Flavor of the Month

by Olivia Goldsmith

  “No, thank you. I figured you’d want to hear all this in person, so that’s why I came to the studio. Don’t worry. I haven’t worked this lot in a while, so not very many people would recognize me. So few old-timers left.” He settled himself more comfortably in the chair.

  This is where I get the bit about how hard he had to work, and how his fee barely covers it, Lila thought. Well, he better have something, or else this creep is out on his ass for wasting my time. Lila leaned forward, her elbows on her crossed legs. “What have you got?” she asked, still smiling.

  Minos smiled back, evidently very pleased with himself. “What do you want first? The good news, or the very good news?”

  Goddamn him! “This isn’t a surprise party, for chrissakes. Spit it out.”

  Minos got the picture. “Jahne Moore,” he said, looking down at a small notebook he’d flipped out of his pocket. “Real name, Mary Jane Moran. Born in Scuders-town. New York, September 22, 1958. She was…”

  “What? When was she born?”

  Minos jerked his head up, then looked back at his notes. “September 22, 1958. In Scuders—”

  “Jesus Christ! That makes her…” Lila thought for a moment. “That would make her almost thirty-eight years old. You got that all wrong.” Lila sat back, folding her arms across her chest. Minos said nothing, just opened the manila envelope, reached in, and took out a sheaf of papers. He handed Lila the first one. “Exhibit A,” he said, a smug look on his face.

  Lila took the photocopy from him. It was a birth certificate, all right. For Mary Jane Moran, born September 22, 1958, Scuderstown, New York. So what? “But how do you know this is Jahne Moore?” she asked, handing back the photocopy.

  Minos shook the rest of the typewritten papers in the air. “High school diploma, yearbook with picture, nursing-school diploma, unemployment book from New York City, depositions from kids she acted with in some church-basement theater workshop…”

  “For Mary Jane Moran. But what about Jahne Moore?” Lila was having a hard time holding in her excitement, and her fear. “What do you have on Jahne Moore?”

  “A legal name change and deposition from a lawyer in Albany. Pissed off over some probate deal that’s soured on him. But wait, it gets better. Interview and files from a nurse in a plastic surgeon’s office in New York. It seems our Jahne Moore is a real Cinderella. She got ahold of some money and had herself done over. The grandmother died just before this, so maybe from her. Had herself carved head to toe. Took two years. According to this nurse, she went from an ugly, overweight mouse, to a twenty-four-year-old sexy beauty. Money can do that for you.” Minos paused, his expression changing. “Speaking of money, I’ve taken the liberty of promising this medical source a large payment. Seeing as how the National Questioner would outbid you if they knew about it, I put you out on the limb. Not by name of course.”

  Lila snatched the nurse’s deposition from his hand and scanned it hungrily. Medical records. Pictures! Befores and afters! It was all here. “She went to this plastic surgeon, Dr. Moore? Was she related to this doctor?” Lila asked Minos.

  “No. Nurse says she probably had the hots for him, though. Who knows, maybe they traded tit for tat, you should excuse the expression. He was her Henry Higgins. You know, like in My Fair Lady. Anyhow, the nurse showed me the records.” Minos kept talking while Lila devoured the typewritten pages. “Made her appointments as Mary Jane Moran. That was her biggest mistake. She shoulda started with the alias first, then the surgery. Typical amateur. His records even show her present name and address right here in L.A.” Minos handed Lila a folder. “So,” he said, “that’s the ‘good.’ Ready for the ‘very good’?”

  Lila didn’t have to answer, couldn’t answer. There was something better, juicier than this? She tried to digest it all, but realized that she couldn’t. Not right now, at least. Just take it all in for now, she told herself. Then decide what to do. Slow down.

  Lila could smile without forcing it. “Minos, I’m impressed. Now the ‘very good.’” She settled back to listen, although she was sure he couldn’t top this. Jahne Moore, carved like a duck out of a piece of soap. Soap melts, she thought, then brought her attention back to Minos’ words, which now, strangely, had a very calming effect on her. This must be how alcoholics feel after their first drink in a long while: peaceful, like the world is really okay. “I’m ready,” she told him.

  Minos turned gleeful. “You’re not ready for this. Listen: Sharleen Smith, from Lamson, Texas. Has a brother, Dean…”

  “You mean a boyfriend Dean,” Lila asked, almost afraid to breathe. She’d heard about Dean.

  “No, a brother, Dean Smith,” Minos said. “Two years younger than her. They’ve been passing themselves off as boyfriend and girlfriend for the last few years. But the mother says no, they are her kids all right.”

  “Their mother admits this? Where’s the mother now? How do you know it’s the truth?” Lila felt the words rushing out of her.

  “I traced the mother to New Orleans. She was a drunk and a whore before she started getting money from Sharleen. Now she’s just a drunk. Sharleen keeps her out of sight. Packed her off to New Orleans for some mysterious reason.”

  “You don’t have to be a detective to figure out why she packed her away, for chrissakes, Minos. Her kids are fucking each other.”

  “Yeah, I know, but that’s not what I mean. There’s more to the story, but I didn’t have enough time to get into it that deep. I figured I’d get back here to give you what I found out so far.” Minos handed Lila two snapshots. “Got these from the mother’s house.”

  Lila looked at the pictures. It was Sharleen all right. Maybe she was eight or nine years old. The little boy must be Dean. They were standing with some white-trash couple in front of a trailer.

  “How’s that so far?” Minos asked.

  Lila sat back, the papers and snapshots on her lap. Unbelievable. Had any incest perpetrators ever won an Emmy? Lila smiled. “You’ve done very well, Minos. I’ll go over this all tonight, then call you tomorrow. I might want you to do some more for me, depending.” She stood up to let him know his time was up.

  Minos didn’t stand. “And the money, to the nurse?”

  Lila smiled. “Worth every dime, Mr. Paige. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She shook his hand, then closed the door behind him.

  Lila stood there, all the power she needed in her hands. I did it, she thought. I finally did it. I got both of them. Now Lila knew the Emmy was hers. She went over to her dressing table and picked up the old sepia photograph she kept there in a silver frame. Thank you, Nadia, Lila said to herself. Thank you. Now I got both Candy and Skinny out of the way. It took a very long time, but they’re both dead now. And I get my own show.

  She’d been so pleased she’d forgotten to ask about Jughead and his threats.

  Lila had just finished rereading the papers Minos had left her, savoring every word, and put them back in the envelope, when the door to her trailer banged open. She jumped up and stared at the figure in the doorway.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get on the lot? I gave specific instructions…” Lila’s voice trailed off as she picked up the phone to call Security and rip that guard out another asshole.

  “Lila, Lila, Lila. Don’t overact. I always told you, hold something back.” Theresa O’Donnell began pulling off her long white gloves, finger by finger, as she stepped into the room, then sat in the chair Lila had just vacated at her vanity table.

  Gloves in California, Lila thought. Leave it to her mother to develop an affectation that other people wouldn’t copy. Who was she playing today? Miss Piggy? Now that Lila was past her first shock, she could cope. “Isn’t it a little dangerous for you to be out of your coffin in daylight?” Lila asked, putting the phone down before Security answered.

  Theresa turned to the mirror and began to examine her makeup. “We take our chances, darling. You know that.”

  “You’ve taken a big chan
ce today, then, because I’m going to have you kicked out on your ass.” But Lila didn’t pick up the phone again. And she wasn’t sure why not.

  She heard Theresa’s throaty laugh. “Lila, I own a piece of this lot. They don’t kick stockholders off their own property. And no one kicks Theresa O’Donnell out of anyplace.” Theresa was still looking in the mirror, now considering her hair.

  Lila took a step closer to her mother. “What do you want?”

  Theresa sighed and turned to face Lila. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding that I need to clear up. I was offered a part on Three for the Road, then had it suddenly pulled out from under me. Paul Grasso said it would present too many conflicts. I said to him that he couldn’t mean with my daughter—she’s such a professional. But he seemed to think that you didn’t want me on the show.” Theresa slapped the long gloves against one hand. “So, here I am, darling. You have got to clear up this misunderstanding with Marty, tell him you do want to work with me. I’m so looking forward to us working together, Lila. It’s something I’ve always wanted. And you, too, of course. So, call Marty. I’ll wait.”

  Lila had feared this day, knowing that it would come, but not knowing when. “Get out,” Lila simply said.

  She watched Theresa’s face tighten; then a smile returned once again. “Jack Warner taught me something, once. I’ve never forgotten it, used it to negotiate every contract I ever signed. Never issue an ultimatum unless you hold all the aces.” Theresa leaned back on the table on one elbow, and crossed her legs at the knees. “I see you had a visit from Minos Paige, Lila. What was that little creep doing here? You’re not thinking of doing business with the worst piece of scum in Hollywood, are you? You’d want to think twice about that.”

  Lila kept her eyes from falling on the envelope still resting on her vanity table, too close to Theresa for Lila’s comfort. What was in there was for Lila only. The last person she wanted to share the dirt with was her mother. Because somehow, Lila knew, her mother would use it for her own benefit.

  “How do you know Minos Paige?”

  “I know everything. Everything, Lila. Remember that.” Theresa laughed again, like she didn’t have a care in the world. That always made Lila nervous. That meant that Theresa didn’t have a care in the world. “Once, when he was very young, Kerry found out some smarmy little jealous actor put a private detective on him. Your father was—how should I put it?—vulnerable in several areas, but not stupid. So Kerry got one of his friends and a couple of prostitutes: a sixteen-year-old male hustler who looked twelve, and a dead ringer for the young Shirley Temple. You couldn’t fuck with Shirley Temple and get away with it.”

  Lila could see Theresa was having a good time, going down memory lane. But Lila wasn’t in the mood. “If this is your way of saying goodbye, I’m bored already.”

  Theresa ignored the remark. “They got this guy with chloral hydrate in his drink, took him to a hotel, stripped him, and photographed him in every position imaginable with the two kids. The next day, Kerry had the pictures delivered to the guy’s house, and left them in a sealed envelope with his wife. Then he called the guy and told him what he had done, and where the pictures were. The guy beat it home just in time. The wife had a letter opener at the flap as he walked in.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because it’s important for you to know your heritage. And to remember that what you can do to someone else, they can do to you. Or anyone can. My point, Lila, is that two can play the game. You see, I think that, if you really thought about it, you’d see how it would make much better sense for you to have me as your co-worker, rather than your enemy.” Theresa motioned to the envelope on the table. “I’ve got some of those at home. Dozens. And if I have nothing to lose, maybe…who knows?—maybe I’d even open them up and pass them around.”

  Lila felt the chill run the length of her body. “You’re in those envelopes at home, Mother. That stuff pertains to you, too.”

  Theresa shrugged. “Let’s keep this short and sweet, Lila. You want to find out someone’s secrets but keep your own? Here are my terms: I do the season-opening show and a miniseries with you.”

  “Miniseries! I am not…”

  “I’m not asking you, you ungrateful, malicious little bitch. I’m telling you. Get a deal out of Marty DiGennaro. You could if you tried. Whatever little secrets Minos is tracking down for you will look like nothing compared to yours.”

  “They won’t just crucify me, Mother. They’ll crucify you, too.”

  “Better public crucifixion than private oblivion. So, consider next week the deadline. Sign on the dotted line, bitch. Or I’ll blow your whole scene wide open. And I have nothing to lose. No television show, no movies, no powerful man in my life.” Theresa paused. “But you, you have lots to lose, don’t you, Lila?” Lila watched her mother stand up and begin to pull her gloves on. “You want that Emmy, don’t you? Ask yourself that. And if the answer is yes, then call Marty DiGennaro. And tell him how much you love me.”

  Theresa grasped the door handle in her hand. “And if you decide you have nothing to lose, well, then it will be back to just you and me. And maybe Kevin. One happy family.” Then she walked out the door and closed it softly behind her.

  Lila sat down before her knees buckled under her.

  49

  Now that Flora Lee was gone, Dobe was with them, and Sharleen didn’t have to work on 3/4, she was actually beginning to feel good. She spent long afternoons in the garden, weeding, and she put up tomatoes, canned some peaches, and made an unbeatable three-bean salad.

  Dobe was going to have to leave again, but, though she’d miss him terribly, Sharleen was so grateful to him that she could hardly resent his going, or his need to live his own life. It was just that she felt he was the only person who she could lean on, and when he left, she knew she’d feel very alone.

  Tonight they were having a goodbye dinner, and the talk was casual but fun. Dobe told them half a dozen funny stories, while Oprah sat, content as usual, superior to the gamboling puppies.

  “Hey!” Dean spoke up. “I saw a new license plate today. ‘North Carolina, First in Flight.’ Does that mean they’re chicken? I wouldn’t be proud of that.”

  Dobe smiled and explained about Kitty Hawk. “Good name for a cat,” Dean said.

  After Dean helped Sharleen clear, Dobe stacked the dishwasher while Sharleen mopped down the table—she didn’t like to leave a mess. Dean took all the dogs out back. It was then that Dobe started talking business—not his business, but hers.

  “What are you investing in?” Dobe asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sharleen told him. “Lenny takes care of all of that stuff.”

  “Buying any land?”

  She shrugged. “We bought this place, but I don’t think we bought any other land.” Somehow, she felt uncomfortable talking about this with Dobe, as if it were wrong, or maybe dangerous. “You had enough to eat?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Sure did, and it was good, too. You’re a good little cook, Sharleen. But let me ask you another question, Sharleen. You still got that idea of havin’ a ranch someday?”

  She didn’t want to talk about this to Dobe. Somehow, she knew it would lead to trouble. “Yeah,” she said reluctantly. “Me and Dean would like that someday. When we got enough money.” It was once she said the word “money” that she realized what felt wrong: talking to Dobe about money made her feel as if, maybe, he was talking to her the way he did to those people he sold the fake gas pills to. “Let’s go outside,” she said. And wandered out into the darkness. She hoped that would be enough to change the subject.

  “You lookin’ for a partner?” Dobe asked. For a moment, she didn’t understand. “A partner in your ranch?” he prompted. “Someone to scout out the real estate, maybe to get it started for you till you come out later.”

  “I don’t know, Dobe,” she said, and felt her heart grow heavy in her chest. Oh, God, she should have known
that Dobe’s help would have a price. Like everyone else out here, he was looking to make some money off her. Somehow, Sharleen felt it would be easier if he just asked her for money instead of trying to scam her out of it.

  “Listen to the way I see it, Sharleen,” he was saying. “The longer you wait, the higher land out in Montana is going to cost. But I met a guy, got about four hundred acres that he’d sell to me for a hundred thousand dollars cash. And it’s beautiful land. But after I finish this shoe deal, I only got about fifty. Now, if you go in as a partner, we could either split the land or live on it together. There’s a river there, Sharleen, that’s so beautiful you would hardly believe it. And a house. Needs some work—kind of rough, you know, like how a single man lives—but it’s sound. And there’s a view from the front porch that would just about break your heart.”

  Sharleen felt as if she didn’t need to have her heart broken—again. Her daddy had broken it. Flora Lee had broken it, and now Dobe was. Could you have a heart broken three times? Well, she knew how it felt: real bad, real sad, and real tired. It seemed like everyone but Dean expected nothin’ but money or work out of her. Tears flooded her eyes, and she turned her head so Dobe couldn’t see her in the darkness. The only light was from the dying coals of the barbecue. She stood there silently for another moment.

  “Well, I guess it’s not something you’d chose to do right now,” Dobe said, and she could hear the disappointment in his voice.

  He had helped them, back when they needed help worse than they ever would again. She remembered standin’ in the road, outside Lamson, scared and tired, afraid of the police and without a place to go. Even now, she could recall the comfort of sinking into the air-conditioned back seat of Dobe’s big old sedan.