by Kim Izzo
She scowled and looked to Frederick, but he shook his head.
“Stay here Amber, that’s a good girl,” he said.
As I followed Frederick through a maze of hallways, I regretted not having Amber with me. But seeing the screen test was so personal, and I didn’t want to share it with anyone, least of all her. Besides, as long as Frederick thought I had the photos hidden, I was safe. He led me into a giant windowless room with soft red velvet chairs that faced a sky-high back wall. An elegant walnut desk with a green lamp and telephone on it sat behind the row of seats.
“Welcome to my private screening room. I’ll go thread the film. Sit down.”
I did as I was told, but the anticipation was a severe test of my patience. All of my scheming and persuading had finally paid off in a strip of celluloid. My heart was beating so fast I felt I might faint when I heard a loud click and the screen lit up. I watched the numbers count down from ten to the final sync beep, and then it cut to the clapboard, the very one from the photograph. At long last I could read every word. December 7, 1952. The Woman Scorned. The clapper snapped the board shut and there stood Alicia Steele in the green dress, her eyes brazen, and even though it was in black and white, I knew her hair was the same shade of red as mine. She spoke the lines in a voice more husky and assertive than in He Gave No Answer. This Alicia Steele was a tough dame. The scene was the one where Rod and Clara meet for a second time. The male actor was off-screen and sounded like a casting director.
ROD
You said it was urgent. Now you’ve got me here, what’s on your mind?
CLARA
Did I say urgent? I suppose I did. I need your help.
ROD
You don’t look like the kind of dame that needs my help.
CLARA
What kind of dame do I look like? Or don’t I want to know?
Her delivery was pitch perfect, vulnerability, sensuality and a heart of steel all at once. Then a second scene came on screen, the one on High Tower Court, when she first tells Rod she wants to murder someone.
CLARA
I’ve invested my whole life with him. He’s filthy rich and I deserve a piece of it.
ROD
Isn’t that what divorce is for? Alimony.
She laughs.
CLARA
I was a foolish girl in love when I married him. I’m no longer foolish or in love.
I sat motionless, dazed by seeing my grandmother moving and speaking. The best part came in the few seconds after the casting director called cut and Alicia stood and smiled. She wasn’t acting then; she was being herself. The woman I’d never met was suddenly alive in front of me. What I noticed was how authentic the smile was too. It wasn’t the smile of a woman on the verge of driving off a cliff. She looked like she had a million reasons to live. Tears streamed down my face as the short film ended, turning the screen into a blazing light of emptiness before the room went black. Then it was all over. Frederick returned and switched on a light.
“What did you think?” he asked me.
I couldn’t look at him. I stared at the screen and wept.
“I guess you thought she was pretty good, judging from your reaction. I happen to agree. She’s got talent. I’ll send the casting director a telegram this morning telling him I want to option the script and that she should play the lead.”
I tried to speak, but my throat was so dry nothing came out. I swallowed and tried again. “Are you sure your telegram will reach her in time?”
“In time for what?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I only meant, are you sure she’ll get it today?”
“I’m sure he’ll tell her.”
“Can we call him now? Make sure?”
He rolled his eyes. “What are you so obsessed about? Is she paying you or something?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer at first, and then I said simply, “I owe her.”
Frederick reluctantly dialled long distance to LA as I stood over him.
“I’ll leave a message.” When he was done, I felt a giant wave of relief sweep over me, and I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. It had to work. It had to be enough to stop her from doing something rash. But my sense of solace was short-lived because Frederick knew he’d done his part, and he wanted payback.
“Now, what about those photographs,” Frederick said and backed me against the wall. He stroked the satin straps of the gown, his fingers brushing my skin underneath. It was time to come clean; he’d done everything I asked. “Let’s go back to the bedroom and play hide and seek some more.”
“I have a confession,” I blurted.
He was agitated. “Which is?”
“The truth is I made them up. There aren’t any photographs.”
He scrutinized me. “I don’t believe you.”
“You’ve got to. It’s the truth. I was desperate you see. I needed you to help my friend and you did and I’m grateful,” I said in a rush.
“I want the pictures, Clara,” he persisted, his breathing growing rapid.
I started to panic, thinking of what happened to Larry and what might happen to me. “I made it up,” I told him. “I read about Mica’s death and you told me once how people still suspected you and so I made it up.” I stood there, turning my face away from his as he leaned over me, his breath hot on my cheek, when it occurred to me that if he was so sure there were photos, and he was so frantic to get his hands on them, then maybe he wasn’t so innocent after all. And I wasn’t the only one to come to that conclusion.
“Oh God. Are you saying he did kill her?” It was Amber. She had crept into the screening room and heard everything. Frederick’s temper was nearing its peak.
“You stupid cow, I told you to stay put!” he yelled. Amber shrank from his voice.
“He didn’t kill anyone, Amber,” I said, more to convince myself than anyone. “I needed him to think there was evidence so he’d do what I asked, and he did and everything’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” Frederick pounded his fist into the wall by my head. I leapt away and stood by Amber.
“Don’t be so sore, Freddie. Listen to Clara, there are no photos. And besides, if you did kill your wife, we won’t tell. Will we?” She looked to me. I shook my head. It was the wrong thing to say.
“I didn’t kill anyone!” he shouted. “Come with me. Both of you.” He shoved us in front of him and pushed us along through the maze of hallways until we were beneath the giant chandelier in the foyer. There was a loud crack of thunder and Amber screamed.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Frederick continued to shove us up the stairs to the bedroom, where he expected the photographs to be. I tried to think fast. How could I explain why the handbag, when he eventually found it, was empty? No matter how things turned out, I’d never seen a man angrier than he was right then. A fact not lost on Amber.
Amber gasped. “See what you did?”
“Me?” I answered. “I was doing fine until you came into the room.”
Frederick reached the top of the stairs and pounded his fists into the air. “Shut up! You two are driving me mad! I should force you to have an old-fashioned duel. You can finish each other off. Catty remarks at twenty paces.”
“No thanks,” Amber snapped defiantly.
“For once I agree with her,” I said.
He grabbed each of us by an arm and pulled us into Mica’s room. Then he began tearing the place apart, starting with the bed. Amber and I huddled in a corner, and I gestured to the door. We shuffled closer but weren’t fast enough for Frederick, who slammed it shut. “Go stand by the window.”
Silently, we did as we were told. With one swipe he cleared the vanity of Mica’s perfume bottles and jars, the glass shattering on the stone floor. His chest was heaving now, and then he stared at the armoire as though he’d only just noticed it. “There are only so many places to hide things in here,” he said and practically ripped its door off. In seconds he had every handbag on the floor and w
as opening them one by one, shaking out the contents of each. Mica’s bags had little in them, a lipstick here, a compact there. At last he found mine. He smiled. He knew it was the right one. I braced myself against the stone wall. He opened it and his eyes widened, puzzlement followed by rage. “They aren’t here.”
“I told you. They don’t exist,” I pleaded.
“Did you remove the photos and hide them somewhere else in the castle?” he asked.
I shook my head repeatedly. He crossed the room towards me.
“Tell him where they are,” Amber said in a panicked voice.
“I can’t! I made them up!” I insisted. But it was no use. Frederick was practically on top of me. At that moment, the thunder returned with a vengeance and lightning struck, lighting up the sky. He glanced out the window and my gaze followed his. Below the window was the swimming pool. I caught my breath.
“I have another idea,” he said. “I think we all could use a relaxing swim.”
“A swim?” Amber said, missing his sarcasm entirely. “It’s the middle of the night.”
He ignored her, instead choosing to clasp my chin in his hand and squeeze, just hard enough to twist my lips into a pucker. “You’re a reporter, Clara. I’m sure you’d love a tour of the crime scene. Just like the swarm of reporters loved seeing William Holden’s corpse in Sunset Boulevard,” he said menacingly. “I can show you exactly where Mica’s body was found, floating face down in her gold dress. What a coincidence; her dress was exactly like the one you’re wearing now.”
I swallowed, but with the hold on my face I couldn’t talk. He wasn’t done spewing either. “Tell me, are you a fan of Sunset Boulevard?”
He forced my head to move up and down in the affirmative. “Yes? Me too. As a producer, there is always at least one point in the filmmaking process where you want to kill the writer.” Then he released me.
“Now get moving, please.” Then he turned to Amber. “You too, sweetheart.”
“Why me? I’m not a writer.”
“But you’re a witness,” he pointed out cruelly.
Grabbing each of us by the arm, he manhandled us out the door and dragged us down the stairs. He ushered us through the castle to a side door at the end of a narrow passageway. Just as he was to open it, there came another crack of thunder and shot of lightning and every light twitched then snuffed out, leaving the entire castle shrouded in darkness.
“The electricity is gone,” Amber said unnecessarily.
“You don’t say?” he answered acidly. Shoving us in front of him so we were cornered, he grabbed a garden torch that was leaning against the wall and lit it with a wooden match.
“You’re kidding, right?” I said.
“We’ll need light in order to see the pool in all its infamy,” he answered caustically.
He yanked at the door until it creaked open. I could barely make out the stone path that bent and twisted through an English garden that might be beautiful come spring. My heels were unsteady on the stone, and I picked my way along, feeling him close on my heels, able to snatch at me if I was to try to run away. At one point, Amber clasped my hand, and I didn’t have it in me to shake her off.
I felt my dress snag on an enormous hedge as we turned a corner. Suddenly, there before us was the glassy pool, the wind blowing across in fine ripples. We stood near the edge, staring into the water. It wasn’t difficult to envision the body of his wife floating on such a polished surface.
“So now what?” I demanded, the nervous edge audible in my voice.
“You disappoint me, Clara. Don’t you have any of your reporter questions to ask? Such as when did I last see Mica alive? Why didn’t I hear her scream? I assure you, I’ve heard them all before. I’m sick to death of them.”
I shook my head violently. “No, I believe it was an accident.”
“Now that I have your attention,” Frederick said, seething, “where are the photos?”
I saw movement beside me and turned to see that Amber had ventured far too close to the edge. Frederick followed my gaze and I saw him twitch. He started towards her. She panicked and her heel slipped on the wet tile. I leapt to her side and managed to grab the torch and knock it towards his face. It must have struck him because he shrieked and fell backwards, landing hard on the ground.
“You could have killed me! You’re a madwoman!”
“Could have killed you? You were going to kill us!” I shrieked back.
“Don’t be absurd! I was only trying to scare you!”
“Well, it worked,” I said angrily.
Amber was useless, lying on the ground, watching.
“You’re not going to tell me where the photos are, are you? What more do you want? Money? I said I’d produce the film,” he blabbered.
He pulled himself to his feet and clambered back up the path to the house without another word. Amber and I remained where we were, too frightened and too confused to know what to do.
“You did it!” she said. “You fought him off!”
“Hardly,” I said. “He didn’t put up much of a fight. And you did nothing.”
Amber got up and cleaned herself off and nodded towards the path. “I’ll go see if he’s hurt. I can’t have him being mad at me, can I?”
“Just like that? You’re suddenly not afraid?” I asked and followed her. “Don’t be so sure he’ll forgive you.”
“It wasn’t me who smacked him with a torch. I’ll blame you.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” I said.
We moved silently along the pathway. The enormous door was ajar, and we slipped through it and down the dark hallway until we were within a few feet of the foyer. I stopped in my tracks and grabbed Amber.
“What is it?” she asked, irritated.
“Voices. He’s not alone,” I whispered.
We listened but couldn’t hear what they were saying.
I stepped closer to try to see who was there and had popped my head into the foyer just as the lights came on. Amber squealed. The giant chandelier was lit up and beneath it stood Frederick, pale and puffing, with Niall, Trinity, Saffron and Dean, of all people.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Hearing Amber’s cry, they turned in our direction and we stepped out into the light. But it was obvious that Niall and Frederick were arguing.
“How dare you set foot in my home again,” Frederick charged.
“Believe me, it’s not by choice, but you took something of mine,” Niall fought back.
“What something of yours did I take?” Frederick sneered, irritated beyond belief.
That’s when Niall finally looked at me. He pointed, his eyes taking in the gold dress, and grinned in that lopsided way of his. “Clara Bishop.”
My first instinct was to run into Niall’s arms, but then I thought about how long it took him to get here. “You took your sweet time!” I said to him. “I thought you were too hurt, or too angry, to rescue me.”
“I have a bump on my head, but that wouldn’t stop a guy like me from rescuing a damsel like you.”
Before I could respond, Amber put on a big show rushing to Frederick’s side. “You poor dear. I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what got into Clara. But you have to know it was all her. I never thought you were going to murder us.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed, and I recognized his default angry expression. He looked at me. I stared back.
“I was trying not to have you fall into the pool,” Frederick muttered.
“And you would have saved me too, if it weren’t for her.”
Then she looked at Dean. Her face became soft and sulky as she moved from Frederick into his arms. He embraced her reluctantly while avoiding eye contact with me. Niall rolled his eyes. Trinity and Saffron each hugged me.
“There, there, love, it’s okay. It’s all a misunderstanding,” Trinity said.
“How did you find me?”
“I came to the flat to tell you about Larry,” Saffron explained. “But when Trin
ity and I got there Niall was lying on the floor, out cold. He bashed his head right proper, slipping in the entryway like he did.” I swallowed and peered at Niall. He raised an eyebrow. “I threw a pitcher of water on him like you see in films and he came to.”
“He told us that you’d driven off with Frederick,” Trinity continued. “Of course, with the smog, we didn’t know what to do.”
“Then your husband turned up,” Niall said. “Looking for you.”
“I told Amber it was over,” Dean said sheepishly. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“How did you all get here?”
“Billy,” Niall said, as though that explained everything.
“Who is Billy?”
“You know him well enough,” Niall said, and just then in walked the cabbie who always appeared when I needed him.
“You?”
“Yes, miss. I’m an old acquaintance of Niall’s. He paid me to keep an eye on you. Said you might get into trouble.”
I looked at Niall. He shrugged. “I didn’t realize how much trouble. I’ve said it before, you’re quite the girl.”
I felt myself blush. But it all seemed too easy. I turned to Saffron. “You should know that Frederick is to blame for Larry’s beating.”
Frederick piped up. “That’s nonsense!”
“You practically confessed,” I said, but Saffron cut me off.
“It wasn’t him,” Saffron explained. “Larry came to yesterday, and he’ll be okay. Turns out he owed some gambling debts to the wrong people and they roughed him up.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, yet in some twisted way, it all made sense. Except for Frederick. I turned to him.
“But you threatened me if I didn’t give you those photographs,” I said and stepped towards him. “You made me think you were going to turn me into William Holden in Sunset Boulevard!” I accused him.
“You bloody well blackmailed me,” he retorted.
Good point.
“But if you weren’t guilty of the death of your wife, why would you care about any photos?” I asked.