by Cindy Brown
“Let’s sit down for a minute.”
“No. You tell me why.”
“It just wasn’t going to work out.”
“Don’t you love him?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. But...”
“Then why?” Cody began to cry. Noisily and hard, his body shaking with each sob.
Then I was crying too. “Because...I’m an actor.”
“So?”
“I’m selfish and self-absorbed.”
“What? You are not.”
“I’m dramatic and needy. I’m always putting myself first.”
“You’re not. You’re wrong. You should call Matt and tell him that—”
“For God’s sake, Cody. I am. Look what I did to you.”
Cody stopped crying. He looked at me with wet eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t want you with us, so I ignored you. I let you fall through the ice. I didn’t save you.” I sank onto the couch. “I let you go.”
Cody sat down next to me. “I love you, Olive-y. I love you more than anybody. Even Mom and Dad or Uncle Bob or Sarah.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. If you did, you’d know that my accident doesn’t matter.”
“How can you say that? I don’t think you understand what I took away from you.”
Cody thrust out his chin. “And I don’t think you understand what I have.” He stood up. “I like my life. I have friends and a job and a girlfriend. And I have you and Matt. Your life is good, too, and it’s better when you’re with Matt. And if you can’t see that, you’re just dumb.” A huge insult in this house. “You’re the dumbest person I know.” Cody turned around and walked out of the room.
I sat on the couch, unable to move. Cody was right. I’d never thought about his life from his point of view. But...didn’t that just prove my point?
“Olive-y?” said a distinctive thick-tongued voice. Cody’s best friend Stu padded softly into the room. “I heard you fight with Cody.” He sat down on the couch next to me. “Sorry.” Stu patted my knee. “But he’s right. You’re really dumb.”
Chapter 58
I felt worse than dumb. I felt bad. A bad sister. A bad detective, which in turn meant a bad niece. A bad person.
I felt bad all the way home. I felt bad when I opened the door to my empty apartment, and bad when I grabbed a beer from the fridge. Bad. I really wanted to talk to someone, but who? Not Matt, Cody or Uncle Bob, since they were the people I was feeling bad about. Not Candy, who didn’t need my pity party right now. Timothy? Right—after I didn’t tell him I got the Camelot gig, forgot about his dream theater company, and stood him up at the gay rodeo. Add “bad friend” to the list.
But, said a small voice inside me, you are good at something. You are good at acting.
Thank God I still had that.
The next morning, I stepped through the French doors onto John Robert’s patio. “I need coffee,” I said in Marilyn’s breathless voice. “Lots and lots of coff—oops!” One of my kitten heels caught on the threshold and I stumbled into Hayden.
He caught me and I righted myself. “Oh my.” I patted my wig to make sure it was in place. “I may have had a bit too much last night.”
John Robert’s face scrunched up in worry. “No, Marilyn. You really mustn’t. With your history of substance abuse, you...” He stopped, maybe because he realized he was speaking to me as if I was the dead star, or maybe because it was impolite to remind someone how they died.
“I really do need coffee.” The usual OJ and champagne glared brightly at me from a side table next to Jackie, but there was no coffee on display. Just as I’d hoped. I smiled at John Robert. “Is there a pot in the kitchen?”
“I’ll get it,” he said.
“I’ll join you.” It was all going as planned. Last night, when I realized I had put all my eggs into the acting basket, I realized something else: I needed to help this play. And the first step was to protect it. I had to talk John Robert out of using other people’s ideas. Even if the material wasn’t copyrighted, anyone could go on the web and watch the Ren faire shows, and that could be more than embarrassing for John Robert—and the show’s backers.
“So,” I said once John Robert and I were alone in the kitchen, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“I know.” He hung his head like a bad dog. Had he recognized me at the faire? Was he about to confess to stealing ideas? Or maybe something worse? “It stinks,” he said. “I stink. I don’t know why I thought I’d be better off, but—” He made a choking sound and threw his arms around my neck. “I made a horrible mistake and I don’t know what to do.”
“Um,” I said into his hair. “Which mistake are you talking about? I mean, what mistake?”
He pushed himself away from me and wiped his eyes. “Leaving Lewis, of course. He’s not just my partner and the love of my life, he’s my muse. I can’t work without him. Well, I can, but I’m awful. I even resorted to stealing ideas from entertainers at the Ren faire—can you believe it? I wouldn’t need to do that if Lewis was here. We’re so much better together. I can’t explain it, but when I’m with him the ideas fill the room like butterflies. I just reach out and one lights on the back of my hand. And then Lewis makes the idea better. He makes everything better.” Echoes of my “love talk” with Cody.
“Why did you break up?” I used my real voice. It seemed wrong to play a character when talking about such a serious subject.
“Because I was stupid. I wanted the glory all to myself. I didn’t want be part of the team Turner and Toe, I wanted to be John Robert Turner, the Broadway sensation. I don’t know why I thought I had to break up with Lewis in order to prove myself. I even picked a fight with him.” Oh boy, more echoes.
“Maybe that was the only way you could strike out on your own,” I said.
“But I don’t want to be on my own. I want Lewis. Oh God, I miss him.” John Robert hung his head. “I’d give up anything for him. My career, even.”
“Have you told Lewis what you just told me?”
“What?” said John Robert. “Go crawling back on my hands and knees?”
“What have you got to lose?”
“Besides my ego?”
“Yeah, besides that. I think egos are...” I tried to think how Uncle Bob would say it. “You know how they talk about ‘bruised egos’? They never say that egos are ‘bloody’ or ‘critically ill.’ I think that’s because they’re sort of superficial. Sure, they hurt when they get poked, but they’re not really a big deal, and they heal pretty quickly.”
John Robert nodded slowly. “And no one’s really been poking it beside myself.”
“We do that to ourselves.”
“Yes. You’re right. I should tell him. Call him. Today.” As he talked through his decision, John Robert’s red tear-stained face—his funny froggy face—became beautiful, like it was lit from within. Amazing what love will do for you.
He poured me some coffee, and I got milk out of the refrigerator. I started to sniff it out of habit, then stopped. Did millionaires’ milk go sour, too, or did their maids check it daily? I decided it was impolite and took a chance, pouring the milk sniff-free into my coffee. “So,” I said casually, “What’s your connection with the Ren faire?”
“My connection?”
“You said something about it earlier.”
“Oh, yeah.” He turned toward the counter and wiped up a drop of spilled coffee. “It’s not really a connection.”
“I thought I saw you there a few days ago.”
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “You were there?” His eyes were wide. Surprise? Fear? “Isn’t it great?” Maybe it was delight. “It’s what gave me the idea to reimagine Camelot. I’d been wanting to do something about the Kennedys anyway.” He turned away again, staring out the window over the k
itchen sink. “I was reaching, I guess, but Hello Dolly Madison did so well, and I do love the Kennedys, but...I don’t think it’s going to work.” He snuck a look at me over his shoulder, probably hoping I’d contradict him.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. John Robert was a nice guy, but his Kennelot concepts...Hey. He’d distracted me. “You said something earlier about, um, stealing ideas. Did you work with someone there?”
“No.” John Robert’s face fell. “I just hung around the entertainers with the biggest crowds. I wasn’t planning to steal outright—I’d make the ideas my own eventually. I was just so desperate for inspiration.”
“I, uh, heard that horse that was here was from there.” I hoped my vagueness sounded like I was at the end of the gossip chain, not just poorly spoken.
John Robert’s face brightened again. “Wasn’t that lucky? That poor horse. What if he hadn’t found my swimming pool?”
How did the horse find the pool? “Did you get the reward?”
“No. I don’t need the money. I would have given it to Juan if he’d told the faire the horse was here, but...I just let it go. I heard the performers raised the money themselves. They don’t make much, you know.” John Robert’s face went from bright to dark again, like he was experiencing a fast-moving storm. Maybe he was, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with the horse. “Oh God,” he said. “I really want to call Lewis but...”
Yeah, not about the horse. “Fear is stupid, and so are regrets,” I said, quoting John Robert’s favorite dead movie star.
“Oh, Marilyn,” he said. “I’m going to miss you.”
Chapter 59
I walked slowly back to the patio, my mind’s wheels spinning. Not going anywhere, mind you. Just spinning. John Robert was going to miss me. That didn’t sound good. Not only that, I didn’t learn squat about the horse, or about John Robert and the Ren faire.
I stepped onto the patio. Jackie was nowhere in sight. Maybe I could turn my detective luck around, find out what was really up with Hayden and Bianca and the faire.
Hayden beat me to the punch. “What’s wrong?”
So many things. I chose one, just to start the conversation. “I talked John Robert into calling Lewis. And I get the feeling that Kennelot is...over.” As I said the words, I felt their truth. Oh no. And I helped push it into the grave.
“Ah.” Hayden poured himself some orange juice. “Probably.”
“You don’t seem that upset.”
“I saw it coming. Come on, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but...” Broad...way...The tune in my head became a dirge. I blocked it out.
“And I’ve got something else lined up.”
“Cool.” Okay, Ivy, this is where to start prodding. Forget about Broadway for a minute and get back to detecting. “What is it?”
“A film. With Andre.”
“Andre? Wow.” I acted like I didn’t know Hayden had worked with him before. “How in the world...?”
“I’ve known Andre since his student film days, even acted in one of them when I was in college, pre-law school.”
“You’re a lawyer?” Finally, some information.
“Nah. Only went for a year. I decided there were better ways to use my talents.”
“Like?” Give me something. Please please please.
“Acting, of course.” He smiled at me, but his eyes narrowed a bit. “Don’t you want to know about the movie?”
“Of course.” Act like an actor, Ivy, not a detective.
“It’s a biopic.” Hayden flashed his boyish JFK smile. “About the Kennedys.”
“But...” Uncle Bob had always maintained that coincidences were seldom, well, coincidental. My mind flashed on John Robert and Hayden returning from their ride in the desert, looking awfully buddy-buddy. “Wait, did you know John Robert before this? Is he involved in the film, too?”
“He doesn’t have anything to do with the movie, but yeah, he knew me. Sort of. He and Andre are friendly. They were on the phone a couple of weeks ago when Andre mentioned the script he was planning to direct. John Robert got all excited and asked if he’d be stealing his thunder by trying Camelot with the Kennedys and Marilyn.” Another borrowed idea. At least John Robert asked to use this one. “Andre said sure, go for it.”
“Because he thought they’d cross-promote each other?”
“Because he never thought John Robert would go through with it, at least not without Lewis.”
I was still having trouble making all the connections. “And you?”
“Andre’s been planning to use me as Kennedy all along. When John Robert told him he wanted to workshop his idea with actors, Andre suggested me. Thought it’d give me a chance to perfect my JFK persona.”
“Wow.” My mind was seriously spinning now. Hayden and John Robert were connected. Hayden and Bianca were connected. John Robert and Riley’s horse were connected. I almost felt dizzy. I sat down, just as Jackie came through the French doors. “Everything okay?” she asked.
And Jackie and Hayden were connected, through Kennelot if nothing else. Arghh. This investigation sucked. “I may have just sunk our Broadway boat,” I said. That sucked too.
Jackie sat quickly, as if she were felled by an axe, her perfect facade cracking. I felt for her/him. Sure I wanted to work with John Robert and get to Broadway, but playing Marilyn wasn’t a lifelong dream for me, like Jackie was for Benjamin. His lip trembled a little.
I explained my conversation with John Robert. “I’m sorry.” I touched Benjamin on the arm. “I know how much this meant to you.”
“Aw, buck up, you two. You’ll have this workshop on your resume, and I wouldn’t be surprised if John Robert recommends you for something else,” Hayden said. “And if not, there’s always the Ren faire.”
Jackie stiffened. I felt my body doing the same. Was he talking to both of us?
“Or your PI work.”
Shit. He was talking to me.
Jackie shook her head almost imperceptibly—she didn’t tell. Hayden was grinning at me openly. No use in lying now. “Who knows?” I asked.
“All the Ren faire people know. That’s one reason they made you be silent—trying to keep you from asking too many questions.” I slid a glance at Jackie. She affirmed the fact with her eyes.
“But how did they figure it out?” I’d been so careful.
“First of all, there was the way the administration foisted you off on the belly dancing troupe...”
Jackie gave me an “I told you so” look.
“Plus the bad accent...”
“Oi!” I said. “It weren’t that bad.”
“The fact that no one is named Prudence anymore.”
“Come on, there have to be some Beatles fans somewhere.”
“But I guess what clinched it was your outie.”
“My what?”
“Seems you wore a short top one day when you were being yourself.” Arghh, that damn tied-at-the-waist-Marilyn-shirt. I wore it the day I borrowed Riley’s armor. “Of course it was on view in your belly dancing costume, too, and I hear that it’s...distinctive.” Hayden grinned. “Which makes me want to see it.” He reached for my shirt.
“No.” I clamped my top to my distinctive belly button. “You should have paid attention the day I wore my shirt tied up. Now it’s your turn. How are you involved with the faire? Does it have anything to do with the reason you’re on the road a lot?”
“Good one,” said Hayden. “But just because you’ve blown your cover doesn’t mean I have to blow mine.”
Just then John Robert came back outside, beaming. “Something came up, so we’ll take today off. I’ll give you all a call about tomorrow.”
Things felt very final as we walked through the house to the driveway out front. John Robert waved goodbye, then closed the front door. Hayden gave Jackie and me a
jaunty wave, got into his Prius, and drove off.
“Did you have to do it?” Jackie said to me. “Couldn’t you have left well enough alone?”
“Come on, you know nothing about Kennelot was ‘well enough.’ And yes, I had to. You should have seen John Robert. He was so sad.”
“And now you’ve made the rest of us that way. Thanks a lot.” Jackie got into her Cadillac and drove away, literally leaving me in the dust.
I tried to not think too much on the drive back to town, to concentrate on the road and the traffic. I was doing okay until my phone rang. I picked up on speaker.
“Ivy?” It was John Robert. “I wanted you to be the first to know.” If the joy in his voice was any indication, I already knew. “Lewis and I are back together. He’s flying out. He’ll be here this evening.”
“I’m so glad for you.” I was. I really was.
“I just wanted to say thank you. I’m not sure I would have...Who knows what might have happened if you didn’t help me figure this out? I might have blown it forever.”
“Yeah.” I tried not to think about blowing something forever.
“And about Kennelot...I think I’m going to take a break. It’s not really working.” I wanted to convince him to keep trying for the sake of my career. But I couldn’t, because he was right. Oh boy, was he right. “It’s not completely off the table. Maybe Lewis will have some ideas.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll keep in touch. Your Marilyn is truly amazing. Truly.”
“Thanks.” I hung up the phone.
No Broadway.
No undercover job.
No Matt.
The sky above me was clear and blue, but still, a big dark cloud descended on my truck, closing in more and more until it crushed my heart.
Chapter 60
I’d told my uncle I’d come into the office after rehearsal. I knew I should, but I couldn’t face Uncle Bob. If I saw him, I’d want to talk to him, and I just didn’t have the heart to tell him that my bellybutton blew my cover, or that Broadway was a no-go, or that I broke up with Matt.