by R. T. Jordan
While Polly let the second serving effervesce easily on her tongue, Tim used the moment to cross-examine Michael. “You were assigned to be Thane’s personal assistant. Did you ever see anything weird going on?”
Michael shrugged. “Be more specific. Everything in Thane’s life was freaky. He had to have a new toothbrush every day because he was afraid of his own bacteria. He wouldn’t handle money. He was terrified of where it had been. I took his car to be washed, and if there was so much as a streak on a window I’d have to take it back. I even had to clip his damn toenails because he hated to touch feet—even his own!”
“A wee bit of OCD?” Polly said as she absently took another sip from her flute.
“I was hired by I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous, and I was only supposed to be Thane’s assistant for the show,” Michael continued. “But he made me his personal twenty-four-seven slave. I don’t know how I made it through the week. He was constantly yelling and screaming and threatening to fire me. But Friday night rolled around, and after the show I was still there. I started to think that maybe all the threats were just a bully control issue sort of thing. I was thinking that Thane was probably beating up on lesser people as a way of compensating for whatever inadequacies he felt.”
“Why’d you put up with him?” Placenta asked.
“Why does anyone do anything in this town? Money. To hang out with famous people. And I wanted to prove that I wasn’t as weak as he said I was. Plus, I wanted to pitch him a screenplay.”
“It always comes down to a screenplay,” Polly dead-panned.
“I made my pitch,” Michael continued. “He just laughed at me and said, ‘Don’t give up your day job, kid.’“
“I don’t suppose there’s a role for me,” Polly said, straightening her posture.
“When did you last see Thane alive?” Tim asked.
“Friday night. After the show,” Michael said.
“I left the studio at around eleven o’clock. When did you leave?” Polly said, looking into Michael’s eyes.
Michael thought for a moment. “Yeah, that’s about the time that Thane came to his dressing room and yelled at me for not bringing his black jeans. I did bring black jeans, but apparently they weren’t the right black jeans.”
“Who could tell?” Placenta said.
“Thane could,” Michael said. “He called me a screwup and told me to get his girlfriend on the phone.”
“Lisa Marrs,” Polly said.
Michael coughed a laugh. “That’s what I thought as I picked up his cell and pressed the address book key and began to search for her number. He ripped the phone from my hand and said I was lame and as thick as a brick, and that I was as dense as Lisa and that I obviously didn’t care about him because I hadn’t paid attention to his illustrious personal life during the week. He said that Lisa was dangerous, and out of his life. He had someone new. Then he told me to bring his car around, and he tossed me his keys. When he came out of the studio soundstage, he was talking on his cell and didn’t bother to say one word to me. I was completely invisible to him. He just got into the car and drove away. That was the last time I ever saw him alive.”
“Who was his new flame?” Polly asked.
Michael shrugged.
“Any idea where he was headed?”
Michael shook his head. He paused and knitted his eyebrows. “Actually, before he closed the car door, I heard Thane yell at whoever he was on the phone with. He said that if they were serious about coming over, they knew the address, but that they better have a decent explanation—”
“Explanation?” Polly asked, biting her lacquered nails.
“Beats me. But the last words I heard were ‘Over my dead body.’ “
Polly was deep in contemplation when the waiter arrived to accept the group’s luncheon orders. She pushed her chair away from the table, stood up, looked at Michael, and said, “Dearest, I know you’ll forgive this ancient star. Sometimes I’m such an idiot. I just remembered that I have another engagement. Something with Miranda Richardson. She can be a keg of dynamite and the last one on the planet I want pissed at me. You stay and have lunch with Lance.”
She looked at Tim and rubbed her fingers together, her not so subtle hint for him to give Lance a healthy tip.
As Tim and Placenta rose from their chairs and gave Polly quizzical looks, she silenced them with her eyes.
“Miranda better have some munchies, ‘cause I’m about to faint from starvation!” Placenta said.
When they were once again in the car and driving down Sunset Boulevard toward Bel Air, Polly said, “Talk about low self-esteem. Why would an attractive and intelligent young man such as Morris—”
“Michael.”
“—accept a job working for someone as mean as Thane Cornwall?”
“You heard him,” Placenta said. “Some people will do anything to work in showbiz.”
Polly said, “We have a saying in the theater. ‘Actors are either tying to get into a hit show, or get out of one.’ What if the kid was ticked off because Thane dismissed his screenplay idea and he wanted out of his job? That boy knows more than he’s sharing. Take me to Lisa’s place.”
Chapter 8
Tim cautiously maneuvered the Rolls down Ogden Avenue in West Hollywood. The street was narrow, and made worse by the congestion of cars parked on both sides. Polly cringed and leaned into Placenta whenever another vehicle approached and squeezed past with less than a hairbreadth of space between them. “Is that Taboo you’re wearing?” Polly said, making a face when her nose made contact with Placenta’s breast.
Finally finding a parking place two blocks from Lisa’s address, the trio set out and carefully made their way over sidewalks that were buckled from tree roots, and cracked from the thousands of imperceptible earthquakes that occurred each year. “This is it,” Tim said when they arrived at the address. It was the most dilapidated apartment building on the already decrepit street.
“Naturally.” Polly looked at the building. “New reality show idea: I’ll Do Anything to Burn Down My Crummy Apartment!”
The trio walked up to the front door. A rusted sign said NO PETS. NO SOLICITING. NO VACANCY. MANAGER #1.Polly pointed to a hand-printed piece of paper taped to the bank of mailboxes. “Office closed today.”
“We’ll just have to find our way into Lisa’s crib by ourselves,” Polly said. She looked at the labels on each mailbox. “L.M. number four,” she said.
Tim backed away from the door. “Count me out,” he said. “I visited a jail this morning. I will not become a permanent resident! I’m quite happy living in your mansion.”
“Pooh!” Polly said. “Who’s going to know, and what’s the harm, if we take a teensy peek at Lisa’s little ol’ flat? You saw the sign. The office is closed, so the manager is probably away playing the horses at Santa Anita.”
“How do you propose to gain access to the building without a key?” Placenta said.
Just then, the door opened and a young pregnant woman stepped outside. Polly caught the door before it closed. “The Lord provides,” she whispered. Then, slipping into performance mode, Polly looked at Placenta and raised her voice. “Yes, I really do live here! It says so on the mailbox!”
“She’s already reached the curb,” Placenta said. “Get your butt inside before anyone else comes along.”
As Polly and Tim and Placenta scooted into the lobby of the building, they were all struck by how dingy the place was. The scent in the air was a combination of wet dog and gym locker. “Lisa’s in a better place,” Polly said, making a face as she looked around.
“Let’s just get in and get out fast!” Tim demanded. “I’m hungry and I’m nervous.”
“You just had lunch,” Polly reminded him.
“A champagne cocktail may be lunch to you, but—”
Just then the door to the apartment manager’s office opened. “She’s away, eh?” Placenta said.
“Who are you looking for?”
P
olly stopped and turned around. Standing outside the apartment, a woman who appeared to be in her early sixties gave the trio a suspicious look.
“Thanks, honey, but we’re absolutely wonderful.” Polly smiled. “Go back and watch Oprah or Days of Our Lives or—”
“You don’t look like you belong here.”
“Such a lovely compliment.” Polly beamed.
“How did you get in?” the woman persisted with a harsh stare.
Polly thought for a quick moment. “My dear friend gave me her key and asked me to drop by to check on the cat.”
“We don’t allow pets,” the woman said with a suspicious tone as she folded her arms across her chest.
Polly grimaced, realizing that she’d seen the sign that announced that pets weren’t allowed. “I mean she wanted us to make sure that she didn’t leave the iron on. She’ll be away for a while. God knows our friend worries too much, but if it eases her concern while she’s off visiting her sick mother in Cucamonga, then who am I to deny her some peace of mind?”
“What’s your friend’s name? All of my tenants are accounted for,” the woman said. “One is away, but the only mother she’s visiting is a prison matron.”
Polly looked at Tim and Placenta. “Why would Enid fib and ask us to check on the cat, er, iron?”
“Perhaps you’re the one who’s lying,” the manager said.
“Perhaps we’re just in the wrong slum,” Polly said, hands on hips.
“If you don’t tell me who you are and why you’re trespassing, I’ll call the police.”
Tim stepped forward, catching the woman off guard with his soap opera star good looks. As she nearly swooned, Tim smiled. “Please accept my apologies. My mother, Polly Pepper, was hoping the apartment manager would let her visit Lisa Marrs’s unit. The poor kid’s in jail and needs clean underwear.”
Instantly the woman smiled, looked at Polly, and held a hand to her heart. “I thought you looked famous,” she said to Polly. “I can’t believe that I didn’t recognize you right away. You’ve changed a little. But the chin implant does wonders for you!”
Polly blushed.
“I used to watch your show every week,” the woman continued. “Why don’t you come back to television? I don’t count that skuzzy new piece of doo-doo about kids who want to become famous. But I think that everybody would like to see you as Miss Midas again. Or Bedpan Bertha. I remember the sketch with Don Knotts. You were supposed to check his glands, but gave him a gynecological exam by mistake. Just thinking of it still makes me almost wet my pants!”
Polly immediately warmed to the woman, walked up to her, and extended her hand. “I’m Polly Pepper. With whom do I have the pleasure of sharing this intimate moment?”
“Muriel,” the woman said with a nervous chuckle.
Polly thought of wet underwear as she reluctantly accepted the woman’s outstretched hand. “I’m so embarrassed about lying to you. And here you are, so sweet to remember moi. Trust me, I’d love to be back on TV, Muriel, especially in a better show than the rip-off talent competition I’m stuck in. Alas, musical variety is dead. I have to take whatever work I can find. I know it’s pathetic for my fans to endure seeing their national treasure in less than the highest quality engagements, but as they say, ‘That’s showbiz!’ Nobody wants this poor, old, antebellum relic of an international icon anymore. There’s no place for me. Isn’t that the saddest story you ever heard?”
“Almost,” Muriel said. “What’s up with Lisa Marrs? She wasn’t the sweetest thing on the planet, but I never thought of her as a killer. To think I rented an apartment to a madwoman! Why’d she murder that other judge on your show?”
Polly looked at Muriel. “We don’t know why she went insane. But we also don’t know for sure that she’s guilty.”
Muriel looked at Polly as though she was an imbecile. “Hell, it’s all over the news and Internet. Lisa was caught chasing that Thane judge person through his house. She had an axe. Or was it a chain saw? When she finally cornered him in the pool cabana, she chopped him into Kibbles ‘n Bits!”
Polly and her entourage looked slightly amused. “Actually, I think she did it while he was sleeping in his bed. That is, if she did it.”
“The Peeper said—”
“Oh, that rag!” Polly rolled her eyes. “How often have you read that I’m an alien from another galaxy? Those ‘switched at birth’ photos of me next to E.T. are abominable! I’d trust a Washington politician running for the White House before I’d believe a word they print in that waste of a forest.”
Muriel nodded in reluctant agreement. “So you think she might not be guilty?”
“Hard to tell,” Polly said. “But I’m hoping that clean underpants will bring her to her senses. Would you be a dear and let us into her apartment?”
Muriel looked defeated. “You know I adore you,” she said, “but the police still have yellow barricade tape across the doorway. No one is allowed inside.”
“But we were asked personally by Lisa Marrs, the woman who lives there, the one who has to endure those awful wool jail panties they issue to inmates. Delicate woman that you are, surely you cringe at the thought of the discomfort of wearing steel wool against your sensitive flower. Think of the rash!”
“When you do murder, you give up the right to Victoria’s Secret satin and lace,” Muriel said.
“Of course you’re right,” Placenta piped in. “But she hasn’t been found guilty by a jury. Until then, she’s not legally a murderer.”
Muriel scoffed. “If she’s in jail, then she’s probably guilty.”
“We certainly wouldn’t want to get you into trouble with the police. God knows you must have a difficult enough time with the city’s chief health inspector.” Placenta looked around. “Garbage in the hallway.” She pointed to an overflowing bin. “Exposed electrical cords.”
Polly and the others followed Placenta’s gaze and looked up at the ceiling.
“Was that a darling family of kitties I saw a bit ago, or a pack of bubonic plague carriers?” Placenta bluffed.
Muriel frowned. “Are you trying to intimidate me? Extortion does not become a star of Polly Pepper’s caliber.” She looked at Polly. “I thought you were supposed to be a nice movie star.”
“Mother would never do anything that wasn’t lovely and nice,” Tim said, trying to smooth over the sudden hostility in the air. “She wouldn’t think of asking you to unlock Lisa’s door and disregard the police’s edict. However, if there was a way that you could let us simply grab a few of her undies, we promise not to touch anything else. And Polly Pepper is a clam when it comes to keeping secrets. No one would be the wiser.”
Muriel thought for a moment. One could tell that she was weighing the possible consequences of helping a star, of whom she was genuinely fond, and doing something illegal. “Is your house in Bel Air really as grand as the pictures in Architectural Digest?”
“We’ll invite you over to see for yourself,” Tim said.
Muriel whirled around and reentered her apartment.
Polly looked at her son and maid. “So much for being nice.”
The door opened again and Muriel’s arm reached out. She held a key for a moment, then let it fall to the ground. “Oh, dear, I can’t find my keys. I must have accidentally dropped them somewhere.”
Tim retrieved the key from the doormat. “Thank you!” he whispered in a voice loud enough to be heard through the still ajar door. “Polly loves you. And so do I!”
“That wasn’t so hard,” Polly said as she led the way down the hall. “Now, where’s number four?”
“My wild guess is that it’s the one with the police tape and the sign that says ‘No Entry! Trespassers will be prosecuted!’“ Placenta pointed.
Polly looked around for anyone who might be watching and then rushed to the apartment door. “Strip away that nuisance tape, dear,” she said to Tim, who nervously removed just enough tape to allow access to the lock, and for his mother and Placenta
to squeeze into the apartment.
Once inside, the three looked at the one-bedroom apartment, which was clean, but crammed with furniture, a television, a computer, shelves containing hundreds of DVDs, and all the accouterment of home entertainment.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Placenta asked. “Real live skeletons in the closet?”
“Haven’t a clue,” Polly confessed. “Maybe something that the police overlooked. A publicity photo of Thane tacked on a dartboard? A voodoo doll? A copy of Murder for Dummies?”
As Polly and her troupe looked through drawers, under the bed, in the closets, and through the DVD and video collection, they found that Lisa Marrs had a meager wardrobe, was apparently addicted to Pringles, and that she had a penchant for Merchant Ivory films and old movie musicals. DVDs of Singin’ in the Rain, The Bandwagon, Cover Girl, and Show Boat were scattered everywhere. Polly picked up a DVD jewel case from a stack beside the television. “It’s about time I watched this again!” she said. The title on the disc was handwritten. Polly read aloud, “Anything Goes. One of six.”
Polly placed the discs in her purse. “What?” she asked the questioning faces of Tim and Placenta. “I’m borrowing a movie. I haven’t seen this oldie since Mitzi Gaynor coerced me and Bing Crosby to dinner and made us sit through ninety-two minutes of them and Ethel Merman and Ida Lupino in this god-awful piece of drivel!”
Polly was trying to close her small purse with its new bulky contents, when the trio heard the knob on the front door being turned and opened. They instantly sprinted into the bedroom. A familiar voice said, “Look everywhere. She said they were here.”
Polly quickly opened a dresser drawer and pulled out all the underwear she could find. She clutched the garments in her arms and sang out, “Lisa will be thrilled!”
A startled Ped-Xing rushed into the bedroom accompanied by Thane’s former assistant, Michael. “What the hell?” Ped-Xing said.
Polly looked at Michael. “Sweetums, that was an awfully quick lunch! I hope you stuffed yourself!”