by Lee Hollis
Wyatt hopped off his stool and scurried over to his grandmother. He held out his hand for the phone. “Is the address in your phone, Grandma?”
“Yes,” Violet whispered. “It’s under McKellan. Phil McKellan.”
Poppy relinquished the phone to Wyatt, who raced back to his computer and speedily tapped on his computer keys. A Google Earth map popped up on his screen as he zoomed in on an image of the North America continent, then the state of California, Riverside County, the city of Palm Desert, then an exact neighborhood. He scanned a street, stopping at what appeared to be an empty lot on the corner. Then, he slowly swiveled around to face Violet. “You’ve been ghosted, Grandma.”
“What?” Violet sniffled.
“The address he gave you doesn’t even exist.”
Violet dropped her head. She had expected this, but hearing it out loud seemed to only make it worse. “I feel like such a damn fool.”
Poppy grabbed Violet’s hand and squeezed it. “Do not blame yourself for this, Violet. Something like this could have happened to any one of us.”
The moment it flew out of her mouth Poppy cranked her head around in Iris’s direction to stop her from commenting, but of course, it was too late.
“Not me,” Iris grunted.
“Not helping!” Poppy snapped.
Chapter 34
The last place Poppy had ever imagined she would be was back on the set of Palm Springs Weekend in the heart of Joshua Tree National Park. But a surprising call from Greta Van Damm the evening before had confirmed the rumors that she had been hearing all day that Hal Greenwood Productions had found a suitable replacement for the late, lamented Danika Delgado, and the decision had been officially made to forge ahead on the movie, finish the remaining scenes left to shoot, and then go back and reshoot the scenes already in the can involving Danika’s character with the new actress.
Poppy had honestly assumed the whole project would be shelved after Danika’s murder, and the millions of dollars already spent would be written off as a loss. She was even more stunned to discover that the producers wanted both Poppy and Matt to return and finish the handful of scenes they had left to film. After hanging up with a very cold, remote, yet professional Greta, Poppy immediately got Matt on the phone, who was decidedly more enthusiastic about returning to the set.
Carpooling with Matt to Joshua Tree the following morning, Poppy had placed a call to Detective Jordan to bring him up to speed on what little information they had about Phil McKellan, whom they had clearly identified on the Parker Hotel’s security footage, and whom they suspected had bugged their office using Violet as his way to get inside. It wasn’t much. But it was something. Naturally, Detective Jordan had declined to take Poppy’s call, but the desk sergeant who took the message did at least sound mildly intrigued.
After parking her car at a base camp, Poppy and Matt hustled into a van and were transported about a half mile to the set. They had barely had time to get a cup of coffee at the craft services table and find the makeup trailer when they suddenly heard a man yelling at the top of his lungs.
“What the hell are they doing here?”
Poppy and Matt spun around, coffee in hand, dumbstruck as they saw Hal Greenwood in all his blustery, full-tilt rage, pointing a pudgy finger directly at them.
“I want them off my set! Somebody call security!”
Nobody moved.
Everyone was still in shock from the sudden, unexpected outburst.
Hal, his face as red as a ripened tomato, sweat dribbling down his chubby cheeks, stomped his feet in the desert sand like a petulant child, still pointing his finger at Poppy and Matt. “I fired you two! That means you’re trespassing and subject to arrest! And let me tell you, I’m gonna love seeing those smug, sanctimonious faces of yours behind bars!”
Poppy didn’t feel like she was being smug or sanctimonious. In fact, she was more confused than anything else. But she was not about to budge. She was going to stand her ground against this bully, at least until someone explained to her why they had been dragged back to the set if they were not wanted.
“Hal! Hal! Wait!” Greta called breathlessly as she scurried onto the set and physically placed herself as a barrier between her mercurial boss and Poppy and Matt. “I asked them to come.”
“You what?” Hal wailed.
Greta stopped momentarily to catch her breath, a hand over her rapidly beating heart, and pressed on. “Can we go talk somewhere privately so I can explain?”
“No! You can tell me right here!” Hal roared.
Greta glanced around at the small crowd, cast and crew, all gathered around, eyes glued to the big boss’s meltdown. “Okay,” she sighed, shrugging, figuring there was probably relatively little harm in letting everyone hear the truth. “The insurance company is covering the cost of recasting and reshooting the scenes with Danika that we lost, but not any additional scenes. I talked to Netflix and they’re happy with all the other dailies so it wouldn’t be financially prudent to let any more cast members go at this point—”
“I don’t care! I’ll cover the damn costs myself!” Hal erupted.
“We’re already over budget,” Greta pleaded. “They only have a couple of scenes left and then they will be done.”
Hal sputtered and fumed and swore to himself some more, but in the end, he knew his right-hand man, or woman, was making the correct call. “Fine,” he muttered before pointing his finger again at Poppy and Matt while yelling in Greta’s direction. “But I want their scenes done today, you hear me, today, and then I want them gone!”
“Yes, Hal, I can arrange that,” Greta promised, relief in her voice.
Hal stormed off, still seething, and Greta made a beeline over to Poppy and Matt.
“I have never felt more welcome,” Poppy cracked.
“I’m sorry about that. Hal is still a little rattled over you showing up at our office in LA unannounced and insinuating that he had something to do with Danika’s murder.”
Neither Poppy nor Matt had any intention of disavowing those suspicions and Greta bristled at their stony silence. But then, she quickly shifted back into producer mode, her primary mission to keep the peace and the production on track.
“Anyway, I appreciate you both keeping your commitment and coming back to wrap your scenes. Given how Hal has treated you both, a lot of actors would have stayed away. If there is anything you need, just let me know,” Greta said with a tight smile.
Before they could respond, Greta was off like a shot, ready to put out more fires.
“I suspect it’s going to be a very long day,” Poppy sighed.
“At least it won’t be boring,” Matt chuckled before something caught his eye. “Not boring at all.”
Poppy followed his gaze to the opposite side of the craft service table where a statuesque girl with a striking resemblance to Danika, smooth caramel skin, jet-black hair, beautiful and even doe-eyed from a distance. But as they approached, Poppy noticed up close a roughness around the edges. She was draped in a pink bathrobe that hung open just enough, on purpose Poppy suspected, to flaunt her ample breasts. A few crew members stopped what they were doing to gape at her as she hummed to herself and perused a platter of fresh fruit. As she settled upon a piece of melon and popped it into her mouth, the juice dribbling down her chin, there was almost an audible heavy sigh from her gaggle of male fans on the set watching her.
She circled around the table and made a point of walking up to Poppy and Matt. “Hi, I’m the new girl.”
“Matt Flowers.” He pumped her hand, a silly grin on his face. He made no effort to introduce Poppy as he was so distracted by this absolute vision of loveliness.
“And I’m just a random person standing next to him,” Poppy said, elbowing Matt in the rib cage.
“Oh, where are my manners? This is Poppy . . .”
“Harmon,” Poppy said, rolling her eyes at Matt.
“Joselyn Tremblay,” the girl said, breaking into a smile wide enough
to compete with Farrah Fawcett on her famous poster from the 1970s. Joselyn wasted no time in giving them her full, unabridged biography, growing up in Santa Fe, the daughter of a painter and a sculptor, her strong Native American heritage, how she competed for Miss Teen USA representing her home state of New Mexico, how that led to modeling jobs and a few local commercials before she followed her boyfriend, an aspiring screenwriter, to Hollywood, how he dumped her after they arrived, how she struggled getting acting gigs, almost becoming homeless and was living out of her car before scoring a guest spot on the One Day at a Time reboot, how that led to other jobs, but nothing as high profile and potentially career boosting as this lead role in Palm Springs Weekend.
Poppy, hoping her oral history was finally coming to an end, opened her mouth to excuse herself so she could go get made up for her first scene, but the girl continued talking unabated. “I can’t tell you what a big break this is. I auditioned the first time around, and not to toot my own horn, but I nailed it. I thought I had it in the bag. Hal loved me, Netflix loved me, I was packing my bags for Palm Springs, but then my manager called with the bad news. They decided to go with a name. Danika was a big social media star with millions of followers. How could I compete with that? I was so crushed. But it’s funny how things work out.”
“Funny?” Poppy asked warily.
“I don’t mean funny, funny, it’s tragic that Danika died and all that, but I always knew deep down inside that this part belonged to me. From the moment I first auditioned. Even after Danika got cast and the film started shooting, I couldn’t accept that I was not going to play the role . . . and then . . . well, it worked out in the end, like it was supposed to. . . .”
Poppy stared at Joselyn, wondering if she had any idea how awful she was coming across, so callous, as if a woman’s murder was just a fortuitous stepping-stone to her ultimate goal of becoming a movie star.
Joselyn must have noticed Poppy’s and Matt’s horrified expressions because she efficiently erased her smile and said with a dash of false compassion, “But poor Danika . . .” Then her megawatt Farrah smile was back. “Anyway, it’s nice meeting you both. I’m really looking forward to working together.”
And then she bounced away, still commanding the admiring stares of the mostly male crew setting up the next shot.
“Man, I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on for a moment there, and then she started talking,” Matt said, shaking his head.
Poppy could not help but be reminded of that old actor saying, “I would kill for that part,” which in this case she suspected might not be just an old saying after all.
Chapter 35
Poppy made her way down the aluminum steps of the makeup trailer, her face freshly painted and her hair fussed over and sprayed firmly into place. In one hand she clutched a rolled-up copy of her script and in the other her phone, pressed to her ear as she waited, on hold.
Finally, a woman came on the line. “Bear Valley Community Hospital, how may I direct your call?”
“Yes, hello, I have been trying to reach Sam Emerson’s room, but he hasn’t been picking up.”
“Who?”
“Sam Emerson,” Poppy said, louder.
“Hold on.”
She heard computer keys clicking as the receptionist typed. “I’ll connect you now.”
“No! You don’t understand. I have been calling the room and there has been no answer—”
The receptionist was suddenly gone.
The line rang and rang.
Still no answer.
Poppy sighed, frustrated. She hung up and called the hospital again.
“Bear Valley Community Hospital, how may I direct your call?”
Poppy couldn’t tell if it was the same woman as before. This one’s voice sounded like it had a faint Southern accent. She was going to have to assume this was a whole new person and she would have to start all over again.
“My name is Poppy Harmon. My boyfriend, Sam Emerson, is a patient in your hospital. I have been calling his room, but there has been no answer and I’m very worried—”
“What’s the name again?”
Poppy sighed. “Sam Emerson.” Then she added quickly, “Please don’t transfer me to his room, no one is there to pick up. He had a very serious heart attack, and I am worried he’s not in his room in bed and—”
“They may have taken him down for some tests,” this more helpful receptionist suggested.
“Can you check for me, please? I want to be sure nothing’s wrong.”
Silence.
Poppy could feel the woman’s annoyance coming through the phone.
“Hold please,” she said abruptly, then got off the line.
Someone tapped Poppy on the shoulder.
It was Timothy, the PA. “Hey, Poppy, we’re going to need you on set in five minutes.”
“Thank you, Timothy.”
He trotted off, and Poppy stood, phone still clamped to her ear, waiting impatiently, working hard to not allow her mind to go to a worst-case-scenario situation.
Sam was going to be fine.
Back to normal in no time.
Or a new kind of normal.
She heard some kind of a scuffle happening on the opposite side of the makeup trailer. Voices murmuring. She lowered the phone and was about to wander around to see what was going on when a nurse came on the line.
“Are you the one trying to find Sam Emerson?” Her voice was much kinder, more accommodating, understanding.
“Yes, he’s not in his room.”
“That’s because he terrorized the nursing staff until he was allowed to take a walk outside.”
“That sounds like Sam,” Poppy chuckled.
“He should be back in his room in about ten or fifteen minutes.” The nurse’s calm, serene tone put Poppy immediately at ease.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And just so you know, the doctor delivered some good news today. Mr. Emerson might be discharged on Thursday depending on the results of his EKG tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful,” Poppy said, relieved.
The fracas on the other side of the trailer was getting louder, more intense. Poppy pushed a finger in her free ear to drown out the noise.
Before hanging up, the nurse said, “May I ask, are you his significant other?”
That was such a complicated question, but there was no point in trying to work it out on the phone with a busy health-care provider who had much more important things to tend to, so Poppy simply replied, “Yes.”
“He’s going to need someone looking after him when he gets home, so you might want to think about making arrangements to have someone check on him, either yourself, or a family member.”
“I will do it,” Poppy said.
She wasn’t exactly sure how that would work with Sam all the way up in Big Bear and her down in Palm Springs. But she would figure it out.
Poppy ended the call, still distracted by the commotion on the other side of the trailer. She marched around and stopped in her tracks at the sight of Hal Greenwood, his massive bulk pressed up against his newest star, Joselyn Tremblay, pinning her to the side of the trailer. His paws were all over her, a couple of his fat fingers working to undo her blouse. Joselyn struggled to free herself from his grasp, but kept a pleasant smile on her face, as if she did not want to upset him, but clearly there was distress written all over her face.
“Now, Hal, don’t be a naughty boy . . .” she pleaded.
“I can’t keep my hands off you, you’re so beautiful . . .”
Poppy was not about to let this poor young woman become the latest victim of this revolting lech. She raised her script that was rolled up in her hand, waving it at Hal. “Excuse me, Hal, sorry to interrupt, but I would like to discuss this scene we’re about to shoot with you.”
Hal tore his lustful, roving eyes off Joselyn and fixed them angrily upon Poppy, the last person he wanted to see right now. “What?”
Poppy continued, pretending to be oblivious to what she had just witnessed. “There is a line in the script that doesn’t make any sense to me and I’m curious to get your thoughts on how I should play it.”
Hal exploded with a spew of expletives that Poppy calmly ignored. Finally, when he finished ticking off just about every four-letter word in the English language, he bellowed, “I am not the director of this movie! If you have a problem with the line, go talk to the Brit! Now leave me alone!”
Poppy, however, did not budge, which just infuriated him even more. He knew it would be impossible to try foisting himself on Joselyn again, especially in front of Poppy, so clasping his fleshy hands together, almost as if to beg, he asked Joselyn, “Maybe we can continue this in your trailer where it’s more private?”
Joselyn feigned immense disappointment. “As much as I would love to, Hal, I’m in the next scene with Poppy.”
Poppy could almost see the steam rising off the top of Hal Greenwood’s head, his lewd, crude, unwanted efforts stymied. Without another word, Hal stormed off.
Poppy had expected Joselyn to dissolve into tears on the spot, having been through such a ghastly ordeal, but instead, she was almost robotically placid. She gave Poppy a wan smile.
Poppy stepped forward, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Joselyn reassured her.
“What just happened now is not only disgusting and unacceptable, it’s illegal.”
Joselyn shrugged. “Just part of the job, I guess.”
Poppy reared back, stunned. “No, Joselyn, it most definitely is not. Hal Greenwood has a notorious reputation for this kind of thing, and should be held accountable.”
Joselyn considered this rather apathetically, then with another shrug, said, “Maybe, but he’s the big boss who can make or break careers, so what can I do?”