Murder, Murder, Little Star

by Marian Babson

  That's why Continuity notes everything down. It's her job - she has to be right.'

  'Well, she isn't!' Twinkle gave Continuity a poisonous look. 'You'll find out when they develop the shots and then we'll have to do everything all over again and I'm bored with it right now. So why don't we - ?'

  'Places, please,' Dick Brouder ordered, cutting across her protest.

  Twinkle glared at him, but moved out under the lights. Cecile Savoy rose from her chair, folding her newspaper meticulously. Fleur-de-lis took the opportunity to leap up on the vacated chair with a gleeful yap.

  'I don't see why we have to have animals all over the place,' Twinkle complained.

  Cecile Savoy looked over Twinkle's head vaguely. 'So many obituaries,' she said, dropping the paper to the floor. 'And always for the wrong people.'

  'Places!' Dick Brouder snapped, before the combatants had a chance to clash again.

  Frances glanced at her watch, waiting to begin the timing when Dick gave the signal for the cameras to start. As her job had been explained to her - rather sketchily, it must be admitted - children were permitted to work only in short stretches, totalling not more than three-and-a-half hours in an eight-hour day. Usually, this meant fifteen minutes of rehearsal and fifteen minutes of filming at a time, but Twinkle had already rehearsed this scene.

  'Hold it!' Dick Brouder shouted, just as everyone was expecting the signal. They all looked at him.

  'All right, Twinkle,' he said. 'You know we can't have that.'

  'I'm not doing anything,' Twinkle protested.

  'Twinkle!'

  'I'm not!' She backed away as he advanced. ' What am I doing? What?'

  'The gum, Twinkle.' His face was stern. 'Get rid of it.'

  'Nobody can see it. I'm not chewing. Nobody will even know it's there.'

  'Get rid of it, Twinkle!'

  'Oh, all right.' With deliberately maddening slowness, Twinkle sauntered over to the sidelines and carefully parked her wad of gum beneath the arm of a chair. Someone, somewhere, meshed gears with an effect of grinding teeth.

  'That filthy habit!' Cecile Savoy shuddered. 'How I hated it when I was playing in New York. They won't throw their gum away, they always want to retrieve it later - if it hasn't spread all over someone else's clothing in the meantime. Must we put up with that on this set?'

  'I'll get rid of it,' Laurenda placated hastily. She scrabbled for the gum - it came away in strands clinging to her fingers.

  'Here - use this.' Mr Herkimer had arrived on the set in time to assess the situation. He tore a half page from the Telegraph and handed it to Laurenda.

  'I hadn't finished reading that,' Cecile Savoy announced icily.

  'I'll get you another one.' He snapped his fingers and someone detached from the fringe of a group and dashed off.

  'And you - ' He turned to Twinkle. 'You cut it out. From now on, if you've gotta chew gum, get rid of it when the shooting starts. Don't just park it - get rid of it! Okay?'

  Twinkle gave him a mutinous glare, then ostentatiously turned her back on him and stalked away.

  'She'll do it,' Mr Herkimer said, with more confidence than he appeared to feel as his anxious gaze followed Twinkle.

  'I don't feel so good,' Laurenda said faintly. 'I think I'd better go lie down for a while.'

  'Sure, Laurenda, sure,' Mr Herkimer said. 'That's why we've got a couch in Twinkle's dressing-room.

  You go and rest.'

  'You can handle things here, can't you, Frances?' Laurenda paused for reassurance.

  'Oh yes,' Frances said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. (Twinkle seemed to inspire mass insecurity.) 'It all seems perfectly straightforward.'

  Perfectly straightforward. Presumably it was - once one knew what one was supposed to be doing. It also helped to have discovered what everyone else was supposed to be doing.

  Upon arrival at the studio at the beginning of the week, Frances had been taken in tow by a well-meaning, but rather abstracted, Morris Moskva.

  She had learned that the Technical Crew were called by the names of the jobs they did, rather along the lines of Welsh usage. Thus, Sparks was the electrician, Props was the property master, Camera the cameraman, Chips the carpenter, and so on.

  The most vital member of the Unit, however, was the First Assistant Director, known as 'First', whose job it was, Morris explained, 'to put a big glass bubble around the Director' and protect him from all outside annoyances and distractions, so that he could concentrate on the actors and the film.

  'Only,' Morris had added, 'on this picture, it's the actors Dick needs protection from. Especially Twinkle.' However, Frances was left in no doubt that, in case of problems, she was to 'Tell it to First'.

  After Morris Moskva had departed in response to a request for consultation on a point in the next scene to be filmed, Frances went in search of First. She felt the need for more of a job definition than Mr Herkimer had given her. She only hoped that First could provide it.

  'The chaperone's job?' First's bright blue eyes opened wide and a ripple of surprise wrinkled his fair pink skin, leaving it smooth and expressionless as soon as it had passed.

  'Dead easy. Piece of cake.' He beamed down at her. 'No experience necessary. And it's holiday-time, so you won't be clashing with the teacher we'd have to employ if it were term-time. You're quite lucky. A chaperone can be responsible for as many as five children - but you only have to worry about Twinkle.'

  'She's enough,' Frances said dryly.

  'The rules are simple,' he went on. 'But a bit archaic. It's even law that a child has to be given a hot drink as soon as it arrives on set in the morning. The little darlings don't half create when they're given a cup of hot chocolate in the middle of a heat wave! Fortunately, the law doesn't say we have to force it down their throats. But, you see what I mean? Archaic. Remnants of the days when they sent the little ones down the mines, or up chimneys - as though we'd kill any geese laying golden eggs!

  'However, basically, a child can't start work before g.30 a.m. and can't continue working after 4.30 p.m.

  - under the age of ten. They can't work more than three-and-a-half hours in any one eight-hour day.

  They have to have plenty of breaks for rest - luckily, these occur automatically when we're setting up different scenes. They usually work two hours in the morning and an hour-and-a-half in the afternoon.

  The child can only work 32 days during the year - dubbing time and radio appearances not included.

  But that doesn't signify with Twinkle - although she comes under English law, she isn't going to be in the country that long. We've been shooting around her for weeks, so that we could bunch her scenes when she arrived and finish the picture in short order.'

  'So I stay with Twinkle at all times and - '

  'And you just watch that we don't overwork her,' First said. 'Not that we'd have the chance. That kid knows more about her rights than any of us. The most important part of your job is to keep a record of the hours she works and the breaks she takes every day. That's so the Inspector can see that everything's aboveboard when he drops in.'

  'What Inspector ? When does he drop in?' There were more ramifications to this job than she had suspected.

  'The Inspector from the Borough Authority. We never know when he's coming, but he has to visit the set at least once to make sure the regulations are being observed and that all the children are happy.

  Actually, he came last month when we were doing the school scenes with a lot of kids. He may come again just to have a look at Twinkle, or he may not - we're not sure. But it keeps everyone on their toes.

  'You see, if he finds anything he doesn't approve of, he has the power to shut down the whole Unit. Just like that!' First made a downward sweeping movement with his hand, looking grimly appalled at the thought he had just uttered. Or perhaps it was that he had just been struck by a newer, more appalling thought.

  'No,' he said. 'That's silly, isn't it?' He looked to Frances for reassu
rance.

  'What is?' Frances asked.

  'I know she's a little hellion,' he said apologetically. 'That's common knowledge. But she wouldn't pull a trick that dirty, would she ?'

  Frances shook her head mutely, not following his train of thought.

  'You're right, of course, she wouldn't.' He seemed only slightly relieved. 'But you will keep very good records, won't you? Make sure you put down every break and rest period. Then, if she should decide to lie to the Inspector, we can count on you to prove it isn't true.'

  'She wouldn't do that.' Frances was not quite so shocked at the idea as she might have been a few weeks ago - before she had met Twinkle. 'Why should she?'

  'Probably not. But, just in case ...' First met her eyes nervously. 'You see, if anything goes wrong with the production, if the Unit shuts down ... it means she can go back to the States, doesn't it? It won't make any difference to her, her money is guaranteed. But the rest of us will be out of jobs. And, you may have heard, the film industry isn't exactly coining it these days.'

  'I'll certainly keep accurate records,' Frances said. 'But,' she added firmly, 'I'm sure Twinkle wouldn't do anything like that. You're misjudging her.'

  'Perhaps I am,' First shrugged. 'As they say, "Give a dog a bad name" . . .' He brightened. 'In any case, the Inspector may not come back. She may never get the chance.'

  'Cut!' Dick Brouder yelled.

  The arc lights went out, the scene they had illuminated dissolved into darkness. Cecile Savoy whisked a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her face, careful not to disturb her make-up.

  Twinkle's face lost its angelic expression and resumed its normal truculence. She turned away and walked off the set; fishing in her muff, she brought out a packet of gum, unwrapped two sticks and jammed them into her mouth, letting the wrappers flutter to the floor. An anonymous figure darted forward and cleared them away.

  'Where's Laurenda?' Twinkle demanded peremptorily as she came up to Frances.

  'Your mother is lying down in your dressing-room,' Frances said. 'She doesn't feel well.'

  'Again?' Twinkle sighed heavily, then noticed Frances glancing at her watch and entering a figure on the Report form attached to the clipboard which had been issued to her when she arrived on the set.

  'What are you doing that for? Nobody ever bothers about those things.'

  ' I intend to bother about them,' Frances said warningly. If Twinkle knew that from the beginning, it might cut off any half-formed ideas she might have.

  'Suit yourself,' Twinkle shrugged. 'But people will only think you're being silly.' She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then unwrapped yet another stick of gum and folded it into her mouth.

  The untasted glass of milk stood on the table between them. Twinkle ignored it and Frances did not think it worth risking her precarious authority by mentioning it. Let Laurenda fight that battle. Twinkle looked healthy enough to be able to skip a few glasses of milk without any dire consequences.

  Frances averted her eyes from the milk, and Twinkle smiled faintly. An undeclared truce stretched between them.

  'Frances - Frances - ' Mr Herkimer swooped upon them with a tall silent man at his heels. 'I want you should meet my friend and partner. He's just back from California and he'll be with us for the rest of the picture here. Tor Torrington - the other half of Herkimer-Torrington Productions.'

  'The better half,' Twinkle muttered.

  'Ah, sweet child.' Mr Herkimer patted Twinkle on the head. 'Isn't it wonderful, the way she articulates so well with all that gum in her mouth?'

  'I could do it in front of the cameras, too.' Twinkle gave him a poisonous glare and he snatched back his hand hastily. 'If you'd let me.'

  'That's out of the question and we will not discuss it again.' Tor Torrington, it seemed, was a different kettle of fish. There would be no nervous currying of favour by him, no matter how bright the star.

  'How do you do, Mrs Armitage.' Leaving Twinkle thoroughly quelled, he shook hands solemnly with Frances. 'I'm very glad you could join the Unit at such short notice. Herkie speaks highly of you.'

  'Thank you,' Frances said. 'But I'm afraid Mr Her -Herkie speaks highly of everyone.'

  'Not everyone,' Mr Herkimer muttered. He bent down and patted Fleur-de-lis, who had trotted over with her mistress and was sniffing in an exploratory way around his ankles.

  'Tor - ' Cecile Savoy said imperiously. 'I must speak to you about my contract. I don't want - '

  'All right, Cecile.' Tor Torrington turned and took her arm. 'We'll talk about it in your dressing-room.

  We can have a bit of privacy there.'

  When Mr Herkimer straightened up, to follow Cecile and Mr Torrington to the dressing-room, Frances was surprised to see Twinkle stoop and begin to scratch Fleur's ears. Almost immediately, she felt guilty at her own surprise. Why shouldn't Twinkle, despite her tough exterior, wish to be friends with the Pekinese? A child and a dog had a classic attraction for each other. It simply proved that Twinkle was not insensible to childish things, after all.

  'Fleur!' Cecile Savoy halted and called for her pet. 'Fleur! Come!'

  With an apologetic wave of the plume that served her for a tail, Fleur-de-lis gave a final lick to Twinkle's hand and pattered after her mistress.

  Tor Torrington looked back over his shoulder and sized up the situation instantly. 'Let the dog stay here,' he said. 'It won't be able to add anything to the conversation.'

  Cecile Savoy hesitated, but an order from someone even more peremptory than herself was obviously hard to refuse. (Apart from which, wasn't Tor Torrington usually referred to as the 'money man' of Herkimer-Torrington Productions ?)

  'All right, Fleur. Stay, Fleur,' she commanded. The Pekinese trotted happily back to Twinkle, ready for playtime.

  'At least - ' Mr Torrington's words drifted back to them - 'she's making friends with something. It's a start.'

  'Okay' - Twinkle raised her head broodingly -'Okay. Just you wait.'

  CHAPTER IX

  Laurenda surfaced in time for tea. Frances had already become aware that Laurenda's sense of timing was not of the best. It was, perhaps, the reason why her own career had foundered on the shoals of Starletdom, while her daughter's had gone on to full Stardom. For her age, Twinkle's timing was superb.

  Despite - or, perhaps, because of - her mother's absence from the set, she had sailed through the scheduled scenes at a pace that even had the highly professional Cecile Savoy registering approval.

  But once Laurenda had reappeared on the set, all that had changed.

  'Baby . . .' Laurenda wailed. 'You still haven't drunk your milk!'

  Twinkle looked up warily. Until then, she had been happily engaged in tossing a crumpled ball of paper for Fleur-de-lis to fetch. Cecile Savoy had developed a diplomatic blindness and deafness to her pet's defection to the enemy, and a temporary peace had reigned over the afternoon's proceedings. It was shattered now.

  'Twinkle . . .' Laurenda wailed again. 'How could you ? You know I need my rest! You know I'm not well! Why do you have to do all these things to worry me ?'

  'All right.' Dick Brouder rushed forward, throwing a protective arm around Laurenda. 'Don't let it get to you. You know she's only trying to upset you.' He glared at Twinkle.

  'I'm not!' Twinkle glared back. 'Look at that mess!' She pointed at the glass of milk. 'I can't drink that.

  It's all filthy and disgusting!'

  Twinkle had a point. The heavier particles of milk -not quite cream - had congealed into a film on top and some of the dust and dirt of the set had settled on it. It had not quite soured, but certainly the early-morning freshness had departed leaving a world-weary appearance.

  'Perhaps a fresh glass - ' Frances suggested tentatively.

  'No!' Laurenda shook off the encircling arm and stepped forward. 'Twinkle has pulled this too many times - she's gotten away with too many things. This time, she drinks that milk - or we stay here until she does. Even if it takes all night!'

&n
bsp; It was already four o'clock. Under the terms of the Licence from the Borough Authority, Twinkle ought to be off the set at four-thirty. Did Laurenda realize that? Or was Laurenda in on a conspiracy with her daughter to close down the Unit? Perhaps Laurenda had even stronger reasons than Twinkle for wishing to be back in the States as soon as possible.

  For the first time, Frances recognized Twinkle's mother as a woman who might have a private life - and wondered about it. How could a woman have a private fife and maintain the schedule needed by the mother of an under-age child star? No wonder Laurenda had frequent attacks of unidentifiable illness.

  'Places, please!' Dick Brouder moved off behind the cameras. 'Come on, this is the last shot of the day.

  Let's give it everything we've got,' he pleaded.

  Twinkle buried her face momentarily in Fleur-de-lis's coat. The Pekinese wriggled happily, twisting to try to lick Twinkle's face. Twinkle, a professional mind to her make-up, raised her head quickly and gently lowered the dog to the floor.

  'Places,' Dick Brouder repeated firmly. 'Places for the last take.'

  'Not until you finish it!' Laurenda warned. She turned away and followed Dick Brouder.

  'I'm not!' Twinkle muttered stubbornly, as Continuity adjusted her costume. 'I'm not drinking that mess?

  'Oh, God!' Continuity cracked. 'I can't stand another minute of this!' She snatched up the disputed glass, took a deep breath and drained it, gagging only slightly. 'Now, shut up? She glared at Twinkle. 'You don't have to lie. You don't have to say anything at all. Just keep your mouth shut and your mother will think you drank it.'

  'But - ' Twinkle looked at Frances.

  'She won't tell!' Continuity rounded on Frances threateningly, a white circle of milk rimming her mouth.

  'You'd better wipe your mouth,' Frances acquiesced meekly.

  Twinkle nodded relieved approval to both of them and moved off under the lights. Fleur-de-lis pattered after her for a few steps, but Cecile Savoy's training prevailed and she turned aside as she neared camera range and trotted back to leap into Cecile's chair and await her mistress.

  'Thanks.' Continuity accepted the handkerchief Frances offered and wiped her lips. 'I'm sorry,' she began, 'but - '