The Notorious Pagan Jones. Nina Berry
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