The Accidental Siren Read Online Free PDF Page B

fabric square
was a single, silver eye-hook.
    “You say you want to make motion pictures,”
asked Ms. Grisham.
    “Yes, Ma’am. I–”
    “I found it strange when you told me that on
the telephone; filmmaking is not usually a woman’s pursuit. But
you’re not a woman, are you Jaaames?”
    “No, Ma’am.”
    “I met Liz Taylor working reception at
Turnberry Isle. Grey roots , she had. Can you imagine? A
famous actress and roots as grey as an elephant’s trunk.”
    Before I could prove my ignorance for old
film stars, the woman’s head snapped around and her eyes locked on
mine. “Is this a ploy?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Are you a sneaky little brat? Did you see my
ad in the paper and get a perverted little idea in your perverted
little brain? To sound like a woman to sneak your way in? I saw you
eyeing the stairs, boy . Is there something you were looking
for? Something more than a camera ? Show me your money!”
    “I– I’m sorry?” I muttered again.
    Her body twisted to align with her head. Her
back arched like a hyena.
    I suddenly recalled the scene from The
Goonies where that old hag nearly shoves the fat boy’s hand in
the blender. I began to panic.
    “Show me that you’re serious, little
boy ,” she growled. “Prove that you’re here for my camera!”
    I jammed my hand in my pocket and rustled the
forty bucks (thirty from allowances; ten from Whit’s candy sales).
I held out the crummy wad for the woman’s scrutiny while trying to
get a grasp on my breathing.
    She looked at the cash, then shook her head
and waved her hand. “Bah. I won’t have your money.” She returned to
the table and gathered the camera, a case, and two sealed rolls of
film.
    I pocketed the cash and fingered my neck for
a pulse.
    “You’re a good kid,” she said and released
the armful of beautiful components to the cushion beside me. “And
that’s a good camera. Hate to see her go, but I purchased a nicer
model last week. Hi-8. Records on tape. How things change.”
    I was jealous. Super-8 film had a really neat
look, but it would be terribly impractical. But I had to make my
fairytale somehow...
    “Test it out. Make sure I didn’t forget some
fancy component.”
    “Sure will.” My eyes glistened and I forgot
about the woman’s moment of insanity. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
    As I inspected the dials and triggers and
reels, Ms. Grisham walked to a Lazy-Boy against the back wall. She
brushed the seat and eased into it, then used the back of her hand
to part thick, paisley curtains. She peered into the lamplit
forest.
    “I saw some boys in the woods behind your
house,” I blurted. “I think they might be spying but I’m not with
them, I swear. I’m just here for the camera so I can make my
movie.”
    “Mmm.” A lamp with a dim canary shade was the
only source of light where the woman sat. Basking in the glow atop
a swatch of frayed lace was a frame with gold flakes and a
photograph–torn in half–of a woman in a wedding dress. A
sterling-silver chain adorned the photo as if the frame was a
lady’s neck; at its center hung a ring with a thick gold band and
six prongs that once carried a diamond. “Have you been baptized,
child?” she purred.
    I unzipped the bag–more like a pouch–and
slipped the camera inside. “The camera’s perfect, Ma’am. I’m
staying at a friend’s house tonight and he’s probably getting
worried–”
    “Little boys should be baptized. Especially little boys. Flushes out the perversions. Makes
you pure in the name of Jesus Christ.” She pulled her hand from the
curtain and crossed herself.
    Whit’s never gonna believe this. I
stood.
    “How old are you, Jaaames?” she asked.
    “Twelve, Ma’am.”
    “Sixth grade, is it?”
    “Tomorrow’s the last day of class. That’s why
I really should be getting–”
    “You’re not popular, are you Jaaames?”
    I hugged the camera to my breasts and shook
my head. “I’m going to leave the money on the–”
    “I don’t want