What You See in the Dark (14 page)

It was that easy. When she turned back into the storeroom, it was still empty, Candy nowhere in sight. Teresa was surprised at how calm she was, how she could mask herself in the same way Candy had when Mr. Carson had come searching for her earlier in the morning. She made herself look busy, as if all she’d done was sharpen her pencil and gather more index cards. By the time she ascended the ladder again, Teresa had only the vision of the clock in her head, the small amount of time left before lunch and Dan’s soothing presence.

“Teresa,” she heard Candy call out. “There’s someone here to see you.”

She stood on the ladder, waiting for Candy to round the aisle and find her directly, but Candy wasn’t budging. Her voice came from the front of the storeroom, edged with jealousy.

“Teresa?”

“Coming,” she replied. She shuffled down the ladder and walked toward the beige curtain, where Candy stood waiting.

“You should probably tell him,” Candy whispered, “that Mr. Carson would prefer visitors to wait outside.”

Teresa pulled aside the curtain, and there he stood with his
hat respectfully in his hands, Dan Watson in a pair of dark jeans and a plaid shirt he must have just purchased, the creases still evident where it had been folded. She could not hide the smile on her face, the previous evening’s dreaming and the morning’s long walk now wiped away, Dan Watson just as handsome as she remembered him from yesterday, his brown hair wet and freshly combed. The hat, she realized, was a measure of respect—he hadn’t actually worn it, judging by his hair—and when she recognized the gesture, she found herself catching her breath.

But Mr. Carson looked over to her and held her gaze long enough to bring her back to her senses. He stared at her as if she should have known better, though there were no customers in the store.

“Are you ready for lunch?” Dan asked.

“Yes, but at noon sharp,” she answered, almost swallowing her words. “Mr. Carson?” She approached the sales counter, putting her hand on it when Mr. Carson did not look up from his work. “Mr. Carson, this is Dan Watson.”

“He’s introduced himself,” Mr. Carson answered, not looking up. “I knew his father.”

“Yes, sir,” Dan said, a little uncertainly.

“You can go at noon on the dot,” Mr. Carson said, not looking up. He finally raised his head and, without a trace of hesitation, said to Dan, “I don’t like my employees to be picked up at the front door, especially in front of customers. There’s a door in the alleyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She gets an hour lunch and cannot be late.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dan. He backed away toward the door, Mr. Carson’s fingers back on his ledger, and Teresa watched him exit.

She was about to turn to the storeroom when Mr. Carson spoke.

“Never again,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said, and pulled aside the curtain. Her meekness gripped itself into a flush of anger at Mr. Carson’s behavior, the embarrassment at being ordered to be picked up from the back alley when she’d seen Candy leave from the front many times at the end of the day, her sweet boyfriend picking her up.

“Don’t be late coming back,” Candy said as Teresa gathered her purse. “I can’t go to lunch until you return, you know.”

“Of course,” she replied, and headed for the back door, wanting to turn back to see if Candy was eyeing her, relieved that Dan had not yet driven up the one-way alley, a skinny passage of broken pavement and splintering utility poles, trash cans, and yellowing weeds. Her Carson’s Shoes bag sat exactly where she’d put it, pristine, and without a second thought, she took it up by its looped handles.

“What you got there?” Dan asked her when she climbed in.

“I’ve been saving for something special,” she said, one hand still on the loops of the bag. The lie slithered out too easily, and she turned to look at him as if he suspected her. She took a peek at the side mirror, half expecting to catch a glimpse of Candy bursting out the back of the store, her deed discovered.

“We can get a burger,” he said, “since you don’t have a lot of time.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she answered. He flicked the
signal to turn left. “But could you take me home first?” she asked. “To leave my package?”

“It’ll be safe in the truck.”

“I’m sure it will. But I don’t want to have to carry it home later. And I don’t want to bother you with keeping it for me.”

“It’s not a bother,” he said.

“No, really … ,” she said, and already she could feel the heat of her own protest, as if he would immediately suspect what she had done, what she was willing to do.

“Sure thing,” he said, flicking the signal to turn right instead.

Dan drove along the streets at a comfortable pace, Teresa nervously clutching the bag.
I know you. I know about you.
People went about their business the way they did every day. She looked out at them as the truck eased on by. She couldn’t get to the apartment fast enough. It would be one thing to get inside her room with the package from Carson’s, but this panic was going to be much harder to shake.

“I hope this isn’t going to be a quiet lunch,” Dan said. “You’re like a mouse.”

She clutched the bag handles one more time, took a deep breath, and then eased her hands, letting go. “It’s been a long morning,” she said.

The truck stopped at an intersection, and into the crosswalk came a woman in a brilliant yellow blouse and fitted gray skirt, elegant and unhurried. She was escorted by a tall man in a crisp white shirt, though he wasn’t holding her arm. They crossed in front of the truck, the woman turning to acknowledge Dan’s patience, and Teresa saw him give the woman the slightest nod. Teresa watched them go. How easy it was for a woman
like that: the lack of complication in her life was almost an air around her. Someday, Teresa thought, the beauty of a marriage like that would come to her as well, like opening a window, and there would never be a feeling of being watched or judged, stared at in envy or suspicion or even desire. If anyone looked at her, it would be from admiration.

Such a grand plan to dream like this. Why wouldn’t love come easily? They eased onto her street. The Mexican men on the corner spotted her in the truck, though Cheno was nowhere in sight. Something inside her stirred at the thought of him, the inevitable moment when she would have to tell Cheno how things had changed.

The Mexican men stared at her as Dan parked the truck, and she realized they would be the ones to tell Cheno, even if it wasn’t the truth the way she would tell it. Dan kept the motor running and she went to the door, package in one hand, key in the other. They followed her with their eyes. They knew her. They knew about her. They knew all about her.

Seven

B
y the time the Director and the small crew reached Bakersfield at two in the afternoon, even the Actress knew that the day was wasted. A flat tire had delayed them on the drive over from Los Angeles, and the whole reason for coming—a quick day trip for rear-projection road shots and site scouting—had to be rethought. They would have to shoot the scene first thing in the morning and, if time allowed, have the photographer set out on his own with specific instructions about what to look for.

The Director phoned her room. “Would you have an early dinner with me, say about five thirty or so?”

She agreed, and when she met the Director downstairs, she was surprised when the clerk stepped from behind the desk and showed them to a small room off the lobby—a meeting room, she realized, for the oilmen who came through town. A few round tables sat unadorned, but one was covered with a simple tablecloth and place settings, and the clerk led them to the chairs, pulling one out for the Actress.

“You can take away the third setting,” said the Director. “My wife decided to rest instead.”

“We can have a plate sent upstairs if you’d like.”

“Just soup,” said the Director. “And salad and bread. Very light. She’s not feeling well from the trip.”

“Is she all right?” asked the Actress.

“Perfectly fine. More agitated than anything else after sitting in the car all morning.”

The clerk poured them each a glass of wine, but the Actress put her hand up before hers was full. “I didn’t know the hotel had a kitchen,” she said to the clerk.

“We don’t, actually,” he responded. “A few dishes are coming over from Ruby’s Steak House, just down the street.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the Director, “but I went ahead and ordered for you. A steak, medium well, and a little salad with dressing on the side in case it’s too tart, as some dressings tend to be.”

“It sounds lovely,” said the Actress, nodding at the clerk.

“Send my wife a bottle of this,” said the Director, having sipped the wine.

“Very well,” said the clerk. “The food will be here shortly,” he said, and exited the room.

The Director unfolded his napkin and sighed, clearly agitated. “What a waste of a day.”

“It must be frustrating.”

“We won’t have a lot of time. Or money. When the full production starts, I’ll have little patience for setbacks like this.”

“I was explaining to the driver during lunch that our shoot had to take place in the morning because of the quality of the light.”

“You had lunch with your driver?”

“Yes,” she answered. “At the café just across the street.”

“He did nothing untoward, did he?”

“Of course not!” She smiled at his suggestion.

“Of course not,” he said. “That’s a good man, after all. It’s not polite to let a lady eat alone.” He seemed to recall the loss of the day’s work and shook his head. “If we’d been here on time, we could have had a lovely lunch somewhere with my wife. She would’ve been in good spirits, too. Good company. She enjoys yours very much.”

“Enjoys what, exactly?”

“Your company. She’s a smart lady, my wife. Very sharp. She appreciates intelligence in others. She says it radiates from you. Starlight, if you will.”

“That’s very generous of her.”

“Oh, come now,” he said. “Take a compliment.”

They both turned at the sound of the doorknob being handled almost apologetically, as if the clerk didn’t want to interrupt them, and he peered in as if to announce his presence before wheeling in a cart.

“I’m famished,” said the Director. The clerk served them the plates, the steaks simple and a bit thin, but steaming hot, the bread warm and covered, in a small basket. The Director sliced into his steak with a guarded delight, not taking a bite until the clerk exited once again, and if he was unhappy with the tenderness of the meat, he didn’t let on.

“It’s too bad there isn’t a window in this room,” she said. “A little natural light would’ve been nice.”

“Yes, indeed,” he said. “I’m grateful the hotel had such a room available. It would’ve been most intrusive to go out
unannounced to a restaurant and have a gawking public watching us eat.”

“Oh, they’d recognize you, but not me necessarily.”

“I don’t believe that for one minute. They surely would. Did no one do a double take in the café when you had lunch?”

She smiled. “Perhaps.”

“I would think so. Small towns are filled with people who notice every little detail. They make the best kind of audience in some ways, limited as their viewpoints might be.”

“I’m a big-city girl now.”

“Sophisticated,” the Director agreed. He served himself a little more wine, and even though the Actress had not touched hers, he moved to pour the rest of her glass. She did not stop him, not wanting even her small gesture to appear disagreeable to him in any way.

“Yes, indeed, sophisticated,” he said. “You know, it pleases me quite a bit to hear you talk about light.”

“Light?”

“The quality of the sunlight. Explaining to your driver why we absolutely need to shoot in the morning to keep to the script.”

“I think you may have mentioned that to me at one point. Something about the angle of the sun in the sky and the shadows.”

“Precisely. Some people are quite discerning when it comes to natural light. They have an eye for it. They seek continuity. If a scene takes place in the morning, the eye wants morning light. The best critics especially. They look for any reason to
dismiss a project outright. That’s why I’m so meticulous about setting and being proper about it.” He looked at her. “That doesn’t make you nervous, does it? Does it make me sound demanding?”

“Not at all,” she said. “It’s to be applauded, I would say.”

“I’m guilty of judging a picture harshly myself. I can’t bring myself to forgive even television. One evening, I was watching an episode of
I Love Lucy
with my wife. Very harmless and comical. Do you like her?”

“Oh, very much so.”

“She’s a genius really, though I have to tell you that, as a director, I wouldn’t know what to do with someone who is so gifted physically. It’s a whole other element to bring to an already complicated task. In any case, the episode had Lucy and her friend planning to steal John Wayne’s footprints from Grauman’s Theatre in Hollywood—”

“I remember that episode. She was quite funny!”

The Director laughed. She felt relieved to hear him let loose, a good, wholesome chortle, easygoing, and it made him lose the sharp edge he had, the silent, watchful scrutiny that she had already observed from him in their previous meetings. She ate a little more freely and took some of the wine.

“Very funny indeed. Yet as I was watching, I was appalled that such a marvelous sketch had such terribly shoddy sets. When the two girls get ready to steal the footprints, they hear someone coming, so they hide in a set of bushes tucked to the side. Pure convenience! I know Grauman’s. They have no such landscaping. And that got me thinking about the time of day.
They were stealing the chunk of sidewalk in the evening, yet the lighting was incorrect, and there was hardly an effort to disguise the fact. Inexcusable, even if it is television.”

“It didn’t ruin your pleasure, though, did it? You still found it funny, no?”

“I enjoy a good slapstick, so, yes—my wife and I enjoyed the episode very much. But my point is the respect you must give to the discerning eye, to people who know how to look rather than just see.” He eyed the room, studying the walls and the simple decor, not a shabby dining area by any measure. “Service able, don’t you think? For a city this size?”