The Man Who Cancelled Himself

by David Handler

  He ducked his head. “I-I know,” he admitted. “But I had n-nothing to do with bombing the set. Or killing Chad, or any of it. You have to b-believe me.”

  “Why should I?” I said roughly. “You’ve been lying to everyone about your whereabouts. Plus I have no idea what you were doing.”

  He tossed the manuscript onto my desk. “This.”

  I glanced down at it. It was The Human Dramedy, a play in two acts, by Robert Jay Ackerman.

  “My n-newest,” he explained. “I’ve been writing it l-longhand on the plane, flying back and forth every weekend. T-Tuesday mornings, I type it up in my apartment. Okay, s-so I lied to people. But it was the only way I could set aside a little work time for myself. T-To preserve my sanity.” He swallowed. “It’s p-partly based on this show—it’s The Front Page, except about a p-prime time sitcom, and with a tragic side. Amber’s b-been giving me notes all along. Go ahead and ask her. She’s read it.”

  “I’d like to read it, too.”

  “You can’t.” He snatched it back from me possessively. “Not yet. It’s not done. But this is what I was d-doing the morning of the bombing. I was home writing. You have to tell Very, Hoagy. He has to know—I’m n-no killer.”

  “You are, however, extremely good with your hands.”

  “So are lots of people.”

  “Like who?”

  “Lots of p-people,” he repeated vaguely.

  There was another knock on the door.

  Katrina. She was crying, eyes red, nose running. And her chest was heaving, which was cause for tremendous awe and wonderment. At least it was for Bobby. He stood there gaping at her zoomers as they thrust back and forth through the doorway at him in her scant little bustier. I thought the poor kid was going to swallow his tongue.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Hoagy,” she blubbered, barely noticing him. “But I just have to talk to you. Right away.”

  “N-No problem,” Bobby assured her hastily. “No problem at all.” He slipped past her in the doorway, somehow, and fled down the hallway.

  She lingered there, sniffling. “I’ve just been sitting in my office sobbing like a baby girl,” she squeaked. “I don’t know what to do.”

  I gave her my linen handkerchief. I get them by the dozen. Then I ushered her in and closed the door behind her. There was barely enough room in there for the two of us, and the two of them. The smell of her lily of the valley perfume hung heavy in the air. Right away, it started to get a lot warmer.

  “What’s wrong, Katrina?” I asked her, my cup abrim with concern and kindness.

  “I have to know, Hoagy. I just have to.”

  “Know what?”

  “What went on in there after I left. Between Lyle and Naomi.”

  “Nothing went on, Katrina.”

  “Then why did he ask to see her?” she wondered plaintively. “Was he just trying to make me jealous or what?”

  “Nothing went on, Katrina,” I said, a little less convincingly this time. A lot less convincingly.

  “You’re lying to me!” she cried. “I know you are. I can tell. He’s dicking her behind my back, isn’t he?”

  I gathered her hands in mine. They were hot to the touch. I looked deeply into her red-rimmed blue eyes, the left one gradually drifting from my gaze. “Look, the truth is I don’t want to get caught in the middle of this.”

  “Why not?” She whispered it, breathlessly. Her eyes, or eye, searching my face.

  “Because it’s not part of my job description, okay?”

  No, it wasn’t okay. She needed to hear more. She edged closer to me, her hot hands squeezing mine tightly. I could feel her breath on my face, and her breasts pressing against my chest. Her mouth seemed to grow softer and heavier, her lips flowering. The cunning and sensual beast in action. “Are you sure that’s the only reason?” she asked, her cotton candy voice throaty and intimate.

  “Of course. What other reason would there be?”

  She gave me an up-from-under look. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  An invitation. This one even less subtle and more humid than the last one. If I wore glasses, they’d be steamed up. She was feeling threatened now. Seriously threatened. From all sides. She was vulnerable. She was eager. Or so she wanted me to believe:

  Yet another knock on the door. Now who, Rusty? I let go of Katrina’s hands and opened it.

  Marjorie.

  She looked somewhat less poised and composed than usual. Ill at ease, in fact. And when she spotted Katrina there next to me wiping her eyes, she turned positively chilly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were occupied.”

  Katrina gave her an equally chilly look back. Then she squeaked, “Excuse me,” and brushed past Marjorie and out the door.

  Marjorie watched her go, back arched, claws out.

  “I thought you’d left with God.”

  “Clearly,” she observed tartly.

  “That was nothing. Just me doing what I do.”

  “I’m not so sure I like what you do.”

  “That’s only because you don’t know enough about it. When you’ve had a chance to examine it from all sides, up close, you’ll be positive you don’t like it.”

  “I came back to sound out Lyle on his feelings about this morning’s meeting.” She turned stiff and networky on me. “Only he wouldn’t see me. He’s hiding in his office. Unless he’s gone. Has he gone? Do you know?”

  “I don’t know.” I smiled at her. “How are the knees?”

  That was the wrong thing to ask. All of the color drained from her face. She came in and shut the door firmly behind her. Then she faced me, wringing her hands. “Look, I’d rather people around here not …” She trailed off. Her eyes avoided mine. “I don’t want them to know about what happened last night. Between you and me.”

  “Nothing happened. You went to bed, I went home. Remember?”

  She stood there wringing her hands some more. Then she sat down in my chair. Then she noticed the lobsters there by her feet and jumped right back up again. She was very skittish. “Godfrey just said something very disturbing when he and Jeff were getting into their limousine.”

  “Oh, what was that?”

  “Jeff said, ‘I can’t believe we have to pay rent on this whole building when we have three perfectly good sound-stages sitting empty on the Panorama lot.’ And Godfrey replied, ‘Don’t worry, Jeff. You won’t have to for long.’ ”

  “Meaning what?”

  “One of two things,” she replied glumly. “He’s planning to either move Uncle Chubby to Los Angeles or cancel it outright.”

  “I see,” I said, wondering if this was what Amber had heard on the rumor mill.

  “Which is a lose-lose scenario for me,” she said fretfully. “And the fact that Godfrey hasn’t shared his plans with me can only mean one thing—I’m out of the loop. Perhaps because he feels I’ve been too closely associated with Lyle. I don’t know. I only know that I may be out of a job.”

  “Is that why you’re so upset?”

  “What makes you think I’m upset?” she demanded, her eyes stubbornly avoiding mine.

  “It’s about last night, isn’t it?”

  Reluctantly, she gave me the briefest of nods.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No,” she said curtly.

  “Nothing happened, Marjorie,” I reminded her.

  “You keep saying that!” she cried, erupting suddenly. “And you’re so full of shit!”

  “You finally noticed, huh?”

  “Sex didn’t happen, but all of the feelings did. I didn’t sleep more than thirty minutes all night, Hoagy. I had to get up in the middle of the night and put in my bite guard, because I was clenching my jaw so tight. I’m angry, okay? I’m angry that you called me. I’m angry that you got me interested in you. I’m angry that it’s not ever going to happen between us. Maybe I’m just not very sophisticated about these things. I picked up the newspaper this morning and saw the picture of you and her
together and that made me angry. Everything about you makes me so angry I could punch you!”

  “How do you think I feel?”

  “I actually don’t care!”

  “I’m sorry, Marjorie.”

  “I don’t want you to say you’re sorry.”

  “What do you want?”

  She leveled her large, liquid green eyes at me. I felt a jolt, this one all the way down to my toenails. “I want all of this to make some kind of sense,” she replied gravely.

  “The things that matter most in life never make any kind of sense. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.”

  She gazed at me. “Are you saying this matters to you?”

  “I’m saying I didn’t sleep last night, either.”

  She seemed surprised by this. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She looked away. “I-I threw out my Harry Connick, Jr., tapes this morning.”

  “You won’t regret it.”

  “I don’t regret any of it. After all …” She gave me a quick, fleeting smile. “Nothing happened, remember?”

  “Like it was yesterday.”

  She kissed me once, lightly, on the mouth, and opened the door. “Thanks again, Hoagy.”

  “For what?”

  “For Bobby Short. And for saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome, Marjorie.”

  She hurried out the door before either of us could say anything more.

  I stared at the empty corridor thinking it was probably just as well it wasn’t going to happen. She was too normal for me. I wasn’t accustomed to dealing with someone who expected life to make sense. Merilee … Merilee would have punched me. And then we’d have ended up on the floor together with the lobsters. Then sworn our undying love for each other. Then broken up for three months. Not this. This was weird.

  I was starting down the corridor toward Fiona’s dressing room when Tommy intercepted me outside The Boys’ office. “Hoagmeister, just the man I wanted to see.”

  Inside, Marty was dodging a reporter’s questions over the telephone. “I can’t speak to you on or off the record, John. You’ll have to go through official channels. Try two, or four, or seven …”

  Tommy closed the door and stood there, shoulders hunched, blocking my path. “Chuckles have any news?”

  “No news.”

  “Then what did she want?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

  “None of your business.”

  “You banging her?”

  “What do you want, Tommy?” I said impatiently. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. I’ll tell you. It’s about my friend Very, who is not, by the way, my friend. He’s been asking about you at the Deuce Theater, where you are a regular customer, and been snooping around at your hotel. He’s even been talking to one Dolly Mae Bramble, whose clothing you enjoy wearing. And jerking off into.”

  Tommy’s chalky complexion turned green. He glanced about furtively but no one was within earshot.

  Me, I didn’t care if they were or not. “I don’t know why Very’s been doing all of this,” I continued. “I have nothing whatsoever to do with it. Or him. But if I speak to him I’ll tell him that you don’t know anything about Lyle’s arrest or Chad’s murder or any of it. You’re completely innocent. You just happen to have a drinking problem, a dysfunctional marriage, and incredibly skeegee personal habits. Does that about cover it, Tommy?”

  Tommy gulped, momentarily speechless. “Well, yeah. That covers it, Hoagmeister.”

  “Fine. Now if you’ll please excuse me, I have someone to see. And don’t ever call me Hoagmeister again.”

  The main office was crowded with people saying goodbye to one another. I passed through them to the dressing rooms. Very had sealed Chad’s door shut. Fiona’s door had no seal on it, but it was shut, too. I tapped on it and went in before she had a chance to say come in.

  Not that she would have said come in. Or get lost. Or anything else, for that matter.

  She was sprawled out on the love seat with a throw pillow tossed casually over her face. I removed it. She was staring right at me. Someone had smothered her with the pillow. She wore an oversized linen shirt and a man’s striped necktie. Her tie was askew, but otherwise she looked fine. If you can call dead fine.

  I stood there a moment, wondering why she’d wanted to see me. Why it was so important. Why it had cost her her life. Why I hadn’t gotten here ten minutes sooner. Whether she’d still be alive and shuddering if I had. I wondered a lot of things. Then I called Very.

  Eleven

  “WHY DIDN’T THEY KILL me?!” moaned Lyle. “Why did they have to kill Fiona?! Why?”

  He was howling hugely and painfully in the corridor outside of her dressing room. The man was distraught, he was grief-stricken, he was terrified.

  Marty wept openly. He was so upset he even threw himself into Lyle’s arms. And Lyle was so upset he let him. The two of them hugged each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces.

  Very was inside Fiona’s dressing room with the door closed. The rest of the family stood out in the hall, silent and numb with shock. Tommy, Annabelle, and Bobby. Leo. Katrina. Naomi. Amber and The Munchkins, who hadn’t left yet. Everyone was there. Everyone except Marjorie, who wasn’t anywhere.

  “There’s no Uncle Chubby without Fiona,” Lyle sobbed. “I’m folding the show. We’re history. She was the show. I give up. I tell ya, I give up.”

  “But we’ve got to do something, Lyle,” protested Marty. “Give her something—a tribute.”

  Lyle’s eyes lit up. “A tribute!”

  “Her best bits,” suggested Marty.

  “Her best bits!” Lyle echoed excitedly. “We’ll give her a special episode. Our way of saying good-bye. Our way of—” He broke off, the grief overtaking him again. He looked around for someone else to hold onto. Both Katrina and Naomi were right there, anxious to offer him comfort. When they weren’t shooting poisonous looks at each other. But it was Leo who he lunged for. “She loved you, Leo!” He wept, hugging her tightly. And surprising the hell out of her—the Sherman behind her ear went flying. “She loved all of us!” Then he released his producer and focused on me. “Why Fiona, Hoagy? I wanna know why!”

  “That all depends, Lyle. What did she know?”

  He frowned at me, bewildered. “Know about what?”

  “She had something she wanted to tell me. Something important. What was it?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” he cried. “I’m getting my mind blown here and you’re asking me questions!”

  “Because we need answers.”

  He started turning red. “This is too much!” he raged. “Way too much. I can’t take anymore of this. I can’t. I just can’t.” He was quivering now, sweat pouring from his face. He looked like he had just before he trashed his bathroom. “I’m gonna blow, I tell ya! I’m gonna blow!”

  “You’re not, Lyle,” I said, raising my voice at him. “Do you hear me?” He didn’t seem to. His eyes looked right through me. I turned to Katrina and said, “Take him to his office. Try to calm him down.”

  She took him by his clenched fist. “C’mon, Pinky,” she squeaked gently. “Come on, honey. Let’s go have some herbal tea, okay?”

  He didn’t answer her, but he let her lead him away, like he was a giant, docile child. Naomi, the odd woman out, watched the two of them go, her beady eyes icy with jealousy.

  “Have you seen Marjorie?” I asked her.

  “She left,” Naomi replied sharply, glaring at me. I’d chosen Katrina over her. She would not forget this when she became queen.

  “When did she leave?”

  “Right after she was in talking to you.”

  “How do you know she was in with me?”

  “She doesn’t visit any of the other writers, except for Annabelle. And I can see Annabelle’s door from my desk. She wasn’t in with her.”

  I tugged at my ear. “You don’t miss much, do you?” I observed, eyeing her.

  She eyed me ba
ck. “I try not to.”

  Fiona’s door opened. A most grim Very motioned for me to join him in were. I did. He wasn’t alone. Fiona was still there on the love seat, staring. Someone from the Medical Examiner’s office was there taking pictures of her. They’re always taking pictures. The plainclothesman who’d been parked outside of Lyle’s office door was there, too, looking real unhappy. He closed the door behind me.

  “Yo, this is not cool, dude,” Very muttered, jaw working his gum. “This place is a war zone.”

  I gazed down at her. She looked so frail and tiny, almost childlike. But people, like mice and cockroaches, always look smaller when they’re dead. “Did she put up any kind of a fight?”

  “Not so you’d notice.” He shot a look down at the coffee table, which was neatly piled with magazines and scripts. “Nothing strewn around. Nothing kicked on the floor. Her clothes aren’t torn. No visible scratches.” He took one of her lifeless hands in his and examined it. “Chewed her nails down to the quick, so I doubt we’ll find much under them, if anything.” He dropped it, nodding to himself rhythmically. “My guess is it was over in a flash—the lady got overpowered.”

  “Meaning we’re talking about someone strong?”

  He looked her over, his right knee quaking. “She weighed ninety, ninety-five pounds, tops. Any dude in the place would have the power.”

  “Would a strong woman?”

  “Yeah. A strong woman could have done it.”

  “Not much flair to it,” I observed.

  “Flair?” Very stuck his chin out at me. “What the fuck you talking about, flair? Dead is dead.”

  “Lieutenant, Chad’s murder had a certain dash to it. This was just quiet and brutal.”

  “So?” he demanded impatiently.

  I shrugged. “So nothing. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “No offense, dude, but I think better out loud when you don’t. Motherfucker!” He slammed his fist into his palm. “We even had a man here!”

  “I was assigned to watch Hudnut, Lieutenant,” said the plainclothesman, hanging his head in shame. “Not her.”