Night Worker

By David Tenenbaum

An exotic dancer who's framed for a murder must battle small-town prejudice in order to clear her name.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Tenenbaum
• Release date: Sep 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393984658

David Tenenbaum

David Tenenbaum is a novelist and screenwriter from Richmond, VA. He’s written five books including two novels that have recently been shortlisted or received honorable mention awards in international book competitions. His latest movie, After School, a cautionary coming-of-age thriller, is currently in development with director Jeff Bassetti, and his satirical political podcast M.A.D. (Mutually Assured Destruction), is being released by BDP Entertainment in late September.

Book preview

Chapter 1

AMBER DEVERAUX, A GIRL with flowing blond hair and a slight Cajun accent rode her Schwinn 10 speed through the streets of Greensburg, Louisiana to Pullman’s RX, the drug store where she worked for the past two years. A high school student with her eyes on an acting career, she was trying to save up enough money to get herself out to Los Angeles.

Howdy Amber, Walt Hodges, a grey, bearded man wearing overalls said greeting her as she passed through the glass door of the pharmacy. 

Hi Mr. Hodges, Amber said walking towards the front of the store, where another girl was helping a customer, and donning an apron. 

You’re a senior now, right Amber? Walt asked putting his items down on the counter. 

Sure am, she replied. 

You goin’ off ta’ college next year? 

Nope, I’m gonna’ be an actress. 

An actress! exclaimed Walt in surprise. 

He’d known Amber since she was a fourteen-year-old baton twirler performing at his grandson’s football games. He was impressed, and a bit surprised, by the young lady’s ambition.  Very few of the kids in his town ever left. Those who did rarely ventured farther than the borders of Texarkana

That’s right, Amber responded. 

Hey Bill, Walt said to a paunchy man ambling up one of the aisles. Did you know that Ms. Amber here’s gonna’ be an actress? 

Bill looked up. You movin’ out there to Hollywood? he asked. 

That’s right! Amber said enthusiastically. Such cute men, she thought to herself—but so—banal. Yeah, she had to get the hell out of East Bumblefuck. 

Walt turned back towards Amber. Well, don’t forget about us folks ‘round here when you’re a big star. 

Amber laughed, a curt little chuckle that said in unspoken Southern parlance, Oh, please...I’ll be back here holding my tale between my legs before the next harvest dance. Don’t worry, I won’t," was what she actually said as she rang up Walt’s purchases—and she meant it. She’d never forget Greensburg or the people she’d known—though she hid the small part of her that was aware that the men and women who’d watched her grow up would soon start to blend into one another—but hey, it was never too soon to practice her acting skills.

You take good care a’ yourself now, Walt said picking up his bag. I’ll look for your name on that sidewalk next time me and the Missus visit California. 

Amber scoffed once more at Walt’s humor as she bid him good-bye. As she started to alphabetize a set of papers, her mind began to wander. Her, a starlet—she’d fantasized about it for as long as she could remember. She was eight when her parents first took her to visit Tinsel Town. After seeing the boxes containing the hand and footprints of the stars outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater, she used to press her own palm into a glob of Play-Doh and imagine she was creating her own personal square of glory.

As much as she enjoyed acting, Amber hadn’t always been sure that she wanted to pursue it as a career. She loved reading—had ever since she picked up Watership Down at the age of nine. She thought it might be fun to major in English at a local college in Baton Rouge. But the more she considered it, the more she felt that she wanted to live the kinds of stories she marveled at in novels, not just read them. She took a drama course in high school that got her hooked on theater. The musical A Chorus Line she saw in a summer stock production left her feeling a little disillusioned by the portrait that the show painted of acting courses. She’d always loved theater class exercises. She sometimes felt dumb mimicking the motions of a forklift or the gestures of a heron. In the end, however, she recognized that such drills were the preparation she needed to launch herself into the consciousness of another human being. 

Amber had been getting closer and closer to her goal for two years. In the wake of a heated argument with her parents following her reveal that, in spite of the many years of planning, she was not going to college, she’d steeled herself to the fact that her career plans meant sacrifice—and a lot of it. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to be able to talk her daughter out of her fantasies, her mother suggested a compromise. She and Amber’s father would help defray some of the costs of her housing and groceries. However, tuition costs at the school she planned to attend, The Boyer Institute of Performing Arts—those would fall squarely on her daughter’s freckled shoulders. Amber began formulating a very specific financial goal when she started working at the pharmacy. Extra-curricular activities, including baton twirling were dropped. She now had at least a few additional hours a week to bring in green. All the while this was going on, her parents, though they began to admire their daughter’s commitment, didn’t spare her any of the homespun wisdom they’d imbued during their formative years. They never missed an opportunity to let her know that whatever difficulty she had managing school and a job—Cali would be harder.

The day Amber’d picked to set out on her journey finally arrived. She woke up out of her mind with excitement. As Amber packed the last of her things, she took one final look at the framed posture of Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire in Top Hat that hung on her wall. She then went over to her bed and picked up her favorite stuffed bear. She squeezed the toy as hard as she could and was about to put him back on the cover when she stopped. She held the fury animal out in front of her with two hands. She then looked over at her suitcases. There was hardly an inch of space in any of them. What the hell, Amber thought to herself. You’re coming with me, Max she said as she stuffed the toy next to a pair of pumps she’d packed in a side compartment. She then hauled the two huge suitcases downstairs, both of them clunking loudly as she shoved them down the steps.

So, you’re really leaving? Kyle Deveraux, Amber’s dad, a burly wheat farmer in his mid-fifties, said to his little girl. 

Amber nodded.

I’m gonna’ miss you. Gonna’ miss you tons. Kyle hugged his child. Okay, he said holding his daughter’s shoulders and looking up. He then began pulling up the mental list he’d created in his head for this moment. "First, if you take a cab instead of an Uber, make sure the drivers use their meter. Second, if you find an apartment deal that seems too good to be true, it prob...it is. And third, any man tells you he can make you a star in exchange for a few special favors, you run the other way...then you call me and I’ll come out there with my shotgun to pay him a visit."

Amber nodded again.

Call us as soon as you get there.

I will, she said to her father before kissing him on the cheek.  

As she walked outside, Amber took one last look at her family’s modest home. She slowly turned around and headed towards Ms. Tibble, her parents’ old Dodge Dart. The car had been named after her mom’s old Girl Scout Troop leader. The Deverauxs didn’t have any pets, but Amber realized she’d miss the old girl almost as much as a faithful Dachshund. Her mother, Lilly Deveraux, a school marmish librarian, sat in the driver’s seat waiting for her. Lilly realized it might be her daughter’s last chance to enjoy the fresh country air for God knows how long. She’d worn berets to avoid her hair being mussed by the breeze as she drove with the windows half open. Amber herself had no issues with windswept locks. Lilly handed Amber the lunch she’d packed for her before turning on the ignition. When mother and daughter arrived at the bus station, Amber kissed her mom before grabbing her luggage out of the trunk. Lilly emerged, stepping into the bright Louisiana sunshine to watch her daughter make her way towards the transport awaiting her.

Amber boarded the Greyhound and turned back to look at her mom. She promised herself she wouldn’t cry while waving good-bye. She then made her way with her cumbersome baggage down the aisle and picked a seat next to another girl her age. Hi, I’m Amber, she said putting her suitcases on the rack above her and sitting down. 

I’m Kristine, said the girl, a brunette wearing a striped tank and faded cut-offs. 

Where you headed? Amber asked. 

Las Vegas, the teen replied. 

What are you gonna’ do out there? 

I’m gonna’ be a show girl. 

Amber loved the idea of stage performance on the Strip. She’d read that a lot of actresses did that kind of work to make money while they were trying to get discovered. Some people had said it was a rough business. A lot of women got treated terribly. Not to mention used by their employers. There was also, of course, the casinos. She’d heard from a cousin who lived out on the West Coast about black-vest cladden girls laboring away in the Mirage or the Luxor to make ends meet. The prospect of dealing 21 in a sordid gambling hall to inebriated, philandering men made her stomach turn. However, Amber knew she needed some kind of plan B if acting didn’t work out—maybe not that, but something. What that would be she chose to avoid thinking about at the moment. There’d be plenty of time to crawl around looking for ways to hang on in Hollywood when she’d failed to make her mark in the cinematic world. She wasn’t gonna’ face defeat until it bore its jaws directly at her. Denial, maybe—naivete, probably—a thrill-ride, definitely! 

As the prairies and cornfields flowed by, Amber thought back to her childhood in the bayou. She began to feel homesick already and they hadn’t yet left Louisiana. Just thinking about country bumpkins like Walt was enough cognitive dissonance to convince her she needed to get out of Greensburg. But Los Angeles would be such a different type of life. Was she really ready for such a change? Would she end up throwing aside all the values she’d developed as a good Catholic girl growing up in Bible country? Amber knew how much dedication it would take to succeed as an actress. She’d made a promise to God. She said that she’d attend Church every week if he would give her just a small break. She’d often pushed herself solely on the basis of her Sunday School teachers’ encouragement. Just do your best and remember God’s got your back. Luckily her past failures hadn’t deterred her from that kind of faith.

As they pulled in to Los Angeles, the bus took Amber past famous landmarks including the Hollywood Sign and the giant Randy’s donut. She thought of Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich, leading ladies who she’d watched in old movies for years. Amber had daily imagined following in the footsteps of her favorite stars from the heyday of Hollywood. The bus drove by rows of beautiful houses, Craftsmans, Southwesterns, and Bungalos with lovely turrets over the doorways and long circular driveways. She imagined stars of a bygone era like Marilyn Monroe and Lauren Bacall sashaying out the front door of such abodes and climbing into their Mercedes or their husbands’ Astin Martins. She thought of these icons entertaining directors and producers in lavish parties with ice sculptures and $500 bottles of champagne. Yet, as she continued to marvel at the residences, she recognized that such houses only symbolized how much work she had in store. The bus’s turn onto a street with a run down 7-11 returned her mind to her own road —the one she’d be forced to climb if she was ever to emulate the achievements of the celebrities—both then and now—who called such palaces home.

Amber descended from the bus at the Los Angeles Greyhound station in awe of the dimensions of the buildings surrounding the depot. Imposing sky-scrapers she’d only seen on trips to New Orleans towered over her as she dragged her heavy baggage towards the entrance leading into the station. She then continued on through the set of double-glass doors taking her out of the depot and onto the street. There Ubers and taxis waited ready to cart young hopefuls off to begin their dreams—or whatever nocturnal visitations the future had in store for them. She took a cab to the hotel where she’d arranged to stay—her temporary home until she was fully ensconced in her new locale.

As soon as she stepped out of the taxi (she’d yet to set up an Uber account), she began to hope that she found a place very soon. The turquoise sign announcing the Paradise Inn emphasized the irony of the name. The pool just to the left of the entrance, sported a layer of leaves that spread from one end of the water to the other. The desk clerk was a blond California native in her 70s. Her shriveled face suddenly rendered Amber conscious of the long-term results of spending too much time soaking up the warm sun. Thanking the California Raisin, she took the motel key, the first physical metal one rather than a card she’d ever seen, down the hall to her accommodations. Her small room’s yellowed lampshades and frayed curtains undermined any potential appeal it might have otherwise possessed. The artwork was of a beach in Malibu—a bleeding sun and topaz sky that looked like they’d been pulled from a 1960s Salvador Dali greeting card.

Chapter 2

AMBER HAD MAPPED OUT each potential future home on her list. Everything had felt a little daunting since she’d arrived, she thought as she waited at the bus stop, but finding a place to call her own was gonna’ change that. Whatever shit she’d go through trying to make it there, a place to come back to at the end of the day was the first step towards grounding herself.

Uhh, she thought as the realtor, a course woman in her early forties, led her into the first candidate for Chez Amber. Looking to her left, she was immediately greeted by a large spider making its web on a kitchen counter. The bedroom was not much better and revealed peeling paint and a loose light fixture. Opening the blinds, Amber was presented with a stunning view of the neighboring building’s brick siding. As the reality of Hollywood started to collide with the Elysium she’d fabricated in her mind, Amber tried to drown out the I told you so’s she could already hear from her mother during her