Feel the Fear Page 6

  ‘Late is late,’ said the nurse.

  ‘Too late?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Dr Shepherd has gone,’ said Nurse Driver, hands on hips.

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Dr Shepherd is a busy man.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ruby, giving her the old Ruby Redfort sad eyes. ‘I had such trouble getting here, first of all I—’

  Nurse Driver raised her hand to stop the tide of excuses. ‘If you promise not to say another word, I’ll see what I can do.’ She made a few calls and told Ruby to sit it out on the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area.

  Ruby picked up a crumpled copy of the Twinford Mirror. On page two was a piece about the Lakeridge break-in. Mr Baradi was quite shaken up to find the front door to his twenty-sixth-floor apartment wide open when he arose at 6.20 am.

  ‘It was unlocked from the inside,’ he explained to the police from the 24th precinct. ‘I ask you,’ he continued, ‘how in the name of rigatoni did that happen?’ Nothing so far has been discovered missing, but the search continues.

  Forty-five minutes later Nurse Driver ushered Ruby inside a small white box of a room and informed her that the doctor would see her presently. One hour twenty-seven minutes later the door still hadn’t opened. Ruby read all the notices and information pinned to the walls, first in English and then in Spanish and then in Braille. At last the door opened.

  ‘So, want to get that thing off?’ said the technician, pointing at her arm.

  ‘Umm, yeah, that would be nice. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great, but I oughta be getting back to my parents or they might decide to rent out my room.’

  The technician didn’t rise to Ruby’s sarcasm. ‘Is that a yes?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ruby.

  ‘A yes please?’

  ‘Yes please mam,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Better,’ said the technician, who then set about her task and soon enough Ruby’s arm was free of its plaster casing.

  ‘You got any advice for me?’ asked Ruby, pointing to her newly liberated arm. It felt weirdly draughty, now the plaster was off.

  ‘Uh huh,’ said the technician, ‘you might want to relax that attitude of yours. It’s not good for your future health.’

  Ruby smiled at her. ‘Seeing as how you’re a medical person, I will bear that in mind.’ Then she thanked the technician, offering her a cube of bubblegum, which the technician accepted, and then Ruby strolled back down the corridor and out of the hospital.

  Ruby took a taxi home, alerted Hitch to her cash-poor circumstances, and he came out to settle up with the driver – and her father was none the wiser.

  Ruby walked into the kitchen to find her mother having her hair put up into an elaborate sort of do. Sabina was turning the pages of the latest copy of the Whispering Weekly, a sort of gossip and fashion journal. The gossip was about celebrities: mostly actors and singers, and the fashion was almost all about how the celebrities looked disastrous in their chosen gowns. FAMOUSLY FABULOUS? OR TRAGICALLY TERRIBLE?

  There was one whole section dedicated to mishaps: close-ups of laddered stockings, pimples, ageing skin or bad hair. Tammy the hairdresser kept leaning over Sabina’s shoulder and tutting sympathetically and occasionally even turning the pages. The story Tammy was most interested in was about the actress who had had the misfortune to use a brand of make-up known as Face Flawless. Evidently the actress had attempted to conceal her blemishes so that she might look picture-perfect for her film premiere – the only thing was, Face Flawless used an ingredient in its formula that reacted badly under flash photography. The result was far from flawless: all the areas it covered glowed white. Poor Jessica Riley, her face was just a mess of circles and powdery blotches.

  ‘My heart goes out to her,’ said Tammy, making a sad face. ‘They shouldn’t print these stories.’ She waited for Sabina to turn the page. ‘I mean look at her,’ she said pointing a comb at a singer who had been snapped in an ill-fitting bathing suit. ‘Poor thing – gosh, though, she might want to think about shrinking those thighs.’

  ‘I’m sure she feels a lot better knowing that twenty million people like you all pity her,’ said Ruby.

  Brant Redfort walked in. ‘Oh Ruby, you look different.’

  Sabina looked up from the magazine. ‘Yes, you do. Why I wonder. . .?’

  ‘Could it be my. . . arm. . .?’ said Ruby.

  ‘Yes!’ said her parents both at once.

  ‘We should celebrate!’ said her father.

  ‘You know me, I love to celebrate,’ said her mother clapping her hands together. ‘Hitch!’ she called, ‘We’re celebrating! Could you rustle up something celebratory?’

  There was a long ring from the doorbell followed by another and another.

  Mrs Digby answered to find Clancy hopping from one foot to the other.

  ‘Jeepers child, keep your shorts on.’

  ‘Sorry!’ called Clancy as he ran up the stairs two at a time.

  Clancy had cycled over especially to see the arm.

  ‘It’s not as hairy as I’d hoped,’ he said when Ruby showed it to him, ‘but it is definitely hairier than the other one.’

  Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘Boy, do you live a sheltered life.’

  ‘Hey Clancy,’ said Sabina, ‘how come you’re not all scrubbed up for the Scarlet Pagoda benefit tonight? It’s a dressy affair, you know.’

  Clancy’s face immediately dropped. ‘Because I’m not going is why.’

  ‘What? Are you insane?’ said Ruby. ‘Have you actually lost your whole complete mind?’

  ‘My dad has a last-minute ambassadorial dinner tonight so I am strictly on family duty.’

  Ruby folded her arms.

  ‘Look, no one’s as bummed about it as I am,’ said Clancy. ‘I really wanted to be there. I mean, aren’t they showing costumes from The Crab Man Cometh?’

  Ruby’s parents looked blank but Ruby nodded.

  ‘You sure you don’t want to come with us, Clancy dear?’ asked Sabina.

  ‘Good thinking honey,’ agreed Brant. ‘Come with us.’

  ‘You gotta come Bozo,’ said Ruby. ‘They’re all the costumes that have appeared in every horror movie you love – and other films too, the cool ones not the schlocky stuff.’

  Clancy let out a pathetic laugh. ‘I know! It’s not like I haven’t been looking forward to it for weeks. But you think my dad is gonna let me off to go to that when he’s got Ambassador Sanchez coming? She has eight kids, get that? Eight!’

  ‘So?’ said Ruby.

  ‘So,’ said Clancy, ‘my dad only has six kids.’

  Ruby looked at him. ‘Is this a competitive thing?’

  ‘You bet it is. Do you know how difficult it is for women to get on in the political arena?’

  ‘You’re preaching to the choir,’ said Ruby.

  ‘So Ambassador Sanchez makes my father look like a lightweight, at least that’s how my dad sees it. Sanchez is the queen of the career family – I mean, heck, she even baked her own cake when the president dropped by last month. She is a single mother of eight and an ambassador who bakes cakes for the president.’

  ‘She sounds super,’ said Sabina.

  ‘So your dad’s gonna fight back?’ said Brant.

  ‘Oh he’s fighting back all right,’ said Clancy. ‘He’s determined to at least look like this really great dad who spends his time looking after his great kids while he does a really great job of doing his great job. So he wants us all there.’

  ‘What about his really great wife?’ asked Sabina, sipping on one of the celebratory drinks Hitch had just rustled up.

  ‘She’s having her hair done,’ said Clancy. ‘She had it done yesterday too.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say, great hair opens doors,’ said Brant.

  Clancy scrunkled his nose at this, perhaps trying to work out the truth of the statement. ‘Maybe. . . anyway, he wants us all there with good hair, while he is busy making Twinford believe his career is really great and we are great
and he is great and Twinford can be great. You get it?’

  ‘I get it,’ said Ruby. ‘You can’t come because you are all busy being great and getting your hair done.’

  Clancy nodded. That was about the size of it.

  Chapter 9.

  RUBY WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO THE EVENING. Not so much the ‘do’ itself – all that party yacking was sure to be a total yawn – but the costumes, they promised to be pretty interesting.

  Aside from reading, movies were Ruby’s greatest passion, particularly thrillers and horror – a passion she shared with Mrs Digby. Nothing cheered Mrs Digby as much as a good murder story. Too bad she isn’t prepared to risk a few ghosts, thought Ruby. Tonight was going to be a bonanza of thriller movie memorabilia.

  Ruby took longer than usual to get ready. She’d had to make a couple of minor adjustments to the new dress she had bought – namely hacking four inches off the hem and fixing it in place with tacky glue. She was largely pleased with the overall effect, and once she had her new shades on too she really looked the business. All in all, she was looking forward to the costume show. At least it would take her mind off worrying about that dumb Spectrum test.

  ‘That’s what you’re wearing?’

  Sabina Redfort stared at her daughter, who was attired in a strange misshapen dress with worn-looking shoes and over-the-knee socks. Obscuring her eyes were a pair of huge white, square-framed sunglasses.

  The dress had very obviously been purchased at a vintage store or possibly off a charity rail. It was on the large side and covered in a loud pink and yellow paisley print. She had pulled it together with a wide white buckle belt.

  Jeepers! thought Sabina, maybe the kid actually pulled it out of a dumpster.

  ‘What?’ said Ruby, reading her mother’s thoughts, made obvious by the expression on her face.

  Her mother closed her eyes and shook her head like she was trying to dislodge the vision.

  ‘OK,’ said Sabina, ‘I’m not going to make a thing of it, let’s just go and have a nice time. I’ll pretend you’re wearing that lovely peach dress I got you at the department store – why aren’t you wearing that lovely peach dress I got you at the department store?’

  Brant Redfort, now dressed in an elegant black suit, walked into the living room to find his wife, a picture in rose with matching accessories.

  ‘You look sensational honey,’ he said kissing his wife. ‘You too. . . Ruby.’ He uttered this compliment before he had really taken in the vision that was his daughter. ‘You look very. . . very. . .’ He paused, searching for some word that might not insult but that might also be truthful. He could find no word.

  ‘I’ll take very very,’ said Ruby. ‘No need to get your underwear in a bunch on my account.’

  Hitch drove the Redforts to the venue. It was a big deal affair, red carpet, the whole circus.

  The costume show was being held at the Scarlet Pagoda – the proceeds from the very expensive tickets and raffle would hopefully raise enough money to keep the old art deco building from crumbling to dust. The place was considered an architectural gem of great historical importance, having been built in the heyday of the roaring twenties. Any elderly star worth an Oscar had tripped across this stage.

  And many of those stars had left their footprints – literally. Outside the theatre was Twinford’s own walk of fame, where brass star shapes were set into the sidewalk, commemorating the town’s most famous. Next to each star was a cast of the actors’ shoes, their footprints pressed into wet concrete.

  Ruby and her family walked past the footprints, and as they walked Sabina gave a running commentary.

  ‘There’s Fletch Gregory, what a man, and oh, look at dear little Arthur Mudge’s teeny feet – I always thought he was taller, and goodness, are those really Margo Bardem’s?’

  And on into the theatre.

  It had begun as a theatre for circus and stage productions, then much later it had become a movie theatre. But now it was just a room, a large empty space, where each week another tiny gold mosaic tile would drop from the ceiling. A place where the elegant ladies who silently stared out from the murals faded a little more each year. Soon, if nothing were done, their faces would disappear altogether and then the wrecking ball would be called in.

  For tonight, though, it was a sparkling extravaganza of a party; a hint of the things to come when it was renovated. Everyone who was anyone was there, champagne glasses in hand, laughing and chatting as elegant young waiters glided around with silver trays of canapés.

  As soon as Ruby and her parents walked in they were surrounded. ‘It’s such a wonderful example of the deco era,’ said Dora Shoering, Twinford’s self-declared expert on all things historical. She had to talk loudly over the hubbub of voices and chinking glasses. ‘You can touch the history, run your hands over it, breathe it into your lungs.’ The women all took deep breaths.

  Sabina coughed – the Pagoda was a haven for dust mites. ‘You know your onions, Dora. I mean it would be a perfect sadness if it were destroyed,’ she said.

  ‘I totally agree,’ agreed Marjorie Humbert, who was now looking for a tissue, having just run her hands over history. ‘It would be Twinford’s bitter loss.’

  Elaine Lemon joined them. ‘So what are you ladies talking about? Gossip I hope!’

  ‘Oh we were just saying how it would be the most terrible pity if they were to flatten this building,’ said Marjorie.

  ‘I so concur,’ said Elaine, opting for a sad-face expression. ‘It would be the most awful tragedy.’ She paused. ‘A tragic one.’ In truth, Elaine was not there because she was remotely interested in the Scarlet Pagoda, but had eagerly accepted Sabina’s offer of a free ticket because everyone else was going.

  Ruby felt this conversation wasn’t really going places and so moved off in search of something entertaining. As she circled around the room she recognised many big names from the stage and screen, including one of her favourites, Erica Grey. She was a star of the B-movies and had played some of the most curious and monstrous villains on the medium-sized screen. She was originally from Alabama and spoke in a drawn-out drawl, her voice rich and deep. Every few sentences she would throw her head back and laugh – her red lipsticked mouth opening wide to display perfectly white shining teeth.

  Ruby weaved her way on through the crowd and caught a glimpse of Crazy Cops actor Dirk Draylon as he made his way to his seat on the other side of the catwalk. Apparently the show was about to begin.

  Boy, Mrs Digby would love this, she thought.

  There were many other well-known personalities mingling in the crowd but none whom Ruby felt eager to shake hands with. Not because she didn’t admire them, she did, she just had a wariness about meeting screen heroes; meeting one’s hero could be a mistake, a big let-down. This illusionary world that was film often survived better if it was never contaminated by real life.

  At least that’s what she thought until she met the make-up artist Frederick Lutz. Frederick Lutz was a man Ruby greatly admired – a true artist, he had created some of the most startling monsters, villains and victims of the screen, as well as making up the faces of the great and beautiful.

  They chatted for a while and then he thanked her for her compliments, and as she moved off to find her seat he called, ‘If you ever need make-up for a very important occasion then think of me – it would be my great pleasure Ms Redfort.’

  ‘You can bet I will,’ said Ruby, who was thinking Halloween. Then she turned and bumped heads with her friend Red Monroe.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ said Red, rubbing her forehead.

  ‘Hey Red, where’s Sadie?’ asked Ruby clutching her nose.

  ‘Oh, Sadie’s just backstage helping the radioactive lobster fix his pincers.’ She said this as if it was not so very different from mentioning that someone needed help straightening their bow tie.

  Red’s mom, usually referred to as ‘Sadie’, was a costume designer – she mainly designed for thrillers and sci-f
i flicks and had done more than her share of B-movie work. Ruby liked hanging out at Red’s place because her mother always had something unusual going on in her studio and Mrs Monroe was often to be found with pencil poised, asking some kind of curious question. ‘So Ruby, tell me, what do you think a Grungemeister looks like? Do you think he would have fingers or grabbers?’

  Ruby and Red made their way to their seats. Elliot Finch was already there, studying the programme.

  The lights went down. Everyone clapped.

  ‘Clancy not here?’ whispered Red.

  ‘He had to smile for his dad,’ replied Ruby.

  ‘That kid’s gonna dislocate his jaw one of these days.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Ruby.

  A crabby lady in the row behind them started making shushing sounds.

  ‘Welcome to the opening of the Twinford Film Festival – A Date with Thrills!’ said the host Ray Conner, bounding onto the stage.

  Applause from the audience.

  Ray Conner was a bit of a cheeseball, in Ruby’s opinion.

  ‘As you all know, tonight’s extravaganza is a fundraiser in aid of this beautiful theatre of ours, the Scarlet Pagoda.’

  Pause for more applause. Smiling from the host.

  ‘The title of this year’s festival is A Date with Thrills, in other words, Thriller Flicks, be they comic, romantic or just plain terrifying. And tonight we are particularly celebrating our wonderful costume designers, all too often unseen.’

  More clapping, especially from Red, whose mother was a costume designer, after all.

  Smiling and nodding from host.

  ‘During the next few weeks Twinford movie theatres will be showing some fabulous films from years gone by. The wonderful work of stars such as: Betsy Blume, Leonard Fuller and Crompton Haynes, culminating in a tribute to the wonderful actress, Margo Bardem, who as a young thing worked in this theatre as a hairdresser and whose career began with a romantic thriller that was both shot and later premiered in this very auditorium in 1952, and who subsequently went on to dominate the romantic thriller genre.’

  More applause. A tight smile from Betsy Blume.