Final Curtain (28 page)

Mag was surprised and nearly spilled her glass of wine. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“I suspect he’s come to watch the fireworks.”

When Jamie spotted Polly and Mag looking in his direction he stepped out of the crowd and came up to them. “Sorry I missed the show,” he said, looking at Polly. “But thanks for the invitation to the party.”

“It was important for you to be here,” Polly said. “If it were not for a simple twist of Karen’s fate, we’d be raising a glass to a splendid Patrick Dennis. As it is we’re stuck with…”

Polly realized that the noise from the crowd had faded and that she was subtly being forced out of sight from the other guests. Without losing her cool, Polly sensed that she was in danger and that soon she would be on the opposite side of the rooftop party area. She tried to glean a few more facts to still unanswered questions. “Jamie, dear,” she began. “Something’s been gnawing at me. The other night you said that Charlotte had wanted you out of the way ever since the day that she tried to steal Sharon’s Daytime Emmy Award.”

“Yeah, she’s a good one for holding a grudge,” Jamie said as he moved more openly to steer Polly to the waist-high rooftop wall. “I knew that I saw a look in your eye the other night when Charlotte dropped by. I never would have agreed to come over myself if I’d known she would be there too. She knows too much about…everything.”

Polly stopped in her tracks and looked Jamie in the eye. “Truth. Before you do whatever it is you plan to do with me, for the record, I’d like for you to tell me all about Karen’s death.”

“But lying comes so natural to me,” Jamie said. “After all, I’m an actor. Why would you believe anything that I have to say now?”

“What have you got to lose?” Polly said. She then pursed her lips and swallowed hard. “Before I go to my eternal opening night, I simply want you to corroborate my own conclusions about what happened that morning. I’ll begin and you follow. Yes? Good. According to the sign-in sheet that George the stage doorman kept, Sharon arrived at eight-oh-five. Over the theater’s intercom system he heard…”

Jamie looked puzzled.

“Surely you knew about the intercom. In addition to being meticulous about keeping records of everyone who came and went through his artists’ entrance door, he kept an ear open for other potential problems that might arise throughout the theater. You know that speaker next to his desk? It’s the theater intercom system. It’s ancient of course, but it still works.” Polly chuckled. “Or maybe George was just a voyeur. In any event, he was appalled by the way Gerold treated beautiful Sharon Fletcher. He told me everything that he overheard that morning…if you know what I mean.”

“Then why do you need me to tell you what you already know? Karen didn’t have to die if—”

“If she’d cast you in the show.” Polly completed Jamie’s sentence. “You wouldn’t have had that argument with Gerold, and you wouldn’t have taken your frustration and anger out with Sharon’s Emmy.”

“Karen actually tried to stop the argument,” Mag said. “Jamie pushed Gerold and Gerold pushed him back. That’s when Jamie picked up the Emmy. It was meant for Gerold. Karen accidentally got in the way.”

“I was stunned by what I’d done in a moment of rage,” Jamie said. “When it was obvious that Karen was dead…accidental though it was…Gerold realized he could take over the show. And, with no one to interfere with his casting decisions, Mag could now have the role of Gloria Upson.”

Polly was dumbfounded. “So you all agreed that you’d cover for each other?”

“It wasn’t like a pact or conspiracy,” Jamie said. “We simply didn’t talk about it.”

Polly looked at each of them and shook her head. “A woman is dead and you didn’t even discuss the matter. You didn’t count on Charlotte being in the theater, and witnessing the whole horrible event, did you? The next mistake was not allowing her to take the Emmy that she coveted. She would have gotten rid of the evidence for you.”

“I thought she was taking it
as
evidence,” Jamie said. “I didn’t know she would sell the Emmy.”

“Charlotte had been fired just a short while earlier, then suddenly she was rehired,” Polly said. “Gerold couldn’t—”

Suddenly Gerold was among the trio. “If Jamie hadn’t wanted a job so badly, none of us would be in this situation,” he snarled.

“You can’t blame Jamie completely.” Polly stared him down. “You and Mag and Charlotte also wanted jobs.

“You’d never be considered for director if the unexpected death of Karen Richards hadn’t occurred. And Mag would never have had the opportunity to be in the show, because Karen had already cast the perfect actress for the role—Sharon Fletcher. Charlotte made out well too. Knowing what she knew about Karen’s death, I’m surprised that you didn’t give her my role.”

Gerold looked at Polly with sad eyes. He shook his head as if to say
I hate to do this
. “Yeah, I really wish I’d have given Charlotte or anyone else your role. If I had, we wouldn’t be standing here now. I love talent. I hate to see it go to waste. But you’ve left us no alternative.”

Then like a pack of zombies, Gerold, Jamie, and Mag huddled around Polly and forced her to start backing up. Suddenly she was stopped when her body met the side of the waist-high wall. With deep fear in her eyes, Polly tried to stall for time. “Champagne!” she said. “I need a last glass of champagne! It’s not proper execution etiquette to send someone to their death without granting a final wish.”

“Have my wine,” Mag said. “I’ll get another when this is over.”

Polly looked as though she had been accused of shopping at a 99-cent store. “Dear, I’m not going to my death with some cheap Merlot on my lips!”

Gerold heaved an angry sigh and looked at Mag. “Hurry,” he said.

Mag charged away, walking as swiftly as possible without breaking into a run. When she arrived at the bar, there was a line but she barged her way to the front. “A tall glass of champagne for Polly Pepper, please,” she demanded. The bartender opened a fresh bottle and poured a flute almost to the brim. Mag didn’t wait to say thank you. She quickly turned around, and as she did so, she bumped into Tim and spilled some of the champagne on his tuxedo. “Get out of my way.”

Tim was taken aback by Mag’s attitude but decided to ignore her rudeness. “Where’s Polly?”

“I don’t know,” Mag said as she darted away.

“But I heard you say the champagne was for Polly Pepper.”

“I always drop stars’ names to get immediate service,” Mag called back before she disappeared into a crowd of guests.

Tim shook his head and wandered over to a table where Randy was seated with Placenta. “I’m getting worried about Polly. She loves a party but she seems to have disappeared.”

Randy nodded. “As a matter of fact, half the cast has disappeared. I haven’t seen Gerold, Mag, or Charlotte for quite some time.”

“I just ran into Mag at the bar. She was acting queer. She ordered a glass of champagne for Polly, then ran off. Last time I checked, Mag was drinking red wine.” Then gazing into the throng of happy revelers, Tim pointed to Charlotte Bunch. “Let’s go see what she’s up to.”

The trio left the table with their drinks in hand and squeezed their way through the crowd until they reached Charlotte, who was obviously tipsy. “Feeling all right, Charlotte?” Tim asked.

“A little tired,” Charlotte said, trying to speak clearly and not show that she was becoming unsteady on her feet. She kept sipping her martini to maintain the ruse that she wasn’t drunk.

“Have you seen Polly?” Tim asked. “She’s not mingling with her guests.”

Charlotte cocked her head toward the opposite side of the rooftop. “I saw her go off with Jamie a little while ago.”

“Jamie?” Tim said. “He’s not here. He wasn’t invited.”

“Trust me, a stud in a tank top and tight-fitting jeans doesn’t pass my notice, especially at a black-tie affair like this one. I’d like to see him again. Let’s all go take a look,” she said and they all went in search of Jamie.

“Aren’t you a doll,” Polly said when Mag came back with a flute of champagne, a quarter of which had splashed out of the glass as she rushed back. Polly reached out for the glass.

“Drink up,” Gerold demanded. “Mag was an idiot not to think to bring back the whole bottle. It would have gone well with your body twenty stories down, and helped to convince the coroner that you were so drunk that you accidentally fell off the rooftop.”

Polly sipped as slowly as possible and continued to stall for time by asking questions. “Jamie, you’re too attractive to be involved in this crime. I have friends in the police department. In fact, I’m dating a detective. I can help you out of this. You killed Karen by mistake. It wasn’t premeditated. I swear I can help minimize your jail time.”

Jamie seemed to be weighing the offer when Gerold said, “There won’t be any jail time at all, because nobody else knows that Karen died at her lover’s hands. No one other than us and Charlotte, and she’s a clam.”

Polly let out a loud laugh. “Charlotte? A clam? Well, maybe the Charlotte that we all know and love, but what about her other personalities? They all know too! Potentially, you’ve got dozens and dozens of witnesses!” she said, still laughing at the absurdity of Gerold not having considered this possibility.

“Where is Charlotte anyway?” Gerold asked. “If we’re going to do this, she should be just as involved. To hell with her. We can’t wait. Polly, finish up your drink. Now!”

Polly continued to stall, and an angry Gerold suddenly grabbed her champagne flute. He forcefully squeezed Polly’s cheeks with one hand, and poured the champagne into her mouth, as one would a child who didn’t want to take medicine. “There! It’s time to say good-bye!”

As Polly leaned farther and farther over the wall, she felt her feet rising off the rooftop. “Don’t do this to me, please! I promise not to say a word to anyone. You don’t have to have three murders on your hands. Please!”

“Three?” Gerold said.

“George.”

“The autopsy proved he had a stroke.”

Suddenly a voice that sounded distinctly like Karen Richards said, “You got away with killing me, but a big star is another story.”

Gerold, Jamie, and Mag turned around while holding Polly with her back resting on the lip of the wall. There was no one in sight. Then the voice spoke again. “Jamie,” it said, “I still love you. I know that you didn’t mean to kill me. My death was an accident. But if you take another life on purpose I won’t get to see you in heaven.”

Jamie released Polly and fell to his knees in fear.

“Who’s there!” Gerold demanded. “Show yourself.”

“It’s Karen, of course. I can hardly show myself when I’m dead. If anyone is really responsible for the way things turned out, it’s you, Gerold. You used my death to further your own career. It was your idea to let the police presume that Sharon Fletcher killed me. All the evidence pointed toward her and you did nothing to come forward with the truth. You let her take the rap.”

As Gerold and Mag tried to fathom the disembodied voice of Karen Richards, Polly could feel their bodies shaking and herself slipping slowly over the side of the building. “Help me, Karen!” Polly shouted and in less than an instant, a dozen policemen rushed to the scene with their weapons drawn. Gerold and Mag let go of Polly, who tilted over the edge of the building like a teeter-totter. A cry erupted from her throat just as she completely lost her balance and began to fall. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for her death.

Just as suddenly two pairs of strong hands grabbed hold of her as Tim and Randy brought Polly back to safety.

Kneeling beside Polly, Randy cradled her in his arms. “Everything’s all right now. You’re safe. We’re here with you.”

Placenta rushed over to her side and bent down. “You’ll be needing this,” she said, holding another glass of champagne.

Polly chuckled. “I think I’ve had enough champagne. I was hearing voices. Karen’s voice to be precise.”

Then Charlotte stepped out from around the rooftop emergency exit. “If I don’t get my meds pretty soon I’m going to get tired of having a dead woman walking around using my body,” she said. “How’s heaven, Karen?” she asked in her own voice. “The theater was better,” Karen’s voice issued through Charlotte’s vocal cords.

“I’ll take that drink after all,” Polly said to Placenta.

“Y
ou’ve made the front page of the
L.A. Times
, the front page of the Calendar section, and the front page of the Metro section,” Tim said as he raced into the great room of Pepper Plantation and passed out still-warm copies of the daily paper to Polly, Placenta, and Randy.

“They like me! They really like me!” Polly squealed as she began to read aloud the reviews of
Mame
. “‘Polly Pepper offered audiences an opportunity to witness the reason why she’s a star and will always be a star.’” Polly smiled. “’Even though she’s reported to now be in her sixties…’” Polly crumpled the paper and threw it aside.

“‘…she only gets better with age,’” Tim continued to read from his own copy. Now Polly smiled and took the paper away from Tim. As she read the review, she skipped over the names of anybody else from the cast who was mentioned. “‘Charlotte Bun…blah, blah, blah. Mag Ry…blah, blah, blah. Bosom Buddy, Emily Hutch…blah, blah, blah. But this is Polly Pepper’s show.’ Damn right it is!” Polly put an exclamation point on the review.

While Tim half listened to his mother, he was reading the front page of the
Times
and the lead story about Polly’s near-death experience and how she had helped to bring the killer of director Karen Richards to justice. Suddenly he moaned, “Oh no!” interrupting his mother and the others who were reading their papers. “Listen to this. ‘Although it’s not exactly “the crime of the century,” police have arrested four suspects in the slaying of local theater director Karen Richards. The inimitable Polly Pepper, who is starring at the Galaxy Theatre in Glendale in a production of
Mame
(see section E page 1), helped police capture and arrest two males and two females, whose identities have not been confirmed. A suspect who was arrested early in the investigation has been released.’ We forgot about Sharon!” Tim wailed. He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly five
A.M
., but you’ve got to call her.”

In a moment, Polly was on the line with Sharon Fletcher. “Darling,” Polly cooed, “I never gave up on you, not for one measly second! After your ordeal in jail you need a place to readjust, a sort of halfway house so you can easily move back to reality and your own life. I’m sending Tim and the car. You’re spending the next month here at Pepper Plantation.”

Sharon apparently didn’t object, because Polly seemed pleased with herself for making the grand gesture. Then she added, “I hope you spent your time in jail memorizing your lines in the play, because we no longer have a Gloria Upson.”

Polly stopped and listened for a moment. “You could go on tonight? Seriously? You soap stars are quick studies. We’ll see you shortly, my dear. Ta!”

Tim looked at his mother with sleepy eyes. “You don’t expect me to run over there now, do you? I’m exhausted.”

“She can wait until ten or eleven, I suppose,” Polly said. “‘See you shortly’ could mean anything in this town.”

Placenta yawned. “Life can’t get much better for you, Polly. You’ve solved another murder case, and you’ve got a hit show. What are you going to do next? Go to Disneyland?”

“Hell no! That’s too expensive!” Polly said. She looked at Randy and smiled. “For one thing I’m going to be a mother again.”

Everyone in the room erupted with wide-eyed surprise and shrieks of horror. Polly’s shoulders sagged. “You’re all nuts!” she said. “I’ll be a surrogate mother to Sharon! Jeez, you all jump to the wildest conclusions!”

Randy relaxed and made the sign of the cross over his chest.

Placenta said, “Hail Mary, full of grease…”

Tim said, “If you really want to be a mother again, that cater waiter who was paid off by Charlotte and Mag would be a good candidate for adoption. I’d love to have a baby brother.”

Polly patted her son on the cheek. “He’d end up like all your other pets. You promised to take care of that box turtle, and Placenta ended up doing all the work. And remember your chinchilla phase? Who fed those little buggers and cleaned out their cages? Placenta, of course. No, dear, you’re not equipped to care for cute and cuddly little things. Which is why you’re still single.”

Tim sighed. “If I can’t have a baby brother, I may as well go to bed.”

“It’s that time for all of us,” Polly added. “I can’t wait to rest my head on Randy’s furry chest…um, I mean,
my
soft pillow! Don’t anyone wake me until it’s time to go to the theater. When Sharon gets here, let her sleep too.”

Placenta stood up and started to collect the newspapers. “I just want to say one thing. Cheers to Miss Polly Pepper! You were marvelous in the show, and I’m glad that you didn’t end up dead. It’s bad enough to be stuck in a theater in Glendale. It would have been an insult to your career to be scraped off a street in Burbank.”

As the household began to drift out of the room, sunshine began to filter in through the windows. Suddenly the telephone rang. “Let ’em leave a message,” Polly said in a tired voice as she continued walking wearily to the doorway. The machine beeped and J.J. Norton’s voice was on the line.

“Where’s my beautiful and sexy star?” he gushed. “Rise and shine, precious! You’ve created a buzz! I’ve already had calls from executives at Fox and Lifetime.”

Polly and Tim and Placenta each looked at each other in a way that said, “If J.J. is calling, it can only mean that he smells money.”

Polly picked up the telephone. “I didn’t expect you to attend my performance, but I thought you’d at least come to the party for free eats,” she said, dismissing her agent. She listened for a moment. “HBO?” she asked. “A pilot?” All eyes in the room were focused on Polly. “Money?” she finally said and smiled at his response. “At this stage in my career I’m only interested in, well, in interesting projects. I can’t make a decision at this hour! Call me later.” Then she hung up the phone.

In a near trance, which was a combination of exhaustion and marvel that she was apparently a hot property again, Polly wafted through the room and pulled out a bottle of Veuve from the wine cooler.

“Breakfast?” Tim asked.

Polly chose not to respond to the remark. Instead, she said, “HBO wants me to do a show. I doubt that I’m even interested.”

“Not interested!” Every voice in the room vied for the highest octave.

“As usual, J.J. blew a lot of smoke up my hiney, but the bottom line, so to speak, is that television has dramatically changed.”

“You’re not a star unless you’re on television,” Placenta interrupted. “You heard those security guards.”

Polly sipped her flute of champagne and pondered Placenta’s remark. “It’s a goddamned
reality
show! We’re not the Osbornes! We’re a normal everyday garden variety family with a twenty-seven-room Bel Air mansion, headed by a living legend with international celebrity friends, and a few dead bodies to my credit.”

“Mom, the dead people alone will make this show a hit,” Tim said. “Let’s face it, the money could be great, and I could use an increase in my allowance. Heck, if I become an instant celebrity myself, by way of a reality show, I wouldn’t need an allowance.”

“And I could afford not to work anymore,” Placenta added.

As Polly finished off her glass she once again headed for bed. “We’ll see,” she said. “In the meantime, this legend needs to rest.” She looked at Randy. “Are you coming, dear? How would you like to have your fifteen minutes of fame as my hunky consort?”