(4)
The next few days were a whirlwind of activity for Miss Carter. She resigned from Monica's agency but said she would finish her last assignment the following Monday, as promised. Meanwhile, she saw chic Fran Williams who welcomed her aboard and told Cinnamon, with great enthusiasm, the plans she had in mind for the young blond beauty, all of which was going to keep her very busy. "You will start next Wednesday. Prepare to be made up and fitted with a Dior suit."
Cinnamon dropped all of her classes. She had to. Phoning her parents with the news had been a trial but they were surprisingly supportive when Cinnamon explained her reasoning; signing on with Williams and Associates was phenomenal and opened up a whole new world of opportunities. Even if she modeled for only a year, depending on demand, Cinnamon could make enough to pay off her college debts. However, she did promise her father she would save her money and go back to college once the modeling "gig" petered out. Cinnamon's mother, also pragmatic, reminded her that her slightly older cousin, Rachel, was now pregnant with her second child. She hoped Cinnamon was keeping her eyes open for a young man who might make potential husband – and father - material.
With the internal sigh of an ambitious girl who saw more in her future than that of wife and mother Cinnamon said, "Of course, Mom. I have to go now. Love to you and Dad." in a strained but chipper voice.
When Cinnamon wasn't paying bills, visiting modeling agencies, and having her phone service reinstate, she got to know Rollin Hand better. Ever since he had seen her stalker and rescued Cinnamon from on-coming traffic, she had not seen the man in black. She told Rollin, in a moment of romantic fun, that he was her good luck charm. Life appeared to be going her way and Cinnamon felt a combination of excitement and harmony filling her very being.
Matters were also going well for the new man in her life. The following day Rollin learned he was cast in an off-Broadway play, a comedy set in wartime England. It did not pay much and he was being billed fourth but it was a part that got an actor noticed and Rollin told Cinnamon big things could come from it. On Friday he brought Cinnamon to one of his rehearsals and she sat in the auditorium seats watching as the actors, scripts in hand, performed their way across the stage. It gratified Rollin to hear her sweet laughter and when a break was called he asked Cinnamon to go with him to the Brooklyn Museum that evening. They were having a special exhibit on the career of Lon Chaney Senior. "He was known as The Man of a Thousand Faces." Rollin told her.
"And that interests you?" she asked, sitting beside him on a bench outside of the theater. Cinnamon sipped warm coffee while Rollin smoked the last cigarette in his pack.
"When you're an actor learning how to change your face and voice is an asset. I want to learn it all, Cinnamon."
She gazed at him as he looked thoughtfully off into the distance. Rollin was more than an actor, she thought, he had talents that went beyond matinée performances and the card games she had seen him play (and very well) at the nightclub. One day, she thought, he would discover his true potential. "Rollin, how old are you?" Cinnamon suddenly asked.
"Twenty Four." He said, a little startled by the question. "Why?"
"Sometimes when I look at you – I don't know – you're such an enigma. You seem so much older than your years."
"I might say the same thing about a certain twenty-one year old model I know."
She chuckled, "If you're talking about me, I'm nineteen." Cinnamon said. "I'm going to be twenty next month though." She quickly added.
"Nineteen? Pat said you're twenty-one." He thought about it for a moment. It might have had something to do with getting Cinnamon into the La Joya and drinking spirits after ten pm. "You're so young to be so far from home." Rollin said fondly, "You have a lot of life to live, Cinnamon Carter."
"Maybe." She whispered, looking steadily at him. "But I've always been an over-achiever." As she spoke Cinnamon leaned in close and cocked her head in just a way to make it easy for him to kiss her - if he wanted to take advantage of the moment. She was pleased when he closed the distance between them. Unfortunately, the on-set of romance was dashed when Dave opened the theater door and told Rollin that break-time was over he was needed inside again. Cinnamon sighed as Rollin gave her a hurt look coupled with a shrug.
"Come on." He said, taking her hand. "It's getting cold anyway."
And they had time.
The couple went to a movie on Saturday, a cheap matinée, and Rollin sprang for popcorn as they watched some over-sized lizard eat Tokyo. Afterwards they walked the city, looking into boutique windows for items Rollin told Cinnamon he would never be able to afford. They then took the subway home. Rollin lived a few blocks away from Cinnamon and Patricia's apartment building but only a few streets from the La Joya nightclub.
Cinnamon asked him if he'd like to come up to her place for an hour or two but Rollin, although tempted, said he needed to go home. He still had to iron-out a few character problems with his part in the play and he was working the nightclub that evening. She nodded. Pat was working that evening as well. Now that she was no longer required to study for college classes Cinnamon told Rollin she would stay at home with a good book, maybe a classic, and a glass of white wine.
"The legal age for alcohol in New York is twenty-one." He reminded.
"I won't tell if you don't." she replied and waved goodbye to him before running up the brick steps into her apartment building.
Watching her, Rollin wished he had taken Cinnamon up on her offer. Alone in her apartment, who knows what might have transpired. Still, he had only known her for a few days, three really wonderful days, and all things considered this young lady needed time to simmer. He suspected when the moment was right, when simple intimacy and sweet nothings turned into passion, they would both find it not just rewarding but pretty incredible.
Cinnamon, with her hardback book and a glass of wine, reclined on the sofa, her head pillowed against a cushion. The soft buzz of a radio played in the background, the station set to smooth jazz. Cinnamon found it soothing. It was only 7pm but she had changed into a nightdress and robe early and liked the feel of its simple cotton fabric. Cinnamon found it humorously ironic that she was on her way to becoming a glamorous high fashion model yet, here on a Saturday night, she had nowhere to go. That wasn't entirely true. Cinnamon knew she could go to any number of places. This was New York City, after all, but she liked the idea of lounging by herself. The solitude was not something she often enjoyed and even the old building itself was free of the usual creaks and pings of bad plumbing and the enthusiastic shouts of neighbors, only slightly muffled by paper-thin walls.
When a knock came to her door, Cinnamon was a bit annoyed but also surprised. She had paid the grateful landlady their rent and she was not expecting any callers. "Who is it?" she asked from the sofa. There was no answer. Cinnamon placed her glass on a side stand and sat up. Cautiously, she stood and looked through the peephole but no one was there. Cinnamon then looked down and saw an envelope had been slid underneath her door. Carefully, she picked it up and opened it.
A hastily written note from Monica greeted her. She congratulated Cinnamon once again but also reminded her of the shoot on Monday afternoon, something to do with hats, and she needed to be there at 3pm sharp.
Cinnamon had no classes on Monday and she wished she had remembered to tell Monica she was free in the morning if the photographer wanted to see her then. It was too late now to call the studio. Monica had sent the telegram to her hours ago and, it being a busy Saturday night, it was just getting to the apartment now. On Sunday the photography studio would be empty. "Too bad." Cinnamon murmured to herself.
Rollin had Monday night free and it would be a great opportunity for them to get together again. Sunday he would be at the theater all day. Their play opened in a couple of weeks and they were taking full advantage of an unlocked theater and all the rehearsal time they could schedule.
Depositing the telegram on the side table next to her wine glass, Cinnamon was about to go to the kitchen and fix a snack when another knock came to her door. She looked up, curious. Not wanting to miss him if a currier was arriving with another message, Cinnamon tightened her robe and trotted over to the door.
She opened it without looking into the peephole.
Her worse nightmare, dressed in black from head to toe, stood directly in front of her. He was tall and menacing, his face pale but deeply shadowed, and his eyes were a strange, nearly a luminescent red. The man stared at her and was breathing irregularly.
Cinnamon was so shocked she grew mute and could not move, merely returning his stare.
Then, he said: "Why have you not gone to the tavern?" in a hoarse voice that was ominous, demanding and did not seem like it was of this world. "Go there sooooon."
Finally, Cinnamon cried out and slammed the door shut.
The two girls, standing next to Willy, leaned in closer to him and a strained quiet, more from fright than respect, pervaded Jim Phelps living room.
The IMF leader had to admit, Cinnamon Carter knew how to tell a story. It was vivid and frightening. His eyes met Barney's across the room. They had always known her to be a great agent, proficient in languages, memorization, distraction and her beauty, of course, spoke for itself. But who knew she could captivate an audience with a simple ghost story?
It almost seemed real – too real.
"Cinnamon honey, are you sure it's not the pressure? Maybe you're over-stressed." Patricia offered, holding her hands as they sat on their sofa. "I mean, I've never even seen the guy."
"Pat he's real." Cinnamon said, flatly.
Rollin nodded and stood by the door, leaning into it as he listened in on their conversation.
Frantic, Cinnamon first called the police who had left the apartment a few minutes ago, and then she called Rollin at the nightclub. Somewhere along the line he was able to grab Patricia and the two raced to the apartment building just as the NYPD arrived. They questioned Cinnamon carefully and, after a while, she began to get irritated when they made a carefully crafted suggestion that she might have 'led him on'. However, the two policemen promised to keep an eye on the neighborhood and if anything else unusual happened she was to give them an immediate call.
Now, an hour later, her nerves were settled and Cinnamon felt badly about tearing her friends from their jobs.
"As long as we're back before the ten o'clock show we'll be fine." Rollin assured, glancing at his watch.
"He's never threatened you?" Pat asked, recalling what Cinnamon said when the officer asked her that same question.
"Not really. It was the seeing him up close and so suddenly that scared me most." She admitted. "He wants me to go to that ridiculous tavern across from the photography studio, just like Alfred has been pressing me to do."
"Who's Alfred?" Pat asked.
"He's the janitor. Although …" she considered it a moment, "… I never saw him before last week."
"It must be him." Pat summed up.
"Not possible." Cinnamon leaned back on the sofa cushions, exasperated. "Al is a small, thin man with arthritis. The man I saw was big and … ghastly."
"She's right about that." Rollin offered, "I saw him outside the nightclub and he's a brute."
"I hate that he knows where we live." Cinnamon shook slightly. "I'm beginning to think …"
"What?" Rollin asked.
"Maybe I should just do what he wants. I have that shoot on Monday. Maybe afterward I should just walk over and go inside."
"Oh Cinnamon, I don't think that is a good idea at all." Patricia said, her voice slightly tremulous. "There is only one thing a freak like that wants with a girl like you … He could be a maniac or worse!"
"I agree." Rollin said, folding his arms. His expression was firm and no-nonsense. "Best not to tempt fate." he added.
"I have to do something. The police are practically calling me a liar and I know this guy will not let up until he has a reason to stop." Cinnamon insisted.
Some might call it a simple solution to a complicated problem and others might call it foolish but Rollin saw her resolve for the bravery it was. Cinnamon Carter did not want to be a victim. She wanted to get out there and stop the madness before any harm came to herself or someone she cared about. Making his own decision, Rollin stood tall and nodded. "I'm going with you to that shoot. While you're working I'm going to talk with Alfred and, when the time comes, we will go to the bar together."
Cinnamon looked hesitant but his words were wise. She really did not want to go alone on Monday night. She nearly asked Pat to accompany her but remembered her roommate was going upstate to see her hometown boyfriend. And, to be honest, she really did not want to put her friend in harm's way. Rollin, she knew, could handle himself in a time of crisis or the unknown. "Okay." Cinnamon said and gave Rollin a thankful smile.
Stay tune for the exciting conclusion of THE HALLOWEEN STORY.