CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Writer to Director

This is Chapter 18 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

The Zaks morning crew was taking over. Steve ushered Paul and Brenda out.

“Another day, another dollar and eighty nine cents,” said Brenda.

“I just want to get this grease washed off,” said Steve.

“You’re right,” Paul agreed. “That’s the only thing I really don’t like about this job.”

“You’re weird,” Brenda said good-naturedly. The men walked Brenda to her car. She checked her watch. “Six a.m. I almost feel like breakfast.” She got into her car. “See you guys on the graveyard shift.”

“Not tonight,” said Steve. “We’re both off.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. I get stuck with Katie and Mona, the chattering chipmunks.”

As she drove off, Steve took out a cigarette. “So, Mr. Morgan, are you going to come watch Billie and me do our scene?”

“What time?” yawned Paul.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your beauty sleep. Be over at my place around eight tonight.” Paul peered at the sun rising over the roof of Zaks. By the time he showered and got to sleep, he could get in seven hours. He needed to wake up around four p.m. so he could get some typing done on his new script.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Does Billie have her lines memorized?”

“I hope so, or I’ll kill her.”

Steve and his girlfriend, Billie, were auditioning for a comedy troupe that was being formed. He asked Paul to write them a funny, ten-minute sketch to show the producers.

“I want you to write it, because you’re a Christian,” said Steve.

 Paul gave him a quizzical look. “That does not compute.”

“It’s simple,” said Steve. “A lot of standup material these days depends on drug jokes and profanity. To me, saying dirty words for a cheap laugh doesn’t do it. Since you can’t fall back on four letter words to get a laugh, you’ll actually have to be funny.” Somehow, Paul saw the logic and proceeded to write a short skit.

When Steve and Billie read the piece, they were very pleased. Between the laughter, they read the lines and acted out the parts.

“This is terrific,” said Billie, a Carol Burnett look-a-like.

“I think you did it Paul,” said Steve. “After we rehearse it, you can come watch and make your comments.”

Paul drove over to Steve’s place that night. Steve and Billie sat on two bar stools performing the dialogue. The scene was between a man and a woman on the telephone. The man thought he was talking to his girlfriend. He was nervously proposing. Billie was playing a housewife who thought she was talking to a jeweler trying to sell her a wedding ring.

Paul watched the two perform his material. He made some notes on the writing. After hearing it aloud, he could see places where he could improve the dialogue.

When they finished, Steve’s eyes were bright with anticipation. “Pretty good, eh Paul?”

 Billie was nodding at him, enthusiastically. “It felt right. Great stuff Paul.”

 Paul silently chewed on his pencil. He stood up and walked around the apartment. “I’m just thinking aloud here, but we could make it better.”

“We’re listening,” said Steve.

“First, the writing could be better. On some of those lines, I have the joke at the beginning of the line. It needs to be at the end of the line…give it some punch. And I could shorten that first speech you do. The set up is just too long.” Steve nodded. Paul looked over at the dining table. There was a pair of large salt and peppershakers that looked like Porky Pig and his girlfriend, Petunia. He picked them up and gave them to the actors. “Steve, you take Porky here, and Billie, you take Petunia.”

“What for?”

“Use them as telephones. It’s a little absurd, but it’s sort of funny.” Steve held the Porky Pig shaker to his ear.

 Billie laughed. “That does look funny.” 

Paul continued pacing, not looking at them as he spoke. “Pick up the pace in your dialogue at the first. You don’t have to sound like machine guns, just don’t take a breath in between each line.” Steve and Billie jotted down these notes. “And Steve, don’t be afraid to punch that line, “Who are you looking for, Superman?” And Billie, take Petunia away from your ear and give her a look like, “What’s this guy talking about?” Then hit him with your line.”

 Billie scribbled furiously on her notepad. “This is good,” she said to herself.

“Don’t anticipate laughter from the people you are auditioning for,” said Paul. “I know there are some lines you think are funny, but keep going. If they laugh, take a beat, but don’t ask for a laugh with a pause. You won’t get it.” Paul looked up from his pacing. Steve and Billie were staring at him like he’d grown another eye. “What’s the matter?” Then, Steve and Billie looked at each other.

“Did you ever think of directing?”  Steve asked.

 Paul shook his head. “I’m a writer. The last orders I ever gave were back in a jungle somewhere.” They both looked at him soberly.

The mall was packed as usual. Cory and Zeke found a bench off the food court to sip sodas after a hard day of shopping. Cory had advised Zeke on some tasteful clothing.

“I really appreciate this, Cory.”

“Hey, it’s been fun.” 

Cory had visited Zeke’s small church on Wednesday night so she could talk to Ed about painting her house. After the meeting, she asked Zeke about Paul.

“I just assumed you two were a couple, Zeke. You’re always together.”

“I wish,” said Zeke. “Paul’s got a thing for this singer.”

“Ah, the siren of show business. I never pegged Paul for a groupie.”

“It’s worse than that. The girl is a drug addict and she’s serving time for armed robbery. Actually she was just an accessory.” Cory was mildly shocked. She couldn’t tell if Zeke was joking or not.

“I can’t believe Paul would get mixed up with someone like that. What was he thinking?”

Zeke pushed back her brown page boy hair and looked sadly at some distant place. “He thinks he can save her.”

“Very noble of him,” Cory mused. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we go over to “Lady Beautiful” and get you a new hair cut.”

“You think so?”

“I know a woman there who is a make up wizard and hair stylist. She used to work for MGM.”

 Zeke was suspicious. “Does this have anything to do with attracting Paul? Because if it is, I don’t want to trap him.” 

Cory laughed. “He already likes you for who you are. I’m just talking about a little detail work…get him to notice you a little. We’re not talking major surgery here.”

Zeke took a sip of her cola. “I thought you wanted to get a hot dog.”

“We shall dine on dogs and fries, but first, let’s take you to see the hair wizard.”

Now, they sat on the bench, munching their hot dogs. The make up lady had done a superb job. Using subtle highlights and adding a pale rouge made Zeke’s tomboy features more feminine. And Zeke was thrilled with her new hair. The make up lady streaked it with lighter colors and gave her a wave. On their way to the food court, Zeke kept checking herself out in the store windows.

“I can’t believe the change. I’ve had this face all along and didn’t even know it. Look at those cheekbones.”

“You’re beautiful Zeke. Without the makeup, you would still look good to the eye of a camera.”

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to attract a camera.”

 Cory saw some TV’s in an electronics store playing a Josh Smythe interview. “I’ll tell you a little secret Zeke. Paul’s noticed you, he just hasn’t realized it. Maybe his mind is blocked by this singer that he likes. Your new makeover won’t change the way he feels about you, but it might get him to think about you.”

“Are you saying that Paul could be in love with me too?” 

Cory held up her hands. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m just saying that he looks at you as a special friend. There could be more there. We'll see.”

Zeke felt a shiver of pleasure. Maybe there was a chance. She was a grown woman though. Even if she looked like a teenager, she didn’t think like a teenager. Putting a little rouge on was one thing, but she wasn’t going to go much further. Paul had to come to her.

“Hey, are you Cory Stilling?”

A couple of teenage boys and a girl approached them. The one who had recognized her looked like he’d just discovered gold in his backyard. “Miss Stilling, you are my favorite star.

“You’re the best,” said the girl.

“Thank you very much,” said Cory. “But I’m not a star.” 

The boy pulled a paperback out of his Walden’s sack and offered it to her. “I’ve seen everything you’ve done. Could you autograph my book?” Cory looked at the title. It was a paperback sci-fi.

“I would hate to ruin your book.”

 Zeke fished around in her purse. “I’ve got some paper and pen.” She handed Cory the paper.

“Who should I sign this for?” asked Cory.

“To Wade!” said the beaming boy.

“Okay, to my friend, Wade.” Cory signed the paper and handed it to the boy. His friends looked at the autograph from over his shoulder.

“Wow, thanks Ms. Stilling.”

 Cory looked at the girl and the other boy. “Would you like one too?” 

The other boy smiled shyly and shook his head. “Nah. You’re pretty good, but I’m a John Wayne fan.”

“Robert Redford,” The girl volunteered. Both women laughed. Then Wade looked at Zeke.

“Are you anybody?” 

Zeke offered Wade her hand. “I’m Olivia-Newton John. Pleased to meet you.”

“Really?” said the girl. “I think you are so cool.”

“Sing us a song,” Wade requested.

“Do you want my autograph?” she asked all three.

“No ma’am,” said the other boy. “We like KISS.”

The three kids headed for the food court, chatting happily about their encounter.

“Fickle fans,” muttered Zeke. 

Cory grabbed her hand. “Come on, Olivia. I’ve got to get to the airport.” They headed for the mall exit.

“When does Ron’s plane arrive?”

“In about an hour. Flight 647, ETA is 3:30.” 

Zeke had a broad smile on her face. “Flight 647?  Did you memorize the gate number too?”

“That hasn’t been decided yet.”

As they left the mall, all of the TV’s in the electronics store were still carrying the Josh Smythe interview. Then, the screens went blank for a moment. The ABC news special report logo appeared. There was a shot of the Franklin mountain range near El Paso. Transwest Flight 647 had crashed into the side of a mountain. There were no survivors.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - The Right Man

This is Chapter 17 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

Her house needed a makeover. When Cory bought it, the modest little house had a new coat of white paint, and had been rewired to 1970’s standards. Built in 1920, the house was in a good location near The Farmer’s Market. It wasn’t Beverly Hills or Bel-Air, although she could afford any house in southern California. In fact, she could live anywhere in the world, but she preferred the simple, white frame structure. She’d even included a picket fence.

A minor renovation was in order, but there was something else. Ever thrifty, Cory considered saving the money until she knew for sure about Ron. He was doing a lot of flying between L.A. and Dallas.  Cory had spent more time with him than any man she’d known. When he came back from Hawaii, he brought her a petrified coconut. On it were the carved words, “I go nutty for you.”

“Got it from an inactive volcano,” said Ron. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Ah, do they have gift shops in inactive volcanoes?”

“Actually, the gift shop was at the airport in Honolulu.”

“That’s more like it.” She held the coconut out and squinted at it. “Very classy,” she said sarcastically.

 He then presented her with a diamond necklace. “I found this between the magazine rack and the cola machine in the gift shop.” Cory was speechless. Her eyes glistened. “Well? Do you like it?”

“Ron…I can’t…” He immediately took the necklace and put it around her neck. She touched it delicately. Diamonds were not her usual style.

“I…it’s…” She just couldn’t get the words out.

 Ron stepped back, examining the necklace on her neck. “It looked so plain in the showcase. Now it looks stunning.” Maybe she could get used to wearing diamonds. Cory decided that she would only wear it for Ron and only when she was with him. 

She put the coconut on a table by her bed. The silly souvenir made her happy. That’s how she knew. She was in love with him. She prayed that this would work out.

They had a lot of long walks on the beach. Cory fixed dinner for him every time he flew in from Dallas. Sometimes he cooked dinner for her. When she was in Venezuela filming, he called her every night.

Along with the dinners and long walks, they discussed each other’s lives, where they were going, what they hoped to achieve. They talked about everything but marriage, yet, as they learned more about each other, the idea of marriage loomed happily over them.

There were two major concerns for Cory. First, their careers were incompatible. If Ron wasn’t in Los Angeles or Dallas, he was in New York or on location, shooting commercials. The same with Cory, except they weren’t always in the same town at the same time. She would give up her career for the marriage. That would help solve the problem.

Second. Ron wasn’t religious. He wasn’t anti-religious. While he had not accepted Jesus as his savior, he practiced Christian principles. He was a decent person. He didn’t drink or swear. He was honest.  He was romantic, but didn’t push her to have sex. At times, Cory was a little more aggressive than normal, and it was Ron who discouraged further involvement.

Plus, they had talked about religion and Ron seemed receptive. She invited him to church and he seemed to enjoy the Bible study.

Should I renovate this house? Or see what’s going to happen with Ron? If Ron asked her to marry him, the house would be too small if they wanted a family.

Cory sighed as she looked at the little house. She would at least call Ed Rosnowsky to come over and repaint it. 

She was fixing herself a sandwich when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s me, your worldly globetrotter.”

 Her heart skipped a beat when she heard Ron’s voice. “How’s Saratoga?”

 His voice sounded far off. “We got the spot in the can before the blizzard hit. I’m in the motel now, safe and warm.”

“That’s good. When are you coming back?”

“I’ve got to stop in Dallas and take care of some business. I thought I’d catch a flight out there on Thursday.”

“Sounds good Sweetheart. I’ll make you lasagna.”

“That’s cruel. I have to wait for that one.”

“Sorry. Don’t spend time at Riggio’s in Buffalo.” Riggio’s was a popular Italian spot that Ron bragged about.

“Riggio’s doesn’t hold a candle to your lasagna. And I have some good news.” He hesitated a moment. 

“What? Tell me.” He didn’t talk. “Ron, tell me.”

“You are so impatient.”

“So tell me!” she cried impatiently.

“When I get back to Los Angeles, I want to see Minister Dowling. I want to be baptized.”

 Cory’s eyes clinched shut. Yes! Her heart rate sped up. She was suddenly elated. “Ron, that’s so great! I’m very, very happy!”

“Me too. I feel so lucky to have met you. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d never have met Jesus.”

“I am thrilled I finally got you two together.” 

“You don’t know how I feel, Cory…well, maybe you do. The pressure of the shoot and making the deadline seemed to lift off me when I made my decision. I want to serve God.”

“I do know the feeling, Ron. I truly do.”

“And I want to talk to you when I get there Cory. We need to talk.”

“I’d like that.”

“But I’ve got to go now. My cameraman just walked in with a huge pepperoni pizza. I think it’s from Riggio’s.”

“Go eat,” she said. “I’ll be here.”

“I love you Cory,” he said softly.

“I love you too. Very much.”

When she hung up, Cory went into the bedroom and picked up the coconut. She read the words, “I go nutty for you”. Her eyes filled with tears. Thank you God. Thank you so much.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Businesswoman

This is Chapter 16 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

“As you can see, the walls need painting and we probably need to get a new a/c unit.” Janie pointed out. Cory and Janie fought through the dust of the old warehouse. Janie used a key to get into the office. The place smelled like mildew. It was hot and Cory could hear rats in the walls.

“This was the main office,” said Janie. She opened up the rusty, portable refrigerator. It was empty. “Good. I was afraid they had left food in here.”

 Cory held her nose. “Smells like it’s still in here.”

“A little,” said Janie as she waved the air. Well, what do you think?” Cory walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. There was a pop of air and the pipes shuttered as brown water came out in sporadic bursts.

“You didn’t have the water turned off?” 

Janie shrugged. “I guess not. I kept getting a water bill, and since it wasn’t too much, I figured it would be cheaper to keep it on, then to get it started back up for a new tenant.”

 Cory nodded. “Good thinking.” 

At first, Janie looked surprised, then beamed at the unexpected praise. “I did good?”

“You did perfect.”

“So what do you think Cory?”

Cory made a quick mental assessment. This property wasn’t in Beverly Hills, but it was definitely worth a lot more than the thirty thousand dollars that the real estate agent was offering Janie.

“I think I’d like to go visit this Mr. Devaney, the real estate agent.”

Devaney Realty was located on Temple, near downtown. Cory had Janie make an appointment during the morning hours. She found that in most cases, it was the best time to talk to people, especially since she was wearing a blond wig, sunglasses and special make up.

When she drove up to Janie, who was waiting on the corner, Cory had to honk, because Janie had not recognized her.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” said Janie as she got into the car. “Nice suit.”

Cory had a makeup artist give her red blotches and blemishes on her left cheek and forehead. She also dressed in a very business-like suit. No-nonsense kind of stuff. Janie held the sunglasses on Cory’s head over her eyes and peered at the makeup job.

“It looks real. Now tell me again why you’re in disguise?”

 Cory laughed since she hadn’t told Janie about the makeup. “I don’t want Mr. Devaney to recognize me. Sometimes I can walk around the mall and no one says “boo”. Other times, I’ll be shopping or getting gas and everybody knows me. Especially when a movie I’ve done has just been shown on TV.”

“And you don’t want Mr. Devaney to recognize you?”

“No, I want him wondering who I am.”

“But why?” 

Cory pulled out the sheet of paper that Janie had given her. It was the letter from Devaney saying that he would like to buy the warehouse for thirty thousand dollars. “Here’s why. We have it in writing on his letterhead an offer of thirty thousand dollars. When we go in there, don’t introduce me. Let him wonder who or what I am. And then you’ll ask him how much he thinks that property is worth.”

“But we already know,” said Janie.

 Cory shook her head. “He offered you thirty thousand, but I have a feeling he’ll give you a higher figure. He might think I’m another real estate agent or maybe even your lawyer, and he’ll think twice before he gives you some song and dance.”

“But what if he asks you who you are?”

“He won’t. He will be intensely curious about me, but he won’t say a word.”

“You aren’t going to say anything to him?”

“The less I say, the better. For that matter, the same applies to you. Just go in there, shake his hand, and after an exchange of pleasantries, ask Mr. Devaney how much he thinks the warehouse is worth. That’s all you have to do.”

When they were ushered into Devaney’s office, Cory saw the man sizing her up, even though he was shaking hands with Janie.

“Good to meet you, Mrs. Lambert.”  He looked at Cory, inviting an introduction, but Janie did not take the bait. Good girl. He indicated a seat across from his desk.

“Thank you, Mr. Devaney.” As they sat, Devaney gave Cory a curious nod. She could tell by his expression that he didn’t want anyone else in the room except Janie Lambert, but there was nothing he could do.

“So Mrs. Lambert, have you thought about selling your property to us?”

“I just have one question Mr. Devaney. How much would you say that property is worth?” Cory was proud of the way the meek Janie made direct eye contact with Mr. Devaney. He looked at her for a stunned instant, then his eyes shifted to Cory, who was looking at him evenly through her sunglasses. Then he looked down at his desk.

“I would say…about a hundred thousand,” he said quietly. 

Cory and Janie leaned forward. “What was that Mr. Devaney?” Janie asked.

“About a hundred thousand dollars,” he said a little louder.

Cory gave Janie a sidelong glance. Janie’s face registered nothing, but her hands that lay on her purse were shaking. The woman was speechless at the figure Devaney had given. Cory finally spoke up.

“Thank you, Mr. Devaney. We’ll call you if we decide to deal with you.” By the look on his face, she knew he had gotten her message. As Cory hustled the mute Janie out of his office, he knew he would never hear from her. And he knew he wasn’t getting his hands on that property.

The jailhouse smelled like ammonia. The acidity burned his eyes as Paul made his way to the visitor’s area. After signing in, he had to submit to a second search. He knew the routine as he emptied his pockets and put the contents in a tray. He then walked through the sensor under the stern eyes of a prison guard.

This place could use some smiles, he thought. And it wasn’t just the prisoners…even the guards looked unhappy. He was buzzed through a narrow entry and waited for the door behind him to close. When he heard the click, he opened the door in front of him. This led him into an ample room of long tables and a TV set. It reminded him of the sterile cafeteria at Granger Christian College, except at Granger, they didn’t have a television set.

There were people talking to their incarcerated friends and relatives dressed in orange. Paul went to the far end of the fifth table. This was usually where he met Senta, unless it was too crowded. Then, they would have to stand next to the wall and talk.

“14768!” was the number called over the loud speaker.

A few minutes later, Senta came through a door at the other end of the room, accompanied by a guard. She was not cuffed, but she held her hands in front of her like a pair of invisible cuffs were on them.

Paul stood up when she got there. He wanted to embrace her, but she stiffened as he stood.

“Hey kiddo. How ya doing?”

“It’s a barrel of laughs,” Senta said, unsmiling. She swatted at a fly that buzzed around her face. “You bring any cigarettes?”

“Sorry. Fresh out,” said Paul. He never brought her cigarettes. “I might have some Dentyne.” He felt into his pockets. 

Senta shook her head and stretched. “Nah, keep ‘em.”

Senta Bergstrom looked like a broken woman. Her hair and eyes had no luster. Sometimes she came out stoned. Even her teeth were turning yellow. It looked like she’d given up.

“You know Senta, another guy named Paul was in prison once. And he did a lot of good. He was a real world shaker.” 

She looked at him dully. “I don’t know why you come to see me after what I did to you.” 

Paul reached across the table for her, but she pulled her hands away. “I forgave you, Senta.”  Her head started to roll to the side before she straightened up. Her eyelids fluttered. “Are you high on something?”

“Oh yeah,” she said sleepily. “I’m flying.” 

Paul didn’t know what to say. He just didn’t know how to help her. “Senta, listen to me…I know how you feel about religion. You think it’s square and corny.” She suddenly let out a laugh that sounded like a shriek. Several people nearby turned their heads.

“Paul, using words like “square” and “corny” is square and corny.” She slid down in her seat laughing. Her nose began to run, but she didn’t wipe it off.

 Paul ignored her outburst. “And I also know you hate yourself, but Jesus is real. And He’s a great and powerful force.”

“Like the great and powerful Oz?” she cracked.

He continued gamely on. “All you have to do is let Him into your heart. He doesn’t hate you. I don’t hate you.” For a moment, she focused on him. “Jesus loves you Senta. He’s right here with you and He can help you.”

Senta looked around the crowded room, searching for a face. Her eyes stopped on a prisoner she knew as Pam. Pam’s husband had brought their eighteen-month-old baby to the prison for a visit. Pam was bouncing the baby on her knee. Senta thought about the baby that never was.  Had it been a boy or a girl?

“You might have forgiven me Paul, but your God can’t forgive me.”

“Why?”

 She slowly shook her head. “You are so innocent Paul. So blind. I’ve done things…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“God forgives all sins, Senta.”

“I don’t believe that. No one is that good. But if this God of yours knows everything, He knows what I’ve done, right?”

“Yes.” 

She gave him a lazy, triumphant smile. “Then He’s not going to forgive me. Ever.” 

Paul took out a small Testament and pushed it across the table. “Here. I know you’ve got time to read. Just read Mark 11:25. That’s all.” She looked at the white Testament with the gold cross on it.

“Is it ticking?”

 He laughed. “It’s a time bomb alright…exploding with all sorts of good stuff.”

“There’s not a hacksaw in it, is there?”

“No,” he said soberly. “But read it and it’ll set you free in more ways than you can count.”

 Senta looked over at a nearby guard who had the name “S. Jensen” on her uniform. “Miss Jensen?” The guard looked over at her. Senta held up the small Bible and looked at Paul. “Miss Jensen has to approve this.” The guard came over and took the Testament. She flipped through the pages, checking to make sure it didn’t have any illegal contraband inside.

“This looks harmless,” she said. “You can have it.”  Miss Jensen handed it back to Senta. Paul nodded to the guard gratefully.

“You don’t have to come see me Paul. I’m going to be here for twenty more years.”

“You were sentenced for twenty years. You’ll be up for parole in seven.” She gave a bitter laugh and stood up, stuffing the tiny Testament in her shirt pocket.

“I’ll be an old woman before I get out of here. Goodbye Paul.”

She motioned to the guard, who unlocked the door that led to the cells. Miss Jensen escorted Senta away. Paul sat at the table for a few moments and prayed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Missionaries

This is Chapter 15 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

City of Angels Church, 1975. Minister Reb Dowling dismissed the group and everyone walked over to the fellowship hall for a buffet. About two hundred of the congregation had shown up to listen to Paul’s old roommate, Allan James, speak about his mission work in Venezuela.

Paul steered Allan and his wife, Theresa through the crowd, making introductions to those he knew. Zeke was helping a few of the ladies set up the food.

“Paul, over here!” she cried. Paul, Allan, and Theresa headed over to the table with paper plates stacked in two high mounds.

“I really enjoyed your film, Allan,” said Zeke. When it came to physique, Allan was still a beach ball compared to the taller, lanky Paul. In fact, he’d gained more weight over the years.

 Paul poked him in his ample belly. “I hope you’re sharing some of that food that our church sends you.” 

Allan turned red and looked at Theresa. “Theresa will tell you that I lost twenty pounds in Taiwan.”

“He did,” said Theresa. “Then he found them again in South America.”

“Well come on Bigfoot, let’s go load your plate full of spaghetti.”

The next day, more eating was on the schedule. Paul picked Allan and Theresa up at their hotel and headed over to Zeke’s.

They drove up to the small church on 4^th Street, where Zeke was helping her father paint the steeple.

 Paul waved from the car. “Come on Zeke, we’re burning daylight!” Zeke had finished painting the bottom of the steeple and she called down to her father who was repairing a windowpane.

“Almost done on this side, Dad. Paul said he’d come back tomorrow and help us finish.” She was holding out a wet brush and white paint dripped down on him. Ed Rosnowsky wiped paint off his nose. “Sorry Dad.”

“Go on honey. I’m going to finish the door, the panes and then go home.” 

By now, Paul was out of his car and walking up to them. “Afternoon Mr. Rosnowsky.”

 Ed shook his hand and looked over at the car. “Hello Paul. Did your friends arrive okay?”

“Yes sir, last Friday. I’d introduce you, but I don’t want to interrupt.” Ed waved at Allan and Theresa who were waving from the car.

“I expect a good show tomorrow night!” Ed shouted towards the car. “Zeke tells me you’re a dynamic speaker.”

“We try!” Allan yelled back.

“I’ll be sitting on the front row!” Ed called out.

“Allan brought along some slides and home movies of the mission, Mr. Rosnowsky. I think you’re really going to enjoy it.”

Ed was giving him an even stare. “Now enough of this “Mr. Rosnowsky” talk. I am Ed to you.”

Paul looked slightly embarrassed. “Yes sir…Ed.”

Zeke came out of the front door. She had shed her overalls and now wore a simple purple dress. “I hope the restaurant won’t throw me out in this rag.”

“It’s a good looking rag,” said Paul.

 She turned around 360 degrees. “Any paint on me?”

“Not unless it’s purple. Let’s go.” 

As they headed for the car, Zeke turned back to Ed. “We’ll be back tomorrow Dad with all of our brushes and ready to work.”

“You kids have a good time.” Ed smiled to himself. He liked Paul. He had misjudged the young man. He was a square shooter. He just hoped that Paul wouldn’t break Zeke’s heart. She loved him, but did Paul love her?

Paul, Zeke, Allan and Theresa went out to dinner, then headed back to Paul’s apartment. They played “Monopoly”, talked about the mission, Paul’s struggle as a writer and Zeke’s music. Paul put on Zeke’s album while they played the board game.

“You’re really good, Zeke,” said Theresa. “I’d like to buy a copy of each of your albums and take them back to the kids in Cualo. There’s a little girl there who loves playing the piano. She’s a prodigy.”

“By the way, thanks for the piano,” said Allan. “City of Angels has taken very good care of us.” 

Paul held his hands up mockingly. “Wait a minute. My money paid for a piano? I thought I was buying Bibles.”

“Oh, we got the Bibles too,” said Theresa. “And they’ll get as much a workout as the piano.”

“It sounds wonderful,” said Zeke. “Maybe I could fly down there and give a concert with your prodigy.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” said Allan.

The next evening, Allan and Theresa spoke about the mission in Cualo. The four hundred members, who showed up, were treated to the film about the mission and the people there. Theresa spoke about the young man who had grown up worshipping a stone statue in the jungle. When he learned of God, he not only converted, but also set up a jungle ministry where he traveled the villages and told people about Jesus.

Like the two nights before, a buffet was set up in the fellowship hall. As everyone sat around eating, Cory Stilling walked up to Paul.

“Hi Paul.”

“Oh, hi Cory.” Paul introduced Allan and Theresa. “Allan, you might recognize Cory from the movies and TV.” Allan shook her hand warmly.

“I saw you in that space thing.” 

Cory blushed. “Out There” was about a young woman who thinks aliens have abducted her, but actually she was lost in an amusement park with a space theme. “Out There” was supposed to be a comedy, but it was universally panned.

“Guilty,” said Cory. “I’m not going to try and defend myself for that one.”

“Oh no, you were great. It was the script that was bad.”

“You said it, not me.”

Paul had finally gotten the nerve to introduce himself to Cory. She was so down to earth and he felt very comfortable around her. He still hadn’t gotten up the courage to show her his screenplay. They worked together on a Christmas pageant for the church. She directed, and he wrote the narration which was mostly the 2^nd chapter of Luke. Zeke wrote some songs for Mary and  Joseph and the wise men.

“I plan on going down to Venezuela to shoot a film,” said Cory. “I would love to visit the mission.”

“When are you coming down?” Theresa asked.

“This summer. It’s a low budget feature based on Sister Cammeron, the nun who worked in Peru.”

“Why aren’t they shooting it in Peru?”

“Like I said, it’s low budget.

“Then why don’t they shoot it in Mexico?” Paul asked.

“It’s cheaper to shoot in Venezuela,” replied Cory.

“Give us a call when you come down,” said Allan.

“Are you playing Sister Cammeron?” Theresa asked. 

Cory shook her head, “No, I have a co-starring role. I play a teacher.”

Not long before she took the Venezuela picture, Mickey Yulin had offered Cory the part of Edie Bronson in “Street Shadow”. It was a good part, starring opposite Josh Smythe. Mickey had called her from London with the offer.

“I’ll be honest Cory…” said Mickey. “…I want you to do a nude scene. I know how you feel about that, but let me say, it will be done very tastefully with lots of shadows and muted lighting.”

“I believe you, Mickey. You gave me my first good role. And I don’t mind playing a recovering drug addict...”

 Mickey did not let her continue. “…But no nudity, right?”

“That’s how I feel,” she replied. 

There was a brief pause. The long distance lines crackled across the Atlantic. Cory could almost hear Mickey thinking. Then he spoke. “What if I guaranteed you a piece of the action? This film is going to make a bundle. For six months filming you could clear a couple of million.”

For the fastest one millionth of a second in history, Cory thought about it. Think of the good she could do. A couple of million dollars could really spread God’s word, feed many people, and Mickey was always honest with her, but…

“I don’t think so Mickey. I’m flattered you think enough of my talent to offer, but I just can’t do it.”

“I admire your principles kid. If you change your mind, give me a call. I won’t be casting for two months.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

Cory didn’t expect to get too many offers like that, but with Jesus, it was really an easy decision. It was nothing for her to regret.

When the buffet broke up, Cory tried to rush to her car without appearing so. Ron said he was going to call from Hawaii where he was shooting a Pineapple Delight spot. She heard a voice calling to her.

“Cory!”  She turned to see Janie Lambert coming down the walk. Janie was a timid bank clerk who had a beautiful singing voice, but didn’t talk a lot. They were in the same Bible study group. Cory liked Janie. She was a mousy little woman who had lost her husband of twenty years to cancer. They had no children, and when Alvin, her husband died, the shy woman reached out to the Bible study group.

“Hi Janie.  Did you get enough to eat?” 

Janie patted her stomach. “More than enough, I’m afraid. Uh, may I talk to you?” Cory did some mental figuring. It would take her twenty minutes to get home. She didn’t want to miss Ron’s call, but Janie was a woman of few words.

“Sure Janie. What do you need?” 

The short, spare woman kept her eyes on her shoes as she spoke. “Someone told me you had a pretty good business head on you.” 

Cory swiveled her head. “It’s still here. I guess it’s okay.”

“Uh, Minister Dowling said you suggested the recent church expansion and even negotiated the sale on the property across the street.”

“Yeah, I helped, but it was mostly the elders who did the negotiating.” 

Janie shook her head and smiled. “Reb Dowling said you seemed to know all about the drainage and right of way and stuff like that. And he said you had a good handle on permits.”

“I know a little. My father is a minister in Minneapolis and when we moved to a new church ten years ago, I was the church secretary’s assistant. A lot of facts came across my desk.” 

Janie kept her eyes on the ground, looking more embarrassed by the moment. “Well…since Alvin died, I’ve been at a loss. He handled all the business.”

“I understand,” said Cory.

“And…well…we owned some property in the downtown area and I need some help.”

“What kind of help, Janie?”

“There’s this building that’s been in my husband’s family for years. When Alvin died, it became mine. It’s a beat up old warehouse really. A family ran a wholesale business there and they paid us rent. When the lease was up, they moved out.”

“Are you looking for new tenants?”

“Not really. Mr. Devaney, the real estate agent who handles warehouses in that area wants to buy it.”

“For how much?”

“Thirty thousand.” That didn’t sound like very much, even for an old beat up warehouse.

“How big is it in square footage?”

“Oh dear, I have no idea.”

“Can you give me a ball park figure?”

“Oh no, it’s not as big as a ball park.”

“I mean in general, how big is it? As big as say…our church?” Janie looked back up at the large edifice.

“Oh no, not that big. Maybe it’s about half the size of the church.” That was pretty big. Cory wasn’t familiar with the warehouse district near downtown, but a building that big was probably worth a lot more than thirty thousand dollars. The property might even be worth more if the building wasn’t standing on it.

“I’d like to see it, Janie. Why don’t we go over there on Tuesday and give it a look”

Janie raised her head and smiled. “You’d do that for me, Cory?”

 Cory put an arm around her. “Of course I would. We are sisters in Christ.”

Judd gunned the Harley one last time for luck. The canyon spread out before him as an unending vista of greens and browns. In Wyoming, the air was fresh and clear. The mountains formed a purple backdrop against the fifty-foot gap that lay before him. I can do this. It’s going to be a tough one. I did it back at The Ranch. I can do this. The mental mantra of “I can do this” was born out of confidence and habit. Judd always repeated it to himself on an especially difficult stunt. When I did it back at the ranch, it was a flawless feat, he thought.

The Ranch was a training area for stuntmen north of L.A.  Solomon Branch had set it up just before he retired. The Ranch had five towers, cliffs, a river with rapids, a one lane paved strip that went half a mile to a dead end, and all the tools a stuntman needed for his trade. Solomon was working on a building that could burn over and over. He had some of the best special effects people and carpenters working on it. Solomon had even contacted the Disney engineers to help him out.

Back on The Ranch, Judd marked off eighty feet on the paved strip and set up a ramp. He went over the stunt several times, adjusting his speed. Then he shortened the eighty feet to sixty feet. He jumped the cycle easily at that length. Now, all he had to do was jump the fifty feet over the canyon. The bad news was, it was a two hundred-foot drop if he didn’t make it. Or if he pulled short, he could crash into the cliff on the other side.

“Ready!” yelled the A.D.

Judd nodded and pulled the visor down from his helmet. There were three cameras set up to catch the stunt. He could see the helicopter whirring near the canyon, staying in position. Here goes.

If he wasn’t an atheist, he’d probably be praying to God, but Judd believed in just one thing. Himself. He was in control. He had walked the path that the cycle would pursue. He cleared away the small pebbles that could be trouble. He checked and re-checked his landing area, assigning a younger stuntman to keep it clear of debris. He had a team with push brooms to clear the area to his satisfaction. Judd depended on no one but himself to make this stunt work. God would not lift his motorcycle across the canyon. He had gone over the cycle forty different times, checking the engine, keeping it in good tune. He took the tire pressure once more and made sure he had just enough gas to accomplish the gag. Now, his hard work was about to pay off. Judd signaled the A.D. that he was ready. He was confident now, relishing the familiar adrenaline rush that coursed through his veins.

He tensed forward. Other than the helicopter, everyone was standing still, looking at him. There was a little wind, but it would be okay. Judd felt right about it. This was going to be a fantastic jump. The world suddenly slowed down. He let his body relax. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the A.D. waving a flag and shouting into his bullhorn.

“Go! Go! Go!” shouted the A.D.

Judd hit the gas and shot off towards the canyon. The motor roared in his ears as he gave it more gas. The cliff was rushing up to him at fifty-five miles per hour. If he hit it too slow, he could crash into the other side. If he went too fast, he’d lose control on the landing.

The needle moved up to sixty. He would hold it steady when it hit sixty-two miles per hour. The gap loomed ahead and for a moment, it looked like a mile wide. The needle hit sixty-one mph. Judd’s eyes moved from his speedometer to the horizon. He was looking for dust blowing. A sudden gust or an updraft could kill him. He had planted a windsock on the other side out of camera range. It was blowing a little. So far, so good. The needle hit sixty-two mph. He crossed a faint line he’d drawn in the dirt with his toe. That was it. The point of no return. If he braked hard, the bike would continue forward, over the lip of the canyon. If he leaped off the cycle he could be killed, or dragged off the cliff. His momentum would take him over the cliff with the cycle.

The ramp was buried in the dirt near the edge. It was not high enough to show up on camera, but the angle allowed the required arch of the motor cycle. He hit it at sixty-three miles per hour. Judd felt the earth leave from under his wheels. For a second, he felt like he was suspended in mid air. Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on your landing point.

The cycle flew in a broad arc, gaining altitude. The opposite side of rock was barreling towards him. For just a brief moment, he thought he’d miscalculated. He was going to be short! It was the angle. It looked like he would hit the side of the cliff, but the cycle would make it. He braced himself for the landing.

The other side of the canyon seemed to scoop under him. Whack! The cycle hit the other side and swerved into a fish tail. Judd fought for balance and was able to get it under control. He kept going for two hundred more feet before slowing down.

The crew applauded wildly as he rode up to them.

“Beautiful!” shouted his stunt assistant.

“You’re the best, Judd!” screamed Alex Sand, whom moviegoers would think actually did the canyon leap. Alex was the hot new action star. Everyone had come out to watch the stunt.

Judd made a mock bow, low and long. He took off his helmet and accepted some cold lemonade that an assistant brought him.

Goldie, who was working with the continuity woman walked up to him and gave him a hug. “You are a wild man.”

“I’ve been telling you,” said Judd. “Aren’t you glad I got you this job?”

“Yeah, I want to be there when you splatter your beautiful black body against Snake Canyon.”

“I was in control all along.”

“I still prayed for you.”

 He touched her face softly. “Thanks Goldie.”

In the past few months, they had seen each other, but Goldie was dating a man from her church. Judd was pretty busy. He’d been seeing a costume assistant at one of the studios. At times, he tried to get something going with Goldie of a more intimate nature. She gently, but sternly rejected his advances.

“I’m proud to be a twenty seven year old virgin, Judd. As far as I’m concerned, there’s one man out there for me. And so far, you aren’t him.”

The rejections hurt, but he knew it was true. In an attempt to meet her halfway, Judd went to church down in Compton. He didn’t tell Goldie. He didn’t want her to know and get her hopes up, so he secretly attended a service.

As he sat in the back pew, listening to the minister’s message about Saul on the road to Damascus, Judd found his mind questioning every verse. He mentally took the story of Paul’s conversion apart. Being blinded and hearing the voice of God could be symptoms of epilepsy or maybe a minor stroke. It was illogical to be anything spiritual. As the congregation stood to sing the invitation song, Judd slipped quietly out the back.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Paul in Jail

This is Chapter 14 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

Paul was fuming. He knew Senta had stolen his money, but his typewriter? Why had she taken it? As tired as he was, he was going to stay up until she came home so he could confront her.

Around 4:30 a.m., there was a knock at his door. Paul was nodding asleep to a “Gilligan’s Island” re-run. He got up from the couch and headed for the door. Surely she hadn’t come by to apologize.

As he flung the door open, Paul screamed, “Where’s my typewriter?!” Standing there was a man in a suit and a policeman who had Senta in handcuffs. “What’s going on? Paul asked as he quickly calmed down. The suit held up a badge.

“I’m Detective Dave Wilcox of the L.A.P.D.” He then held up a piece of paper. “This is a search warrant issued by Judge C. Cowin of Los Angeles County.” He nodded to Senta. “This lady here says you deal drugs.”

Zeke got the call around 7:00 that morning.

“Zeke? Did I wake you up?”

“No, I’ve been up for hours,” she yawned. “Paul?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I was wondering…could you come bail me out?”

 Suddenly she was wide-awake. “You’re in jail?!”

“I’m down here in the city lockup.”

“Okay, give me an hour.”

“Don’t hurry Zeke. They’ve got me in a cell with The Girl Scout Killer and a lawyer who was cited for contempt of court. To be honest, I’m more afraid of the lawyer.”

“Okay, stay there.”

She hung up. Stay there? Did I really say that? She laughed. I’d better wake up before I get behind the wheel.

Ed sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee. He had an early start today and lot of painting ahead. Then the phone rang. He picked up the receiver, but before he could say hello, he heard his daughter on the other end of the line.

“Dad?”

“Zeke, everything okay?”

“Yes. I need some cash. I can pay you back when I get to the bank later.”

“Sure honey, how much do you need?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t ask, but I think the bail bondsman will only take cash.” 

Ed almost dropped the phone. “Come again?”

“I need bail money.”

“And why do you need bail money?”

“I got a phone call from Paul. He’s at the police station.” Ed hung his head in thought. That crazy kid. She’d fallen for this no good… “Dad? Are you still there?”

“I’m not happy about this Ruth.”

Ruth Evelyn was her real name, and when her dad called her Ruth, she knew he was not happy.

“I said I’d pay you back.”

“It’s not the money Ruth, and you know it.” Ed listened in silence to the other end. When she finally spoke, he felt a sledge hammer pop him in the chest.

“I love him Dad. And I trust Paul.”

“Ruth, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. And I’ve always admired your level headedness…but you’ve got to listen to me. This is not right.”

“Can I still have the money Dad?”

 He sighed. “Okay, but you’re making a big mistake.”

“I’ll be over there in a few minutes. Thank you Daddy. I really love you.”

“I know. I know, Sweetheart,” he said solemnly. Then he hung up the phone and shook his head.

When Zeke got to the Police Department, she found Paul waiting for her on a bench outside the holding cells. Zeke stopped, amazed he wasn’t being held inside.

“You’re out?” 

Paul looked at her with tired, puffy eyes. “Thanks for coming Zeke. They released me about a half hour after I called you.”

“What’s going on?”

 He led her to the exit. “I’ll tell you about it on the way to The Pancake House. Breakfast is on me.”

Paul had not been charged with drug possession. The search of his apartment yielded nothing and after talking to Detective Wilcox, it was obvious to the police that Paul had been an innocent by-stander.

“Why did Senta accuse you of such a thing?” asked Zeke as she poured maple syrup on her pancakes.

“Who knows? She was raving when they took her away. She said she needed a fix real bad.”  

Zeke shook her head. “Poor Senta. Of course I feel sorrier for you.”

 Paul was scarfing down a ham omelet, and took a moment to swallow his milk and wipe his mouth. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Senta’s the one who’s going to jail.” 

Zeke was getting angry. She didn’t like what Senta did to Paul, but what really made her mad was Paul’s sympathy for the girl. Zeke knew this wasn’t a Christian attitude, but as she stabbed her waffle with a fork, she couldn’t help it.

“Senta deserves to go to jail.

“True. But I wish I could do something for her.” Zeke started on her side order of ham. She was attacking her food, half from hunger, half out of anger.

 Paul took note of this violent form of eating. “I think the waffle was dead when they pulled it out of the oven, Zeke.”

 She ignored his remark. “You did all you could Paul. You were nice to her. You got me to help her. You tried to set a good example, but with her, it didn’t take.”

“Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.”  Paul looked like he’d lost the World Series on a bad pitch.

Zeke felt a pang in her heart for him. “You can plant the seed, Paul, but you can’t change the heart. That’s God’s department.”

 He looked miserably at his food, picking at the remainder of the eggs. “I guess you’re right.”

She took a long sip of coffee and gave it some thought. Paul was too wrapped up in Senta. And yes, she was jealous. Dear Lord, help me. I don’t like this feeling.

“Paul, I can’t tell you how to lead your life, but Senta doesn’t need your love. She doesn’t want it. And she doesn’t want your help either.”

 He gave her a wry smile. “What you just said sounds like a good idea for a country music song.”

“Maybe I’ll put it to music.”

 He looked down at the unfinished omelet. “But how can I help her, even if she doesn’t want it?” 

Here it was. One of those little moments of truth. Should she help Paul help Senta? He would never love me, thought Zeke. Oh, why not?

“You can stand by her Paul. Give it a week or two, then go visit her in jail. When her court case comes up, be there on the front row.”

 He looked at her. “How about you Zeke? You want to go with me when I go see her?”

 Zeke reached across the table and took his hand. “Not really. I’ll just be in the way. But if you ever want me to go to a movie or come over for a game of “Monopoly”, give me a call.” 

Suddenly his eyes didn’t look so tired. “Hey, you’ve got it. In fact, I’ll invite you to join me on a visit to Sears.”

“Sears?”

 Paul looked at his watch. “Yeah, they’ll be open in about twenty minutes. I need you to help me pick out a new typewriter. My old one is going to spend some time in the evidence room.”

Josh got back from the Caribbean and found a message to call Betty, his agent.

“Betty, what’s up?”

“How was the shoot?” The woman’s husky voice from thirty years of smoking was always a welcome sound when he got back from location. Betty was a mother figure for Josh and ever since his career took off, she always had good news.

“There was a lot of sand and surf. Wish you’d been there Betty.”

“I get enough sand and surf in my back yard.” She had a home in Laguna Beach. “Mickey Yulin wants to see you Josh.”

 His hand tightened around the phone. “Is it “Street Shadow”?” Betty’s end of the line was very quiet. “Betty? Come on, don’t be dramatic.”

“He wants you for the part of Speedo.”

“Oh man, that’s great Betty, great.”

“Listen now, this could the best part you’ve ever had, Josh.”

“Tell me about it, Speedo has Oscar written all over it. This is the type of role that Brando would have done twenty years ago.”

“It’s a great part Josh, but I know how you get into your roles.”

 Josh smiled, recognizing the warning in her voice. “And you’re afraid I’ll become a drug addict because I’m playing a drug addict.” Again, there was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Betty? Are you asleep or just terrified?”

“Terrified.”

“Don’t worry. I have enough drugs in me now, I’m probably immune.”

“I’m serious Josh. Valium is as far as I go, but I’ve seen a lot of people’s careers ruined by that stuff they shoot up their arms.”

“Yes mother. I’ll stay off the hard stuff. From now on, I’m only talking to my valium supplier.”

“Josh!”

“I’m kidding. I do plan to spend time at a drug rehab and in one of those halfway houses so I can study up on the Speedo personality.” 

Betty’s voice was truly relieved. “Do that, Josh. And do only that.”

“That’s why they call it acting, Betty. When does the shoot start? I want to go to Goodwill and do a wardrobe search.” He could hear papers rustling over the phone as Betty checked her notes.

“Let’s see…they’ve got a tentative starting date of October twelve in New York.”

“I’ll pack my woolens. Thanks Betty.”

He hung up. Speedo Bonez. He was going to play the tough talking Puerto Rican kid from the Bronx, who became a drug addict and fought his way out to become a respected lawyer. Enrico “Speedo” Bonez was a true inspiration. “Street Shadow” was a best selling biography. It was too bad he couldn’t go see Speedo and spend time with him. Speedo’s own client, a drug addict, during a trial, stabbed the fifty five-year-old lawyer to death. Man, what a role, thought Josh. Al Pacino, Alan Arkin,and  Dustin Hoffman had coveted this role. Several A list actors had been openly campaigning for the part.  After a long, publicized search, Mickey Yulin had chosen Josh Smythe.

He got on the phone and called Claire in New York. She had been one of his live-in girlfriends when he was making a film in San Francisco. As soon as filming was complete, she moved back to New York and Josh went on to other girls.

“Hey Claire, this is Josh.”

 Her voice was cool and reserved. “Hello Josh. Are you in New York?”

“Not yet, but I’m headed up there. I’m going to be shooting “Street Shadow” up there.”

“Sounds interesting.” She didn’t sound interested.

“Yeah, I’m playing the part of Speedo Bonez, can you believe it? Mickey Yulin’s directing.”

“Who’s he?”

“Mickey Yulin? You’re kidding.”

“No, the other one.”

“Speedo Bonez. You know, the guy who was a druggie, but became a great lawyer, then was killed by a drug addict. “Street Shadow”. Didn’t you read that one?”

“I think I’ve heard of it.”

“So I’ll be up there and thought we could get together.”

“I’m married now, Josh.”

“No kidding. Well that’s great.” Just great, he thought. “So Claire…maybe we could still get together.” It was a soft click, but Josh could imagine Claire slamming the phone down on its cradle. “She always had a bad temper anyway,” he said to himself.

He looked out at the blue Pacific. Man, this was great news. Speedo Bonez! He could feel the excitement race through his body.

Josh had wiped the stardust from his eyes long ago, but the thought of playing Speedo almost blinded him. He hadn’t been this excited about a film in years. He wanted to tell someone. He wanted to celebrate.

The little brown address book on his dresser had lots of girls’ names. Most were starlets he’d had one night stands with. He only kept the one’s he enjoyed. He could call any of them and have a girl there in twenty minutes. Yet, he felt detached. This news was too good to waste on a mild acquaintance. Unfortunately, the five or six women he’d had affairs with, were on to other adventures. And Josh realized he had few close friends. Maybe Betty. Maybe.

He went out on the sun deck and breathed in the ocean air. He was one of the hottest stars in Hollywood. “Street Shadow” would make him the hottest. And he was alone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - The Robbery

This is Chapter 13. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

Trevor took a puff on the marijuana and handed it to Senta. “We’ll wait five more minutes, then we go.” Senta took the roach with a shaking hand. She was not in good shape. Trevor shifted his eyes over to her. “Don’t worry baby, I’m going to get you well.”

They were sitting in his Lincoln across from The Lucky Seven convenience store. Paul’s typewriter lay on the back seat. 

When Senta spoke, her voice wavered. “I didn’t think you were coming. I need some stuff now!”

“Calm down,” he said. “We’ll finish our business here, then we’ll go see Pink.” Pink. She thought of him as The Big Happy Pink. Pink always had something good for Senta.

The plan was simple. She would enter The Lucky Seven in a revealing dress. After she had the clerk’s attention, Trevor would come in waving his gun. All they needed was two hundred dollars. That would be enough to get her through the night. After they robbed The Lucky Seven, they’d go see Pink.  Trevor had promised.

Trevor drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Just a little longer babe. Hold on.”

Senta’s mind was a whirling storm. When Trevor didn’t show up, she went down to Paul’s apartment. Her idea was to get all the money she could. She planned on taking the typewriter to an all night pawnshop. Trevor finally showed and assured Senta that The Lucky Seven would have enough in the register to “get her well”…at least for another week.

Trevor peered at the lit up convenience store. Habib, the night clerk was alone at the counter, speaking to someone on the phone. “If that camel jockey would put the phone down, we could go in.”  Trevor said impatiently. “There aren’t any customers in there.”

“Well why don’t we?” She was fighting to keep the whine out of her voice.

“Because if I go in there and wave a gun in his face, he’ll alert his friend on the phone.” Senta bent over and grabbed her ankles. Her blood was speeding through her veins, screaming for a fix.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she murmured desperately. Trevor checked his rearview mirror. The street was pretty empty.

“Okay babe, listen up. Go in there and do your thing. Maybe he’ll get off the phone and talk to you. Ask for directions to Disneyland or something. I’ll follow you in. As soon as he hangs up, we’ll do it.”

Senta didn’t wait a second. She jerked the door open and hustled across the street. Trevor admired her outfit, noting she had the perfect touch. He told her to dress like she did in Las Vegas when she was making money as a prostitute.

Habib was talking to his brother when the scantily clad woman walked in. She was wearing sunglasses, but even though it was night, it was not an odd sight in southern California.

She looked around the store and picked up a jar of pickles. Habib noticed that her hand was shaking. It looked like she was wearing a blond wig and she looked vaguely familiar to him. For some reason, he thought of his friend, Paul. Had he seen Paul with her? No. Probably not. Paul didn’t date girls who looked like this. Paul didn’t date at all as far as he knew. This was a wild one and she was walking down the aisle towards him.

“Abuel, I will call you back. I have a customer.” He hung up. “Yes ma’am, can I help you?” As she leaned across the counter, Habib could not control where his eyes went. She was giving him a free show.

“Yes, I was wondering. Am I near The Aces Club?”

“I believe so, ma’am.” He reached under the counter to get a local map. His hand brushed the .38 as he found the map. He pulled the map out from under the counter. “I’ll show you how to get there.” Habib noticed the tall, black man enter. The man didn’t look towards the counter, but walked down the back aisle where the freezer was.

Trevor used the reflection of the glass door in the cold drink section to watch the clerk. The clerk’s attention was totally on Senta and the map. Trevor pulled the 357 magnum from his jacket and turned towards the counter.

“So I take Olympic Boulevard?” she asked.

“No ma’am, the best way to get there is to take Santa Monica to Fairfax.” Habib’s finger traced the faster route on the map. Trevor was halfway down the aisle, with the gun to his side.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I went down Wilshire?” Habib couldn’t understand why this lost lady was arguing with him about the directions. He looked up to see the man approaching the counter. Just as Trevor was about to raise his gun, a police car pulled up to the store.

The flight from Dallas touched down at LAX just after 11 p.m. Cory had fallen asleep twenty minutes before landing, only to be politely told by the attendant to buckle her seat belt and put her seat in an upright position. With sleepy eyes, she looked out at the terminal. Home again, home again, jiggity jig, she thought.

“Ms. Stilling, it was a pleasure.” Mr. Holland, the electronics salesman had sat by her and was ecstatic that he got to sit by a “movie star” as he called her. After his enthusiasm had worn down, Cory found out about his wife, Rowena, his kids, Matt and Tilly and their red brick home in Dana Point. Most people would have been bored by Mr. Holland’s recitations, but not Cory. She found so many people interesting. She admired his steady, settled life. It sounded like something right up her alley. She asked Holland questions about the life of a salesman. She was amazed at his knowledge on a number of subjects.

“Part of the tools of my trade is being able to discuss books, movies, TV shows, and the latest rock group,” laughed Holland. “Knowing the best places to eat is a must.”

Flying over El Paso, she autographed an in-flight magazine for Holland and posed while the attendant took her picture with him. Leaving New Mexico air space, Holland finally realized he had dominated her time and apologized.

“Don’t worry about it Hal. I really think you and Rowena need to add that extra room. A swimming pool will cost you more in the long run.”

“You really sound like you’re interested Ms. Stilling. Sometimes people get that glassy look in their eyes when I go on.”

“I’m fascinated how people operate and relate to others.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I must sound like a psychiatrist.”

“I’d pay your hourly rate,” he laughed.

They talked a bit more. She was getting drowsy, but she couldn’t sleep. Eventually, even Holland drifted off.  Cory’s mind wandered to the Rico shoot in Dallas and to Ron.

When they wrapped the Rico’s spot, Cory’s assistant reserved an early flight. Then Ron came to see her when she was having her make up removed. “Good job, movie star.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Listen, a few of us are going to meet at a great pizza spot on Mockingbird. How would you like to join us?” As she hesitated, he added, “It’s sort of a cast party.”

“But I was the cast.”

“Okay then, it’s a party for you.” 

Cory nodded. “How can I resist when the director personally invites me to a party in my honor?”

The Texana Pizzeria was noisy and crowded. Ron’s party included the copywriter of the Rico spot, the producer, the cinematographer, the client, the account executive, Marcia, her assistant and of course, Cory. They found a table near the back and ordered five large pizzas. The client ordered beer for everyone. Cory had a pitcher of soda and shared it with Marcia and Ron. She liked the idea that he wasn’t drinking the beer.

The pizza took longer than expected, so the copywriter of the Rico’s spot got up on a staging area and played the piano. People began to get up and dance. Ron and Cory were left at the table. He scooted his stool closer to her so they could hear each other over the rowdy din.

“Glenn-Rezell liked my demo reel,” said Ron. “They have a series of spots they’d like for me to direct for the Southern California Tourist Commission.”

“They’re a pretty big ad agency, aren’t they?”

“Oh yeah. Their clients throw a lot of money in these TV spots. If I do that series, I’ll be spending a lot of time in your neck of the woods.”

“We’ll just have to get together,” she said.

As he leaned in, she smelled a hint of magnolia. Even in the heat, he seemed fresh, while Cory was ready for a cool bath. He was saying something to her. She cupped a hand over her ear. “What’s that?”  she asked.

“I said, I would like that.”

After the pizza, Ron drove her to DFW. She talked about her preacher father and family in Minnesota. He told her about how he wanted to be an engineer, but flunked out of college.

“I spent time in the Air Force Reserve, and through a friend, I got a job as a gaffer for a TV production company.”

“And you became a great director within a month,” she said. 

Ron shook his head. “Not that easy. It was five years before I got my chance. I was a cinematographer for a couple of years and got my break on a local car dealership spot. The client liked my work and I’ve never looked back.”

By the time Cory met Mr. Holland on the flight back, she was tired, but happy. She liked the idea of seeing Ron in L.A.

The police car drove up to The Lucky Seven so quickly, Trevor could only think that the clerk must have suspected something and tripped a silent alarm. What Trevor didn’t know was, one of the cops had a killer headache and was anxious to get some aspirin.

Habib didn’t see the police car drive up, but he did see Trevor raise his gun. He frantically felt for the .38 under the counter.

Senta saw Habib’s eyes go wide and knew that Trevor had pulled his gun. She dropped to her knees to get out of the line of fire.

In a panic, Trevor shot at the cop who was getting out from the passenger’s side. That’s when the fireworks began.

Senta huddled against the counter, holding her ears. All she wanted was to get the money and go see Pink. Pink had the stuff. Pink was who she needed to see.

Habib found his pistol and pulled it from behind the counter. Without aiming, he fired at Trevor, but all he hit was a hanging beer sign. He fired again and some mayonnaise jars exploded to Trevor’s left.

Trevor got off three shots at the police, before he realized the clerk was shooting at him. As he turned his gun at the clerk, he felt an invisible baseball bat pound him in the chest. His feet gave way and he fell backwards into a potato chip display. The cops were using the car doors as cover. Their guns were smoking. Trevor thought he heard Senta screaming his name before he fell into darkness and silence.