Remains to Be Scene

by R. T. Jordan

  As Polly, Tim, and Placenta escorted Duane to the front door, and all exchanged expressions of appreciation for the other’s hospitality or generosity, it was Placenta who finally asked the question that Polly seemed to have forgotten during an afternoon of self-involved pontification. “Such a sweet boy,” she said to Duane. “I don’t suppose you personally had anything to do with Sedra’s death?”

  “Talk about a marksman’s point-blank, between the eyes, direct hit,” Polly said, apologizing for Placenta’s blunt remark.

  Duane’s smile had turned to a look of horror.

  “Don’t look so startled,” Placenta said. “Hell, I’ll tell you a little secret. Years ago, I thought about having Polly bumped off. Yeah, I actually got on the phone with The Queen Mum, and she gave me a schedule of fees for taking out princesses and former nannies with tell-all books. The rates for hitting a Hollywood TV icon weren’t all that bad, considering. But in the end I decided she wasn’t worth it. Was Sedra worth it to you?”

  “My Placenta’s not a well person,” Polly said, putting her arm around her maid’s waist. “She has a condition of the tongue. Something like Tourette’s.”

  Duane collected himself and said, “As I was explaining to Tim earlier, it wasn’t Dana Pointer who did the deed to Sedra Stone. I’m almost positive.”

  “Almost?” Polly said.

  Duane shrugged his thick shoulders. “Even though they were in Sedra’s trailer, fighting like Krystle and Alexis.”

  “But you didn’t actually see Dana and Sedra together?” Placenta said.

  “Sterling’s notorious when it comes to not allowing overtime,” Duane said. “I had to clock out precisely at eleven when my shift was over. So no, I didn’t actually see Dana push Sedra off the diving platform, if that’s what you mean. As far as my involvement, the fact that my mother is still alive proves I’m pretty harmless.”

  The others offered uncomfortable laughs, as Duane quickly changed the subject and tried to make plans for another lunch or dinner at Pepper Plantation.

  He was subtly thwarted by Polly who saw no further need at the moment for his services. “I’ll check my schedule and let you pick a date that’s mutually convenient,” Polly said as she ushered him out the door. “We’ll definitely make it soon, dear! And thank you again for the posies and the TV Guide. I’ll cherish them as I do your adoration of me.” Then she waved good-bye in tandem with Tim and Placenta.

  As she closed the door, Polly pouted. “That was a waste of my time. The little pisher didn’t give us any new material to work with.”

  “Maybe if I hadn’t talked so much,” Placenta shot back.

  As the trio made their way back to the patio to collect their drinks, Placenta roiled. “If you hadn’t gone on about how much you hated working with Vickie Lawrence when she was a guest on the show, or how Steve McQueen was a bully, and Jimmy Stewart wrote lousy poetry, maybe we could have grilled him. Lady, he was ripe for pumping.”

  “I did the pumping for you,” Tim said with a smug smile.

  “Oh, my poor Timmy,” Polly said, genuinely sympathetic. “You could do so much better than Duane!”

  Tim stopped and folded his arms over his chest. “Mother, you’re a freakin’ nut job. I pumped Duane’s brain for information about Sedra’s death.”

  “Don’t mind your mama,” Placenta said. “She’s on the right track, but taking the wrong train.”

  Tim continued. “He’s a big ol’ vending machine. Drop in the right amount of coins, or in this case, let him fondle one of Polly Pepper’s Emmys, and the treats come sliding down the chute. Barbara Walters could learn a thing or two from me!”

  As they reclaimed their seats at the patio table Tim continued to entertain his mother and their maid. “I couldn’t very well talk about it while he was still here, but as I was showing him around the house he said that Dana didn’t kill Sedra, even though she’s pretty much a main feature in Sedra’s tell-all autobiographical screenplay.”

  “Screenplay?” Placenta remarked.

  “She was writing a movie?” Polly said, startled.

  Tim continued, “Sedra apparently has some big secrets to reveal. So I think that someone killed the messenger. So-to-speak. At least according to Duane.”

  Polly thought about the idea of Sedra writing a script about her life. “Everybody says that I should write a book,” she said. “I would set the record straight and refute all those horrid tabloid stories. The tales that I could tell would make Sedra turn over in her grave! That is, if her bones weren’t all broken and she could move ’n stuff.” She considered Sedra and her screenplay for another moment. “You don’t suppose she had anything interesting to say about me, do you? She wreaked so much hell in my life, I’ll have to devote more than a chapter to her in my own bio,” Polly said, already outlining her tome.

  Tim said nothing of the number of entries that Duane claimed to have found for Polly. Instead he focused on whether or not Duane was telling the truth about the script. “He can’t even be sure that the screenplay exists anymore. It was on Sedra’s computer, which has gone missing.”

  “Missing evidence!” Placenta said. “Listen, if Duane had come across anything in which Polly’s name was mentioned he would have downloaded the files. I’m sure of it.”

  “As if anybody would be interested in anything written by Sedra Stone,” Polly said. “Hell, she was a national joke even when she was famous. Who would spend more than a nickel to see a movie about a washed-up star?”

  Tim defended the idea. “Hell, it’s a classic story. Especially when the lead character climbs back on top again. As Sedra was starting to do.”

  “You’ve answered your own question about whether or not you should write your own story,” Placenta said to Polly. Then she gave the idea of Sedra’s screenplay more consideration and suggested that if such a thing existed and was on the verge of being produced, it shouldn’t be that difficult to find out. “Wouldn’t J. J. have represented her in a film sale?” she asked. “I think he’s someone to add to our list of people to invite to dinner.”

  Polly made a face. “Ach!” she said. “Let’s first see how it goes with Adam and his main squeeze this evening. I’m getting tired of riff-raff coming in and out of this house. It used to be so quiet here. Perhaps after tonight there won’t be a need to investigate any further.”

  “Until we can prove that you didn’t get Dana Pointer locked up by mistake, then we’re on this case,” Tim said. “A few dinner parties with people you dislike is the price you have to pay for wanting to sleep with a police detective who was dumb enough to take your word that Dana was a killer.”

  Polly stood up from the patio table. “Perhaps I made a teensy mistake. Who’s to say? Matlock was thrown off the trail now and then. I need a nap if I’m going to put on a performance tonight for Adam and Judith.” She began to wander into the house. “Wake me by five, please,” she called out and then spotted their gardener, Hector, in all his shirtless glory. “I think I’ve changed my mind. About the menu for dinner, I mean. Instead of the surf n’ turf, let’s do a Mexican theme. I could use a burrito. And a pitcher of sangria. Por favor.”

  While Polly was comfortably snuggled under her comforter, dreaming of Hector turning the garden hose on his perspiration-soaked torso, Tim decided to pay another visit to Dana. At the Beverly Hills jail, he again met Sergeant Walker who complained about Tim’s obvious lack of interest in dating a cop. “Guess I’ll have to write you a citation to get your attention,” he pouted. Tim promised Walker that as soon he got to the truth about Dana’s guilt or innocence, he’d take him up on his invitation for a night out of twirling on the dance floor.

  As Tim waited in the interrogation room for Dana to be brought from her cell, he considered what evidence there was against her. It was all circumstantial. Missie and Duane had only heard Sedra fighting with Dana. The fact that strands of Dana’s hair had been found clutched in Sedra’s fist was not proof that she was present in the final mom
ents of Sedra’s life. Tim wasn’t even certain that he accepted Duane’s story of a missing computer containing the script of a Hollywood bio potboiler in which Dana’s private life was to be publicly trashed. As he considered the lack of quality in the information, the steel door to the room opened, and Dana Pointer was ushered inside.

  Tim stood up as Dana entered. He held out a metal chair for her and when they were both seated at the table, Tim broke the ice with standard innocuous questions about her health and mental attitude. “I hear that The Garden Bistro caters the meals here. True?” he asked. “Personally, I’d prefer California Pizza Kitchen,” he tried to joke, but was met with an icy stare. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t try to be humorous when you’re going through hell. Are you being treated okay?”

  Dana shrugged her shoulders in resignation. “One of the hardest lessons I’m learning is that a lot of the people who I thought were my friends have abandoned me. As a matter of fact, except for my attorney, you and Polly and your maid are the only ones who’ve come to visit. I take that back. Paris was here, but she only wanted to see if perhaps there might be a reality show idea about movie stars in prison.”

  Tim snorted in agreement. There was silence while Tim mustered the courage to bring up the touchy subject of Sedra’s death. He decided to simply rip the bandage off the wound. “Sedra was writing a screenplay and you were a prominent character, right?”

  Dana shrugged her shoulders. “That was the rumor,” she said, shaking her head. “A stand-in told me that she’d heard from the make-up artist, who heard from that security guy Duane, who was apparently acting as an undercover operative for Sterling Studio’s parent company. They get sued so often by mommies and daddies who think their little brats are being corrupted by Hollywood that he was charged with making sure we were good boys and girls. Rumor has it that he got into Sedra’s laptop and discovered a folder stupidly labeled, ‘My Life.’ I’m supposed to be so important to Sedra and I have to find out about this biopic from a freakin’ stand-in.”

  “You killed Sedra over a screenplay that may or may not really exist?”

  “Oh, it exists, all right. But no!” Dana yelled and slammed the palm of her hand on the table. “I didn’t do anything to Sedra! I swear it! Sure, I wanted to kill her, but she was alive when I left the location! So alive in fact, that I could still hear her throwing a tantrum when I got to my car.”

  “How did Duane access the file without a password?”

  “You don’t need a password if you’re working off-line on a floppy disk,” Dana said.

  Tim took a deep breath. “You never saw Sedra’s screenplay, so you don’t know if she was really writing a memoir. Even if she was on the verge of producing a movie about her own life, what were you afraid she would reveal about you? God, you’re too young to have anything so big to hide. I mean, you’re not anywhere near as famous as Tom Cruise for crying out loud! He doesn’t kill people who spread rumors, he just sues their asses off.”

  “I can’t talk about it,” Dana said in an adamant tone. “We all have skeletons that are best kept locked away in the closet.”

  Tim was more skeptical than when he first entered the interrogation room. “If you didn’t read the screenplay, why do you think that someone’s dark secrets were going to be exposed? More rumors?”

  Dana was silent.

  “You don’t want to be a fink, is that it?” Tim said. “Let’s play twenty questions. Tell me if I’m hot or cold. Sedra was involved with your boyfriend, Jack.”

  Dana uttered, “Sheesh!” and rolled her eyes. “Below zero!”

  “Duane took revenge on Sedra by killing her off?”

  “I pity your partners at a party game,” Dana scowled and examined her fingernails.

  Tim finally became exasperated. “God damn it, Dana! I’m only trying to help. Everyone claims innocence when there are necks on the chopping block. I wanted to believe you’re innocent. However, you’ve gotta help! Stand up for yourself, for crying out loud. What are you trying to prove by not talking?”

  For the next few moments, there was silence in the room. Then Sergeant Walker knocked on the door and entered. “You guys finished?” he said, meaning that visiting hours were over, but giving them the courtesy of wrapping things up.

  Tim looked at Dana and said, “We’re having dinner with Adam tonight. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

  Before Dana got to the door she said, “Crappy director, sloppy in bed, and I’ll bet he knows a lot about Sedra’s script. Ask him.”

  And with that comment, she was escorted out of the room and down the hall to her cell.

  Chapter 20

  Adam and Judith simultaneously stood to greet Polly when she made her long-overdue entrance down the Scarlet O’Hara Memorial Staircase and into the cavernous living room.

  “La, what a day!” Polly lamented as she wafted to their sides and presented a cheek for the obligatory Hollywood-style air kiss greeting. “Adam, you’re a dream,” she said as his beard-stubbled face grazed her skin. “That you tolerate legends who can’t be on time is a miracle,” she added and accepted his dismissal of any appearance that she might be tardy for her own dinner party. “And Judith, you seductive thing. Looking as bright as always,” she raved without paying attention to what her guest was wearing.

  “So sweet of you both to clear your calendars to join us for a quiet family evening at Pepper Plantation,” Polly insisted.

  “Now, about my being a bit off the clock!” Polly lied an unnecessary apology. “As you know from first-hand experience, I’m never late. This is practically the first time in the history of the universe! It’s mostly the fault of that pesky reporter from The Peeper who would not stop asking inane questions! Honestly, how many ways are there to explain that I’m new to the young circle of talent in Detention and that as far as I know Dana Pointer and Sedra Stone were just dear girlfriends? That so-called journalist had all these crazy notions—which I won’t bore you with. Then there was a meeting for a new play—which of course I turned down flat. But nicely. Honey,” she said, looking at Adam, “those hacks over at The Majestic need your clever take on contemporary theatre if they’re ever going to succeed in turning that depressing-as-hell Sylvia Plath collection into another Vagina Monologues!

  “After that I was shackled to a booth at the Polo Lounge—I swear it was almost white slavery—for a meeting with Whatshisname, that director. You know the one, tallish, sort of cute, but not really. Well maybe a decade or two ago. Ego the size of the Titanic. Thinks he’s king of the world just because he made a movie about a big ol’ jagged chunk of the arctic floating around in the middle of the ocean sinking perfectly lovely boats. From the way he heaped praise on himself and his one movie, you’d think that practically everyone on the planet had turned out to see it. Jerry Bruckheimer he’s not! My lack of familiarity with his little opus didn’t go over too well, I’m afraid. But frankly, I’m fine with that because all of his ex-wives are dear friends of mine and I wouldn’t jeopardize the friendships I’ve established by working with their mutual bete noir. I’m as loyal as Lassie. Ask anyone.”

  Polly finally came up for a breath of air.

  Tim and Placenta pretended to be as intrigued by Polly’s eventful day as Adam and Judith were. It was a testament to her talent as an actress, or as a liar, that nobody ever questioned the veracity of her tall stories.

  “But enough about me and my tales of a wasted day,” Polly continued, practically trembling with a need for champagne. “I see that Tim and Placenta have you set up with drinkies and nibbles. Excellent. I’ll join you for a wee nip. Timmy?”

  Tim was handing her a chilled flute even before she completed her request. Polly took a long pull of what was for her a rejuvenating tonic. “Ah, yes!” she sighed, almost smacking her lips, while simultaneously taking a seat on the Le Corbusier chair that Placenta had guarded in the center of the seating area. “When I go to my final reward, it won’t be any better than this,” she said, looking aroun
d the room. “Cheers, everyone!” Polly raised her glass. “Now, whose jugulars did you rip into before I arrived? Arnold and Maria? Warren and Annette?”

  Tim recapped highlights of the small-talk that had been ricocheting among the gathered while Polly was upstairs putting final touches to her make-up and eavesdropping over the intercom, stalling for the precise moment to make her entrance. “We jabbered about Dana, of course. Did you know that she was an orphan? Yeah, Adam says…”

  “…Abandoned the day she was born, poor thing,” Judith interrupted. “Her mother was apparently too busy with a career and made arrangements with an Amish charities home in Pennsylvania.”

  “I’m surprised we never read about that in The Peeper—or heard it on Anderson Cooper,” Placenta said.

  Polly looked astonished. “Poor baby. No wonder Dana’s such an angry and sullen little thing. Curious though. This is the second time today I’ve heard that rumor,” she lied.

  “Adam does his homework when it comes to knowing as much as possible about the stars with whom he works,” Tim said. “Ammunition to keep ’em in line, I suppose. Right Adam? Oh, and then we talked about the rumor of Sedra’s secret screenplay,” Tim continued. “Wouldn’t you know it, Adam and Judith were shocked that such a rumor was running rampant. They don’t believe that such a thing exists.”

  “I’ll bet you’ve got a hot book on the burner,” Adam smiled at Polly trying to redirect the subject.

  “Moi?” Polly said. “Hardly! I’m too busy living my life! I don’t have time to write about it! Anyway I don’t dwell on the past.” She looked at Placenta and gave her a nonverbal warning to not contradict her statement. “But if and when I eventually do sit down and put pen to paper, I’ll have only lovely things to say about you and what a divine time I had being in Detention—however brief. Alas.”