by R. T. Jordan
Placenta remembered, “Raul, our gardener, found a DVD. I stashed it with the others.”
Sergeant Sandy looked anxious. “I should take a look at it. To make my report as specific as possible.”
“It’s lost among a bunch of other DVDs and CDs with missing covers,” Placenta said. “I’ll take a look for it in the morning.”
“I’m only offering a verbal account of what I witnessed because the young man is a guest in your home and you should be aware that he may be prone to hostility,” Sandy said in an officious tone.
Polly nodded. “That’s the name of the game. Well, almost. He’s a contestant on that new reality show I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous. It’s considered a requirement that all the players have a history of… shall we say … strong personalities. We’ll keep an eye on him.”
Sergeant Sandy placed her cap back on her head of severely pulled back hair and gave a two-finger salute.
“Back to my rounds. I can take the disc now, if you’d like. Save you an extra chore come tomorrow.”
“I won’t forget,” Placenta said dismissively.
Sergeant Sandy looked at Polly and said, “Ma’am.” She looked at Placenta and said, “Ma’am.” And then she walked into the darkness.
Once again, the cacophony from the pool enveloped the atmosphere and Polly and Placenta turned toward the roughhousing. Polly stood up and Placenta followed her. They walked to the edge of the pool, its water choppy from all the splashing and diving. “Which one of you is Shamu?” Polly called out.
“Join us!” Randy yelled over Tim’s and Michael’s laughter and sloshing water.
“Too wet!” Polly called back.
“It’s called water,” Randy yelled out.
“Can’t ruin my new do,” Polly added, patting her hair. “We’re going inside for another bottle. You boys keep playing. Shall I fetch Tim’s ducky?”
“We’ll join you in a little while,” Randy called out as Michael made another cannonball dive and displaced enough water to quench an entire drought-ravaged village in Africa.
Walking back to the house as casually as they could, Polly said, “Where did you put that damn security report?”
Placenta said, “It’s in the top drawer of the sideboard in the foyer!” They both raced through the house, and when they arrived in the front hallway, Polly pulled open the center drawer of the table and retrieved a manila envelope. She tore it open and found three pages of notes on lined white paper. She handed the pages to Placenta. Polly withdrew a smaller envelope from within and ripped that open. An empty DVD case fell to the floor. Polly bent down and retrieved it. She squinted to read the handwriting on the thin plastic box. “Anything Goes. Four of six,” she read.
“It’s that old movie you borrowed from Lisa,” Placenta said.
“So what was it doing out in the yard?”
Placenta shrugged. “Tim was probably playing Frisbee with the gardeners again.”
Polly grimaced. “He’s got to stop teasing Fernando! Where did you put Lisa’s other discs?”
Placenta turned and walked down the corridor toward the great room. Polly followed and when they were at the custom built-in DVD library shelves they scanned the jewel cases to no avail. “I couldn’t find the damn case, so I slipped the disc into one of the others from Lisa. Perhaps Miranda tried to pilfer a memento from a legend’s house and Michael tried to get them back for us,” Polly said. “That’s how it ended up in the backyard.”
“She doesn’t seem the type to care about old third-rate movie musicals,” Placenta said as she moved to the other side of the cabinet. There, in a catchall drawer, she sifted through a large number of DVDs that hadn’t been returned to their proper slots in the cabinet. “Ah!” she said, picking up the other discs in the series marked Anything Goes. She counted out, “‘Six of six. Two of six. Three of six.” In a moment she had accounted for all the other discs. “What would Miranda have wanted with an old movie musical with mostly dead stars anyway?” she asked, handing the discs to Polly.
“Perhaps she has a sweet tooth for Mitzi Gaynor.”
“Who doesn’t?” Placenta mocked.
“I haven’t even had an opportunity to watch these yet. And why the hell doesn’t that sucky film fit on one disc?” Polly said. “Six sections? Absurd!”
Polly thought for a moment. “Here’s a great idea! Tomorrow, let’s have a flick fest! We’ll show Michael what Hollywood musicals used to do for the soul.”
“Escapism from the Great Depression,” Placenta said.
“Michael’s not exactly cultured. I’ll bet the house that High School Musical 3, Mamma Mia, and Hair-spray are the extent of his understanding of the musical genre.”
“I’ll Do Anything … is back in production tomorrow,” Placenta reminded her. “He’ll be doing gofer stuff until after the show on Friday.”
“We’ll watch the film ourselves,” Polly said in a huff. She slipped the last jewel case in the six-chapter series into the alphabetized nook of the DVD shelf. “Maybe ol’ Mitzi’ll come over and watch herself with us. She’s always good for a few drinks and a naughty laugh or two.”
“Who’s naughty?”
Polly and Placenta were startled by the sound of Michael’s voice. Standing in the great room wearing nothing but a wet pair of Tim’s swimming trunks, Michael grinned when he saw the two women absorbing him with their appreciative eyes. “Tim asked me to grab another bottle of champagne, if that’s all right.”
Placenta turned around and walked to the wine cooler. She withdrew a bottle of Veuve and handed it to Michael. “Save some for us. We’ll follow your puddles and be along in a jiff.”
Michael was about to leave when Polly said, “Anything Goes. I’ll do Anything … Kinda similar titles, when you stop and think about it.”
Michael gave her a quizzical look. “Yeah. I guess. Like CSI: Miami and CSI: New York.” He turned and walked out of the room.
“Of course, he’s right,” Polly said. “For a moment I had a silly notion that there might be a connection between our show and the old film.”
“One stars Bing Crosby. The other stars Taco Bell. Yeah, there’s a connection. They both have big ears,” Placenta said.
“Never mind,” Polly said. “Let’s go help the men pop their cork.”
By the time the men stepped out of the pool and wrapped themselves in beach towels, Placenta was serving snacks. Michael looked at Polly and asked, “Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, I appreciate your generosity and hospitality, but why me?”
“Because I couldn’t bear to see you living in that squalor!” Polly said. “If it were a proper boarding-house, with your own room and a bed, instead of little more than a tent, it wouldn’t have been so dreadful. But for crying out loud, who is the landlord, and how many tenants does he have? And, if you don’t mind me asking, what is he charging?”
“I found the place on the bulletin board at the community college. The rent of two hundred fifty dollars a week is steep, but it was the best I could do right now,” Michael said. “There’s, like, ten guys living in the house.”
“You’re paying a thousand dollars a month! You could find a decent apartment for that price!”
“Not without a first and last month’s rent in advance. I don’t have the money.”
“The slumlord is raking in the dinero!” Placenta said. “I suppose you all share one bathroom.”
Michael nodded his head in despair. “One stall shower. Newspapers for a bath mat. And the roaches! They keep me awake at night. I can hear them scurry ing around the kitchen, which is close to where my part of the living room is. I know they’re plotting to eat me.”
“Couldn’t you find a roommate in a better part of town?” Tim asked, looking around his mother’s house and feeling more fortunate than ever.
Michael sighed. “Too expensive. I’m here to be a screenwriter. It’s tough now, but someday I’ll be one of your neighbors. I’m sure of it.”
“Wh
at about getting a better job?” Placenta asked. “You seem like a smart boy. I’ll bet you can find something over at Brooks Brothers, or Barney’s.”
“I’ve been looking,” Michael said. “When I finally landed the assistant job on I’ll Do Anything… I thought I was definitely on my way. I mean, working with a famous celebrity like Thane Cornwall, even though he was a mean son of a bitch, I had my foot in the door. It doesn’t pay much, but the experience is more valuable than eating three squares a day. I had to find a cheap place to crash, and that’s where I ended up.”
Placenta tsk-tsked. “You were buddy-buddy with Ped-Xing, why couldn’t you two pool your resources and move in together?”
“The guy’s a killer,” Michael said.
Polly gasped.
Placenta’s eyes grew wide with intrigue.
Randy said, “Let me get my tape recorder.”
“No. Not a death row inmate kind of killer,” Michael said. “Just your average watch-your-back hard-boiled thug who’s on his way to fame when he wins the contest. The only reason he had me hanging around was to use me. He thought that since I worked for Thane, and now Richard, I’d be helpful in finding the treasure. That’s why we were in Lisa’s apartment.”
“Treasure?” Polly said.
Michael was quiet for a long moment. After a sip from his glass of champagne he looked Polly in the eye and said, “Rumor has it that someone connected with the show … probably one of the judges … has the Holy Grail. So to speak. There’s something, somewhere, that when found, will be the key to winning the contest. At least Ped-Xing thinks so.”
Polly gave Michael a hard look. “Where did Ped-Xing get such an idea?”
“This isn’t a scavenger hunt,” Tim added. “The contestants are supposed to show how desperate they are to become famous by doing extraordinarily egregious things. How could something as simple as finding this trophy or whatever it is help? And who told Ped-Xing about this in the first place?”
Michael shrugged. “Me, I guess. The day before Thane died I overheard him talking to Steven Benjamin on the phone. I remember he said, ‘You’ll never find it. But whoever does … ‘big money,’ as they say on Wheel of Fortune.”
Polly took another swallow from her glass. “That doesn’t mean anything at all. So what? You overheard part of a one-way telephone conversation. You don’t even know what the heck they were talking about. They could have been talking about buying a vowel from Vanna White!”
“Except that Lisa said something to me earlier that I didn’t give a second thought to at the time,” Michael said. “It was after one of the bajillion instances when Thane reduced me to tears for something, I don’t even remember what it was. Lisa happened to come along right afterward. We talked for a while; then she said she had to rush to do an errand for her boss. She said, ‘You think you’ve got troubles? You’re in clover compared to some other people associated with this stupid show. If those idiotic contestants would just keep their eyes open, they wouldn’t have to do much to win the game.’ Then she looked down at a black zippered purse that she was holding. She clutched it tight to her chest and sang, ‘He knows when you’ve been bad or good, so be good, for goodness’ sake!’ “
“Here we go again,” Polly snorted. “All of these cryptic comments out of context! ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town?’ In August? Not unless Oprah drops a new Rolls down my chimney.”
Michael sighed. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “You guys are being so great to me. I just thought maybe that information might come in handy. It’s probably nothing. But then …”
Polly and her clique looked at Michael.
“With a couple of dead bodies, there might be something to the rumor,” he continued. “I mean, why would Danny come to this house and wind up a corpse? And why would Thane get whacked? What if someone was looking for something that really exists? First at Thane’s, then here? Two people died at judges’ homes. If you’d been home, who knows what would have happened?”
Michael picked up his wristwatch, which he’d laid on the table before diving into the pool. “I’m calling in sick tomorrow. I need to get used to this place. Now I’ll hit the sack.”
Chapter 17
After air kisses from Polly and a firm handshake from Randy, Michael followed Tim and Placenta back into the house. They ascended the Scarlett O’Hara Memorial Staircase to the second level of the mansion and wandered down the east corridor. As Michael passed a gallery of memorabilia from Polly’s long and illustrious career, he tried to remain indifferent. However, when he saw an autographed photo of Gilda Radner he stopped in his tracks. “Did your mom know her?” he asked with awe.
“Gilda was one of Polly’s best friends. They idolized each other,” Tim said. “She was on Mom’s show a lot.” He pointed to another photo. “There they are at Carnegie Hall. They sold out the whole place.”
For the first time since meeting Polly and her clan, Michael was truly impressed. “I didn’t know that your mother was all that famous,” he said. “That idiot Steven Benjamin introduces her as ‘a legend from the last century,’ so I thought she was a nobody, like a lot of judges on reality shows.”
Placenta chuckled. “Trust me, Polly won’t let you leave the house without knowing exactly how famous she used to be, er, is. Every overnight guest to the plantation gets the same parting gifts: a promo bumper sticker from her short-lived career as an AM drive-time DJ.” He pointed to a framed photo of her Rolls-Royce with a colorful sticker on the back that read PP IN YOUR CAR! “You’ll also receive the superdeluxe boxed DVD collector’s edition of classic sketches from The Polly Pepper Playhouse. Watching those discs, you’ll be so tired of seeing old stars like Linda Lavin, Kim Darby, Cesar Romero, and Nancy Wilson, your eyes will be bleeding.
“I’ve heard of Cesar,” Michael said. “My folks took me to a fancy restaurant when I graduated from high school, and it was on the menu.”
“Not unless you went to McCannibal’s,” Tim laughed. “He’s not a salad. And not a Roman emperor either. He was an old-time movie star. Dead now, but a big heartthrob in his day. Anyway, Mom had a crush on him when she was a little girl, so when she got to be important and famous she had him on her show.”
Although Placenta had passed this gallery of photos every day for years, it had been a very long time since she had taken a close look at the pictures. “There’s Martha Rae,” she said, pointing to a framed photograph of Polly and Martha onstage holding hands raised in the air. “Oh, and Johnny Carson,” she said, pointing to another picture. “That’s Shirley MacLaine and Bob New-hart on the couch next to her.”
“Wow,” Michael said. “Polly was once a little girl who grew up and made all of her dreams come true. I don’t know why Thane hated her so much.”
Tim looked at Michael. “Thane hated everyone. Mom didn’t take it personally.”
“For some reason, he had a special dislike for your mother,” Michael added.
“She never did anything to him,” Placenta said.
“Some people don’t need a reason for not liking some other people,” Michael said. “I think he thought that Polly was too sweet to be real. I’ve found out today that he was so wrong! But you’re right, he didn’t have much of anything good to say about anyone. Except…”
“You mean there was one person on the planet to whom he wasn’t a nasty so-and-so?” Tim asked.
“Who was the lucky dog?” Placenta encouraged. “I’ll bet it was his dog!”
“He didn’t have one,” Michael confirmed.
“Then his own mother?” Tim said. “Even serial killers love their mothers. They kill ‘em, and cook their organs, and stuff ‘em like a taxidermied deer head over the mantel, but they still love ‘em, in a queer sorta way.”
Michael whispered, “Steven.”
Tim and Placenta gave Michael a confused look.
“Steven Benjamin. Thane used to worship the man. They were best buds when I started working there. Then something happened.”
<
br /> “All those mean on-air innuendos hinting about Steven’s sexuality weren’t just for fun?” Placenta said.
“In the beginning they were on the phone together and at each other’s homes all the time. Never one to give credit where credit was due, Thane actually admitted that Steven was entirely responsible for getting Richard Dartmouth to hire him as a judge in the first place. They had a weird relationship.”
“Were they having an affair?” Tim asked.
“Nah,” Michael responded. “Thane was a totally straight dude. And Steven has a really hot babe for a wife. She’s a famous model from England. Thane and Steven just got downright nasty with each other.”
“What happened?” Placenta asked.
Michael shrugged. “One day it’s kissy-kissy; then suddenly there was genuine hatred between them. Thane wouldn’t take Steven’s calls.”
Tim pondered the situation. “Maybe Thane came on to Steven’s wife?”
“Nah. I think it was a business thing,” Michael said. “Or maybe it was the hate mail that started pouring in. There are tons of crazies out there. You know the type. A lot of people have nothing better to do than comment on what they see on television. They like a certain star, in this case Steven Benjamin, and if anyone says anything against them, they go ballistic. One of my jobs was to copy the hate letters that Thane got each week, before sending the originals to Sterling’s legal department.”
“Were there threats against Thane’s life?” Placenta asked.
“Sure,” Michael said, as if that were a no-brainer. “But it’s hard to take anyone seriously when they write in all lowercase letters, spell everything phonetically: ‘Sicotic. Saten.’ And beg that for the sake of his soul, Thane had to mend his evil ways or go straight to hell. There was only one letter that I knew bothered Thane.”
“A threat?” Tim asked.
“I never got to read it. It was from Steven Benjamin and marked ‘Personal. For Thane Cornwall’s eyes only.’ Come to think about it, they had their falling-out at that time.”