I remember my mom telling us One More Midnight with You was shot at some abandoned but glamorous ruin of a house in Echo Park that Franklin knew about. That historic neighborhood just north of downtown Los Angeles has gone through a renaissance, but had some pretty seedy sections back in the 80s, including this derelict mansion.
The storyline of the video is that the band’s lead singer has a crush on my mom’s character. He watches her mom first at a High School gym for a dance, then at a late-night diner when she, her date, and their friends go for a snack, and finally then from the shadows of the abandoned mansion where kids gather to continue the party all while he sings mournfully of his unrequited love.
But I notice something different as I watch the video this time. The camera zoom-ins on my mom’s date with just as much as it does on my mother.
Bingo, says Theo in my head.
Oh.
I stare at my phone even after Rune has pulled into a parking place at the library. Lorelei’s out of the car like a shot, but I sit stunned, staring at the close-up in my hand.
“Earth to Shelby. Are you coming?” Rune asks.
“Yeah, I just…” I pause, wondering how to broach what’s just dawned on both me and Theo, “I always thought this video was a love letter to my mom for being Franklin’s muse when he was getting started. That’s what he told her anyway. Now I feel like maybe that wasn’t the full story.” I hold my phone up for him to see the image I’ve paused the video at.
“That’s certainly the story he always told me,” he says, studying my face for a minute before he takes my phone, “you don’t think that’s the case?”
“Maybe it is,” I say as Rune starts the video from the beginning, “but watching now it feels like maybe there’s a story within the story.”
Is Rune some type that Franklin likes or something? I ask Theo in my head, not sure I want to know the answer.
Watch Rune watch the video, Theo instructs.
At first, nothing happens. Then Rune’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and he runs his hand over his mouth as if keeping himself from commenting. When it’s done, he forwards himself the link, his lips compressed in an unhappy line.
“Thanks,” he hands me back my phone quickly, as if it might bite him, the muscle in his jaw twitching like he’s grinding his teeth, “I need to make a quick phone call, would you mind keeping an eye on Lorelei?”
**
Rune doesn’t join us in the library until Lorelei and I are at the self-check-out machine. He’s wearing a baseball cap now, and his face is tense.
“That’s quite a hoard you’ve got there, Pup,” he says looking at the few left on the table and then into the tote bag I brought along. He smiles as he says this, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Miss Parnacci’s going to be pleased,” Lorelei says, saying the name of her tutor, while she finishes putting the books I scanned into the tote, “we got almost all of the books on my summer reading list except two and we’re on the wait list for those.”
“Did you get a copy of Howl’s?” he asks, running his hand over one of her braids as if it’s a touchstone.
“Yes, and Shelby’s two favorite retellings of East of the Sun, West of the Moon for you, but I think I might like to read them too, and the book on Sybil Luddington.”
“Excellent,” he nods lifting the tote bag she just put the last book into, “Oof, I can also use this tote for weight training.”
“You were complaining of still being too skinny,” Lorelie giggles at him as we make our way to the front doors.”
“True, good reminder, Pup, I think we need some ice-cream to finish off our afternoon, don’t you?”
**
We’re sitting in a booth at the back of the Dairy Queen, waiting for Lorelei to bring us our order. Rune is wearing both his hat, and his sunglasses, and has his back to the restaurant. The restaurant is full of teenagers and a couple of elderly couples. None have given him a second glance.
“What’s going on?” I ask, his face has lost none of the tension.
“Oh, a nod from the universe that I need to make a decision I don’t want to make,” he tells me, sliding down in his chair and crossing his arms.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Could you be any more opaque?” I scowl at him.
“I’ll tell you about it when I can,” he says unhelpfully. I want to press the issue but I see Lorelei heading towards us now with our tray of sundaes.
**
Friday morning, I’ve just sent off some rough sketches for Vivienne’s possible new eBook when I remember the look on Rune’s face yesterday after he watched One More Midnight with You.
I pull up the video on YouTube again. This time I’m hunting for a version that will tell me who the handsome blond man is. Instinct tells me not to ask my mom. Somehow, I know it won’t lead anywhere good. After searching through a dozen or so posts I find, of all things, a version of it on Pamela Lyon’s YouTube channel. Yes, that Pamela, my former boss who I’m trying desperately to avoid.
The actor who starred along with my mom in the video is named Scott Treadman. But when I Google Scott Treadman and don’t find hardly anything. He doesn’t even have a profile on the popular entertainment database IMDb. There are tons of entries about the video itself. The only thing I can find is that Treadman starred in a soap, and then in one big Broadway revival of Oklahoma, but that’s it. Weird.
Well, maybe he didn’t have what it takes after all. Or...it was the 80s, maybe he died of AIDS? I remember Theo telling my sister and me how terrible that time was and how many friends he lost.
Or maybe being a celebrity just wasn’t for him, Theo says.
That’s possible too, I think, it happens.
Rune certainly doesn’t seem to find being a celebrity very much fun, at least not right now. This time when I search I Google, “Whatever happened to 80’s actor Scott Treadman?” and hit enter. I find three blogs from the very early days of the Internet; two from women, one from a man, all bemoaning the fact that this handsome talented man seems to have disappeared with no trace. Interesting.
The blog post by the man has the most images of Scott. Wow, Rune really does bear a striking resemblance to him, though the wheat color of his hair is more like Gunnar’s. I copy the link and send it to Rune.
**
A couple of hours later I’m in the middle of creating a new series of infographics for one of my teaching clients when my phone rings with Rune’s number.
“I need a favor,” he says quickly without greeting, his voice tense as his face was yesterday, “I have to go to Seattle overnight. Can you watch Lorelei tomorrow until early evening? Marguerite’s looking after her tonight, but she has a class all day tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I tell him, “no problem. But what’s going on? It’s not about the video is it?”
“Yes. But this is serious Seashell,” he warns, “If I promise to tell you everything as soon as I can, will you promise to stop looking into Scott Treadman?”
That’s certainly not the response I thought I’d get, “WTF Rune, this feels crazy!” I exclaim.
“Oh, it’s super WTF. But promise you’ll stop looking.”
“Okay, but you’re creeping me out,” I tell him.
“Welcome to my world,” he huffs, “Forget I said that. Let’s change topics; Lorelei wants to make chocolate chip ice cream for Monday. Is that cool or does it have to be vanilla?”
“Why don’t you make vanilla, and then add chocolate chips to half of it?”
“Sounds good!” he says cheerily, doing that weird pivot of emotion he does so quickly, “If you want to make extra Texas cake for us to have here at home, feel free!”
“I’m hanging up now,” I tell him and do so.
**
Late in the afternoon, I’m out in the garden harvesting flowers to try my hand at making my own rose-calendula body butter. I thought it would be a fun project for Lorelei to help me with tomorrow.
It’s a gloriously warm day. The garden is coming along marvelously. Zinnias, Nasturtiums, and Marigolds are planted along the borders of the well-tended raised wooden beds for their riot of rainbow sherbet colors, and in the case of the latter, helping to keep pests away too.
All around me, bees hum busily at their propagating. Above me, the birds are busy and in full chorus, chasing each other through the trees and across the grass, with the sharp caws of bossy blue jays the loudest. The sun’s warmth is bringing out the rich mineral mushroom-y fragrance of earth. I couldn’t be happier. I’m looking forward to having fresh cucumber and arugula on wheat toast with dilled cream cheese and a big salad for dinner, and then hanging out with Lorelei tomorrow.
I finally bought a long lunge line at the local farm store to tie up Butterscotch, so she won’t wander away. She whined when I first put it on her, but she's happy enough now that she's realized it gives her a wide range of motion. At the moment she’s fascinated by a small white butterfly looping lazily around, flitting from one cucumber vine to another.
My wicker basket is about halfway filled with flowers when the dog starts to yip excitedly. I look up to see Rune striding across the lawn towards me with determination, an annoyed expression on his handsome face. If he were playing Wizard Howl in a live-action movie right now, the sleeves of his robe would be billowing behind him. As it is it just looks like smoke should be coming out of his ears.
“Do you have a meat cleaver?” He asks without preamble.
“Planning a murder?” I ask mildly.
“Yes, first to a bag of chocolate chips, and then possibly to Jenna.” When I send him a questioning look he goes on with a huff, “She’s gotten rid of any of Nan’s cooking utensils she doesn’t understand because apparently, she can’t imagine anyone eats anything but pre-packaged rabbit food.”
“Are you sure she didn’t just box them up and put them in the barn?” I ask.
“Yes Shells,” he huffs, narrowing his eyes at me, “that’s where I’ve wasted the last half an hour.”
He does look a little dustier and more disheveled than normal. This makes me think of hay lofts, and how my sister and Gunnar used to sneak off all the time to make out. Oh, good grief body, really body. Just chill, please.
“What are you doing out here?” Rune breaks into my fledgling daydream about him, his tone acerbic, “Gathering up items for a potion? Practicing your hedge witch skills?”
“How do you know I haven’t gone to an official witch school?” I ask equally sharply, putting my clippers back in the potting shed, “Maybe I’ve graduated with flying colors you grump,” I tell him, heading for the house, then turn to make sure he’s following.
“Forgive my maladroitness,” he laughs, raising his hands in surrender.
“Quoting one of the best lines from Crown Duel won’t keep me from cursing you if you annoy me enough,” I tell him. Still, I’m impressed he remembers this line from another of our favorite YA fantasy novels.
“You’re too late,” he swivels around me in his catlike way and opens the front door, “I’m already cursed.”