Killer Cocktail (6 page)

Footage from the set of
A Winter's Night
5/4/96

John Cummings sits at a table off set with Christina. They are in costume and are playing gin rummy waiting for their next scene.

JOHN

What time do you need to be on set tomorrow morning?

CHRISTINA (putting down a card)

Eight. You?

JOHN (looking at his cards before answering)

Not until ten. You want to come over?

CHRISTINA (laughing)

Are you kidding? I'd love to. However, I'm not sure if I can get past Cerberus.

JOHN (puts down a card)

Have you tried drugging her food?

CHRISTINA (picking up a card)

Sadly, unlike Sybil and Psyche, I'm all out of spiked honeycakes.

JOHN (laughing)

Well, there must be some way. Can't you tell her that you have to be here at six and come to my place?

CHRISTINA (shaking her head)

No way. Ever since my kitchen scene got cut, she's been watching my every move. She's convinced that somehow I'm the reason Barry cut it.

JOHN (puts down a card)

You? What the hell could you have done wrong?

CHRISTINA (shrugs and picks up a card)

How much time do you have? Her theories range from my acting to my weight. But she's making damned sure that it won't happen again.

JOHN (puts down a card)

And how is she going to do that?

CHRISTINA (picks up a card)

The usual. Monitor everything that goes in and out of my mouth. All food and dialog must now meet with her approval.

JOHN (puts down a card)

Jesus, Chris. I don't know how you put up with her.

Behind the
m a trailer door opens. Barry quickly emerges. He does not notice John or Christina. He walks off in a different direction, tucking in his shirt as he goes.

CHRISTINA

Do you think his wife knows?

JOHN (puts down a card)

Cecelia? No way. She'd kill her if she knew.

CHRISTINA (picks up a card)

If I were Cecelia, I think I'd kill
him
.

JOHN (shakes his head and puts down a card)

Some women are like that. They always forgive the man and blame the other woman.

CHRISTINA (pick up his card)

Well, not me. I'd bash his head in. (puts down her hand) By the way, Gin.

JOHN (groaning)

Ugh! You always win!

CHRISTINA (smiling)

That I do.

ten

“Well, look what the
cat dragged in,” S
ebastian said as we watched their approach. “And by cat, I mean Jules, because she's nothing but a dirty …”

“Shut it, Bash,” Christina snapped as she watched John and Jules's approach with a stoic expression.

Jules was your typical Hollywood starlet; a mash up of long blonde extensions, implausible breasts, a year-round tan, and blindingly white teeth. Her body was a kaleidoscope of sinuous movement. Her long hair swished, her lithe hips swayed, her round breasts shivered; all seemingly independent of one another. I watched with some admiration as her body gracefully shimmied out of the path of Seth Rogen's and James Franco's rather vigorous dance with an Oscar. Jules Dixon might not be able to act, but she sure as hell knew how to walk.

As for John, he was one of those rare actors who is just as magnetic off the silver screen as he is on it. Six-feet-four and powerfully built, he was not a man you'd overlook. His face was a composition of sharp angles and hard lines, which was saved from being too severe by the addition of a generous mouth. With a slow curl of those lips, he could convey mischief, sincerity, and sex, all with devastating effect. For John, sex appeal was a part of his DNA, no different than the color of his skin and eyes.

Christina opted to ignore them both and focused instead on Frank and Danielle. Seeing the Oscar that Danielle proudly held for her father, Christina said, “Congratulations on your win, Frank! What does this one make? Five Oscars for Best Producer?”

Frank shook his head and winked. “Six. But this one goes to Danielle,” he said. “She's my good luck charm.”

“She certainly is,” agreed Christina before turning to Danielle. “It's lovely to see you again, Danny,” she said, as she leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “How have you been?”

The difference between the two women was striking, especially when you remembered that Christina, at thirty-nine, was actually four years older than Danielle. Christina was a product of Hollywood and it showed. Her skin had been pampered and polished into a perpetual dewy glow. Her lithe body was the result of years of personal trainers and strict diets. Her hair was a glossy mane of perfection.

In contrast, Danielle looked like someone you might actually know. Behind the rectangular frames of her glasses, a few laugh lines had begun to gather. Her figure, while slim, had a softness to it that spoke of the occasional lazy morning in bed rather than at the gym. Her dark hair just brushed her shoulders, cut in a manageable style that didn't require a full-time stylist.

Danielle smiled. “I've been good, thanks. Working for my dad this past year has been a dream come true.”

Frank wrapped his arm around his daughter's shoulder and beamed proudly. “Danny's a real chip off the old block,” he said. “She graduated with honors from Harvard just like her old man, and now she's one of our top editors.”

Danielle blushed with pride. “I'm not surprised,” said Christina. “I remember how much you loved film when you were younger. Speaking of which, this is the couple who found all your old tapes.”

“It's nice to meet you in person,” Danielle said with a shy smile. Nigel and I politely chatted with her and Frank for a few moments, while the rest of the group stood in awkward silence. Christina then turned to us and gestured to John and Jules. “This of course is John Cummings and his wife, Jules,” she said. Pausing she then added, “Jules is an actress, too.” This last part was said in the sing-songy voice a proud parent might use to announce successful potty-training. As if she just made a connection, Christina opened her eyes wide and said to Nigel, “Actually, you might already be familiar with Jules's work.” By way of explanation, she turned to Jules and in a sweet voice explained, “Nigel's company specializes in old and lost films.”

Jules's skin flushed red, and her eyes narrowed to angry slits. Next to me Mandy choked back a laugh, and then tried to cover it by pretending she was having a coughing fit. Leaning over, I patted her on the back to give the performance some credibility but I don't think we were fooling anybody. Jules appeared about to lob her own verbal attack when a loud crash caught everyone's attention.

I turned to see James Franco sheepishly grinning at a waitress. On the floor between them lay a silver platter, the remains of several Red Velvet cupcakes, most of which were on Seth Rogen and one Oscar statue.

An elegantly dressed woman standing to Franco's right shook her head as she gingerly stepped over the mess. “I swear to God, James,” she said, as she moved next to Barry, “if there is so much as one dot of frosting on this dress, I'll have your ass in a sling by sunrise.”

Footage from the set of
A Winter's Night
5/9/96

Various members of the crew are taking food from the craft table. Melanie's assistant, Sara, is among them. Her plate full, she walks past a table where John and Christina sit.

CHRISTINA (looking up)

Hi, Sara. Would you care to join us?

SARA

Thanks, but I've got to get Melanie her lunch first. It's been a nightmare of a day so far. I've been running around all day doing errands for Melanie, and I couldn't find this particular kind of tea she wanted, so she's going to be furious.

JOHN (laughing)

As long as you're working for Mel, every day is going to be one of those days.

SARA (shooting John a stern look)

You of all people should know about the stress she's under, John. I would think you'd be a little more … sympathetic.

JOHN (ducking his head)

You're right, Sara. I'm sorry. Well, you don't have to worry about getting her lunch. I think I saw Frank's kid bring her a tray earlier.

SARA (relieved. Takes a seat)

God bless her. That's one less thing I have to deal with.

Off-camera, Barry is heard yelling for John.

JOHN

Coming, Barry! Later, Chris. Later, Sara.

John shoves the final bite of his sandwich into his mouth and heads to Barry.

SARA (taking a bite of salad)

Oh, my goodness! This salad is delicious! Have you had any?

CHRISTINA (her attention to where John just ran to)

Yes, it's pretty good.

SARA

Pretty good? It's amazing. (takes another bite) God, I think I would sell my soul for this recipe.

CHRISITINA (turning back and laughing)

You'd sell your soul for lobster mac and cheese?

SARA (her face freezing in horror)

What? There's lobster in this?

CHRISTINA

I think so. Well, in the sauce anyway. Why? What's wrong?

Sara does not answer. She leaps to her feet and runs off.

eleven

Barry smiled at the
woman and said, “You do know how to make an entrance, Cecelia.”

“Well, I came to get
you
to make an exit,” she said. “I'm beat. I want to go home and get out of this hair shirt of a dress. Remind me never to allow myself to be talked into wearing a gown that has a built-in corset. I don't know what the hell I was thinking.”

“I'll be sure to make a note of that,” said Barry. “But first, I think you might be interested to meet the couple that found those tapes.” Gesturing toward us, he said, “Nicole and Nigel Martini, this is my wife, Cecelia.”

She blinked at us in surprise. I guessed her to be in her early fifties. Her long black hair was pulled back into a simple bun. Shrewd green eyes peered out of a face that had been allowed to tan and age. It wasn't so much beautiful as it was noteworthy. Cocking her head to one side, she asked, “So, you're the ones who bought my brother's old house?” She threw a quick glance at Frank before continuing. “How do you like it? Is that garish statue of the well-endowed mermaid still in the backyard?”

I laughed. “Someone before us must have removed the mermaid statue,” I said.

“Thank God,” she said. “Damn thing was hideous.”

Frank protested loudly at this. “CeCe, you're the one who gave it to me!” he argued.

She rolled her eyes. “As a joke! I never expected you to actually put the damn thing up.” Leaning toward me, she added in a low voice, “My brother has a perverse sense of taste.”

Barry raised his eyes to the ceiling. “
Right.
Just your brother.”

Cecelia pretended to ignore him and turned to Danielle. “And how are you holding up, Danny?” she asked as she inspected her face closely. “Still having fun?”

Danielle smiled happily and snuggled in a little closer to her father's shoulder. “Oh, Aunt CeCe, I am having so much fun. I used to dream of coming to the Oscars with you all. And now that it's finally happening, I don't want it to end.”

Cecelia sighed. “Well, that's youth for you. All I want to do is go home and get into bed. Speaking of which …” she turned questioning eyes toward Barry.

Barry nodded. “Okay. Just let me say good-bye to some people first,” he said, just as Nigel's phone went off.

“Excuse me,” Nigel said, pulling the phone from his coat pocket. “It's DeDee,” he muttered, frowning at the readout. He shoved the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said. His brows pulled together. “DeDee?” he asked. “What? I can barely hear you.” Sticking his finger in the opposite ear, he said, “Is everything all right?” Nigel paused; his face pulled into a frown of concentration “She used to be peppy? Who used to be peppy? Sorry, DeDee but you'll have to talk louder, it's really noisy in here.” He paused and closed his eyes. “Not peppy. Giuseppe? Who's Giuseppe? Wait; is he that guy down the street that keeps complaining about Skippy? Listen, I don't care
what
he says. Skippy is
not
the father. I don't care how big they are. She's not Skippy's type,” Nigel's frown deepened. He bent forward in his chair in an attempt to better hear. “Slow down, DeDee. I can't understand you.
Not
Giuseppe. Okay. Sorry. Try again.” Nigel's face was now squeezed shut in concentration.

“Nigel,” I said, tapping him on his shoulder. “Why don't you take it outside?”

Nigel looked at me and nodded. “Hang on, DeDee. I'm moving to where it's quieter. He walked away, one finger still stuck in his left ear. “Are you saying ‘used a pen'?” he shouted into the phone. “Who, Skippy? DeDee, then he's just messing with you. He only
thinks
he can write.”

Nigel disappeared into the crowd still shouting into the phone. I turned back to the table, surprised to find them staring in silence back at me. “Is everything, all right?” asked Mandy. “Who's DeDee?”

I reached for my glass of champagne and took a sip. “She works for Nigel's company,” I explained. “She's at our place tonight converting some of the videos we found. But it sounds like Skippy is being a nuisance.”

“Oh, is Skippy your son?” Christina asked me.

I choked on my drink. “God no!” I said. “He's our
dog
. Although don't tell him that. He'd be terribly offended. As it is, I'm pretty sure he thinks Nigel and I are the pets.”

Nigel returned just then and sat back down. “Everything okay?” I asked.

Nigel shrugged and reached for his glass. “I think so. I could barely hear her. She said she'd tell us when we got home.” He took a sip of his drink.

“Is Skippy attempting to write his memoirs?” I asked.

Nigel smiled. “Something like that, I guess. DeDee kept yelling about someone named Giuseppe using a pen.”

“Do we know anyone named Giuseppe?” I asked.

Nigel shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”

“Well, in that case,” I said taking another sip. “I hope he returns our pen.”