Hank Rogers had stayed out of
sight until he heard Tony and Natalie begin to talk business. The plan had been
executed just as Tony said it would. While Tony kept her occupied facing away,
he slipped around the far end of the row of pallets and slunk toward the door.
He stayed hidden in the dark corner next to a stack of refrigerator cartons
until Tony sealed the deal. They knew there was a strong chance she wouldn’t
agree to the scene and walk away, so Hank lurked waiting. If Natalie had taken
a few more steps toward the exit, he would have stepped out but when Tony
convinced her to come back to the set, he knew force wouldn’t be needed yet.
Henry Plancrest-Rogers’s life
until his high school graduation in the mid 70’s had been destined to follow
the footsteps of his father into the family’s Boston insurance agency. To the
family’s dismay, things changed when he declared he was joining a rock-n-roll
band. Profligacy had more appeal than his Acolyte duties at the parish church
so when his band signed a recording contract four years later, his brief joy
ride on the rock-star glory-train kick started. With the sellout concert tour
travelling across the States, he found himself adapting with ease to a
different hotel room every night with any girl he chose, preferably more than
one at a time, and feasting on drugs—smoking, snorting, and shooting—as long as
he stayed high.
The band became so
self-indulgent, though, they failed to recognize the torch of celebrity needed
to be refueled from time to time. So when they didn’t plan their next
break-through album, the group imploded. Once the screaming crowds and the
groupie girls vanished, the only thing left for Hank was the sickle-bearing,
hooded menace of addiction.
Hank, that has-been drummer in
that one-hit-wonder rock band, now turned from the door and looked across the
warehouse to where a pretty little ass walked toward Tony. It had been a long
time since he had had a piece like that and with the instant stir just below
his belt, he grabbed his crotch and walked toward her.
Despite the surprise that
Natalie had turned back to him, Tony felt a surge of hope. In doing so she had
taken the first step voluntary towards Ma’s salvation. But when she heard the
door close, her eyes registered shock, and the risk resurfaced—she might still change her mind and walk.
The choice must be hers.
“It’s a closed set,” he said
with the suave assurance of a used car salesman. “We don’t want strangers
walking in on you.”
Natalie looked at him and tried
to read his face. In school her naivety led her to be easily conned, but this
wasn’t school. This was the real world. His scarred features seemed for a
moment a vision of the scowl on her preacher’s face when he ranted about
eternal damnation, a myth, now that she knew better, she didn’t buy.
She looked back over her right
shoulder. A second man walked toward her. He wasn’t attractive and the closer
he got, the tighter her stomach seized. He wore a black baseball cap with
crusted yellowish sweat stains above the bill. His thin gray hair hung out from
under it, and fell limp on his shoulders. The hair, the stubble on his unshaven
face, the soul patch under his lower lip and the scarred, swarthy skin on his
cheeks, affirmed he was much older than Tony and had lived a harder life.
“Is this him?” she asked and looked back at Tony.
“Him?” he asked. He paused and
then like he understood that her question was about who she was to have sex
with, he replied with a laugh, “Oh no! Natalie, meet Hank Rogers. He’ll be our
cameraman tonight.”
Natalie felt some of the tension
begin to drain from her body. Her shoulders relaxed and the hard knot in her
stomach loosened a measure. Hank had come alongside her and held out his hand.
She hesitated, but then took the hand offered and shook it.
The flesh felt cold, dry and
harsh against her soft skin. A repugnant aroma emanated from him, a cocktail of
tobacco, beer-breath, and body odor. He wore food-stained black jeans and a
black leather vest with silver, bullet shaped studs around the edge. Under it,
a soiled white T-shirt covered his chest. It looked like he hadn’t changed his
clothes in weeks, and from the wrinkles in them, they doubled as pajamas.
She gave into a smile, enough to
be courteous but measured so it wasn’t encouragement. She couldn’t say “Pleasure
to meet you” as that would be a lie and even “Nice to meet you,” would have
been pushing it.
He returned a broad grin that
revealed a number of missing teeth. The ones that remained were crusted with
tarter. The longer he glared his expression became a leer as he ogled the
exposed cleavage beneath the lapels of the rose-colored blouse she had left
unbuttoned for that reason. His tongue protruded from his mouth and he licked
his lips like a dog lapping up the remains of a meal.
“Can’t
wait, huh? You’re going to see it all in a few minutes, you pervert,” she wanted to say as she took
her hand from his. She rotated back to Tony and resisted the urge to pull her
coat over her exposed chest.
“Be good now, Hank,” Tony said.
Then to Natalie, he continued, “He’s harmless, just doesn’t know how to behave
around a lovely girl such as you. Are you ready to sign the waiver?”
She paused to reflect a moment
over the last few seconds and then stepped forward with resolve to review the
document. As he had said, it looked standard. She scanned it quickly and saw
the name of a production company she didn’t recognize with Ansell Parker listed
as the president. She took the pen Tony held out and signed her name on the
line provided. When she finished, she offered the pen back, and watched him
sign his name next to hers.
_____
©
Jearl Rugh 2012
All
Rights Reserved
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