by Cassie Page
Holley did the introductions. “Miss Tuesday, this is Electra, Mr. Vitale’s costume genius. Miss Electra, this is Miss Tuesday.”
Electra looked Tuesday up and down, her scowl delivering her opinion on Tuesday’s outfit. “And what kind of genius are you?”
Holley answered, “Oh she’s a genius at reading tea leaves,” but she had already lost Electra’s attention. Goren snatched a glass from a passing server, filled it from his dying bottle and handed it to Electra. Then he waved the empty bottle over his head. “Kiss this one goodbye, girls. Let’s get a real drink.” He circled his arm around his costume genius and led them all to the bar.
Tuesday and Holley watched Goren open another bottle of champagne. He gave a broad wave to introduce the bartender. “This is my Marco. It’s not his real name but his lemon vodka martinis are as good as a chicken leg any day. Have one. A round of lemon martinis for everyone, Marco.”
Tuesday said, “Thanks, but I don’t mix my poisons.” She held up her glass for a champagne refill instead.
The bar tender obliged her as Goren baptized his new bottle with a long swallow. He smacked his lips and, bottle cradled in the crook of his arm, strode off to say hello to a mournful group sitting on the couch, leaving Tuesday, Holley and Electra to an awkward silence. They didn’t have to wait long for someone to come and cut the tension. Mrs. Vitale wedged herself into the middle of the triangle and raised her glass in a toast.
“To the departed.” She took a dainty sip and then gave Electra the once over. “Borrowed the bedroom curtains again for your night out, Ellie?”
Electra managed to cough up a fake laugh and raised her glass to acknowledge the jibe. She waited a few beats then said, “At least I don’t go digging around in my sack of dust rags.”
The retort caught the director’s wife by surprise and she actually looked down as if to check her outfit. She returned a cold smile, but Electra was walking away.
The hostess snarled, “Bitch on wheels, that one. If she didn’t prey on other women’s husbands she’d never have a man in her bed.”
She took a sip of her drink. “Holley, I’m sure you’ve seen the way she throws herself at Quentin Tarantula.”
Holley gulped but said nothing. Quentin was the director of her current movie.
Marco the bartender had been hovering on his side of the bar. He broke in to ask if he could give anyone a refill. Tuesday guessed he had overheard the conversation and was being diplomatic to prevent a scene. She welcomed the interruption. It gave her a chance to give him a long look. Were her stars aligned today or what? Marco whose name is not Marco was easily as dishy as the cop/crook at the police station. But this time she had a chance to flirt. She fluffed her pink Afro and draped herself over the bar in her best Ralph Lauren print ad imitation.
“How about a glass of champs for me, Marco who is not really Marco? I’ve had a day that needs a makeover.”
The bartender winked and flashed her a smile that lit up her end of the room. Oh, yes. Her luck was definitely picking up. She coyly sipped her champagne as he poured another glass for Holley. Tuesday was about to ask his real name when a cute guy in an apron came out from the kitchen and kissed him on the lips.
“How ya holding up, sweetie,” he said.
Tuesday turned toward the door disappointed. How did that happen? Her gaydar was usually spot on. Holley, who had watched Tuesday make her move, pulled her mouth down in a show of sympathy.
Tuesday shrugged and said, “Not my night, girlfriend.” Then she raised her glass to the bartender and his boyfriend, who laughed and sent an imaginary toast back to her. Tuesday turned to Holley. “But listen, what was all that about Electra and Mrs. Vitale. They had their claws out for each other.”
Holley shook her head. “I don’t like to speak ill of people, Miss Tuesday. I believe in being positive. Anything negative you say about someone else will come back to you threefold.”
This explained her discomfort at hearing that her director might be playing around. However, when Tuesday said, “I know, deario, but what’s up with Electra,” Holley looked over her shoulder.
The decibel level of the music and voices was rising and there was no danger of anyone overhearing, yet she whispered in Tuesday’s ear, “I’ve heard that Hollywood wives won’t let their husbands out of their sight if Miss Electra is nearby.”
Tuesday let her eyes wander until they found Electra across the room. She had her back to Tuesday and was surrounded by three couples, a man on either side of her. Tuesday blinked. Twice. Electra was pulling off a neat trick. In the folds of her voluminous chiffon gown, the costumer was holding the hand of one of the men while the other stroked his thumb along her backside. Each of the men had a free arm around the woman he came with, presumably the wife. With the dim lights and growing crowd in the room providing cover, the subterfuge was successful. Tuesday realized that the two women had no idea their men were playing handsies with Electra.
Tuesday gave a little laugh as a thought flitted across her mind. If the men were to move their fingers just a few inches, they could hold hands with each other. How best to discover they were rivals for Electra’s affections, though apparently, from what Tuesday just heard and was currently witnessing, that wasn’t a difficult contest to win. She nudged Holley, at that moment waving to a young woman coming toward them. “Check out Electra. Wait until she moves and her skirt swishes. You’ll see what I mean.”
Holley studied Electra, then as the wardrobe mistress turned to speak to one of the women, the folds of her skirt parted to reveal that now each man had a handful of her behind. Holley gasped. “Miss Tuesday, that is really bad karma. Someone should tell her.”
Just then, Holley’s friend, covered in piercings and tattoos, reached them and they air kissed. “Miss Tuesday, this is Harry. She makes me look beautiful for my fans.”
“Not a difficult job.” Harry smiled at Tuesday, who liked her immediately.
Tuesday heard a commotion in the middle of the room, and turned to see Goren and his wife preparing to make an announcement. He picked up a serving spoon from the food table and tapped his half-empty champagne bottle until he got everyone’s attention.
His speech was slurred and wandering. “I want you all to know how grateful I am that you came tonight. Your show of support is nothing short of amazing. You are my people, the people I want beside me in a crisis.”
His eyes fell on Tuesday when he said this, and she looked around. Nobody was behind her so she assumed he confused her with someone else. Some other close friend with loud clothes and a drooping pink Afro.
“I want you all to know I believe in this movie and I believe in all of you. I couldn’t make it without you. This film is going to be the highlight of my oeuvre.” He pronounced it oover. “It’s going to make a statement about modern life that needs to be heard.”
He burped, and continued. “We live in a materialistic world and need to get back to the basics.” Several in his audience said amen as though he were conducting a prayer meeting. “We need to give up our possessions. They control us, we don’t control them.”
His wife whispered in his ear, then he got back on track, reminding them why they were assembled.
“Oh yes. Of course. About Ariel. Terrible thing. If any of you have any information,” he paused to take another drink from his bottle and his wife stepped in to flash an ingratiating smile at her guests. Her clothes were dark, her makeup and hair appropriately somber. No jewelry.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I am Brava Vitale, Goren’s wife.”
Tuesday detected a slight accent, but couldn’t place it. Yes, she looked Balkan but didn’t sound it. Loyal wife, she filled in what her drunken husband should have said.
“We know you are as devastated as we are over this tragedy. I can’t believe it’s possible, but if the rumors that our Ariel was the victim of a crime turn out to be true, if you know anything, anything at all that would help the police catch the monster who
did this, I urge you, please report it. Even if it is embarrassing, even if it jeopardizes someone you know. Some of us have received death threats, threats to abandon the movie. We must catch this monster before he kills again. That’s it, everyone. Let’s have a minute of silence for Ariel, then help yourself to this delicious food and wine in her honor.”
There was light applause from people not sure how to respond. The news that Ariel may not have died of natural causes seemed to stun a great number of the assembled, including some who didn’t realize they were honoring a dead girl. Tuesday noted this and said, “Apparently, not everyone watches cable news. They’re just here for the free food.”
Holley just grabbed Tuesday’s arm. “Come with me, Miss Tuesday, there’s someone I want you to meet. Roger is here.”
Ah, Roger the nerdy, needy stalker. Tuesday followed close behind across the cavernous living room lined with uncomfortable looking couches and the long food table in the center. The artwork consisted of a mobile of the planets and their moons in one corner hovering over an otherworldly white leather chair. Tuesday decided to steer clear of it, afraid that if she climbed into it she would need a crane to get out. Two sculptures of little green moon men looked like they had been placed as a practical joke under a huge, garish poster of his last movie. Either the Vitales used whimsy as their guiding decorating principle, or Goren’s set director had been employed while he was on an acid trip.
Tuesday guessed there were about two dozen guests scattered around the room, speaking in low tones either out of respect for the departed Ms. Cuthbert, Goren’s movie in peril, or because the ceiling was so high all sound gravitated to the odd metal beams and skylights above. She said to no one in particular, “A walk-in freezer would be more inviting.”
“Over here, Miss Tuesday.” Holley turned her around to face the opposite corner of the room. Tuesday immediately ducked and covered her head as an enormous meteor came flying at her.
Holley laughed. “I did that the first time I saw it, too.”
Tuesday opened her eyes to see three people standing by a chrome and glass console against the wall. It held a flat screen flashing videos of outer space. The meteor was receding now as the Milky Way began to zoom large across the sky.
“What is this place, Holley? A planetarium?”
Holley beamed. “Yeah, isn’t it cool?” and began introducing her to Roger, Zora and Gray Star, a person of indeterminate gender in a bodysuit right out of Star Wars. Though black clad Zora refreshed Tuesday’s memory by announcing that, “I’m Goren’s right hand everything. He doesn’t make a move without me,” it was Roger who drew her attention.
Chapter Eighteen: Mr. Perfect
From Holley’s description of Roger Brand as clingy and obsessed, a cult movie groupie, Tuesday imagined a pudgy geek in baggy, unwashed jeans with a creepy smile and scruffy beard. She did a double take when tall, elegant Mr. GQ extended his hand. He smiled a perfect smile that revealed brilliant teeth. A shock of lush dark hair fell over smoky eyes and a voice that would lull cranky babies to sleep said hello.
Tuesday imagined the conversation she would have with Holley as soon as they were alone. What’s wrong with you girl if you can’t get down with Mr. Perfect? If her client was turning away a gorgeous man like Roger, Tuesday wanted to see the men who didn’t make the cut. They had to come from some planet that wasn’t earth and some species descended from Greek gods.
While Tuesday could admire Roger as a beautiful museum piece, he really wasn’t her type. He didn’t have the edge that Mr. Gorgeous at the police station had, the man at the precinct that sadly she would never see again, but who nevertheless, more than twenty-four hours later, still had a firm grasp on her fantasy life. As for Roger, she couldn’t imagine feeling completely at ease in her thrift store treasures with a man who looked like someone you’d see in Vogue Magazine. But if she could get him up to Darling Valley, he was made for Olivia. A MAD man. Mature, affluent and, this one she had to guess, dependent free.
He was waiting for Tuesday to say something so he prompted her. “Holley has told me so much about you, Miss Tuesday. I’ve been dying to meet you.”
Tuesday went a little weak in the knees. He had the gift of making her feel she was the only significant person on the planet. Oh, Roger could be trouble if you didn’t watch out. As she returned his warm greeting, she told herself to get a grip.
“It’s just Tuesday, Roger. And I have to say I’ve been very curious about you, too. I understand you work on her film.”
He moved over to make room for Tuesday out of the way of the flat screen pummeling the viewer with space wars. The gentlemanly gesture was not lost on her. Holley had been looking around the room and waving at people she knew, oblivious it seemed to Roger’s adoring glances in her direction. Tuesday had the feeling he was trying to make a good impression so he could ask for Holley’s hand in marriage.
“Yes, well we’re still in casting and Goren is concerned about Ariel’s death killing his picture. Oh, dear. I didn’t mean that. And, it’s not officially a murder, is it?”
Tuesday shook her head and smiled don’t worry about it and he continued. How could you take offence at this guy?
He explained himself. “It’s really an opportunity for me. I’m a still photographer. I’ve been dying to try film.”
Holley piped up with, “He’s in LACMA.”
“I beg your pardon?” Tuesday knew the LA County Museum, but she didn’t get the connection.
“You know, next to Ansel Adams.”
Roger smiled modestly. “Just two photographs. I’ve told Holley I’d like to do a series of portraits of her if she had the time to sit for me.”
Tuesday turned to Holley. “Baby doll. There’s an offer you can’t refuse.”
Holley raised her empty glass. “I think I’ll get a refill. Anyone else?” and she drifted away without comment.
Though Zora and the android had been quietly listening in, Zora’s bored sighs and disinterested smirk made it clear she was over this conversation, these people. Perhaps, Tuesday thought, because the conversation wasn’t about her. Zora turned to Gray Star and gave a nod toward the bar. She clinked her friend’s glass and said, “Let’s top these off.”
When they were alone, Roger said, “You know, Miss Tuesday . . .”
“Just Tuesday.” Her attention was split for a moment. She very much wanted to find out what Roger was all about. He couldn’t be more out of tune with her preconceptions. Yet she watched Zora walk off without so much as a goodbye to the others. It wasn’t her rudeness that set off Tuesday’s alarm bells, but something else. An aura of, what was it? She couldn’t put her finger on it but it was close to danger. Not that Zora was in danger, exactly, but that she could be the perpetrator. She shivered, but the feeling remained, then Roger spoke and got her attention again.
“Sorry, but that’s what Holley calls you. I’m sure you know you have a great influence on her. I’m intrigued by what you do.”
“You mean read tea leaves?”
“Yes. I’ve never been interested in the occult. I’ve always been too pragmatic. But,” he paused, hemmed and hawed a bit. “Do you mind if I tell you a little about myself?”
Tuesday waved her glass at him. Here we go, she thought. Let’s make it all about you, Roger who is too good looking to ask Tuesday about herself. She gave him an unctuous smile, and said, “Carry on,” believing there’d be no stopping him anyway.
“Well, you see, until two years ago I was married to the love of my life. We were true soul mates. We’d been together for seven years, married for five. The day she told me she was pregnant was the happiest day of my life.”
Tuesday had no idea where this came from, perhaps the gloom of the memorial was affecting him, but she was suddenly mesmerized.
“Well,” his voice thickened with emotion. “You think these things only happen in third world countries or Victorian novels, but she died in childbirth. I lost the baby girl also.”
/> In the silence that followed, Tuesday thought she would fall down weeping just from the grief in his voice.
“Well, as we do when these things happen, you think your life is over. And it was for me. For a long while. I couldn’t work, couldn’t eat or sleep. For two years I had no reason for living. Then a friend of mine who was the Director of Photography on a movie invited me onto the set. A silly piece, but it was fun. I was glad I went along. Then the day they started shooting, Holley appeared. And in an instant my life changed. She was so beautiful and full of life. My heart lifted just being in her presence.”
‘”She has that knack,” Tuesday agreed.
“Her innocence and joy in living brought me to life. We stayed friends after the movie ended.”
Tuesday was adjusting her opinion of Roger. But she was a little suspicious of where he was going with all this.
“I can see that she would have that effect on you, but are you trying to get me to influence her readings in your favor? I mean I have ethics, I can’t do that.”
More than one client had given a reading as a gift to a love object for the purpose of having Tuesday insist that the giver was their true love. Or, in the case of one woman, have Tuesday tell her husband they should buy a bigger house. She refused on both accounts despite the offer of big tips.
Roger threw up his hands to protest. “Oh, but this isn’t about Holley. I know I’m wallpaper to her. But maybe in time . . . or even if nothing happens, I feel alive just having coffee with her and listening to her talk about her new lipstick or her yoga class. Have you ever seen her do yoga?”
“Oh yes. That girl can bend.”
“You see, since my wife died I’ve questioned everything. Life, death. The What is it all about questions. I’m much more open to everything now. And since Holley has been talking about her readings with you, I’ve been curious to have you do a reading for me. If that would be okay, you know, not breach confidentiality or something.”