There was a ghost in my doorway. She stood five foot five with brown curls spilling over her bare shoulders and a bright red gash for a mouth. Her legs ended in a pair of diamond earrings. They were real. So was she.

"Hello, Glamour." I said, my finger circling the rim of my scotch. "Nice to catch you between husbands." I motioned to the seat in front of my desk and gave the apparition a tight smile.

"You're starting early, Anderson," she said, draping her fur over the back of the chair and sitting down neatly.

"Breakfast."

"You missed that by a few hours."

"Brunch then. Now you didn't come here to tell me the time. I'm a big boy now." She snorted. "I can do that on my own." Placing my palms flat on the desk, I drank her in slowly. It had been a long time. "What are you doing in here, Santana?"

"Your secretary, Ms. Pillsbury, showed me in. Charming thing. Lovely teeth. Did you buy them?"

"I was thinking further back than five minutes ago."

"She seems a sweet kid," she said, ignoring me. "Too sweet for this bitter town." She lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke towards me. "Too sweet for you. When did you get so high class that you needed a dame running after you?"

I shrugged "She seems to like it. Who am I to stand in the way of someone's happiness?"

Dark eyes watched me solemnly. "You never seemed to mind when it was your own."

"Nor you." She nodded at that, looking down at her hand that was splayed across her thigh. Her ring finger hadn't even celebrated with a tan mark this time. Five years stretched out in the space between us, crawling by like dying snails. I saw a flash of cornflower blue, and I pushed it away.

"You ever hear from him?" Her voice was lower than the shadow of a snake. "The kid?"

My right hand moved unconsciously to the side. Above the drawer where his letters remained unopened. I felt the heat of want through the wood, neat and scorching my palm. "Santana," I warned.

"Kurt, wasn't it?"

"Don't." I hated her for a moment. How easy and clean she could say the name. Smooth as an infant's resume. When in my throat it curled and twisted, refusing to budge. Choking me. "Let it be. He's better off in the past, Santana. It's safer there."

"I think you are forgetting the pasts we have. Nothing is safe there."

"I'm just glad you finally found a casting couch that you found comfortable." I tried to change the subject. "I went to see you in that science fiction piece last week. It was- different."

"It was terrible, Anderson. I had to strangle myself with a damn dead snake. The thing died before we had even finished the scene. This is what I get while Berry gets the blockbusters. Did you know she is filming with Bogart soon? Bogart! She can't even act!"

"Hey now," I rested my chin on my palms. "I like her movies. They're sweet."

"You would. You're their target audience. I bet you wept like a child while eating chocolate and cuddling into your jacket."

"Are you following me?"

"God knows why you like romance so much. It's hardly your field of expertise, is it?" She looked up a smile half frozen on her face. "I mean-"

"It's okay." I held up a hand, suddenly sobered. "Let's cut to the chase. Why are you here?"

"And you wonder why I don't make social calls." She leaned back in the chair. "I think I've got you another case."

"You don't say? Getting to be a regular gig with you. I'm practically swimming in the green."

"Sounds a nice way to bathe."

"It's a dirty way. And the stench doesn't come off easy."

"That's why they invented perfume." She flicked ash onto the floor. I didn't mind. It would have company down there. "It's my co-star. April Rhodes. She was in that B Movie with Lancaster awhile back? She's no Kate Hepburn, but she'll do, I suppose." She took a long drag and looked thoughtful. "Well, at the moment we are both on loan to Warners for a new film. Terrible pot boiler thing, of course. It's not going to set the cinemas alight but it's one under the belt. I play a ruthless, husband stealing bitch."

"Documentary, is it?"

"I forgot about that wit. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, doesn't it? Anyway, last week April comes to me in tears. She's been receiving letters. A real creep by the sound of them." She shrugged and picked at imaginary lint on her skirt. "It happens in this business; you get used to it. So she puts them away in a drawer and forgets about them." She eyed my hand narrowly as she talked. "Until she starts being followed."

"Followed?"

"Same man every night. He follows her from the set to the hotel. She goes out for a meal, she sees him steeling around bus boys. She goes out dancing, and it's his face in the crowd."

"You think they are connected?

"I think it's worth looking into. I think it's worth you looking into."

"I'd need to speak to this Rhodes before I agree to anything. I got high standards now. Sometimes I even live up to them."

"She's here with me. I thought I'd best take you for a test drive before letting the girl in. Not everyone is used to your new brand of charm."

"If only they could bottle it."

She frowned. "What happened to you, Anderson? You were always such a nice boy. Too nice. A damn near saint. And now this." She gestured at the half empty bottle. "When it's barely midday. What the hell did that Hummel kid do to you?"

"Santana." There was a plea in my voice. Weak and broken. "Please."

She released a sigh and nodded. Stubbing her cigarette out on my desk, she rose and crossed the room, her heels sounding smartly against the ground as she opened the door. "April? Come on in."

A petite blonde entered the office. All eyes and curves with a jaunt like jelly riding coach on a diesel train. It must have taken her years to perfect it. Today she was beautiful, but ten years from now she'd be wishing it was ten years ago. A spark of recognition flared. Not the Lancaster movie. No, it was something else. I wasn't one for the pictures, but I made it my business to keep up to date with the Parsons and Hoppers of the world. You never knew when that guff would come in handy. That must be where I knew this dame from.

"Mr. Anderson," she breathed.

"Ms. Rhodes," I breathed back.

"Please call me April, sugar. Almost everybody does." Taking a seat she smiled and crossed her legs. She knew they were good. She leaned forward. She knew they were good, too. "You probably know me from the movies?"

"And me without my autograph book." She giggled and clasped a hand to her bosom and blinked as rapidly as an old woman's window blind. Santana smirked at me from her side. "I hear you're being followed? You've been getting notes?"

"Oh, vile things, Mr. Anderson! Such terrible, unrepeatable things!"

"Blaine," I offered. "These unrepeatable things? Care to repeat them?"

"Well, I-" She bit a knuckle and tears ran onto the stage and grabbed the mic. "They say the things they want to do to my-person."

"I can only imagine. Do you have any enemies? Lovers gone sour? You owe anyone dough?"

"No, no! Nothing like that!" she gasped in her little girl voice. "Santana says you can help? Can you, Mr. Anderson? I so desperately need help." Her lower lip wavered and she covered her face in her hands. Santana's eyes rolled. Mine joined them.

"Ms. Rhodes. April." I said. "You don't need to screen test for me."

"What? I don't-I don't know what you mean?"

"I mean if you were Montgomery Clift in that chair, then this little routine might be having some effect. You're not, and it isn't. So how about you just tell me the facts?" Santana's eyes widened at my rudeness and I pushed it away. That was the old Blaine. She had to see he was no longer in residence sometime.

April, meanwhile, looked like she had swallowed the moon. "Well ain't you the little spitfire! Some way to talk to someone who just wants a little help."

"The facts, April. That's all I'm interested in."

I saw a flash of steel in her blue eyes. "Sure thing, dreamboat. Whatever you say." She smoothed a palm down her leg. "It started about a month ago. At first I thought it was a coincidence, but then I began seeing this man everywhere I went. I'd see him when I left for the set. I'd see him when I got in of an evening. He was always there. Is always there."

"What does this guy look like?"

"He's a Jew. He wears that-what do you call it? The orthodox stuff? The black and the hat with those little curls at the side of his head?" She made a wavy gesture with her finger at her temple. "And those small hats?" Hell, it was a wonder that the guy didn't hold up the Talmud whenever he saw her.

"I sincerely doubt you're being stalked by a Rabbi, Ms. Rhodes." I held up a hand, stopping her correcting the name or from being insulted. I didn't know. I didn't care. "When did the letters start?"

"A few weeks after I first saw him. They were sweet at first. Romantic. But then they began getting nasty. Accusing me of committing acts with my co-stars. Nasty, seedy little lies. He thought I had betrayed him." A sob burst from her, and her face dropped into her palms. "I just want him to go away, Blaine! I want to stop jumping at my own shadow!" I watched her cry. Santana watched me watch.

"I'll take the case," I said at last. Mainly for something to be saying. She looked up. Her face bone dry. "I'll see you on set tomorrow. Get my name on the door. I want to get a make on everyone you speak to on a daily basis. From the director to the caterer. Put my name on the list. Then we'll stick a tail on you. See who has the scent."

"Thank you, Blaine," she said, stiffly. She stood up, and Santana followed. She stuck a hand out to me, and I looked at it. It was a pretty hand. I looked it over fine. "Real nice guy!" With a cute nose in the air, she spun on her heel and walked out in her wavering, languid fashion.

"It's best to give her a head start," Santana said, turning toward me.

"Maybe we should have a game of cards. You can catch up to her in the lobby in about an hour."

"With you? You always chisel me."

"What can I say? You rubbed off."

She laughed and stared down at me. "It was good to see you, Anderson." She stuck out her hand like April. It was just as pretty, and I knew this time I couldn't avoid it. I clasped it quickly but she saw. I should have known that nothing escaped Santana. "Anderson! Your hand! How long has it shook like that?"

"It's just nerves. You're a big Hollywood star after all."

"Don't kid a kidder. It's the drink, isn't it?" Her eyes were round and accusing. Mine were small and south.

"I'll see you, tomorrow, Frail," I said in a final voice. She was very kind. She didn't press.

"Okay. If that's the way you want it. I'll see you then." She stopped at the door and tilted her head at me. "It was good to see you," she repeated, her voice soft.

I nodded and watched her leave. After awhile I opened my drawer and stared down at all that unopened white. I closed it again, hard. The bottle tottered from the table and leapt from the edge.

I never heard the shatter of glass.

I spent the drive home with my mind on the past and the car nearly on the damn sidewalk. I thought about the envelopes tucked into the inside pocket of my jacket. Unopened, unknown and comforting. It had been three or four months since I'd last read his words to me. Always written in his neat little print. His penmanship was so concentrated that with each letter he would leave a deep probing indent. After committing the words to memory, I'd glide my fingertips over the backs of the pages, like a blind man reading Holy Scripture. It had been three or four months since I'd last picked up my own pen and scrawled something back. Better that way. Cleaner.

Headlights snapped into play in my rear-view. April Rhodes wasn't the only one in town with an ardent admirer. A red coupé that had been following me on and off for the past week. It was loud and it was brassy, an amateur for sure. A professional wouldn't climb in my pocket and count the change like this. I sat back with a sigh ready for another game of Follow the Leader. Whoever this Joe was, he was all tease and no release, and I was getting a little weary of the action.

If this chump was going to follow me, I may as well make it worth his while. I drove down three or four blocks I had no business going down, and my shadow held on tight. I doubled back on myself twice. I ran a few red lights and took a few dark corners. I drove around like this for what felt like hours. So many circles my car got dizzy. As I neared my apartment, I gave the rear-view a longing glance. The mirror got clear and stayed clear. Looks like my date had skipped out early. And we hadn't even made it to second base.

I pulled up outside my place and waited. No little red coupé. No little stalkers. I got out and shut the door. I looked both ways, crossed the street and went into my building.

It was late. Time had got away from me like trash in the wind. Time had a way of doing that of late. I trudged up the steps, a shaking hand pressed against my chest. Pushing his unread words into my heart with every flutter. I heard a slight sigh above and froze. There was a shadow at the top of the stairs. Mr Red Coupé?

"Something I can help you with, Brother?" I called out, as my left hand encircled the butt of my Colt.48. It wasn't my best shot but if I employed the right I was more liable to plug myself in the back of the head. I took the rest of the stairs slowly, my eyes trained to mass of black. "You hear me?"

The shadow stepped forward. The shadow said my name. There were too many ghosts in my doorway.

He fell forward, and I caught him in my arms. He stared up at me with his eyes half lidded and what looked like a bright, drunken smile. I knew better. I pulled him up by the armpits and rested him against the wall, feeling all over his body for wounds.

"It'll be okay! It'll be okay!" said my voice from another room in another town. I tore my eyes away from the blue staring into me and looked at the colour staining my hands.

Red. The colour of blood. And Kurt Hummel was covered in it.