by Alan Spencer
He extended his hand to shake her's. "Nice to meet you, Calico Minx."
"Call me Minx. I'm a fan of your work. Cult Crushers is almost as good as Mad Medusa."
The quip was supposed to come off in jest.
Minx failed.
The tension between them didn't get any better when Trudy returned.
Minx's eyes narrowed on Trudy. "Gory Girl. Were you invited? I don't remember seeing your name on the list. Did you sit on Sheckler's lap to get your name on the list, maybe?"
Trudy was about to say "Look bitch" when Dominic intervened. "She was a late addition. Things worked out the way they were supposed to. I'm glad to have her here with me."
Minx gave Trudy a light snarl. "Yeah. Me too."
Trudy wasn't afraid to say what was on her mind. "You got a problem with me? Go ahead and say it. I came here to have fun. You can shove the drama. It's coming out of your eyes. I can tell even through those cheap contact lenses."
Stan stood in-between them. "Ladies, please. This is a party to celebrate Sheckler. Why can't we get along?"
Dominic followed Trudy's lead. He had been polite and cordial to Stan Barton, but now that Minx was coming on like a bitch, he wasn't going to take it anymore.
"Why can't we get along, Stan? Seriously? Are you really asking me that question? It's simple. I caught you. You hired a bunch of people to give our DVD releases negative online reviews. You unleashed a bunch of trolls on my ass. I proved it, and that court order made you stop.
"Yeah, you can throw around the money your parents give you, but I earn my keep through hard work. You have a giant staff who does the serious work, while you sit back and do whatever it is you do in your spare time, like fucking over the little guys. I'm like a mom and pop video store, and you're Blockbuster. You know why we can't get along. So have a nice evening, and stay out of my way. I'll be respectful for Sheckler's sake, but don't try and act like we can be friends."
He took Trudy by the arm, and they walked away from Stan and Minx. Before they got too far, Stan called out to him, "We do need to talk. Maybe just you and me. I have a proposition for you."
The curl of Stan's smile made him nervous.
What was on the creep's mind?
"Minx is a serious cunt. What's their deal? What does Stan want from you?"
"Whatever it is, he's not going to get it. I have a strong feeling I know what it is, and he's going to pull some shit to get it."
Trudy handed him a new soda and bourbon. "What do you mean?"
"Sheckler likes both of our companies. Someone earlier told me something interesting. He's splitting his vault materials right down the middle. Fifty percent goes to me, fifty goes to that pony choker over there. Later on, I'll have to deal with Stan again. I'm sure he wants my half. Guess what? He's not getting it."
There was a small stage below the giant staircase leading to the upstairs rooms. On that stage, a nurse was pushing a man in a wheelchair. The person was a withered version of the man he was familiar with. Stan Mere Sheckler had bright white hair and had lost twenty pounds. He was a frail shell. He appeared to barely have the energy to keep his eyes open. Dominic couldn't believe who else was also on the stage.
Putrid Peter.
The man's previous bitterness was erased.
The man was very happy about something.
Putrid approached the microphone and greeted the crowd.
"Hello all! I'm Putrid Peter, back from career purgatory. This is the midnight hour. Actually, no. It's really only seven thirty! I've been talking to my old pal Sheckler here. He's very happy to see everyone here tonight. Our old friend here has seen better days. I mean he makes the crypt keeper look wet behind the ears. Jeez!
"Anyway, I've chatted with our friend, and I want to speak on his behalf. Everybody here has had a helping hand in his career, whether it was by being an actor, a crew hand, or giving moral support. He owes you many thanks. Tonight, he wants you to party and enjoy yourselves.
"Sheckler says this party isn't only to celebrate his films. He wants to pay his debts. Many, including myself, have dubbed him a sellout. Sheckler agrees he made all those Hollywood movies so he could retire rich. He especially apologizes for that Ben Afleck film. Blech! Talk about your vomit piles. Even the vomit vomited. Yuck.
"Tonight, Sheckler wants to return to his roots. Horror is his true passion. Tonight is extra special. Each of you will get a piece of his estate tonight. This ranges from property, money, and royalties. A representative of the estate will be meeting with each and everyone of you by the end of the night. If they don't find you, you find them. Everybody's getting a serious goodie bag tonight.
"Yep. That got the ex-wives' attention in the corner. You've got two Grandma divorcees, one debutante divorcee, and one fresh out of the prom divorcee. What a wild bunch, huh? You guys could learn a lot from each other. It's like an apprentice program for bleeding men dry. No, seriously. You four women are beautiful. If I was married and divorced to Sheckler, I'd get enough plastic surgery in my face Hollywood would start calling me for acting gigs. No, seriously. I love you, ex-wives corner. Love you hugs and kisses. We'll do lunch. Call me.
"On with the party. Sheckler wants you to explore the mansion. He's decked out all the rooms for maximum fun. This is about remembering his horror movies, and your contribution to those sick classics. There is somebody at every corner serving drinks. If you go to the ballroom, there's a tasty variety of food being served. Sheckler will meet with each of you throughout the night. He's not the spring chicken he used to be, so be patient. First, he wants to talk to Dominic Stash and Stan Barton. Everybody else, party on. Wake the dead. I'm Putrid Peter, and I sign autographs for ten dollars."
Sheckler was wheeled off to another section of the mansion. Putrid met up with Dominic right after he stepped off of the stage. He had to know what changed his attitude towards the horror director in such a short period of time.
Putrid was his character again from his show. The excited glow broke through the previous cheated and downtrodden expression.
"I've changed my tune, haven't I? The old bastard acknowledged what he did to me. Remember what I wanted? I wanted an apology, and I got my apology. And a fat check. He's already wiring the money to my account. And with you offering me that hosting deal with Cult Crushers, I would say Putrid Peter is back. No more selling houses for me. When I got on stage, it felt right. It's a pleasure to say I'm back.
"Anyway, back to business, Sheckler wants me to take you and Stan Barton to the vault and show you what he's got to give you. Only you and Stan can come. Sorry, Trudy."
Trudy crossed her arms and pouted. "Whatever. You enjoy your moment with Sheckler. You came all this way, right? Just watch out for Stan."
"I will."
"What's up with Stan?" Putrid asked. "Is he a gangrene gas bag?"
"More than that. He's a diaper drip douche nozzle. We're thinking he's going to try and get my half of what Sheckler's giving me."
The angry fire in Putrid's eyes returned. "Don't let him. I don't know this Stan guy, but I know you two, and you're good people. Here he comes. Take caution."
Stan Barton approached. "Now's the time, isn't it? I can't wait to see what rats and bats are in Sheckler's vaults."
The lame joke was responded to accordingly, with silence.
Stan sighed. "Anyway, lead to way, Putrid Peter. That's such a nasty name."
"That's the point," Dominic said. "It's horror. Horror is gross."
"Yeah, I know that. Never mind. Lead the way."
Dominic kissed Trudy on the cheek. "I'll be back soon. We'll have the time of our lives. We'll dance in blood and whatever else you do at a Sheckler party."
"Be careful," she whispered. "I don't like Stan."
"I know. It'll be okay."
He gave her a smile and joined Stan and Putrid Peter towards the other side of the mansion. They passed the ballroom where tables were lined with crazy catered food. Putrid led them to a winding stairway
that went downstairs. Here, the walls were big cement blocks. Sheckler wanted it to look like a crypt. Candles burned from gothic fixtures.
The three of them were taking in the surroundings when they arrived at the very bottom of the stairs. The short hallway ahead of them ended with a thick steel door.
"This is the vault, boys," Putrid said. "Sheckler showed me this earlier. This is where he keeps his movie collection, vaulted reels, and promotional materials over the course of his career. Sheckler was very clear about this. When I open this door, there's a red line down the middle of the room. What's on the right belongs to Stan. What's on the left will go to Dominic. You respect each other's property. Sheckler will be down to talk things over with you in a short while. He wanted you two to really take in the collection before having a chat. So are you ready for me to open the vaults?"
Dominic shook Putrid's hands. "You bet I am. I also respect any wishes of Sheckler. I will respect what has been kindly given to me, and in turn, I know Stan here will do the same for me."
Stan sneered. "Just open the door vault. All this pomp and circumstance is cute, but I didn't come here to see a washed up horror personality find himself again. I came here to acquire property."
"Why don't you take all the fun out of it, dick nose?" Dominic pointed at the door. "Fine. Go ahead. Open the gory gates. This is going to blow our minds. Even if we're stuck here with Stan."
Putrid gave Stan a killing stare, then he smiled at Dominic. "It's time to open up this bitch and see what's inside of her."
Putrid Peter opened the vault's door.
What they saw stole their breaths.
Trudy wasn't alone for long. Dominic was enjoying the pivotal moment of his life, and she was worried about having to schmooze with complete strangers.
A man came out of the crowd and extended his hand to her. Her guess, he was in his late sixties. Medium build. He was in casual workout shape. A head of white hair was combed to a gelled part. His cologne reminded her of her grandpa. He wore a suit jacket and jeans. The t-shirt beneath the suit jacket was for the movie Meet the Cleavers. The design showed a homemaker woman serving a severed head on a silver platter to cannibal looking children at a dinner table.
"I'm Reece Minton. It's a pleasure to meet you, Gory Girl. Sheckler told me about the Cult Crushers website. You really sell the merchandise. Every good ad campaign needs a good gimmick. Skin helps.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm probably coming off as a giant creep. I'm a marketing guy. No offense. You're great. I financed many of Shecklers' films. The horror ones, I mean. I can't touch Hollywood. Not that I wanted to, really. I don't know how Sheckler went from boobs and blood to PG-13 and A-listers.
"I'm a lot like Putrid Peter. Sheckler quit me the second Hollywood came a-knocking. Putrid went back to real estate, and I became a stock broker. I made good money, except I had to sell my soul. Producing horror movies was a lot more enjoyable. For twenty years, Sheckler and I had quite an operation. We had an office in New Jersey. I scavenged up the money. Sheckler wrote the scripts and gathered up the crew. I worked hard on selling foreign rights and turning our trash into quite the lucrative money machine. Even low budget pictures take a certain level of cash flow to get them up off the ground. Now kids can make a movie with a phone and five thousand dollars.
"Anyway, Gory Girl, I love your work. I own every Cult Crushers release. Dominic's a kid with heart. Stan Minton's quite the jerk. Mad Medusa puts out a mean catalogue of gore and smut, but man, I can't chat with Stan for more than five minutes without wanting to punch him in the face. If you ever want to interview me for a movie release, I've been a producer on a ton of Sheckler's movies. I can tell you all about how many times we argued and fought over money. Sheckler's either a good guy or someone you want to strangle."
Reece handed her a business card. "Call me, or we can Skype, or hell, I'm retired. I'll meet you and Dominic at a hotel, and we'll just talk over a bottle of something good."
Trudy forgot this was a wonderful opportunity to make contacts. She was co-owner of Cult Crushers now. The major players in Sheckler's career were right here. She had to kick things into high gear.
She thanked Reece, and then mixed back into the crowd. She wasn't sure who to approach next. The man at the bar caught his attention. He was six foot and almost three hundred pounds. He had a bulging pot belly and an oafish face. She recognized him immediately. He wore two fake severed arms around his neck like a necklace.
This was Bart Brown, a Sheckler regular in many of his horror movies. Bart always told the story at conventions that he was in a different horror movie every time as a victim who got his head punched or cut off. Before she could get a word in, Skip Whitley stepped in to say hello.
The goofy guy in the parrot shirt who could've doubled as a comedian from the '80's came at her excited. "You're Gory Girl! Let me take your picture."
"Absolutely."
Skip got excited. "Really? I tried to take a picture of Calico Minx, and she wanted twenty bucks. Hey. You're not trying to pull one over me, are you? I take the picture, and you suddenly have your paws out for cash."
"No. I should be paying you. You're a legend. You turned ultra cheap gore into an art form. The monster masks in Gore Poor alone should win you a thousand awards. And that scene in Severed Heads when the killer bowls with a severed head that crashes into more severed heads is absolutely out of this world."
The special effects man put down his defenses. "Wow. You're so nice. Most pretty girls I meet at conventions have a stick shoved up their asses, or they got that resting bitch face thing where it looks like they're constantly smelling poop."
Stan hugged her from the side and smiled real big as one of Sheckler's ex-wives took the picture. This was the youngest wife, at nineteen, who was trying to leave the party in a hurry. She was already searching for the exit before they could thank her for taking the picture.
Skip shook his head. "Wow. Sheckler's latest victim. They were married for two whole months. I guess the poor girl realized she married someone quintuple her age. Oops."
She asked for Skip's business card. He promised to give her the scoop on some of the best special effects stories one of these days.
During the next hour, she acquired a dozen business cards, including, Billy Bob Gohagen. He was the most obscure character of the horror director's filmography. Billy Bob played a bum or wino in each and every Sheckler horror film. He was Sheckler's roommate when they were both dirt poor.
She was feeling real good about what she was accomplishing. She thought about walking about the rest of the mansion and taking in the decor. Now that she had done some business, it was time for pleasure.
She walked up to the nearest bartender. The bartender was dressed up in scuba gear and snorkel. A giant harpoon gun was strapped to his back. He was the killer from Aqua Attacker. A man left to die after falling off of a cruise ship survives only to stalk every pond, pool, bathtub, and even a giant puddle, to get his revenge.
The bartender wasn't sure what to do with his character, so he played it straight. "What'll it be tonight, pretty lady?"
She ordered a martini.
The bartender had trouble seeing through his foggy water goggles.
He said this deadpan. "Enjoy, or I'll kill you. Hah-hah. That was stupid. Sorry. Sheckler paid me to say something dumb after every drink I serve. I've served a lot of drinks tonight. The lines are getting thin."
"That's a great idea. It's something the old man would do."
Trudy turned around, and there was Calico Minx grinning at her.
"What're you smiling at?"
Minx shrugged. "Oh. I don't know. Stan's going to take your company down if Dominic doesn't give him his half of Sheckler's goods."
"Dominic won't give anything to that ball chin."
"He will when Stan threatens to tell the proper rights owner of Rip-O-Lantern that you illegally released the film."
"That's not true."
"But it is. The person
who claimed to own the rights to Rip-O-Lantern lied to you guys to make a quick buck."
Trudy dug into her pocket and texted Dominic. He replied immediately. After she read his response, she did her best to remain confident in front of this super bitch.
"What did you text Dominic? You tell him what I told you?"
"Yeah, I did. Everything will be fine. Stan's an idiot. The only way he gets people to do what he wants is to blackmail them. What a manipulative jerk. Dominic told me if anybody ever threatens a lawsuit over anything to stay calm. Dominic's brother, Frank, is a private investigator who knows a lot of lawyers who will work for cheap. Frank has a lot of buddies who owe him favors. So we're good. Anybody knows if someone's blackmailing you, they're only going to keep on blackmailing you. They'll never let up."
Minx's stance diminished. Her face turned into a frown. Her lips started to tremble. The girl was holding back tears. The effort didn't last long. She burst out crying.
"Oh no. I didn't mean to upset you. Whatever I said, I'm sorry. Here, let's sit you down."
Trudy noticed a door nearby. She wasn't sure what room it led into, but she took Minx by the arm so they could have some privacy.
"Whatever it is that has you this worked up, we need to work it out. I know we're rival companies, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends. Talk to me. Let's bury the hatchet."
They both entered the room, flipped on the light, and they both gave a start. There was a pile of dead people on the floor. It was just like a slasher movie scene where the final girl enters the room where the killer has dumped all of their victims.
"Hold on. They're dummies."
Minx was wiping tears from her eyes. "They look so real."
"Until they hit the light at a certain angle."
