CHANCEY DOUBLE-BACK by Pam Ingebritson
Chapter 1 – Holly Palomino

Melanie Sullivan, known to a large radio audience in Lincoln County and
beyond as Holly Palomino, stepped off the elevator onto the 8th floor that harbored
KRVN’s sales and business offices, and the broadcast and production studios. Her
calf-high, black kidskin boots made no sound in the plush hallway carpeting leading
to the main door of the suite. Pushing through the redwood door emblazoned with a
black raven, she crossed the empty lobby, savoring the quiet. Lanette, the
receptionist wasn’t in yet, so she fumbled with her swipe card to gain entrance into
the inner sanctum.

Holly had things to do before her show began at 10:00 a.m. Her bouncy stride
rhythmically flicked her signature golden tail of hair as she strode toward her office.
Like many air personalities, Melanie used a stage name. However, “Holly Palomino”
was more than a professional name. Holly was the new person she had transformed
herself into; Melanie had been abandoned back in Chancey.

Monday mornings at KRVN she expected the unexpected, from a surprise staff
meeting at 9:00, to the announcement of a format or management change, to the
scheduling of a last minute remote in the afternoon. Never was there a dull moment
in the activities that surrounded the mostly-boring, regular broadcasts.
The office area for the radio staff resembled a mouse maze of small cubicles.
Dreary corporate gray and good only for tacking up messages or catching your toe
on, the pseudo-walls provided no privacy or quiet to think by.

Mondays were bad for concentration anyway, when the dominating thought
was of that vast five-day spread ahead. The air studio where Holly worked,
sequestered for hours, incongruously offered more privacy than her office cube,
despite its transparent walls. This glass cage revealed the jocks’ every move, and
the broadcast itself trumpeted their words. Not many people indiscriminately
barged into that environment. Whoever entered, generally disappeared even faster
than they’d showed up. Being exposed to the world via radio broadcast unnerved
most, except those who did it for a living.

Holly entered her cube, resigned to its confines. This box made her feel
claustrophobic and demeaned, as if the human occupants were a barn full of horses
penned in stalls. Whatever, thought Holly, at least I rate an area to stash my purse and
the demandatory bag of M&M’s. The lowly part-timers and interns possessed only an
interoffice mailbox. Her desktop was strewn with letters, memos, and the proverbial
pink “Urgent” message notes. Numerous pastel-colored sticky notes clung
tenaciously to their perches, bearing the truly important info: phone numbers of the
best delivery-pizza, hair salon, health club, and chiropractor. Others reminded her
to call so-and-so, get tickets for so-and-so, etc., all par for the course in the life of one
who bestows favors and gifts upon those who would, sooner or later, generously
reciprocate. Somewhere underneath this carpet of paper rested some business-like
accessories.

Holly plopped down in her chair, leaned back, and rhythmically swiveled
side to side, starting the day with 30 seconds of her form of meditation. A binderclipped
stack of the week’s commercial scripts lay prominently on the messy desk
for her perusal. Dutifully, she began scanning the copy she would be producing
later, shaking her head at the variously syrupy, sappy, or just plain stupid lines the
ad agencies habitually came up with. The raucous beep of the phone intercom
interrupted her efforts.

“Holly?” The voice of Lanette Francis, the radio station’s normally
effervescent receptionist, sounded cautious through the intercom.
Where’s the phone? Holly pawed through the messy desktop, nearly knocking
it off in her search. “Come to mama,” Holly muttered, fishing the phone back by its
cord from a precarious perch. She punched the intercom key and resumed her
swiveling/script scanning. “Yeah Lanette, what’s up?”
“Pick up, please.”

Her swiveling abruptly stopped. Uh oh! What FCC frowned-upon, dastardly
gaff-over-the-air am I guilty of this time?! Sighing stoically, she mentally prepared for
a summons to be lambasted by the Program Director or General Manager. Holly
shrugged the phone receiver up under her chin, “Yes Lanette?”
“Holly, I have a visitor here who wishes to speak with uhhmm, Melanie
Sullivan.”

Silence. Coolly, Holly responded, “Who does he say he is?”
Lanette’s voice dropped to low and urgent, “Uh, actually, her name is Jenkins,
Deputy Roberta Jenkins, from the Sheriff’s Department.”
“Say what?! Whoa…!” Holly spluttered, her mind stalling. Startled, she
rambled on, “What is this about? I’m not itching to find out, but, oh well, guess I’ll
have to talk with her. Stash her in the lounge, and tell her I’ll be there in five and,
NO wait! Bad idea. (Too many big-eyed, big-mouthed people tracking in and out of
there). Ah! Show her into the small production studio. Nothing’s scheduled in
there. Nobody will hear what’s going on, and if anyone sees us, well, she’s here to
tape a public service spot. Yeah! That’ll work. And, Lanette?” Holly paused, out of
breath and thoughts.

“I’m listening…,” Lanette tried to silently communicate her loyalty and
support to Holly, who was a role model and hero to her. Still, she couldn’t help it,
her imagination ran wild.

“Thanks for keeping this quiet. I’ll fill you in…” Holly’s voice trailed off.
“Later.”

Holly closed her eyes, desperate to quell the rising wave of emotion. Instead,
she only became more panicky. What could have happened; what has he done now?
the thought rose unbidden. Though it had been years since she’d left Chancey, she
was instantly transported back to a place she’d fought to escape, literally and
emotionally. Normally, she would have immediately rejected any tiny memory of
the terrorist, the man who spawned her (she refused to say ‘her father’). But now,
with the dark cloud of the unknown pressing down on her, she couldn’t squelch the
tide of thoughts about him. For who or what else could possibly bring the authorities
to her door? She’d never been back to Chancey, didn’t plan on ever going back.
There wasn’t one thing or person left there that interested her. Well, maybe one,
albeit, not one that interested her much. The lone blood relative, still ensconced in
hometown Chancey, was her long-gone oldest sister’s daughter, Samantha. A fast
and dirty calculation put Sam’s age at eleven, maybe twelve years old now? Just the
right age… Holly shuddered. A stray recollection of her oldest sister, Gina, flitted
through her mind and she idly wondered whether Sam was like Gina.

What kind of messed up life that kid must have! Feelings of sympathy and
concern for an individual she didn’t know or love revealed themselves, startling her.
Then another stunningly audacious thought sprang forth.
The voice sounded familiar: Yes, Melanie, a decimated life, just as yours was
after years of neglect, terror, and abuse. Thanks to Gina, you survived. Gina protected
you. Sam has no one. Perhaps this is your opportunity to give back.
Furious, Holly snarled in return, after the way Gina deserted me and Berry!!
The last thing I’d do is have anything to do with her brat.
The voice spoke again, Sam had nothing to do with that. Does anyone hold you
accountable for the sins of your father? Why does Sam deserve punishment for Gina’s
so-called crime?

Holly’s racing mind instantly stilled. The alien voice has gone, leaving in its
wake a serene calm that drifted in gently to replace what had felt like a violent
whirlpool sucking her down. A curious sensation of expectancy vibrated within her
as she waited for whatever came next. Nothing. The resurrected turmoil and anger
had vanished. Her analytical thinking style stayed underground as a clearer
knowledge of what that was all about surfaced. Suddenly energized, Holly leaped
up out of the chair. She glanced at her watch. Amazingly only 10 minutes had
passed since Lanette had buzzed her. By now, the deputy ought to be in place. She
hurried down the narrow, ceramic-tiled hallway leading toward the production
studios, boot heels clicking a quick cadence as she passed by the large on-air studios.

Holly had completely left behind her old Melanie identity – it no longer
existed, or so she believed. Many years had passed since she had associated with
anyone who knew Melanie. So, it was not only surprising, but emotionally disturbing
that Melanie had been tracked down. The fact that Melanie Sullivan was, in fact, her
legal name and would appear in any and all records and databases that recorded
her existence, totally escaped her. Other than a couple of KRVN business office staff
persons, a company lawyer and accountant or two, and of course, the all-knowing
Lanette, no one frequenting her present circles knew her as Melanie Sullivan. But
this person isn’t somebody you hang with! This is a cop! She strode resolutely on,
determined to get it over with. The uniformed visitor, though well acquainted with
the Melanie of the past, had never met this woman, ‘Holly’…

Deputy Roberta “Robbie” Jenkins impatiently paced the floor of the studio.
Her miss-nothing eyes scanned the recording equipment, headphones, mics, and
intimidating electronics board that dominated the tiny studio. But she didn’t really
see any of it. Her brain buzzed as she contemplated her plan of action, going down
the list, looking for holes, loose ends, or weaknesses. Her brilliant notion had
flashed through her mind like a scrolling marquee at the very moment she and a
fellow deputy had confirmed Dan Sullivan’s death. From that point, the plan formed.
No amount of subsequent reasoning with herself had doused the burning flame this
lightning-strike concept had become and any objections her mind protested with
were just as quickly squashed. Crazy as it seemed, she had stopped fighting it. This
plan must come about; she was to make it so.

Years ago, Robbie Jenkins had come to terms with the fact that the frequently
occurring wars between her practical, down-to-earth side and instinctive nature
would ultimately be won by the gut feeling. Her intuition was keen and accurate.
She just knew things, or, rather was presented with them; facts, truths, or knowledge.
It was the Lord, she believed, guiding her, and showing her the way to help others.
The choice to enter the profession this uniform represented seemed obvious.
Robbie made a dynamite cop! She had a calm-mindedness, a realistic, practical
side, essential, in her line of work, to not getting your brains blown out. Yet, her
ability to perceive beyond the sensual was almost supernatural, Holy spirit-powered
supernatural, that is.

Robbie had been on duty at the time of the discovery of the murder of Dan
Sullivan. Coincidence, that Robbie Jenkins just happened to be a former classmate
and friend of Melanie’s, one of the murder victim’s daughters? Coincidence, that
her friend and fellow deputy Will Barton’s son Brian had been the unlikely
“discoverer” of the body? More like God’s providence. Throughout the methodical
process of securing the scene and waiting impatiently for the lab boys to arrive, her
mind was churning out remembrances of Melanie and herself in former times. Too
bad this didn’t happen in time for Melanie to rejoice over it, Robbie thought sadly as
she eyed the disgusting sight of Sullivan’s body. Robbie knew too much about
Melanie and her sisters’ rough times at the hands of their father and she cared too
much about Samantha, to ignore this opportunity to help them all. She and Mel had
been best pals at about the same age that Samantha was now, and their friendship
continued through high school. Robbie had seen Melanie through some bad times,
most of it courtesy of Dan Sullivan. Now, the monster that had been Melanie’s father
lay motionless and bloody, like a hunk of road kill. She truly hoped this news would
be closure for Melanie.

Robbie hadn’t resorted to police methods to track down Melanie. She had
followed Melanie’s career closely, all along. Actually, Melanie was everywhere in
the early years, her face and body gracing magazine covers, billboards, and clothes
catalogs, even an isolated TV commercial or two, as she hawked numerous products.
Melanie, and that hair, had been as familiar to Rob as her own reflection, long before
the general public was exposed to it. Robbie chuckled silently, thinking about
Melanie’s chosen alias; her white blonde hair swept back into a horse’s tail had
always been her preferred method of taming that mane! Transforming her tail into a
name and trademark as she had was just Melanie’s style. Her unique hair,
extraordinary beauty, driving ambition, and a need for excitement gave Melanie the
tools she needed to succeed as a model in Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and Ruidoso. A
radio interview she did on KRVN’s morning show to help promote a fund-raising
fashion show was the break that brought her to the attention of the station’s General
Manager. As a local, Holly was already well known, visually, to the radio listening
audience. What the public didn’t know was how funny and normal this young
woman was. Her role as a model was to create an image of glamour, sophistication,
sexiness, or the like, for the sake of product sales. But it also created the image that
she was, in fact, a sophisticated, worldly-wise woman. Discovering that Holly
Palomino was just a regular person, yet could look, talk, and act like that, meant
there was hope for them. They also bonded with Holly because they knew her
already. The shrewd General Manager moved quickly to capitalize on the built-in
recognition of this high profile, local celebrity, who would presumably guarantee an
instant following of listeners amongst a certain desirable demographic group.
Before she could flick her white ponytail, Holly Palomino’s silky, low timbre’d voice,
and contagious laugh became just as well known to KRVN listeners as her attractive
visage already was.

Holly found it gratifying to have other aspects of herself appreciated. She’d
made scads of money from her face and body. And money was a mighty incentive to
persevere in a profession that required little of her brain. But as time went on,
money and modeling became less significant. She grew increasingly restless.
Something wasn’t right. The radio interview, bantering with the disc jockeys, just
being herself, and having others appreciate her wit and sense of humor, opened her
eyes. Modeling went by the wayside. Never mind! We’re talking serious move up
the celebrity ladder here. The sponsors loved having Holly promote their grand
opening, Memorial Day Sale, new location, and the like. She was a fresh, lovely
departure from the usual lot of disc jockeys who were talented individuals, yes,
drama majors or drama queens, voice majors, those who did voices, or those with a
flair for comedy, but, who couldn’t or didn’t choose to pursue a career in print or film
media. Seeking unique recognition, radio personalities often adopted demeanors
characterized by rough, wacky, outrageous, or obnoxious behavior and
appearance. Holly broke all the rules. She was attractive, smart, and articulate – a
natural at witty repartee. Her chameleon-like qualities proved valuable in the everchanging
world of radio (and for purposes of passing unrecognized). Her high
energy level saw her through the stress, public exposure, sleep-deprivation, and
high drama of the entertainment business. No wonder she did well.
Robbie had gone out of state to college about the same time Melanie had
taken off for Albuquerque. Their contact dwindled to an occasional phone call, and
that, usually to an answering machine. She hadn’t seen Mel in years. She had her
own life, one that had brought her a lot of satisfaction.

Though they’d drifted apart, Rob knew exactly where to find Melanie/Holly:
on the airwaves, FM frequency 107.7. She listened sometimes, off duty. Melanie’s
voice inspired good memories. They’d had wildly fun times, and some close-to-theedge
experiences that had forged their deep bond.
Robbie’s wandering thoughts were rudely interrupted when the toe of her
boot caught the chair nested under the control board, spinning it abruptly, with a
squeaking twirl. Pain brought her rudely back to the present. She took a deep,
calming breath. She expected no trouble with Melanie, and anticipated a pleasant
reunion, but the business end of her visit…

Holly pushed open the door to the studio. The officer’s taunt black and gray
clad back was presented to her view as she entered. The uniform immediately
turned. The officer’s imposing 5 foot 11 inches, augmented by another inch and a
half of boot, seemed to tower over Holly’s own, not insubstantial 5 foot 8 inch stature.
Intense chocolate brown eyes stared down squarely into gold caramel ones… and
smiled. Holly's jaw dropped, her lips tried to form words but nothing came out.
“Melanie. You’re more beautiful than ever.” Deputy Jenkins and
Melanie/Holly hugged awkwardly, then unreservedly.

Their embrace relaxed and they looked each other up and down. “Robbie, I
can’t believe… it never entered my mind. I mean, Roberta Jenkins. The Mrs. thing
didn't occur to me.” Hastily, Holly stumbled on. “Anyway, did anyone ever call you
Roberta? Look at this! The Law! After all the crazy stunts we pulled, who’da
figured…” Holly’s voice finally trailed off.

“Just the facts, Ma’am, you’re speaking in tongues, and by the way, you can
close your jaw now,” Robbie teased. No matter that she and Melanie had been
friends, the uniform always put people ill at ease and she needed a tension-breaker
herself. The job of delivering bad news never got easier. With this person, it would
be harder yet, because of their mutual history. Not to mention the crazy thing she
hoped to convince Melanie of participating in weighed heavily on her mind.
Robbie sobered, “I’m happy to see you, and I’d like to spend some time
catching up. But I’m here as a part of my job, the least-favorite part. I’m sorry to
have to tell you this, although, knowing what I know, I’m not sure you’ll be that sorry
to hear it." Robbie breathed in a deep breath, then stated bluntly, "Melanie, your
father is dead.”

Holly thought she’d been braced for anything. A swirl of conflicting emotions
coursed through her and her chest tightened. Strong, friendly hands guided her
body toward the chair as she sagged in relief and confusion. “Thank God!” she
blurted.

Robbie dropped her gaze away. She knew exactly why Melanie would say
such a thing, and knew also, having said it, she would feel embarrassed now.

Holly stammered in explanation, “What I mean is, thank God it’s only that he’s
dead, not that he made somebody else dead. He didn’t, did he? Take some
innocent along with him? The terrorist is dead?!” she echoed. “How can somebody
who’s permanently pickled die?” Her half-hearted joke came off awkwardly. “He’s
too mean to die. I suppose the thing to ask is ‘how’ or ‘when’; somehow, my main
question seems to be ‘did he suffer?’, ‘was it the kind of death a thing like him
deserved?’” Holly meandered, not expecting answers. Though her words may have
shocked or confused most, Robbie understood every nuance of them.
Robbie interjected, “Melanie, there’s more to it. We’re investigating his
death as a homicide. The body was discovered Sunday morning, but he’d definitely
been dead for a few days or longer. We tried to get in touch with you yesterday.
Were you out of town?”

Holly’s mind reeled. She’d assumed liquor had killed him somehow. Soon,
the light dawned. Slowly, deliberating her words, she spoke. “So, you’re not here
merely to inform the family member of tragic news. I’m suspected of this presumed
murder.”

Robbie sighed deeply. “Melanie, I’m here primarily to, as you say, inform the
family, and, no you’re not a prime suspect. Mostly, I need answers to a few
questions, related to your father, and one would be where you were at a certain
point in time. I also could use your help in locating your sister, Berry.” Robbie
deliberately didn’t mention Melanie’s oldest sister, Gina. She waited quietly for a
response that didn’t come. Her friend had retreated.

Holly’s face grew stony, her eyes stared into the distance, then at Robbie’s
face, their expression unreadable. Deputy Jenkins waited some more. The look was
all she got. She dropped the deputy persona.

“Mel, please don’t look at me that way. I’m your friend. But I have a job to do.
Give me a break, would ya? I know you didn’t do it. Look, Melanie. I know,
remember? I was there, all those years ago. If there was a time you were going to
kill him, don’t you think I know very well it would have been then, when he was
giving you every reason to want him dead? Not now, after you’ve escaped him and
rubbed his face in your success! Not when what you’ve overcome and achieved is
worth a million times more than the existence of his kind. Would a rational person
throw away something that valuable, on someone so worthless? What could you
possibly gain?” Robbie paused, not sure she believed her own words to her friend.
Holly’s voice was small in response, “I suppose I could get the proverbial
revenge, a sense of justice being served.” Her voice took on a sarcastic edge.
“Maybe I’ve become one of those pretty outside, warped inside personalities. You
know, a sicko, with all this hate and rage simmering inside for years and now finally
exploding!” She flung her hand toward Robbie in a disgusted gesture. “You people
come up with all kinds of things like that, don’t you? I think you call it ‘motive.’” She
whined in insulting mimic of Robbie, “What could you possibly gain?” Shocked at
herself, Holly came to her senses and the dramatic tirade abruptly ended. She
propped her elbows to knees, head in hands, eyes covered, and sat there, fear
trembling her legs as she waited tersely for some official directive.

Robbie stayed quiet, expecting further salvos to be lobbed. Another 60
seconds went by, silent, but for Holly’s ragged breathing.
Finally came Robbie’s voice, gently, “Feel better now, Melaninny?” The old
pet phrase dissolved Holly and the tears began.

Holly raised her tear-streaked face to Robbie’s sardonic smiling one. “If
you’re gonna start that, a slug of root beer would probably help, or maybe my
shoulder to cry on? Let’s blow this joint. We’ve gotta lotta catching up to do.”
Words still failed Holly, so she simply hugged her old friend again. She
inclined her head towards the door and they headed for the lobby. Robbie lingered
in the hallway while Holly detoured to retrieve her purse. Lanette heard them
coming, the lady deputy in the lead, her strides long, footfalls crisp. Holly followed
behind (was it her imagination?) in a strange, demure attitude, head down and face
turned slightly away. Like a prisoner being led, wondered Lanette. She tried not to
stare but every fiber of her was dying to know. Deputy Jenkins was an impressive
figure of an authoritative female. Tall and strong-looking, her carriage and manner
were military. But even the severe uniform couldn’t hide her knockout figure. Her
thick, brunette hair was worn up, French-braided. Overall, her looks were more
Eurasian than Hispanic. Lanette thought she rather resembled Rachel McLish.
Lanette’s unease grew as Holly and the deputy passed by her desk and she was
seized by a ridiculous urge to salute. Holly threw her a reassuring glance, then held
up one finger to the deputy, falling back to murmur a word to Lanette. Robbie
nodded and continued on into the lobby. Holly concluded her conference with

Lanette and caught up with Robbie. Lanette’s eyeballs burned into her back as the
large, redwood door whispered shut behind them.
At the elevator, Robbie rang for Down. “Please God,” prayed Holly fervently,
out loud, “don’t let anyone I know be on this elevator.” The elevator doors sighed
open, revealing a blessedly empty car. They stepped onto the car, the doors closed,
and Holly blew out an exhalation of relief. She pressed her back up against the
elevator wall and tipped her head back. Strangely, a hiccup of laughter erupted,
then another. She bit it back but it welled up and spilled over. Glancing at Robbie’s
wrinkled brow and serious expression served to encourage the mirth. Robbie’s
control wobbled as well.

“Did you see the look on Lanette’s face? I told her to tell the PD to get
someone to cover my show because I had to go. You should have cuffed me; that
would’ve really popped her eyes out.” Holly gasped between guffaws.
Robbie smiled. “Breathe deep Melanie, you’ll be all right.”
“You don’t know what you’ve done. You just destroyed that young girl’s
fantasies about her hero, me. You may have even created a brand new Bonnie
Parker. She’ll probably show up at the jailhouse to liberate me.” The laughter grew
hysterical and contagious until Robbie was chuckling too. They were both rolling by
the time the elevator hit the ground floor.

The elevator door opened, revealing to the waiting group of people a
perplexing sight. A young, blonde woman was sitting slumped on the floor, back
against the side wall, where a policewoman squatted beside her, trying to assist
her?, subdue her?, revive her?, both of them red-faced and teary-eyed. The
blonde’s arms were wrapped across her midsection. The policewoman was deepbreathing.
The crowd gaped. Nobody moved. The policewoman, from her squat
stance, extended one leg across the elevator’s thresh hold to keep the door from
closing. One brave soul ventured timidly, “Officer, do you need assistance?”
Robbie’s authority role came on line. “Yes. Please hold the door open.
Someone help me get her up.” One man leaned on the elevator door jam, while
another lent assistance with Holly. One of the observers recognized Holly and
started whispering excitedly to her companion. Both women edged closer to the
elevator, rubbernecking. Holly’s laughter was spent, as was her strength and
resistance. She passively allowed her arm to be slung around Robbie’s neck,
Robbie’s strong arm going around her waist to help support her. The young man
who helped out followed at a discreet distance as the pair crossed the lobby and
exited the front doors to a black and gold police cruiser parked there. Odd that the
cop put the prisoner into the front passenger seat instead of the back. Weren’t there
usually two or more cops in on an arrest?

“Officer, did you have to ‘mace’ her? Or did she O.D. on something?” the
young man questioned boldly. Robbie, glanced over at the eager-for-dirt aura of
the kid’s face. “No son, the young lady has only had a slight breakdown, that’s all.”
The helpful young boy’s face fell at this disillusioning information and he turned
away sadly. Immediately, the teenager was mobbed by several young female
gawkers who had watched from afar. Robbie shook her head sadly as she climbed
into the car. This attitude of lusting for dirt and gossip was especially distressing to
see in young people.

“It’s a sick world, Melanie. Where to, old friend?” Too emotionally ragged
out to reply, her passenger just shrugged.

“How about we just drive awhile. Then we’ll stop for a drink or sandwich,
wherever you say, and talk about this whole messy business. Or, I’ll take you home,
wherever.” Holly smiled weakly at Robbie as she cut the cruiser’s wheel left and
eased out into traffic.

A short time passed with no talk. Finally, having regained a bit of composure,
Holly said seriously, “Robbie, Deputy Jenkins, there is one thing I’d like to get
straight right away.”

“And that is?” Robbie’s eyes never left the road ahead of her.
“My name is Holly. Holly Palomino. I left Melanie behind long ago. It’s
unnerving to hear that name; it drags me back to things and times I don’t want to
remember, ya know? So, I’d prefer ‘Holly,’ if you don’t mind.” Holly’s words were
rushed and embarrassed.

Robbie glanced over thoughtfully, seeing a confused young woman, and a
damaged little girl. She was matter-of-fact, but blunt, “I’ll do anything I can to help
you. I was calling you by the name I knew you as. Your name. I, more than anyone,
can understand why you left behind certain persons and experiences. I thought the
name “Holly Palomino” was sharp. But I also thought Holly was just a stage name.
Guess I was wrong. Never figured you for abandoning Melanie. Jazz her up, simmer
her down, wise her up? Yes. But flat out desert her in favor of becoming someone
else? I don’t know any reason on God’s earth why you would run away from who
you were and are.”

Holly flinched but Robbie wasn’t done yet. “Make no mistake about it old
friend, there isn’t and never was anything wrong with Melanie. Melanie didn’t cause
those things to happen. It was him. Not you.”
Neither Holly nor Melanie replied.

Robbie had seen this type of deep-seated feeling many times, with women
just like Melanie, victims of various forms of abuse, neglect, and worse. Apparently,
Holly had never worked through the demons of her childhood, only run from them.
That surprised Robbie, considering how well Melanie had done for herself in the
world. On the other hand, perhaps Melanie’s achievements were a direct result of
her miserable father’s treatment of her. Something to prove? That she had value?
She’d proved that to the world. But had she proved it to herself? This situation was
stickier than anticipated. She’d need to go slow with her old friend. As she drove,
aimlessly, and silently, her own thoughts were whirling forward as fast as Holly’s
were backtracking.

Holly couldn’t reply to Robbie’s comments. She felt ashamed. She gazed
pensively out the side window at the passing parade of people on the city sidewalks.
Robbie’s words had brought a burning flush to her porcelain skin, “…why would you
run away from who you are…you – abandoning Melanie; abandoning, nothing wrong,
never was, with Melanie, she didn’t cause it…”

Her eyes briefly brushed a dozen pedestrians’ faces; who and what were they
all? What makes up the ‘who’ and ‘what’ of a person? For her, her name and face
equated to her occupation, and thus, identity. “But, if you are what you do? Then, if
what you do goes away? Now, who are you?” She’d rarely thought deeply about the
inner person she was, about the stuff she was made of, especially, not since she’d
become “famous and successful.” In light of the revelations of the last hour, the
celebrity gig seemed like so much garbage.

Inside, she snorted, Yeah, you got all the right stuff for sure! You’re good lookin
(now there’s a virtue!), you’re smart (smart enough to exploit your flesh at the expense
of people who are weak or desperate enough to buy into advertising), and you got
money to burn (and what needy person have you given any of it to, by the way?). The
modeling years had left some scars. Now that she was out of it, it seemed obvious
what it had been about; fan adoration equating to an affirmation of her self-worth.
Who cares what they think. What do I think of me? What does God think of me?
Maybe Robbie was right. Maybe Melanie hadn’t been so bad after all. “Holly”
hadn’t been a transformation but a transmutation. In her desperation to escape a
horrifying situation, she’d created a totally new being, rather than deal with the
messed up Melanie. Just be someone different, and you’ll never again have to think
about what Melanie went through. Holly almost laughed. What a naïve, cowardly
solution! You fool! Did you really think that becoming “Holly” would make everything
that happened to Melanie evaporate? Eight years now, of playacting, and still no
peace. Heading for great things? Nah. Just running from the past, but dragging it with
you. Ah yes! The voice she’d heard, earlier…no wonder it sounded familiar. It was
Melanie. Apparently, she’d had enough of Holly.

Robbie figured enough time has passed for the sorting out process. Churning
up muck was part of her job, and as it happened, part of her plan.

She casually began a dialogue, “Even if I call you ‘Holly,’ the events I’ll be
mentioning and questions I’ll be asking are going to dredge up things you’d rather
not recall. Can’t avoid it. Sorry. So I’ll call you ‘Holly’ and beg your indulgence if I
poke some tender spots. I’m still Robbie to you of course, unless you’d prefer to call
me ‘Officer.’ Deal?”

“Deal! Thanks, Robbie. I guess I’m being silly, but…” her voice faded. She
desperately wanted to rescind her request.

“You’re not silly,” Robbie reassured Holly, then glanced at her. “I guess that
leaves out ‘Melaninny’ too huh?”

They both cracked up again as the non-tour of the city continued.