
don’t have a criminal record.
I
didn’t spend nine years in prison. You’re just some lousy ex-con who lucked into a glorified babysitting job because Mr. Senterra felt sorry for you. You get in my way and
you’ll
be the one in jail. Once a jailbird, always a jailbird.” No Neck glowered at his men. “Make the damned call. Now.”

A second later No Neck went crashing into a corner, upending a chair and pulling an unplugged coffee maker down on top of him as he hit the linoleum floor. He lay there, grunting and showing a little white above the tops of his eyes and a little trickle of blood where Boone had punched him in the mouth, while his assistants backed away, staring at Boone.

“I tried to reason with you,” Boone drawled. “Us babysitting gorillas are unpredictable.”

No Neck sat up, blinking, and wiped his mouth. He jabbed a finger at Boone. “I’ll have your ass for this. Judges don’t like convicted felons who punch security guards.”

Boone frowned and said nothing in his own defense. There wasn’t much argument. I craned my head around Boone’s shoulder. “You have no case. I saw you take a swing at Mr. Noleene first. He hit you in self-defense.”

“I most certainly saw that, too,” Mika said.

“I saw whatever Mika says I saw,” Leo put in.

No Neck stared at us. “What the hell is going on here? Is this some kind of conspiracy?”

Boone turned and looked at me with eyes that could make butter melt. We hurriedly guided the teenagers outside. Leo and Mika clasped hands. Boone frowned at them. “
Leo, what the hell were you doing in there
?”

“
Mika
?” I echoed.                                     

They let go of each other’s hands. They shifted and stared at the sky as if searching for a pale, day moon against the blue.

“Leo,” Boone growled.

Leo put a hand to his heart. “I can’t imagine what you’re hinting at. “Mika and I found each other on the message boards at Dad’s website. Nothing sinister.”

Mika tugged him close and rose on tiptoe. He was almost as tall as Boone—a good six-three—and she was a foot shorter. He bent his head gallantly. She launched into some fluid, extravagant language. He listened, sighed, then spoke it back.

Boone frowned at me. “I speak French, Spanish, a little Farsi I picked up talking to the Muslims, and some Cantonese I learned from a Chinese guy who was doing time. But I don’t recognize this.”

“It’s elfish.”

“Elfish? I don’t think we had any elves at Angola. At least not in the general population.”

“Tolkien. Fantasy. Mika loves elves, dwarves, science fiction, computer games—”

“How about
Star Trek
?” Boone asked darkly, eyeing Mika. “You like
Star Trek
? I’m bettin’ your favorite character is Lt. Uhura.”

Mika and Leo stopped in mid-elf.

I looked from her guilty face to Leo’s oh-so-fake-innocent expression. A lot of unanswered questions—about spies—suddenly answered themselves. I crossed my arms over my chest and peered at Leo. “Gandalf?”

He gulped. He was so busted. I could see it.

“Gandalf,” I confirmed.

“Leo!” Mika warned. “You swore an oath of silence!”

Leo took her hands. “No oath can make me let you take the blame.”

“
Gandalf
,” I repeated. “Unless you know how to disappear into Middle Earth, you better start talking.”

He cracked. “I told Mika to meet me here. It was my idea to
give
the script to her. And yes, I’m your Gandalf, Mrs. Vance. And Mika is Boone’s source. Mika and your grandmother. The three of us are working together on a tri-lateral resolution of the Senterra-Vance conflict.”

Mika moaned. “So much for stealth. G. Helen will revoke our membership in her Green Gold Society.”

“What
is
this?” I said. The fellowship of the script?”

Mika clasped her hands in a begging gesture. “Aunt Grace, please don’t think G. Helen and I betrayed your trust. She’s worried about you. She says the only way you can let go of the past is to stop trying to control the present.”

“Was she drinking a martini when she came up with that philosophy?”

“We just want you to . . . well, to get a life, Aunt Grace.” She paused, studying my face, which must have scared her. “Bless your heart.”

Boone crooked a finger at Leo. “Talk, Mr. Wizard.”

He gulped. “Mika came here because I asked her to. I don’t agree with Dad’s decision to make this movie but you know Dad listens to me as if I’m a fly he might swat if I bug him too much. So I decided to do what I could for truth, justice, and the Gandalfian way. Mika and I . . . we’re friends. Internet friends. We decided to meet in person. My Dad’s office here seemed like the perfect private place. The guard walked in while we were . . . we were, uhmmm—”

“Hugging,” Mika offered quickly.

“Hugging, yes.”

Boone took that moment to level his benignly aggravated finger at Mika. “So you’re definitely Lt. Uhura?”

“Yes, Mr. Spock.” Her voice was very small.

Boone looked at me. “Helluva dilemma.”

I sagged. “To put it mildly.”

My niece. Stone’s son. And my own grandmother. Working together, all this time to steer me—and Boone—away from trouble.

And toward each other.

HERO

DIRECTOR’S NOTES AND SCRIPT

I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE! LEAVE MY SCRIPT ALONE! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING! I KNOW BILL GATES PERSONALLY AND I WILL GET HIS COMPUTER GOONS TO LAUNCH A BIG CAN OF COMPUTER WHUP ASS ON YOUR ASS!

SCENE: 1989. ATLANTA.
An army recruiting office in a suburban strip mall. Harp Vance, 21, stands on the sidewalk looking grimly at the recruiting poster in the window. He squares his shoulders and heads toward the office’s door. As he reaches for the handle Grace, 19, roars into the parking lot in her sports car. She screeches to a halt, one front tire on the sidewalk, and leaps out. Curlers dangle from her disheveled hair. She’s flown all the way home from Atlantic City, having walked out on a dress rehearsal for the Miss America pageant. She’s dressed in a formal evening gown and tennis shoes with the laces untied. She rushes to Harp angrily.

GRACE

How could you? (tearfully) G. Helen confessed what you’re up to. You’re dropping out of college, you’re going to join the army and write me a good-bye letter from boot camp? How could you do that to me?

HARP

I shoulda known better than to tell G. Helen I was leavin’! You got on a plane and flew home to stop me? Are you crazy? You’re in the middle of rehearsals for Miss Damn America! You
get
back up there to New Jersey! Go. Go on back. You’re goin’ to be Miss America. You’ve got to be. It’s what you’ve worked for since you were a kid. What your dad and Candace want for you. What you want.

GRACE

So you’ll just step aside? You’ll just get out of my life? I thought we agreed that if I win, you’ll keep working on your criminal justice degree and wait for me.

HARP

I just let you think that because it’s what you liked to think. But we both know the truth—if you win, you’ll be a star. After you’re done being miss America for a year you’ll get offers—TV offers, modeling, and you’ll move somewhere—New York or California—and I won’t go, Grace, I just can’t. I belong in the mountains. It’s the only place I feel at home. I don’t belong nowhere out yonder in the outside world. But you do.

GRACE

You think you’re going to help me in my career by joining the army and disappearing?

HARP

I think with me gone you’ll be what you’re supposed to be. I’ve seen what you’ve gone through. I’ve watched. The starvin’ yourself to stay skinny, the dance lessons you hated, the voice lessons, the goddamned plastic surgery. (he jabs a hand at her ears.) I LIKED your ears. I didn’t mind if they stuck out a little. But I understood how much you wanted to be a beauty queen.

GRACE

Want to … want to be a beauty . . . are you crazy? I . . . I did all this for YOU. (waves hand at herself.) Don’t you understand? I never wanted to be this Barbie doll! But I made a promise to my father after I found you in the woods. . .

Her voice trails off. Harp stares at her. Stunned Silence. As her words sink in they both realize she’s confessed a long-held secret.

HARP

                        (taking her by the shoulders)

What kind of promise?

GRACE

It’s not important now…

HARP

                        (louder)

What kind of promise?

GRACE

                        (sagging, defeated)

That I’d be his and Candace’s perfect little beauty queen contestant if he’d let you be part of our family.

HARP

Grace. Grace. No.

GRACE

G. Helen had no intention of turning you out, regardless. I saw my promise as extra insurance to keep my father happy. I owed him. He never got over my mother’s death. And neither did I. I wanted to make him happy. And I wanted to keep
you
.

HARP

You don’t want to be Miss America?

GRACE

                        (crying and shaking her head)

I hate beauty pageants. I always have. I hate starving for swimsuit competitions and greasing my gums to make my lips smile easier and I hate giving politically correct answers to politically correct questions about politically correct subjects and I hate tap-dancing and I hate tiaras! I love YOU.

HARP

                        (tearfully)

I’m never goin’ to be somebody important. Never. If I stick with college I’ll get a job with the GBI some day. That’s what I want to do, that’s my dream—I’m a tracker, Grace, I know how people think when they’re on the run, so I’d be good at catching bad guys—but it’s not fancy work. It’s not big money—

GRACE

I don’t care. I’ll get my degree in journalism. You’ll catch the bad guys—and I’ll report how you did it. Marry me.