A Talent for Murder (15 page)

The television camera practically glowed when it focused on the handsome face of Richard Dartmouth, who smiled and nodded his head in artificial humble appreciation for the enthusiastic ovation from the studio audience. “I wouldn’t be here except for the very sad fact that one of the great men in our industry, Mr. Thane Cornwall, was killed shortly after the last broadcast,” Richard said. “I know that everyone who saw the show last week was impressed by Thane’s rich contribution to the program. We’ll all miss him. But we know that he would want the show to continue, which is why our producers and Sterling Studios decided to keep the contest alive. By the way, I’m not replacing the irreplaceable Thane Cornwall. I’m simply keeping his seat warm.”

“Be wary of young and handsome Hollywood producers,” Polly said. “That one’s a wolf in Abercrombie & Fitch clothing.”

“I wouldn’t mind him preying on me,” Placenta said.

Camera number two found Steven Benjamin solemnly nodding. “Indeed, Thane was someone I’ll never forget.” He instantly switched gears and broadcast a wide smile. “Tonight we also welcome the equally lovely and overbearing—and I mean that with all sincere admiration—the loquacious Trish Saddleback!”

As applause erupted from the audience Polly spat, “Motor mouth. I can’t wait to hear what she has to say about the contestants’ lack of talent.”

The camera captured a smiling and radiant Saddleback. She looked into the camera and said, “Polly, if you’re watching, I, too, am just keeping your seat warm.”

Polly harrumphed. “Damn, I wanted to hate her, but I can’t!”

Steven Benjamin explained that owing to the untimely demise of Danny Castillo, the number of contestants had dwindled down to an even four. “But before we begin this week’s competition, we’d like to pay tribute to Danny with this short clip.”

The screen was suddenly filled with images of Danny Castillo from the cattle call audition in which each of the final six contestants had been selected. The visuals of Danny goofing off, making faces at the camera, and then launching into a song made Polly and Placenta audibly sigh. More behind-the-scenes footage showed Danny at his makeup mirror punking out his hair and adding black eyeliner around his eyes, and black polish to his fingernails. A clip of Danny’s performance from the debut show flashed onto the screen, followed by Thane Cornwall excoriating him after his performance of “
Abra-cadaver
.” Danny simply stood before the judges and didn’t show any emotion. When Thane was finished ripping him apart, Danny bowed and moved backstage.

“Whoa!” Tim said when the film clip switched to Danny in his dressing room. Danny was out of control, screaming and breaking furniture. He threw a chair into the vanity mirror and yelled, “You’re a dead man, Thane Cornwall!”

The camera returned to Steven Benjamin, who looked surprised. “I’m sure the good folks at Sterling Studios
are cooperating with the investigation into Thane’s murder. I’d say Danny is a good place for the police to start! We’ll return after these messages.”

Cars. Diets. Sissy Spacek in Depression Era rags for a “Hallmark Hall of Fame” weeper. “Side effects may include …” As commercials played on the screen, Polly, Placenta, Tim, and Raul commented on the first few minutes of the show. They all agreed that a tribute to a murder victim probably shouldn’t have included his last rant.

“You may hate your mother, but at the funeral you only say nice things,” Raul said.

“Timmy loves
his
mother!” Polly said.

“Of course Tim loves you,” Raul said. “Everybody loves you.”

“Welcome to the family!” Polly said, and patted Raul on the cheek.

Placenta added, “One has to wonder why they chose to put in that clip. D’ya think the editor or director or someone wanted to throw suspicion for Thane’s death clearly on Danny Castillo? The kid’s not around to defend himself.”

“A good imitation of that scary Rush guy on that radio station I try to avoid,” Polly added. “Anyone with his anger issues needs his meds—oh, wait, didn’t I read that he was an addict? Poor baby. What he needs is a long session on the couch. The same with Danny C. If I were investigating the murder, which I’m not, at least not officially, I’d be looking at Danny too. Smashing that makeup mirror was not a good move. Seven whole years of bad luck! Or in his case not quite seven days.”

“Quiet,” Placenta said. “We’re back to the show.”

Steven Benjamin continued the broadcast as if nothing had changed from the previous week. He introduced Miranda Washington, who walked down the tall
staircase and found her place center stage with a microphone headset taped to her cheek. To a cheering audience and a rapt panel of judges Miranda began to sing “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

Fifteens seconds into the song Polly blurted out, “My God, I can understand the lyrics!”

Tim, too, was mesmerized. “Ella Fitzgerald would be thrilled with her delivery!”

The group watched with surprise and delight as Miranda ended with a plaintive “… oh how I need someone to watch over me.”

Polly and her troupe cheered along with the audience. “Damn! The one night someone shows promise and I’m not there to gush!” Polly said.

The contestants who followed Miranda each failed to reach her level of achievement. Ped-Xing sang “My Cherie Amour,” and by the time he reached the boring “La la la la la, la la la la la” ending, Polly found herself slipping into Thane mode and trying to come up with words that, without destroying Ped-Xing’s practically indestructible ego, would convey she thought he sucked.

Unfortunately, the shimmering costumes worn by Taco Bell and Amy Stout did nothing to camouflage their hopelessly inadequate vocal abilities. Taco and Amy, singing “Save the Best for Last,” and “The Morning After,” respectively, showed that it’s not easy to be Vanessa Williams or Maureen McGovern. They didn’t have “it.” And the judges tore them apart.

After another long series of commercials about bladder control issues, restless legs, and a cure for toe-nail fungus, Steven Benjamin returned. “The night isn’t over yet,” he said. “Despite any contestants’ lack of stage presence and talent, winning the competition doesn’t hinge on how well they performed, but on how far
they’ll go to reach the top. Let’s bring out our contestants and let the judges begin their interviews!”

Taco Bell was the first to face the trio. Steven said, “Let’s begin with our lovely Trish Saddleback.”

The camera focused on Trish. “You were darling!” Trish began. “I see a lot of talent in you, more than in some of my colleagues with whom I argue every day on
The Shrews
, or the pathetic guests we invite on the show. So, tell me, Ms. Bell, hypothetically, you’re driving down the 405 freeway. The traffic is hell. You’re late for an audition for a movie with Meryl Streep. The job, which your agent says is practically yours, will completely change your life. You’re crawling along looking at your watch and screaming something vile that includes taking the Lord’s name in vain. Suddenly, sweet, dear Jesus Christ the Lord Almighty Himself appears in your side-view mirror. You shout, ‘Glory and amen!’ You figure that you’re being divinely guided to the audition!

“But just then, that eighteen-wheeler with an unsaved and asleep-on-the-job redneck trucker who’s been kissing the bumper of your junky ‘85 Honda for the past ten minutes crawls into the driver’s seat with you and changes your plans. In the last instant of your unaccomplished and futile little life, do you ask Satan to drag the sleeping driver who is responsible for your early demise to hell? Or do you take one last peek in the mirror at the smiling and benevolent face of our dear Lord and thank Him for the thousands of joyous, if fruitless, auditions that reaped nothing more than a non-speaking atmosphere role in ‘High School Musical: Pimples and Puberty’?”

Taco Bell stood with her arms folded and her mouth hanging wide open.

“You only have a minute to answer the question,” Steven prodded.

Taco Bell sighed, pursed her lips, shook her head, and said, “I’m sending that freakazoid trucker who drove over me, and my dreams, straight to an eternal vacation on the Lake of Fire! He’ll be roasting on an open flame forever. Ain’t nobody getting away with keeping me from starring with Meryl Streep! Who is this sorry-assed trucker, anyway?” she asked. “I have a mind to drag him out of his cab right after this show and have the Blessed Virgin make sure he doesn’t ruin any other dream of mine!”

Polly stared at the screen as Taco Bell went on her tirade. “She’s serious.”

Trish Saddleback looked annoyed at Taco Bell. “Please calm yourself, dear. There is no trucker. It was a fictional scenario. Except that dear, sweet,
Republican
Jesus is always in your mirror, guiding you. Welcome to
Hellywood
.”

While Tim, Placenta, and Raul laughed, Polly steamed. “Isn’t there supposed to be a separation between church and television? Who does St. Saddleback think she is, touched by an angel?”

“This is exactly what Sterling and the network want, Mother!” Tim said. “It’s a show that caters to the same demographics as
American Gladiator
and female mud wrestling. Go with it. Have fun. The contestants don’t really mean what they’re saying. They just need the voting audience to think that they’ll climb over bodies to get ahead. It’s what they expect from wannabe stars.”

Steven Benjamin thanked Taco Bell, and summoned Ped-Xing back to center stage to face the judges. It was Brian Smith’s turn to interview a contestant. “Heya, bro,” Smith said. “Awesome good song. Did an awesome fine job. But let’s get serious for a moment.”

Polly nudged Placenta.

* * *

Brian said, “Celebrities are known for saying pretty lame things sometimes. Remember when Mariah Carey said…” he looked at a four-by-six-inch card, then read aloud, “ ‘Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can’t help but cry. I mean, I’d love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff.’“ Brian giggled. “Or Anna Nicole Smith, who said of suicide bombers, ‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ Or the lame guy who said, ‘If we’re not supposed to eat animals, why are they made out of meat?’

“Now, let’s say that you win this competition and become famous. Alex Trebek invites you to appear on
Celebrity Jeopardy
. It’s the Final Jeopardy round and you’ve wagered a fortune on the category Classic American Playwrights. The answer is, He wrote
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
. Say something stupid that you’d regret seeing on Google and YouTube for the rest of eternity. Prove to us that you’re dumb enough to be a big celebrity.”

While the audience giggled at the idiocy of the question and, by association, the man posing the question, Ped-Xing stood looking at Brian trying to figure out whether the judge was calling him stupid or if Brian was in earnest. Ped-Xing instantly decided to reply with a response that would sound like Paris Hilton trying to sound profound.

Ped-Xing shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Would you repeat the
Jeopardy
answer, please?”

“He wrote Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”

“Who is Dr. Seuss?”

A few snickers could be heard among the audience of mostly young adults, but it seemed that few understood what Ped-Xing had revealed about his wit.

“Thank you, my man,” Brian said as Ped-Xing moved
off the stage. “But I think you should have gone for an incorrect response. You were supposed to say something you’d regret.”

Steven Benjamin made a show of slapping himself on the cheek in a mock effort to return to the moment. Then, with a large smile, he said, “Let’s welcome back Amy Stout!” He turned to Richard Dartmouth and said, “She’s all yours.”

Richard smiled. “Oh, if only that were true.” The audience made wolf calls. Richard held up his hands to quiet the crowd and said, “I’m no Thane Cornwall …” To which Amy smiled and said, “Amen!” “… but I have to say…” He paused for dramatic effect. “That I think Thane would have said something like ‘Your performance tonight made me think that crawling into a cage of skunks would be preferable to the stench of your voice.’“ Amy’s smile vanished.

“But that’s not what
I
would say,” Richard said. “Now. For your interview question. You’re on a date with our lovely host Steven Benjamin…. That’s not too hypothetical, is it, honey?” he said with a wink and a sideward glance at Steven. “Instead, let’s say that you’re on a date with … me …”

Camera number three caught Steven Benjamin looking bewildered and angry.

“… and you’re hit on by the head of production at Twentieth Century Fox. Who do you screw … I mean, what do you do … to get ahead?”

Amy took a deep breath. “First of all, been there, done that. I’d have an affair with both of you. Turn out the lights and maybe there wouldn’t be much of a difference. If I was on a date with you, and even if the impossible happened and I fell in love with you, when a bigger fish comes along, I have to go swimming. I’ve
only been in Hollywood a little while, but I see the wives and girlfriends of stars and movers and shakers all looking for the next step up the ladder to security and social status. I can do what they do.”

Polly sighed and held out her champagne flute for a refill. “Raul, darling, in your work you must see a lot of Bel Air
ladies
, and I use that term loosely. How do they catch their rich husbands? Larry King’s easy, but what about the others?”

“Just as this Amy girl says.” Raul nodded. “They’re always on the lookout for the guy who needs a diversion from his family and career. At least that’s how they start out. Men are pretty much easy targets. And if the woman’s sexy enough, and cunning enough, there’s not much the present wife or girlfriend can do. Although, whenever I hear about a young so-called actress gone missing or discovered dead, I think it’s probably the work of the wife who had her husband tailed and then got rid of the competition with professional help. Happens all the time.”

“In my day, we only had to worry about other stars interloping,” Polly said. “Sedra Stone, may she rest in peace, took not one, but two of Tim’s daddies from me. But at least she was from the same social circle. Well, sort of. I think she killed a few people on her way to destroying my heart. But today, they let almost anyone into this business. Just look at the riffraff on this show! I’m loath to say this, but mediocrity rules.”