Final Curtain (18 page)

Gerold turned red in the face and looked ready to lash out physically at his young actress girlfriend. However, he checked himself and made the excuse that he needed another drink. Then he turned and walked away.

When Gerold had disappeared into the crowd and rain forest, Polly surreptitiously began interrogating Mag. “Getting ahead in this crazy business is murder, don’t you think so too, dear? God knows, when I was starting out I had to do things for minor roles for which I’ve never forgiven myself. I’m not proud of the way I blazed the trail that led to this gorgeous home and my international iconic status, but we women know that getting a break is a tough row to hoe.”

“‘Hoe’ being the operative word?” Mag teased. “Yeah, it’s much easier when we can get a man to take care of the unpleasant business,” she agreed. “Like firing a star.”

“Or getting rid of a director who wants to replace us.”

Mag looked askance at Polly. “Karen was walking all over him. Gerold was going to let our director keep her little soap opera diva in my role. Sheesh! For some reason Karen Richards wanted an actor with more experience than me. I overheard her tell Gerold that I was wrong for the role. I’ve shown her!”

“If she can see through the veil of death,” Polly reminded her.

“Ha! Right. She’s dead. Too bad she couldn’t have lived to see my opening.”

Polly did a double take. “I doubt that she’d value that as much as Gerold, or Stewart, here. But nothing in the past matters because everything worked out for the best.”

“Except for Karen and that Sharon girl,” Mag said.

Polly feigned a small laugh. “At least Sharon’s getting out of jail in time for our big night on Friday,” she bluffed.

Mag looked confused. “She’s going to fry in the electric chair. Gerold said so.”

“Nonsense. For one thing, she’s been exonerated. And for another, in energy-conservation-conscious California we give our death row inmates a lovely injection of Sleepy-time tea instead of wasting twenty-four hundred volts of precious electricity.”

“Sharon’s going free? But that’s impossible.”

“Not to worry, my dear, you’re our Gloria Upson! Sharon won’t be wanting her old role back.”

“No! I mean, how can they let a murderer out of prison before a trial?”

“Because she’s as innocent as Heidi Fleiss and Martha Stewart. Just like those two symbols of female power and success, our dear Sharon has had to temporarily pay for a crime she didn’t commit.”

Mag forced a smile. “If Sharon and Karen’s fingerprints are all over her cell phone, and their early morning rendezvous is chronicled in their phone logs, not to mention Sharon’s Emmy smeared with Karen’s blood and God knows what other DNA isn’t enough to get her at least life in the slammer, then the police must have someone else in mind. D’ya think?”

“Indeed I do think.” Polly smiled back at Mag.

“Who? Anyone we know and love?”

Polly shrugged. “Know? Yes. Love? Not so much. But I’m not supposed to say anything. Police business, you know. Plus, I’m rather in over my head right now. All I want to do is get
Mame
up and running. Then we’ll see about trotting out the police lineup.”

Mag turned to Stewart. “Let’s go throw another mouse in the snake pit.”

A
s the guests at Pepper Plantation lined up before multiple buffet tables inside the mansion, Polly decided to take a brief respite from playing gracious hostess and give herself a self-guided tour through the tropical playground that Tim created. Stepping into the tent and onto a path of damp dark brown mulch, she inhaled the scent of warm moist air from humidifiers that were strategically placed throughout the jungle setting.

Stepping off the pathway to take what appeared to be a shortcut toward the sound of the champagne waterfall, Polly shimmied past tall leafy plants and grazed against loquats, African irises, bamboo, palms, and birds-of-paradise. Delighted to come across one of Tim’s champagne filling stations, she held her glass under the bare breast of a carved stone idol that was dispensing bubbly through a puckered nipple. She took a long sip, then happily glided farther into the man-made tropical rain forest.

Soon she was immersed in a completely unique world embellished with the sound effects of nighttime in the Amazon. In the distance behind her, Polly could barely hear the raucous laughter of her guests. She recognized the high-pitched cackle of Roseanne Barr, and a familiar laugh from John Ratzenberger. She supposed that they were all raving about the party.

Nearby, Polly could hear crickets chirping and the old leopard snoring. As she moved deeper into Tim’s botanical fairyland, Polly quickly became disoriented. She was actually lost on her own property. What should have been a major point of reference was her Olympic-size swimming pool, but she couldn’t find it through the dense foliage. Indeed, she soon realized that Tim had covered over the pool with a wooden floor to make way for a maze of paths and lush tropical foliage that now covered most of the estate’s acreage.

Polly took another long sip of her champagne and tried to reestablish her bearings. With the hidden speakers whispering wild birdcalls, soft drumbeats, and other sounds of a mystical nocturnal rain forest, she couldn’t tell if the monkeys she heard were the real ones rented for the party, or recordings on a CD. When she first heard the sound of snapping twigs close by, she thought of the toothless panther on the prowl or the chimp that Tim had borrowed from Michael Jackson. But something seemed wrong. She could feel it. When it became apparent that cautious heavy feet were moving across the thick plywood that covered the pool, she felt threatened. Polly stepped back into the camouflage of thick plants.

Deciding that it would be prudent to immediately return to her guests, Polly pushed her way through the overgrowth and began heading in the opposite direction of the snapping twigs. But when she felt how close someone was behind her, she changed course. In doing so, she became even more confused about her location. The combination of low light and multiple recorded and real-life sounds surrounding her collided and made her dizzy with frustration and apprehension. If nearly every inch of ground hadn’t been covered in plants, she would have been able to run. Instead, she was forced to pick her way through the nearly impenetrable wall of thick branches and leaves.

For a moment she thought that perhaps the champagne, humidity, and sound effects had conspired to make her paranoid. She heard a voice whisper, “She’s over there.” Polly eased herself into a curtain of leaves and tried to remain calm. Holding her champagne flute as the only potential weapon she could think of that might help ward off an attacker, Polly drained the last of her bubbly and was posed to break the glass and use the jagged stem in self-defense.

The vibration of heavy footsteps on the mulch-covered plywood floor made Polly’s heart beat faster. “She’s hiding,” she heard a voice say. “Don’t let her get away.”

Polly crouched down beside an elephant palm and willed herself to become invisible. She stayed absolutely still.

Polly closed her eyes and silently begged, “Rescue me, Randy!” When she dared open her eyes again she almost audibly gasped as two men dressed in business attire stealthily passed by her. A pungent musty scent hung in the air as the two bodies moved away from her and disappeared into the dense foliage.

Feeling a sense of relief that she had survived being discovered, Polly looked up to the canopy of bushes and silently said, “Thank you, God, for the camouflage of Chanel basic black cocktail dresses.” Suddenly, she heard a voice ask, “Where is she?” Polly’s heart beat triple time. When she found herself facing two more men, she put her hands over her mouth to mute her involuntary cry.

“Polly?” a familiar voice asked.

“What on earth?” Tim’s voice added.

Polly looked up with relief to find Randy and Tim reaching down to assist her to a standing position. “Has anybody seen my pearl earring?” She pretended to look for something lost on the ground.

“Check your lobes. And you’re wearing diamonds,” Tim said. “Why aren’t you circulating among your cast and friends? You’re supposed to be working.”

Polly was parched and desperate for a drink. “Let me get a refill and we’ll talk.”

As they walked back toward the naked goddess of champagne, Polly explained that she had simply wanted to get a better view of Tim’s masterwork, but that two men had followed her. “I was actually a little worried. There was no escape. I have a mind to report you to the fire marshal. There aren’t any alternate exits! Someone kept getting closer and closer, so I hid among the plants.”

“You can thank me for that!” Tim said. “Probably just a couple of lost guests.”

“No. They were definitely following me,” Polly said.

Randy asked if she’d been able to get a description of the people.

“Not a physical sketch, but I can identify at least one. I’ll tell you this much, they aren’t from among our set, I assure you.”

Tim and Randy both looked baffled. “You didn’t see their faces, and yet you can pick one out of a lineup?” Tim asked.

“Not necessarily a lineup. Not if we’re in separate rooms and I’m behind a one-way mirror. But I can sniff them out.”

Tim looked at Randy. “You’re getting not only a girlfriend, but a bloodhound too.”

Polly gave her son the look she saved for whenever she was displeased with him.

He knew the look well, and backed away from making snide jokes at his mother’s expense.

“One was wearing—God help me—Patchouli!” Polly snorted in disgust. “I’ll find him if I have to hug every guest at the party…although I may skip Robin Williams, who could actually use a masking scent!”

“Let’s head back to the house,” Tim suggested. “We’re supposed to be charming our guests into confessing to a murder.”

“As if that’s a surprise,” Randy said in resignation.

Polly tried to lessen the effect of her continued interference with the case. “Placenta’s alone with a hundred and fifty people she doesn’t like,” she said. “That’s a recipe for disaster since we all know that she got her degree in social comportment from the Joan Rivers School for Tact.”

Tim and Randy guided Polly onto a path that led to the tent’s exit. They wandered past the python that was curled up on a wooden shelf, and Tim made a quick check to make sure there were still ten tarantulas in the terrarium. He only counted eight, but seeing that the lid was on tight he felt certain that a couple of the spiders were probably making love behind a rock. He made a mental note to have another look once his mother was settled inside the house, and if need be, to check all the guests’ surprise goodie bags before they left.

As dinner was over, guests were once again spilling out of the house and into the tented jungle. Polly leaned into Tim and cocked her head toward two men standing by the life-size plastic alligators on the lawn. “Who’re they?”

Tim looked at his mother as though she were nuts and said, “The one on the left is your agent, J.J. Norton. The one on the right is Alex Trebec.”

“Alex is cute, but how did J.J. get past security?” She nodded toward another couple of men who seemed to be scrutinizing the other guests. “What about them?”

“Ted Casablanca from
E! Entertainment
. He’s covering the party. The other is Isaac Mizrahi. Be especially nice. You might get a new wardrobe, at cost!”

“And those two over there?”

Tim followed Polly’s gaze. “Not sure. Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself?”

“They should come to me. I’m the star, in case you’ve forgotten.” Polly sighed. “Why don’t we all go over and pretend that we’re ecstatic to have them in our little home?”

Hooking her arm through the crook of Randy’s and Tim’s, Polly led the way toward two men in dark suits, one of whom was chatting into a cell phone. As the trio approached, both men looked up and smiled. “Thanks for including us tonight,” the man on the left said. “This is such an awesome house.” The man on the right concluded his phone conversation and agreed that being at Pepper Plantation was something he could tell his girlfriend and parents about.

Polly had quickly switched to accessible star mode and smiled warmly. As discreetly as possible she got close enough to each to give them a sniff. “After all the work you’ve done for me and the show, this little gathering is the least I can do. It must be tiring for you adjusting lights and painting scenery just so that I and my amazing cast will be able to shine for a couple of hours each evening, and for a brief tick of the clock make audiences forget that they’re in Glendale. You both do a wonderful job of supporting our humble efforts. I speak on behalf of the entire
Mame
cast when I say how much I appreciate your dedication and I haven’t heard a single complaint from the tech crew. As the actor who plays the adult Patrick in the show says, ‘You’re top drawer.’”

Both men looked bewildered. A beat later, the man who had been on his cell phone said, “We’re delighted to do whatever is required to make this production a huge success, Miss Pepper. If painting a flat or changing a lightbulb is the thing to do, then we’ll gladly find a union guy to do the job. He reached out his hand to shake Polly’s. “By the by, I’m your producer, Eric Ehrlich.” Then nodding his head to the other man he said, “And this is Leonard Wood, your executive producer.”

Polly was mortified. “You’re both too young and handsome—not to mention straight—to be in charge of shepherding a Broadway musical to success!” she practically squealed in her trademark schoolgirl-meeting-a-pop-star voice. “Promise me that you’ll make sure that we get to Broadway. We’ll all take home Tony Awards for best revival of a musical. Wouldn’t one of those darling trophies look lovely on your fireplace mantels? I know exactly where I’ll keep mine. On my pillow!”

Eric promised that they were doing all that they could to book a New York theater, but that everything depended on how well the show played in Glendale. “You’re going to be the best Mame since Morgan Brittany,” Leonard Wood said. “Too bad the original Broadway production was way before my time. It would have been cool to see Jessica Fletcher in the show. I heard she was great.”

Polly was temporarily perplexed. “Jessica Fletcher? I think Eric means Angela Lansbury, who played Jessica Fletcher on TV, and who starred in the original New York production of
Mame
.”

“Yeah, that’s the name, Lansbury,” Eric said. “I always think of her as the lady on TV who couldn’t open a can of soup without finding a dead body inside. Loved that show when I was a kid.”

Polly continued to smile but silently thought,
We’re in deep doo-doo if this twerp can’t even keep his Broadway and television legends straight
.

Just then, Patrick Dempsey came to Polly’s side and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Great party, but it’s getting late and I’ve got a long day on the set tomorrow. I’m doing Bariatric surgery on someone the size of your estate.”

As Patrick left, so did many of the other guests. Each came to Polly and wished her great success on the opening of
Mame
. One by one they paid homage to the legend and kissed her cheek. However, no one smelled of Patchouli.

“See Placenta before you leave. We have a little something for you to take away,” Polly said to each guest.

Polly was suddenly perturbed. “I’m not surprised that Roseanne didn’t bother to thank me for a fabulous evening, but what happened to dear John Ratzenberger? He knows his social etiquette.”

Tim looked at his mother. “Neither of them was here. Both RSVP’d that they couldn’t make it.”

Polly frowned. “Then they lied, dear. I distinctively heard both of their voices. No one is as loud as Ms. Barr, or whatever last name she’s using these days.”

Tim remembered that Charlotte Bunch had been entertaining with her celebrity impersonations and suggested that what Polly had heard was simply a party game. “Is there anyone ol’ Charlotte can’t imitate? That woman’s pure genius. She even looks like Renée Zellweger when she scrunches up her face like a hamster.”

Polly looked around. “By the way, where’d the ol’ hamster-girl go? She never said good night.”

Tim shrugged. He looked at Placenta, who shook her head and said, “Guess she snuck out rather than have to stand in line to flatter the panties off of you.”

Polly raised an eyebrow. “No doubt she’s saving her praise for a lovely thank-you note.” She looked around and realized that all of her guests had finally left the premises, and only the catering staff was left to clean up. Polly turned to Randy and Tim. “No patchouli. Either someone left when they couldn’t murder me, or they’re still on the property.”