Stage Fright (3 page)

The show’s about to start.

When Toni lifted her head and set her gaze to the front of the room, it was a conditioned response to the musical cue. She let out a gasp at the transformed theatre. Every nuance of the room invited fantasy. The detailed murals on the side walls glowed to life. The coved ceiling twinkled like thousands of tiny stars. The décor gave the illusion of sitting outdoors.

Blood-red velvet curtains were drawn across the stage. Their weight was obvious when they slid open and revealed a snow white movie screen. A thrill of anticipation zipped up Toni’s spine.

The sensation of a heavy body pressing against her back electrified her skin from shoulders to ass. Though the ghostly fondling never moved from her chest, she felt her hair brushed back from her neck, at the same instant each of her hips was squeezed. She was yanked back hard and registered a steely erection pressing against her butt. Toni felt somehow sure that this was a single entity, but it seemed to have many pairs of hands.

Well, that’s new!
An involuntary chuckle bubbled out of her at the thought. The dizziness had passed and was replaced with the hyperawareness that Toni had experienced in her previous ghost encounters.

A puff of warm air stirred a loose curl near her jaw an instant before the sensation of lips sucking at her neck sent shivers through her. She tilted her head to the other side to afford better access to the invisible mouth.

“Ah,” she cried out.

That single syllable must have constituted acceptance, because in an instant the number of ghostly hands multiplied. Her attention was divided between the rough tugs at her hips and the sensual caresses pleasuring her breasts and thighs. Hot juices dampened her panties and she longed for that spot to be massaged. The back of the chair was no longer a support—it was a brace that she used for leverage to push her ass backwards. She ground against her unseen lover, urging him on. When finally he groped at her aching mound she begged, “More!”

“Soon,” he whispered. “Come back tonight. Alone.”

Then he was gone.

“Toni! What’s the hold up?” Bridget’s voice shocked Toni back to the present. She straightened and scanned the room. It was back to being a wreck. “Sorry. Just daydreaming.”

“Well quit screwing around. We’re starving!”

* * * *

Thomas Becker flexed his fingers and stole a peek at the clock over the cash register. The store was on holiday hours and didn’t close until ten. He’d been signing books for nearly three hours and his hand was cramping. The stacks of ‘Confessions of a TV Ghost Hunter’, had dwindled to just two books. They’d sell out just before closing time. A young woman snatched up the last copies, paid for them then took her place at the back of the line. When it was her turn, Thomas glanced up and found her staring at him with an unsubtle ‘come-fuck-me’ look plastered on her pretty face. His nose was assaulted by a cloud of too-sweet perfume. She wore heavy makeup and her long, straight hair was striped with unnatural shades of blonde. Clutching the books in front of her body, she leant forward to showcase the pair of surgically enhanced breasts that spilled out of her plunging sweater. Thomas held out his hand to accept the books, but she continued to use them to buttress her considerable assets.

“I’m mad at you,” she purred.

Thomas forced a smile. He dreaded the inevitable pickup line that was to follow and was almost certain she was waiting for him to ask why. Trying to avoid what was no doubt a well-rehearsed come-on, he said, “Sorry to hear that.”

A look of confusion passed over her face and Thomas had to stifle a laugh. After taking a moment to regroup, the fan seemed to edit her scripted response and said, “I’m mad at you because you keep me up at night—all night. Every time I watch your show, I just can’t get to sleep. Sometimes I get so wound up I just don’t know what to do with myself.” She concluded with an upward twitch of her perfectly-plucked eyebrow.

It took all of Thomas’ willpower not to shake his head. He reached out for the books again. “Well, let’s get these books signed so you’ll have something to read. That should put you to sleep.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said.

Thomas stacked the books in front of him and flipped the top copy to the title page. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Alex. That’s my ex-boyfriend. We broke up, but we’re still friends.”

He scrawled an inscription to Alex and passed the book back to the woman. “And this one?”

“Make that one out to Lindsay. That’s me.”

Thomas opened the book and found a hotel key card tucked inside the front cover. A room number was written on the plastic in permanent marker. The zero was in the shape of a heart with an arrow through it. He set the key aside and wrote. “To Lindsay, Get some sleep. Thomas Becker.”

Lindsay took the book and squeezed it to her chest, giving Thomas one more shot of her bulbous boobs. She winked then puckered her glossy lips in an air kiss. As she turned to leave, Thomas stopped her. “Lindsay, I think you forgot something.” She swung back around, giving her hair an exaggerated shampoo-commercial toss. He held out the key card. She stared dumbly for a moment then snatched it from his hand. Her high-heeled boots clacked against the floor as she stomped away. She paused at the trash can near the front door, dumped the books then turned and scowled at him. Thomas gave her a fingertip wave then chuckled as she stormed out of the store.

Thomas rose and stretched then began breaking down the display. The three-piece backdrop featured images of himself and the other cast members, the Paranormal Research Team van, and the cover of his book. The whole thing could be rolled up and collapsed to fit into a carryon-sized bag. Thomas was just zipping the pack shut when the store manager, a plump man with a receding hairline and a ponytail, joined him.

“Thanks for coming Mr Becker—great turnout. Can I get you anything?”

“It’s Thomas, please. And no thanks, I’ve got a flight to catch.”

“How about a coffee to go and one of our famous turtle brownies?”

Thomas nodded. “Sounds great. Thanks.”

While Thomas waited for his snack, he hoped that Lindsay had had time to leave the parking lot. He had fans like her—beautiful, willing fans—around the world. They sent him letters and emails and digital images of their naked bodies, and he’d enjoyed the company of a number of them over the years. But from the moment he’d kissed Toni Bianchi, he’d been a goner. That smart-mouthed little Italian was the best—and worst—thing that had ever happened to him.

* * * *

The bookstore parking lot was empty except for the employees’ vehicles and Thomas’ rental car. He tossed the display bag into the backseat, nestled the coffee cup in the holder and set the bakery bag on the dashboard. He flipped down the visor and checked his reflection in the mirror. He looked as tired as he felt. The past couple of weeks had been rough. He hated book signings and he’d been to a dozen in as many days. In between he’d stopped by local radio stations to promote the events on air.

The book, like the TV series it was based on, had been a huge success. Thomas was grateful, but he’d about had his fill of obnoxious deejays and the occasional weird fan, like the horny Miss Lindsay. Worst of all, he felt like a fraud. When he’d left college with a degree in journalism, he’d envisioned a very different career path. He’d thought that he’d be a television news anchor in a major market or maybe a globe-hopping foreign correspondent. Instead he’d wound up travelling to small towns across the country investigating unlikely claims of paranormal activity.

He’d never dreamt the show would become an international hit. It had started with the noblest of intentions. In the beginning he’d wanted to believe that there was something to the stories. He knew that millions had questions about the supernatural and wanted to give them answers. He was looking for some answers himself. He’d been haunted for most of his life by one of the people he loved most. Thomas’ grandmother, Claudette. She had died when he was twelve, and she’d been visiting him regularly ever since.

Claudette had been a force of nature, so Thomas wasn’t too surprised that her spirit couldn’t be contained after she’d crossed over. The four-time divorcee drank like a fish, dressed like a Bohemian and swore like a sailor. Anyone who met her was regaled with anecdotes of her brief stint as a bit player in Bijou films. She had delighted in reciting her one spoken line, ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ from her role as a cigarette girl in ‘The Gentleman’s Wish’. Thomas had never tired of hearing the stories and had come to share her love of the movies.

The two would spend whole afternoons at the multiplex. They’d pay for one feature then sneak in to see two more. The method was brilliant. They’d hole up in the restrooms while the end credits rolled on the first show, then meet at the concession stand. From there it was easy enough to feign impatience at the long lines then slip into another screening room. More often than not they’d miss the opening minutes of the next film, but the thrill of the adventure was always worth it.

The night of her funeral Thomas had been inconsolable. When sleep had finally overtook him, he had dreamed of Claudette. It had been so real that he’d heard the jangling of her charm bracelet and smelt her rosewater cologne. He was certain that if he’d have reached out he would have been able to feel the warmth of her delicate wrist. In his dream he asked his grandmother to take him to the movies. Her face softened and she replied without moving her lips, “Oh, darling, you know it’s too late for that.”

Thomas hadn’t set foot in a theatre since that night, but Claudette continued to haunt his dreams, appearing to the music of tinkling jewellery and in a cloud of sweet perfume. After the encounter at the Buckman Inn, he’d even felt her presence while awake. He’d never told anyone—not even Toni, and if anyone would understand, it would be her.

His book was titled, ‘Confessions of a TV Ghost Hunter’, but it was far from a tell-all. Thomas didn’t write about the contact with the ghost of his dead grandmother, and he certainly didn’t share his love affair with a psychic medium. He left all of the good stuff out while he travelled the country pimping the show and his book. The whole exercise made him fret about being found out. Every time he did an interview or made an appearance he was sure someone was going to call him out for being a phony. As glad as he was that this leg of the tour was over, he was dreading his next stop. The flight was a puddle-jumper—he’d only be in the air for half an hour before arriving at the tiny Travois, Wisconsin airport. It would take him three times as long to drive to Minneapolis International, return the rental car and check in for his flight. It was the uncertainty of what would be waiting for him when he landed that had him in knots.

As much as he dreaded public appearances, the prospect of seeing Toni again seemed worse. This tour had been a welcome excuse to get out of town for a while—away from Toni and Liam and all of the confusion their strange relationship had brought into his life. Sharing Toni with another man was not his idea of an ideal situation. He’d only agreed to it because she seemed to need more than he could offer and he only wanted to make her happy. But, the psychic bond she shared with Liam fuelled his jealousy. How could he compete with a guy who could literally read Toni’s mind? He hoped Liam’s telepathic powers couldn’t reach into his head, but sometimes he wondered. In the days before he left for the tour, Liam’s animosity had become obvious. After the men made love to Toni, the telepath would stare at Thomas as if he could look right through him. If he were privy to Thomas’ thoughts, he’d know that Thomas wanted Toni to himself, that he wanted to make a life with her—alone—and that he’d grown to resent Liam.

Thomas had hoped that the separation would do them all good. Perhaps Toni had agreed to help Mike with the theatre because she had doubts of her own and needed to get away from Liam to gain some perspective.

Easing onto the highway on ramp, Thomas sipped his coffee then grabbed the waxed paper bag from the dashboard. He fished out the turtle brownie and took a bite. The decadent taste of sweet chocolate and gooey caramel filled his mouth. The flavour immediately transported him back to the first time he and Liam had made love to Toni. They’d all been under the sway of supernatural magic. The men had laid Toni, naked, on the ice cream parlour’s marble countertop and tied her wrists above her head with black liquorice laces. They’d drizzled chocolate and caramel sauce over her beautiful curves and took turns lapping it from her soft skin. The memory of how the sweet syrup had tasted mixed with her pussy juices made Thomas’ shaft harden. They’d licked and touched and fucked every inch of her amazing body until she was crying out in release. Her pleasure had spurred them on. He thought about how it had felt to be buried into her up to the hilt with her slick walls clamping down around him. Then the image of her full red lips wrapped around Liam’s cock, the lust in her eyes as she slurped hungrily at it, insinuated itself into his fantasy. Thomas shook his head as if doing so would erase the memory.

He shoved the rest of the brownie into the bag and tossed it on the passenger seat. He turned on the radio, found a classic rock station and cranked up the volume. Every lyric reminded him of Toni and he finally switched off the music. By the time he’d reached the exit for the airport, he’d made a decision. He’d tell her that he loved her and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her—only her. Let the chips fall where they may.

Chapter Three

Toni pushed aside the pizza box—empty now except for a few nibbled crusts and a Rorschach test of grease spots on the bottom. Toni thought she could make out the oily image of a rabbit. She drained her beer bottle then racked it up against the other empties on the small, round, hotel room table. Mike Briggs pressed the fast-forward button on his laptop and the three leaned in to watch the grainy night-vision footage flit by at triple speed. The screen flashed with images of the theatre from four different perspectives and then went black.