Night Hunter (48 page)

“
Will you go back to work on the show.”

“
I’d like to.”

“
Daddy says no,” Junior mumbled from the corner, his gaze still on the TV screen.

Donna turned to him. “Daddy says no to what?”

“
He says you’ll never be right again. And that you won’t be on TV no more.”

Donna’s stomach felt queasy. “He told you that?”

“
Not me. To someone on the telephone.”

Donna was finding it difficult to breathe. She took Nigel’s hand and squeezed. “What else did your dad say?”

Junior shrugged.

“
Who was he talking to?”

No answer. He studied the screen with great interest.

“
Junior, stop watching cartoons and answer me.”

“
What?” he said, glancing impatiently at her.

“
Who was he talking to?”

“
I don’t know. Some lady.”

Donna turned to Nigel. “Do you know anything about this?”

Her sensitive child, with his large eyes full of concern as he stared back at her, shook his head.

She turned back to Junior. “Was her name Amelia?”

The boy ignored her.

“
Junior, damn you, pay attention.”

“
What?” he replied with obvious irritation.

“
Amelia. Was it Amelia?”

“
I don’t know. I guess.”

Donna reached for the remote control and flicked the set off.

“
Hey! Whadya do that for? I was watching that.” Junior jumped from the chair, strode to the bed, and turned the set back on.

Donna flicked it off again. When he reached for it, she pushed his hand away.

“
I don’t have to watch TV with you,” he said, his tone hard. “I hate it here. It stinks and everybody is crippled or sick. I hate it and I wish I never had to come.”

Donna grabbed Junior by the arm and yanked him around. “Now you listen to
me—”

“ —
Oww. Let go. I want outta this cruddy place.”

He tried to twist free, but Donna held tight. Was it possible to dislike your own child, she wondered? Before her stood a miniature of his father, so young, yet already prejudiced and narrow-minded.

“
You’re going to learn some manners, some respect,” she said. “You’re not going to be the way he is. No son of mine will be bigoted and, and —” Tears sprang to her eyes, rolled down her face, but she was oblivious to them.
“—Not
like
him ...
not like
them.”

She realized then that all her life she had put up with the intolerance of the two men most important to her. She had worshiped them —first her father, then her husband — allowed them to use her or dismiss her, depending on their whims. Her father, after all these years, had finally taken an interest. Not because he realized he loved her, but because he could not tolerate deformity of any sort in his family. To her husband, as long as she was useful and served a purpose, she was number one. No longer the star, Nolan had switched allegiances. He had already replaced her for an unflawed specimen. Her husband was cheating on her with Amelia Corde.

Junior continued to struggle, his face red, twisted in anger. “Lemme go. I’m telling Dad.”

“
Stop it,” she said sternly. “Don’t make me more ashamed of you than I already am.”

“
Who cares? You’re ugly now.” He pulled back and shouted. “Ugly!”

Donna let go of his arm, but before he could move away, her hand flew out and struck him hard across the face. The sharp sound reverberated in the room. She felt a tearing in her throat, then excruciating pain. Something oozed across the burned skin.

Nigel began to sob, hugging close to Donna’s other arm.

Junior ran to the door, his face crimson where he’d been slapped. He grasped the handle, then, turning to look at his mother, he bent over, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he opened his mouth wide as though to shout, but no sound came out.

Donna stared back, her chin quivered. She had a strong urge to beg him to forgive her. She had never struck out in anger before and she never wanted to do it again. But she held her position, sensing a turning point in her life. Would she, this day, she wondered despairingly, lose her son as well as her husband?

Well, so be it.

Junior’s mouth still worked silently. Then, in a cracking voice filled with emotion and pain, he cried out, “Why did
that
have to happen to you?”

Donna continued to stare at him. She ran tremulous fingers through Nigel’s hair.

“
Momma ...?”

Donna, salty tears stinging the wound at her jaw, moved her head slowly from side to side as she contemplated her oldest son and
his
pain.

Suddenly his face crumbled, the stony reserve, uncharacteristic of a nine year old, gave way to a child, heartbroken and pathetic. He rushed across the room and threw himself to his knees at the side of her bed. He buried his face in the stiff sheet and sobbed.

Donna pulled him up. She held him to her chest and rocked both Junior and Nigel, cooing softly, the pain under her chin no more than a dull ache now.

The door opened and her husband and father entered. Both men stopped at the foot of the bed. Neither came close enough to kiss, let alone touch her.

“
You saw the show today?” Nolan asked Donna.

She stared solemnly at him before nodding her head.

“
Your best friend seems to like being on that side of the camera. I believe she has designs to stay there.”

“
Really?” Donna said with unmistakable irony.

“
Is there something wrong?” Nolan asked, looking curiously from Donna to his sons.

Donna turned to her father. “Dad, will you take the boys home now? I want to talk with Nolan —alone.”

“
We have things to discuss first,” her father said gruffly. “The cosmetic surgery—”

“
Later,” she said, cutting him off.

The boys went to their grandfather. Nigel took his hand and pulled him toward the door, his large, expressive eyes silently coaxing.

When they were alone, Donna turned off the TV. “Are you sleeping with Amelia?”

Nolan could only stare at her. Not directly
at
her, she realized, but at some point above her head. She felt she could forgive his infidelity, if only he could look her in the face, if only he could care for her despite her deformity.

“
I’m coming home tomorrow,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to find you there.”

“
You can’t mean that,” Nolan sputtered. “You’re being irrational. This whole tragedy has changed you. You’re not yourself—”

“
Don’t you mean I’m not your puppet any longer? All these years you were the ventriloquist and I was the dummy. The dummy broke, and now it’s time to find a new one.”

“
Donna, that’s crazy talk.” He glanced at her, glanced away.

“
Look at me. Look at my face. My throat. Take a good look at my wounds, damnit.”

Nolan looked. And for a moment he was able to mask his disgust, then he dropped his eyes and whirled around, putting his back to her.

“
I’m certain Max will accept your resignation at KSCO. And the sooner the better,” she said.

“
Now you wait a minute,” he said whirling around. “You can’t force me to resign. Without me you’d be nowhere. I gave you ‘City Gallery’. If you think they’re going to let you anywhere near the set looking like ... like that, you’re crazier than I thought. Even with your father’s money and all the plastic surgeons—”

“
To hell with my father and his surgeons,” she shouted, raising her voice for the first time. “He’s not running my life anymore. And neither are you.” She rolled over in the bed, putting her back to him. “Now get out, I can no longer stand to look at
your
face.”

They were heading toward Potrero Hill. Regina stared out the window at boarded storefronts, vacant lots overrun with weeds, abandoned cars. John drove. Although he drove well, maneuvering through traffic as if he did it every day, he looked odd sitting there — belonging, yet not belonging.

John had met her at the station after the show. The program had gone extremely well. The phone lines remained lit to the end of the show with callers eager to talk to the “dream doctor.”

As they rode in silence, Regina found herself stealing glances at John. She had a score of questions, but she’d made up her mind to wait until he opened the portal for conversation. John, however, seemed preoccupied and uncommunicative.

Why were they doing this? When he’d met her at the station she had indicated that it was not necessary to go to Corinne’s, that she had changed her mind. But John had insisted, saying it was something
he
had to do.

He pulled up to a clapboard house, the yard long ago gone to weeds and junk. A front window had a wedged-shaped piece of glass missing, duct tape covering the opening.

“
This is it,” John said. “This is where she lived when I met her.”

“
How do you know she still lives here?”

“
Where else would she go? Winning the pageant was going to get her out of the slums.”

John got out, came around and opened Regina’s door, and they both started up the walk. In the driveway at the back of the house, Regina saw an old car. It was large, as cars in the fifties tended to be, and a dull black. There was a bulky hood ornament above the grill. Regina put out a hand to stop John. She pointed to the car.

John gave it no more than a cursory glance before moving on.

Regina bit down on her lower lip, but kept quiet. She followed.

On the cracked, concrete slab that served as a porch, plastic garbage bags filled with trash littered the area.

John knocked.

Regina saw a corner of the curtain flicker.

They waited. John knocked again, louder. Again they waited.

John put the side of his face to the thin door. “Corinne, it’s John Davie. Regina’s with me,” he said gently but firmly. “We just want to talk. Please open the door.”

A voice close to the door responded. “Get outta here. I have nothing to say to
you ...
or her.”

“
I have something I want to say to you,” he said.

Silence.

“
Corinne, you’re not alone anymore. Two others have suffered like you.”

“
So what?”

“
Let’s talk, okay?”

They waited.

John looked at Regina, looked away. “Please, Cory.”

Regina thought she heard a sob from the other side of the door. She definitely heard the click of a deadbolt turning. After several moments John reached a hand to the knob and turned; the door opened a crack. He pushed slowly, stepping inside. He motioned for Regina to follow.