Джон Краули - New Haven Noir

It had been nearly a year since her last acting gig, and the ones she tended to land paid very little. Some of them paid nothing at all. Unemployment checks gradually kicked in, but they eventually ran out and then she was left to scramble. Annabelle usually managed to find work waiting tables, temping as a phone-sex operator or a lowly telemarketer dialing for dollars. There were days when she felt as if her life had become nothing more than a walking cliché.

People always said that talent and hard work would eventually pay off. Annabelle had believed that to be true when she’d left Kansas and moved to New York City. She’d relentlessly studied her craft and gone on endless auditions and cattle calls. But years later she remained just another pretty face, one in a long line of hopefuls who were still pounding the pavement. Only now, at forty-six years old, she was no longer so young and her beauty was on the wane. It wasn’t the same for men. Show business could be cruel that way. George Clooney was box-office gold at fifty-four while Anne Hathaway felt washed up at thirty-two. A woman of Annabelle’s age was considered ancient.

She had vowed to give up acting any number of times but couldn’t get off the merry-go-round. A small role always seemed to come along that was just enough to keep her going. She found herself trapped in a perpetual game of trying to grab hold of the brass ring. What Annabelle needed was a decent break but she’d begun to think it would never come. Not until a few weeks ago.

Thank God for the casting director who’d seen her perform in some half-assed play at a run-down warehouse in Brooklyn. Her prayers were answered when he’d called and offered her the lead in a new production at Long Wharf Theater the very next day.

All those years of heartache and scrimping to get by might finally be over. A plum role and good reviews would help to launch her career. With any luck, the play would move to Broadway and movie roles would begin to roll in. Maybe she’d no longer be plagued by nightmares of being a bag lady. Instead, Ryan Seacrest would ask to interview her as she walked down the red carpet of her dreams.

She had worked hard for this and paid her dues. Success was now within her reach. Annabelle Rogers was bound and determined not to let anything stop her.

Jimmy Carbonara’s heart skipped a beat as she entered his store the next afternoon.

“So you must have liked the sandwich, huh?”

Annabelle smiled and he had to remind himself to breathe as the rest of the customers melted into the background.

“It was delicious, Jimmy. The best I’ve ever had.”

Just the way she said his name made his testosterone level soar. “That’s ’cause I put a little extra love into it. What can I get you today?”

“Surprise me, Jimmy. Make me something special.”

Annabelle couldn’t have been feeling better. She was beginning to remember her lines and the director seemed to be happy, even if rehearsals were still a bit bumpy. Then there was Jimmy. A man hadn’t looked at her this way in years.

He thrust a round to-go tin into her hands. “Here, I made it for you this morning in case you showed up. How about I take you out to dinner tonight? Nothing fancy, just some good food. We can go to the Italian place next door.”

She hesitated. “Thank you, Jimmy. That’s very nice, but—”

“Aw, come on. Give a guy a break. This way I can say I once went out with a famous actress.”

She took a peek inside the tin. A mound of egg salad had been molded in the shape of a heart.

“Hey, I know I’m not Sylvester Stallone, but I’m no Pee-wee Herman either.”

Annabelle was surprised to hear herself laugh. “No, you’re not. You’re my charming gentleman caller.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“He’s a wonderful character from The Glass Menagerie. It’s a play by Tennessee Williams that I was once in.”

“So, what do you say? Can I take you to dinner tonight or what?”

Annabelle considered the invitation. What harm could it do? She’d been working hard and was tired of living on canned tuna and pizza. Besides, an evening out might help her relax.

“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll meet you here at seven o’clock.”

Jimmy gave her a wink. “I’ll be waiting with bells and whistles on.”

He kept an eye on the time for the rest of the day. At six forty-five, he opened a bottle of wine, poured two glasses, and slipped some mood music into the boom box. When she hadn’t arrived by seven fifteen, his stomach started to churn. He began to anxiously pace the floor when the clock hit seven thirty.

What in the hell’s going on? Is this bitch standing me up?

He was cursing every woman he’d ever known by seven forty-five when she finally opened the door. He’d never seen such a vision before. Annabelle Rogers was decked out in a gauzy formfitting red dress. B.B. King wailed the blues as she walked into his store. Now this had been something worth waiting for.

Her body tingled as she saw him checking her up and down. “Is one of those glasses of wine for me or do you plan on drinking them both yourself?”

His pulse throbbed as he handed one to her. There was something different about her tonight. Annabelle’s hips swayed to the music as she took a deep sip. His hormones morphed into fireworks while he stood and watched, mesmerized. Jimmy wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her if they stayed here any longer.

“What say we finish our drink and split this joint? I reserved us a table next door and we’re already late.”

Annabelle thrust out her lips in a playful pout. “It’s such a beautiful evening, I’d much rather be outside. Why don’t we go and eat at the food trucks? I can hear music playing there and we’ll be able to dance.”

Her hips swiveled as B.B. King crooned “I Put a Spell on You.” She twirled and wine from her glass spilled onto the floor like tiny drops of blood. How could he deny her anything?

“It’s a pretty rough place for a lady. Especially with the way you’re dressed tonight. Have you ever been over there?”

No,” she lied. “But I feel perfectly safe with you.”

His eyes remained glued to her hips. “Okay. If that’s what you really want to do.”

“It is, Jimmy. It’s what I want more than anything,” she whispered in his ear, setting his body aflame.

She needed to drown herself in music after what had happened that day. Rehearsal had started off all right but had gone quickly downhill from there. She’d kept forgetting her lines and been told that the director was looking for a replacement.

Jimmy put an arm around her waist and guided her across the street, past the highway, over to the food trucks. He placed his jacket over her shoulders to shield her from the wind.

“Buy me a beer, Jimmy. I’d like a Corona,” she said, and immediately started to dance.

He considered himself a lucky man as every eye in the truck lot turned toward her. By his fourth beer, Jimmy had to admit that the food trucks weren’t half bad. Even better, Annabelle pressed herself tightly against him. The air crackled with sexual tension as they danced, her body moving sinuously with his. It seemed to mold itself to the part of him that was growing. Jimmy was fantasizing how the night might end when a trucker came up and stood closely behind her.

“Hey, mama, remember me? I’m your big daddy from the other night.”

Annabelle turned her head and her heart leaped into her throat. It was Tommy Corona, the trucker she’d gone home with. “I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else.”

“No way, mama. I’d know those hips of yours anywhere. I’ve been thinking about you and was wondering when you would come back again.”