by R. T. Jordan
“I’ll do more than give you a break,” Dana said. “I’ll give the police a break and testify that you and Adam were working together to sabotage Detention. They might be interested to know that you were determined not only to extricate yourselves from that worthless movie, whatever the cost, but that Sedra told you she’d die before letting you play the role she’d created for her long overdue return to features. I know because she told me. She told her daughter a lot of things.”
Polly pretended to be floored. “Dana, dear,” she said. “Are you prepared to publicly libel yourself in front of all these people, and accuse Adam and Missie of…”
“Can’t say the word, murder?” Dana asked.
“Oh, I can say it,” Polly said, “but I enjoy living here at Pepper Plantation, and don’t want to risk being sent away to a concrete suite at Maison de Prison for slander.”
“Which is where I’ll be sending Dana her Christmas cards for the next twenty-five to life,” Missie said.
The tented theatre instantly became filled with noisy arguments. The guests, and those on the stage, began pouring out their thoughts regarding the previously only whispered-about suggestion that the death of Sedra Stone may have been perpetrated by a member of the film’s cast or production team. As the roil of words and accusations collided, Lauren Gaul slipped down from her barstool and stood center stage clutching her mic to her chest.
After years of kowtowing to stars, and ardently following the unwritten law on a movie set of never speaking to the on-screen talent unless they spoke first, Lauren boldly addressed Dana and Missie. She cleared her throat and demanded, “If I may….” The clamor of an audience inheated discussion continued to obscure all that she said, until the sound technician, at Tim’s direction, cranked up the volume on Lauren’s microphone while she was in mid-sentence. Suddenly the audience’s ears were blasted by Lauren’s voice and they heard two words: “Dead body.” All eyes and undivided attention were now focused on Lauren Gaul, who was startled by the abrupt silence that filled the tent.
She continued, “I mean…. I’ve never been on a more dysfunctional set. An Oliver Stone movie comes close, but Detention Rules! was a freak show. I’m as professional as they come,” she said distancing herself from others. “I even dress exactly like the star for whom I’m standing in. I’ve heard some say it’s an ego thing, or that I want to take the star’s place. But trust me, I have no delusions about my career. I never made it as an actor. Big deal. Now I just do what I do, and do the job well. By making up to look like the star it expedites the process of setting the lighting for the DOP. And usually one day’s the same as another. But not the day that Trixie Wilder died. Now that was a strange and surreal day.”
The audience watched as she became still, and stared off into the replay in her mind’s eye. “It was so weird,” she repeated in a voice that sounded distracted. “It was dark outside by the time that Adam Berg got all huffy because he couldn’t decide which abysmal take to make as his master shot. As I left the set and headed toward the make-up trailer, I had the sense that I was being followed. You know the feeling,” she said, shivering at the memory. “It’s creepy, and you think you’re being watched, but you’re probably being silly and paranoid because what can possibly happen on a film set with so many people around? I just wanted to get to where I was going as quickly as possible. Then, from out of nowhere someone came up behind me and pushed me to the ground. I fell on my hands and knees.
“Then the attacker straddled my back and pushed my face into the wet grass. Here’s where it gets weirder. Whoever was accosting me, grabbed my hair and…and when my wig came off, she…it was definitely a woman’s voice…said, ‘Who? What the…? Oh, Christ!’ Then she got off of me and disappeared back into the darkness. I didn’t see who it was, and she didn’t seem all that big—but she was pretty strong.
Lauren loudly exhaled. “You can check with the production nurse, if you want to. I went for Band-Aids because my knees and the palms of my hands were scraped and bleeding. I said I tripped in the dark. I was too tired and shook up to file a formal report with security. I know I should have told someone. It might have saved Trixie’s life because I’m convinced it was a case of mistaken identity since I was dressed exactly as she was. Someone wanted to hurt Trixie. She died and I still think—despite what the coroner says—that she was murdered. I feel horribly guilty. Then I became Sedra Stone’s stand-in…and I dressed exactly as she did…and then she was…” Lauren’s voice trailed off but everyone knew what she was thinking.
Polly walked over to Lauren and put a comforting arm around her. “Poor baby,” she cooed. “I know how you feel. I was once attacked. Yes! Joel Siegel said that my last MOW was aptly titled Bite the Bullet because it was what he had to do to sit through the film past the opening credits. Oh, the pain!”
As Polly enfolded Lauren in a protective motherly embrace, she tried to assure her that even had she reported the incident to the Sterling Studios security department there was no guarantee that the same attacker had killed Trixie and Sedra. “You’re not responsible for the fate of others,” Polly said. “Now, if it had happened again, when you were dressed as Sedra’s character, then I would have certainly been freaked out and taken action,” she said.
Lauren looked at Polly and the color in her face drained. She reached into her bra and withdrew a piece of paper. “A note—from Sedra’s killer, maybe,” she said.
Lauren continued in an embarrassed and halting voice. “The day that Sedra was murdered I was minding my own business and simply walking around the school campus between scene changes. I wasn’t needed on set for an hour, so while still wearing my costume I did what I always do when there’s a break. I go exploring. Gary High has some great old buildings. At one point I had to use the bathroom, so I went inside the school to find the lavatory. And that’s when it happened.
“I was walking down a deserted corridor, and again I felt as though I was being watched. Of course, by now I’m sort of paranoid all the time. I heard noises…just sounds, like a steel locker door being opened and closed—even though school is out for summer vacation—and a custodian’s floor polishing machine whirring in the distance.”
Polly had returned to the comfort of her barstool seat to hear the tale as all eyes continued to focus on the stand-in, who, for the moment at least, was suddenly the star attraction.
Lauren looked at Polly and continued her story. “I found the restroom, and while I was in the stall I heard the door to the lavatory creek open. Then there was silence. Nothing. I didn’t hear footsteps or anyone running the tap to wash their hands, or entering another stall. But I remember there was a scent of perfume. Something icky and pungent, like lilac. Then suddenly an arm reached under my stall door and shoved this note on the floor at my feet. I was totally startled.” Lauren handed the paper to Polly and said, “Please read it.”
With a look of apprehension, Polly accepted the paper and unfolded the plain white sheet and silently read what was on the page. She grimaced as she read the words. When she finished, she looked up at Lauren. “Have you talked to Detective Archer? This is evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” Lauren asked. “There’s no way to tell who wrote it.”
“Don’t you watch ‘CSI?’ Crime labs can detect a gazillion things; from the brand of ink used on the paper to microscopic traces of hand lotion that may have rubbed off on the page. Start watching the tube, girl!”
A hubbub ensued. “Read it to us!” the audience demanded. “Does it say who killed Sedra?”
Polly nodded her head. She cleared her throat and brought the microphone to her lips. “Okay. It’s typed and addressed to Miss Sedra Stone.” Polly looked at Lauren. “Someone obviously doesn’t see so well. They keep mistaking you for other actors.” Polly returned to the printed page. “It’s double spaced. No salutation. ‘This movie production has gone on way too long. We have bigger fish to fry. Time for you to go bye-bye. Leave on your own. Or in a body bag. The
choice is yours.’ Period. Hell they didn’t even have the social etiquette to sign their name,” Polly griped.
Adam Berg now looked intrigued. “Let me see, please,” he said reaching out to Polly to retrieve the note. He read in silence and passed it to Judith. When she was through she handed it over to Missie. Adam said, “This doesn’t mean squat.” He looked at Lauren. “You could have written this yourself and then killed Sedra Stone, and made it look like your mystery person. I still wouldn’t have cast you in her role.”
Lauren was aghast. “Sedra Stone was an evil bitch,” Lauren admitted. “She fired me from my first stand-in job. But that was twenty years ago. I hold grudges, but not that long. I’d say the people who would benefit most from Sedra being eliminated are you and Missie and Ben. Your careers were in the toilet with Detention Rules! You needed out of this film project and you wanted her screenplay.”
Pandemonium ensued on stage and Polly stepped in to referee. “Here’s what we know for sure,” she began. “Duane, although you should have kept your resentment of Sedra to yourself—you’re in a very large anti-fan club. Your time card shows that you punched out at ten o’clock. The police say there are witnesses who saw you drive off the location shortly thereafter. No one saw you return. So unless you changed cars and returned under a cloak of invisibility, you had nothing to do with Sedra’s death, except maybe wishful thinking.
“Lauren Gaul was at Micky’s in West Hollywood, having beers with the Detention Rules! unit publicist,” Polly said, raising an eyebrow.
“I have more fun at gay clubs than boring old cocktail lounges,” Lauren said. “And you know how film publicists are,” she smiled coyly. “They’re like butch chorus boys.”
“Oh, and Jack Wesley has an airtight alibi too,” Tim said. “Sorry to do this to you, man, but unless you want to be a suspect in a murder investigation—I talked to Ben Tyler’s landlady, whose apartment is right next to his. She said that she saw you arrive at his place at ten-twenty that night.”
Jack simply shrugged as though he trusted Tim and that being publicly outed was a load off his mind.
“She’s a nosey one, isn’t she?” Tim said to Jack and Ben. “Claimed that you two made whoopee noises all night long. Then she watched you leave at six-thirty the next morning. She’ll testify—in graphic detail—that you and Ben were home during the time that Sedra is believed to have been killed.”
Then, from the back of the tent, Placenta’s voice called out. “Oh, Mister Tim!” she said. “Mister Tim! Don’t forget that Adam and Judith were seen at The Four Seasons Hotel having drinks with Whitney and Bobby at eleven o’clock. Detective Archer said so on the news the other night.”
“Right. And Dana’s home security company show that she punched in her secret code at the house long before the time Sedra died,” Tim said. “Of course that doesn’t prove that she personally punched in, but it’s a good bet that she wouldn’t give that code to anyone. So none of you were around the set at the time it’s estimated that dear old Sedra fell in the empty pool. Who’s left without an alibi for their whereabouts?”
The audience and the players on stage began to tote up the scores. Only one name was unaccounted for. Missie Miller.
Almost simultaneously, all eyes turned to the young star. “So what if I might have still been on location when Sedra died? Sure, it’s possible,” she said fumbling for excuses. “And okay, I admit that I wanted out of Detention, mostly ’cause Adam cast me in his new movie which, until tonight, I totally believed he’d written expressly for me.” She turned to Adam. “Did you tell Whitney it was for her? Anyway, I wouldn’t have killed anyone just to stop production. I don’t care if you believe me or not. Oh, and my mother’s my alibi.”
Now it was Polly’s turn to pressure Missie. “Hon, you’re the only one here who was still in close proximity to Sedra when she got whacked. In fact, Detective Archer said that Sedra’s chauffeur, in his statement to the police, claimed that he went looking for his client at midnight, and bumped into you and Elizabeth as you were running toward the parking lot.”
Missie looked at Elizabeth, then squared her shoulders and raised her head. “Mother can’t run. But so what if we left the location later than everybody else? Mother wasn’t feeling well, so we stayed in the trailer until she felt up to traveling home.”
“Can you prove that you were there the whole time?” Polly asked.
Missie sighed. “To be honest, our bathroom in that crummy trailer stopped functioning, so we had to use one of the johns in the gymnasium. We left the trailer and I had to wait a long time for Mother to finish. Okay?”
“Poor Elizabeth,” Polly said. “Nothing contagious I hope. Haven’t been kissing any Asian birds lately, have you?”
Elizabeth’s sour expression became more so, as she deflected Polly’s lame question. “I had ladies’ problems,” she said. “Not that it’s anyone’s business.”
Polly feigned sympathy. “Oh honey, I know how you feel! One would think that after menopause we’d be finished with all that icky nonsense. But it never seems to end, does it? The depression. The mood swings. Hot flashes. Ach! I can’t tell you how many times after I’ve forgotten to take my pill I end up wanting to kick the dog.”
Then, turning back to Missie, Polly smiled and said, “You’re such a good girl, just like Billy Bush says you are when he reports on how film crews adore you and the way you smile for the paparazzi. Taking care of your poor, nearly blind mother, while you’re trying to be a star, is to be commended. I’m sure she appreciates your love and support.”
Suddenly, Duane’s hand shot up into the air, like an A student who wants to show off that he knows the answer to Y=mx+b. “Um, Polly?” he said. “What Missie says is sort of strange.”
“What’s that dear?” Polly asked.
“Well, um, I made my final rounds and turned off the lights and locked all the gymnasium doors before I punched out at ten o’clock,” he continued.
“You’re such a dedicated worker. I can’t imagine why Sterling fired you,” Polly said.
She turned back to Elizabeth. “Of course you’re used to finding your way around with limited vision, so the lack of lights wouldn’t have been an obstacle to answering the call of nature, would it?” She changed her tone to one of reflection. “Since Duane locked the gymnasium door, how did you get in? I don’t suppose they leave a key under the front doormat?”
Missie gave out a sigh of defeat. “Okay. You’re right. Again. The doors were locked,” she admitted. “I let Mother into Dana’s trailer.”
Dana shrieked, “Eww!”
“I didn’t say this before because Dana’s so damn fussy about who comes and goes in there,” Missie said.
“If I’d known your mother was using my bathroom to be sick I would have called in a fumigation service. You should’ve asked first! What else did you do in my trailer after I left? I suppose you made out with that gaffer’s assistant you’re seeing? Oh, I know all about him. Who doesn’t. They don’t call ’em ‘Best Boy’ for nothing.”
Then a previously unheard voice from the crowed spoke up. “Your trailer’s a pig sty so we did it on Missie’s convertible sofa.”
Everyone in the room turned to connect the voice with the person who had spoken. When a blonde, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, soap star-handsome Adonis stepped forward, all eyes appreciated his Versace magazine ad face and cock-of-the-walk self-assurance. “Sorry to kiss and tell, Missie,” he said, “but other than your mother, I’m your only alibi.” He ascended to the stage and took Missie’s microphone. “It’s true,” he said to the crowd. “I’m Mike. Missie and I had been trying to be together all day and it wasn’t working out. Then, Adam sent everybody home and we figured we’d be safe from lookie-loos. The only problem was what to do with Elizabeth.”
“Sight-challenged mothers can be such a nuisance, can’t they,” Polly said.
“My mother’s not a nuisance,” Missie brayed. “But Mike and I were desperate. It was the
last night I’d planned to be on the set and we didn’t know when we’d have another chance to be together. I can never do it at home because she’s always there,” Missie pointed to Elizabeth. “And Mike’s girlfriend keeps him on a tight leash.”
Polly looked at Elizabeth and said, “Don’t you just hate it when your kids say you’re in their way? After all that we do for them? Changing their little nappies when they’re babies, and the heartache of shipping them away to boarding school, and all that other maternal stuff. They grow up to be so ungrateful! You must have been totally upset knowing that Missie didn’t want you around that night.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “She sent me off to Dana’s trailer. That’s what really made me sick. Mike’s right. It’s filthy!”
Polly smiled. “Thank God for the cure-all of champagne, eh? I just hope it was a decent bottle. Never drink from anything with a plastic cork!”
“As a matter of fact, I had my usual. Verve,” Elizabeth said proudly.
Tim interjected, “Such a coincidence! Sedra loved champagne too! In fact she must have had a little too much the night she died. Detective Archer said there was a champagne cork at the bottom of the pool with her. I guess you guys have similar tastes ’cause the cork was from a Verve Cliquot bottle. Isn’t that a fluke? Of course, nobody doesn’t like Verve. At least if they can’t get their hands on Dom or Cristal.” Tim chuckled. “A whole bottle all to yourself?” he said. “Way to go! Glad you didn’t have to share with anyone. Although Sedra would have loved it. You two could have commiserated about your rotten kids.”
“I loathed Sedra,” Elizabeth growled. “She was standing in the way of Missie’s career!”
Polly switched on her charm. “Tell me, what did you do the whole time that Missie was enjoying her, shall we say, ‘gentleman caller?’ I’m ashamed to admit this to anyone, but when my Timmy has a sleep over, I find myself rather jealous. Mostly because the men he dates are far better looking than anything that appears in Boinked magazine. It’s hardly fair. Don’t you feel that way, too? You should have called me to commiserate. Or at least called Sedra. She would have been so pleased to have the company, I’m sure. By the way, that ring on your finger is to die for!”