Coming Attractions Read Online Free PDF

Helen stood at her office window and looked to the sidewalk below. The crowd had dispersed and she sighed wearily. She’d had the opportunity to speak out and it would be over. She’d be out of the closet and literally into the street. Bang. Boom.
    To the pedestrians below she muttered, “Repetition. It’s all you want. Why won’t you allow us our choices? What scares you?” She looked at her reflection in the window. “What scares me?”
    Freedom. Her right to choose. She knew, no matter how much she wanted freedom, she feared coming out alone. Helen had to organize her thoughts and plan, get them into action, and claim a fuller identity.
    While New York’s sky turned gunmetal blue, white headlights and red taillights clamored for position below. The time was past six and it had been one hell of a day. She ignored any messages that might be on her phone, preferring to deal with them on Monday. Her day was quiet now, and nothing remained to distract her. Sam dropped by and placed a box onto her desk.
    “Reception sent this up. It’s too light for a bomb. Good night, Helen.” He turned to leave. “Good job today.”
    “Thanks.”
    Helen stared at the box. She’d often received tokens from readers and that one came as no surprise. Some people still appreciated her column. She picked up the gift and noticed the elegant wrapping. A shake presented a muffled sound. Curious. Suddenly, she remembered—mustard and silk. Her flesh tingled.
    Alone with a cardboard container, which in no way, shape, or form possessed the ability to converse, Helen was speechless. She placed the package back on her desk and tried to justify not opening it. She knew the content, from whom it came, and that it was simply a replacement for damages occurred during an innocent, or not so innocent, jog. A scarf, but a scarf sent by a tantalizing woman she knew only as “yes.”
    Her fingers shook while she untied the delicate lavender ribbon.
    “How appropriate.”
    Next was the creamy white paper.
    “Virginal.”
    And finally, the box.
    “Pandora’s box.” She took a breath. “Relax. It’s a scarf. Just remove the cover…that’s it…and now peel back the tissue. Very good, Helen.”
    And there it was: A scarf, red and silky. A promise kept. No ghosts flew out, no bugs jumped on her, no diseases wreaked havoc. Now pick it up.
    She shook her head. “No, and I don’t believe I’m having a conversation with myself.”
    Helen finally pulled herself together and picked up the soft and cool-to-her-touch garment. When she noticed another wrapped item, she tore through the tissue and her entire muscular system collapsed. Another scarf, as bright as emeralds. Beneath the layers of fabric, at the bottom of the box, lay even greater hope: a note. A name. Helen picked up the parchment envelope, removed the fold of paper, and read aloud. “My apologies for the accident and I do hope the scarves will make up for any problem I have caused. Of course silk. Could I have imagined anything less? Have a lovely weekend. C.C.”
    Frustrated, Helen picked up the green cloth and felt its gentleness. She touched it to her cheek and, once more, captured the delicate aroma of lily of the valley. She deeply inhaled a memory.
    “C.C. That tells me a hell of a lot.” She looked back at the note. “I can eliminate Carol Channing, Claudette Colbert, and Charlie Chaplin. C.C. Cynthia. Carol. Christine. I like Christine.”
    Once more irritated with the woman’s elusiveness, and with her own obsessive curiosity, Helen shoved the scarves into the box, grabbed her belongings, and whisked herself out the office door.

Chapter Four
     
    On Saturday morning, Helen snuggled deep into her down pillow and pulled the blankets to her neck. She stared at the old Time magazine cover she’d framed and hung near her dresser. The periodical date was October 14, 1991, and bore the headline “Jodie Foster. A Director Is Born.”
    On that cover, Foster personified