Genny pulled one leg under her as she sat on the tiny blue couch by the door. Thoughts of that evening’s attack haunted her. The taunts. The knife. The mess she would have to clean up when she went back. If Cherie hadn’t arrived at just the right moment … she shuddered and let the thought go unfinished.
“What a lovely place you have here,” Genny called out. “Are your parents home? I’d love to meet them.”
“I live alone,” Cherie said, walking in with a glass of perfectly chilled water adorned with a slice of new lemon.
“But you’re just a kid.”
Cherie shrugged and handed the water to Genny. “Don’t drink it too quickly.”
Genny dismissed the advice with a wave of her hand. Two gulps and a finished glass later, her body was on the floor being propelled in a circle by thrashing legs and instinct.
“Ohhh, ohhhhhh!” she moaned. Her hands cradled the sides of her frozen brain. “Shoot me. Please, somebody, shoot me.”
After five minutes, Genny’s brain warmed back to room temperature.
“What were you going to do with that?” Genny asked when she regained function of her senses.
Cherie slipped the revolver into the desk drawer. “Uhh … nothing,” she said. “So, can I get you anything else?”
“No. I think I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Well, if you’re offering,” Genny said, “I could go for a sandwich.”
“No problem.”
“Chicken salad if you have it.”
“Got it.”
“With celery is fine. But not with onions.”
“OK.”
“Or grapes. Did you know some people put grapes in chicken salad?”
“I wasn’t aware.”
“Little sliced red grapes. Sometimes green ones. Every once in a while, a blue grape slips in.”
“I’ve never heard of a blue grape.”
“Really?” Genny arched her eyebrows. “They’re tiny and round and grow on bushes everywhere in Pennsylvania. Mrs. Tarringly used to make pies out of them all the time.”
“You mean a blueberry?”
Genny cackled. “No. I don’t think so.”
Cherie sighed and started for the kitchen.
“And you do use mayonnaise,” Genny said as a half question.
“Of course.”
“Not that vegan stuff, though. It makes my intestines buzz. Have you ever tried vegan mayonnaise? It tastes like the stuff that grows on the inside of my shoes. Not that I know what the inside of my shoes taste like, per se. I just imagine that would be the flavor. I imagine the flavor of a lot of things. Do you ever do that? Like magic dirt. I hear it grows in New Mexico right next to the lichen of intelligence. My guess: a mixture of crushed mushrooms and horses’ hooves. I hear if you eat the dirt and the lichen in the correct combination, you can almost get elected to the Senate, and nobody will think you’re a nutcase. Now, ….”
Cherie went into the kitchen to make the sandwich.
“… then, Bob’s screaming and this octopus is stuck to his face and Kelly … you remember Kelly? She’s the one who had her chin chewed off by the gecko. Who knew geckos could be so deadly? I guess I should have, seeing as how Godzilla destroyed half of Buenos Aires before he was killed by Julio Iglesias. Oh, Cherie. Be a dear. On white bread please. Anyway, Bob’s ….”
Back to the kitchen. Cherie unwrapped the white bread package. It made a crinkling noise. A few scrapes with a knife and chicken salad 2.0 was ready.
“… and … and ….” Genny wiped her face with her sleeve. Her body heaved with the sobs. “And, Forrest, he starts running because Jenny … hey, my name’s Jenny too … except with a G. I wonder if Country would run cross country if I died. He probably could. He’s so muscular and dreamy. How would he carry the giant picture of me, though?”
The room became silent for a moment as Genny stared into space. Cherie took advantage of the lull to hand Genny chicken salad 2, the sequel. Genny’s teeth sank all the way through.
“Ooo! Spectacular. Although, if it’s not a bother, it could use a pinch more salt and a smidgen more pepper.”
The revolver drawer slid open.
Genny took another bite. “Never mind,” Genny said. “It’ll do.”
The revolver drawer slid closed.
“Are you looking for something?” Genny asked.
“Nothing important,” Cherie said. “By the way, Genny, I’ve got to run to the studio. I left my script there, and I need it to run my lines.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“I was thinking that would be for the best. I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
“You’re probably right.” She set the plate down. “Just let me get my shoes on. Ung. Unnnggg. When did my feet get so fat? Never mind. I’m ready when you are.” Genny hopped off the couch and headed to the door.
Cherie looked at her. Then, back at the couch. Then, at her. “Don’t you want to take the sandwich?”
“Nah. I’m not really hungry. So, you want me to call a cab?”
Cherie rubbed her face. Hard. For a really long time. “Yeah. That would be great,” she finally said.
“What’s the matter, Cherie? You look like you’ve got a headache. Drank the water too quickly, huh? A quick spin on the carpet will do you wonders.”
“Let’s go,” Cherie said. “Before I do something I regret,” she added under her breath.
She led Genny downstairs and out the front door. Almost before Cherie could raise her hand, a taxi screeched to a halt beside the sidewalk.
“Where you two headed?” the cabbie asked.
“Harbinger Studios,” Cherie said. “And go fast. You’ll thank me later.”
To his eternal regret, the cabbie ignored the advice and took the long way to the studio to run up the meter. When he arrived, his body was shaking as though his soul was having a seizure.
“And if you ever see Elvis,” Genny continued, “tell him Genny says hi. He’ll give you a great deal on a used Chevrolet.”
Cherie popped open her wallet and slipped the cabbie a hundred. “Keep the change,” she said.
The door hadn’t even shut before the wheels squealed off down the street.
“Bye. Thank you,” Genny called off after him.
She turned back towards the studio entrance. Red and blue lights rotated around and around, reflecting off the walls and windows of the surrounding buildings. A handful of police officers stood guard at the studio entrance. One of them spoke into the transmitter on his shoulder.
“Send an ambulance right away,” Genny heard him say.
“I wonder what’s going on?” Genny asked.
Cherie motioned for Genny to follow. “We’ll take the side entrance.”
Genny didn’t listen but went up to the officer. “Is everything OK?” she asked.
“We got a man down inside. He’s in considerable distress.”
“Is he going to make it?”
“Doesn’t look that way.” The officer pressed down on his transmitter. “Get a move on the bus.”
Genny bit at her nails. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Not unless you’re a doctor.”
“I’m not a doctor, but I am a medical student.”
“That’ll have to do,” he said. “Come with me.”
He escorted Genny and Cherie to a golf cart by the entrance.
“Coming through,” he yelled at no one in particular.
The engine let out a high-pitched whine as the accelerator slammed to the floor. The officer’s hair fluttered behind his head. His cheeks flapped and shook. Genny dipped her chin and shielded her eyes from the blowing dust. Cherie held on to the rear posts as her body flew straight out behind the cart like a flag battered by a category one.
“Would you mind turning the wind machine off?” the officer yelled.
“My bad.”
The wind died down, and the cart tore off towards the offices. Scores of actors, gaffers, assistant directors, caterers, and Bill littered the lot. The officer – his name was Kerwin; Genny learned this as well as his mother’s recipe for elephant seal stew as they drove along – swerved in and out of the crowd, doing his best to avoid colliding with the rich and famous and the people they stepped on as they made their way to the top. A sharp left around Mr. Hanks. Back to the right, narrowly missing Mr. Pitt. Genny held the steering wheel tight and reached over to step on the accelerator when Cher came in her sights. The actress’ body did a triple cartwheel before landing unscathed at the feet of a statue of Jefferson Davis.
“That’s for leaving Sonny!” Genny yelled.
The officer wrestled the steering wheel away from Genny, who had the intention of circling back around for a follow up blow, and resumed the less than successful slalom through the various levels of Hollywood importance. Genny’s body bounced around the inside of the cart, slamming against the dashboard more than once as the little car zigged and zagged, nicked and nudged and rammed more than a dozen unsuspecting pedestrians, sputtered twice, and finally came to a halt on top of a curb by a sign that read, ‘Executive Offices.’
The wheels and her head continued spinning for a good long while. After regaining her bearings, she stepped out of the cart and removed her bra, which inexplicably found itself wrapped around her face, returning it to its rightful position. Being careful to avoid the fresh red ‘paint’ and what she could only hope was an artificial limb, she bent over for a closer look at the front grill.
“Are those dentures?” she said to herself. She stuffed them into her palm and did an impromptu puppet show.
“Would you stop fooling around?” the officer screamed. “We’ve got a dying man inside!”
“Right. Of course.”
Genny tossed the teeth into the bushes. A giant earthworm popped them into its mouth and smiled.
The hall leading to the offices was quiet but filled with the sound of anxious chatter. The closer they got to the sound, the more apprehensive Cherie became. A light streaming from an open door confirmed her suspicions.
“It’s Roger Ivel’s office,” she said.
They entered to find a handful of people hunched over a body. Feet stuck out from the huddle. One shoe was missing and exposed a soiled yet monogrammed sock. Occasionally, the legs twitched, but it was impossible to tell if the person on the ground was alive or simply moved in rhythm with the chest compressions given by a tall man in blue scrubs. Genny leaned with her back against the wall and moved up and down.
“What are you doing?” Cherie asked.
“Apparently, they’ve got it under control,” Genny said. “And I’ve got this itch right in … the ….”
She reached around as far as she could.
“… middle there. Aaaggh. Would you mind?” she asked, indicating she would like to borrow Cherie’s fingers for a brief rubdown. “Ahh. That feels good. Now, if you would go under the shirt and really dig in, I’d appreciate … where’re you going? Aaaggh.” The back returned to its makeshift scratching pole.
“Charge it,” the man in the blue scrubs said.
“It’s ready,” a woman answered and handed him the paddles.
Roger Ivel’s body jerked into the air and fell down with a thud. A pair of paddle burns discolored the sides of his head.
“Again,” came the order.
The defibrillator whined to life. Paddles reattached themselves to earlobes. A white streaked arced across the prone man’s nose. The odor of mutton filled Genny’s nostrils.
“It’s not working,” blue man said, testing Roger’s forehead for a pulse. “We’re gonna have to go back to compressions.”
Another woman dressed in white began pushing as hard as she could on Roger’s stomach. A noise like the wheeze of an untuned accordion gurgled from his throat. The body remained still, but the PA crackled to life.
“Cast and crew of Trauma Story, return to set. Cast and crew of Trauma Story, return to set.”
All the people, save one, stood up and headed out the door. Genny glanced at the woman, then, down at the body.
“He’s dead,” she said.
The woman removed her hand from her mouth. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m a medical student,” Genny replied. “And his lungs are over there.” She pointed at a pair of gray airbags coughing distance away from the body.
“Any idea what happened?” Cherie asked.
In response, Genny bent over for a closer look. Starting at the knees and working her way upwards, she examined every inch of the body. She grabbed Roger by the elbow, inhaled, held the breath for a moment, and released the air.
“Either he was watching a Three Stooges marathon,” she said and paused for effect. “Or he was murdered.”
The woman let out a semi-stifled shriek. Genny slipped Roger’s hand behind her back and scratched the fingers up and down her spine.
“Ahh,” she said.
Cherie ripped the arm away from her and slapped her across the face with the hand. “What’s the matter with you, Genny? Show some respect for the dead!” She handed the arm back to Genny.
The woman’s face turned from fear to confusion. “Ge … Genny,” she said. “With a G?”
“Yes,” Genny said. “I’m Genny with a G.” She looked up. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“No … no, it’s just ….”
“Spit it out woman,” Genny said, raising Roger’s arm in a threatening manner, “or I swear I’ll ….”
“Respect, Genny,” Cherie said. “Respect.”
Genny dropped the arm.
“I was the person who called the police,” the woman said. “I was cleaning the offices like I do every night. As I did, I heard a commotion coming from in here. I snuck down the hall to peek inside and saw two people huddled over Mr. Ivel. I ducked behind my cleaning cart so they couldn’t see me but so I could see them.”
Genny stood up. “Do you know who they were?” she asked.
The woman shook her head. “I’ve never seen them before. But one of them wore a uniform. The other was a chocolate-shaded young man with the figure of a Michelangelo carving.”
“Country,” Genny muttered barely loud enough for Cherie to hear. “What were they doing?” she said out loud.
“They were discussing. Maybe arguing. I couldn’t tell which. The brown Adonis had a piece of paper in his hand. He stuffed it in his shirt pocket, but it fell out when the two ran out of here. I picked it up to see what it said.”
“What did it say?” Genny asked.
The woman responded by handing Genny the note. Cherie came over and peered through Genny’s elbow so she could read along.
“I assume you will find this before anyone else,” Genny read out loud. “If you ever want to see Genny alive again, come find me.” Genny paused. Worry lines etched themselves into her brows.
Cherie took the note from Genny. “It looks like a ransom note. Whoever killed Roger knew those two would be the first to find the body. He also knew you, Genny, and wrote the note to pretend that he had taken you hostage. It’s clearly a trap.”
“Did he?” Genny asked.
“Did he what?” Cherie said.
“Capture me as well?”
“Uh … no.”
“How do you know?”
Cherie rolled her eyes. “You’re just going to have to take my word for it,” she said.
“What are we going to do?” Genny asked. She danced around the room, either out of nervousness or because she really had to pee.
“A little of both,” she thought.
“We should give the note to the police and let them handle it,” Cherie said.
At that moment, two groups of officers came running down opposite sides of the hall. They met in the entranceway with a loud clang. A dozen men in uniform lay unconscious outside the door.
“Never mind,” Cherie said. “It looks like you’ve got to go warn them yourself.”
“How can I?” Genny asked. “I don’t even know where they are.”
“The killer/note writer left a clue at the bottom. See. Right here.”
Genny followed Cherie’s finger. “You will not find me when I say colder,” she read. “When I say warmer, you are getting close. When I say hot, you have found me.” She furrowed her brows. “What does that mean?”
“I think I have an idea,” Cherie said. “Maybe not an exact location but a general idea, at least. You shouldn’t have too much trouble finding it.”
“Aren’t you going with me?” Genny asked.
“Someone should stay here in case the officers wake up. Besides, I just got my nails done.”
“I understand,” Genny said. “By the way, where am I going?”
“To the warehouse district on the northeast side of town. Do you know where that is?”
Genny nodded. “I think so.”
“Good. Then, go. Don’t stop for any reason. And Genny ….” Cherie grabbed her arm and looked her in the eyes. “Be safe.”