Satan's Breath

Chapter 2-3

Los Angeles

Blaze sat on her couch watching TV and doing her nails. When the phone rang, she carefully punched the speaker button and continued, trying to keep the tiny brush within the lines. “Yeah, Blaze Alexander here.”

“Do you get a friggin’ charge out of hearing your own name? Why the hell don’t you just say hello like the rest of the world? And you’ve got me in a well again.”

“Sorry, but I’m doing my nails.” Blaze lifted her red-tipped hand and blew. “Well, what about it? Did you get me Savannah?”

“Yes. Against my better judgment, I might add. They say they need you there by the tenth though, and I promised them you’d make it. You’re not going to make me out a liar, are you?”

“Are you kidding? The sooner I get out of this town, the better I’ll like it.”

“So your love affair with L.A. is really over, huh? How the hell can you make this move by the tenth? What are you doing with all your junk?”

“I’ll leave everything here but my clothes. I’ve arranged for the utilities to be cut off in a couple of days, I’ve notified the post office. I may take a few dishes and some knick knacks, but for the most part, I intend to travel light.”

“Leave the house empty? Bad plan, Blaze. What about your bills? What about burglars?”

“All my bills are paid including my mortgage, and I’m depending on you to watch my house for me.”

“You certainly didn’t waste any time, did you?”

Thinking of the leering face of Barry Schorr looking down at her, she rasped, “I’m choking, Scott. Time to get out.”

Scott frowned, slight alarm coloring his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” She cleared her throat. “Frog in my throat, I guess.”

“Blaze, I give you three months at the most. By that time, I guarantee you’ll be climbing the walls.”

“Why in God’s name are you being so pessimistic about this move?”

“Hell, I don’t know. It’s just a feeling, I guess. That town is known for its bluenose, goody-goody attitude. They’ll try to put a lid on you, Blaze, I just know it.”

“You’re not going to talk me out of it, Scott. Besides, nobody puts a lid on Blaze Alexander.”

“Well, I hope you’re right. Anyway, you know I’m here if you need me.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Blaze punched the disconnect button quickly, and then wandered out on the balcony with her hands up and fingers spread. She looked down at the twinkling city for the last time. She wasn’t fooling herself. She was running again, and she knew it. Scott thought it was her restless nature. Zip here, zip there. It seemed that all she ever did was run. Since the night she found herself on that dirt road walking away from her past, she’d hardly stopped.

Tears filled her eyes when she reminded herself that no man had touched her since. She’d tried a few times with those she thought were different, but it was always the same. The minute he got close, she would begin to feel the heat of Satan’s Breath, hear her uncle’s raspy whisper, smell his sweat, and feel his disgusting weight. Just thinking about it brought on a choking sensation.

While taking a deep, steadying breath, she wondered if that was all that was ahead for her. Running from one place to another. Always hiding. Always afraid of someone’s hands, his lips, his body. She felt like a beautiful maiden walled up in a tall castle waiting for her Prince Charming to come and slay the dragon.

As she looked out into the late-afternoon, sun-laced ocean, she pictured a tall, muscled, handsome, blond fairy tale type dressed in armor and wielding a sword. The vision of the setting sun bouncing off his armor was so beautiful. Suddenly, a gush of tears fell down her cheeks, and she lowered her head and cried.

I’m not asking for much, just someone stronger than the dragon in my life that constantly rears its ugly head.

One thing she did know, there were no Prince Charmings in Savannah. Nothing but dirt roads and rednecks. If she were looking for a handsome prince, she could have accepted one of the other offers. So why didn’t she? Her chances of meeting someone would be much greater.

Seeing Barry’s face suddenly loom up before her, she knew the ugly truth. She was afraid of meeting someone. But why go back to where it all started? Back to the haunting memories of a dirty little girl with bare feet and ragged clothes. She was proud of the way she had risen up out of her poverty and reigned as queen of the late-night airwaves. She had money, cars, furs, and they all wanted her, but she chose Savannah. Why? What could she ever find worth having way down south where Satan’s Breath still roamed?

* * * *

At midnight, hands of every age, color, and s*x reached out for their radio dials. Mothers, relaxing in a tub after a hard day with their families, lonely men in need of a soothing voice, teenagers gathered on the beach listening for the totally sexy voice of their favorite deejay, marriages on the rocks that depended on Blaze’s spicy repertoire to bring them together again, executives, labor workers, playboys, parties, bars, and couples snuggling together, all preparing for the deep, whispery, smoky voice of L.A.’s famed Queen of Steam.

But instead, they heard a strange voice saying words and playing music that left them cold. Suddenly, the hot, sultry blanket turned cold, and disappointment fell over the city. The night lost its magic, and fevered embraces suddenly became cold. Who would set fire to their cool desires? Who would spice up their night, and guide them into the land of enchantment with her deep, whispery voice and magic words of love? The phone lines at the station lit up like ten thousand Christmas trees.

Where was Blaze?

Would she be back?

Was it for good, or just a vacation?

Why did she leave?

Who would replace her, surely not the clown that was on now?

When the answer came, one radio after the other clicked off, leaving the L.A. station with the lowest ratings since before Blaze strolled in and took over. The California night suddenly became empty and cold because Blaze Alexander’s deep, sultry voice had been silenced.

* * * *

Later on that night, William Perkins, the owner of the L.A. station, stormed into Barry Schorr’s office carrying a sheet of paper in his hand. Leaning over Barry’s desk, he slapped it down and pointed at a line just below Barry’s typewritten name. Barry picked up a pen, then looked at it briefly before signing.

When he saw what it was, he looked up at Mr. Perkins with a curious frown. “Will, this is my resignation.”

“You’re right.” The man looked at the former station manager with angry eyes, and with a sarcastic twist of his lips, he said, “Just sign it with the same hand that lost us Blaze Alexander!”

Suddenly filling up with anger, Barry stood to his feet and roared, “Why the hell are you firing me? She was the one that ran out, breaking a five-year contract!”

“She didn’t break it, Barry. You broke it when you stuck your hand up her skirt. That’s s****l harassment in case you don’t know it. I’ve been on the phone with Scott Sanders, and we’re damned lucky she’s not suing the station!” His eyes captured Barry’s and tunneled into them unmercifully while his voice dropped threateningly. “Now, sign!”

Barry leaned down and scratched out his signature on the thin line, then flung it into the face of the station owner. Moving around the office quickly, he picked up a box and began throwing his belongings into it.

With every item he packed, he remembered the day he had her pinned to the couch. She had sent him over the edge with her hot, sultry voice whispering in his ear night after night. Now, while banging around his office grabbing one thing, and then the other, he could feel a black fury building. With a deep, guttural growl, he muttered to himself, “I’ll get you, b***h. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll find you, and I’ll get you!”