by PamelaDuMond
“No, no. We must save the trees. We might need them for something, someday. Cheerio!” Annie said and hung up the phone. “Thanks, Derrick. You can’t let me have one moment to myself? One day to relax?” She paced. “I sounded like a moron, and no one will believe me when I try and figure out who killed you.”
“The receptionist at a major law firm believed you.” Derrick said.
“She was a polite liar.”
“No. I would have pretended to be a former client. But you took the lie to an evolved level. Duchess Myra Stoneycliff? Why?”
“’Cause everybody in America wants to meet royalty.”
Derrick burst into laughter.
Annie giggled.
Zach walked into the back back kitchen and grabbed the rolling pin from the counter. Annie’s hairnet dropped off of Derrick’s thong, actually the well-positioned rolling pin, and fell to the floor, butter side down. “Yo, baby. Change your mind about Friday, let me know.” Zach winked and walked off.
“Does nothing stick to you?” Annie asked Derrick.
“You stick to me. I depend on you. I’m crazy about you. Let’s try another suspect…”
“Shut up,” she said, slipped her time card in the machine on the wall and clocked out. Replaced it in the little metal bin mounted on the wall.
“It’s early! Just one more. I promise. I know. The guy who shot me! Let’s check out his porno daughter. Please. I found out where her next movie is shooting.”
“How?” Annie asked.
“Hello, we live in L.A. It’s called industry talk. I spotted a cute guy noshing a bagel and overheard him yapping on his cell.”
Annie shook her head. “No. I’ve been up since 4:30 a.m. It’s now 3 p.m.”
“Practically breakfast time for the porn industry. I promise we’ll be in and out quickly.”
“I will not even comment on your comment.”
Ho-Ho Holiday Cookies
Description: Cookies of all varieties. Oatmeal raisin. Butter with little decorative sprinkles. Chocolate anything – the list is endless. Let your taste buds take you on a sleigh ride.
Appropriate Occasions: Holidays of all sorts. ‘Ho-ing,’ the business. Researching guns.
Best Served With: One working oven. More creative lying. Stick the Hairnet on the Doodle – The Party Game.
FIFTEEN
Peanut Butter Fluffers
Annie exited her rent-a-wreck parked with eighty plus other cars of all makes and models next to a grassy suburban curb. A tacky valley palace-like 1970s “please make it fancy and baroque,” house sat on a large suburban lot at the end of a cul-de-sac. Everyone seemed to be walking in the direction of that house, so she followed their lead.
She was dressed in a conservative two-year-old designer suit from the Beverly Hills’ Women’s Thrift Shop. Derrick made her stop there on their way to the valley. She’d picked it up for nickels on the dollar. God bless those super-blessed ladies for donating clothing they simply couldn’t wear to more than two, three max, official functions.
Annie also wore bottle thick cat-eye spectacles, low heels and a matchy bag. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Nose in the air, chin up, she carried a legal pad and walked confidently, (she was faking), in order to make it past the first hurdle: a skinny twenty something kid with his trousers hanging down his butt. He was holding a clipboard and texting on his Blackberry.
“I can do this,” she muttered.
“I have every faith in you,” Derrick replied.
She strode past a white sign handwritten in black sharpie that was duct taped to a telephone pole. It read, “Bellywood Two – Curry and Curvier.” A second handwritten sign below it read, “Cowpoke This.”
Annie smiled. “Cake. No problem. Why was I worried?”
“What do you think the ‘wood’ stands for in – ”
“Shut up, pervert.”
When the skinny kid grabbed her arm and stopped her.
“This is a closed set, Ma’am.”
Annie checked him out. “Thank you. But it’s Ms., not Ma’am. I am on your list, unless they didn’t update you. I hate when that happens. Bureaucracy sucks, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yeah.” Skinny checked his smudged call-sheet list of official designated peeps allowed on the porn movie set. “I’ve got a note about a new actress. A Holly Cum Ezy,” he said and eyed Annie, not lasciviously, more like a lab experiment or a petri dish sprouting mold, which could produce a new antibiotic. He aimed his camera phone at her and snapped a pic. “You, her?”
“No, no,” Annie said. “I have no talent when it comes to porn. I never went to school.”
“Turn around,” Skinny instructed.
She did. “I’m just into regular, you know, old-fashioned, basic run-of-the-mill sexual fun Mayberry kind of stuff. Frisk me if you want. I’m not carrying guns or whips or chocolate sauce.”
“We love Mayberry.” Skinny dropped to his knees and snapped a pic of Annie’s butt. “Very nice. Now take your hair out of that bun thing and flip it over your shoulder.”
Derrick frowned. “He’s scouting you.”
She whispered through closed lips, “Yeah. As den mother for his local Cub Scouts troop.” She unleashed her hair from the bun and tossed it over her shoulder. “I’m boring.”
“Take off your glasses,” he said.
She did. “I could never be the talent. Just a girlfriend or a wife or a mother.”
“You’d definitely be a MILF. And a GILF or a WILF. I can work with all of the above.” Snap, snap on Skinny’s camera phone.
“Wake up and smell the double caff moccachino caramel latte. He’s totally profiling you,” Derrick said.
She turned her back to Skinny and whispered, “Derrick, this kid’s a founding member of Nerd-Watch, the reality show.” Annie shoved her hair back on top of her head and faced Skinny. “I need to get on set. Urgent business. Your name is?”
“Paul,” he said and shoved the phone camera back in his pants pocket. Squinted and looked down the remainder of the names and numbers on his call-sheet list. “The only other new name on my list is a fluffer. You her?”
Annie looked at Derrick for guidance but his eyes were round and fixed. He was completely absorbed by a beautiful princess tree with enormous purple flowers. Pretty, yes, but mesmerizing? Why had Mr. Overly Talky shut up now? Once again, he was no help whatsoever.
Annie had no idea what a fluffer was, but it sounded relatively innocuous. Probably the fluffer teased the talent’s hair, pre-shoot. Or spritzed the on-set flower arrangements with water. Maybe even plumped the pillows on the bed or the floor in front of the fireplace, the futon in the second bedroom and the chaise lounge in the main bedroom. Possibly the pillows in the RV or the big-rig truck that she spotted down the enormously long narrow driveway that led to the end of the palace’s property. “Yes. I’m the new fluffer. That would be me,” she said and nodded. “And you’re an excellent security guard.”
Paul laughed. “Thanks,” he said, reached in his pocket and handed a business card to Annie. “I get promoted if I recruit new talent. Give me a call should you choose to move up in the ranks.”
Whatever that meant. “Thank you!” Annie put the card in her wallet in her purse and wandered in the direction of the set. “How’d you know he was scouting me, Derrick?”
“I’m feeling fuzzy. Can’t quite put words together. Probably an after affect of being dead.”
“Fine,” she said and kept walking. Once a prima donna, always a prima donna.
Official movie peeps walked past Annie. Some carried fake palm trees, and a couple of guys held camera equipment. They looked like they knew where they were going. The talent: male, female and in-between trickled past. The talent were walking ads for breast implants, tummy tucks, teeth whitening, tanning booths, calf implants, liposuction, lip augmentation, nose jobs and more jobs. They had big lacquered hairdos and wore spiffy bathrobes. Any skin that showed on the talent was hair free, like a baby�
��s behind. They were plastification beautiful.
Annie flipped open her notebook to a pic of Sienna Saffron/Gable in younger more innocent times. She wore a high school cheerleading outfit and held pom-poms. Next to that picture was a photo from Bellywood that showed Sienna Saffron shaking her real-life pom-poms for the entire world to appreciate.
Annie spotted her. Sienna Saffron wasn’t in a bathrobe but a pair of threadbare jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. She leaned against the door of the bright purple big-rig cab and argued with somebody on her cell. She looked like a cute, fresh-faced college kid who was frustrated with either an errant boyfriend or chemistry class. Sienna waved around an 8 X10 envelope and looked furious. Huh. Annie picked up speed and strode towards her. “Sienna. Sienna Saffron?” she yelled.
Sienna saw, but ignored her.
“Sienna! I have to talk with you!”
She turned and eyed Annie.
When a white-blonde, tanned, muscular forty-something guy with ultra smooth skin the texture of margarine in a tub grabbed Annie’s shoulder and stopped her mid-stride. “Hello, hello Cherry Red. I’ve been waiting for you!”
Annie checked out this almost-manly creature. He wore one of those robes, large dark shiny Italian sunglasses, pretty new cowboy boots and a Stetson. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“You’re the new fluffer, right?”
“Rumor has it, I am,” she said. When confused, be cagey. Cagey could buy a little time.
“Ah, you’re cagey. Mental foreplay. I like you already. My name’s Cowboy. Come to my trailer now, my little cowgirl,” he said, grabbed her hand and led her away from Sienna. “My scene’s approaching and I’m so ready for you. Love new talent. Can you let down your hair? You flossed recently, right?” He pulled her to the front door of a sagging, teensy trailer.
Something about this felt wrong. Of course she flossed. Twice a day. Suddenly her teeth felt funny. “Derrick,” she hissed. “Something’s off with Cowboy. I could use some help, here. Cowboy might have a cavity. Maybe he needs a referral to a dentist.” But Derrick wasn’t anywhere in sight. Why?
Finally she spotted him walking next to a small old horse that was being led across the yard by its handler. “Hey, Derrick!”
“Old Yeller, I’m a fan. Keep on going, Old Yeller,” Derrick said and patted the horse’s rump. The horse’s eyes crossed and he kicked a rear leg into the air. His handler tried to soothe him with gentle strokes on his mane and carrot treats.
“Old Yeller was a dog, Derrick. A fake dog in a movie,” Annie said. Derrick wouldn’t meet her glance. Since when did he care about animals? She hoped this old horse was in the “Cowpoke This” movie. Oops. She changed her mind and hoped it wasn’t.
“Of course, my dear,” Cowboy said. “You are quite astute. Cowboy likes astute.”
Something was wrong. “Why don’t I visit you after your scene?” Annie said to Cowboy. “You don’t want to be interviewed for…Porn People Monthly before your star performance. Might give you a little anxiety,” Annie punted. She paused and looked at Sienna who was striding away from the big-rig. “Sienna! Wait! It’s important.”
Sienna kept walking, a very pissed off look on her pretty face.
“It’s about your dad. I want to help you guys.”
Sienna turned.
“You looking for Sienna Saffron, or Sienna Gable?”
“Sienna Gable. Whose dad is Bill Gable. A good man,” Annie replied
Sienna stared at Annie. “Do you know?” she asked.
“I think I know what’s in that envelope. Photos?” Annie said as Cowboy pulled her by her arm into his trailer. “Wait a minute, please. I need to spritz his flowers.”
Annie thought the inside of Cowboy’s trailer was even more dilapidated than its exterior. A worn loveseat featured faux paint pony hide. No pillows to fluff. A small lamp with antlers rested on a coffee table shaped like a saddle. No flowers to spritz. A few crumbling movie posters of old westerns hung on the walls. A saggy mattress peeked through ancient Venetian blinds in the back of the trailer. No big hair, anywhere. Nothing to fluff. Why were her hands turning red and itchy?
Thai Massage Spa looked like Buckingham Palace compared to this place. “I’m sorry, Cowboy, but there’s been a mistake. Good luck with your role. I’ll catch you at the Porno-Plex. You rock!” She gave him a double thumbs up and a big smile.
He smiled back. “And hopefully, you will too!” he said and flung open his robe. “Fluff my manly-dom and become a part of Cowboy’s trail ride.”
And there it was. Why Cowboy was famous. It was shriveled, slightly crooked, looked like it had seen better days, but put a quarter in the slot and it was the aging Bucking Bronco ride of its world.
“Kneel before the Cowpoke, my pretty cowgirl, smoke the peace pipe and do your magic,” Cowboy said as he put a hand on her head and pushed her gently but firmly towards the ground, as well as to his claim-to-fame.
She closed her eyes tightly and grimaced. In that moment she figured out what a fluffer did. “I’m not, I don’t think... There’s been a mistake,” she clamped her lips shut and breathed through her nose.
“‘There are no mistakes, only opportunities.’ I read that in a book once. The author died recently. He was in the self-help business. He was a pioneer, I tell you. You know his name?”
“Dottaw Dek Fulwwer,” she mumbled through her shut mouth.
“I will be as soon as you’ve fluffed me.”
Uh-oh. She squirmed, turned her head to the side. But Cowboy had a solid grip on her head. Probably a wannbe wrestler before he became the Cowboy. “I have three cavities and need a root canal,” Annie said with one hand over her mouth and pushed herself back to standing. “I have halitosis and gingivitis. Probably one of those superbugs. Most likely contagious or even deadly,” she said and coughed for effect.
The door to the trailer flew open. Sienna Saffron/Gable stood in the doorway. “Fluff yourself, you old horn dog. This girl’s not in the biz, and I need her right now more than you do.”
Cowboy reluctantly closed his robe. “Oh I get it. You two are like the L Word. Not impressed by the Cowboy, his saddle, his chaps, his stirrups, his lasso ability, his… ”
“Strange ability to talk about yourself in the third person?” Annie said and followed Sienna out of the trailer. “Thank you, thank you…”
Annie leaned back against the big rig. She spritzed her mouth with the minty fresh spray twelve times and then spritzed her hands as well. It was getting dark and the L.A. weather turned from warm to foggy and chilly in minutes. She was exhausted and shivered.
“You should have told me, Derrick,” Annie said.
He leaned on the rig next to her and shook his head. “You would have left if I told you.”
“Could you blame me?”
“Why? You didn’t put my dad in prison,” Sienna said and walked up from behind the cab. She wore a thick multi-colored poncho and handed Annie a steaming cup of coffee. “I knew the second I saw you that you weren’t a pro. You don’t seem like a cop. So who are you, and what do you know about my dad?”
“I’m not a cop. I think Fuller had an affair with my husband. Someone poisoned and killed that idiot with one of my cupcakes.”
“Oh you’re the baker. I’ve been out of the country a couple of weeks and I came back to chaos. I wish I had killed the creep myself. You’re my hero.”
“Right there with you on the wishing thing. I didn’t do it, but I need to find who murdered the spineless thong-wearing humpty dumpty, so I can get on with my life.” Annie sipped the coffee. “Your dad shot Fuller. Only a flesh wound but he’s still in jail. Why?”
Sienna shook her head. “He’d never even gotten a speeding ticket before this. My folks are broke. Someone sent my dad…” She held up the manila envelope and tapped it.
“Photos. 8 X 10 glossies,” Annie said.
“How’d you know?” Sienna looked surprised.
“I got some, too.”
&
nbsp; “Oh, these were awful. Dad freaked. He tried calling Fuller, then his manager and attorney. Dad sent e-mails, letters. Started following Fuller, but his lawyer, Lewis Scuchy something, sent my parents a threatening letter, and filed a restraining order on him. And my dad, the world’s biggest puppy, snapped.”
“Why no bail?”
Sienna paced and bit her nails. “Dad wanted to wait till I was back in the country to get a lawyer. I planned to go back to Santa Monica College this summer. He was scared to say the wrong thing. Doesn’t want bad publicity, paparazzi and/or gossip following me around. Besides, Schuchy’s at some big mucky muck firm. They have clout and they’re throwing it around.”
“May I?” Annie pointed to the envelope.
Sienna handed it to her. Annie pulled the pictures out of the envelope and flipped through them. Sienna in her Bellywood outfit. Sienna flashing her tatas.
Derrick leaned in over Annie’s shoulder to get a better look. She frowned and tossed her steaming coffee over her shoulder at him. He jumped in horror. “Stop throwing things at me!” The liquid passed through his chest out his back and landed steaming on the ground.
Sienna frowned. “Coffee’s bad on the set. I’m sorry.”
“No, it was great. Too much caffeine and I won’t sleep,” Annie said.
Derrick admired his chest, smug.
Annie caught the look. She realized the coffee she tossed through him didn’t sting, burn, or stain.
“Maybe I’m like a super-hero, like Spidey, Superman,” Derrick said. “I could be – The Invincible Dead Guy.”
“Oh, give me a …,” Annie said.
Sienna looked confused. “Give you what?”
“More time to examine these pictures,” she said. In some, Sienna wiggled her silk sari covered booty in front of a multi-racial but all male enthusiastic audience.
The next photos were of Sienna with, surprise, surprise, Derrick Fuller. Multiple compromising sexual positions.