The Darkness Knows Read Free

wood, both from right outside the restroom.
    â€œNow, Marjorie, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding…” The rest of the sentence was muffled.
    â€œâ€¦possibly be a misunderstanding? Look at this. You told me you took care of everything.”
    The man sighed. “I always take care of it, don’t I?” he said. “There won’t be any more trouble.”
    Vivian leaned closer and held her breath but heard nothing more. Without warning, the door flew inward, and Vivian jumped out of the way. She lost her grip on her handbag and watched with horror as everything within—including wads of lipstick-smeared tissue—spilled on the floor at Marjorie’s feet.
    â€œSorry,” Vivian said for the second time in as many minutes.
    Marjorie sniffed dismissively, stepped over the mess, and headed straight into the last stall, slamming the door shut behind her. Vivian crouched and scooped the items into her open bag, muttering under her breath about her own carelessness. She paused to tame her swirling thoughts before pulling the door open to find Graham sauntering toward her down the hallway, hands in pockets.
    â€œThere you are,” he said.
    â€œHere I am,” she agreed. She glanced down the hallway in both directions. It was empty. In the time it had taken her to collect her things, the other participant in Marjorie’s hushed conversation had disappeared.
    â€œShall we?” Graham asked, holding out his arm.

CHAPTER TWO
    Vivian was halfway through her cup of coffee before she realized that Graham did just want to talk about the timing in the second half of the show. She’d let herself imagine they might discuss more personal matters, but Graham showed no sign of getting any more personal than his fictional alter ego’s motivation.
    In fact, he’d already segued into a list of possible plotlines for Harvey Diamond. It seemed he’d thought long and hard about the direction his character should take, not merely in the next episode, but in the next several dozen. He called it the character’s “arc,” which, Vivian was sure, was something he’d just overheard one of the writers say.
    She’d also been hoping to go somewhere more exotic than the Tip Top Café, the tiny coffee shop on the lower level of the Morrison Hotel across the street from the station. The station staff frequented this place due entirely to its proximity rather than the quality of its food or service—both of which left much to be desired. A dozen or so people were clustered in twos and threes throughout the smoky room, most of them couples either coming from or about to go to one of the half a dozen movie palaces in the neighborhood. The McVickers Theater, just one block east, was showing the last night of Carefree , an Astaire and Rogers picture, and many people were likely taking their last chance to see the film before it closed.
    The reed-thin waitress who had halfheartedly taken their order returned with the coffeepot. Vivian placed her hand over her cup as Graham said in a booming voice, “Sure, doll. Top it up.”
    He flashed the waitress a smile, which she self-consciously returned. Then he turned his attention back to Vivian.
    â€œI don’t want Harvey to remain so one-dimensional, you know?” Graham took a deep drag from his cigarette, and Vivian noted that even though he’d taken it from a Sultan’s Gold box, complete with the knowing Turk on the cover, the cigarette did not have the distinctive Sultan’s Gold band around it. She opened her mouth to comment but instead caught Graham’s smoky exhalation.
    She coughed as politely as she could into her hand and turned her head to the side to escape the unswerving plume of smoke. As she did, she noticed the two women in the booth opposite. They were pretty young things, glancing at Graham and whispering to each other behind white-gloved hands. Graham seemed to take no