Nightblindness By Callie

chapter V

"So, Arthur, you have the story?"

Arthur looked up from his draft, the thick rimmed glasses sliding a little ways down the bridge of his nose. It was now or never. He shuffled the pages neatly and rose to deposit them in his boss' waiting hand.

"Brian Slade: the truth behind the mask," Lou read, then paused questioningly. "Arthur, I thought I told you that story'd been dropped. Weren't you supposed to cover the Stone show?"

"Well," Arthur replied, a mischievous smile coming to his face, "I believe you'll find a little of both in there."

Lou's head remained bent for some time, concentrating hard on the document of harsh accusation in his hands. "This is a good story, Arthur," he said finally, looking up at him, "a very good story. But-" He moseyed over to the desk and dropped the transcript in front of it's author. "-I can't print it."

"What?" Arthur couldn't understand. He was sure that this would be the story of the century. "But Lou, this could put the Herald back where it belongs! Up with the Times and all that-"

"I didn't want to have to show you this." Lou pulled a folded telex from his breast pocket and placed it with the notes under Arthur's nose. The young man lifted the fax gently, almost fearful of what it might say, adjusted his glasses and examined the print: a warning. If they were to print a story about Brian Slade, no matter what the contents or occasion, a lawsuit would ensue. "No amount of glory is worth what we'd pay for this."

Arthur was speechless. "They know, then," he settled, "and they know we know."

"Now look, Arthur, it's not the end of the world. How's the Reynolds story coming along?"

The Englishmen listlessly removed his glasses. "Great," he sighed, folding them into his pocket.

"Good! Have it in to me by Tuesday."

*********

Ricky continued shining shot glasses, but kept an eagle's eye on the young man he recognized from the past few days, who was making his way carelessly towards that same table, where the same woman sat smoking a cigarette in the same manner as she had three days ago. "So, you're wondering why I called you again," Arthur presupposed, a grin on his face.

"Sort of." Mandy tapped ashes into the tray, than assumed her position of distrusting stares.

"I just wanted to thank you for helping me get a hold of Curt Wild."

"No problem." She relaxed a bit and continued. "When's it going to print?"

"It won't." Arthur took a seat across from her, slightly more relented than he had been the last time he was in this situation. "The newspaper'll get in more trouble if we print it than I'd get in if I didn't have one at all." He paused and sipped the drink Ricky had placed in front of him. "But I wanted to talk to you some more, actually."

"Shoot."

"Well." Arthur swallowed hard, about to confess something he'd been holding inside himself for a decade now; the emerald pin on his jacket glinted softly in the light. "You know that concert you were talking about? The one you saw Brian at but-"

"Yes," Mandy interrupted, trying to avoid the gruesome details of the night. She took a long drag of her cigarette to ease the tension building in the air.

"I remember that show. And I remember seeing you there."

Mandy stopped short, nearly choking on her cigarette. Why did this kid look suddenly so familiar?

"You were standing backstage," he continued, "you came in right in the middle of Curt Wild's performance. And when he got off stage you were right there to greet him. I think you saw me there-"

No response.

"Anyway, well, Curt and I, we-"

It was by some strange miracle that Curt Wild walked in at that precise moment.

*********

Curt stopped dead when he saw that booth. "Mandy," he said in the deep, testy voice that by now she was so use to, "What the hell's going on."

Mandy gestured towards the Englishmen with her smoking hand. "This is Arthur Stuart, the reporter from the Herald. I don't believe you've been formally introduced." The rocker stared at them both, then without a word turned to go. "Will you excuse me," Mandy said frustratedly as she rose from the table. She reached Curt first and pulled him off to the side to speak to him alone. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Curt?" she hissed. "You saw him last night, why didn't you tell me who he was?"

"It wouldn't have solved a damn thing."

"The love of our lives is out there right now parading as that bastard Tommy Stone! This kid can expose the whole thing! You threw away your life for him, Curt, you at least owe him a conversation."

"I told you I talked to him last-"

"A conversation that doesn't have to do with Brian."

Curt's stare bore into her like icy daggers, and he pushed his way passed her and stood over the kid's shoulder. "So," he began; Arthur kept still and stared ahead, "did you find the pin?" Arthur sighed and began to unfasten the verdant broach. "No, no," Curt continued, "I want you to have it. Kind of as a thank you."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. "Thank me for what?"

"You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

The young man turned slowly in his seat. For a moment the two just stared at each other, unsure of who should make the next move. Arthur's heart pounded in his chest as his hopes were proven gloriously true; Curt was left speechless, completely dumbfounded as to how he was going to explain what had happened that night to either of them. Backed up against a wall, Mandy kept a watchful eye on the scene before her, omniscient of the pain that reliving that night would cause for the both of them. She knew, and had known from the moment she'd laid eyes on Arthur nearly ten years ago, that the source of the attraction lied in neither of them, but in a false idol who had long since been laid to rest. She fixed her glance in tense anticipation.