A Midsummer Night's Scream

by Stine, R. L.

  21

  PUCKERMAN REFLECTS

  THE NEXT DAY, DELIA HAD a craving for cupcakes, and when Delia has a craving, there’s no talking to her until she satisfies it. I mean, if you’ve ever seen a totally insane crazed person, you know what Delia can be like. Even about cupcakes.

  So I drove her to Crumbs on Little Santa Monica. She had a red velvet and I had a plain yellow with coconut icing. I don’t really understand the fuss about cupcakes. Why not go all the way and have a slice of cake?

  But Delia barely spoke as she washed down big hunks of the red velvet with a cappuccino (two sugars). Then she took her finger, picked up cupcake crumbs off the tabletop with it, and ate them, too.

  Finally, she smiled. “Claire, what about your Sweet Seventeen? Did your dad say it was still okay to have it at the studio?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. No problem. He said he wants to show the studio off. Show everyone having a good time there. You know. Make them forget about what happened to Lana.”

  Delia snickered. “It’ll be awesome. Did you catch the jealous look on Annalee’s face when you started talking about your party? She acted real gung-ho, but she was totally jealous.”

  I poked at the cupcake on my plate. “Where did she have her party last year? At that rave club on Sunset?”

  “Yeah. You missed it. You were away. Half the kids puked their guts out from some bad vodka drink her friend Angel sneaked in.”

  Delia picked up my cupcake off my plate and finished it. “Annalee said she wanted to hook up with sixteen guys for her Sweet Sixteen. But I don’t think she achieved it since the guys were all puking.”

  “Annalee likes to brag.”

  “Annalee is a slut.”

  “That’s harsh,” I laughed. “But true.”

  Delia had her eyes on the front counter. “Want to split another one? German chocolate cake?”

  “I don’t have your metabolism, Delia. I put on five pounds by being in the same zip code as a cupcake.”

  “I always get starving when I’m stressed,” she said.

  “You know me,” I said. “I’m a Häagen-Dazs freak when I’m nervous. I go right for the Caramel Cone or the Dulce de Leche.”

  “I can’t believe your dad wants me to star in the film,” Delia said, playing with a thick strand of her black hair. “I mean, what is he thinking? Sure, I’ve done modeling, but I’ve never had a speaking role—”

  “You’ll be awesome,” I said. “There aren’t many lines to learn. You just have to scream a lot and look fabulous.”

  She stared hard at me. I knew what she was thinking. Sometimes best friends can read each other’s thoughts. She was thinking about Lana. Thinking about the sword dropping so fast and that sick slicing sound as it cut off Lana’s hand.

  “The curse thing. It’s over,” I said. “The worst possible thing has already happened. So, no more bad things to come. You’ll see. It’ll be totally smooth from now on.”

  “Jeremy Dane wants to meet with me,” she said.

  I blinked. “Really?”

  “He says we should get to know each other before we start filming.”

  “That’s awesome. When?” I asked.

  She glanced at her watch. “Uh … now. I guess I’m late.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Jeremy Dane is a total star. And you stood him up?”

  “I didn’t stand him up, Claire. I’m just late. I … didn’t want him to think I’m too eager.”

  I groaned. “Maybe he didn’t want to jump you. Maybe he just wanted to make you feel more comfortable working with him.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. You know his reputation. You read the magazines, too. He—”

  “Those magazines all lie, Delia. They trash everybody.” I climbed out of the booth. “Come on. Let’s go to Burbank. Maybe you can still catch him.”

  I had to pull her out of the booth. She studied her reflection in the window glass. “My hair…”

  “Looks great,” I said. “Let’s go.” I led the way to my mom’s white Volvo, parked at the end of the block. We climbed in and I started it up.

  Delia turned the mirror toward her and studied herself. She pulled lip gloss from her bag and smoothed it carefully over her lips. “Claire, do me a favor?”

  “What favor?”

  “Come with me. You come meet Jeremy Dane, too.”

  “But he doesn’t want—”

  “Please?”

  I’d always thought Delia had a lot more self-confidence than me. I thought it came with being a total knockout. But, you learn things about people when they’re stressed.

  “Sure. Okay,” I said. “Where are you meeting him?”

  “At the commissary.”

  We made pretty good time to Burbank. Traffic was backed up on Cahuenga, but once I turned off, we bombed along. I waved to Ernesto, the guy at the studio gate, and we pulled into the exec parking lot.

  Delia stretched her arms over her head as we climbed out of the car. It was a warm, clear day. The air was cool and fresh. A day to be happy to live in L.A. And the magic of being in a movie studio always swept over me as soon as I walked onto the lot.

  The streets were quiet. We passed Soundstage A, where they were filming the comedy Please Don’t. Empty and silent. They were probably away on location. And the Mayhem Manor cast wasn’t due till this afternoon.

  I heard a few voices from the open commissary window. “Maybe Jeremy is still there,” I said. I rolled my eyes. “You’re only an hour late.”

  Delia bit her bottom lip. “I know. I had to choose between Jeremy and a cupcake and…” Her voice trailed off.

  I pulled open the front door, held it for Delia, and we stepped into the front hall. The aroma of eggs, bacon, toast, and grilled ham washed over us. They were still serving breakfast. From down the hall, I heard the clatter of silverware and someone laughing loudly.

  The hall leading to the dining room was mirrored on both sides. Delia stopped to check herself out. She brushed her hair down with both hands. She tugged the short pleated skirt down over her tights.

  I walked a few steps in front of her. My chest felt kind of fluttery. I guess I was nervous, too. I glimpsed myself in the mirror. Then I stopped suddenly—and gasped.

  That dark, bearded face. Grinning at me from the mirror.

  I recognized him at once. Benny Puckerman.

  His eyes, his nasty grin, reflected clearly in the mirror.

  I spun around to face him. “Huh?”

  He wasn’t there.

  I turned back to the mirror. I gazed from wall to wall.

  The little hair ball grinned at me from mirrors on both sides of the hall. He raised two hairy fingers to his forehead and gave me a salute.

  I stopped breathing. My mouth dropped open. I felt a wave of cold run down my body.

  I turned again. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the hall. So how could he be reflected in the mirrors?

  “Delia,” I gasped. “Delia—look.”

  But the mirror reflected only my frightened face. Puckerman was gone.

  22

  JEREMY IS NEXT

  MY HEART WAS POUNDING A MILE A MINUTE. I still felt cold all over. I kept my eyes on the mirrors as I followed Delia into the dining room.

  I kept expecting Puckerman to pop back into view with that ugly grin. But he didn’t reappear. My head was spinning. How did he do that? Was it some kind of trick? Was he deliberately trying to scare me?

  Delia was chattering about how she couldn’t believe she was actually going to be talking with Jeremy Dane and how stupid she was to keep him waiting. She always chatters away when she’s nervous.

  I wasn’t listening. My brain was fried. I was trying to make sense of what I’d just seen and, of course, I couldn’t.

  Sunlight poured down from a big skylight in the ceiling. Three or four tables were filled with studio people, mostly crew members. A waitress was collecting plates, stacking them on one arm in an incredible balancing act. I saw Ace, the black-a
nd-white dog from the comedy picture, sitting at a table like a human. He had a bowl of raw hamburger in front of him. Two women and a white-haired man in a dark suit shared his table.

  Delia grabbed my shoulder and pointed. “There he is. He’s still here.”

  Jeremy Dane sat in the back corner, reading his phone. A fruit plate sat uneaten in front of him. He held a white coffee mug in his free hand.

  “Oh, wow,” Delia murmured. She squeezed my shoulder.

  “Relax,” I said. Then I said, “Don’t you hate it when people tell you to relax?”

  That made her laugh.

  We made our way through the room to Jeremy’s table. He didn’t look up as we approached. He was concentrating hard on his phone. His straight blond hair fell over his forehead. He wore a black t-shirt and black jeans. A tiny diamond stud flashed in one ear.

  “Hi,” Delia said, stepping up to the table. I hung a few feet back. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Jeremy raised his eyes from his phone and brushed the hair off his forehead. He had big brown cow eyes that made him look very serious. “Are you late? I was concentrating.” He raised his phone.

  “You were texting?” Delia said.

  He shook his head. “No. Look.” He turned the screen around. “It’s the script of another project I might do.”

  “Cool,” Delia said.

  We were both standing awkwardly in front of the table. “I’m Claire,” I said. “I’m Delia’s friend. I’m in the film, too.”

  “I saw you on the set,” he said. His smile was kind of lopsided—but sexy.

  He motioned for us to sit down. Delia pulled out the chair across from him. But before she could sit down, I saw Ace leap off his chair and come running over to us. The dog’s tail was whipping back and forth excitedly, and he jumped up on Delia.

  Delia let out a startled cry. She tried to brush the dog away with both hands. Ace hopped on his back legs, still jumping on Delia. “They know when you don’t like dogs,” Delia said, struggling with Ace. “Dogs always come to me because they know I don’t like them.”

  I dove for the dog, wrapped my hands around his middle, and hoisted him off the floor. He was startled at first, but then he turned his head and licked my cheek.

  The white-haired man in the dark suit came over to take the dog from me. “Sorry about that,” he said to Delia.

  “I’m fine. Really,” she replied. “I’m so embarrassed. I just have a thing about dogs. A phobia, I guess.”

  She turned to Jeremy. “A huge dog knocked me down and bit me when I was two. I’ve been afraid of dogs ever since. I just can’t help it.”

  Jeremy snickered. He was watching the man across the room. The man scolded Ace, then set him back down in his chair. “Whoa. That dog is a cute dude. You should deal with your phobia, you know?”

  Delia blushed. “I’ve tried,” she said softly.

  I expected Jeremy to say something nice. You know. Something to make Delia feel better. But he didn’t.

  “You like horror films?” he asked, gazing from her to me.

  Before we could answer, the waitress interrupted. “Get you ladies anything?”

  Delia and I ordered coffees. “And how about a plate of biscotti?” Jeremy said. The waitress nodded. “And you can refresh my coffee.” He waved his mug in her face.

  She grabbed the mug and walked away. Jeremy studied his phone for a moment. Then he turned back to us. “This film is weird, huh? I’m just doing it to fill in. I’ve got a Tim Burton thing working, and my agent is talking to Wes Anderson. You know who they are, right?”

  Does he think we’re from Mars? Does he think he has to impress us?

  He was doing a pretty bad job.

  “I think everyone is going to be a little shaky getting back to the set,” I said. “I mean … after the accident.”

  His big eyes flashed. “They called me this morning from Entertainment Weekly. They wanted to ask me about the sword thing. They asked me what happened to Lana’s hand. They asked if anyone kept it.”

  “Ohh, sick,” Delia said.

  Jeremy laughed. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

  “What did you tell them?” I asked.

  “I said I keep it in my back pocket to remind me of her.” He burst out laughing. Delia and I didn’t join in.

  What a sensitive guy.

  “I know I’m going to be kind of stressed going back in the mansion,” Delia said. “How about you?”

  “I’ll definitely keep my hand off the dining-room table,” Jeremy said. He laughed again.

  The waitress brought our coffee and set down a plate of biscotti. Jeremy grabbed two off the plate before anyone else had a chance.

  “We watched the original film,” I told him. “You know. From 1960.”

  That caught his attention. His smile faded. He squinted at me, stirring his coffee. “Really? You did? You saw it? Is it any good?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Delia answered. “You know it never got finished.”

  He crunched a chocolate biscotti in his teeth. “I know.”

  “The girl who played Cindy in the film sat at the dining-room table, and a sword dropped down and cut off her hand,” I said. “For real. It killed her. She bled to death. And the camera kept rolling. Delia and I watched her die. It was horrible.”

  Jeremy stopped chewing. “So the same thing happened twice?”

  I nodded.

  “Sweet!” Jeremy exclaimed, pounding the table. “Can you imagine the media blast we’re going to get from that?”

  A burst of anger swept over me. My hand trembled, and I spilled some coffee onto the table. “You know, Lana is a person,” I snapped. “Her career was ruined by that sword. Her life is ruined.”

  Jeremy brushed back his hair. “I didn’t really know her,” he said. He took another bite of biscotti. Then he said something very strange. “You know, you can only die once.”

  Delia and I exchanged glances. I knew we were both thinking the same thing: Is he the coldest, most insensitive jerk we’ve ever met?

  “Think about it,” he said.

  What is he talking about?

  He checked his phone and tapped a reply to someone. Then I could see a thought strike him. “Hey, my scene is next. You watched the old movie. What happens to me?”

  “You get pushed through a garbage disposal,” I said. Oops. A little hostile maybe. But this dude was making me angry.

  He swallowed. “Really?”

  “Joke,” I said.

  “You get electrocuted by a toaster,” Delia told him. “You want to make a sandwich. But you get zapped by the toaster.”

  Jeremy let out a breath. “Guess I should read the script. Wow.” He rubbed his perfect nose. “I usually just wing it, you know. I get the flavor of the script. Then I do my own thing with it. It’s a lot more natural that way.” He turned to Delia. “You take classes with Klausen?”

  “Who?”

  He snickered. “Guess you don’t. Klausen taught me a lot about going with my own thing. You know. Follow my gut feelings. Use the script as a jumping-off point. Then become the character in my own words.”

  He patted Delia’s hand. He was staring at her boobs. “You should study with him. He likes brunettes.”

  What does that mean, exactly?

  He kept his hand over Delia’s. His dark eyes flashed. He brought his face close to hers. “Maybe you and I could work together on it later. I could show you Klausen’s technique. I think it would help you.”

  Was he coming on to her? Or insulting her? Hard to tell.

  I glanced at the time on my phone. “We should get to the set.” I scooted my chair back.

  Jeremy fumbled in his back pocket. “Guess I left my wallet in the dressing room,” he said. “Can one of you take care of the check?”

  * * *

  Jeremy said he had some things to take care of, so Delia and I walked to Mayhem Manor. It gave us a chance to dish. Mainly to agree on how much we disliked Jeremy Dane.

&nbs
p; “It’s good that he likes himself so much,” Delia said, “because no one else could.”

  “Maybe his mom likes him,” I said.

  “Why would she?” Delia replied.

  I searched my bag for those Ray-Bans Dad had given me. Then I remembered I’d left them in the wardrobe building and never went back to get them. The sun was killer today. Heat floated up from the pavement as we walked to the back of the lot.

  I was happy to step into the shade of Mayhem Manor. The air instantly grew cooler. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness as we stepped inside.

  “Where is everyone?” Delia’s voice sounded hollow in the empty front room.

  I heard voices somewhere in the back. And then a crash. Someone laughed. Not serious.

  Delia and I followed the voices past the dining room, now dark and deserted. I glanced at the tabletop. The blood stains had all been removed.

  We stepped into the kitchen. Crew members struggled to prop up a light pole that had fallen. Other workers dusted and fussed and moved items around on the stove and counter.

  When he saw us enter, Les Bachman turned away from Lazslo, the cinematographer, closed his notebook, and came hurrying over. “Good morning, ladies. Are you ready to rock and roll?”

  Delia and I nodded. “We weren’t sure if you were filming today or just rehearsing,” I said.

  “Full speed ahead,” Les said, with unusual enthusiasm. What happened to his grouchy personality? Was he pretending to be energetic and up to get us back in the mood to work?

  Annalee came walking over from behind the kitchen counter. She was already in costume. A silky fuchsia midriff-baring top with fringe and tight jeans. “How’s it going?”

  “Good,” Delia and I answered in unison.

  “Have you seen the gorgeous Jeremy?” Les asked.

  “We just saw him,” I said. “He’s on his way. Should Delia and I get into costume?”

  “Wait a sec,” Les said, motioning with both hands. Then he shouted at the top of his lungs: “Hey, everybody! People! People!”

  The set grew silent.

  “Before we start this rehearsal,” he began, his voice booming through the old house, “I just want to say a few words. Fresh start, everyone. That’s what we are doing. Those are my words for today. Fresh start. Let’s all put what happened here in the past. Okay? A fresh start. Good. That’s all. Energy up, everyone! Let’s go to work. The bad stuff is behind us.”