Honky Tonk Woman

                Tawna's file on 'The Girl' was pretty thin, which  I guess was appropriate since the girl was thin, and pretty. The name they had on her was Cynthia Thomas. Occupation, actress/entertainer, which could mean she was an actress or it could be a euphemism. Age, 25, not a student and a bit unusual for one of the  guys on the team to be connected with an 'older' woman. The address they had on her was in a decent part of town. The vehicle she drove was a dark blue Mustang, not new, but not a clunker, either.

            The pics in her file showed her with Ray at some team event. A couple of goofy photo booth snaps and a few surveillance shots that were about as incriminating as admitting that you had a library card. I spread the photos out on my desk and really looked at them. There was just something about them that kept slipping up to me and slipping away again just as I was about to grasp it. It wasn't a sense of instant, surprising recognition, like watching an episode of 'Rockford Files' and realizing the bad guy is Ed Harris. It was more like seeing someone out of context, knowing, just knowing that you have seen the person before, but in a different setting, or with completely different lighting, or in black and white instead of color.

            I pushed back in my chair and assessed my next move. It was pretty clear that I had to track down the girl and see what connection she had besides girlfriend.  I had to find out if it was a serious thing, or just a bit of fun. There was no mention of any kid in the dossier, so I don't know if Tawna was messing with me or if she just didn't have the info. There had to be a deeper connection than the one on the surface. If the relationship made Tawna itchy, I had to take notice.

            The easiest, and most obvious step was to roll out to the address listed and see if she was home and have a little chin-wag. I got the car and started rolling south. I had the radio on the local sports station and got to hear news about seven defensive players becoming Blackshirts. Good job. Kind of different than recent years but a big morale booster for a young defense about to get tested in a couple of days. I rolled through  the neighborhoods that were populated by Chevy Malibus and Toyota Corollas. I passed into more recent developments where SUV's and minivans stood poised to make supply runs to Hy Vee to get a week's worth of groceries that the pioneers could have stretched into three months. I turned a last corner and eased down a street where Mercs, Jags, and Lexi kept on eye on things. The trees whispered the presence of an outsider to each other and the front lawns entered greenness competitions. I pulled into the right driveway.

            No car, but she might keep it in the garage. The house was nice, and yes, I had to say it was too nice for an actress/entertainer that had yet to make her break. Lincoln wasn't exactly a hub in film industry. It looked like it was a three to four bedroom job on two floors and a basement. Big house to live in alone. In this part of town, the property taxes would pay for a teacher for at least a semester.

            I figured a direct-ish approach would be best. I reached into my glove box and selected one of my business cards. I went up to the door and rang the bell. How's that for direct? The door was opened by a sleepy looking young woman wearing a fuzzy robe over a pink t-shirt with the word 'pink' in black lettering. Clever that. She was pretty, small, thin build, and the look she had was one of late nights, ETOH and not enough coffee, yet. I love the noon hour in college towns.

            She focused her gaze on me and asked, "what is it?" while stifling a yawn.

            Show time. "Hi. My name is Sam Hawkins and I'm an agent for Blackhawk Productions. A friend of mine sent me video of one of Cynthia's performances. We were quite impressed and would love to chat with her about an upcoming television role." I held my card out to her held between my first two fingers. She took the card, read it over and woke up all at once.

            "Come on in. She's not here, right now, but let me see if I can get a hold of her for you." I followed her into the house. The decor was spare if not spartan. One couch in front of a decent sized flat-screen on the wall in the living room. The sink had collected dishes from the several days ago and didn't look like it was in any mood to get started on them. There were notes and a dry-erase board on the fridge that had contact numbers and sectors with the names Cynthia, Natasha, Jordan and Emily printed in neat, precise handwriting.

            She went to a line of phones charging on the counter and picked one up. A few tippity taps and then we waited. I kept scanning the room, while the girl scanned me. She had that look like she didn't quite believe my schtick. That meant that she was  at least a little bit smart.

            "Hey, Cynthia. This is Natasha," she said to the phone in a sing-song tone. "There's a guy here, who says he's got a gig that he thinks your perfect for. He's from Blackhawk Productions. The number is 402-555-2368. Bye-eee." She ended the call and looked up at me. "She didn't pick up, so I left a voice-mail. But that is kinda weird."

            "What's weird?" I asked.

            "That she's off the grid. She almost always picks up. At the very least to text back if she's too busy to talk, or working or stuff like that."

            "When was the last time you talked to her, or heard from her at all?"

            "Last night. She was heading out as I was coming home." Natasha had a concerned look, and kept chewing at her lip.

            "Are you okey," I asked. Her stance was telling me that something was vibing her as very hinkey.

            "Yeah, I'm fine." She brightened a bit and added a smile that never made it to her eyes. "It's just that she never stays out all night. Never. She might get home at 5 in the morning, sometimes, but she always comes home. This is not like her."

            "Where was she going?"

            "She had just got back from dinner with Ray. It was early because he was tired from practice. Then she was going to a party, downtown."

            "What kind of party? Frat, kegger, something like that?" I asked.

            Natasha smiled. "No, sooo not her thing. When Cynthia says she's going to a party, it's one of those high class deals where guys with too much money and too much to drink try to look down her dress while she laughs at their lame jokes."

            "That sounds political," I said. "Or financial. Like investments and land deals, that sort of thing."

            Natasha shifted gears on me, maybe realizing she had said more than she intended. "I'm not sure. It's her life, and she always seems to have a good time. Who am I to judge?" she shrugged off some other thoughts.

            I refocused on my role. "Well, when she gets in, have her call me. You have my card. I was hoping to meet her, today. It's a pretty good role I'd like her to audition for, but I'm sure I can find another cute blondie to take the gig." I started moving to the door. "You said Ray had to practice. What is he, in a band or something?"

            Natasha really laughed this time. "No. He's on the football team. Football practice." She shook her head.

            "What is it?" I asked.

            There was a hint of a smile left. "He's funny. He thinks he's going to cash in on the NFL in a couple of years."

            "You don't think he will?"

            "I have no idea. My dad says he's a back-up, who hasn't gotten enough playing time to prove himself. Without cracking the starting line-up, he'll be lucky to get a try-out in Canada...whatever that means." She looked up at me with an earnest expression of concern. "I'll call you if I hear anything, too."

            "Great," I said. "You do that. Time is money, you know." I waved a little salute at her and headed for the car.

            I started heading back to the office while the sports guys started tossing predictions for the Wyoming game around. I listened and weighed what was being said. If push came to shove, I was thinking Nebraska would take Wyoming, 52-24. The offense is going to roll, maybe the best in the Conference. The defense was young, inexperienced, and talented, but might give up a few big plays.

            That sounded familiar.