-1-
The story was good for headlines in the tabloids, while the big city papers ran it lower, but still on the front page. Experts and pseudo-experts were called in to give their assessments and opinions. Television talking heads bantered about the mystery from one end of the country to the other and even over-seas. Some stories, even on a single person, can be that important, and this one was. The woman considered to be the most beautiful creature of this, or some said, any century, was missing. Vanished, it seemed, into thin air. They feared for her life. Local police investigated the deranged fan theory, as well as the kidnap possibility. No ransom note had been delivered to anyone, but who knew in these cases? One day she was finishing up a modeling shoot, meeting with her agent, Cora Brown, in regards to a new movie she was considering, her fifth. The next day, she was gone. Her bank accounts were frozen, her business dealings put on hold. Nothing had been removed from either of her homes, nor it seemed, disturbed in any way. There had been no sign of a struggle, which the authorities found heartening. Of her three vehicles, one had been thought to be missing until it was returned by the garage into whose care it had been entrusted. The mechanic who regularly maintained the expensive machine had said that the owner promised him an extra bonus if it could be repaired by the weekend. It wasn't. He missed his deadline for the bonus, but still fully expected to be paid for his services.
She was loved the world over, every young boy knew her name, men of all ages adored her, even women loved her. Rumor was that even the Pope in Rome had a secret crush on her and regularly confessed it as a sin. Her innocent beauty, coupled with her honest love of others was legendary. It was said that no flaw had ever been noted by any photographer fortunate enough to work with her. Her appearance was known to cause traffic jams of epic proportions in any city. If she happened to be modeling on a particular section of beach, it was a certainty that the remaining portion of the coastline would be free of people. Her publicist was quick to point out that her client had always welcomed the attention with wonder and glee, was always happy to spend time with her fans so long as time permitted, and was notably disappointed when it wasn't. There were naturally those who wished to exploit her, use her image for their personal gain, use her body for their gratification. The women who longed to mother the orphaned beauty, those who lusted for her as a sex object, both men and women, paled in number to those who merely loved her for the unbelievable beauty she was. And now she was gone. Where and why became the question of the month. Sightings of her in the Middle East, Russia, China, India, South America, were rampant. Name a country, someone had seen her. She was being held as a love slave by some perverted sheik who had paid millions for her, had been seen at the feet of a shaman priest, was now hideously deformed by a flash fire caused by use of some exotic drug. The stories were everywhere. Gone, like a thief in the night, her crime the empty lives of her most rampant fans.
Her own private life lay mostly hidden from public view, it was the price she demanded, and got, for the public life she gave of so easily and fully. It was known that she had lost her parents at the age of seventeen. A tragic plane crash had taken their lives while traveling on her behalf. It was an event she, understandably, never quite got over. Her parents had supported her rise to fame but were rare in that they had not exploited her as some "stage-door" parents do. She enjoyed the limelight from an early age, but they had always told her that if it became more work than fun, she should get out of the business.
Modeling had been her first job, and her first love. Films came later when it was found that she had a gift for acting. Directors clamored for her, and established stars enjoyed working with her since she preferred to learn from them rather than see herself as a star. The movie director with whom she had been dealing was forced to cast another up-and-coming starlet in the role written for her, but secretly held out little hope for the film's success.
Vanished, as the fog under the blaze of the mid-morning sun.
-2-
The fuel gauge read between empty and bone dry as the battered Toyota sputtered into the nondescript station. The big sign simply said, GAS. "That's what I'm after!" muttered the driver. After too many hours behind the wheel, the driver had become immune to the scenery of the vast mid-western plains, and only now looked around and actually saw things. Small, Midwestern town, clean streets, happy looking children with their mothers, even the cop on the corner was patting a child on the head playfully, and the cashier who took the driver's money smiled. "Nice town, could be a nice place to live. Worth a try," thought the driver. "Besides, it's time for a break. Maybe here, finally, maybe here."
"Can you recommend a decent place to catch lunch?"
"Miss Birdie's Restaurant across the street has the best lunches west of Bayview!" returned the cashier.
"Thanks,' returned the weary traveler, who had already been on the road for six hours by ten a m. Breakfast had consisted of toast and coffee before leaving the cheap motel, and it just wasn't going to last. Time to fuel the body as well as the tank.
"WAITRESS WANTED - WILL TRAIN" read a sign in the window of the restaurant. "Wonder if they hire fat, homely, girls," mused the driver as she steered the faithful little car towards "Miss Birdie's Family Style Restaurant".
The brunch crowd was gathering, boisterous, familiar, and good-natured. Laughter seemed to be high on the menu of the clean and efficient eatery, and the traveler noticed that Miss Birdie herself did much to foster it.
"How about a nice steak, Birdie?" called out a customer.
"I'd broil you one Chester," she returned, "if you hadn't sent over that side of beef that took me two days to boil down to edibility!"
A well dressed, heavy set, man in a booth turned and laughed loudly at this bit of humor.
"Don't know what you're laughing about Mr. Big shot, you just ate the biggest slab of it I had," shot Birdie at the banker type. He now roared at this bit of news.
"And I even complimented you on it too, didn't I? Proves what a good cook you really are Birdie. When are you and I going to run away together?"
Birdie ignored the question.
The traveler ordered the daily special, and continued watching and listening to the music of Birdie's Restaurant. The sounds were pleasant and the food was good, better in fact than she had enjoyed in a long time. Maybe this was the place to stop for a while.
Birdie did, in fact, hire the matronly looking as waitresses. "I prefer 'em," she replied when directly asked, "I hire the pretty girls for the supper trade, usually, but the evening shift is what I need to fill now if you want to give it a try. My head waitress at night is Mandy. She's a good waitress, she's not catty, and I respect her opinions. Spends too much time in the kitchen with Roy, the night shift cook, if you ask me, but still a good waitress. If you pass muster with her, you're hired. I do it that way because you'll be working closely together and I like for my girls to get along."
"Looking forward to meeting Mandy."
