Box Office Poison le-2

by Phillipa Bornikova

  “I wish I could share your confidence,” I said quietly.

  There was silence for a moment, then Jeff said, “This silly case that brought you out to LA—it sure doesn’t seem very important now, does it?”

  “Actually, Jeff. I think it’s very important. It’s about how we all treat each other and live together, and it means David and I better find a Salomon-like solution in this fraught atmosphere.”

  “Yeah … well, I’m glad that’s your job and not mine.”

  * * *

  The next day found us prowling through the Kodak Theatre. On stage the emcee for the event was going through his schtick, dancers were rehearsing, cameras were being set, singers were warbling through the nominated songs, presenters were parading on and off the stage. When they weren’t playing for a singer the orchestra rehearsed movie themes in stuttering, disjointed snippets of music. The musicians looked like an accidental gathering of random people off the street. Instead of tuxes and long gowns the musicians wore blue jeans and T-shirts. Over all the other cacophony there was the whine of power saws and sharp staccato of hammering, sounds that echoed oddly through the nearly empty hall.

  We had come in through a freight door, and we drew more than a few glances as we wandered about the auditorium. Understandable because we were a motley crew. There was David, Hank and me, Maslin and Merlin, Jeff and Kate, Parlan and the six Álfar, which Merlin remarked sounded like a ’60s rock band. That earned him a glare from David and an elbow in the side from his brother. As we wandered I found myself wondering what we should call our little group of plotter-protectors. A gaggle? A herd? A flock? Or maybe a murder—as in crows. Then I decided no, all the murdering was going to be on the other side. Unless we stopped it. That thought removed any humor from the moment and had my stomach once again huddling at the back of my spine.

  I was feverishly turning over every possible permutation to our plan when the flaw in my logic leaped out and slapped me upside of the head. It was so obvious and so devastating, that I just collapsed into a seat. The paper that was set on the cushion with the name of the actor for whom it was reserved crackled as I landed on it, and an official started hustling toward us.

  “What?” David asked.

  “Qwendar was not on the set when Jondin went nuts. He was on the lot, but not on the actual set. He wasn’t in the car when Kerrinan fled into Fey. What if he doesn’t show up here tomorrow night? The best we can hope for is to prevent or reduce the carnage, but we’ll never tie him to the events.”

  The tall Álfar, Ladlaw (I was proud that I remembered his name), laid a hand on my shoulder. The long hair brushing at his shoulders was black with a green tinge, like sunlight on leaves. “Mere proximity is sufficient with a single individual. The blood enables you to ride in the mind of the thrall, holding the reins of their spirit, feeding the emotion you have teased forth from deep within them.” The stilted delivery, faint accent, and florid word choice marked him as old, not all that familiar with the human side, and it was totally charming. I had to force myself to concentrate and not lose myself in the soft velvet voice. “But when you attempt to control many thralls, that is not possible. You must be able to see them in order to guide them. He will be here.”

  Maslin gave me a pat on the shoulder. “And just to be sure, let me take a look at some video from the car chase. With some enhancement I bet we’ll spot Qwendar in the freeway traffic.” So we all began scanning the theater looking for that vantage point.

  Jeff pointed to the rear of the theater, up toward the ceiling. “The light booth. That’s got to be it. Since Linnet is convinced he can’t effect her, we station her up there.”

  “But it could be in the upper level of seats,” Merlin countered.

  “Or on the stage,” Kate added. “You can see the entire hall from there. I know, I was a presenter last year.”

  “So we leave Linnet in the audience and hope she can make her way to him,” Maslin said.

  David looked down at me, and his expression was aggrieved. “I don’t know why you won’t give that job to me. I’m stronger and taller, and it’s very hard to kill me. Unlike you who are—”

  “Small and weak?” I interrupted.

  “And mortal,” he interrupted right back.

  I decided against mentioning my seeming ability to walk unscathed through most situations. I settled for a more reasonable and logical argument. “And for all those reasons people tend to discount me and overlook me. If he sees you coming, he’ll throw everything at you to try and hold you back. I can slip through. He might not even see me coming, small human worm that I am.” David’s eyes narrowed. I gave him back a limpidly innocent look.

  “You’d try the patience of a saint,” he growled at me.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not,” was his response. His attention was suddenly caught by an elderly woman who had joined the emcee on stage, and for several minutes he forgot to breathe. Which meant that when he turned to Jeff and started to ask a question there was no oxygen in his lungs, and what emerged was a wheezy squeak. The vampire forced air into his lungs and tried again. “Is that…” He seemed unable to continue.

  “Yes,” Jeff said. “She’s still amazing-looking, isn’t she? And she’s past eighty.”

  “I saw all her movies,” David said in almost reverent tones. He had told me he liked movies, but it was kind of sweet and sort of incongruous to see him starstruck.

  “We’ll make sure you get introduced,” Kate promised.

  “That would be…” He fumbled for a word and finally said, “Excellent.”

  Jeff led us over and showed us our seats for the ceremony. They were all on the aisle and directly behind the nominated stars and their guests. Parlan spoke up. “You can remove some of those. Ladlaw and I will be in the auditorium, but the others will wait in Fey. Ladlaw will cross over if they should be needed.”

  “That’s probably smart,” Maslin said. “If Qwendar saw a lot of unfamiliar Álfar, he might twig.”

  “But what if they end up hanging out in the same space over in Fey” I asked as a new worry intruded.

  “The elder one is about to try a spell of great complexity and difficulty. He will not wish an audience or distraction, and my companions will be a most rowdy and drunken distraction. He will choose to make magic well away from them.”

  We all chuckled at that, and the five other Álfar looked smug. Parlan cuffed one of them on the upper arm. “Don’t decide to actually be drunk, Zevra,” he said.

  “But I am ever so much more charming and effective when inebriated,” the golden-haired Álfar responded, to general derision from his companions.

  “Okay. I guess we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” I said. “Oh, how do we get in tomorrow?”

  “Front entrance like everybody else,” Jeff answered.

  “But what if Qwendar sees me?”

  “If he’s doing a magic spell over in Fey I doubt he’ll be watching the Oscar preshow,” David said.

  “Wanting to check out what everyone’s wearing on the red carpet,” Hank snorted.

  I held up my hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, okay. I guess we can’t outguess every contingency. We’ve just got to roll with whatever happens.”

  “Remember, Linnet, no plan ever survives contact with the enemy,” David added.

  Jeff blew out a breath. “Well, on that cheery note…”

  24

  We wanted to time it so our car pulled up to the red carpet right in front of a major celebrity. That way all the press and attention would be focused on the star and not on us. But traffic patterns and tinted windows made that impossible. One thing in our favor was the weather. The rains had returned, which meant umbrellas would be a large part of the landscape, and just in case Qwendar was watching we would have some cover.

  As our car inched forward David gazed out at the crowds lining the street and shook his head. “Why would they do this? Stand for hours in a cold rain. And for what? To see an actor?�
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  “And you weren’t absolutely tongue-tied when you met—”

  “That was different,” the vampire interrupted before I could speak his idol’s name. “She was an artist.”

  “Oh, David, sometimes you are so funny.” We were almost at the dropoff point. I gave my hair a fluff with the tips of my fingers.

  “By the way, you look very nice,” my boss said gruffly.

  “Thank you. So do you.” He did: he wore the very classic old-style tuxedo with an ease rarely seen in modern men. The other thing that wasn’t common with modern men were the scars twisting across his features.

  The car rolled to a stop and an usher opened the back door of our limo with one hand while keeping a large golf umbrella ready to cover us as we stepped out. I climbed out and watched as hundreds of cameras were lifted and pointed in my direction. Then, like a retreating wave, they all dropped again when they realized I wasn’t anybody. The eyes were already straining eagerly toward the next car in the queue. My ego having been effectively deflated, I took David’s proffered arm and we walked into the Kodak Theatre.

  Inside I felt goose bumps rising on my bare arm because the air conditioning was going full blast. I supposed it made sense. There were going to be a lot of bodies in this space for a number of hours and it would probably be warm, but right now it was freezing. I also wondered how much of my shivering was due to nerves and the air conditioning was just my excuse. Since we’d explored the theater two massive replicas of the Oscar statuettes had been erected on either side of the stage. The giant figures stood on a film reel; with their smooth heads and joined legs they reminded me of Egyptian statues. When you added in the long crusader’s sword it gave me a sense of eerie otherworldliness hovering just beneath the shallow glitz that exemplified Hollywood.

  As we walked down the aisle toward our seats it seemed like the Kodak was a box filled with gems. Not just because of the amount of jewelry sparkling at throats and on wrists and fingers, but the dresses themselves. The gowns were shimmers of rich color. Black for women was definitely not in this year. Then I realized why men wore tuxedos. It made them the perfect foil for the women’s finery.

  We took our seats. Parlan and Ladlaw were across the aisle from us. Parlan was dressed in Álfar style. It didn’t look as good on his powerful, barrel-chested form as it did on his companion’s willowy frame. We settled in for an hour and a half of incredible tedium. The only thing that made it bearable was watching fervent air kisses and man hugs being exchanged, and evaluating each new dress as more and more people arrived. To David’s disgust Hank was right in the middle of the air kissing and man hugging. When the orchestra began to tune we knew we were getting close, and then the cameramen began making final adjustments to their cameras. It was time.

  The orchestra played a long drumroll and fanfare. Across America and around the world people gazed at their televisions as the announcer boomed out. “Live from Los Angeles, it’s the Academy Awards!”

  The ceremony began. Sometime, probably an hour in, I realized my muscles were cramping from holding myself at rigid attention. Ready to leap out of my chair, ready to move, to react. The theater darkened even more and a large screen rolled down. It was time for In Memorium. A good time, I decided, to make a run for the ladies room. I turned around in my seat to whisper in to David, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t rush,” he growled back. “I’m dead and I feel like this has gone on for an eternity.”

  I wasn’t the only person who had the same idea. As usual the women’s restroom had too few stalls for too many full bladders. I joined the line snaking through the door and into the bathroom. I found myself between a famous TV actress and a star of screen and stage. “I should not have drunk that bottle of water in the limo,” the movie star moaned. “I’m about to pee my panties.”

  “If you had any on, dear,” said the older TV actress sweetly.

  “I guess when you get to your age you don’t care about panty lines,” responded the younger woman.

  “Yeah, don’t you wish you were on my side of the divide?”

  “Oh, God, yes,” the younger woman sighed. “This double-sided tape is chaffing my boobs something awful.”

  I had wondered how she was keeping her famous breasts inside the confines of the plunging décolletage of the gown. Now I had my answer. I also realized that what had seemed like nasty sniping had actually been shared amusement. Hollywood really was like a funhouse mirror. I finally made it into a stall and tried to pee, but nerves had me so tense I could barely go. At the sinks I washed my hands and watched as the women to either side of me refreshed lipstick, added more eyeliner, rearranged their breasts, pulled up pantyhose, and fussed with their hair. I just left. I had been away for too long already.

  Nothing had happened in my absence. I sank back in my chair and sighed. Thirty minutes later David leaned forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “What?” I whispered. “Do you see something?”

  “We’re getting into the Best Supporting Actor and Actress. This is when a lot of people will tune in. To see who wins the big awards.”

  “You big fraud. You watch this. I bet you watch it every year,” I said.

  “That’s enough of your sass,” he growled.

  The Best Supporting Actress cried and thanked a lot of people no one had ever heard of, but included her lawyers in the list. Merlin leaned across the aisle and said, “That’s sort of nice. We don’t usually get singled out for thanks. Usually we get roundly cursed by everyone.”

  “Shhhh,” I hissed because the presenters for Best Supporting Actor were tearing open the envelope, and since an Álfar was nominated for the first time I wanted to hear. The breathless young actress leaned in close to the mike and squealed—

  “And the winner is Jay Williams!”

  The hall erupted in cheers. A tall, older man stood, shook hands with the people all around him, kissed several of the women, and started for the stage. I was watching Jujuran who was three rows behind me and across the aisle. He had been on his feet, clapping like everyone else, but as I watched, the actor’s face went slack, then blank, and he suddenly pushed his way out of the row of seats.

  We weren’t as fast or as agile as an Álfar, but we were all in motion by the time he reached the foot of the stairs. From the corner of my eye I saw Ladlaw shimmer and vanish. Parlan was on his feet. Maslin and Merlin left their seats. Hank shoved his way out of his row. I kicked off my shoes and jumped up to stand on mine, scanning the room, looking for Qwendar. David, in an amazing display of grace and balance, used the backs of the chairs to run toward the stage.

  Williams was on the steps leading up to the stage. Jujuran caught up with him, seized the human actor by the arm, and threw him into the orchestra pit. The cheers turned to screams, there was a harsh jangling as the actor fell among the instruments, and then Jujuran was on stage. He wrenched the statuette out of the hands of the pretty young presenter. She made the mistake of resisting, and when she lost the tug of war Jujuran, armed with the heavy Oscar, swung it like a club at the head of the actress. Her companion, acting more on instinct then planning, threw up an arm to block the murderous hit. The eight-and-a-half-pound, gold-plated statue connected with his forearm, and he screamed in pain as the bones broke. The actress tried to run backward, got tangled up in her train, and fell down.

  There were other Álfar scattered throughout the audience, and they were turning on the people next to them. As I watched, Palendar grabbed the actor next to him by the throat and began choking him. A panicky crowd started pouring into the aisles. Merlin and Maslin were trying to reach an Álfar actress who was clawing at another woman’s face, but the crush of people was making it hard.

  Jeff shoved people aside. I saw one famous actor’s toupee go flying at the rough handling, and amazingly he stopped to try and recover his rug. Jeff looked like all the action heroes he had ever played as he reached Palendar, grabbed the slender Álfar by the back of his coat and the seat of his p
ants, and hauled him off his victim. Jeff threw Palendar bodily over three rows of seats. The Álfar hit the chairs with a sickening crash. He regained his feet, but from the way he gripped his side it looked like a few ribs were broken. He was undeterred. He climbed over the seats and attacked Jeff.

  Kate cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled over the screams and cries of alarm. “Ladies! Kick off your shoes. Use the fire exit on the left. Everyone, go, go!”

  It was clear the woman was a stage actress. Kate had projection down. I was sure they could hear her in the topmost row of balcony seats. I could also see why she’d picked that direction. There was only one Álfar in that section.

  People were trying to run in all directions and ended up creating a massive jam of terrified humanity in the aisles. Kate began grabbing some of them and shoving them toward the fire exit.

  From my vantage point I watched Merlin and Maslin, like two maddened hobbits, double-teaming the elf actress, who was a head taller. Maslin tackled her at the knees and knocked her down. Curling her fingers into claws she ripped at the journalist’s face. Merlin ripped the train off her dress and wrapped it tightly around her wrists to stop the assault on his brother.

  Palendar had his arms around Jeff, immobilizing Jeff’s arms while the Álfar smashed his head against the human actor’s face. Then Parlan waded in and cold-cocked Palendar with a sharp blow to the skull above the elf’s right ear.

  On my left was the actress from the restroom who had been bemoaning her sticky tape. It was clearly no longer doing its job because her breasts had fallen out of the restraining fabric. She was frantically shoving at the backs of the people ahead of her either unaware or, wisely, unconcerned that her breasts were front and center. There was a boom camera with an operator and a producer just off to the side of the stage stairs. The operator was looking down at the producer. I heard him yell,