Final Curtain (27 page)

At five to eight, another knock on the door summoned Polly to the cast meeting with Gerold. Polly looked every inch the megawatt star that she was, but her hands were shaking. She looked at Tim and Placenta. “I’ll see you both during intermission. And when the show is over, we’ll dash to the party together. Please pray that our Little Patrick doesn’t throw up again. He ruined my favorite dress last night.”

Polly hugged her son and Placenta. Then she opened the door and slowly marched toward the group of cast members who were assembled with Gerold Goss. When she arrived the knot of performers parted to allow Polly to stand only inches from Gerold.

“I
t was just a lot smoke up our collective hineys,” Polly said to Tim and Placenta when she returned from the cast huddle with Gerold. “After two weeks of torture, Gerold is now all smiles and wishing us success and telling us how much he loves us and how proud he is to be our director. Rubbish, of course, but I applauded anyway. I’m sure every employee has to kiss up to his boss, no matter what business one is in.”

Polly kissed Tim, then Placenta and opened her dressing room door. “It’s showtime. Go to your seats,” she said to reassure her family.

Reluctantly Tim, now dressed in his tuxedo, and Placenta, wearing a Caroline Herrera strapless dress that she found at Marshall’s, agreed to leave Polly in the stage wings and join her fans in the audience. “Break a leg!” Tim said.

“Be prepared to be blown away by the one and only, the witty and charming, the star of stage, screen, and records, the icon of international icons, Miss Polly Pepper!” the star said.

Placenta blew Polly a kiss.

Within moments of Tim and Placenta being ushered to their seats in the center of the sixth row, and before the houselights had completely dimmed, a bright spotlight hit the conductor in the musicians’ pit and the famous Jerry Herman overture began. The audience erupted with applause for the familiar and favorite songs. The music, although much of it canned, further added to the expectation of the audience seeing not only one of Broadway’s all-time-favorite and longest-running shows, but for the thrill of watching Polly Pepper sing and dance live onstage before them.

When the overture ended and more applause ensued, there was a hush as the curtains parted to reveal a darkened set that looked like the waterlogged French Quarter in New Orleans. The time was obviously night. Then Charlotte Bunch, wearing a shabby wool coat and scarf, and holding the hand of a little boy, walked onto the stage and began to speak her lines. With a backdrop of the Super-dome in ruins, she was soon singing “St. Brigid,” a song that was supposed to help keep up the spirits of the young orphan boy whom she was taking to his rich auntie Mame.

In a moment, the set changed and a raucous party was in full force with Dixieland bands and anonymous guests dancing and drinking. Then, the moment that everyone had waited for: Polly Pepper appeared at the top of a sweeping curved staircase. The audience applauded for a full minute before she was able to speak her first lines and fly down the stairs to greet her party guests. And the night was on.

Applause followed applause after every song. Laughter was raucous and inspired more laughter whenever Polly uttered a clever line or raised an eyebrow in response to a line uttered by Charlotte or Emily Hutcherson. The night definitely belonged to Polly Pepper.

Intermission arrived and Tim and Placenta made their way backstage and quoted to Polly the superlatives they’d heard from the audience. Tim intentionally omitted such gems as “For an old puss she still has balls.” As well as “I told you she wasn’t dead.”

Polly was perspiring heavily and barely had time for a hug and a shower before she had to be dressed in a new costume and waiting in the wings. “We’ll be back after the show.” Tim kissed his mother on the cheek.

The second half of the show was as fulfilling as the first. When the curtain rang down, a standing ovation ensued. Polly, front and center of her cast, curtsied for the audience a dozen times before she was allowed to leave the stage. As she made her way toward her dressing room, members of the cast praised her. She smiled and offered variations on “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Or “You made me look good.” As well as “I’m just a lucky star.” When she arrived in her dressing room she closed the door behind her and quickly uncorked a bottle of Cristal that had been sent to her by Liz Smith. Polly was parched and didn’t wait to fill a glass. She raised the neck of the bottle to her lips and took a long fulfilling swallow. “Praise Liz!” she said, looking up to heaven.

When Tim knocked on the door, Polly placed the bottle in the small porcelain sink, and checked herself in the mirror. Then she opened the door to receive her family and their delirious raves for her performance. “Hold off the fans while I shower and slip into my party clothes,” she instructed.

While Placenta helped Polly make haste, Tim stepped outside the door to greet Polly’s well-wishers and explain that they would be allowed to see the star in just a few minutes. “She won’t mind me seeing her undressed,” Goldie Hawn said and pushed her way past Tim and entered the dressing room. “Same for me,” Doris Roberts said and followed Goldie. Although Tim tried to coral his mother’s friends, they practically stampeded into the room. “You don’t mind, do you, sweetie?” Bette Midler said to him. “Hi, dear,” Carol Burnett added and patted Tim on the cheek as she passed by.

“Do you think I stand a chance of getting in there too?”

Tim looked up at the familiar male voice and smiled into Detective Archer’s eyes. “What did you think of the show?”

“I thought Polly was amazing. I had no idea that she was so talented…and famous. Heck, if I’d known that she was a real star, not just someone who’d once been on television, I wouldn’t have had the
cajones
to ask her out in the first place.”

“Just don’t treat her any different in private,” Tim advised. “She needs the attention of fans who remember when she was really big, but she also wants to believe that she can be loved just for who she is…a star, but one who is unaffected. She lies to herself a lot.”

“Nothing between us will change, because I know the real Polly Pepper,” Detective Archer agreed. “I suppose there’s a cast party, eh?”

“You’re Polly’s date,” Tim said.

Just then, the door to the dressing room opened wide and the rest of the waiting throng tried to squeeze in. When this proved futile, Polly loudly suggested, “Why don’t we all hug and kiss at the party. It’ll be easier to hear all of your tributes of admiration, wonder, and awe when we’re at the restaurant.”

Everyone seemed to agree, and in a short while the room was cleared and Polly began to finish putting on her makeup. Just as she was about to suggest they run along to the party, Tim said, “Your escort awaits.”

At that moment Detective Archer stepped into the dressing room. He and Polly smiled simultaneously at each other and as he stood over her, he withdrew a small box from his suit coat pocket. “It’s not Tiffany,” he said. “But the lady at Wal-Mart said…I’m kidding. It’s just a little thing to say congratulations.”

Polly beamed and untied the ribbon around the white box. She opened the lid and her eyes lit up.

“I said it wasn’t Tiffany, but the lady who sold it to me said it was ‘Tiffany inspired,’ whatever that means.”

Polly touched the contents of the box and picked up a beautiful sterling silver pendant in the shape of the Man in the Moon. “You’re as precious as this beautiful piece of jewelry,” she cooed to Randy, who then bent down to kiss Polly on the lips. “This is absolutely perfect. Did you know before seeing the show that I do a whole number on the Man in the Moon? You must be psychic. Either that or we’re perfectly connected.” Polly stood up and gave Randy a kiss and a tight hug. “Placenta, would you do the honors? she said, trying to unclasp the hook. When Placenta succeeded at hanging the chain around Polly’s neck, everyone oohed and aahed and agreed that it was the ideal gift. “Now that I’m all decked out, let’s get to the party,” Polly said as she picked up the bottle of Cristal out of the sink and took one final swig.

As Polly sat in the back of the Rolls-Royce basking in her triumph she finally said, “Have you ever seen such an avante-garde production of this show? Jerry Herman probably had a stroke when he saw the choreography. But the audience seemed to adore me…and the show…so perhaps I’m just old and not able to keep in step with the times. I’m just now beginning to like Beyoncé, so you know what age group I’m in!”

“You’ve got a hit,” Tim said from the driver’s seat. “I hate to say this, but what Gerold and that choreographer creature did to freshen the show was darned smart.
Mame
needed a slap in the rear end.”

Polly sighed and begged, “Pretty please, let the reviews be raves and we get to go to New York.” She looked out her window and frowned. “Where the hell are we?”

“It’s called ‘Burbank,’” Placenta said. “We’re going to the Holiday Inn.”

Polly sighed. “Be prepared to raid the trunk refrigerator if the champagne isn’t at least Krug Grand Cuvée!”

As the car pulled up to the valet, Tim allowed Polly and Randy to exit first. One lone photographer stood snapping photographs, but Polly pretended that she was among dozens of paparazzi. She posed and preened and made sure that Randy was included in several shots. They all shared a laugh of indifference as they followed Polly and Randy to the elevator.

As they ascended to the rooftop of the hotel where the opening night party was in full swing, Polly winked at Tim. “Maybe Gerold was talking about his car after all.”

Tim nodded and for the benefit of Randy said, “An inside joke.”

Randy was suddenly on high alert. “I don’t trust Gerold.”

As the elevator doors opened onto the terrace, a pianist was playing songs from the Cole Porter catalog, and the place was jammed with guests. Suddenly, it seemed as though everyone had noticed Polly at the same time and the crowd erupted with wild applause. Polly curtsied as she had onstage and clasped her hands to her heart. Then, with open arms, she moved into the crowd to accept hugs and commendations from the three hundred invited guests. Tim quickly arrived at her side with a flute of champagne and she gratefully accepted the drink. When she spotted Gerold Goss standing alone under one of the dozens of outdoor heaters set up throughout the space, she moved toward him. “Cheers!” She clinked her flute against his martini glass. “I have to confess, you did a swell job of pulling this off. I’m still not wild about the guy who plays my adult nephew—”

“Stewart Long,” Gerold reminded her.

“Whatever. He’s still the weakest link,” Polly said. Then she slipped into a melancholy reverie. “Poor Karen,” she said. “I wish she were here to see my triumph.”

“The show wouldn’t have been the same,” Gerold snapped. “For one thing, she didn’t have the spine to take chances, as I did. Sure, you would have been fine if she’d directed you. But I made the show into something unique. I’ve breathed new life into the old warhorse. There’s no way that today’s Broadway audiences would accept the original staging of this musical. It’s too old-fashioned. When you’ve got shows like
Wicked
running away with the box office, this thing had to be updated. Karen didn’t have the vision for that.”

Polly sighed. “Perhaps you’re right about the show needing a contemporary look, but Karen would still have made this classic shine. Whoever bumped her off deprived us of the magic she would have brought to the material. And Sharon Fletcher would have been ideal as Gloria. Not that your Mag is too dreadful.”

“Thanks for the rave review,” Mag said as she sidled up to Gerold. “I’m thrilled that you approve so highly of me, Miss Pepper.”

Polly smiled. “You’re perfectly adequate, dear.”

Mag looked at Gerold. “I could use another drinky. Would you mind?” She handed her wineglass to Gerold and he left to retrieve a refill.

“One for me too,” Polly called after him. Then she looked at Mag. “I thought we had a little agreement, dear,” she said, in a voice that was barely audible. “In exchange for your freedom—I can still press charges—you were going to point me toward Karen’s killer. I guess it’s too much to ask that you keep your promise.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t know how to go about ratting out someone very special to me.”

Polly was suddenly animated. “So you have information? Tell me. Now!”

“You know as well as I do. You just want a confession, don’t you?”

Polly tried not to show her lack of understanding. Instead, she smiled and said, “Guess I’m not such a good actress after all, at least not to you.” She looked around and said, “Where’s that drink? I’m parched.” Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie Livingston.
Jeans and a tank are hardly appropriate attire for this affair
, she said to herself but pretended that she hadn’t seen him. “Shall we go get our own drinks? That sloth Gerold has probably been waylaid by…” She looked over and indeed Gerold was in deep conversation with someone. That someone was the show’s composer, Jerry Herman. Mr. Herman kept shaking his head and Polly knew that he wasn’t pleased with what he’d witnessed earlier in the evening. “Let’s go have a listen, shall we?” she said to Mag and began moving toward the famous composer.

When Mr. Herman saw Polly his attitude immediately changed. He opened his arms to her and kissed her cheeks.

“I’ve always been in love with you and your work,” Polly said to Mr. Herman. “As long as I’m in your show, I promise to maintain at least the integrity of Mame Dennis. God knows I have no creative control over the rest of the production.” She looked at Gerold. “We’re on our way to the bar. May we get anything for either of you?”

Polly once again accepted kisses to her cheek from Herman, and led Mag by the hand toward the bar. When they each had their preferred libation, Mag asked, “Why are you dragging this whole thing out? Why not just get it over with?”

“I’m waiting for all the players to be here. Oh, and look,” Polly said, pointing into the crowd. “There’s dear Jamie.”