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Nothing he was saying allayed her suspicions, and she hadn’t been a good girl for years. “Three days? What happened—did the original actress get killed or something?”
“Worse. Pregnant.” Jerry reached under the contract to pull out about a hundred pages held together with brass fasteners. “You’ll like the script. Bennie’s usual mixture of farce and heart. You’ll play the teenage daughter of an American businessman living in West Berlin who falls in love with a Communist from East Berlin.”
He laid the script in front of her. The cover read Neither Here Nor There. Written by Benjamin Wexler & I. S. Kopelson. Universal Pictures.
Pagan stared at the familiar logo, not blinking. This was actually happening. It made no sense. But it was real.
Jerry coughed, and she realized a long silence had elapsed. She pursed her lips in cool consideration, even though her blood was beating hard through her veins. “So, you’re saying that after the movie is over, I won’t have to come back to Lighthouse?”
Jerry’s chest rattled with another cough. “After the shoot you’ll have to report weekly to a parole officer until you turn eighteen. But you’ll be free.”
Pagan erupted out of her chair with such force that Jerry flinched back and Devin Black straightened from where he was slouching against the wall. She paced to the door and back and halted, then grabbed on to her chair. She didn’t like that she needed something to steady herself, but after so long in confinement, after worrying about Mercedes, and thinking they were going to put her in a real prison, the prospect of imminent freedom was the most terrifying thing of all.
The last time she’d truly been a part of the real world had been the worst time of her life. It made solitary seem like a cozy nest.
“Judge Tennison called me a menace to society in front of every reporter in town.” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat. “He said Hollywood was a festering pit of sin, and he cast me as lead sinner. Why would he give a damn what the studio wants and let me out?”
Jerry shrugged, casting another sideways look at Devin. “Everyone has a price, even a judge. Or maybe he saw the light. We’ll never know for sure.”
“Beyond that,” she went on, “the whole world knows I’m a disgrace. Tabloids make up lurid stories of my exploits behind bars. Why would a studio risk giving a decent role in an award-winning director’s next big movie to me?”
Jerry shook his head. “A young lady accepts that the men in her life know what’s best for her. I’m the closest thing you have to a father—”
He didn’t get to finish because Devin Black cut in, his voice casual. “Haven’t you heard? Bad publicity sells even more movie tickets than good publicity. People are curious. With you in the movie, it’s a guaranteed blockbuster.”
He wasn’t wrong, but she knew better than to trust him. Pagan gave him a cold smile. “And why is it, I ask myself, that Jerry Allenberg is taking orders from a kid in a Savile Row suit who’s young enough to be in college, maybe even high school? I’m sorry, Mister Black. But I’m not signing anything until my lawyer looks it over.”
Devin Black’s eyes danced over her in a way that made her conscious of the uneven neckline of her uniform, of her sagging stockings and scuffed sneakers. “I hear you’re in solitary confinement for two weeks because you and your roommate nearly escaped.”
At the mention of Mercedes all her assumed coolness fell away. “Do you know how she is?” Her voice shook. “Did she make it?”
“Make it?” Devin asked, his voice sharpening into a crisp, almost-British tone. “You mean they didn’t tell you?” He shot a blazing look at the door, behind which, no doubt, Miss Edwards still waited, then placed a warm hand on Pagan’s upper arm. “Miss Duran is doing well and is out of the hospital. They brought her back to the infirmary here this morning.”
Relief washed over Pagan, so acute, so powerful that she had to blindly find the chair and sit again. “Thank God, thank God,” she said under her breath. It wasn’t really a prayer. Or maybe it was.
“There’s no need to worry about your roommate any longer,” Devin said, stepping closer to her. Was he trying to reassure her some more? Or was he moving in for the kill? The contradictory signals were dizzying. “So, if you take this job, not only will you get out of here forever, but we’ll make sure your friend gets the best of care, spends no time in solitary, and no extra time will be added to her sentence. You can give this to her.” He picked up Jerry’s gold cigarette case and handed it over. Jerry didn’t protest, and it sat heavy in her hand. “If you say no, you’ll go back to solitary and what happens to Miss Duran is anyone’s guess.”
Pagan regarded him steadily. He wanted her dizzy—to keep her off balance, and to get what he wanted. She took his long-fingered hand and pressed the cigarette holder back into his palm. “In that case, my answer is definitely no.”
Devin looked down at the shiny metal, lips curling ruefully. “Definitely no?”
Pagan nodded. “Definitely.” It hurt to refuse. But if he was trying to extort her into cooperating, the whole situation had to be too good to be true. She had a funny feeling she’d be safer getting beaten by Miss Edwards here at Lighthouse. She’d learned that if you gave in to a threat, all you’d done was ensure more threats down the road.
Devin’s eyes were thoughtful. “You’re not the only one to ever make a mistake, you know.”
She studied him. Where was this going? More misdirection? “Believe me, I know,” she said. “I live with a hundred and fifteen mistake-prone teenage girls.”
Devin went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Make a big enough mistake early in life and it can destroy everything,” His words were like Susan Mahoney’s stiletto, slicing into her, conjuring up her own countless errors.
But he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were staring off at some faraway place, somewhere raw, somewhere that made him ache. “Ruin enough lives and you’ll ruin yours.”
It sounded personal. What lives had Devin Black ruined? Or was this another cunning attempt to pull her in?
“But if you’re very lucky, sometimes, someone offers you a second chance.” He turned back to her, smiling. “And if you’re smart enough to take that chance, it’s just possible that the thing you long for most, that thing you crave more than anything, will happen.”
Pagan sat very still, not wanting to give away how his words affected her. She couldn’t put a name to it, but he’d touched a place inside her she hadn’t known was there. “Tell me, Mister Black,” she said. “What do I crave more than anything?”
“Redemption.” His voice pulsed with a passion that echoed in her mind. “This is your chance.”
Redemption. That was so far from possible that it hadn’t even occurred to her. She searched the riotous mess in her brain, the thousand conflicting feelings and thoughts that only alcohol had ever silenced.
In A.A. they called it recovery. That was a much more manageable word. Redemption, with its vaguely religious overtones, promised a slate wiped clean, a complete deliverance that was too much to hope for. She couldn’t hang on to that, because it would never, could never happen, no matter what strange hunger for it the complicated Devin Black seemed to have.
“Sounds more like a chance to be bullied and blackmailed.” She shook her head with finality. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“I see.” Devin swallowed hard. Was that regret in his eyes?
But then he swiveled with sudden grace, scooped up the contract and script on the desk, and dumped them into a sleek briefcase. “Let’s go, Jerry.”
Puzzlement crossed Jerry’s face as Devin snapped the briefcase closed. “But you said—”
“Pagan Jones can’t take a chance,” Devin interrupted, sliding the briefcase off the desk. “After all she’s been through, I understand.” He glanced at Pagan, who was glaring at him. “Wasn’t your mother born in Berlin?”
Her scowl became uncertain. “What? Yes. After my grandfather died, my grandmother moved to California with Mom when she was around two.”
“Berlin’s a strange place these days,” Devin said. “Divided between Communist and capitalist, with thousands of East Germans fleeing across the border to the West every day. The rumors are that the East Germans won’t wait much longer to do something drastic. I thought you might want to see where your mother was born while you’re shooting the movie, find your grandparents’ former home, before everything changes. By the time you get out of this place, it may be too late.”
The knuckles of Pagan’s hands, gripping each other, were white. “You think something big’s going to happen over there?”
Jerry drummed the desk with his fingers. “In June, the leader of East Germany said he has no intention of building a wall.”
Devin gave him a knowing look. “Walter Ulbricht studied politics under Joseph Stalin. Trustworthy he is not. Every other part of East Germany is cut off from the West. And the East Germans have just completed construction of a rail line that completely circumvents Berlin. How long can they continue to allow their best-educated citizens to flee?”
Pagan was only half listening as Jerry asked another question. Whether by accident or design, Devin Black had touched on the only real mystery left in her life. She knew all too well why Daddy and Ava were dead. But when Mama took her own life, she hadn’t left a note. She’d never mentioned suicide and had shown no signs of depression. Up to the end she’d been the same: cheerfully in charge; planning the next move in Pagan’s career; pushing Ava to practice her piano three hours a day; organizing the next fund-raiser for the German-American Heritage League.
So every day since she’d died, Pagan still asked the question: Why? Why had Mama abandoned them? Every day the wound reopened, fresh and painful as the moment it had happened.
After Mama was gone, movies and photo shoots had kept Pagan busy. She had even fallen in love. But only alcohol had closed up the wound. For a little while, at least.
Psychiatrists had told her that her mother’s suicide wasn’t her fault. They said it had nothing to do with her. But how could they know that for sure? They hadn’t spent long hours on a movie set watching Mama, a frustrated actress, act out Pagan’s dialogue for her when she messed up a line. They hadn’t heard Eva and Arthur Jones arguing late into the night about how Pagan’s latest bump in salary might not cover that month’s bills. Everything—the big house in the hills, Ava’s private school, Mama’s designer clothes, Daddy’s cars—they all would continue to exist only so long as Pagan was perfect.
Pagan knew all too well that she was nothing but a collection of flaws, a rich stew of defects, a ratatouille of failings and weakness. And in lieu of another explanation, she couldn’t help thinking that maybe that’s why it had all come crashing down and Mama had died.
Maybe.
Maybe not. The shrinks didn’t understand how the uncertainty about why Mama had wanted to die gnawed at Pagan. If Pagan could find the answer to that question, she might truly come to understand that this one thing, at least, was not her fault.
Maybe that answer lay in the place Mama was born. Berlin.
Now here was a chance, not just to get out of this horrible place, to be free, but to explore an unknown corner of Eva Jones’s life. A chance that would not come again.
“I’ll do it.” The words split open something that had long been closed inside her. She stayed very still, hoping she wouldn’t cry.
The two men, in mid conversation, stopped speaking. Devin Black’s long-lashed eyes held a knowing look that should have bothered her, but didn’t.
He’d succeeded in manipulating her this time. But it didn’t matter, not in the long run. What was important was that soon she’d be able to hunt down the answers she needed, whether they were in Berlin or somewhere else.
“I said, I’ll do it.” She gave them her best I’m practicing patience look.
With a flourish, Devin put the briefcase on the desk and unsnapped the clasps.
Jerry took out the contract and laid it in front of Pagan. “Are you sure?”
Devin Black shot him a suppressing look. “An excellent choice, Miss Jones. One I’m sure you won’t regret.”
She took hold of Miss Edwards’s best fountain pen. “Worry about your own regrets, Mister Black. How soon do I get to see Mercedes?”
Devin peeled back the top pages of the contract to show her the signature line. “Why not immediately? Then we’ll send a car for you at four o’clock this afternoon. You’ll spend the night in your own home. Tomorrow you’ll fly to Berlin.”
“Very well.” Her mother had often used that phrase, and Pagan enjoyed the way it sounded coming from her own lips. She ran her eyes over the last page of the contract. It looked like standard language, except for a clause about her being on parole and having a court-appointed guardian with all the power of a parent on hand during the film shoot and thereafter at the court’s discretion.
“My father’s lawyer is going to be at the film shoot?” she asked. At their confused looks, she added, “He’s my court-appointed guardian, and it says here—”
“A new guardian will be appointed,” Devin said.
She looked back and forth between them. “Who?”
“You’ll be the first—or the second—to know,” Jerry said.
Which probably meant it would be someone the studio approved of, to keep an eye on their investment. That chafed, but given her history it was hard to blame them. She leaned down and signed her name. Devin Black’s eyes followed her hand, watching as the jagged lines of her signature formed.
“Never thought anyone would ask me to sign a contract again,” she said. “The world is a very strange place.”
“You have no idea.” Jerry stuffed the contract into the briefcase. “Go pack your things.”
She went to the door and turned. “What if I’d put on weight?” she asked. “Or sprouted a million pimples? Or cut off all my hair?”
Jerry darted a glance at Devin Black. “Enquiries were made.”
She nodded. Of course. “I imagine Miss Edwards is very bribable.”
“You’ll learn that anyone can be made to do just about anything,” Jerry said, grabbing his hat with an angry swipe.
“You’re walking back into a different world than the one you left nine months ago.” Devin Black slid himself between her and the door so that he could open it for her, as if they were coming to the end of a formal date rather than an exercise in blackmail. “Have you kept up on the news? There’s a new president, a new attitude, and new fears.”
Pagan took a few steps into the hallway, her heart lifting. She’d be leaving this place today. It was really happening.
A shiver overtook her and she wrapped her arms around herself to make it stop. She couldn’t tell if she was thrilled or terrified.
Miss Edwards waited just down the hall, bony arms crossed. Pagan ignored her and tilted her head up at Devin Black. “I keep up on the news that matters, Mister Black, thanks to Ed Sullivan reruns and old copies of Photoplay. Elizabeth Taylor’s going to be Cleopatra, the new Dior suit dresses are divine, and everyone’s twisting again with Chubby Checker.” She flashed him a genuine smile. Warmth was spreading through her, a feeling perilously close to happiness. “Is every hit song getting a sequel now?”
Devin Black loosed the first spontaneous grin she’d seen from him. “Why not? I can’t wait to hear ‘Cathy’s Clown Gets a Job under the Big Top.’”
Caught by surprise, Pagan laughed. Devin’s smile widened, lighting up his face and the whole dreary hallway, a thousand times more genuine and charming than his earlier studied elegance.
“How about ‘Fallen Teen Angel’?” Pagan said. “That could be my theme song.”
Devin loosed a hoot of laughter, nodding at her knowingly, as if to say touché.
“I think,” Miss Edwards’s icy voice cut in, “I’d better get you back to solitary, young lady.”
“That won’t be necessary, Miss Edwards.” Devin’s grin soured into something formidable as he turned to her. The playful boy vanished behind the man’s sharp gaze. “Miss Jones will be going to the infirmary immediately to see Miss Duran, where they will be allowed to converse in private for at least an hour.”
The color drained from Miss Edwards’s face. “Oh, I… Is Mercedes back? I hadn’t heard.”
“You know very well she’s been here since last night,” Devin said. “It’s a shame you didn’t bother to inform her worried roommate. I’m sure the judge will find that detail of my visit quite illuminating.”
Miss Edwards’s countenance became positively chalky. “No need for that, Mister Black, I’m sure. I’ve been and will be happy to abide by the judge’s orders, of course. But I’m a busy woman. I can’t be expected to—”
“When Miss Duran is released from the infirmary,” Devin said, in tones that brooked no further discussion, “she is to be allowed all of her normal privileges. Her attackers are being removed to a more appropriate facility as we speak. If we hear of any further injury to or issue with Miss Duran, we will take further action.” He paused. “Action you may not appreciate.”
How could a mere studio executive know these things and wield such power? Still, it did Pagan’s heart good to see fright fill Miss Edwards’s perfectly lined eyes, to watch the lips in their expensive red lipstick press themselves together as if pushing back a desire to plead or to protest. “I understand,” the matron said.
Devin’s smile was chilly. “Meanwhile, Miss Jones will leave this facility for good at four o’clock this afternoon. See to it her things are ready when the car arrives.”
Miss Edwards opened her mouth, but Devin Black simply stared at her, and the woman shut her lips again. It was like magic.
He turned to Pagan and took her hand again to shake it. “The studio will make all the arrangements. Welcome back, Miss Jones.”
She pressed his strong fingers with her own firmly. “Thank you.” She slid her eyes to Miss Edwards. “For everything.”
He held her hand for a long moment. Her heart was hammering, but that didn’t mean anything. She was just out of practice when it came to boys. Well, she’d mend that soon enough. Carefully, maintaining composure, she removed her hand and walked out of the office, into the hallway.
“Wish me luck, Jerry,” Pagan said over her shoulder. “I’ll do the same for you.”
“Good luck, Pagan,” Jerry said, adding under his breath, “We’re both going to need it.”
The hallway. As she moved down it after the erect form of the headmistress, Pagan slowed, remembering how the strange acoustics of the bent corridor sent sounds bouncing from one end to the other. If she hovered in the sweet spot for a moment, she might catch some of Jerry and Devin’s private conversation.
They were speaking now, but she couldn’t distinguish the words over her own footsteps and Miss Edwards’s. Miss Edwards, at least, was in front, her back to Pagan, and pulling away rapidly. Pagan slackened her pace and softened her footfalls.
“You’re not as cool a customer as I thought, Jerry.” That was Devin. He sounded different. More clipped, or something. It was hard to tell from the hallway echo. “Next time, don’t smoke so much.”
“Next time?” Jerry’s voice got louder with alarm. “Why should there be a next time?”
Devin’s voice moved farther away. He must be heading toward the stairs that led down to the first floor. “You never know.”
“Keep up!” Miss Edwards’s command cut through her thoughts. Pagan began walking again, straining to hear more.
Jerry was saying, peeved, “One drink and she could sink the whole thing. And that girl has a lot of reasons to drink.”
Pagan was nearing the next bend in the hallway, after which she wouldn’t be able to hear any more. Miss Edwards had already turned the corner, so Pagan dropped to one knee and slowly tied her sneaker laces.
“Go home, Jerry.” Devin Black’s footsteps trotted lightly down the stairs, nearly out of range. “We got what we wanted.”
His steps faded into nothing. A moment of silence.
“Who,” Jerry asked of the empty echoes, “is we?”
Mercedes was asleep when Pagan got to the infirmary, so she sat down quietly next to the bed and stared at the wad of bandages wrapped around her friend’s shoulder.
That was where Susan Mahoney’s stiletto had slid into Mercedes. It had made a sickeningly slick noise as she’d yanked out the thin, shiny blade. Blood had dripped from the knife’s tip as Susan had poised it over Mercedes’s throat.
Stop thinking about that, stop! The important thing was that Susan hadn’t succeeded in finishing off Mercedes. She was going to be okay.
Pagan focused on her friend’s relaxed left hand, studying the smooth brown skin and clear nails. They were cut short, but not too short. Pagan had begun to keep hers the same length after Mercedes had explained that you needed enough nail to effectively rake your enemy’s face or neck to draw blood. But let the nails grow too long, and they’d bend back or snap during a fight, which not only hurt but might distract you at a crucial moment.
Not exactly something Pagan’s manicurist had chatted about, back in the day. Life in Lighthouse had been horrible, but it had taught her a few things Hollywood couldn’t. Not just how to put your body weight into a punch or how to choke down canned meat for dinner, but things like how to know when someone meant you harm, and how stay in the moment. Mercedes had impressed upon her that if you let too many thoughts of the past or fears of the future cloud your thoughts, you might not survive the present.
All those lessons might come in handy if she was going back into the real world.
If she was going to stay sober.
Mercedes’s eyelids fluttered and snapped open. Like Pagan, she slept lightly and woke all at once. It was one of the many things they’d been surprised to find they had in common.
“Hey,” said Pagan. She wanted to squeeze Mercedes’s hand, but she refrained. M didn’t care for sentimental words or physical demonstrations of affection. “You’re doing great.”
The brown eyes studied her, crinkling a little at the corners. “Thanks,” Mercedes said. Her normally smooth, deep voice was scratchy but calm. “For saving my life.”
Oh, right. Pagan had so thoroughly avoided thinking about how Susan Mahoney had almost succeeded in stabbing Mercedes a second time, how the big redhead had aimed for the throat, that she had also blanked out how she herself had stopped it. Her vision had narrowed down to the freckled hand holding that stiletto, and a strange conviction had taken over.
Not this time.
Somehow, despite her own injuries, Pagan had fought her way to her feet and propelled herself into Susan, tearing her off Mercedes before Pagan had blacked out.
“Thanks for not dying,” Pagan said, her voice hoarse but steady.
Mercedes let out the barest breath of a laugh. “Anytime.” Her gaze traveled over Pagan and the room they were in, empty except for the bed and some medical equipment. “It’s not like the witch to lock us in here together.”
“We’re not locked in,” Pagan said. “We’re free. Well, free of solitary anyway.” As Mercedes listened, frowning, Pagan told her all that had happened that morning, stumbling a little as she tried to convey the bizarre dynamic between Devin Black and Jerry Allenberg.
“I’m hoping I can call you from Berlin,” she said. “So if Miss Edwards tries to retaliate against you at all, you let me know.”
“I’ll be fine.” Mercedes was dismissive. “It’s your situation that’s radioactive, so you better call me.”
“It’s just a movie shoot,” Pagan said, sounding as casual as she could. “It’s not life and death.”
Mercedes slanted her eyes at Pagan in her best who are you kidding look. “First thing, you go to one of those meetings.”