Final Curtain

by R. T. Jordan

  Tim said, “Miss Bunch, how long have you been away?”

  “Rehearsals went way over Equity rules, but of course Gerold won’t report it and we won’t see any overtime in our pay envelopes.”

  As Charlotte continued walking up the sidewalk with her apartment keys in hand, Polly gently touched her arm to steer her away from her route. “Don’t panic. But I’m calling the police.”

  Charlotte laughed. “They can’t do anything about Gerold breaking union contract rules. We’re opening in mere days and nobody’s ready.”

  “No!” Polly said impatiently. “I mean don’t panic because there’s someone in your apartment.”

  Charlotte’s face drained of its color. “Are you sure?”

  “Is there a back door to your place?” Tim said.

  “There’s only one way in or out, through the front door. Or a window, I suppose.”

  Tim put a finger to his lips to silence the others. Then he cautiously walked down the driveway and headed to the back of the building.

  “Be careful of celebrity killers, Timmy!” Polly called out in a voice loud enough to cause the upstairs tenant to look out his window.

  When Tim arrived in the alleyway behind Charlotte’s building, he saw that indeed a window to her first-floor apartment was open. He dragged a trash can beneath the window and climbed onto the thick plastic bin. When he peeked inside, what he saw made him feel creepy.

  Returning to the front of the building, he was already on the phone with Detective Archer. “Send backup right away,” he said and hung up just as he reached the others. He looked at Charlotte. “The police are on their way. Let’s sit in the car until they get here.”

  “I’ve got to see what they’ve done to my place,” Charlotte insisted. With her key still in hand she plowed ahead toward the door.

  Tim looked at his mother and in an ominous voice he said, “Be prepared.”

  Charlotte unlocked the dead bolt and slowly turned the doorknob. With adrenaline rushing through her body she gingerly pushed the door open and let her eyes make an advance tour of the room before she cautiously stepped inside. The apartment was quiet and it appeared that no one else was in the residence. She turned to Polly. “Wait here until I make sure that all is clear.” Charlotte then closed the door on Polly’s startled face.

  Polly looked at Tim. “I can’t believe she’s making us wait outside.”

  “We shouldn’t disturb the scene of a crime,” Placenta said. “You’re already on thin ice with Randy. If you leave so much as a submolecule of DNA, his meltdown will make Chernobyl look like a marshmallow roast.”

  Tim looked at his mother. “I’ve gotta tell you something about Charlotte’s bedroom.”

  “A pigsty, right?”

  “You know those banners that are on light posts all over Glendale?”

  Polly shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah. Hirschfeld. Erma La Douche.”

  “Charlotte’s got six of ’em on her bedroom walls.”

  Polly smiled with self-satisfaction. “She and I go way back. She’s proud to know a star like me.”

  “She’s drawn mustaches and black eyes and devil’s horns and forked tails on you!”

  Placenta cackled.

  Polly looked mortified. “I’m sure she simply rescued them from graffiti taggers. Nobody hates Polly Pepper enough to deface her image.”

  At that moment a single police patrol car arrived. Two officers stepped out of the vehicle and walked up to the building at a pace that made it clear they were uninterested in a simple burglary. “You guys called about something?”

  Polly looked at the taller one and focused on his name badge. “Mr. Kasharian, ‘or something’ is not a reason for which I would ever interrupt your coffee break at Dunkin’ Donuts.”

  “Mom?” Tim said. “Let’s just tell the nice officers about the burglary, shall we?”

  Officer Kasharian looked at Tim and their eyes met with a mutual agreement that each thought the other was nice to look at. “Where’s the scene of the crime?”

  “In there.” Polly pointed to Charlotte’s apartment. Just then, Charlotte opened the door.

  “All clear,” Charlotte called out before seeing that the police had arrived. Her disposition immediately turned to worry and she quickly explained that Polly Pepper had incorrectly thought that the apartment was under siege.

  “Mind if we have a look around?” Officer Kasharian asked. Polly slinked past Charlotte and into the apartment. By the time anyone could react, Polly got a short head start on searching the premises. Despite hearing objections and warnings not to touch anything, Polly was already opening closets and looking behind furniture, searching for her Emmy. Then she reached the bedroom. “Mother of God!”

  Charlotte walked to Polly’s side. Together they looked up at the banners. “I got a little crazy when I heard that Karen was going to fire me,” Charlotte said. “Nothing personal. Your face represented the whole show.”

  As the two actors stood side by side, Detective Archer arrived. “Time for another police report,” Randy said to Polly and Charlotte. “By now you must be getting pretty used to giving official statements to the LAPD.”

  “If I was burgled the only thing that seems to be missing is my cat,” Charlotte said. “You can see I’ve got a lot of stuff, so it’ll take a while to inventory. But on the surface, I’d say that the legendary Polly Pepper probably came along and scared away my poor Miss Maxine Andrews. I leave the bedroom window open in case her favorite Tom drops by. She has instructions not to let him in.”

  Polly considered this idea. It was possible, she thought, but it was more probable that her timing was just right and she’d actually saved Charlotte from coming home and unexpectedly interrupting a burglar.

  As if reading Polly’s thoughts, Charlotte said, “I probably owe my life to Polly Pepper! Perhaps she scared away a pervert! Who do you know at Daily Variety who can write this up? The publicity will be good.”

  “I suggest you concentrate on getting stories about Mame in the paper, not gossip about being at the center of another crime,” Randy said.

  Polly reluctantly agreed. Then, as she was about to summon Tim and Placenta and leave for home, she had an idea. “Honey, dear,” she said to Charlotte, “you’d better stay at the Plantation tonight. I don’t want you here alone. What if Ted Bundy returns?”

  Chapter 19

  Charlotte Bunch had only appeared as a regular on one long-running television sitcom and a classic commercial. As happens with thousands of actors who have enjoyed a modicum of success in supporting roles, they are popular during the run of a hit series but are seldom if ever heard from again after the network dumps the show. Charlotte was simply a footnote from television history. She now accepted any acting job that came along. Generally, the roles in which she was cast had only a line or two of dialogue, but they kept her SAG health insurance premiums paid up.

  However, the way that she rattled on to Polly, Tim, and Placenta, describing her long career, one would have thought that she and Meryl Streep were constant competitors for every film that required a spot-on Dutch, Estonian, or Chechen accent. Indeed, her repertoire of foreign dialects, as well as impersonations of a hundred living and dead celebrities, was astounding. From Tallulah Bankhead to Ted Knight, Charlotte was the talented but completely overlooked female equivalent of Rich Little.

  While seated in the great room of Pepper Plantation, waiting for dinner to arrive from Spago, Polly graciously allowed Charlotte to hold court. When Charlotte recalled the summons to London she received from Andrew Lloyd Webber to replace the actress who played Christine (the name of whom she couldn’t recall) in Phantom of the Opera, Polly simply smiled and nodded her head. When Charlotte drew on her memory of auditioning for Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and M*A*S*H, her courteous audience never asked the logical question of what happened that she never actually appeared on those programs. Just as Charlotte began her story of being asked to entertain at a State Dinner in the
Carter White House, the loud chime from the intercom at the main gate interrupted her.

  “Food!” Polly exclaimed and made the sign of the cross. She then looked at Charlotte. “Excuse us for just a tick. We’ll be back to hear all about Jimmy and Rosalynn and little Amy. Don’t forget your impersonation of Henry Kissinger making love to Jill St. John. Help yourself to another glass of champers.”

  Charlotte did just that and when she was finally alone, she wandered around the room oohing and ahhing the many mementos that were on display from Polly’s legendary career. She ran her fingers over the People’s Choice Awards. She picked up the Grammy and squinted to read the inscription on the tarnished nameplate. “‘For New Kate,’” she read aloud, and rolled her eyes, remembering the brouhaha that erupted from the Catholic Legion of Decency when Polly’s song debuted at number ten on Billboard Magazine’s Top 100 Chart.

  Then she came to Polly’s collection of Emmy Awards and her heart skipped a beat. She picked one up. She felt the weight of it and the cold metal. It was tarnished with age, and she wondered how anyone could let such a treasure fall to the ravages of oxidation. “Precious baby,” she cooed to the woman with lightning bolt wings who was holding aloft what was presumably the universe. “Three nominations and I never got to take you home. I could have killed Elena Verdugo, Jean Stapleton, and Dinah Shore,” Charlotte sighed. “I want you all to myself.”

  “Always a bridesmaid, eh?” Tim’s voice startled Charlotte. “You were so great on your show, by the way. You really deserved to win the supporting actress Emmy.”

  Setting the trophy back on the glass bookshelf, Charlotte looked at Tim. “Them thar are the breaks, eh? Anyway, it was an honor just to be nominated by my peers. Is my nose growing?”

  “Those awards don’t really mean much. It’s a popularity contest.”

  “Thanks a ton. So I’m a lousy actor and I’m not popular.”

  “You know what I mean. Polly sent me to escort you to the dining room. Shall we?” He held out his arm for Charlotte to take hold.

  As Placenta set plates of risotto with bay scallops, sweet shrimp, and lobster before Charlotte and the rest of the family, Polly said that Wolfgang Puck had sent his best wishes to Charlotte.

  “He doesn’t even know I exist,” Charlotte said.

  “He does indeed. Said he’ll never forget that episode of Bay Watch.”

  “I really should have been nominated for that role,” Charlotte said. “I mean, how often does a woman of a certain age get to splash around in the Pacific with Billy Warlock? I’ll tell you all a little story about that shoot.”

  Polly reluctantly set her cutlery down on her plate.

  “After about the seventh take for our scene I was freezing in the water,” Charlotte began. “Billy swam over and wrapped his arms around me. Great biceps, and such a delicious chest! Little did I know that David Hasselhoff had kept the cameras rolling, and when I noticed that Charming Billy was holding his swimming trunks in his hand, the shock that viewers saw on my face was authentic. It was exactly the shark attack expression that Mr. Hasselhoff had been trying to get from me all day.”

  Everyone at the table coughed a fake laugh.

  “I touched Billy’s wee-wee, and then I—”

  “TMI!” Polly called out with a spirited laugh. “Sweetheart, you have a splendid memory for details. I’m sure that you and Billy were inseparable for the rest of the shoot, but I think I’ll save that scenario for my own overactive imagination. But while we’re on the subject of shock and awe, don’t you agree that Karen’s death was probably the result of a lovers spat between her and Jamie?”

  Charlotte did a double take at the non sequitur, and then shook her head while scraping up the last of her risotto with her fork. She drew another long sip from her champagne flute and said, “Nah. I’ve never seen a girl more in love with a guy. He was always hanging on to her. They were inseparable. Watching those two made me wish I’d been born a lesbian. I would have had a better chance at finding a lasting relationship.”

  The room suddenly became quiet as everyone realized that Charlotte was not going to cooperate by providing much information. They finished their appetizers; then Placenta excused herself to clear the table in order to serve the main course. “Give me a hand, Tim,” she said and picked up Charlotte’s plate. Tim retrieved his and his mother’s china and followed Placenta out of the dining room and into the kitchen.

  Charlotte reached out and placed a hand on Polly’s. “It was so good of you to invite me to spend the night,” she said with an inebriated slur in her voice. “I would have been on pins and needles wondering if someone was going to break into my apartment and do me in.”

  “It was probably your cat we heard after all,” Polly said. “One look at your place and a thief would know that you don’t have a bean. Unless they thought they could fence an autographed picture of Bob Cummings. Or an Emmy Award.”

  Charlotte bit her lower lip as she looked into Polly’s eyes. “If I had an Emmy I’d be mortified if it was stolen…from me.” She paused. “There’s something I didn’t tell you…or the police. I found this in my dressing room.” Charlotte reached into her blouse and withdrew a number-10-size business envelope. “It was addressed to you but I figured ‘finders keepers.’” She handed the envelope to Polly as Tim and Placenta reentered the room with the main course of the dinner.

  “Something tells me that I’m about to be not very hungry,” Polly sang as Placenta set a plate of steamed Alaskan salmon and baby spring vegetables before her. “We have another letter. Courtesy of someone at the theater.”

  Tim and Placenta each took their seats and eagerly watched as Polly reached into the envelope and withdrew a sheet of paper. All eyes were locked on Polly as she silently read the letter. Her face wore a lack of expression that would have made a poker champion proud. Then she looked up and said, “There must be another Polly Pepper hanging around Hollywood, because this idiot seems to think I know more about who murdered Karen Richards than I do!”

  Tim took the letter from his mother’s hands and began to read aloud. “‘Snoop Sister. Let’s try again. You. Alone. An Emmy. The forecourt of the Chinese Theatre. Two A.M. tomorrow. Paper bag on Fred Astaire’s footprints.’”

  Tim looked up at his mother. “Forget it! You’re not going. Placenta will sit on you. Randy won’t let you do this either. That’s final!”

  Polly drained her champagne flute and waited for a refill. She was deep in thought as she took a long sip from her glass. “I don’t want to risk losing another Emmy. And how the hell did this demon know it wasn’t me who made the first drop?”

  “What’s going on?” Charlotte said. “Are you being blackmailed for something? What’s up with having to use your Emmys as a bargaining chip?”

  Tim quickly filled Charlotte in with the central facts of the situation. “Last night’s CSI episode had a hair-raising scene that the writers must have ripped out of Polly’s very own life and near-death experience. Did you watch it?”

  Charlotte hesitantly half nodded her head as she took another sip from her champagne flute. “Sort of. I was dozing off.”

  Tim began recalling the episode for Charlotte. “You saw where Catherine and Brass were interviewing the lone survivor of the sequestered jury? Nobody’s supposed to know what hotel they’re in and yet one by one they end up falling from their terraces or drowning in their toilets.”

  Placenta and Polly both looked at Tim and nodded. Placenta looked at Charlotte and added, “Did you get to the part where the hostess in the hotel restaurant takes the private elevator up to one of the rooms? She carried a briefcase, so I thought she was going up to meet the manager. Instead I think she was a hired killer, but I dozed off myself. What happened next?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Beats me. That was where I hit the sack. I’ll catch the rest of it in reruns. But surely Polly’s experience wasn’t nearly as traumatic as the CSI show. What exactly happened to you?”

  Polly wave
d her hand. “What I’m curious to know is who in hell left this message for me.”

  “Damned if I know,” Charlotte said. “But it backs up my theory that someone in the cast or crew is responsible for Karen’s death. Whoever it was obviously knew that I’d be seeing you. They just didn’t count on me opening your mail.”

  “It doesn’t add up,” said Placenta. “The letter instructs Polly to make a drop-off tomorrow night. The whole cast knows that Polly’s in dance rehearsal for the rest of the week. If we hadn’t stopped by your apartment, you wouldn’t have seen her until Sunday. No one could have known that we’d be stopping by your apartment this evening.”

  Charlotte looked baffled. “I don’t know what to say about anything anymore, except that our dinners are cold, the bottle of champers is empty, and you’re about to be out two Emmys!”

  Chapter 20

  “I’m screwed!” Polly announced, as she guided Charlotte to the great room.

  “Make it clear that you don’t know anything about Karen’s death and maybe whoever sent the letter will leave you alone.”

  “What? No! I mean, our show opens in eight days and I’m screwed because we haven’t had a full-cast rehearsal! Gerold’s shipped me off to that Gulag in North Hollywood with Stalin’s more sinister sister. I’m not ready to face an audience.”

  “Let’s do our own run-through. Here. Now.”

  Polly smiled. “We could. A test of how well we’re doing.”

  “I’m still not off book with my own role, but if you’ve got a copy of the script I can do it along with all the other roles.”

  Polly skipped over to the telephone table and pushed the Talk button on the system’s intercom. “It’s showtime!” she announced. “Do the dishes tomorrow. Charlotte and I are about to perform Mame. Oh, and find my script.”