Remains to Be Scene (25 page)

T
he Hollywood cognoscenti know that an opportunity to visit Pepper Plantation, especially if it’s for a blowout planned by Tim Pepper, is more prestigious than being invited to wear silk PJs for dining with Hugh Hefner and his bunnies at the Playboy Mansion. With the help of the cast and crew telephone contact list that had been provided to Polly on her first day of work on
Detention Rules
, Tim and Placenta began inviting everyone who was even remotely involved with the film to the party. The response was immediate and positive.

Pepper Plantation was decidedly not like the child-friendly Neverland Ranch. Under Tim’s direction, his mother’s parties never failed to offer jaded Tinseltown adults with a fantasyland of superb cuisine, a startling array of colorful martinis, and unique entertainment—give or take a hyperbaric chamber—or a troupe of dancing bears.

With only a few days in which to pull together the affair, Tim quickly settled on a theme. “I’m calling it ‘The Black Cat Ball,’” he announced.

“Don’t offend Bill Cosby!” Polly protested. “I don’t want to be on his list. Let Wanda Sykes have all that fun!”

With a roll of his eyes Tim said, “Um, I was thinking more along the lines of Edgar Allan Poe.”

Polly looked quizzical.

“Too obscure? The symbolism, I mean,” Tim said, looking first to Polly, then to Placenta who shrugged her shoulders.

Over the years of having Tim around to single-handedly raise awareness of his famous mother as a great hostess, Polly had learned not to second-guess his party theme ideas. As deathly afraid as she was that Tim might become too bold in his avant-garde themes, the reality was that the more outrageous his parties became, the more celebrated and admired Polly emerged.

“How much is a kilo of catnip on the black market these days?” Polly asked facetiously as she studied Tim’s presentation of how he planned to transform the house into a combination Skull and Bones hazing and Hollywood feature film casting cattle call.

Ignoring his mother’s subtle attempt to put a cap on the household treasury, Tim merely continued to present his party design sketches. “We’ll have the back yard tented, and a stage will be built over the pool,” he said, showing his handiwork as a sketch artist. “The closed circuit large screen televisions will be strategically placed throughout the great room and in the library. The better to view the killer being apprehended.”

“This could all blow up in our faces, and we’ll be the laughing stock of the Beverly Hills party circuit,” Polly whined. “Not to mention that Randy could be in more trouble with the D.A.’s office.” Alarm filled her voice. “What if we’re sued for libel, or slander, or party malpractice?”

“Failure is never a possibility at Pepper Plantation,” Tim insisted. “In fact, I think that your reputation will reach greater heights when the CNN headlines shock the world with news of how you, iconic Polly Pepper, comedienne extraordinaire, personally brought a killer to justice. Think of the publicity you’ll get! And the job offers. And maybe hosting ‘Saturday Night Live.’”

Polly smiled. She was easily seduced into thinking that her son’s plan was almost foolproof, and that after this party she would be an even greater toast-of-the-town. Her only job was to play the gracious hostess, and allow Sedra Stone’s murderer magically to appear. “You’re usually right,” she finally agreed. “Today, Placenta and I will run down to Kinko’s and have copies of
DNA
printed and bound. One for the director—you,” she said, looking at Tim, “one for me, and eight for our principal cast. I can’t wait for opening night!”

It was a frantic week at Pepper Plantation. Although life at the mansion always got a little crazier before an important party, nerves this time frayed faster than sales associates at Tiffany when Dr. Laura and her entourage filled the store. Polly, Tim, and Placenta realized that for once the success of a Polly Pepper party really was a matter of life and death. They each knew that this was their one and only chance to prove who killed Sedra Stone. Their own lives, and the lives of their invited guests, could be jeopardized if anything went wrong.

Finally the big night arrived.

As valet attendants collected cars at the main gate, a contingent of hired security guards checked off names from lists on clipboards. Guests walked down the long cobbled drive, ooh-ing and ah-ing at the vast illuminated grounds, in the midst of which sat the mammoth and mythical Pepper Plantation mansion. Through her bathroom window on the second story of the house, where Polly was still making up at the time the affair was scheduled to begin, fragments of conversation drifted up to her like little bubbles.

“Must be nice…” a woman’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Polly presumed she was referring to the house. Other comments weren’t as generous or concealed. “Who’d she have to screw to get this place,” said another, her voice oozing resentment. “Think the old woman needs another husband? I’ll volunteer,” said a male voice, laughing at his own lame joke.

Placenta stepped into the bathroom. She was dressed in a black cocktail sheath, her hair coiffed and frosted and several of Polly’s diamonds were clipped to her ear lobes and pinned to a shoulder strap on her dress. She carried two flutes of champagne and handed one to Polly, who gratefully accepted the glass and took a long sip. “This is just until the exorcist gets here to cast out the unclean spirits—which, since this is Hollywood, should take like forever,” Placenta said. She made the sign of the cross. “Honestly, I didn’t think I was going to be this nervous. How are you holding up?”

Polly uttered a sound that was somewhere between “Don’t ask,” and “How the hell did we get into this mess in the first place?” She busily touched up her eyebrows with a Clinique pencil, while simultaneously examining herself in the floor to ceiling mirrored wall. The look on her face showed that she accepted what she saw: a face that bordered on attractive, but with a still killer body swathed in a dark ivory colored shirred bodice Vera Wang dress. The V-neckline and seamed bust accentuated her still great figure. The gold sequined sleeves and gathered skirt provided all the glamour expected of a star. Then she examined her nose in the lighted vanity mirror and checked her teeth for lipstick smudges.

“I must have been out of my freakin’ mind to have wanted that stupid role in
Detention Rules!
” she whined to Placenta. She knocked back the rest of her flute of champagne and set the glass on the marble-top sideboard. “If I hadn’t been so desperate for the ego stroking of getting a film role, I’d be relaxed and probably hosting an intimate dinner party tonight. Instead, I’m lording over this massive variation on the theme of
The Last Supper
! I feel like I’m going to my execution. Someone certainly better face a judge after tonight, for all the work we’ve put into this event!”

“Now hush yourself,” Placenta insisted. “We’re all nervous, but we’ve got to act as calm as a corpse.”

“That’s the best analogy I’ve heard all day, considering the reason for this affair.” The voice came from Tim who had arrived to check on the lady of the manor and to once again go over their much-rehearsed plans. “Let’s get ourselves downstairs and start to mingle. Kevin’s staff is hardly an appropriate substitute for the hosts.”

Polly sighed in resignation to her fate. “Remind me again that I’m not a complete moron for throwing this party for a million people I don’t even know.” Then, as she used to do in the stage wings before facing her television audiences each week, Polly closed her eyes and passed a hand in front of her face. She changed from mask of tragedy to mask of comedy. With a brilliant smile she said, “Showtime!”

As the trio made their way out of the bedroom suite and into the second floor corridor, Tim whispered last-minute instructions. “Okay. The caterers know to keep the hors d’oeveurs circulating, but they’re not to serve dinner. We don’t want anyone starving, but we don’t want them to eat and run before the main event either. As soon as we know that all our principals are here, I’ll give the signal and we’ll begin the program. Got it?” He looked at Polly for a response. “You take the microphone and make all the banal introductions. ‘Dana this. Sedra that. Blah, blah, blah.’ Then I’ll pretend to select our cast of readers arbitrarily.”

“I know we can pull this off,” Placenta insisted. “Now, ‘Smile Baby!’”

Polly, Tim, and Placenta linked arms and descended the Scarlett O’Hara Memorial Staircase together. When they reached the last step, they involuntarily reached for each other’s hands and squeezed tight before disengaging and going off in different directions. They immersed themselves in the crowd.

Because Polly knew only a handful of the guests now milling about in her home, she went out of her way to stop at each clique and introduce herself. She accepted with sincerity every carpenter’s’ “Thank you for inviting us,” and craft service worker’s “Gosh, I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I was little,” and production assistant’s “Do you know Brad Pitt?” As Polly found herself enveloped by genuine affection, her nervousness melted away and she began to enjoy herself.

“Darling Dana!” she cooed when the quasi guest of honor arrived. “Your first time out after wallowing in jail should be with friends,” she said as if Dana had just lost a spouse. “I hope this isn’t too overwhelming. We just want you to feel our love.”

Dana offered a weak smile of acknowledgment. Then the crowd parted for security guard Duane who wobbled through the masses and arrived at Polly’s side. He hugged her too hard and then offered another bouquet of roses.

“Aren’t you the sweet one,” Polly said, not exactly knowing what to do with the flowers. “Can you hand them over to one of the caterers to put in water? Lovely, dear. Do say hi to Dana.”

“Hi.”

When Missie walked in she looked every inch a rising star, seductively wearing a dress from Neiman’s. Her mother, Elizabeth wore wrap-around black glasses and held onto her daughter’s arm. As Polly kissed the old woman’s cheek, she noticed the distinctive smell of Lithium on her breath. Polly simply smiled and said, “Lovely scent. White Diamonds?”

Judith and Adam were also arm-in-arm as they entered the house, and each planted kisses on Polly’s cheek when they greeted her.

Jack Wesley wore jeans and a T-shirt with a cashmere jacket. He introduced his date as the screenwriter Ben Tyler. “I’m so impressed by your work,” Polly gushed to Tyler. “
Detention
rules!” she made a joke of the title and did a MacCauly Culkin
Home Alone
fist pull-down to express her approval. “I certainly hope we get to finish the shoot soon,” she said. “You’re in for a treat tonight because some very talented people are going to be giving a staged reading of a brilliant new screenplay. I know you’ll adore it.”

At that moment, Tim sidled up to his mother, and put his hand on the small of her back. “My mother is the epitome of modesty,” he said, flashing a playful smile at Jack and Ben. “But I agree.
Polly
has written a fantastic movie!”

A large fake smile crossed Ben’s lips. “Awesome,” he said. “She sings, dances, tells amazing jokes. Are there any limits to your talents?” he asked facetiously.

“We’ll soon find out,” Tim teased. He whispered into his mother’s ear. “
Imetay orfay unfay
,” he said in code. “Most of the principals are now in the tented theatre.”

“What’s up?” Ben asked. “Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the candlestick?” Polly grimaced uncomfortably. She looked at Tim with unease, then returned to Jack and Ben. “Something like that,” she said. “You two must come along as well. The treat is about to unfold,” she said, extricating herself from the conversation. Together with Tim, they all moved toward the Great Room, which led to the tent, which was attached to the house.

When she finally arrived at the stage she picked up a microphone that was set on a barstool. She tapped the ball of the instrument. “Testing! Testing!” she said. “Is this thing on?” she groused, looking around for confirmation. When she was assured that indeed the microphone was live and that her voice could be clearly heard, Polly went into her well-rehearsed speech.

“Welcome, everybody!” Polly squealed, and for the moment she had slipped back in time to every Friday night taping of her variety series before a live audience. “You’re all so lovely and well behaved! Hi, Candice! Hi, Tom! Jane, you look fab! Divorce suits you! Susan. Sweet of you and Tim to come!”

After a few moments of smiling and waving to various people in the crowd seated before her, Polly asked, “There, now. Are we all settled? Lovely!”

“Dear friends,” she said in her most endearing hostess voice, “thank you all so much for coming to my little evening of free food and booze. We’re here especially to welcome back from the brink of hell the lovely and talented Dana Pointer.”

Applause filled the air in the large tent. All eyes scanned the crowd looking for Dana who was found to be sitting alone in a corner sipping a whisky from a rocks glass. She looked startled and morose when her name was called, but soon surrendered and reluctantly stood up to accept the acknowledgment.

Polly drew attention back to herself. “I hear that the Beverly Hills jail system is a veritable Tower of London horror!” Polly lamented. “Am I right, honey?” She looked at Dana. “Poor baby. No Starbucks? No iPods? No copies of
The Peeper
to keep you apprised of whom Jennifer Aniston is sleeping with? You’ll have to write a book!”