Remains to Be Scene (27 page)

Ben didn’t back down. “It’s the same script, Adam. The same title, too.” He looked at Polly. “Couldn’t you have at least changed the name?” he said.

At that moment Duane, too, stood up. “Polly, I’m very upset,” he whispered. All eyes on the stage and in the audience were now fixed on Duane. “You know that I’d do anything for you, but how can you stand there and claim that you wrote this screenplay?”

Polly pretended not to know what on earth Duane was chattering about. “Duane, darling,” she tried to coo, “whatever are you suggesting of your favorite living legend?”

Duane hung his head, and then spoke in just above a whisper. “I don’t blame you.”

Polly walked over to Duane. In an affectionate voice, she spoke into her mic, “Don’t blame me for what, dear?”

Slowly, Duane raised his head. His eyes met Polly’s. Then in a stronger voice he said, “I don’t blame you for wanting to take Sedra Stone’s mean old screenplay and change it because she said terrible things in it about you, and about all your friends. I know, because I found this screenplay on her computer while doing a routine security check of Sedra’s trailer and her laptop. She left the floppy with the script on it, in the disk drive.”

The audience took a collective intake of breath.

Polly placed an affectionate hand on Duane’s shoulder. She said, “Darling, have you considered that perhaps Sedra loved
my
screenplay so much that she wanted to claim it as her own, and that she deleted my name from the byline? She
was
a thief you know.”

Duane thought about it for a moment. Then a look of relief and a smile crossed his face. “Of course! That’s what happened! You wrote a brilliant screenplay and
she
stole it from you! You said she was famous for pilfering other writers’ work.”

Polly trilled. “In this town, nobody has an original idea. That’s why we have so many damn remakes and sequels to
Superman
, and
King Kong
and
The Pirates of the Caribbean.
But when something original comes along like “The Dukes of Hazzard,” everybody jumps on the new bandwagon.
Daily Variety
says they’re going into production with a feature film version of “The Price is Right.”

Adam Berg once again attacked Polly. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Sedra wouldn’t have written anything as trite and derivative as what we’ve had the dubious pleasure of hearing recited tonight.”

Polly countered. “You’re so right, Adam dear. As a matter of fact, what you’re hearing tonight is new and raw text. I haven’t had an opportunity to polish it. I assure you that the first ninety pages are golden!”

“Yes, they are,” Ben Tyler agreed, “because I rewrote them. I saw it in its dreadful original state. The story was sensational, with terrific possibilities for drama and tears, like a Lifetime cable channel made-for-television movie. But there wasn’t any structure. And the dialogue sucked, big time. It was obviously written by a rank amateur. But I fixed it.”

Lauren Gaul brought her microphone to her lips and cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she began. “Guess I’m out of the loop. I don’t quite follow. Tell me again who is the real author of this screenplay? Polly Pepper? Sedra Stone? Ben Tyler? Or Adam Berg?”

“Yes!” Three voices simultaneously shouted, claiming ownership.

As the audience collectively tried to fathom what was happening before their eyes, Dana Pointer slowly stood up from her barstool. With her microphone in hand, she stared out at the invited guests and waited until they recognized that she had something to say. When she had their attention, Dana said, simply, “Sedra Stone wrote
DNA
. And she got herself killed for it.”

I
n that instant, the tent was thrust into silence. Everyone waited for the next explosive words to vault from Dana Pointer’s lips. Detective Archer, too, was poised along with a half dozen plainclothed policemen pretending to be caterers and wannabe actors, waiting for the right moment to make an arrest. From the invited audience, eyes furiously darted from Polly to Tim to Adam to Missie to Dana to Ben to Duane to Elizabeth and to Lauren. Those on stage viewed each other with the skepticism of good apples suspecting that a rotten one was in their midst.

Dana looked around at her colleagues and smiled evilly. “Cheaters never prosper,” she said quietly into her microphone, shaking her head and chuckling with disgust. Each of the other eight people on the stage feigned affront and made nonverbal noises to express their resentment at being lumped collectively with the others. She continued, “Polly, you’re as transparent as an open window. No one believes that you actually wrote
DNA
.”

Polly swallowed hard and was about to interrupt, but she was cut off by Adam Berg. From across the small stage he called out, “Desperate times call for desperate measures, eh, Miss Polly Pepper?” He looked at the star with a bird-eating grin. “Aside from plagiarism, what else might you be guilty of?”

“I have air-tight alibis,” Polly wailed.

Dana broke in with a small laugh. “Plagiarism?” she sniggered at Adam. “Even an illiterate would know better than to steal those lame lines.” She turned to Ben. “After page ninety it’s Polly Pepper all the way. Yes? It reeks of television melodrama.”

Ben nodded in agreement.

For a moment, Polly smiled with satisfaction. Then she realized she was being insulted.

“She put her name on someone else’s work and tried to deceive us all into thinking this was her own screenplay. Pure and simple,” Adam said with a snide grin.

Dana looked at Adam, “As you’ll see, nothing’s ‘pure and simple,’” she said. “Polly didn’t try to sell the work as her own, as you did. However, the act of appropriating the literary work of another—lousy writing though it may be—and passing the material off as one’s own,
is
the definition of plagiarism. And that’s what you did with the script that Duane and Judith found in Sedra’s laptop. Fess up. Missie’s agent J. J. promised to get you a small fortune for the screenplay, didn’t he? Judith, who seems to know everything, has a mouth as big as her phony tits.”

Berg looked at Dana and was suddenly at a loss for words. He sputtered, “I’ll see to it that you’re back in the slammer by the time Leno finishes his monologue tonight.”

“I’m so scared,” Dana mocked Adam. “And it’s Saturday. Leno’s off. Even before finishing
Detention
you knew that you’d squandered what little capital you brought to Hollywood,” Dana said. “You’re already considered a has-been in this town. Word travels faster than a Google search. You tried to blame Missie and me for your incompetence. I know it was you and Judith who planted those stories with
The Peeper
. We weren’t being difficult and unprofessional. Trust me, Missie and I were only trying to save our careers from your inept filmmaking.”

Security guard Duane Dunham suddenly offered an opinion. “A murder on the set of
Detention Rules!
should have done the trick for getting you off the film—at least during the few weeks that the police conducted an investigation,” he said, knowingly. “After Trixie Wilder died, you expected to be shut down for a while. Her death—her murder—was in vain because you and Missie and the rest of the cast and production team had to return to work when her death was ruled natural. Bummer.”

Polly spoke up. “Ah, but then the movie gods smiled on you, Adam. It was a red letter day when Judith and Duane found Sedra’s unfinished screenplay. You realized it was something surefire for you to jump right into, something that you couldn’t possibly screw up, at least not once it was polished by Ben—whose name you inadvertently forgot to put on the title page. Sedra Stone’s autobiographical script was the perfect vehicle to relaunch your career. The script had everything that appeals to audiences and critics alike. A maniacal star is born. The star falls. The star rises again. It’s the Diana Ross story—without that last part.”

Missie Miller lifted herself off her barstool and stood to face Dana. “Who are you to accuse us, and Adam in particular, of doing something not only unethical but illegal? Next you’ll be trying to convince us that Sedra was killed for her lousy screenplay—one that even Ben Tyler said sucked when he first read it. Gimme a break.”

“I’ll do more than give you a break,” Dana said. “I’ll give the police a break and testify that you and Adam were working together to sabotage
Detention
. They might be interested to know that you were determined not only to extricate yourselves from that worthless movie, whatever the cost, but that Sedra told you she’d die before letting you play the role she’d created for her long overdue return to features. I know because she told me. She told her daughter a lot of things.”

Polly pretended to be floored. “Dana, dear,” she said. “Are you prepared to publicly libel yourself in front of all these people, and accuse Adam and Missie of…”

“Can’t say the word,
murder
?” Dana asked.

“Oh, I can say it,” Polly said, “but I enjoy living here at Pepper Plantation, and don’t want to risk being sent away to a concrete suite at
Maison de Prison
for slander.”

“Which is where I’ll be sending Dana her Christmas cards for the next twenty-five to life,” Missie said.

The tented theatre instantly became filled with noisy arguments. The guests, and those on the stage, began pouring out their thoughts regarding the previously only whispered-about suggestion that the death of Sedra Stone may have been perpetrated by a member of the film’s cast or production team. As the roil of words and accusations collided, Lauren Gaul slipped down from her barstool and stood center stage clutching her mic to her chest.

After years of kowtowing to stars, and ardently following the unwritten law on a movie set of never speaking to the on-screen talent unless they spoke first, Lauren boldly addressed Dana and Missie. She cleared her throat and demanded, “If I may….” The clamor of an audience inheated discussion continued to obscure all that she said, until the sound technician, at Tim’s direction, cranked up the volume on Lauren’s microphone while she was in mid-sentence. Suddenly the audience’s ears were blasted by Lauren’s voice and they heard two words: “
Dead body
.” All eyes and undivided attention were now focused on Lauren Gaul, who was startled by the abrupt silence that filled the tent.

She continued, “I mean…. I’ve never been on a more dysfunctional set. An Oliver Stone movie comes close, but
Detention Rules!
was a freak show. I’m as professional as they come,” she said distancing herself from others. “I even dress exactly like the star for whom I’m standing in. I’ve heard some say it’s an ego thing, or that I want to take the star’s place. But trust me, I have no delusions about my career. I never made it as an actor. Big deal. Now I just do what I do, and do the job well. By making up to look like the star it expedites the process of setting the lighting for the DOP. And usually one day’s the same as another. But not the day that Trixie Wilder died. Now that was a strange and surreal day.”

The audience watched as she became still, and stared off into the replay in her mind’s eye. “It was so weird,” she repeated in a voice that sounded distracted. “It was dark outside by the time that Adam Berg got all huffy because he couldn’t decide which abysmal take to make as his master shot. As I left the set and headed toward the make-up trailer, I had the sense that I was being followed. You know the feeling,” she said, shivering at the memory. “It’s creepy, and you think you’re being watched, but you’re probably being silly and paranoid because what can possibly happen on a film set with so many people around? I just wanted to get to where I was going as quickly as possible. Then, from out of nowhere someone came up behind me and pushed me to the ground. I fell on my hands and knees.

“Then the attacker straddled my back and pushed my face into the wet grass. Here’s where it gets weirder. Whoever was accosting me, grabbed my hair and…and when my wig came off, she…it was definitely a woman’s voice…said, ‘Who? What the…? Oh, Christ!’ Then she got off of me and disappeared back into the darkness. I didn’t see who it was, and she didn’t seem all that big—but she was pretty strong.

Lauren loudly exhaled. “You can check with the production nurse, if you want to. I went for Band-Aids because my knees and the palms of my hands were scraped and bleeding. I said I tripped in the dark. I was too tired and shook up to file a formal report with security. I know I should have told someone. It might have saved Trixie’s life because I’m convinced it was a case of mistaken identity since I was dressed exactly as she was. Someone wanted to hurt Trixie. She died and I still think—despite what the coroner says—that she was murdered. I feel horribly guilty. Then I became Sedra Stone’s stand-in…and I dressed exactly as she did…and then she was…” Lauren’s voice trailed off but everyone knew what she was thinking.

Polly walked over to Lauren and put a comforting arm around her. “Poor baby,” she cooed. “I know how you feel. I was once attacked. Yes! Joel Siegel said that my last MOW was aptly titled
Bite the Bullet
because it was what he had to do to sit through the film past the opening credits. Oh, the pain!”

As Polly enfolded Lauren in a protective motherly embrace, she tried to assure her that even had she reported the incident to the Sterling Studios security department there was no guarantee that the same attacker had killed Trixie and Sedra. “You’re not responsible for the fate of others,” Polly said. “Now, if it had happened again, when you were dressed as Sedra’s character, then I would have certainly been freaked out and taken action,” she said.

Lauren looked at Polly and the color in her face drained. She reached into her bra and withdrew a piece of paper. “A note—from Sedra’s killer, maybe,” she said.

Lauren continued in an embarrassed and halting voice. “The day that Sedra was murdered I was minding my own business and simply walking around the school campus between scene changes. I wasn’t needed on set for an hour, so while still wearing my costume I did what I always do when there’s a break. I go exploring. Gary High has some great old buildings. At one point I had to use the bathroom, so I went inside the school to find the lavatory. And that’s when it happened.

“I was walking down a deserted corridor, and again I felt as though I was being watched. Of course, by now I’m sort of paranoid all the time. I heard noises…just sounds, like a steel locker door being opened and closed—even though school is out for summer vacation—and a custodian’s floor polishing machine whirring in the distance.”

Polly had returned to the comfort of her barstool seat to hear the tale as all eyes continued to focus on the stand-in, who, for the moment at least, was suddenly the star attraction.

Lauren looked at Polly and continued her story. “I found the restroom, and while I was in the stall I heard the door to the lavatory creek open. Then there was silence. Nothing. I didn’t hear footsteps or anyone running the tap to wash their hands, or entering another stall. But I remember there was a scent of perfume. Something icky and pungent, like lilac. Then suddenly an arm reached under my stall door and shoved this note on the floor at my feet. I was totally startled.” Lauren handed the paper to Polly and said, “Please read it.”

With a look of apprehension, Polly accepted the paper and unfolded the plain white sheet and silently read what was on the page. She grimaced as she read the words. When she finished, she looked up at Lauren. “Have you talked to Detective Archer? This is evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” Lauren asked. “There’s no way to tell who wrote it.”

“Don’t you watch ‘CSI?’ Crime labs can detect a gazillion things; from the brand of ink used on the paper to microscopic traces of hand lotion that may have rubbed off on the page. Start watching the tube, girl!”

A hubbub ensued. “Read it to us!” the audience demanded. “Does it say who killed Sedra?”

Polly nodded her head. She cleared her throat and brought the microphone to her lips. “Okay. It’s typed and addressed to Miss Sedra Stone.” Polly looked at Lauren. “Someone obviously doesn’t see so well. They keep mistaking you for other actors.” Polly returned to the printed page. “It’s double spaced. No salutation. ‘This movie production has gone on way too long. We have bigger fish to fry. Time for you to go bye-bye. Leave on your own. Or in a body bag. The choice is yours.’ Period. Hell they didn’t even have the social etiquette to sign their name,” Polly griped.

Adam Berg now looked intrigued. “Let me see, please,” he said reaching out to Polly to retrieve the note. He read in silence and passed it to Judith. When she was through she handed it over to Missie. Adam said, “This doesn’t mean squat.” He looked at Lauren. “You could have written this yourself and then killed Sedra Stone, and made it look like your mystery person. I still wouldn’t have cast you in her role.”

Lauren was aghast. “Sedra Stone was an evil bitch,” Lauren admitted. “She fired me from my first stand-in job. But that was twenty years ago. I hold grudges, but not that long. I’d say the people who would benefit most from Sedra being eliminated are you and Missie and Ben. Your careers were in the toilet with
Detention Rules!
You needed out of this film project and you wanted her screenplay.”