Final Curtain (26 page)

Suddenly the sound of the chime from the front gate startled everyone. Polly looked at Tim, who looked at Placenta, who shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “Don’t look at me.”

Tim went to the intercom on the wall and pushed the speaker button. “Yes?”

“We’re here,” an ebullient voice declared. “It’s Mag and Charlotte. We’ve brought along a little surprise.” There was excitement in her voice.

Polly clapped her hands together. “My Emmy! I completely forgot! This is the night that my little darling comes home! Let them in!” she demanded, completely forgetting about Jamie and the reason Gerold was punishing him. “Somebody meet them at the door.” Placenta accepted the duty and scuttled out of the room. “Oh, how could I have been so stupid to forget this special night?” She looked at Tim and Jamie. “We all have to act completely surprised when Charlotte presents my Emmy back to me. I’m supposed to pretend that I don’t know it’s coming. Then I have to canonize Charlotte and offer her a reward.”

Jamie looked at Polly. “Offer Charlotte a reward? She’s the reason that Karen’s dead. You can’t canonize an accessory to murder.”

Polly and Tim both looked at Jamie with stunned interest.

“If she hadn’t begged Sharon Fletcher to bring in her Emmy—with plans to steal it—Karen would be alive today.”

“Who struck Karen?” Polly asked, looking intently into Jamie’s eyes. “You’re already blacklisted. What do you have to lose by coming clean with the truth?”

Jamie was about to speak when he was interrupted by Mag and Charlotte entering the great room.

Polly was too excited to wait for the rest of Jamie’s statement and walked over to the new arrivals. She bestowed a whisper of a kiss to their left cheeks. “Mag, dear. Charlotte, darling,” she cooed. “You must have guessed we were having champagne tonight,” she teased and ushered them into the room. “Of course you know my precious friend Jamie Livingston.”

“Never thought I’d see you again,” Charlotte said, coldly addressing Jamie.

“Aren’t you the lucky one?” Jamie retuned the icy greeting.

Sensing that the temperature of the room had suddenly dipped to Minnesota in January, Polly immediately went into gracious hostess mode. “A glass of champers will make your spirits bubble,” she said to Mag and Charlotte. “Two more, Placenta,” she called out, even as her maid was uncorking another bottle.

“We were just having the most amazing conversation about the show, and about Jamie and Gerold and the murder and—”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Jamie said with an awkward smile.

Polly noticed that Jamie and Charlotte had locked eyes. “At least we’ll soon be able to put all of this ugliness behind us,” Polly continued as she raised her glass of champagne to the others, who were already sipping their own drinks. “A toast to one of the great men of the theater. Not Ziegfeld. Not Belasko. Not even Sondheim. I’m referring to George, our very own stage doorman. He died last night, poor soul. But before he left this world, I convinced him to send a letter to the detectives working on Karen’s murder case and to detail everything that he heard and saw that dreadful morning. Cheers to you, George!”

The only others who echoed Polly were Tim and Placenta. Mag, Charlotte, and Jamie stared at each other. Finally, Mag said, “I never knew the old man’s name. What did dear George say in his letter?”

“From what I gathered, he had important information that detailed an altercation between Karen, Gerold, and a couple of cast members. All that he would mention to me was that there were peculiar comings and goings of certain people in the company that fateful morning. Canapés, dear?” she asked Charlotte and pointed to Placenta holding a platter.

Charlotte looked at the appetizers but shook her head. Placenta moved on to Mag, who also rejected the offering.

“That murder is old news. Sharon Fletcher will be locked away forever. But Charlotte Bunch has a great big surprise for you.” Mag practically sang the sentence.

Polly presented a wide smile and said, “Gosh! I love surprises! Let me guess, you’ve going to Alan Thicke’s estate sale on Saturday. You’re having a colonoscopy. You’re returning my Emmy.”

Charlotte’s smile instantly faded. She held out a soiled brown paper bag. “I found this while walking in the park,” she said, speaking rehearsed lines. “The engraving says that it belongs to you.”

Polly accepted the bag. “It’s a heavy sucker.” She set the bag down on the coffee table and slowly opened it and peered inside. With all the histrionics she could muster, Polly screeched, “I was right! My beautiful, long-lost first love has returned to me! How? What? Where?” She pretended to be nearly speechless.

Charlotte perked up, as if Polly’s guess had been nothing more than a joke. “You should use your psychic gifts to find a good plastic surgeon for your neck,” she said. “I was walking through West Hollywood Park yesterday and I literally tripped over the bag,” Charlotte recounted the false story.

“It’s a miracle,” Placenta said, exaggerating her belief in the story. “And the irony is too much to bear. Imagine, you of all people on the planet, tripping over Polly’s
stolen
Emmy.”

Charlotte ignored Placenta and instead focused on Polly’s obvious exhilaration. “I was appalled when I heard about you being ripped off, and I’m overwhelmed that I get to be the bearer of good news!”

By now, Jamie was sufficiently inebriated. He’d had more champagne than food and was feeling bold. He lashed out at Charlotte. “Why didn’t you keep the award?” he asked. “You went through so much trouble to get it.”

Charlotte made an uncomfortable laugh. “I don’t have the vaguest notion of what you mean,” she said.

“Did I say ‘keep’?” Jamie said. “I meant sell,” he corrected himself.

“You’re drunk,” Charlotte berated Jamie. “And you wonder why Gerold wouldn’t hire you for the role you so obviously coveted.”

“It’s not my intake of champagne that stopped Gerold from giving me the role that was rightfully mine,” Jamie balked. “It was his way of punishing me. You ought to know that.”

“God knows he punishes me daily,” Polly said. “But what exactly happened between you two?”

The room was silent. “Another glass of champagne, please,” Jamie said. As Placenta poured, Jamie began thinking about the events of the past two weeks. He looked at Mag and raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell?” Jamie looked at Polly. “After Karen’s death I made the mistake of trying to convince him to keep his promise and give me the role of Patrick Dennis. I said that if he didn’t let me have the part, I’d go to the police.”

“Blackmail, eh?” Polly said.

As if manipulated by unseen strings, Polly, Tim, and Placenta all simultaneously lifted their champagne glasses to their lips and took long swallows.

“I was angry,” Jamie continued. “Gerold had used me, and he wasn’t keeping his part of our bargain, even after Karen, who was the only obstruction to my getting the role, had died.”

“But the plan backfired,” Polly guessed. “Not only did you not get the role, you were banned from the theater, and Gerold put out the word to all the other theaters in town that you were trouble.”

“That’s it. But I hold this bitch mainly responsible,” Jamie spat, pointing to Charlotte. “She’s wanted me out of the way since the day she tried to steal Sharon’s Daytime Emmy Award.”

“That’s a lie!” Charlotte barked.

“Oh, sure it’s true, sweetheart,” Polly said in a soothing tone. “I know all about your desperate need for extra cash, and that you took my Emmy to buy meds. MPD must be an awful disease. Thank God you’re in the theater where you’re actually expected to be a weirdo. I’m not pressing charges. You deserve to bank the hours needed to requal-ify for your insurance.”

W
hen Polly joined Tim and Placenta at the breakfast table the next morning, it was obvious that she hadn’t slept well. Her eyes were puffy, her mood irritable, and her appetite nil. “New rule, number one,” she finally said after drinking half of the Bloody Mary that Placenta had set before her. “No murder suspects as houseguests the night before an opening. God, how will I get through this day, let alone through tonight’s performance?”

Tim was equally tired, but as the caffeine from his second mug of coffee slipped into his bloodstream he was at least able to speak, albeit in monosyllables. “’Kay,” he said.

“New rule, number two,” Polly added. “One career is enough. The next time I agree to do a project and one of the props is a real live corpse, don’t let me get involved. If this production of
Mame
is as lousy as I’m afraid it is, it’s all my fault for not giving a hundred percent of my time and talent. My attention was divided between dead people and ripped-off Emmys.”

“Yep,” Tim said, knowing full well that his mother would never be able to keep her nose out of anything as interesting as a murder investigation.

“New rule, number three,” Polly continued. “Don’t let me fall in love with anyone who doesn’t call me every single day. I haven’t heard from Randy in ages.”

As Placenta removed frozen waffles from the toaster, she looked at Polly. “Detective Randy calls you every day!”

“But he didn’t call last night to wish me sweet dreams.”

“He was busy busting Britney Spears,” she said.

Polly knew that she was being stupid about not speaking to Randy during the past fifteen hours. She also knew, from years of showbiz experience, that her attitude was simply a manifestation of her fear about opening night. It was natural. Polly was aware that everyone gets the jitters before facing an audience and critics who can either make or break a show. She was also adding self-condemnation to her mounting anxiety for not being able to connect the dots and arrive at someone other than Sharon to finger as Karen Richards’s killer. “Lord,” she prayed aloud, “if you let me get through this opening, I promise that Placenta won’t invoke your name to telemarketers.”

Placenta harrumphed. “No use making promises to the Lord that I don’t intend to keep! Pray for something practical…like a living wage for your staff.”

“Bigger allowance for your son and consort,” Tim said, finally able to put two words together.

Polly faked a chuckle, then sang, “Some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.”

Polly looked at the kitchen clock and made a sound not unlike someone despairing of having to go to school. “Why don’t I retire? I’m too old for opening night jitters.”

“You pretend that you can’t afford to,” Placenta teased. “But somehow you manage to pay for all of Tim’s parties. It’s the leading up to your entrance onstage that scares you.”

Polly nodded. “But this time it’s different. There’s a killer in our midst. I won’t be able to concentrate on my lines and those ridiculous new dance steps.”

The morning and afternoon moved by quickly and soon it was time to leave for the theater. Placenta packed the trunk of the Rolls with Polly’s party gown, shoes, and jewelry, as well as her own formal wear and Tim’s tuxedo. She made room for shopping bags from Tiffany and Cartier that held opening night gifts for the cast, director, and stage hands. Placenta made sure that Polly also had something for the new security guards at the stage door entrance. And then they were on their way.

For a long while there was no conversation in the car. For one thing, Polly was saving her voice for her performance. Tim and Placenta also didn’t want to break Polly’s concentration as she was going over lines and lyrics in her head. For another, they were all still consumed with trying to put their fingers on any piece of evidence—hearsay or otherwise—that would point to Karen Richards’s murderer.

At six o’clock, Polly’s Rolls-Royce glided into the parking lot behind the Galaxy Theatre. Tim eased the vehicle into the space next to the stage door that had been marked with a temporary sign that said:
MISS PEPPER
. “Someone in this dump has a little class,” Polly growled, still feeling apprehensive about the show and her performance.

Tim said, “You two go ahead. I’ll unpack the truck.”

Even before opening Polly’s dressing room door, she and Placenta were met with the scent of fresh flowers. When they entered the room, there was hardly a space that did not contain a colorful bouquet or green plant. Polly smiled warmly and like a honeybee that unexpectedly stumbled on a vast meadow of wildflowers, she went from arrangement to arrangement and put her nose into the petals. “Read me the cards!” she said with a little girl’s excitement. “Oh, this one must be from Barbra,” she said, pointing to a lavish collection of white orchids. “And I’ll guess that dear Carol sent me the moonshadow carnations. Yes? Ha! I thought so!”

Placenta went around the room and picked up a card, reading it, then replacing it in its accompanying arrangement. Red roses. Sunflowers. Fruit and gourmet food baskets. There were so many expressions of her friends’ love and affection. For the first time in weeks, Polly felt at peace. For the moment at least, she didn’t care about killers running around the theater, or whether or not she would be able to hold the notes in the songs. She was simply happy to be the iconic Polly Pepper. She actually felt sorry for anyone who wasn’t her.

When Tim arrived with her party clothes and the cast gifts, Placenta reminded Polly that she must personally deliver the opening night presents.

“Delighted!” Polly said, knowing that she’d be received as the great and generous lady that she cultivated as her persona. “We’re a little early, so I’ll simply leave the little prezies in their dressing rooms,” Polly said. “Better get Luther Ray and his keys to escort me. Wouldn’t want to be accused of breaking and entering.”

While Placenta arranged the floral gifts and made room for Polly to dress and do her makeup, Tim and his mother went to the stage door desk. With gifts in hand, Polly was prepared for Luther Ray and Orvine, and both men were speechless when she presented them with colorfully wrapped boxes tied with blue ribbons and a personalized card that said
Something from moi to vous. Love, Polly Pepper
.

“The deluxe edition DVD collection of the first season of
The Polly Pepper Playhouse
.” Orvine beamed after unwrapping his gift.

“It’s not Tiffany, like the bag I put it in, but how long will bling last? My show is forever.”

To their credit, both men were genuinely pleased that Polly Pepper had thought to remember them on her gift list. She had them where she wanted and asked if they would open the dressing room doors in order that she might make her colleagues feel important. Tim nudged Polly as he always did when he felt that the needle on her obsequiousness meter was rising too high.

One by one Polly left a box in each dressing room. Of course, each gift was the same as Luther Ray’s and Orvine’s present. When she was finished with the cast, she moved on toward Gerold’s office on the mezzanine level of the theater. As she and Tim walked down the carpeted corridor they stopped short of Gerold’s office door when they heard his familiar booming voice cursing at someone.

Gerold’s voice was loud enough to penetrate the door and echo in the corridor. “You’ve ruined it!” he bellowed. “She’s not as stupid as she looks or pretends to be! If you don’t get rid of that poor excuse for a legend, I will! Make it tonight, after the show!”

Polly and Tim looked at each other and instantly decided to retreat to the sanctuary of Polly’s dressing room. They both turned around and started to retrace their steps down the hallway. But they were suddenly faced with Mag Ryan rounding the corner and stopping in her tracks. Quickly, Polly held up her bag with Gerold’s present. “Just making the rounds. I sincerely hope that you like the gift I left in your room, dear.”

Mag smiled. “I just opened it. Your old show was in color, and everything.” Then she looked down the hall in the direction from which Polly and Tim had come. “Is Gerold not in? We were just talking.”

“I don’t know, dear,” Polly lied. “We got halfway to his office and I realized I had the wrong gift! Imagine me giving anything less than Cartier to the show’s director? Where on earth have I put my head? I’m rushing back to find the little box and the
trés
expensive bauble that I selected expressly for our dear Gerold. So, if you’ll excuse us, we’re on a mission to find that wee token of my sincere esteem.”

Mag gave Polly a quizzical look. She then looked back down the corridor toward Gerold’s office. “If that’s another special DVD collection of your show, I’m sure that Gerold would love to have that too. Why don’t we go and personally deliver it to him?”

Tim stepped in and said, “He has this DVD set. When it was first released his name was on the comp list. Polly made sure that every television, film, and theater producer and director in town received copies. Wanted to keep them aware that Polly’s still around and ready for a job.” He attempted a small chuckle.

“He sold it on eBay,” Mag said, evading Tim’s attempt to talk his way out of Polly having to confront Gerold.

“Then I should think he wouldn’t want this one either.” Polly began moving forward, but Mag stood in her way.

“Seriously, I know he’d love it,” Mag said as she linked her arms in Polly’s and Tim’s and began guiding them back toward Gerold’s office.

When they arrived at the door, Gerold was again yelling. “Yes! Tonight!” he roared. “I don’t care how! Just do it!”

Mag knocked on the door and was greeted with silence. “H. Bear,” she said, announcing herself with their lovers’ pet name. “Honey Bear, it’s me. I’ve brought a marvelous surprise for you.”

The door opened and Gerold stood looking at Polly and Tim. “What?” he said with caution in his voice.

“Your darling star has a present for you,” Mag said. “I found them walking away from your door. The sweet thing didn’t want to bother you because it sounded as though you were terribly busy. As if you’re ever too busy for Miss Polly Pepper.”

Gerold looked at Polly with uncertainty.

“We should head back to my dressing room,” Polly said. “Silly me, I left your opening night present there. It’s very personal and very expensive. So let us rush back and retrieve it, pronto.”

Polly attempted to leave, but Mag blocked the doorway. “You’re too good to be true. You played well with Charlotte last night. You even listened to Jamie and didn’t pressure him for more information. It’s nice to find someone who’s all ears and listens with patience. I’ll bet you listened to Sharon Fletcher when she said she was innocent. You obviously believed her too.”

Polly suddenly became emboldened. “Look, Mag, we’ve got an important show to perform in about an hour,” she said in a threatening tone. “We should both be in our rooms resting our voices or going over our lines.” She turned to Gerold. “As our director, it’s about time you called everyone together for a preshow pep talk, in case you aren’t aware of this tradition.” Looking again at Mag, Polly said. “You’ve never gotten through a rehearsal without screwing up the Ping-Pong scene. You should definitely be rehearsing those lines!” Polly turned around and opened the door. This time, neither Mag nor Gerold tried to stop her or Tim.

By the time Polly and Tim reached the dressing room, Placenta was frantic. “It’s almost half hour!” she said. “You’ve got to rush to get into your costume!”

“I’m screwed!” Polly said as she sat before her makeup mirror and began to apply her foundation. “Tim and I overheard Gerold plotting to kill me after the show. He’s got someone else to do the dirty work. I’m just afraid that whoever the executioner is will take both of you out too. I’m sorry to have gotten you involved in this mess,” she said as she started to cry.

Tim and Placenta both rushed to Polly’s side. Tim said, “We don’t know for sure that Gerold is planning to harm you. When he said, ‘Get rid of that poor excuse for a legend,’ he may have meant the car.” He knew he was grasping at straws, but he was desperate to calm Polly and try to make sense of why they had landed in such trouble.

“La, if this is to be my farewell performance, then I’m going out there and giving the best damn show of my life. I’m just pissed off that I won’t get to Broadway after all! I’m not going to worry about my fate. I was born an icon, and I intend to leave this planet with rave reviews.” Polly turned to Tim. “I just hope that you’ve saved a fabulous party theme for my memorial service. I take back what I said in the past about not wanting Jayne Meadows and Nanette Fabray in attendance. I just didn’t think they’d survive me. Everyone in show business should be there. The entire guest list is in my office filing cabinet. Ask Elton if I’ve left anyone important off.”

Placenta was in the process of removing Polly’s bugle-beaded party pantsuit from a dry cleaning plastic bag, when a knock on the door was followed by a voice that called out, “Half hour, Miss Pepper. And Mr. Goss wants everyone to meet at the stage door exit at five-to.”

“I had to remind the no-talent SOB to give his cast a pep talk before the curtain goes up,” Polly said. “He’s not the most articulate slob on the planet, so I won’t expect anything nearly as loquacious as a Tom Hanks acceptance speech for one of his gazillions of awards.”