Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer

by Lee Hollis

  “Crushed it?”

  “Yes! There was a scene of you surfing in Hawaii while helping Jack tail a Honolulu gangster’s sister at the beach and you were wearing this cherry red bikini, which was super hot!”

  “That bathing suit got more fan mail than I did,” Poppy cracked.

  They arrived on the set, which was bustling with activity. Danika was joking around with a couple of her younger co-stars who would be appearing in the scene, and Poppy noticed Matt hovering in the background keeping a watchful eye on the client, but also a respectful distance.

  Trent shot up from his director’s chair and ambled over to Poppy, enveloping her in a hug. “How are you feeling? Ready to do this?”

  “I still think this is a monumentally bad idea,” Poppy moaned.

  “Nonsense. I have no bad ideas. And this one, I promise you, is one of my more inspired.”

  The makeup and hair people descended upon Poppy, fluffing her hair and slapping powder on her face to get rid of any lingering shine. Poppy zeroed in on a small piece of black tape on the floor, her mark, where she was designated to stand during the scene.

  Danika wandered away from the gaggle of young actors she had been chatting with, her head down as she tapped furiously on her phone. She finished posting something on Twitter or Instagram or Snapchat, and bounced over to Poppy. “You look fantabulous!” Danika cooed. “Are you nervous?”

  “What? Me? No, not at all,” Poppy muttered sarcastically.

  Danika giggled. “You’re going to be great.”

  “Everybody keeps telling me that, but I get the feeling you’re all just saying that so I don’t pass out.”

  A bell rang and the makeup and hair people scattered, leaving only the actors left on the set.

  This was it.

  The time had come.

  Poppy closed her eyes.

  Her mind was a blank.

  She suddenly couldn’t remember her first line.

  She knew the college kids spoke first as they invaded the resort, fresh off the bus from LA, and she knew her first line came sometime after Danika made a comment about how cute the young Latino bellhop was, but she couldn’t remember the exact words she was supposed to say.

  This was going to be a disaster.

  “Camera rolling!”

  Oh, God, Poppy thought, what is my first line?

  “We have speed!” the cinematographer called out.

  Trent stared into the monitor that was set up on the far side of the reception area so he could watch the scene play out, and yelled, “Action!”

  Right on cue, the gang of college kids poured into the reception area, all babbling at once, Danika among them. Poppy stood frozen, watching them conversing with each other, frantically trying to recall her first line.

  She caught sight of Matt, hovering over behind Trent, who was leaning forward in his chair, intently staring at the monitor. Matt was beaming.

  The next thing Poppy knew, Danika was standing in front of her at the reception desk, wide smile, flashing her perfectly white teeth, saying, “We’re here to check in!”

  Yes, that was her cue.

  “We’re here to check in.”

  Poppy heard herself say, “Welcome to the Sundial, kids . . .”

  Of course.

  It was that simple.

  A few of the rowdier college boys were ogling a pair of female sunbathers crossing through the lobby, and Poppy then turned her attention toward them, launching into a stern list of strict rules they were required to follow at the resort. This had been a tricky line because it was essentially a monologue about how Poppy had owned this resort for decades and was not about to let an unruly mob of sex-crazed college kids run roughshod on her property. Yes, the lines eased off her tongue. All those hours memorizing them had mercifully paid off. She was going to get through this. She only had a few more words to go and then she would be done and the scene would be over when something off to the side of the camera distracted her.

  Someone was waving at her.

  Ignore it, she told herself. You’re so close to finishing your first scene and not screwing it up.

  The waving became more frenetic, more distracting until Poppy couldn’t help herself and glanced over to see Violet excitedly waggling her hand and mouthing, “I’m so proud of you!”

  And then Poppy went blank again.

  She couldn’t remember the last line in the script.

  “Cut!” Trent shouted.

  Poppy deflated.

  Iris rolled her eyes at Violet. “You ruined the scene, Violet! You broke Poppy’s concentration!”

  “I was just wishing her luck,” Violet cried defensively.

  “It is obvious you have never been on a film set,” Iris snorted. “Not like me who appeared in many German avant-garde films. I am basically a cultural icon in Europe.”

  “Yes, Iris, you’ve told us many times,” Violet said, racing over to Poppy. “Poppy, I can’t apologize enough. I was just trying to be supportive.”

  “It’s fine, Violet,” Poppy said. “Luckily we can do it again.”

  However, since it was Poppy’s first scene, she had hoped to get through it once without messing up.

  She could see Matt in the background giving her the thumbs-up even though she knew he was just doing that to make her feel better. She could also tell he was putting on a brave face, pretending not to be affected by the Dear John text he had received from Heather the night before, something he and Poppy had yet to discuss other than a few back and forth texts.

  Trent jogged over to Poppy, who was now huddling with Iris and Violet. “Ready to go again?”

  Poppy nodded. “Yes, Trent, I am so sorry I flubbed the line.”

  “It was entirely my fault, Mr. Dodsworth-Jones. I was distracting her. Poppy is a wonderful actress who never forgets her lines. If you want to ban me from the set, I will understand, but please don’t take it out on poor Poppy,” Violet pleaded.

  “No, you’re fine,” Trent said, confused. “Who are you again?”

  “Violet Hogan. And this is Iris Becker. We work with Poppy at the Desert Flowers Detective Agency.”

  “Yes, that is true, but I am also a veteran of the performing arts with extensive experience as a chanteuse, in the theatre, and I worked with Fassbinder. He was a pig and he smelled but he was a dear personal friend,” Iris said.

  Trent nodded, impressed that Iris knew the well-regarded late German film director. “Well, you ladies are welcome to hang around as long as you want.”

  “Trent, I just got distracted,” Poppy said.

  “Don’t sweat it. We almost got it. We’ll do it until you get it right. The point is, you were marvelous.”

  Poppy raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “I knew I was making the right call. Wait until you see the dailies. You’re a real presence. You bring such gravitas to the scene. I couldn’t be happier. Trust me, Poppy, you’re everything I hoped you would be.” He impulsively grabbed her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Keep up the good work.”

  And then he bounded back over to confer with the cameraman.

  Poppy suspected he was just trying to make her feel better and put her mind at ease so he could get through the entire scene at least once uninterrupted.

  “See, I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d be a star again,” Violet cooed, utterly thrilled.

  “I am not looking to be a star. I’m just doing this to stay close to our client,” Poppy insisted.

  Iris eyed her skeptically. “What if you are nominated for an Oscar? What if someone like Antonio Banderas wants to be your date for the awards ceremony? What if Paul McCartney’s daughter wants to design your dress? Will you say no to all that?”

  “That is your fantasy, Iris, not mine,” Poppy snapped.

  “Poppy? Do you need more time?” Trent asked from behind the monitor.

  “No, all set to go!” Poppy cried, waving Iris and Violet away.

  “Do not wo
rry, Poppy, I will keep Violet out of your eye line!” Iris promised before hauling Violet away by the arm.

  Poppy closed her eyes, slowly breathed in and out, mentally preparing herself to try the scene again. When she opened her eyes, she spotted Danika in the corner with a broad-shouldered, scruffy, impossibly handsome man in his late twenties. She recognized him as Chase Ehrens, the male lead, playing the role inhabited by teen idol Troy Donahue in the original. She had yet to meet him. Poppy instantly sensed something was wrong. Danika was backing away from him as he advanced upon her, his hands all over her, apparently coming on way too strong.

  Matt stood nearby, not sure what to do, not wanting to intervene if he was not wanted.

  But Poppy could tell Danika was unhappy about Chase aggressively coming on to her, and finally, she physically pushed him away, hissing something under her breath. Although Poppy couldn’t hear her exact words, she was certain that, in effect, Danika was spurning Chase’s advances.

  Chase, red-faced and humiliated, spun around and started to stalk away when Timothy scurried up to him with some revised script pages. Chase ripped them out of Timothy’s hand and snapped at him, pushing him away, telling him to get out of his face and leave him alone. Timothy, whose sole mission seemed to be wanting to make a good impression on everyone, wilted.

  Poppy felt sorry for the poor kid. There was no excuse for Chase to treat him like that, or anyone else on set for that matter.

  Poppy watched the brooding actor storm off, and her opinion of him was official.

  She did not like Chase Ehrens one bit.

  Chapter 6

  Poppy finished her first big scene with little fanfare much to her relief, and Trent seemed happy with the footage and her performance. She had quickly made a beeline for Matt, who stood over in the corner of the pool area, near the unmanned bar, eyes downcast. She didn’t have to ask what he was upset about because it was obvious.

  “Matt, I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to speak to you earlier when I first got here—”

  He held a hand up in front of her. “It’s cool. I’m fine with it.”

  But she could tell he wasn’t.

  Matt was a good actor and was trying to keep on a brave, stoic face, pretending the fact that his girlfriend had unceremoniously dumped him, by text no less, was not really weighing on his mind.

  “I don’t understand why she would do it that way. That’s not the kind of behavior I taught her when she was growing up.”

  “Well, sure, she could’ve been classier about it and done it in person, but the result would have been the same, Poppy. Heather doesn’t want me anymore.”

  Poppy gave him a motherly hug. “I know how hard you tried to make the relationship work. After all the troubles Heather’s gone through these last few years, you’ve stood by her, all this time. . . .”

  “Heather’s a good person, who deserves a fresh start and to be happy. And if I’m not a part of that plan, I just have to accept it,” Matt said, forcing a smile.

  Poppy was certainly rooting for her daughter. She understood that Heather was desperate to put this rocky period in her life squarely behind her, and that Matt may have been a constant reminder of the past few painful years. Even though as a mother, she had to stand by Heather and respect her decisions, that did not mean she was expected to abandon Matt, her business partner, her friend, and she wanted to make sure he knew that.

  “Well, you will always have me, Iris, and Violet,” Poppy promised.

  “Thank you, I appreciate that,” Matt said.

  Poppy noticed Timothy carrying a bright pink gift box with a giant red bow tied around it in his hands, as he passed by them.

  “Anybody seen Danika?” Timothy asked. “A fan dropped this off for her.”

  Poppy and Matt sprang to attention, suddenly on guard.

  “A fan?” Matt asked nervously.

  “Yeah, real creepy guy. I have no idea how he got on set. I figured he conned his way past the guard by saying he was a deliveryman. He tried convincing me that he had to make sure Danika signed for this personally, but I told him no one gets near Ms. Delgado that’s not personally connected to the production.”

  Poppy swiveled around, trying to find any unfamiliar faces in the pool area. “Where is he? Did he leave?”

  “Yeah, once I told him meeting Danika was not going to happen, he left. At least, I think he did.”

  Poppy’s heart sank as she spotted the group of young actors Danika was chatting with just a few moments earlier. “Where is she? She was right over there a minute ago.”

  “They just called lunch. Maybe she’s at craft services or eating in her room,” Timothy suggested.

  “Everyone can relax,” Matt assured them. “I’ve memorized her schedule. She’s got a session in the gym with her personal trainer scheduled for now. And I’m reasonably confident that her trainer, who’s two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle and goes by the name of Thor, can keep her safe.”

  The blood seemed to drain from Timothy’s face. “Um, Thor cancelled today . . .”

  “What?” Poppy gasped.

  “I was with Danika when he called earlier just before we shot your scene, Ms. Harmon. Thor came out of his apartment in West Hollywood and found his tires slashed. He was going to Uber here, but Danika told him to forget it, they would skip today.”

  “Oh, God! Then where is she?” Poppy cried.

  “I heard her promise Thor she would lift weights on her own. Maybe she’s in the gym,” Timothy said.

  Matt bolted for the resort gym with Poppy close on his heels. Timothy followed behind them. The door to the gym had been closed, and when Matt yanked it open, they all could see Danika inside, backed up against a wall mirror, as a young man wearing a gray hoodie and jeans, odd for such a warm day in the desert, had her pinned in front of him with a dumbbell loaded down with heavy weights on each side. The man’s face was pressed up close to Danika as she turned away with a look of revulsion.

  Poppy could see his face through the reflection in the wall mirror. Beak nose. Acne-scarred face, wisps of greasy black hair, and beady, disturbed eyes.

  Matt sprinted across the gym toward them and grabbed the young man from behind by the hood, yanking him off Danika with all his might. The young man dropped the dumbbell and it crashed to the floor with a loud thud. Matt spun the intruder around and Poppy could see him erupt in anger, enraged that his private moment with Danika had been so rudely interrupted. He took a swing at Matt, who luckily had enough stage combat training to expertly dodge it. The man threw himself upon Matt hurling wild punches, kicking him in the kneecap, before Matt had the opportunity to strike back. Timothy lunged forward to help, but the man scooped up a free weight and swung it wide, clocking Timothy in the side of the head.

  Matt now dove into the man’s midsection and they hurtled to the floor, rolling around, punching and kicking each other. Matt finally managed to grab the man around the chest, pinning his arms, but the man lashed out crazily, biting Matt’s ear. Matt loosened his grip enough for the man to wriggle out of his grasp, and pop back up to his feet. Matt followed suit, raising his fists, ready to continue the bare-knuckled brawl. But then the young man lifted the dumbbell he had used to pin Danika to the wall off the floor, and with all his might launched it at Matt. The sheer weight of it slammed against Matt’s chest, lifting him off his feet and back down to the floor, the wind knocked out of him.

  The young man pulled his hood down over his face as he raced out of the gym. Poppy rushed toward Matt, but before she could reach him, Matt was back on his feet and chasing after the hooded intruder. Poppy turned to see Danika still standing against the wall mirror in a state of shock. Timothy was on the floor, writhing in pain, so she went to check on him first.

  “Timothy, talk to me. Are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance?” Poppy cried.

  “No, please don’t. I’ll be okay, Ms. Harmon. I’m pretty sure he missed my jaw, he just got the side of my face. Luckily all my teeth
are still intact . . . I think.”

  “You should have a doctor check you out just to be on the safe side,” Poppy insisted.

  Timothy nodded briefly, but Poppy could tell he had no intention of leaving work to go to the hospital. There was no way he was going to risk another up-and-comer replacing him.

  Poppy then turned to Danika, who was resting her head against the mirrored wall and staring into space. Poppy hurried over to her. “Danika, I am so sorry. We should have been more careful, it’s on us that you were left alone—”

  Danika seemed to finally snap out of her trance. “Poppy, I’m totally fine, just shaken up a little,” Danika said calmly. “There’s no need to blame yourself. I made the decision to come work out unaccompanied.”

  “What can you tell me about the man who attacked you?”

  “Not much. Just that he’s young, maybe early twenties, he said his name was Byron, like Lord Byron the poet, and he told me he writes love sonnets about me, about us, how he’s never felt a love like this, ever since he discovered my videos on YouTube and Instagram.”

  Already Poppy suspected the kid was of unsound mind.

  “I didn’t want to make him angry so I kind of played along at first, saying he was so sweet and how I would like to read his poems sometime, but then I tried to run and that’s when he grabbed me and threw me up against the wall and pinned me with that barbell and told me to stop fighting what is meant to be . . . and that’s when you all showed up.”

  Poppy grabbed her phone from her jacket pocket. “I’m calling security.”

  “Don’t bother, he’s gone,” she heard Matt say as he limped back into the gym.

  Danika hurried over to him, notably far more concerned with his well-being than that of poor Timothy, the lowly production assistant. “Matt!”

  “I twisted my ankle chasing after the little creep so he was able to put some distance between us until he got out to the street and sped away in his car,” Matt said, still slightly out of breath. He held up his phone. “But don’t worry, I got a photo of his license plate.”