And what about existence itself, the philosopher’s endless fodder? Lenora had come to have doubts about that, too. At best, even the most glorious existence represented a mere flicker in the infinite darkness…unless, once again, it had been properly illuminated by a carefully tended legacy. And Lenora had tended her legacy with meticulous devotion. And now the time had come to turn it loose. The final act of a perfectly lived life, Lenora believed, happened when the sheer glory and magnitude of the legacy fully supplanted the comparably weak and frail existence. Lenora looked forward to her final act, to the time when Lenora Danmore the person faded into the mist in order to make way for Lenora Danmore the young beauty who never ever fades. This eternal soul dances a ring around the world every day without fail. She sings and pouts and cracks jokes. The sun never sets without her laughing and crying with a million old friends. And when the sun comes up again, she makes a million new friends. Lenora had a vision of a perfectly lived life. Mortal must bow to immortal. Lenora the decrepit must vanish so that Lenora the celluloid legacy could live forever.
But what happens when the celluloid legacy is threatened? In the past she’d had enough clout to easily squash it. She’d throw open a door, make the studio boss cry, and the next morning there’d be heads on silver platters. And now, decades later, Lenora no longer had any studio bosses in her pocket, but she didn’t need them. She had the power of success and the passage of time on her side. Success smooths over blemishes, and the more success you have, the smoother you look. The passage of time works the same way. Events that happened sixty or seventy years ago seem to lose their girth. If you can see them at all, they look small compared to the problems of today. Even the so-called information age, in which the masses gorge on scandals of all sizes and shapes, had not harmed Lenora.
And yet one enemy still remained. This enemy had set her sights on the treasure of Lenora’s life. That treasure included fifty-seven movies, seventeen top ten, seven top grossers, five Oscar nominations, and two best-actress wins. An unreasonable zealot had come to destroy a priceless legacy. Lenora’s head popped with anger when she thought about it.
She put the certificate back into the envelope and resealed it. It didn’t make any sense shredding it when the investigator had probably sent an electronic image before he even dropped this one into the mail. Besides, this problem had passed the point where papers, or even stacks of papers, even mattered. Nobody in the world cared about any of those papers…except Cassandra Moreaux. Cassandra had become the one and only problem.
***
The nightcap rested on a small tray that Micah held in one hand while he knocked on Lenora’s door with the other.
“Put it on the coffee table,” said Lenora from the office.
Micah pushed into the reception area and put the tray on the table. He poked his head into the office doorway. Lenora stared down at some envelopes on her desk.
“Good night, Lenora.” said Micah.
“There’s nothing good about it, Micah. Not until you make the deal for season five,” said Lenora.
“Good night, Lenora. See you in the morning.”
She didn’t respond.
***
Cass looked closely at the birth certificate that had been emailed to her. According to the detective, it had come from Poland. The name on it said Karolina Anna Wojtkowiak, which didn’t look a whole lot like Carolyn Voyt, Lenora’s supposed birth name. And that probably had been the key, just as Cass suspected. Lenora had a third name to hide behind. Lenora’s betrayal of Cass’s mom had never been found because Lenora had used a secret name, a name that she had kept safely buried in Poland for the last seventy years.
The detective also found another piece of the puzzle, one that Cass didn’t know had been missing. As a matter of routine, the detective had investigated the parents, as listed on the birth certificate, and found that the father had been a known communist organizer who had fled with his family to America before the police could arrest him for suspected arson.
Cass immediately saw the significance. How much more likely is a person to snitch to the FBI if the FBI already has that person on the radar? And a Hollywood actor who happened to be the daughter of a known communist organizer certainly sounded like something the FBI would have found interesting.
This journey, a debt of love to her mother, had taken five long years. Wrong turns and dead ends had plagued her every step of the way. But now Cass started to believe that she might actually have Lenora cornered. Only one test remained: the name had to be sent to the FBI.
Chapter ten
“And here’s your StarBash host, the Tinseltown terminator himself, Micah Bailey!”
Cass watched closely. She’d heard rumors that on this episode the producers planned to milk every possible dollar out of the Cass and Brandi feud. The everyday booby traps had been bad enough. Now Cass had to deal with that. Micah flew through the hotel’s giant revolving doors and bounded down the steps to the street in front. The exterior of the hotel had been partially reconstructed for his opening sequence. He stepped up onto a red-carpeted platform.
“Wow!” exclaimed Micah to the actors who stood around him. “Three months ago fifteen egomaniacs came to town. You had perfect hair plugs and enough Botox to inflate a football. And look at you now! The egomaniacs have almost become human, and there are only four of you left! That means one of you is about to become the owner of a little Greasy Dishrag that will change your life forever!”
The actors clapped, none more energetically than Brandi, and Cass realized for the first time just how badly Brandi wanted it. Her big mouth had destroyed her career, and now she hoped for an eleventh-hour reprieve from StarBash. Sad.
Micah continued, “In recognition of your achievement, each of you has been demoted to the Plaza Hotel concierge department. That’s the good news. The bad news is that getting demoted means less money in your paycheck, which means you better shake the dust off your penny-pinching skills. But not to worry, my dear nouveau poor friends, we have brought in the reigning cheapskate champion of the world to help you do just that. His name is Elmer Stubhowzer, and Elmer recently took home the coveted Golden Coupon at this year’s Cheapskate Championships held in St. Louis, Missouri. Please give Mr. Stubhowzer a warm StarBash welcome.”
A middle-aged man dressed in purple polyester bellbottoms, a gold-colored shimmery button-down shirt, and platform shoes emerged from behind the crew and stepped up to the platform with Micah. His straight, long gray hair had obviously been the victim of many kitchen haircuts. Some kind of animal fang hung around his neck. He looked like a man serving a life sentence in a bad disco.
“Elmer, I understand that at the championship you turned $9.87 into two shopping carts full of food,” said Micah.
“Yes, sir, that’s what I did,” said Elmer.
“That’s impressive,” said Micah. “Would you mind sharing some of your wisdom with the audience at home and with our starving actors here? I thought maybe you might pass on some tips to help them stretch a dollar the way you do.”
Elmer posed awkwardly for one camera, then another, then back at the first, and said, “Well, I can’t give away too many secrets, but a good way to start is to shop late at night and load up your cart with expiration dates. When you get to the register, tell them everything you got expires in thirty minutes, and you ain’t got but a few dollars, and then offer five or ten cents on the dollar. Give that a try, and see if you don’t turn a ten-dollar bill into food for a month.” He smiled proudly, revealing a gold tooth that sparkled in the television lights.
Cass noticed a blue piece of tape stuck to the heel of one of his shoes. It looked like a garage-sale price tag. It said, “50¢.”
Micah started to talk, but Elmer interrupted and said, “But the best way to stretch a dollar is to not spend no dollars at all. Like I said when they gimme the trophy in St. Louis, if you can make it or trade for it, why pay for it? Me and my wife Myra been livin’
by those words since day one. Go ahead. Gimme the test. You name something, and I bet I can make it. Go ahead.”
“Uh…OK,” said Micah. “I wasn’t expecting such an invigorating challenge, but…how about a…toothbrush?”
“Make it outta pig hair. Haven’t paid for a toothbrush in forty years. Go ahead, gimme another one,” said Elmer.
“Micah looked down at the carpeted platform and said, “OK, how about a throw rug for the living room?”
“Make it outta pig hair, just like the toothbrush,” said Elmer confidently. “That stuff goes far. Rugs, fertilizer, toothbrushes, hairbrushes, paintbrushes are all made outta pig hair.”
“Your pig must get cold at night,” said Micah. “OK…you’ve got two strikes on me. How about a…a…refrigerator?”
“Don’t need it. We pickle and can and salt everything we need,” said Elmer.
“What about a car or a truck?”
“I got one of them. Traded two cows and my son Tommy for it.”
“Um…Elmer, that doesn’t sound completely legal,” said Micah.
“Nah. Tommy don’t mind,” said Elmer. “Besides, the boys at the sawmill promised to trade him back when it comes time to castrate the sheep.”
“Uh…OK…I guess since everybody seems to be happy with the arrangement, except maybe the sheep, maybe I better not judge,” said Micah, with a pat on the champ’s back. Then he continued, “Mr. Stubhowzer, it has been a pleasure talking cheapskate tactics with you, but I’m afraid the time has come for us to move on to the next part of our show. Would you do me the honor of helping with that?”
“Be my pleasure,” said Elmer, who then pulled a piece of paper from his pants pocket and read out loud, “‘Congratulations, actors. Each of you is now the personal concierge for the cheapest man in the world.’” He lowered the paper, flashed his gold tooth, and said, “That’s me.” He continued reading, “‘You will be given a task. If you complete that task in the cheapest way possible, you will be demoted into the next round. If you don’t, you will be fired.’”
“Thank you, Elmer,” said Micah, who then turned to the actors and said, “By the way, for this contest you are being divided into two-person teams. One member of each team will be the concierge, and the other will be the assistant. You will choose a name for your team, and you will decide who gets to be the boss and who gets to be the assistant. At the end of the challenge, one of the teams will be eliminated. That means two of you will be going home instead of just one.”
The actors groaned, and both of the Steadicams immediately zoomed in on Cass and Brandi. And there you have it, thought Cass; she and Brandi had just become partners, and StarBash just happened to have their cameras in the perfect position to start capturing all the fun. A production assistant immediately herded the two ladies together and escorted them to a cubicle that had been constructed in one of the soundstages. Cass also saw that for what it was: more StarBash bullshit; let’s put the snarling animals together in a small cage and see what happens.
Cass entered first, followed by Brandi. The camera operator took a position in the doorway, backed by the production assistant. The cubicle contained a desk and two office chairs, one tucked behind the desk, the other placed in the corner of the cubicle. The chair behind the desk had the word “Concierge” nicely embroidered into the fabric on the back of the chair. The other chair had a piece of paper taped to it. On that paper someone had scribbled the word “Assistant.” Cass saw a red envelope and a pen sitting on the desk. She reached for the envelope, but Brandi nudged her aside and got to it first. Brandi held up the envelope for the camera. She’s good at this shit. I need to get my act together, thought Cass. Brandi opened the envelope and read aloud, ‘“We are having a picnic for three adults. I need ketchup, mustard, hotdog buns, hotdogs, relish, potato chips, and paper plates. And remember, there is no greater value than a great value that is valued greatly.”’ Brandi dangled the letter for the camera and said, “I think we know who’s most qualified to be the boss on this one.”
“And who might that be?” asked Cass.
“The one who knows how to find a bargain because she been out of work thanks to a certain person who shall remain nameless.”
“Yes, Brandi, you’ve got the market cornered on pain and suffering. We all know.”
“You want a crack at it? Go ahead, but if you ask me, you couldn’t win this one in a million years,” said Brandi.
She’s baiting me, thought Cass. But that didn’t stop her from saying, “Fine. Give it to me.”
Brandi held out the paper. Cass reached for it. Brandi took it back and said, “You can be the boss, Cass, but I’m not doing shit to help you. This one’s on you. And I get to choose the team name.” Brandi grabbed the pen from the desk, scribbled something on the paper, and handed it to Cass. It said, “Name of Team: Clueless.”
***
As Cass scurried around in search of a cheap picnic, Brandi held court in the cubicle and trotted out a parade of snide remarks for the camera: “Too bad Bloomingdale’s doesn’t sell ketchup. If they did, Cass might actually have a chance”; “I’m worried about Cass. If she doesn’t find organic, non-GMO mustard, I think she might have a nervous breakdown”; “Poor Cass. She googled ‘cheap wieners’ and got three hundred pages of porn.”
Later that afternoon, with twenty minutes to go before the deadline, Cass entered the cubicle and proudly exclaimed, “I got ketchup and mustard packs for free and everything else at the dollar store. I think we won—no thanks to you.”
“No, we didn’t win. We lost. Congratulations. You completely lived up to your potential,” said Brandi.
“What are you talking about? I paid five dollars for the whole picnic.”
Brandi offered an angry, frustrated head shot to the camera—a pose she had been practicing earlier in the day—and said, “Come with me.” She led Cass to a white passenger van that waited just outside the soundstage door. A second van containing crew and equipment idled behind the first. Brandi ushered Cass and the two-person camera crew into the van and then entered herself. Cass didn’t think to ask how the crew and vans happened to be ready and waiting, a flub that made Brandi’s plan a little easier.
The vans left the ranch and headed down the hill toward the city of Ventura. Cass shifted nervously a few times in her seat and after a few minutes asked where they were going. The great Casmo looked mousey. Brandi ignored her.
Twenty minutes later the vans pulled into a Walmart and parked. Brandi handed Cass a disguise that consisted of a wig and glasses. Cass looked at the bushy red wig and recoiled. Brandi held up another one and said, “I got one, too, so we’re all even. Besides, you don’t want your Hollywood pals to find out you shopped at Walmart, do you? They might kick you out of the club.” Cass grabbed the wig and put it on. After this testy exchange, the tech guys fitted the ladies with concealed microphones and small transmitters. Brandi didn’t want to attract a crowd, so she had instructed the crew to use concealed cameras and to keep their distance as much as possible.
Brandi led the charge into the store. She stopped just past the entrance to take in the scene—and to pose for the camera. Ah, the smell of America’s favorite superstore, a simmering stew of popcorn, floor wax, and armpits that ran up your nose, shouting “Always Low Prices” every step of the way. Brandi liked it. She glanced at Cass, who stood next to her. Of course little Miss Nordstrom looked like she’d just been abandoned in a foreign country. This gave Brandi a really good idea. She turned to Cass and said, “You’ve been to Walmart before, right?” But before Cass had a chance to answer, Brandi did a mini arm flop for the cameras and said, “How come I’m not surprised? Well, let me give you some advice, missy. If you ever find yourself with five dollars in your pocket and a payday that’s nowhere in sight, you might want to give this place a try. Not that that would ever happen to you.”
“Brandi. Let me give you some advice,” said Cass. “Stop wearing your sad st
ory on your sleeve, and maybe you’ll stop being such a miserable bitch.”
“Wow. Something real from the Hollywood phony. I’m glad we got it on film,” said Brandi. And then she marched away, straight to aisle five in the grocery department. Cass ran after her like a child who’s afraid to lose her mother.
“What does this say?” asked Brandi, as she held up a bottle of ketchup and pointed to the label.
“Great Value,” answered Cass.
Brandi put the bottle back on the shelf, moved down the aisle a few feet, and grabbed a jar of relish. “And what does this say?”
“Great Value,” said Cass.
“That’s right. That’s the Walmart brand. Now read your instructions.” Brandi whipped out the paper for everyone to see, and Cass started reading.
“‘…And remember, there’s no greater value than a great value that’s valued greatly…’ Oh shit,” said Cass.
“Did you even bother to stop and think that maybe those strange words might mean something?” asked Brandi.
“I think we lost,” said Cass.
“We didn’t lose, Cass. I lost. You’ll be going home to your Malibu mansion where you will live like a queen even if you never work another day in your life. I’ll be going home to nothing. This was my last chance, and you took it from me, just like you did three years ago.”
***
Cass stopped the camera crew at the door of the van and said, “Sorry, guys. No film on the drive back. Brandi and I have personal business to take care of. You’ll have to hitch a ride in the other van.” She climbed into the second-row bench seat, where the camera operator usually sat. Brandi sat in the next seat back. The van pulled away, and Cass turned to say something, but Brandi beat her to it.
Death of a Movie Star Page 9