Director's Cut (33 page)

“That he did. You may choose to apologize to him, anytime you wish. I'll leave that up to you.” I hung up. “Floyd, if Detective Scott isn't there in the next ten minutes, call me back. Also, I want you to share everything you've found with Tess. Is she in the building?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Oh, and Floyd. You're the best. The absolute best.”

“Um, thanks. Just doing my job.”

Nat said, “Hey, Floyd, if you ever get tired of hanging around city hall, I'll give you a job.”

“Knock it off, Nat,” I said before Floyd could speak. “He's mine. You try and steal him again, and I'll tell everyone you dye your hair.”

“I don't dye my hair.”

I smiled. “They won't know that.” I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, Nat. You and Floyd may have saved lives.”

Chapter 31

I
spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening meeting with Nat. We discussed the campaign and just about everything else. It was the everything else that got to me. An hour after I arrived, and a second can of soda later I let slip that Judson West had been offered a position in Denver.

“That doesn't surprise me,” Nat said. We were seated around her dining room table, nibbling crackers.

“It certainly surprised me,” I admitted.

“Of course it did.”

I eyed her. “What does that mean?”

“You don't want to ask that.”

“I just did,” I insisted.

She raised her soda. “We've talked about your personal life a few times, haven't we?”

“Yes.”

“You know that West is still in love with you, and if not in love, then infatuated.”

“I know that he still has interest, but I've done nothing to encourage it. Jerry and I are officially seeing each other.”

Nat chortled. “I didn't know that could be done officially.” She paused, then looked me straight in the eye. “Sometimes you amaze me, Maddy. There you sit, smart, beautiful, driven, living life with purpose and intensity, yet you can be as dumb as a brick.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I just watched you assimilate a ton of information about spy cameras, broadcast distances and more, then ring up a police detective, read him the riot act, and then shift gears into discussions of the campaign, but for the life of you, you can't see what you're doing to those two men.”

“What I'm doing to
them
? Exactly what am I
doing
to them?”

“Stringing them along. You're going out with Jerry, giving him hope for a future with you, but you won't move out of the present. West is still in your orbit, hoping Jerry will tire of waiting. It sounds like he's the one giving up on waiting.”

“You think he's considering taking the Denver job to get my attention, is that it?”

“No, I think that he's considering it so he can get away from you.”

I blinked. “That's a little harsh.”

“No, you're being a little sensitive. Your love life is your business, but right now you have two men who desire you and you're willing to let them hang out there until you make up your mind.”

“I didn't know relationship counseling was part of a campaign manager's job.” I was being defensive. Her words pinched a nerve.

“Hey, I told you that you didn't want to go down this path.”

She had warned me. “All right, what do you suggest?”

“Get off the dime, lady. Make a decision and stop stringing these poor guys along.”

“Some decisions shouldn't be rushed.” I leaned back and crossed my arms. More defensiveness.

“Rushed?” She laughed. “At this rate, Maddy, you'll be in a convalescent home gumming applesauce before you get around to choosing Jerry. And you know what? Jerry will be at the home with you, showering you with admiration and love.”

“How do you know that Jerry is the right one for me?”

“Oh, come on, Maddy, the man's heart pumps gold for you. He'd eat glass if it would make you happy. Let me ask you something: can you picture yourself married to Judson West?”

There were moments when I had tried, but it never felt right. “No.”

“Good, a straight answer. What about Jerry? Can you see yourself married to him?”

I had imagined that many times as well, often against my will. “Yes, I can.”

“So you don't want West to leave because you need a safety net. Let him go, Maddy.”

That hurt. “I don't view him as a safety net.”

“So what then? You're angry he didn't tell you about Denver because you fear the loss of a good cop?”

“Now you're being unfair.”

Nat raised the can of Diet Coke to her lips and said nothing. Her eyes, however, said enough.

She set the drink down. “Has Jerry been supportive of your run for congress?”

“Very supportive.”

“Don't you realize how special that is? If you win the seat, you're going to be spending a lot of time in D.C. He's willing to let you go so that you can be happy; so that you can fulfill your dream—your heart's desire. Listen, Maddy, there aren't many men like that.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Isn't it?”

“No, it's not,” I snapped. I cooled my tone. “No, it isn't. He doesn't share my faith. I've become a believer and he's not.”

“Uh-huh. He's hostile to Christianity?”

“No, I didn't say that.”

“What does he believe?” Nat's words had taken on an edge.

“I know he has doubts and questions.”

“Don't you?”

There was a time when I could have dropped a couple of quick lies and moved on, but not now, not here, not with Nat who saw deeper into my being than anyone else. I was still so new in the faith, less than a year and a half, and every day I learned how ignorant I was. “I admit I don't have all the answers.”

“So having questions doesn't disqualify you as a believer.”

“No.”

The cracker nibbling had stopped and the soul rending had begun. “Maddy, I have seen you change. This faith of yours has altered you. When we first met, I thought, ‘Now here is a woman I can respect: sharp, strong, edgy.' Then you gave your life to Christ or whatever you call it and I thought, ‘Well, there goes the edge; there goes all those qualities that make her wonderful.' I was wrong. Some things in your life have softened, but only those things that needed it. I've watched you over the months, as a friend, as your campaign manager, and I have seen intriguing things. You are better for having faith.”

Tears were edging up to my eyelids. I felt as if all my internal organs were made of wax and were melting and draining into my feet.

“Did you come to your spiritual decision all by yourself?”

I shook my head. “I read some passages from the Bible they found with my husband after he was killed. Paul Shedd had given it to him. I went to Paul with questions. He led me to Christ.”

“I'm certainly no expert,” Nat said, “but isn't that what Christians do? Don't they share what they found?”

I dragged a dry finger beneath my eyes and pulled it away wet. “Yes.”

“Talk to Jerry, Maddy. I think you may find he's more open than you think. He's never ridiculed your faith, has he?”

“No, never.”

“Talk to him. Share what you know.”

“I don't know where to begin.”

She smiled. “Begin with the heart. That's where you two communicate the best. Always start with the heart.”

I looked down at the table. Everything Nat had said was right. I didn't like it. I wasn't enjoying the conversation, and a huge part of me wished I had gone back to the office. Just the other day I had tried to express my faith to Catherine, but I felt I had failed. Maybe I was too vague, too inexperienced. Maybe I gave up too soon.

The conversation was forcing a sharper focus. I did love Jerry. West was attractive and I was drawn to him, but I was connected to Jerry. We had been through so much, and he was always there, always supportive, and always patient. Patience was a requirement for those who hung around me.

“You're right. Thank you for being so honest. I just wish I knew how to begin.” I raised my eyes from the table and saw something I had never seen before: tears brimming in Nat's eyes.

“You can start with me,” she whispered.

Chapter 32

I
left Nat's emotionally drained. At least I was drained for a more joyful reason. I did my best to explain a person's need for Christ and for the forgiveness of sins. I was clumsy but I persisted, explaining what I knew, what I had learned from the Bible, and most of all, how it changed me. I confessed that I was not the ideal Christian, that I was a person in the act of becoming, and that becoming would take a lifetime. With Catherine I spoke in generalities but with Nat I just opened my heart like it was a steamer trunk and let her peek inside. When I was done, she asked questions. Some I had answers for, others I promised to get answers to. I made no pretense at being an expert, made no claims of being a theologian. I presented myself as I was, a new Christian who knew she had been changed and who knew that there were more changes on the way.

When all the talking was done, I waited for flashes of lightning, a heavenly beam to shine down from the sky, pierce the house, and fall upon Nat. It didn't.

“I need to think,” Nat said, but there was something different in her tone and in the glow of her eyes. I understood. We were carved from the same granite slab. I wouldn't press because I hated being pressed. It was taking time to learn, but I was realizing that sometimes the best thing to do is get out of God's way. I did as I was led. The rest was out of my hands.

At the front door we hugged, and I walked to the car. Before starting the engine, I made two calls: One to Neena Lasko at the Curtain Call dinner theater and one to Jerry. In each phone call, I asked for a favor.

Neena had to do some rearranging, but she made it happen. Jerry and I would have the same balcony room we had last night. This time, however, it would be just the two of us. Although the room was designed to hold four or more, we would be alone. I offered to pay for the tickets that would normally have been purchased for the other table, but she declined and I let her.

Traffic back to the theater was lighter than I expected so I arrived early. I visited with Neena for a moment, checked in on Catherine, telling her in old theater tradition to “break a leg,” then went to the balcony room. I took the BODY COUNT screenplay that I had been carting around all afternoon with me. Jerry wouldn't arrive for an hour, giving me time to glance through the script.

One of the servers, dressed in street clothes, brought me a cup of coffee compliments of Neena. I imagined he would don his tux when the theater opened for dinner. I slipped my feet out of the pumps I had been wearing all day, granting a short furlough to my toes. I set the screenplay in front of me.

BODY COUNT
An Original Screenplay by
Andy Buchanan

Unlike the other scripts I had seen this week, this one had no revision dates in the bottom right corner. It had never reached the stage where revisions were required. I started reading. Screenplays are different than books. Each page has more white space than text, so the reading was fast.

I had turned the last page when Jerry walked through the door. His hair was slightly mussed, his shirt a little wrinkled, and his face drawn with weariness. Boy, he looked good. I rose, kissed him, and wrapped my arms around him. He seemed stunned and stood motionless. Then I felt the tension pour from his body, and he slipped his arms around me.

“This day just got better,” he said and rested his chin on the top of my head. “This is good medicine.”

“You can say that again.” With reluctance, I let go and moved back to the table. “I wasn't expecting you for another half hour.”

“My last two appointments canceled. Apparently, kids can get well all on their own. The nerve of the little curtain crawlers. Don't they know I'm trying to make a living?”

“It's a pain when health gets in the way of a good business plan.” We both laughed, and his laughter sounded better than any music I've ever heard. It isn't falling in love that is so liberating; it's realizing you've fallen in love.

“What's this?” He pointed at the script.

“It's a screenplay written by the young man killed at Catherine's.”

“The second murder.”

“That's right. Ed Lowe, the chauffeur, was first, then Andy Buchanan.”

“What are you doing with a dead man's script?”

I told him that elements of the murder appeared in two scripts. “In Catherine's first movie, a scene was cut that showed a man loading Glaser blue-tip rounds into a .38 revolver. In the script for her next movie, a stalker kills people associated with a famous model.”

“Okay, I can see the connections,” Jerry said. “Is this script connected to the murders too?”

“Yes. It's not very subtle. The male protagonist is a rogue movie security guard who falls in love with a leading lady. Want to guess their names?”

“Not Andy and Catherine?”

“You got it. In one scene, a remote listening device is used to eavesdrop on people inside of a house. It's one of those that supposedly picks up the vibration from windows. Everything is recorded, nothing is left behind. Lots of fighting and gunfire. The Catherine character becomes a female Rambo. Can you imagine Catherine running around with a machine gun? No wonder this hasn't been produced.”

“Worse movies have been produced,” Jerry said.

“Maybe that's what kept Andy going.”

“Didn't Catherine see the words ‘Body Count' in the added pages?” Jerry asked. “Wouldn't she make the connection?”

“If she did, she didn't say anything. I plan to ask her.”

“What are you thinking?”