Remains to Be Scene (11 page)

“Right,” Polly said, remembering the scene. “This is where I coax away her rusty razorblade and homemade pipe bomb. I adore the new speech about not being so plebeian as to open her veins in a tub with a mere drugstore brand of bubble bath—hold out for raspberry aromatherapy suds! And no WMDs in Missy’s school locker, please! Very nice. I’m sure we’ll nail the scene on the first take.”

Berg sighed as if to say,
From your lips to Missie and Dana’s pierced ears
! “That would be awesome,” he said. “But remember, these girls don’t have your experience, or your discipline. If I can just get this one scene shot by the end of the day, it’ll be a water-into-wine miracle.”

Polly pooh-poohed Adam’s concerns. “I’m sure we’ll do a fine job. Now, where do you have the costume department set up? I’d better get my famous fanny in gear.”

“I’m heading that way. Stella, the costumer, is expecting you. Shall we?” he said, initiating the entire group to depart together.

As they stepped out of the trailer, Polly said in a solemn tone, “I’m so very sorry for your loss of Sedra Stone. I know what a blow it must have been to you and the cast and crew. And losing Trixie, too. At least they died while doing what they loved—working on a film. That’s the way I’d want to go.” Polly instantly checked herself. “But not on this movie!” she sniped. “I’m far from ready for that final fade to black!”

Placenta closed the trailer door and followed several paces behind the others. As the group continued walking, Adam acknowledged that the tragedies had indeed adversely affected the production, not just in terms of the financial cost of running behind schedule, but the human cost of losing members of the film family. “It’s affected morale, of course,” he said. “And it doesn’t help that police investigators are all over the place. I had to get the CEO of Sterling Studios to call in a few favors from the LAPD in order to keep the production from closing again after Sedra’s death. It’s imperative that we finish by Friday.”

As the group approached the makeshift location wardrobe department, which was a long six-axle freight trailer truck set high off the ground on a temporary foundation of cinder blocks, Adam addressed the subject of the police investigation. “Speaking of Sedra’s horrible death,” he began, “detectives are still hammering away at everyone.”

Polly said confidently, “I’m hardly one they’d want to chat with.”

Adam continued, “Regardless of who you are or where you were at the time of the incident, this one detective…Archer…will probably corner you for a statement.”

“Archer,” Polly thought for a moment. “I love his news conferences. Strikes an imposing figure, don’t you think so?”

“That’s him,” Adam said. “He and his team are interviewing everyone from Missie and Dana on down to the grips, gaffers, extras, and stand-ins. Even the cleaning crew is being grilled.”

“They’ll soon confirm that Sedra’s death was indeed murder,” Polly prophesized. “Hell, I would have killed her ages ago—if I weren’t such a sissy. I had plenty of motive way back when.”

Director Berg was intrigued. “Polly Pepper wouldn’t harm a fly,” he chuckled.

“Common house flies, no,” Polly said. “They’re a nuisance, but as a rule they don’t destroy homes. However, Sedra was one big ol’ Mike Tyson–sized fly. I could have swatted her into the next dozen or so lifetimes on her karmic wheel—if I’d really wanted to. But that’s water under the bridge. I had nothing to gain by seeing Sedra dead now. Oh wait,” she said. “Actually, I did get her job, didn’t I? Ha!” She laughed uncomfortably.

Adam Berg concurred. “If it makes any difference, I totally disagree and am sure that Sedra’s death was just a horrible accident. Maybe she was sleepwalking in the pool house building.” He stopped for a moment. “Oh, that’s an idea,” Berg continued. “Maybe she was chasing booty.”

Polly said, “Speaking of such, how are the girls handling this latest crisis?”

Berg rolled his eyes. “What crisis? For their lack of interest you’d think Sedra was merely that house fly. Squash the damn thing and move on.”

“I’m sure they’re mourning in their own way,” Polly said.

“You’d hardly know it,” Berg said. “But, life goes on. Or in this case, their party goes on.”

“Dana, too?” Polly pressed the director. “She and Sedra seemed to be close allies.”

“Actually, she has changed,” Berg paused. “She’s not as obstreperous as she used to be. I’m chalking it up to all the mercy sex she’s having with the DOP in her trailer,” the director said. “They’re not very discreet. Everybody knows what’s going on between scene changes.”

Polly laughed. “Puppy love. Isn’t that cute.”

And then they were climbing the metal steps to the open tailgate of the wardrobe trailer. “I’ll just leave you in Stella’s capable hands,” Adam said as he introduced Polly to the costumer. Then he turned to leave. “See you on the set,” he called back. “And again, it’s a pleasure to have you with us.”

He said good-bye to the group and stepped out of the trailer to where Tim, and his assistant Judith, were becoming fast friends. “You two take a tour,” Berg suggested, glad for a break from his increasingly annoying lover/assistant.

In the midst of rack upon rack of hundreds of items of clothing all jammed together like a dry cleaner’s inventory, Polly smiled warmly at Stella, and introduced Placenta. “And what divine creation have you selected for me to wear in this important scene?” she asked.

Stella had no problem locating a specific garment on a coat hanger and shrouded in plastic with a tag that said,
Catharine, Scene #73
. “You can change in there,” she said, handing the costume to Polly and pointing to a drawn curtain, behind which was a makeshift dressing room.

Stella offered Placenta a cup of coffee and found a chipped mug with the film title, “Psycho IV: The Beginning.” She handed it to Placenta then refilled her own mug.

After much zipping and unzipping, and buttoning and tying, Polly drew back the curtain and stepped out wearing an inordinately ugly gingham housedress. She handed Stella the coat hanger and said, “Honey, we’ve gotta talk.”

Stella held up her hands to remove herself from accountability. “I didn’t design the damn thing. I just hang these cheap threads on actors,” she said.

Polly waved away Stella’s defense. “I mean we’re practically old girlfriends already. Let’s dish about Dana and Missie and Sedra and Jack…and why are the police still hanging around this place when it’s obvious that Sedra Stone’s death was accidental. I’m tired of getting my dirt second hand from
The National Peeper
.”

For a moment, Stella looked at Polly and Placenta with suspicion. Then she gave in with a smile and whispered, “I’ve gotta tell you, I was a huge fan of your show. Remember the sketch in which you and Henry Winkler started a sexual enlightenment seminar…for Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

The three women burst into the laughter of co-conspirators. “Oh the pranks we got away with on that show!” Polly said. “We had our share of intrigue, too,” she added. “Hell, I guess every show has its skeletons. Just like
Detention Rules!
”

“Hon, I could tell you stories that would curl the hair under your arms,” Stella said. “Of all the shows I’ve worked on, this one has the vilest group of egomaniacal, self-absorbed narcissists. I’m surprised that only two of ’em have been done in. What makes you so sure that Sedra’s death was accidental? Or Trixie Wilder’s, for that matter?”

“Not accidents?” Polly said, as if the idea had never occurred to her.

“I have my theories,” Stella said, just as Iris the PA arrived and said it was time to report to the set.

A
lthough Tim had spent more time in childhood playing with set props on a sound stage than in a nursery with a
Sponge Bob Swap and Bop
, he never tired of being in the midst of a busy film or television production. He compared the swirl of activity with a colony of unionized ants. Hundreds of workers scurried about performing seemingly mundane duties for one collective purpose—to make rich producers richer.

Judith enjoyed film locations, too, mainly because it brought her into contact with some of the most renowned people on the planet. As far as she was concerned there was no better place to find her Holy Grail—marriage to a wealthy actor, filmmaker, or studio executive. Until she could snag a Spielberg, Weinstein, or Bruckheimer, however, she knew that she had to earn a living, and being a lackey to a movie director (with sex benefits on the side) certainly beat toiling in a bank teller’s cage, or analyzing actuarial tables at an insurance company. The perks were considerable too: free travel and meals, and T-shirts with the film’s title emblazoned across the chest. But never mind the journey. For Judith it was all about the destination.

Determined to make a positive impression on Tim, primarily because his lineage connected him at zero degrees of separation to the rich and famous, she played docent and escorted him around the school campus-turned movie location. She walked him to the main points of interest.

Playacting the role of a tour guide to Hollywood celebrity homes, she cupped her hands to her mouth to make the distorted sound of one speaking into a crackly old microphone. She announced in a deep voice, “Welcome to the super-duper deluxe and expensive journey to the hell holes of Hollywood.”

Tim shook his head and couldn’t control a bemused smile.

“Keep your hands and feet inside the tram as we approach the luxury dressing room trailer of the infamous Dana Pointer. For those of you onboard who are over the age of twelve, or who have an IQ higher than Walt Disney’s frozen brain, and would therefore have no clue who or what a Dana Pointer is, I’ll explain. Think Helen Hunt—but without a trace of that star’s talent. We’re talking about the teen star of not one, but
two
box office blockbusters:
Road Kill
and the Sterling Studios’ animated feature,
Oxy the Moron
.”

Stepping closer to the trailer, Judith continued, “We’re in luck today, my friends. The Star Waggon is
occupado
, and rockin’ in rhythm to ‘Push Push in the Bush.’ Which in English, translates to Dana Pointer is in the sack trying to make whoopee with none other than hunky Jack Wesley! Accent on
trying
.”

Tim feigned naiveté. He whispered, “Dana and Jack are…”

Judith smiled but continued speaking in her loud tour guide voice. “Doing it? I said, ‘trying’.”

Had the music inside been any less loud Judith could have been heard, which frankly didn’t faze her in the least.

Tim raised his eyebrows. “Can’t blame Dana,” he smiled. “I mean Jack’s one of the hottest studs in Hollywood right now. What’s keeping him from becoming a break-out star?”

“’Cause he’s not sleeping with the right people,” Judith said, now speaking in her normal voice. “He even gave Sedra Stone a toss. She’s hardly in a position to help her own career, let alone his. Unless he’s going for a Demi Moore/Ashton Kutcher Oedipus sort of fling. Though he’d much prefer Ashton.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Tim said, aware that he just outed himself to Judith. “But, um, I imagine that doesn’t surprise you,” he said.

“Oh, please,” Judith said, as if she were offended by a stupid question. “Does anybody care about that stuff anymore? It’s a cliché, but you’re too cute to be straight. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you—and you laid eyes on Adam.”

“His biceps gave me away, eh?” Tim laughed.

“Nah. You’ve mastered discreet,” Judith said. “But my gaydar is more acute than the homing device on a scud missile. Jack’s the one with the seriously damaged poker face. But I’ll keep his boring little secret—from Dana and the press.”

“Dana’s no dummy. She must have figured it out,” Tim said.

“Trust me, she
is
a dummy,” Judith said. “The fact that she’s also making it with the director of photography speaks volumes about her unfulfilled needs. As a matter of fact, Jack’s making it with the DOP, too. Ha!”

Tim and Judith shared a laugh. “Morals are for people with a conscience,” Judith said. “In this town, that part of the brain rots faster than any post-’Seinfeld’ sitcom starring Jason Alexander. Here, people play by their own rules and live by hedonist’s standards. Heck, I’ve worked as an assistant on dozens of features and television movies. I could make a fortune selling gossip. Kate Beckinsale, this. Bill Murray, that. So much to write home about. But I’m saving everyone’s peccadilloes for my memory box.”

“Or bank account?” Tim added. “Is there anything that goes on around here that you don’t know about?”

“Nope. I’ve got eyes in the back of my head. I have to know what’s going on, if I’m ever going to parlay this subservient job into a permanent place on the arm of a red-carpet hot shot,” Judith said.

“Then tell me what happened the night of Sedra Stone’s death?” Tim asked.

Evading the question, Judith again returned to her tour guide persona. She spoke into her hands, “Ladies and germs, prepare for the crème de la crème macabre Grave Line Tour. Follow me, and we’ll duck past the police barricade. You’ll see how the mighty can fall—literally.”

“Ewww!” Tim whined.

“Not to worry, folks. They’ve pretty much scraped up everything that used to be the star of ‘Monarchy.’”

Judith and Tim entered the unlocked building that housed the swimming pool and diving platforms. As they walked around the side of the empty blue cement pit, and looked up at the place from which Sedra had dropped to her death, they simultaneously quivered at the horrible thought of the star’s fate.

Tim finally said, “Dana’s a bitch. And a slut. And she’ll do almost anything to be a star. But I’ll never believe she had anything to do with Sedra’s death. Although I also don’t believe it was an accident.”

“Yeah?” Judith said.

Tim sighed. “I’m inclined to think Sedra was murdered.”

“Inclined?” Judith mocked.

“Can you think of anyone with a motive?” Tim asked.

“Dozens on this movie alone,” Judith said. “And she was only here for a day!”

“Plays well with others,” Tim said with sarcasm.

“Hell, I hated her guts, too,” Judith admitted. “There was something absolutely toxic about her. She actually challenged me for Adam. At her age! But Adam’s so not worth killing someone over. He’s hardly the hottest pistol in the sack. Screws like an actor, if you get my drift.”

“Sedra had tons of people who disliked her,” Tim agreed. “But she disliked them as well.”

“Even your friend, Placenta, seemed to have a grudge.”

“Placenta’s top of the line. She loathed Sedra out of loyalty to Polly and me. She was there to help pick up the pieces after Sedra practically shattered Mom’s life, or at least her self-esteem—twice.”

“Still, if that detective Archer knew of her disdain and your mom’s past history with Sedra, he’d add both of their names to his list of suspects,” Judith said.

“They’d be at the bottom of a very long list,” Tim said. “Are there actual suspects? Is this detective investigating a homicide?”

“What do you think?” Judith challenged. “Everyone is considered guilty until proven innocent.”

“So many motives, but so few clues,” Tim said.

“Who says there aren’t any clues?”

Tim shrugged. “Six o’clock news.”

“You have to ask, what was Sedra Stone doing on the ten meter diving platform above an empty swimming pool,” Judith said.

“Alone, late at night,” Tim added.

“Again with the assumptions. Who knows for sure that she was alone?”

“Maybe it was a suicide,” Tim suggested.

“Celebrities who commit suicide leave notes to be published in tabloids like
The Peeper
,” Judith said. “They want their last words to be scrutinized by biographers and the insatiably curious public. No note. And no discernable reason to be depressed since she was finally working again.”

Judith cocked her head toward the metal stairs leading to the diving platform, suggesting they climb up for a better view. “Let’s check it out,” she said.

Tim hesitated. He looked up at the platform that seemed to nearly touch the ceiling. He could feel a rush of vertigo. “Um, I think I’m probably leaving footprints or something,” he said, and stepped back onto the ground. Then, from the distance they heard the assistant director’s voice booming over a bullhorn. “Quiet on the set, please!”

Tim looked at Judith. “Let’s go and catch the fireworks,” he said, glad for the reprieve.

Judith paused for a moment, weighing what to do. Finally, with a tone of resignation, she said, “Okay. Tour’s over. Everybody clear out.”

They scrambled out of the building and easily evaded the Santa Clarita Police Department’s one-man patrol detail, an officer who was more interested in seeing live movie stars than guarding a dead one’s accident scene.

As Tim followed Judith into the gymnasium, he said, “Remind me to ask you again about the night of Sedra’s death.”

“You sound like Detective Archer,” she said and pointed to a place behind the cameras and lighting equipment. “You’ll have a good view from there. I’d better check in with Adam before he files a missing persons report on me. Wouldn’t want him to think he might have another dead body on the set. Three’s a crowd.”

They smiled at each other and Judith stepped away.

In a moment, Placenta sidled up to Tim and for the next hour they were both riveted to the activity in front of the cameras and behind the scenes.

Polly Pepper was sensational in her role as Catharine. She elevated the dialogue, and appeared to be having the time of her life. She delivered her lines with warmth and comedy, as well as a touch of pathos. In so doing, her professionalism intimidated both Dana and Missie, making them fumble their lines and miss their cues. Thus, the scene required five takes. But finally, in what director Berg considered meteoric time for getting the performances he wanted, he called out “Cut! Print! Very nice, people!” Applause erupted, which on a jaded film set is practically unheard of. Polly humbly bowed and accepted the accolade, while Dana and Missie looked peeved and flounced out of the gymnasium.

“Back in one hour please, Miss Pointer and Miss Miller,” the assistant director called out over his bullhorn.

Polly spotted Tim and Placenta. In a moment, the three were reunited and Polly begged for them to please tell the truth. “Was I really okay? I was so damn nervous.”

They reassured her that she was magnificent and had shined far brighter than any of the other actors. “You should think about doing this for a living,” Tim joked. “You’re actually quite good.”

Polly gave him a warm smile and said, “I’m starved! Let me change then we’ll join Adam for lunch.”

At that moment, director Berg came up to the trio. “Marvelous! Well done!” He looked at Polly. “If we’d had you in the role from the beginning we would have wrapped weeks ago,” he said.

Polly played her humble card. “It was your insightful direction that brought the emotions out of me. You’re a great director. You must know that. I’m going to tell all my friends that if they want a good performance ripped from their guts, they have only two choices. Hitchcock or you. Whoever isn’t dead gets the job! Ha-ha!” she trilled.

Berg smiled and silently agreed with Polly’s assessment of his talents. “Ready for lunch?” he asked. “Chef’s got a special meal in honor of your first day. We’ll eat in my trailer.”

From the corner of Tim’s eye he caught the peripheral image of a balloon-shaped object bouncing across the gymnasium floor. It was Duane the security guard. Tim elbowed his mother. “You promised your big fan that you’d break bread with him today,” he said and nodded toward Duane.

“Oh, damn, did I?” She vaguely remembered and intentionally did not look his way. “Ask him to take a rain check for tomorrow. He adores me. He’ll understand that something unexpected came up.”

“No way,” Tim insisted. “If you’re bailing on that poor lost soul, I’m not going to be the one who breaks his heart.”

Polly looked at Tim. “There are some people I can always count on in my hours of need,” she said. “Unfortunately, you’re not one of them.” She turned to Placenta. “Tell the sweetheart that I have to meet up with the director for notes about the next scene. I’ll catch him later.”

“Although lying is actually part of my job description—article twelve, paragraph three—I refuse to hurt that boy’s feelings,” Placenta said, hands on hips. “Plus, after what Sedra did to him—and what happened to Sedra afterward—not that there’s proof of any connection, I’m not taking any chances.”

“For Pete’s sake, are there no perks for being a star anymore?” Polly snapped.

Berg stepped in. “No
problema
. We can do lunch tomorrow. It’s way cool.”