Lucky Stars

by Jane Heller

  “Wow. Your mother’s a lucky lady to have such a caring and creative daughter,” said Karen. “It’s cool that you want her to save face like that. But Victor is a cagey guy, honey. How are you going to arrange for her to catch him in the act of being a louse?”

  “Yeah, how?” said Jack and Maura, who were listening in on an extension.

  “I have an idea,” I said to all of them.

  thirty-one

  Jack accompanied me on my trip to Wisconsin. Talk about a good sport. For a guy who’d spent his life avoiding emotional involvement, not to mention fearing exposure about taking Victor’s bribe, he demonstrated his commitment to me by telling his producers he had a “family emergency” and would have to skip a taping or two of his show. It’s a cliché to say that it’s in crisis situations that you find out who your true friends are, but I found out what a true friend he was during my mission to save my mother.

  And he wasn’t just along for moral support. He had an important job to do. Since he was a professional interviewer and was skilled at getting people to say and do things they might not otherwise say and do, he had the task of helping me convince the former Mrs. Chellus to participate in my scheme.

  Was I comfortable leaving my mother in Victor’s clutches up in Montecito while the two of us were flying to Milwaukee? Hardly. But I was counting on putting my plan in motion in time to keep her from walking down the aisle with that crackpot.

  So there we were, standing on Karen Sweetzer’s front porch, waiting for her to let us in. She lived in a white, Southern colonial in the Fox Point section of the city and, judging by the house’s size and setting, she wasn’t hurting financially. She was cordial when she finally answered the door, although our presence clearly pained her. She had thought she’d gotten rid of Victor and the memories of their turbulent time together, and now here we were dredging everything up again.

  She stood at the door, a cigarette in hand, her shoulder-length platinum blond hair so teased and stiff with spray it had the look and texture of cotton candy. She was in her mid-to-late fifties, I guessed, but seemed older, due to the heaviness around her hips and the deep crevices around her mouth. She wore tight-fitting black Capri pants, black mules with pom-poms on them, and a white button-down blouse that was opened to reveal a great deal of cleavage. She wasn’t beautiful—her nose was a little too long for her face and her blue eyes were obscured by too much mascara and her lips had been collagened into miniballoons—but she was striking in a showy sort of way. Obviously, Victor must have found her so, along with her family’s financial portfolio.

  “Come in,” she said, waving us inside, her fingernails painted the same vermilion red as her mouth. “Oh, and don’t mind my precious Luther. He’ll calm down once he gets to know you.”

  Precious Luther was a Doberman. He was getting to know us all right, first by baring his teeth and growling at us, then by sniffing our crotches.

  We sat in her living room. The sofa and chairs were draped in sheets of plastic, perhaps to prevent Luther from devouring the upholstery. I’ve never understood this—why have furniture if you’re going to cover it up?—but there we were.

  “Karen,” Jack began once we were all settled and Luther had left us alone. “Let me begin by thanking you for all the information you gave Stacey on the phone, and, of course, for agreeing to see us now.”

  “Hey, I’m not wild about this, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you everything I know about Victor. The fact that you turn out to be the guy on Good Morning, Hollywood doesn’t hurt, either. I’m as big a star fucker as the next person.”

  Karen had a bit of a potty mouth, but I hadn’t expected a nun.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Karen, we came here to ask you a favor.”

  “What kind of favor? I already told you more than I intended.” As her body tensed, so did Luther’s, and so, as a result, did mine.

  “As Stacey explained on the phone, we don’t want to send the police to the hotel in Montecito to arrest Victor. We want Helen to find out what a rat he is on her own.”

  “And as I also explained, my mother isn’t speaking to me,” I added. “So it’s not as if I’m the one who can persuade her that he’s a rat. I can’t even show my face there.”

  “Which leaves you, Karen,” said Jack. “You’re the one who can reach Helen.”

  “Me? How?” She gestured wildly with her cigarette, causing the ashes to fall onto the carpet. Perhaps she should have put plastic on the floor, too.

  “By flying back to California with us,” said Jack. “Our idea is that we’ll get you a room at the San Ysidro Ranch, where Helen and Victor are staying, and that you’ll confront him—both of them—with the truth. Helen will be able to hear your story for herself, without a clue that Stacey had anything to do with it. What’s more, she’ll be able to watch Victor reveal his dark side as you accuse him of being a murderer. She’ll be so appalled by the horrific nature of the whole affair that she’ll leave him so fast, he won’t know what hit him and she’ll realize Stacey was right about him, thereby repairing their relationship.”

  “Oh, Karen,” I said, taking her hand in what I hoped would be a display of sisterhood. Luther thought otherwise and appeared to want to maul me. “Tell us you’ll do this. Tell us you’ll save my mother’s life. It’ll only take a day or two out of your schedule and, of course, we’ll pick up all your expenses.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d like to help—as I told you, I think your mother’s a real role model for women—but I can’t bring myself to face off with Victor, not after what he tried to do to me. The man wanted me dead. Dead! I can barely spit out his name, let alone be in the same room with him.”

  With that pronouncement, she broke into big, bronchial sobs that soaked her face with tears blackened by her mascara.

  Jack rushed over with a handkerchief. She took it and blew her nose loudly. Then she looked up at us. “Please don’t think I’m a bad person,” she said, her tough-broad image deserting her. “It’s just that I’m afraid.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I’d be afraid, too, if my husband tried to murder me. But Jack and I will be right outside the door while you’re having it out with Victor. He won’t be able to hurt you. I promise, Karen. Please trust me, trust us.”

  “I do trust you. It’s just that I’m scared!” Karen wailed, shredding the tissue into tiny pieces, most of which clung to her black capri pants. “Why do you think I keep Luther around? You don’t get over it when someone tries to kill you.”

  “But imagine how sweet the revenge will be,” Jack reminded her. “Just picture Victor’s face when you show up and ruin his seduction of Stacey’s mother.”

  “We need you to go to Montecito, Karen,” I said, taking both of her hands in mine this time—before she could light another cigarette and make the room even smokier than it was. “Remember what I told you on the phone. In order for my mother to emerge with her self-esteem intact, as well as her career, it’s essential that she be the one to catch Victor in his lies and then dump him quietly, rather than watch him be carted off by the police and see herself on the front pages of the tabloids. That’s why you have to arrive at the hotel and surprise Victor. He’ll go postal, right in front of my mother, and she won’t have any recourse but to give him the boot.”

  “I wish I had a daughter like you,” said Karen, drying her tears. “I have nobody but Luther, while you have this tight bond with your mother—when you’re speaking to each other, that is.”

  “You know, only a few months ago I would have paid a man to marry her, just so she’d get off my back and focus on someone else for a change. But this mess with Victor has made me realize that I want a relationship with her, even if it means putting up with her harangues. I want her in my life more than I don’t want her in my life. I love her more than I want her to change. In a nutshell, I understand now that if I want her to accept me for who I am, I’ll have to accept her for who she is. Does any of th
at make sense to you?”

  Karen nodded. “The question is: Does my not wanting to go with you to California make sense to you?”

  “Of course. I’m sympathetic to the fact that you’re afraid of being around Victor. But what if you took Luther with you?”

  “Come on. You can’t just pick up and go places when you’ve got a dog,” she said as if I were an idiot, “especially one with Luther’s special needs.” Luther was, at that moment, caressing his balls.

  “So you won’t change your mind?” said Jack, looking defeated.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t giving up. Not yet. “But remember, my mother’s your role model,” I persisted. “You said you adore her, Karen. She’s the same woman who wags her finger and scolds the audience about buying the best tuna fish and you’re in a position to help her. She’s been having a great run, getting parts in sitcoms, dramas, and feature films. She’s even appeared on Oprah twice. Her entire image—the very foundation of her success—is based on her credibility, her reputation for being a woman of solid, upright, no-nonsense values. If the media found out she was marrying a murderer, that would be the end of her career in show business. I know from firsthand experience how hard it is to get where she’s gotten, and I’m not about to let her blow it all because of some guy with a screw loose.”

  “What do you mean, you know from firsthand experience?” said Karen.

  “Oh,” I replied. “I guess I should have said something about my own background. It just didn’t seem important in view of what my mother is going through. I’m an actress, too.”

  “Stacey is a fine actress,” said Jack. “Maybe you caught her in the Jim Carrey comedy Pet Peeve. The movie was a stinker and she didn’t have much to work with in terms of a script, but she rose above the material. I didn’t realize how good she was the first time I screened the picture, but I’ve seen it again since then and I can tell you she’s wonderful.”

  I smiled at him, flattered that he was praising me to a perfect stranger, gratified that he was admitting he’d been wrong about me, comforted that he was in love with me and had proven it by his words and deeds in my hour of need. But the fact remained that even if I did have all the talent in the world, even if I was better than my resume suggested, even if I were to achieve the level of stardom I’d always dreamed of, it wouldn’t prevent my mother’s career from crashing and burning, and it was her career I was worried about at that moment, not mine.

  Of course, it didn’t occur to me until a minute or two later that by finally letting go of my professional disappointments—from the juicy parts I’d never landed to the rave reviews I’d never garnered—and simply trusting my acting ability for once, I might actually be able to salvage Mom’s career, not to mention my own. Why did I need Karen to show up in Montecito, I realized, when I could just as easily play her?

  thirty-two

  “Tell us exactly what happened the night you and Victor were drinking and arguing and you got him to admit he’d murdered Mary Elizabeth,” said Jack. We were still seated in Karen’s living room, but now we were taking notes. Jack was writing down the specifics of the scenario during which Victor had been sufficiently provoked to confess his crime. I was writing down the specifics of Karen’s appearance, her mannerisms, her gestures, and, most important, her speech patterns. Our plan was for me to show up in Montecito and play the part of Karen Sweetzer Chellus, and for Jack to create the script I would deliver in order to force Victor into revealing his true colors in front of my mother.

  “I was standing in the middle of the room,” said Karen, “a glass of scotch in my hand—”

  “Which hand?” I interrupted.

  “My right hand,” she said.

  “What were you wearing?” I asked.

  “Oh, let’s see. Probably something like the outfit I’ve got on. Anyway, I was standing there with a glass of scotch in my right hand and a cigarette—a Marlboro Light—in my left, and I said something like, ‘Go on, you bastard. Be honest for a change. You married me for my money. Didn’t you? Didn’t you?’ I was taunting him, goading him, trying to get him to admit what I knew deep down. Obviously, this was not a relationship based on trust.”

  “Obviously,” said Jack. “But I assume Victor denied your accusation at first.”

  “Over and over. I didn’t get a straight answer out of him until I managed to push the right button.”

  “Which was?” said Jack.

  “Which was to say, ‘You’ve lost money on business venture after business venture, Victor, and now you don’t have anything close to resembling a j-o-b. Basically, you’re a bum, a deadbeat, a nobody, and yet you live like a king who is somehow able to keep up with your ritzy friends in Beverly Hills. How is that possible? I’ll tell you how. You conned me into marrying you and paying the bills for everything, including that over-the-top wardrobe of yours.’ ”

  “Did you really pay all the bills?” asked Jack.

  “No, but like I said before, this was partly the booze talking. I’m one of those people who shouldn’t go near the stuff.”

  “How did he respond to being called a deadbeat?” I asked.

  “He got all red in the face and started shouting at me. He’s a man, and men don’t appreciate it when you challenge their ability to earn a living. Macho asshole. He said, ‘I’m an entrepreneur! I take risks in business! I win some, I lose some.’ Then I said, ‘You’re a deadbeat, plain and simple. You found yourself in a financial hole and you married me. Admit it, Victor. Admit it!’ He still wouldn’t bite, so I pushed his other button.”

  “How many buttons does he have?” I said.

  “Plenty, but it’s the mother button that’s really worth pushing.”

  “Are you saying he didn’t get along with his mother?” I asked, being an authority on the subject.

  “He was crazy about her, just crushed when she passed away. If you want to make him mad, all you have to do is say something mean about his mommy.”

  “That’s what you did?” I said.

  “You bet. I said, ‘Maybe it was your sainted mother who gave you the idea that it’s okay to marry women for their money. She probably taught you that if you can’t hack it in business, find a woman to bail you out.’ He shook his fist at me and said, ‘You want the truth? Here it is and it has nothing to do with my mother, so leave her out of it. It has to do with you. Why would anyone in his right mind marry a lush like you if not for that money your family never spends? Cheap. You’re all cheap!’ So now he was criticizing me and my family, and I wasn’t amused. I waltzed over to him and threw my drink in his face.”

  She threw her drink in his face? Well, I tried not to look at Jack, naturally. I was ashamed that I had behaved toward him the way Karen had toward Victor. On the other hand, playing this scene would be a snap for me, given the practice.

  “What did he do after you threw the drink at him?” Jack asked Karen.

  “He grabbed me by my hair and said, ‘You’d better watch yourself, Mrs. Chellus. I was a widower when I met you, remember? You might want to think about how I got that way.’ ”

  “He was referring to Mary Elizabeth then,” said Jack.

  “Right. I said, ‘Oh, so you needed her money, too, is that it? How’d you get rid of her, Victor? Did you have one of your crackerjack household staff throw her overboard on your sailboat—or, should I say her sailboat?’ He scowled, as if I had insulted his manhood again. And then he filled me in about Mary Elizabeth and her food allergies, and how Rosa doctored their lunch cooler that day. You know, at first I thought he was kidding or bragging or just trying to pay me back for saying something bad about his precious mother. But then I realized he was telling the truth. I sobered up very quickly and decided to make nice to him. I sat in his lap and said I was sorry for drinking too much and that we should just forget everything and be friends. He said that was fine with him, but I knew I was toast. Two days after our fight, I had my ‘accident’ in the car, just like Ma
ry Elizabeth had her ‘accident’ in the boat. A pretty story, huh?”

  “Not pretty at all,” I said. “To think that my mother’s with that lunatic right this minute.”

  “Then go to her,” urged Karen. “You two have a great plan. Just remember to push Victor’s button—say something nasty about his mother in your script—and you’ll have him right where you want him.”

  Jack and I thanked her, peeled ourselves off the plastic, and hurried out of there before Luther could lick us good-bye.

  I phoned Maura from the Milwaukee airport and told her everything.

  “I love this!” she said when I outlined what I would need her to do. “I absolutely love this. And of course I’ll help. I’ve got some sick days coming to me, so I’ll take them starting tomorrow and concentrate on you, on your one-woman show!”

  “It will be the acting job of a lifetime,” I said. “I’ve never been able to fool my mother about anything, so convincing her I’m Victor’s ex-wife should be quite a trick. Mostly, I just want to watch him squirm.”

  “And you will. Your idea is brilliant. It’s not only going to save your mother’s life, it’s going to allow her to walk away from this nightmare feeling lucky to be free of Victor forever.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  We did get started the very next morning. Maura and I made a shopping list of the supplies we’d need in order to physically transform me into Karen. And then off we went to Burbank, to an L.A. retailing institution called Cinema Secrets, which sells makeup and beauty and hair products, along with specialty items. Maura has a spare bedroom full of such products, but for the big jobs— like the one I was plotting—she relies on Cinema Secrets, where she’s a regular client, as are many professional makeup artists.