by R. T. Jordan
Mag looked appalled. “You’d use your fame to frame me?”
“I’ll use whatever God gave me to see that justice is served!” Polly shot back. Then she considered what Mag had asked. Polly thought about the possibility that the young actress might be innocent. Suddenly, a heavy burden settled over her. Polly knew that she couldn’t live with herself if she exploited her living legend status and later found that she had been wrong about Mag. She was suddenly at a crossroads and frustrated by her own sense of justice. Polly grabbed her head of dyed red hair and made a sound in frustration.
Mag looked at Polly. “If you help me, I’ll help you. I have more access to all the possible suspects than you do.”
Polly balked. “Strangers reveal their most intimate secrets to me. They consider me one of the family. After all, I was an invited guest in their living rooms every week for a dozen seasons. I can get people to flap their lips as easily as Dr. Laura makes me barf.”
“Strangers and fans, yes. Your Mame cast, no,” Mag countered. “It’s too late for you and your famous charm to mine anything of value from these people. You’ve alienated the suspects by trying to dig into their personal lives. Gerold doesn’t like you. Charlotte suspects that you know that she’s the one trying to loot your treasury of showbiz awards. Jamie won’t confess that his Starbucks alibi is a lie. Even Hiroaki is miffed that you placed him on a short list of possible killers. I’m already embedded with the director, er, so to speak. And everybody thinks I’m just the ingénue doing what ingénues have done forever—playing the youth card with an older man. I can be your eyes and ears. Just tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you. But spare me from jail and a criminal record!”
Polly looked at Randy Archer and her eyes silently asked what to do.
“If I release Mag and she turns out to be the killer, or kills again, I’ll not only be out of a job and career, but I’ll be charged as an accessory to whatever crime she commits. And you will too, Polly!” Randy said. “I can’t take that chance. For your sake and mine.”
Polly nodded and then gave Tim the same look of helplessness.
“Randy is right, Mom,” Tim said. “However, if you want my opinion, I think it’s worth a chance letting Mag go back to the viper nest and seeing what she comes up with. She’s also right about finding a replacement on such short notice. I know it can be done, but why throw off the rest of the cast, and risk getting lousy reviews that could stop the show from going to New York?”
“New York,” Polly said wistfully. “That’s all I want. Oh, and bringing Karen’s killer to death row, of course.” Then she looked at Placenta and raised an eyebrow.
“I, for one, am tired of criminals making plea bargains to get out of paying their full debt to society,” Placenta said with conviction. “Somebody kills somebody else, and they cop a deal with prosecuting attorneys for a lesser degree of the crime. Hell, someone’s dead regardless of whether you call it first-degree murder, second-degree murder, or manslaughter. Mag should be hauled off to jail immediately, if only for the crime she committed this evening.”
“You never liked me, did you, Placenta?” Mag said.
“Nope,” Placenta agreed. She turned to Polly. “However, what Tim says about sending her back to fetch more information makes sense.”
Polly picked up her bottle of champagne and poured the last couple of fingers into her glass. She swallowed what little had been left and sat in deep contemplation for a long moment. “I suppose jail will always be there.”
Detective Archer started to interrupt, but Polly silenced him with a smile that begged him to trust her.
Polly then looked at Mag. “You’ve got a new boyfriend.”
“Excuse me?” Mag said.
“I said, Gerold’s history. There’s a new man in your life, and he’s extremely jealous of you hanging out with all the sexy chorus boys in the company. Therefore he’ll be at your side constantly, even in your dressing room.”
Mag looked at Polly as though she were talking nonsense. “I’d love a new man, but Gerold would kill me…as well as any Mr. Right who came along.”
Polly waved her finger and shook her head. She smiled evilly and said, “Not this man. Gerold wouldn’t dare harm a legend’s son.”
It took a longer moment than Polly expected for everyone to catch on, but suddenly and in unison Tim, Placenta, and Mag knowingly exclaimed, “What? You’re drunk, right?”
Polly shrugged. “You heard me. Tim is the new man in your life and he’s going to be with you constantly and reporting back to me.”
“Mother, you’re insane!” Tim cried out.
“Totally nuts!” Mag seconded Tim’s opinion. “First of all, Tim’s too good looking to be straight. No one will believe for a moment that we’re lovers!”
“Hell, no one believed Liza and David either, but there was enough tabloid press and canoodling in public for a few morons on the planet to think that she might be getting at least a variation on nookie.”
Mag raised her hands up in protest. “You’re off your rocker, old lady,” she declared.
“You said yourself that it’s too late to recast your role, so you’re safe at least for a couple of weeks.”
“Mother, you’re the actor, not me,” Tim cried. “I’m not equipped to play a heterosexual! What if I fall for one of the boy dancers?”
“I’m used to that, dear,” Polly said, lightly patting her son on the face. “Nobody would believe that a man as handsome as you would limit yourself to just one sex. How boring and restrictive would that be!”
Mag began to hyperventilate as she considered the lose-lose situation she was in. She didn’t want to go to jail, but she also couldn’t risk being fired from the show by Gerold. “There’s no way that I’ll face Gerold’s wrath by pretending to be in love with Tim. No offense,” Mag added, looking at Tim.
Polly rolled her eyes. “Fine. You’re probably right.”
Mag and Tim both breathed a sigh of relief.
“Placenta will be your new girlfriend,” Polly stated matter-of-factly.
Once again, there were simultaneous roars of incredulity, mainly from Placenta and Mag.
“I’m brilliant,” Polly proclaimed. “This solves the problem of Gerold being jealous of a new man in your life. Hell, he may even be intrigued by the idea of you and Placenta—”
Placenta barked, “They are so right. You are truly one hellava loon, lady. Over the years, all those hot stage lights must have fried your brain! Either that or fifty years of inhaling champagne bubbles has destroyed your gray cells faster than your doctor predicted. Trust me, Polly, I’ll take that job over at Whitney’s place before I start dating trash like Mag Ryan!”
Polly rejected everyone’s notion that her idea was somehow preposterous, but she gave in to a compromise. “If you’re all going to be completely unimaginative, I’ll do it myself,” she finally said. “I’ll be Mag’s new lover.”
Randy chuckled, realizing that Polly would never change. She was going to be investigating the death of Karen Richards until she either found the killer or was killed herself. “Just promise to play safe and wear protection,” he teased.
Polly gave her man a good-natured elbow to his ribs. “This really does solve almost all of our problems. Mag takes a ‘get out of jail’ card—at least for the time being. If Gerold has a problem with the relationship and kicks Mag out of his house, we have plenty of rooms to spare here. And I get to be intimate with our mole.”
Suddenly Tim stood up and bellowed, “Oh, all right! I’ll be Mag’s lover! I can’t put the star lady in jeopardy. And there’s no way that the cast members are going to feel comfortable telling their secrets to Mag if Polly’s hanging around. I’ll just have to deal with Gerold and his temper.”
Mag cried, “Good grief! What the world needs is to see this family in a reality TV show. You’re all too weird for anyone to believe unless they’ve seen you in action!”
“Thank you, sweetie,” Polly said to
Mag. “I never wanted an average family. I told God to make me a baby boy who was special in every way, and look who I got—perfection. Then when I found Placenta stuck working for a Beverly Hills matron, I immediately rescued her. Mediocrity is for Hilary Duff, but definitely not for my Timmy and Placenta, and most certainly not for moi!”
Mag Ryan stood up and looked down at Polly. “Okay, I’m cool with whatever you want to do. You’re keeping me out of jail, and that’s all I care about at the moment. I’ll do whatever you want me to do to help finger Karen’s killer.”
Polly faced the woman who only a short while ago had been repugnant to her. This time she smiled at Mag. “I’m relieving Timmy and Placenta and me of being your new beau. But your duty is to convince everyone in the cast, as well as your pal Jamie, and Gerold too, that I’m a harmless old icon into whose trust they can put every tasty bit of dish about everyone else they know. They must think of me as being as honorable as the Dahli Lama.”
Tim grimaced. “Let’s just say that Polly’s a clam but that she loves to get her dish fresh from the source, not from some sleazy rag like the National Peeper. Perhaps that’ll get our suspects to start yapping.”
Chapter 29
The Galaxy Theatre was nearly eighty years old. The dressing rooms had never been modernized. All but the star’s suite were the size of solitary confinement cells, and as dank as a basement laundry. Backstage, bare-bulb light fixtures hung from the ceilings on long black cords, and rodents outnumbered audiences two to one. The concrete walls had been haphazardly repainted over the years. This season’s colors were two tones: battleship gray and avocado green. But naturally, Polly Pepper’s dressing room was stunning.
During the Tuesday rehearsal, while the cast was onstage all day, Tim Velcroed a large gold-sequined star onto Polly’s door. While Placenta kept her eyes on Polly, Tim transformed the dressing room interior from what was Porta Potti nasty into a show-stopping glitz and glam environment for his mother’s relaxation between performances. The reenvisioned space would have won raves from HGTV’s Kenneth Brown, and once the rest of the Mame cast got over the shock and awe of seeing the potential for creating luxury out of little more than a walk-in closet, their envy was obvious. A new sense of camaraderie between Polly and the cast surfaced, if only so they could coax her into loaning Tim out for a helping hand in sprucing up their own dingy spaces.
After a grueling day of full-costume rehearsals and showing off her stylish digs, Polly welcomed Charlotte and Gerold as well as the show’s Vera Charles and Beauregard into her sparkling new inner sanctum. “It’s Lush Hour and we need a wee celebration for surviving this torturous day,” she said as Placenta began pouring champagne. When each held a flute, Polly turned to Tim and said, “A toast to my very own fairy who sprinkled his pixie dust over a crummy coal bin and transformed it into Buckingham Palace! Or at least the Royal coal bin!”
Marshall Nash, who played the role of Beauregard, looked at Polly and in his affected baritone said, “My dear, these days it’s a tad pejorative to call anyone a fairy.” He looked at Tim and winked, hoping that he was scoring points.
“Nonsense. Tim knows precisely what I mean, don’t you, sweetums?”
Tim chuckled and met Marshall’s twinkling eyes. “It’s a term of endearment. As long as my allowance check comes on the first day of every month, she can call me Gidget.”
Polly smiled and continued admiring Tim’s work and pointing out interesting details in the room. “My favorite son knows that I must have a proper place to receive Carol and Mary and Julie and Barbra and Bette and Sandy and Meryl, and all of my nearest and dearest.” Polly dropped names for the sheer pleasure of watching Charlotte try to contain her resentment. “But I don’t want to appear to be playing the queen,” she added, to downplay her display of ostentation. “Everyone knows that I’m as down-to-earth as the minions who order McNuggets and think they’re eating real fowl,” she said.
“And they are. Foul, I mean,” Tim quipped. Only Polly and Placenta instantly got his joke and laughed.
Polly then cleared her throat and looked at Gerold. “May I make one teensy observation about today’s rehearsal?”
“Could a bullet stop you?” Gerold said.
“Only if you’re my human shield,” Polly deadpanned. She took a fortifying slug of champers. “This has been gnawing away at me from the start. It’s about that darling boy who plays my grown-up nephew, Patrick, in the show.”
“Stewart Long,” Gerold said.
“Whatever. Where on earth did you find the poor thing? He couldn’t get a laugh with a ‘Knock-Knock’ joke. I recommend remedial comedy classes, if not Henny Young-man gene replacement therapy.”
Gerold scowled. “The kid auditioned, just like everybody else. Everyone who isn’t a marquee name, that is.”
Polly caught Charlotte smirking. “One more teensy suggestion?” Polly asked.
“No!” Gerold snapped.
“Hire Jamie Livingston to coach the boy. Jamie’s as talented as he is gorgeous and he’s played this role a gazillion times. As a matter of fact, I’m stunned that he wasn’t cast in my production.”
“Your production?”
“Jamie can help turn things around. We spoke during lunch break,” Polly lied, “and he agreed to come by tomorrow.”
Gerold slugged back the rest of his champagne and set his flute firmly down on the vanity makeup table. “Blast it, Polly! I’m the director! I make the decisions! The stage door guy, the one whose always asleep, whatshisname—George—has strict instructions not to let Jamie back in this theater!”
Polly was taken aback. “I’m just trying to make your already brilliant and cutting edge production better. Mame meets Edward Scissorhands in post-Katrina New Orleans will blow them away in New York. Who would mind a legend pointing out where she sees a need for a little theatrical magic?”
“I mind!” Gerold spat.
“Why can’t poor Jamie return to the scene of the crime, so to speak?”
In a cold tone that perfectly imitated Gerold, Charlotte spoke up and said, “There’s a good reason why Jamie didn’t get the role and why he’s not welcome in our theater.”
Polly caught Gerold giving Charlotte a withering look.
“What could be so terrible?” Polly asked. “Unless he killed Karen.”
Gerold turned ashen, but didn’t say a word.
Polly bluffed a conciliatory apology. “Silly me, of course you’re right. I should have remembered what Sharon said about Jamie and all that naughty stuff that went on in dressing room number seven.”
Charlotte held out her glass and asked Placenta for a refill, while the two actors playing Vera and Beauregard discreetly said it was time for them to leave for dinner engagements.
“Yeah, dinner,” Gerold said. “We’re late.” He looked at Mag. His body language made it clear that she should leave with him.
“I’ve got stuff to do,” Mag said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Gerold looked at Charlotte and huffed, “Lay off the champagne. Go home and memorize. I’m warning you not to go up on your lines again tomorrow. We’re almost to opening!”
Polly rose from her chair and tried to pretend that the abrupt change in the atmosphere had nothing to do with the answers she had tried to pry from Gerold or her bluff that she knew why Jamie was an outcast. She raised her glass to her departing guests. “Jamie will understand—considering the sordid circumstances.”
Gerold turned and gave Polly a long look that made her feel as though he was an airport security agent looking for her concealed Kalashnikov. Finally he turned and left the dressing room.
When Polly closed the door she smiled at her confreres. “It’s about time I lit a fire to smoke information out of them.”
Tim shrugged. “They didn’t really say anything.”
Polly put her hands on her hips. “It’s Jamie! No, I don’t think he’s the killer, but I do feel he definitely holds the key to solving this mystery.�
�
Tim looked at his mother and applauded. “Not too shabby,” he said. “Throwing Jamie’s name at them. It was completely out of left field and pretty darn uncomfortable. Um, but now you’ve got to get him to squeeze a legit story from his lying lips about his murder-day whereabouts.”
Polly suddenly looked troubled. “Ring him up. We need to have a chitty chat.”
Tim flipped open his cell phone and scrolled through his phone directory. He selected Jamie’s number and pushed the Send key. In a moment he handed the phone to his mother.
“Honey, it’s Polly,” she said into the phone. “Pepper, of course.” Polly rolled her eyes. “Listen, dear, we’re in the neighborhood and want to take you to dinner. The occasion?” She stopped to think for a moment, and then she quoted one of her famous lines from Mame. “As the lovely and talented Jerry Herman wrote, ‘It’s today!’ Oh, and by the by, be a living doll. When Gerold calls you, and I have a feeling that he will, don’t let on that we’re having this tête-à-tête ce soir. He’s acting funny today. But not in a ha-ha way. See you in a tick.”
As Placenta tossed empty champagne bottles into the trash bin, she said, “We’re in the neighborhood? See you in a tick? It’ll take an hour for you to get dressed, and another hour to get from Glendale to West Hollywood!”
Polly began to remove her dressing gown. “You worry too much. We’ll say that traffic was a bitch. Oh, and call Kevin at the Ivy and tell him that we’re gracing his restaurant.”
She looked at Mag. “Run along home to Daddy,” she said. “Ask him to read you a bedtime story. Think ‘Bluebeard.’”
Los Angeles may be the most superficial and blasé town on the planet, but when Polly’s Rolls-Royce glided up to the curb in front of the Ivy, diners on the patio turned their heads to see who would alight from the vehicle. As Polly walked up the stone steps with her troupe following three paces behind her, she could hear the usual whispers of recognition and “Don’t look nows” that still swirled around her when she was seen in public. Polly marched straight toward Kevin, her favorite waiter, and the man whom she not so secretly wanted to see Tim settle down with and start a family. Polly embraced Kevin and softly asked her usual greeting: “Anyone here I should be especially Polly Pepper to?”