The Almost Murder and Other Stories Read Free Page A

the thing cost twenty-five dollars! Moms said more Hail Marys.
    My nerves were shredding and my pulse speedy when David walked in. He had on a Hugo Boss blazer, the funkykind actors in
People
magazine wear. He looked good! David walked over to us, and I introduced him to Moms.
    â€œPlease call me David. May I call you Margarita?” he asked, taking Moms’ hand, looking at her like she was a goddess.
    â€œNow I see where your daughter gets her beauty, and that wonderful smile. You two look like sisters.” The dude had her giggling.
    He nodded at the door and gestured for us to follow him. We walked down a long corridor with framed movie posters from the olden days. At the end of the hall was an oak door with David’s name on it. Inside was his fancy, HUGE, rectangular office, with wraparound floor-to-ceiling windows.
    David had us sit in cushy black leather chairs. We sank into our seats. There were eleven [I counted] Polaroids of teenagers on a cork board. Every size, shape, color. Names were magic-markered under every face.
    David caught us staring and said, “Those are our Brooklyn kids—so far.” I wanted my face to be stuck up there with all the others more than anything.
    David asked Moms if he could tape an interview with me. She nodded “Yes.” He smiled, took papers from his desk and had Moms sign a release form. Next, he led me over to a director’s chair, the tall kind. It had “Reel TV” written on the back of it. From the wall behind me, David pulled down a blue shade background, then switched a light on under an umbrella thing. Finally, he picked up—Yes!—a Polaroid camera and asked me to smile.
    David snapped three Polaroids, lined them up on his desk, and said, “Adorable.” Then, he got behind a camera on a tripod. He asked me to say my name, age and telephone number at the start, then began to shoot. I gave him my digits, and then he just talked to me: about life, school, family, plans. Typical questions adults ask.
    You know I like to be creative, and I was. I’ve had practice, Cuz. Nelly has a camcorder we play with all the time. Usually, she shoots and I talk or clown around. We do make-believe screen tests and job interviews. Nellie can’t stand to watch herself, but I like to, not because I’m vain, but it’s cool seeing how I come off to others.
    Shooting with David wasn’t much different than my goofing around with Nelly, so I wasn’t nervous. Not even a little. Moms calls me “Blabbermouth,” since I talk so much. So, I was fine. Ten minutes later, I was still going. David winked at me, turned off the camera and asked if he could bring his “associates” in. Moms and I nodded it was okay. So off he went.
    What a rush! I loved that camera! Moms and I screeched, “Eeeeeeeeeek,” at each other like we always do when something exciting happens. We stifled ourselves, hands over our mouths. I felt like a movie star.
    Soon David came back. With him was a tall, pretty, fortyish lady with high cheekbones. She wore a chic black knit dress, with white-blonde hair swept back into a French twist and she had the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. At her throat was a diamond choker.
    A tiny leprechaun-looking man with puppy-dog eyes peeked out from behind her. David introduced me and Moms to him first as, “Mr. Oliver.”
    The little guy smiled, bowed and said “I’ve heard so much about you, Red.”
    â€œUmm-thanks.” I stammered.
    Now, David presented the lady to us as if she was the Queen of England.
    â€œRed, Margarita, this is Agatha Lane, our executive producer.”
    Agatha stared into me with her bright cat eyes (maybe contact lenses, but they looked real.) There was a longsilence while Agatha inspected me. I couldn’t tell if she liked or hated what she saw. Sweat slid down my neck.
    â€œShe’s perfect. Just perfect,” she finally announced. I