The Darkness Knows Read Free Page B

to say. “Are you a…” Vivian also looked around to make sure no one was listening. The two girls at the booth opposite were chatting animatedly with each other; eavesdropping had apparently become tiresome. “Communist?” she finished in a whisper.
    â€œOh, good lord, no,” Graham answered quickly, relaxing back into his seat again.
    Vivian sighed. Well, that was a relief. It wouldn’t do at all for Harvey Diamond to be associated with the Red Menace. That kind of thing ruined careers.
    â€œBut I do think the ideas of the movement are interesting,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone. He looked off into the distance again for a moment, and then his attention snapped back to her. “Anyway, I’d love for you to read it and give me your impression.”
    Vivian’s eyes widened with surprise. “Me? Read your play?”
    â€œWhen it’s finished, of course,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “I trust your professional opinion implicitly.”
    Vivian’s breath caught in her throat. Her professional opinion? No one had ever suggested she might have a professional opinion before, especially not someone like Graham Yarborough. He was a bona fide star.
    â€œSay,” he said, placing his hand over hers on the table. “Would you like to have dinner with me this Saturday night?”
    Vivian felt her pulse quicken at his touch, but she forced herself to wait a beat before answering. She still wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t charming his way into a favor. Then he beamed that movie-star smile at her, and her resolve softened. So what if he is? she thought. With a smile like that, he could charm her into almost anything.
    â€œI’d love to,” she said.
    Graham tipped his wrist to glance at his watch.
    â€œIt’s after nine already,” he said, releasing her hand. “We should head back for the ten o’clock. I want to give my thoughts on the timing to Joe.”
    â€¢ • •
    The WCHI studios occupied the top two floors of the outwardly unimpressive dark stone Grayson-Cole Building. It was wedged among hotels, movie theaters, and drugstores on Madison between Clark and Dearborn in Chicago’s Loop, just a stone’s throw from “that great street,” State Street. The cavernous lobby was deserted at this time of night, but the elevator was waiting as Vivian and Graham approached, the sign above proclaiming “Express to 11—WCHI.” The doors were open, and Angelo, the operator, sat on his stool in the corner, flipping a nickel with his thumb into the open palm of the other hand. He jumped up immediately when he spotted them, a smile lighting his face.
    â€œMr. Yarborough, Miss Witchell,” he said, bobbing his head respectfully toward Vivian.
    â€œQuiet night, Angelo?” Graham asked, jingling the keys in his coat pocket.
    â€œYes, sir.” Angelo brushed imaginary lint off the front of his immaculate maroon uniform and closed the elevator doors behind them.
    Vivian smiled at him as he set the elevator into motion with a jerk of the floor lever. She felt a certain solidarity with people like Angelo. Not so long ago she had been just a lowly receptionist, overlooked and put upon.
    â€œI heard there’s a chance of rain tonight,” Graham said, idly adjusting the cuffs of his shirtsleeves.
    â€œRain? Oh, shoot!” Vivian exclaimed in irritation. “I left my umbrella in the upstairs lounge.”
    â€œI’ll go up and fetch it for you,” Graham offered.
    â€œNo, no. That’s okay. I think I’ll go up and get a glass of water for the ten o’clock while I’m there,” she said. “My voice was a bit hoarse at the end of the last show.”
    The elevator jerked to a stop, and Angelo opened the doors to the eleventh floor.
    â€œWatch your step, sir.”
    Graham hopped up the inch from the elevator to the hallway floor. He