“Please, sir, call me Larry. And this is Myrna.”
“A pleasure.” Claude nodded genially, but with an anxious glance over their shoulders to the street beyond. “Larry, I don’t mean to be indelicate. You’ve been real nice about this, but I have to ask. Have you called the police?”
“Oh heavens, no,” Myrna assured him. “There’s no need to worry on that account.”
“Really?” Claude said in astonished relief. “Thank God! I was sure Justin would be arrested.”
“I don’t think dragging him through all of that would serve any purpose,” Lawrence said, glaring sternly at the redhead, “but please don’t do anything like this again, young man!
“Claude,” he continued, “I would love to have a long talk with you, but I hope you won’t mind if I have to call on you again for that pleasure. Right now, Myrna and I only have about fifteen minutes to get this car back to the parade.”
“There’s only one problem with that,” Justin said, looking down at his sneakers and scuffing a toe on the pavement. “It won’t start.”
3:46 PM
“WHAT do you mean, ‘it won’t start’?”
“He’s right,” Claude affirmed. “When he brought it here, my first thought was for him to take it right back. But when he tried to crank the thing, it wouldn’t turn over.”
“Not to worry,” Myrna said, peeling off her gloves and stowing them in her bag. She picked up Bootsy with a kiss and handed him over to Lawrence, pecking him on the lips as well. “It can’t be anything too serious. Justin, pop the hood and bring me a tool kit. We’ll have her running again in no time.”
“Do you think she can fix it?” Claude asked when Justin hurried toward the bungalow’s garage.
“Myrna? She grew up above her dad’s repair shop in Detroit,” Lawrence said. “She can fix anything. Her Toyota has 400,000 miles on it, and she keeps it running like a champ.”
“A woman of many talents,” the older man said as he watched Myrna prop up the Caddy’s hood.
Lawrence stifled the grin threatening to emerge and concentrated on quieting the little dog in his arms. “Claude, I didn’t know you still lived in this area. In fact, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t even know you were still alive.”
“Well, son, I’ve been out of the entertainment business for a long time,” the older man replied. “I moved back from Sedona last June. My health hasn’t been so good, and I wanted to be closer to my family.”
“I certainly understand that.” Lawrence had noticed his boyhood idol favoring his left leg. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. So long as it’s not about those damned Sedona vortexes,” Claude chuckled. “I’ve had a bellyful of that New Age crap.”
“No problem,” Lawrence grinned. “Why don’t we sit in the car and chat?” He opened the creaking door of the Caddy and waited for the other man to sit down.
“On your show, John Hutch played the zombie mailman who delivered your fan letters every week,” Lawrence continued, joining the older man on the Caddy’s plush rear seat. “What happened to him after 1971?”
“Wow... I haven’t thought about Hutch for thirty years. I believe he got a job in Sacramento working as a high-school teacher. But how do you know about him anyway?”
“Claude, I know you think all you guys are forgotten, but man, you’re a legend!”
“Don’t pull an old man’s leg, son. I’m flattered that you know I hosted Terror Time before it was your show, but who else remembers Harry Ghoulini these days?”
“More than you imagine,” Lawrence insisted. “Nostalgia is hot. Pop culture has become socially relevant. Middle-aged folks remember the programs they loved as children, and there’s a solid fan base for the old horror shows, Terror Time included. Harry Ghoulini vanished in the mid-1970s, so in fan circles you’ve become a mystery man. People at horror conventions pay good money for grainy copies of old videotapes of the handful of your episodes that were rerun in the early ʼ80s, and there are precious few of them. I’m here to tell you, I know a guy out in Berkeley who is writing a book on the history of television horror, and he’d give his right arm to interview you.”
“Seriously?”
3:48 PM
UNDER the car’s hood, Myrna accepted a small wrench from Justin. “Did your friends put you up to getting my autograph?” she asked the boy.
“Um, yeah,” Justin blushed. “They thought I’d be too embarrassed since you’re....”
“Since I’m a man expressing as a woman right now?” Myrna looked over to see Justin push his glasses up before he looked back down at his shoes.
“I’m an artist and a dancer, Justin. A performer. Being Myrna is as much a part of me as being gay. But just as I don’t always have to call attention to my sexual orientation, I don’t always have to be Myrna, either.” She grunted, reaching deeper into the engine while trying not to get oil on her dress.
“But you’re so beautiful,” Justin said simply, and Myrna smiled, thinking he might be a fan after all.
“Beautiful as in you want to dress like me, or as in you want a boyfriend who dresses like me?” Myrna smirked.
“I....” Justin looked afraid and very young at that moment.
“You don’t have to answer that, sweetie,” Myrna said with a gentle smile. “So,” she continued as she tightened one of the battery’s connections, “does your grandfather know about you?”
Justin looked relieved to get back to a more comfortable topic. “That I’m gay? Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his round glasses making his brown eyes look even wider and more earnest. “He’s more okay with it than my dad. Grandpa’s always been there for me, always taken my side.” The teenager leaned against the fender and faced Myrna, his expression uncertain and unhappy. “I wanted to take his side for a change. He doesn’t have any retirement savings. Can’t even afford to live on his own anymore. He tells me these great stories about Terror Time, and nobody remembers who he is.”
“I think you’re wrong there,” Myrna said, the sounds of Lawrence and Claude’s laughter issuing from the opposite side of the hood. She nodded in their direction. “Somebody remembers.”
3:50 PM
“SO the gimmick of the magic tricks always going wrong was your idea?” Lawrence asked. “There has always been talk that it was because you couldn’t do the tricks.”
“No!” Claude insisted. “I’d been doing magic as Uncle Presto on the station’s kiddie show every afternoon for two years. It was just funnier on Terror Time to mess the tricks up. It was Ghoulini’s shtick.”
“And in the early days you had an assistant named Abby Cadaver. Is it true that you married her?”
“Justin’s grandmother,” Claude said, looking wistful. “Cancer took her in 1997. She was a good woman.”
The Cadillac’s muffler emitted a roar, and its engine purred as Myrna slammed the hood.
“We’re in business,” she grinned, motioning Justin out from behind the wheel. “It was just a loose connection to the distributor.” Bootsy barked and turned in a circle on Lawrence’s lap.
“Great,” he said. “If we fly, we can make it back before Max has a coronary.”
“Mr. Frightengale”—Justin extended his hand awkwardly to Lawrence—“thanks for not calling the cops on me. I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble. You’ve been really nice to Grandpa and me.”
“You know,” Lawrence said as he handed off the dog and slid behind the wheel of the car that had been the center of so much drama, “you really shouldn’t miss the parade.” He reached back to ease the Caddy’s rear door open invitingly. “It’s going to be quite a show.
“Claude,” he continued with a mischievous grin, “do you still have your old top hat and cape?”
3:53 PM
“GREAT news, Max. You’re both still employed!” Myrna shouted into her phone as Lawrence gunned the Cadillac down Euclid. “Yes, we found the car.... It’s a long story. We’ll tell you
all about it after the parade.... Look, we’ll be there, but we’re still up on the far end of Euclid and we’re flying low. Could you be a dear and have some of those policemen wave us through the intersections on the east side of the park? Otherwise we’re going to get caught in the traffic on the front end of the parade, and we’ll never make it.... You’re a darling! Oh, and Max, we’re bringing company....”
4:02 PM
THE last float had pulled out of the lot and into the main procession when Lawrence rounded the corner and cruised the Caddy into its slot as the parade’s closing attraction. He waved to the crowds from behind the wheel, with Myrna blowing kisses beside him, Bootsy on her lap wagging his tail. Claude’s top hat was a little tattered, but its moth-eaten look fit with his image of a ghoulish magician. Myrna had worked a bit of her cosmetic magic on him during their drive, and by the time they reached the parade, Claude sported a passable facsimile of the Ghoulini makeup. The crowds cheered as he waved from the backseat next to his grandson.
“I’m sorry again for what I said earlier, Mr. Frightengale,” Justin said, leaning forward over the seat to make himself heard.
“About what?” Lawrence asked. “About your grandfather belonging in the parade instead of me? I understand. He was my hero too. I used to wait all week to watch reruns of the show on Saturday nights, praying they would dust off a Ghoulini episode. I even had a couple of videotapes I made on my VCR as a kid, but I wore those out years ago watching them over and over.”
“How far back have you seen?” Claude called out.
“The station ran shows from 1970 forward, so I’ve only seen a handful of your episodes. I would give my fangs to be able to see the one from ’65, when Lon Chaney Jr. dropped by the set!” Lawrence glanced into the rearview mirror and grinned, his elongated dental inserts on full display. Bootsy yipped and opened his mouth to the wind, his white fur streaming from his little face as he paced on the wide bench seat beside Myrna.
“That was a good one.” The skin around Claude’s eyes was almost black with makeup, as were his cheeks, where Myrna had gone to work with some spare eye shadow. “I still have the kinescope if you’d like to see it sometime.”
The car skidded to an abrupt stop as Lawrence stood on the brake. Myrna grabbed Bootsy to keep him from falling off her lap. Lawrence turned around in his seat. “Do you have any more?”
“Near about all of them, I guess. The station was tossing them out, so the guys doing the tossing told me I could haul them away if I wanted them. They’re all still in cans back home in the basement.” Claude fussed with the cape around his shoulders with fumbling fingers.
A policeman trailing the parade flashed his lights, and Lawrence turned back around to continue their drive.
“Dear, those old shows could be a nice retirement income for you if we can interest someone in releasing them on DVD,” Myrna said, unwrapping a new lipstick to dab some color onto Lawrence’s lips. “Or you might consider approaching the station to see what they’ll offer. Remember, Terror Time may be their show, but you own the only existing prints of over half the series. And possession is nine-tenths of the law. Hold Ellington’s feet to the fire, sweetie. He’ll have to cut you in for a nice percentage of the profits.”
Claude’s mouth moved from slack to an “O” of bewilderment. “You think so? People would want to rewatch them?”
“You heard Lawrence. You’re an icon, dear. Icons never die.” Myrna plumped her hair to draw attention to her own blonde curly locks. Bootsy barked his agreement.
“Well, that would be something,” Claude said.
Ahead, the crowds were at their thickest around the parade’s grandstand, and the Cadillac’s occupants could hear the amplified voice of the event’s announcer building up to their grand entrance.
“As our parade draws to a close, we have a special guest this year—Lawrence Frightengale, the host of Terror Time, joined by the lovely Myrna Boy!” Screams and applause rose to greet them as they waved to the crowd, smiling. Myrna slid toward Lawrence, and he placed an arm around her waist to draw her closer. She held onto the wiggling Bootsy, who yipped at the crowd as they passed.
“And with them, folks, is a special surprise guest, back from the crypt. It’s Harry Ghoulini, the original host of Terror Time! This man is a legend, and he hasn’t made a public appearance in over thirty years. Let’s give him a warm welcome back!” A roar of applause nearly deafened them, and Myrna felt her smile grow so wide it almost hurt. She glanced back at Claude to see him waving in shocked surprise and Justin bouncing in his seat with excitement. Myrna felt a hand clasp the one in her lap and turned to see Lawrence’s wide fanged smile.
To heck with smearing the lipstick, Myrna thought, leaning over to kiss her boyfriend in front of the roaring crowd.
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
AIDEE LADNIER, an award-winning author of speculative fiction, began writing at twelve years old but took a hiatus to be a magician’s assistant, ride in hot air balloons, produce independent movies, collect interesting shoes, fold origami, send ping pong balls into space, and amass a secret file with the CIA. A lover of genre fiction, it has been a lifelong dream of Aidee's to write both romance and erotica with a little science fiction, fantasy, mystery, or the paranormal thrown in to add a zing.
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DEBUSSY LADNIER IS a fan of obscure television, a devotee of cinema (good and bad), and a compulsive researcher of pop culture ephemera. In the odd moments when he isn’t hot on the trail of a piece of esoterica or dreaming up tales inspired by the tidbits he has unearthed, Debussy enjoys playing pool and attending the occasional rockabilly concert. He and his wife Aidee live on the outskirts of a small southern college town, with three mostly well-behaved cats.
You can visit his Jack Boyle blog at
http://jackboylefan.wordpress.com
Lawrence Frightengale Investigates Page 4