“What is this?” Bella complained into the receiver. The phone was ringing, must be a dozen times now, but no one was picking up. Her eyes swiveled to the plastic apple clock tacked to the wall above the stove. “Barely three,” she reminded herself. “Working folks are still putting in time at their desks.” Or counters. Or assembly lines. Or wherever they made their living. Certainly, that included her Jon. Right?

The old woman huffed and hung up.

She had her doubts about Jon’s “career” in the big city – had nearly from the start. It wasn’t just that he’d stopped talking about auditions and photo shoots and all that folderol. It wasn’t that he’d ceased talking about work at all. It was the guilt in his voice. It was the hesitation when she told him to take care if himself or teased him “not to do anything this old dogsbody wouldn’t do, ye hear me?”

And it was the dreams.

Bella was a God-fearing woman and didn’t pay much mind to superstitions, apparitions or premonitions. If the Man upstairs wanted to tell her something important, he’d do it straight out, she figured. No guessing. A direct “Here’s how things are, old woman” would be more His way. But it was hard to ignore the images that had been filling her head nearly every night for the last few months. The dream was never the same, but the gist of it remained unchanged: Jon was buried under somethin’ big and dark. Rocks. Snakes. A pile of dirty laundry. Bad things.

She knew it like she knew the age spots on the back of her hands: Her boy wasn’t working in some clean office, or on a Broadway stage, or for a Jewish deli owner like in the early days. Whatever he was doing was the kind of thing you tried to hide from the Almighty.

“The kind of thing you get a whippin’ for, boy,” she muttered. “And I ain’t too old to do it.”

But first things first.

Bella hoisted the phone unto the table, stood up and headed for the decoupage cigar box in her bedroom.

* * *

“What’s this?”

Julie was spooned around Jason’s hip, one hand trailing across his bare stomach, the other laced into his hair. He had turned his face away to take a drag of their shared cigarette, making it difficult for her to see where he was looking. “What’s what, hon?”

“This.” Shifting onto his side, he reached toward something lost in the shadows under their bed. “Looks like…”

The DVD!

“…a CD?”

“Oh, that thing.” She waggled her fingers, coaxing him to hand it over. “Some dumb movie Sissy told me about. Supposed to be all the rage. I haven’t even watched it. It’s dumb. Really. Nothing.”

Jason lifted it beyond her reach. “A movie?”

“Yea. It’s nothing. Forget it.”

Exchanging the jewel case with his cigarette, he tipped the square of plastic to catch the light from the street lamp outside their window. “The Lady’s Choice? Never heard of it.”

“No surprise,” she assured him, lifting herself onto her hip and stretching to snatch it away. “You know Sissy. She has weird tastes.”

With a playful laugh, Jason elbowed her back down. “Looks like more than weird. That’s not pinochle they’re playing on the cover.”

Julie sighed and gave up. “Okay, it’s porn. Please. Let’s just drop it. She’s a nutcase. I didn’t even play it.”

“Ya don’t say?” Twisting away, her husband flicked the case open with his thumb. She waited for him to satisfy his curiosity so they could get back to more important things.

But Jason didn’t say anything more. He wasn’t moving either.

“Happy now?” she prodded.

When he remained silent, she slid her hand along his shoulder blade.

Jason stiffened beneath her fingers.

He knows I’m lying.

Sliding closer, Julie wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her mouth to his neck. “Okay, so maybe I did watch it,” she murmured. “But only a little bit. I didn’t like it.” When he still didn’t respond, she nearly wept. “It was only because I was missing you, babe. Please. Don’t let this mess us up. Not tonight.”

Jason turned back toward her, his eyes glittering in the dim light.

“Julie, I know this dude,” he said. “He’s got one of my tats!”

* * *

“Okay,” the vice cop grumbled. “What is this?” He lowered his coffee reluctantly, eyeing the young trio with skepticism. I SEE DUMB PEOPLE was imprinted on the side of his mug.

We are so screwed, Beth fretted.

With shaking fingers, she placed the jewel case on the man’s desk. “We think someone is in trouble. The actor in this video. Someone is torturing him. Holding him prisoner. Terrible things are happening – here in New York.”

“And we know where!” Sarah added with a giggle.

The officer sighed again, absently tracing the letter D on his cup with his index finger. “The actor? In this video?” He made no move to pick up the case. “An actor is being assaulted against his will?”

“Yes,” Beth said quietly; then repeated her assertion more strongly. “Yes, a man is being assaulted.”

“An actor.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she tried to insist. “He’s not acting. He’s in pain. He’s in real trouble. He’s a famous actor. You may have heard of him. He’s Jon.”

“The Jon in jon.com,” Sarah interrupted with a second giggle.

Beth shot her a look, then stiffened her spine and continued undaunted. “Yes, the Jon they talk about in People. The guy they featured in Maxim last month. But they didn’t mention these movies – not this movie. This movie is different. Bad. Someone made him make this movie. Someone is holding him prisoner. Someone made him be in this movie…” How many times are you going to say that, girl! “Please. I know I’m just a kid, but I know what I saw. This is happening in New York. Near my parents’ condo somewhere. The church steeple. The office building. They're right there. In this…” Her voice trailed off but she couldn’t stop herself. “…movie.”  

The officer – Sergeant Lentz, Beth read on his name tag – finally let go of his mug and rose to his feet. “All right, children, recess is over. I’ve got real crimes to deal with today. Real victims in real trouble. I’ll pretend three juveniles didn’t just walk in here and hand me a piece of pornography they are obviously too young to own, and you will leave here grateful I’m not calling your parents.”

Sarah gasped. Beth swallowed. “But…” she began.

“No. Go. Celebrities – even those in the pornographic industry – are not kidnapped, tortured, filmed, packaged and sold to the public. Not in New York. Not in L.A. Not anywhere.” He halted for a moment and studied Beth’s face. What he saw must have softened his heart – if he has one. When he began again, it was with a hint of sympathy. “Look. I know it seems like the guy is in trouble. Believe it or not, we’ve gotten calls about this Jon before. He’s got Academy Award-winning balls. People forget he’s acting. But it only looks real because it’s supposed to. No crime in that. No crime in this kind of movie either, as long as the performers are a legal age.” When she opened her mouth, he raised a finger. “And as long as the purchasers are too.”

Sarah was fidgeting next to her, her legs scissoring backwards toward the stairwell. Beth was feeling the urge to run as well. She reached for the DVD, but Sergeant Lentz dropped his finger onto the jewel case.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he warned. “This stays.”

“Um. Okay.” Tears were threatening. She had failed in her mission. “Um. Sorry to have bothered you, officer. Sorry.” She was turning away, the heel of a palm massaging her eyes in turn. Fighting back the humiliation. The fear. Yes, fear! The cop was wrong. Jon needed her help, but she was failing him.

Andy’s hand caught her elbow and kept her from finishing the turn. “Officer?” he said.

Sergeant Lentz grunted.

“You are an expert, right? You know real from fake? Liars from honest citizens? You’ve seen criminals try to fool the police, and they never do. Right?”

The sergeant grunted again.

“Well then, if you don’t look at that video right now – look at it closely with your expert eyes – you’ll be sorry for the rest of your short career.” Andy’s grip tightened and Beth realized all over again why she loved him so. “See, sir. I have looked at it, and with all due respect: You are full of shit.”