by R. T. Jordan
“Why did Richard trust you to take the discs in the first place?” Polly asked.
“‘Cause Richard thinks I walk on water,” Lisa preened. “He trusts me with the combination to his house security system, and to his vault. I have a strong reputation for reliability. He’d never question my integrity. Fool.”
“You would betray that trust?” Polly asked.
“Let’s get back to what’s on the discs,” Lisa said.
Polly waved away the momentousness of the discs and what they contained. “If you were so important to Richard, why hasn’t he come to visit you in jail? I know your bail’s been denied, but he could offer moral support. Instead, he placed his precious buns on Thane’s throne as a judge on the program and has already hired a new assistant. He doesn’t seem to have any time for someone who was supposed to be indispensable to him.”
Lisa looked crestfallen. “That’s showbiz. People love you when you’re on the rise, but they disappear when it looks like you’re on the way down.”
Polly leaned her back against the cinder block wall and looked through Lisa. She had slipped into a zone of contemplation and, as if in a trance, was unaware of her surroundings. She thought about the serendipity of finding the DVDs in Lisa’s apartment in the first place, and having the potentially career-exploding discs in her possession for several days before happenstance again intervened, and made her aware that what she thought was an innocuous old movie turned out be the hottest ticket in town. “Where did those DVDs come from?”
Lisa was quiet for a moment. “I suppose confiden tiality agreements go out the window when you’re sitting in a jail cell accused of murder. Okay, here’s the deal. Nobody knows this except Richard and me. Promise you won’t tell? At least not until I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous is over?”
Polly looked at Placenta, who grimaced and nodded. “Very well.” Polly pretended to pull a zipper across her lips. “Spill it.”
Lisa sat for a long moment contemplating her loyalty to Richard Dartmouth and how he had not reciprocated her fidelity. With a sigh of resignation she spat, “Screw it. The son of a bitch hasn’t had the decency to think twice about me. I’m just the girl to forget all about my promise to keep secrets. This is it. “When Richard got the green light from Sterling Studios to produce I’ll Do Anything, he had all of the dressing rooms bugged with surveillance devices. His plan was simple. From day one, he wanted to tape the behind-the-scenes activities of the cast and collect every outrageous thing they might do or say that could give the viewing audience a reason to put one contestant over the top in terms of votes. I figured the discs I had were just copies of dumb stuff that Miranda or Ped-Xing or Taco Bell had said after a bitter exchange with Thane. I was backstage during rehearsals as well as the first show, so I heard how much they hated Thane Cornwall, and everybody said they wanted him dead.”
“If you suspected that those discs contained threats to Thane’s life, why haven’t you said anything to the police? Any one of the contestants might be the real killer,” Polly said.
“I figured that Richard would hand over whatever might contain even a hint of evidence,” Lisa said.
Polly shook her head.
Lisa looked defeated. “I guess the fact that I’m still here answers my questions. That lousy bastard! I’ll kill him! He could very well be personally responsible for me rotting away in here!”
Polly clicked her tongue. “Life is strange. Everything can change in an instant. You hated your job and were determined to get out of it. And it happened, but you ended up here. The contestants on I’ll Do Anything have been working hard to beat the others, but no matter what they do, the surveillance videos may change the course of the game, as well as the direction of their lives. If these images get out, Steven Benjamin’s career path will definitely be heading south, straight on down to hell.”
Polly looked at Placenta. “Our time’s up,” she said. Then Polly looked at Lisa. “Sweetums, is it possible that Thane knew about the surveillance cameras?”
Lisa thought for a moment. “As I said before, it was a secret between Richard and me. But they were friends, so …”
“The people who installed and maintained the surveillance equipment would have known what had been filmed,” Polly suggested.
Lisa pursed her lips and cocked her head. “Never thought about that. I wonder if Richard ever considered that.”
“What about the other contestants?” Placenta said. “How do you think they found out about the discs? Perhaps a techie was working on the equipment and Ped-Xing or Miranda or Danny or someone saw them. One of them found out, then told another, who told someone else, et cetera. Maybe?”
Polly grabbed Placenta’s arm. “That’s all very interesting, dear, but it’s time to leave. I’m sure this poor girl needs her beauty rest.” She turned to Lisa and blew a kiss. “We’ll have a party for you at the plantation when this is over.”
The women turned to the door but found that it didn’t have a knob. Polly knocked on the thick window. “Policewoman Betty! We’re ready to make our exit!” Nobody responded. She began to visibly panic.
Lisa looked up and smiled. “It’s rather cramped in here. And it’s getting so hot! I was never claustrophobic before coming to this rat trap, but …”
Polly banged on the door and pleaded for help.
Chapter 22
“Trapped, I tell you! Caged! Like the cast in an Alec Baldwin play!” Polly berated Tim for monopolizing Garrett and Officer Betty and not coming to her rescue sooner. “Placenta and I could be locked in a room with Michael Bay and you wouldn’t have cared!”
“Hey, it’s not as though I left you two alone with Elisabeth Hasselbeck!” Tim said as he drove along Santa Monica Boulevard toward Rodeo Drive. “The fact that you wanted out of Lisa’s cell early only means that you got all the info you wanted from the jailbird and you’re champing at the bit to investigate a new source or allegation. What did you pummel out of her? The demento psycho killer must have revealed something of value.”
Polly suddenly forgot that she was peeved with her son. “I’m very excited. Drive over to Steven Benjamin’s house. And step on it!”
During Tiara’s career as a top runway model in Europe, she amassed a fortune flaunting the designs of Versace, Dior, and Cavalli. When she began appearing in print and television ads for Noxema and Maybelline, she tripled her wealth. Steven, too, had made a killing as a model. First recognized for his appearances in sophisticated ads for Brooks Brothers clothing, he made a bigger fortune when his agent negotiated a deal for him to be the spokesperson for the upstart online dating service E-Chromosome.
Although the company was new, and had almost zero dollars to invest in advertising, Steven’s sexiness made them the number-one online dating service in the world. His television ads were cutting-edge erotica and could only be shown after ten p.m. Women signed up for the dating service because they dreamed of finding a man who looked like Steven. Guys joined because they wanted to sleep with the kind of women seen in bed with Steven. And, thanks to his astute agent, Steven accepted a relatively small paycheck in exchange for company profits.
As Tim drove through the streets of Beverly Hills, he turned left onto La Dolce Vida Drive and maneuvered the car up a steep incline.
“I haven’t been in this area for ages,” Polly marveled, looking out the window at older Beverly Hills homes.
Making another left at Picasso Place, the car came to a stop in front of an immense iron gate, behind which one could see a home that nearly rivaled Pepper Plantation in size.
Polly whistled. “Let’s see what Beverly Hills Barbie, and her perfect-ten Ken, are up to on this lovely summer afternoon.”
Tim rolled down the car’s window and reached out to press the intercom keypad. Soon, a muffled voice asked, “Jes?”
“Hola—” Tim began to say but was interrupted by his mother.
“Hola, sweetums, it’s Polly Pepper. From the television? The show that Mr. Benjamin i
s hosting? I’m expected, I’m sure. I’ve brought a wee prezy for Mr. and Mrs.”
“Sí. Come,” the voice answered.
As the twin gates parted, Placenta nudged Polly. “Prezy? You mean a bottle from the trunk?”
“As long as it’s not our last.”
As Tim drove to the car park, Polly recognized the house. “This is Rita Hayworth’s old place!” she exclaimed. “Poor thing. Alzheimer’s, you know. So many stupid people presumed she was a drunk.”
As the trio stepped from the Rolls and walked to the frosted-glass front entrance doors, Tim rang the bell. In a moment, a maid in uniform opened the door and made a slight bow to welcome them. “Bienvenido,” she said with a gesture for them to follow her.
Polly looked at Placenta, raised an eyebrow, and cocked her head toward the maid.
Placenta snapped, “Don’t say it! Don’t you even think it!”
“I was just wondering—”
“Keep on wondering—to yourself. If one word about putting me back in a uniform escapes your lips, someone will be investigating your disappearance!”
After a few moments of waiting in the living room, Tiara Benjamin came in looking frantic. “Polly!” she called out with exhaustion in her voice. She greeted the television legend with a quick peck to her cheeks. She smiled at Tim and Placenta and hugged them, too. “If I’d known that Maria had let you in, er, I mean, that you were dropping by, I’d have made myself a tad more presentable. Things are a bit … loony today. Steven’s unwell. A dreadful toothache.”
Polly stepped forward and handed Tiara the bottle of Veuve. “It’s not chilled, but I guarantee it’ll make you and Steven feel like a million. It works especially well dimming all sorts of pain.”
“Thank you for thinking of us,” Tiara said. “Your timing is impeccable,” she said with a slight edge to her voice.
Then, from the distance, Steven called out for Tiara. The summons sounded more like an old man’s death rattle.
Tiara looked panicked. “Please, have a seat. I’ll be back in a tick.”
As Tiara rushed to her husband, Polly took the opportunity to look around the room. “It’s changed so much,” she sighed. “When dear, lovable, and vibrant Rita lived here, it had an abundance of old-world elegance. She learned a lot from being married to Orson, however briefly.” Polly looked back through the years and pictured every detail of the room as it had been in the 1970s. “Rita had a grand piano over there.” Polly pointed to what was now a seating area with expensive Le Corbusier furniture. She looked at the modern stone fireplace. “There used to be a very ornate mantel there, above which was a huge portrait of Rita posing as Gilda. The place was so well decorated then. Now it’s as sterile as an operating room,” she scoffed.
“This place is so antiseptic that I defy any germ to survive long enough to ever make Steven or Tiara ill!” Placenta said.
Polly spied a crumpled piece of beige-colored notepaper on the floor of the otherwise spotless room. “Oh, Maid Sweetheart,” she called out, forgetting the name of the domestic. She bent down to retrieve the paper, then looked around for a trash receptacle. “They don’t even have a goddamn ashtray,” Polly whined as she walked from one end of the room to the other, searching for a place to deposit the paper. Just as she was about to place it on a glass end-table, her curiosity coaxed her to open the paper and take a peek.
Polly unfolded the wrinkled ball and read to herself, There are no secrets in Hollywood. However, I am willing to protect yours—in return for U.S.$…
Polly’s eyes grew wide, but before she could finish reading the sentence Steven suddenly stumbled into the room, leaning on Tiara for support. Polly instantly squeezed the paper into a ball again and surreptitiously dropped it to the floor.
“Polly,” Steven said, in a weak voice, “I’m sorry you have to see me like this. Can we arrange a visit in a day or two? I don’t want you coming down with whatever I’ve picked up.” He forced a cough.
Polly ignored the dramatic change in diagnosis. “I’ll chance it,” she said in a motherly coo, and touched the back of her hand to Steven’s forehead. “Polly Pepper hasn’t had a cavity or a cold in years, probably because I have a teensy bit of OCD when it comes to washing my hands a bajillion times a day and always flossing after every meal. Please don’t let us bother you anymore. Off to bed! Let Tiara tuck you in. We’ll catch up when you’re one hundred percent! Go! We’ll let ourselves out.”
Placenta and Tim both offered their wishes for Steven’s speedy recovery and then the trio turned to leave. “Gracias,” Polly said when they met Maria in the foyer. “Adios.”
When they were safely back in the car and heading down the driveway toward the estate’s gates, Polly slapped her knee and said, “Steven’s sick all right, but it’s not a virus or a cold or food poisoning or a silly toothache. He’s ill because he’s about to lose a ton of money andhis career, and probably his wife, too. He’s being blackmailed!”
Tim looked at his mother in the rearview mirror. “You picked that up just from touching his forehead?” He grinned.
“Shush!” Polly interrupted. “He’s in trouble with someone who’s shaking him down for a big payday advance. That crumpled piece of paper that I found on the floor? It was a note that instructed him to transfer money or his career would be over.”
“How much?” Tim asked.
“D’know.”
“I don’t suppose it was signed,” Placenta said.
“Didn’t get that far,” Polly fumed. “Steven and Tiara came in and I had to ditch the damn note. However, it was on Crane stationery, and printed from a computer. The font was Helvetica. The type size, twelve point.”
Placenta rolled her eyes and in a voice meant to sound like a psychic on Larry King Live, said, “The perp is five feet seven inches, works as a dental hygienist during the day, writes screenplays at night. He wears a toupee, walks with a limp, and collects Captain America comic books.”
“Don’t be rude,” Polly said.
“D’ya think the letter is from one of the contestants?” Tim said.
Polly shrugged. “Run-of-the-mill blackmailers wouldn’t use expensive stationery. Who among them has any taste? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone involved with this show has discovered that Steven is on the surveillance tapes and now’s the time to score big money by ratting him out! If we find the blackmailer, we’ll probably get to the killer too.”
“Richard Dartmouth?” Placenta said. “If Richard knows, then Brian Smith may also. And whoever transfers the videos, too.”
“We’re back to everyone being a suspect!” Tim ranted. “It’s been nearly two weeks since Thane bought the farm and we’re not any closer to finding his killer. I think we should just give up, and let Lisa fend for herself.”
Polly said, “You’re wrong about our not being any closer. We know that it can’t be Lisa writing blackmail notes. Jail is a pretty good alibi. Same for Danny. Dear, dead Danny. Two down. As for Richard Dartmouth, it’s improbable that he’d be tied up in a blackmail scheme. He’s got loads of moolah. Plus as Thane’s replacement judge he’s becoming a celebrity.”
Tim honked the car horn out of frustration. “That doesn’t mean that he didn’t kill for the job.”
“Doubt it,” Polly said, and folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, what am I talking about? This is Hollywood. Anything that one can imagine happens here in real life. On this one show alone we’ve got a killer, a blackmailer, an adulterer, a cast of six whores, a pervert who goes around secretly videotaping people in private acts. And everyone—except the dead bodies—is a suspect! It’s The Twilight Zone and General Hospital and everything dear Jackie Collins has ever written, all on one lousy reality show!”
As Tim drove the car through the East Gate of Bel Air, and followed Stone Canyon Road along its serpentine length toward the plantation, the passengers all remained silent. As they reached the PP-monogrammed iron gates of Pepper Plantation and waved to Sergeant Sandy, who
sat under an umbrella in the late afternoon sun on a folding wooden stool, Polly broke the ice. “While I’m having my hair done tomorrow, you’ll take Placenta back to the Benjamins’.”
Tim and Placenta both made faces. “And do what, take Steven’s temperature?” Tim asked.
Polly looked at Placenta and reached out to take her hand. “Sweetums. Dear heart. Friend. You know I’m not in the least bit prejudiced about any minority group, with the possible exception of young casting directors who are too stupid to know that The Polly Pepper Playhouse remains a seminal show in the history of television, and have never seen my films or heard my number-one hit record. So I say this with all due respect.” Polly cleared her throat. “You have to go back to the Benjamins’ as a …” She waited a beat, then said, “… domestic engineer.”
“A maid?” Placenta snatched her hand out of Polly’s.
“Just pretend,” Polly begged. “Anyway, that’s what it says on your W2 Form!”
“I knew you’d find a way to get me back into that stinking uniform!” Placenta snapped as the car pulled up to the front portico. “Why can’t you befriend the señora? I could tell that she recognized you when we walked in.”
“But you speak her language!” Polly complained.
“No hablo español!” Placenta retorted.
“I mean, you two work for rich and famous stars. You have things in common. I need you to go there and make nice with the help and get that letter for me,” Polly begged. “I need to find out who sent it to Steven. Please help me out? Just this once?”
“Once?” Placenta huffed, and leaned as far away from Polly as she could. “I’m on your side twenty-four-seven! Aren’t I, Tim?”
“She’s right, Mother,” Tim said as he turned off the ignition and opened his door. He walked around the car to the passenger side and pulled on the handle to his mother’s door and reached out to help her.