Stars Screaming by John Kaye

and the slope of her shoulders as she leaned under the hood of his car. He even told them how her bones and muscles felt underneath his hands when her long, smooth legs were wrapped around his waist. He told them she was raped as a child, about the scar on her lower abdomen and the possibility of a child somewhere. He told them about her dream. About the stars and the sounds they made.
    Burk told them everything. But he didn’t tell them that he loved her.
    Louie’s Big Wheel was sitting in front of the garage as Burk pulled into his driveway. When he switched off the ignition he heard the phone ringing inside his house, but he waited outside, breathing in the crisp cool air, until it stopped.
    Before he went to sleep, he turned on the radio. On KMPC, Radio Ray Moore was speaking to a man with an angry voice.
    “I struck my boy today,” the caller told Radio Ray. “Not with my fist. I slapped him. But I slapped him hard enough to flame up his cheek.”
    “Why did you do that?”
    “I caught him in the garage. He had the top off the paint thinner and his nose stuck inside the can. Those fumes can turn your brain goofy. I told him that before, but he don’t listen to me.”
    “How old is he?”
    “Twelve.”
    “Pretty young for that kind of stuff.”
    “Too young. That’s why I had to draw the line. The next time I catch him in there he’s gonna get a real beating.”
    “I’d think twice about that.”
    “I didn’t call you for advice, Radio Ray.”
    “Why did you call me?”
    “I wanted to get it off my chest.”
    “What are you hiding in the garage?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t know. You sound like there’s something in there you don’t want him to see.”
    “What’re you talkin’ about? All I got in there is my camping gear, a lawn mower, and my tools.”
    “You got a tackle box?”
    “Hell, yes. Of course I got a tackle box.”
    “The tray on top, that’s where you keep all your lures and flies. Right? And maybe some hooks. What do you have underneath?”
    “Nothin’.”
    “Nothing? Really?”
    “I got some leader and a deck of playing cards.”
    “That’s it?”
    “And some insect repellent.”
    “What else?”
    “Nothin’.”
    “You got something else down below, don’t you? Something you’re ashamed of. What is it, dope? Dirty pictures? Condoms? What do you have in there?”
    “Nothin’! I got nothin’! Stop pushing me!”
    There was a long pause. Radio Ray waited but the caller didn’t speak.
    “Apologize to your boy,” Radio Ray said, breaking the silence. “Go in now and tell him you’re sorry.”
    “He’s asleep.”
    “Wake him up. Tell him you love him. Do the right thing.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Do it.”
    “But—”
    “Do it. Now .”
    The next morning, when Burk saw the picture in the Los Angeles Times , he knew right away that something was wrong. Two paramedicswere loading Bonnie’s body into the rear of the ambulance, but in the right-hand corner of the picture, in the gutter, Burk saw something that looked like a shoe. “Move aside,” Burk said out loud to the cop in the picture, who was blocking his view. “Move aside or pick up her shoe. That’s her loafer, you dumb shit! Pick it up! Pick up her fucking shoe! ”
    Gene called later that afternoon. He said, “I just spoke to my guys down at headquarters. It’s all bullshit. They checked with the Screen Actors Guild, and they have no record of an actress with the name Grace Simpson. Ellen, Faith, Heather, Helen, yes. No Grace. No one close to that. Zip.”
    “Maybe she changed her last name. Actors do that all the time.”
    “Ray, listen to me. This chick—”
    “Forget it, Gene. I’m not interested.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t want to hear it.”
    “You don’t want to hear the truth? What’re you, fuckin’ crazy?”
    No one spoke for at least a minute. Finally, Burk said, “P-Five.”
    “What?” Gene said.
    “‘Dream Lover.’ P-Five on the jukebox