Remains to Be Scene (14 page)

Polly listened and seemed to melt from whatever Archer had said. “Well of course, I’d love that very much,” she replied. “I was going to ask you if you didn’t pop the question first.”

Tim and Placenta both looked at Polly with exasperation.

Polly saw the frustration on their faces and reeled herself in. “There’s one other thing, Randy,” she cooed. “I’m all yours. To help with the investigation, I mean.” She giggled again and turned away from Tim and Placenta. “It’s a little crowded here at the moment. Call me later and we’ll discuss the particulars. Lovely. Ta…”

Polly was just about to disconnect the line when Tim and Placenta called out in unison, “Dana! You want to see Dana!”

“Oh, one more thing, Randy! Would you be an even greater dear…as if that’s possible…and arrange for me to visit Dana in her cell today? Oh, please? It would mean so much to her to know that someone on the outside cares. She was a colleague, even if it was only for a short while. She must be extremely frightened and lonely.”

Polly smiled. “Oh, I’m not really that much like Mother Teresa. Maybe Oprah. But thank you. I do try only to find the good in everybody.” She looked at Tim and Placenta and ignored their smirks. “Two o’clock?” Polly said to Detective Archer. “Lovely! I’ll be there. We’ll chat again tonight, shall we? Lovely,” she said again. And then Polly signed off.

“Satisfied?” she said with a hard edge to her voice as she slapped the phone into the palm of Tim’s hand. “You’ve both put me in the most untenable position. Not only do I have to go to that scummy jail house, but Detective Archer misunderstood my views on the case and now even he is having second thoughts about Dana’s guilt. Damn! Who ever listened to me before?”

A
polished Rolls-Royce parked in front of the Beverly Hills police station is no more unusual than finding cocaine powder dusting a supermodel’s nose. When Polly Pepper and her entourage swept through the doors at the station on Santa Monica Boulevard, however, even the policewoman with the baritone voice and Adam’s apple was impressed. “Miss Polly Pepper, as I live and breathe!” said the recently minted woman from behind the reception desk.

“Surprise!” Polly called out, taking on the persona from one of her favorite sketch characters: a sarcastic bouncer at The Voodoo Room.

“We’ve been expecting you,” the policewoman said without a smile.

“It must be a surprise to receive a celebrity who’s not here for fingerprinting and a mug shot,” Polly said. “I suppose I’m a novelty.”

“But it’s such fun to see what they look like on a bad hair and make-up day,” said the policewoman. “Too bad we didn’t get Glen Campbell. Love that mug shot they took for his DUI. Looked like that Wichita Lineman got sparked by a lightening bolt shot up his hiney! I live for the day Paris Hilton drops in with her little mutt.”

Then she pushed a buzzer next to her desk to unlock a reinforced steel plate door at the far end of the room. “The sergeant will take you back to the prisoner,” she said.

Polly whispered to Tim, “Reminds me of Sylvester Stallone in an Eva Gabor wig.”

Polly and her tribe strode confidently through the open doorway, and a Rob Lowe lookalike in the requisite BHPD blue uniform met the trio. The officer smiled and nodded at Polly, knowing full well who she was. Then his green eyes locked with Tim’s and his smile grew wider with delight. He scanned the locally famous party planner from head to toe. “I’ve seen you in
213
,” he said, referring to a freebee gossip paper in Beverly Hills. Tim was equal parts embarrassed and flattered by the obvious cruising. He returned the flirt and looked at the policeman’s name badge. “Sergeant Walker,” he said, smiling devilishly. “Is it my imagination, or is the Beverly Hills Police Department cast by the Abercrombie and Fitch advertising department?”

Sergeant Walker raised an eyebrow and in his barely beyond choirboy voice said, “Rich people pay for pretty things ’round here.”

Tim agreed. “We are kind of fussy about who arrests us for being under the influence of too much money.” He forced a laugh.

Polly and her troupe arrived outside an interrogation room. Walker unlocked the door and ushered the VIPs inside. There, seated forlornly at a long metal table, with her wrists in cuffs, and wearing an orange jailhouse uniform that nearly matched her red eyes, was Dana Pointer. Her once oft-copied hairstyle was now pulled into a ponytail. It looked as greasy as Brett Butler’s when she was on a five-day bender. Her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying.

“You’d never catch me or any of the other officers looking like
that
,” Sergeant Walker sniped, especially for Tim’s benefit. When Tim didn’t respond, Walker figured correctly that he just lost points for his lack of tact. He backed out of the room and closed the door.

Dana looked up, and for a moment she appeared dazed and uncertain about whom her visitors were. Then a small smile crossed her lips. “Polly? Tim?” she said. Dana acknowledged Placenta too but couldn’t remember her name. “Thank God you’re here! Get me out of this Wes Craven movie! I don’t know what I’m doing in this scene in the first place!”

“Darling, girl,” Polly cooed, spritzing the atmosphere with concern. “This is absolutely the most horrid misunderstanding. I’m sure of it. I can’t even bring myself to speak aloud the words that the press has used to discredit you. It’s appalling. I mean, geeze Louise…Crack whore. Slut. Harlot.
Murderer
! All in the same sentence. It’s too rude!”

Dana wailed, “No! I’m none of those things. I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m innocent! I’ve never harmed a fly! All those stories of misbehavior were created by my stupid publicist to make me look tough. I would never have touched a synthetic black hair on Sedra’s wigged head. I swear it! I’m innocent!”

Tim gazed at Dana with more pity than he’d ever looked at anyone—other than John Goodman for whom he had once felt incredibly sorry for having to work with Roseanne. Dana was definitely pathetic. If she was indeed guilty, Tim thought she’d obviously been studying Susan Hayward’s Oscar-winning performance in
I Want to Live!
He stood next to Dana and said, “The papers report that the police have evidence against you. The corpse—er, Sedra, I mean—even had strands of your hair in her hands. If you didn’t commit the crime, who do you think did it? And why would the police think that you’re responsible for such a monstrous act?”

“They haven’t got anything on me!” Dana bawled. “They can’t because I’m not guilty! I loved Sedra. Okay, not loved. Not even liked. But we had a special bond. And just ‘cause you think someone is a conniving wicked bitch who deserves to die in a shark infested bathtub doesn’t mean you necessarily want them dead. Well, usually it does, but you’d never do it yourself! Christ, I’m not Robert Blake! Do I even look like a Menendez brother? You’ve gotta help me!”

“That’s exactly what we’re here to do,” Polly said, sounding as confident as Alex Trebek gleefully telling a “Jeopardy!” contestant that their answer wasn’t in the form of a question and it was dead wrong anyway. “But you’re going to have to help
us
in order for us to help you. Tell us why we should believe that you’re innocent.”

Dana began to weep. “Because I am!” She sniffled and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jump suit. “You’ve just got to trust me,” she said. “Shoot! I’m going to end up a forgotten nobody, like that old woman who played a mystery writer on television every Sunday night for like…forever!”

Polly thought for a moment and was then taken aback. “‘Murder, She Wrote’? Angela Lansbury?’”

“Whatever,” Dana said. “Grandma got a TV gig, big deal. I’m in the movies! The big screen. I don’t want to end up like her!”

“Trust me, you won’t,” Polly said. “Miss Lansbury’s a living icon! The greatest star ever! Four Tony Awards! Three Oscar nominations! Sixteen Emmy nominations! This is the problem with you young so-called modern movie stars, you have no background in the theatre. You don’t know anything about the business you’re in. Hell, you didn’t even know that I’m a big star in this town. Once. Yeah, sweetie, I’ve got a closet full of Emmys to prove it! If you ever beat this rap I’ll let you caress one of them.”

Placenta had to calm her down. “Deep breaths,” Placenta instructed. “Take a seat. Go to your quiet place. Think of Lake Como. It’s springtime and you’re on vacation in Switzerland. That’s right. Everything is tranquil. Deep breaths.”

Tim took over. “Dana, I’ll be honest, things look really bad for you. You were overheard arguing with Sedra in her trailer the night she died. You’re quoted saying you’d see her buried in Forest Lawn.”

“That was very late,” Dana said. “I thought that the rest of the cast had gone home. I didn’t think anyone was around to hear us. Not that I ever really said those words.” She thought for another moment. “It was that weasel of a security guard, wasn’t it? That Duane. He never liked me.”

“You didn’t like him either,” Tim said.

“And he sure as hell hated Sedra. I know the type. She publicly insulted him and he vowed revenge. These wussy types are all the same. He’s the one who should be arrested!”

“What about the fact that you found Sedra having an affair with Jack? Did you, in a jealous rage, do something you now regret?”

For a long moment, Dana sat in silence while the gears in her brain were grinding. She finally conceded, “All right, it’s true. I was angry with Sedra. But not because she and Jack were an item. That’s just too weird to even think about!”

All eyes were suddenly riveted to Dana. “Sedra wasn’t Jack’s type. Hell, I’m not Jack’s type either. Go figure.”

The room was silent for a long moment as Polly, Tim, and Placenta tried to fathom what Dana was telling them. “Everybody knows that Jack’s going to be a big star soon, and everybody wants to hitch a ride. When Jack told us all to step aside, that’s when someone started spreading rumors that he was sleeping with all the grips and carpenters.”

“As if that’s anything unusual in this town,” Polly added.

“Exactly,” Dana agreed. “Like who isn’t bi these days? Actually, Jack’s rather proud of the fact that he hooked up with Alan Cummings. Who wouldn’t brag about that! Oh, and that screenwriter Ben Tyler, too. But that was mainly because the dude wrote an awesome role that Jack thinks he’s perfect for.” Dana looked at Tim. “Sorry honey,” she said. “In your case you’d better stick to the Beverly Hills Police Department. You’ll have better success of scoring here than in Jack’s world. No offense. You’re a cutie and all, but…”

“Drats! I knew it was too good to be true about Jack. Damn that silly rumor!” Then Tim returned to the subject. “What about your fight that night with Sedra? What was that all about? ’Cause she died just a short while later, so someone was pretty angry with her. Enough to make her go away permanently.”

All ears waited impatiently for shocking news, something that they wouldn’t even find in Ted Casablanca’s “E! Online” gossip column.

Dana looked at the trio as if they were cannibals at a feast tying napkins around their necks and holding knives and forks in their fists.

Placenta, who until now had remained a silent observer, said, “You haven’t satisfied me that you didn’t murder Sedra. You talk a lot but make me believe you.”

“I swear to God, I didn’t do anything!” Dana yelled back.

“But you threatened her,” Polly added. “There are witnesses.”

Dana became contrite. “I’m scared,” she said, tears streaking her famous face. “Please get me out of here.” She sighed loudly and tried to remember the details of her last evening with Sedra. “That was the night that Sedra told me she’d booked a major film role. She asked me to come to her trailer before I left the location. When I arrived she was still in her costume. She put her hand on my shoulder and thanked me for helping to reignite her career. She said that the fact that I’d gotten her into
Detention
was the best thing that happened to her in years. Apparently Woody Allen had heard great things about her work—after only one day—and offered her the lead in whatever secret project he’s doing.”

“Woody Allen!” gasped Polly.

Tim and Placenta glared at her.

Dana groaned with frustration. “Of course I wasn’t gullible enough to totally believe her,” she said. “But when I asked if maybe she could put in a good word for me, that’s when she got all bent out of shape. ‘Trying to steal my role?’” Dana mimicked Sedra’s affected voice. “I never even considered that, until she mentioned it. ‘Gonna run along to Mr. Allen and offer your body in exchange for a few dumb ass lines?’ By now, Dana was yelling. “I told her that I had no such plans and that she was being ridiculous. She said that I probably thought that she owed me something because I had given her a break. I sort of agreed that she did. But then she said that by making my movie better with her iconic screen presence that was the best payback I could get. Well, I sort of agreed with that, too. But then I said something I guess I shouldn’t have.”

Polly, Tim and Placenta stopped breathing.

“Since I knew someone who was actually in a Woody Allen movie once, I was aware that he never lets any of the cast, even the leads, read the whole script. They just get the pages on which they have dialogue. That is unless you’re like a Mia Farrow, and you’re raising his future bride. So I told her what I’d heard about his scripts being secret, and I called her bluff about getting a lead in Woody’s film. I told her that unless you’re Diane Wiest, who can actually act, all of Woody’s actresses have to be young enough to be his great-granddaughter, like a Mira Sorvino, who’s not all that young, but she’s got the bazongas that he likes.

“That’s when Sedra flew into a rage. If anybody heard us fighting, that’s what it was all about. I was pissed because she wouldn’t even think about helping me go legit by getting into Woody Allen’s Fall Project. Then she was mad as hell because I accused her of being a big fat liar. I said that any role offered by Woody Allen would have to be a cameo, a one day job, and that she’d be playing another grandmother.”

Polly came back from her
quiet place
and asked, “Did you call Mr. Allen after Sedra’s unfortunate demise?’ You’re just his type, although at eighteen, you’re on the cusp of being too old.”

Dana made a face that said,
Doh
! “There wasn’t any Woody Allen film. She made it up. Then Sedra walked up to me and gave me a hard slap on the face. Like we were in some stupid daytime drama. I wasn’t going to stand there and take a beating, so I slapped her back. I think she was used to fake slaps from her ‘Monarchy’ niece because she was really shocked by what I did. Her eyes grew wild with anger and she made a rather feeble lunge for me. I stepped aside just in time and she crashed into the minibar.”

“No broken bottles?” Polly asked.

“Just a plate that she threw at me,” Dana said. “And no broken bones either, I don’t think, ‘cause she got to her feet and started after me again. I decided to get the hell out of there before I really got mad and kicked her butt. So I dashed to the trailer door. I got out, but not before she grabbed a fist-full of my hair. When I was safely outside, I told her she was a pathetic old thing, and how dare she treat me like a dog after all I’d done for her. I said I wasn’t afraid of her, like everybody else in Hollywood, and that if it came to a show down, she’d be dead meat.”