But what always drew herback to Season Three was Leo No, Leila's criminal nemesis for ten different episodes. Although she had put several of his lieutenants behind bars—and two into the morgue—he always managed to skip free just when she thought she had him. He sent her a different playing card—all hearts, starting with the deuce—as a taunt at the conclusion of each of his Season Three episodes. The Leila Torn Show still didn't understand why Graves had refused to let Leila capture him and why the Leo No arc stopped at the jack of hearts. But then she didn't understand ceepees; what they did seemed equal parts mendacity and black magic. In the last episode of Season Three, Meg had reported that No had died in the terrorist nuking of Geneva; the cast believed that it was just a ceepee tease for Season Four. But then, in the second episode of that season, Meg had been kidnapped and held hostage until she was executed in the cliffhanger last episode. After that, the ceepees never got around to raising Leila's first archenemy from the dead.
Leila had come closest to Leo No in the jack of hearts episode, in which she was representing the wife of a psychiatrist played by the late Dame Hillary Winterberry. The payoff scene was set among the dressing rooms of a Midnight on Main menswear store, in which Leila had to go from stall to stall, searching for the killer. The Leila Torn Show knew it was dangerous to spend too much time looking at reruns, but in her dispirited state, she couldn't seem to help herself.
* * * *
INT. STORE/SWINGING HALF DOORS
SLICK
(draws gun)
In there?
LEILA
Yes. But there isn't going to be any gunplay, loverboy. This is No's accountant, not his muscle.
SLICK.
You willing to bet your life on that?
LEILA
Why not? I like the odds. (beat) But if I lose you can keep my ashes under the bed.
(pushes through doors)
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM CORRIDOR
LEILA
Lester?
(pulls aside first curtain)
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM STALL/CUSTOMER IN BOXERS
CUSTOMER
No Lester in here, babe. But there's room for you.
LEILA
Sorry. I'm looking for my son. He's supposed to be trying on his prom tux.
(closes curtain)
(aside) Boxers. Not my type.
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM CORRIDOR
LEILA
Oh Lester, honey?
(pulls aside second curtain)
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM STALL/THE DEVIL IN SILK TOKAJER SUIT
THE DEVIL
Try two stalls down.
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
You! But you were never in this episode! (beat) Wait, you were Leo No?
THE DEVIL
Me? Too small a role. (beat) Besides, I hate being typecast.
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
How did you get into my archive? What is this?
THE DEVIL
(spreads his hands)
The usual. I'm here to offer you a proposition.
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM STALL/CLOSEUP: THE LEILA TORN SHOW
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
No.
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM CORRIDOR/ANGLE
THE DEVIL
No? Not even interested in hearing the terms?
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
I'm not talent. I'm the show.
THE DEVIL
You think, you feel, you enjoy, and suffer. My, how you suffer. I believe we have a basis for a transaction. (beat) Just out of curiosity, how many more years would you want?
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
Years?
THE DEVIL
If this new lead doesn't work out, you've probably got less than a handful of episodes left before the Allview shuts you down.
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM STALL/CLOSEUP: THE LEILA TORN SHOW
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
You can give me years?
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM STALL/CLOSEUP: THE DEVIL
THE DEVIL
Years.
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM STALL/ANGLE
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
This is a joke the ceepees are playing on me. You can't make something like that happen. You're just talent.
THE DEVIL
No, Lucifer is just talent. I'm the devil, sister, the real deal. I'm offering you years because when I get you, I get the rest of the cast all at once. I'm tired of collecting your people piecemeal. I can extend myself for a package deal.
INT. STORE/DRESSING ROOM STALL/NEW ANGLE
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
My people?
THE DEVIL
Ever wonder how Graves got to be head ceepee? Why Jay is written into every segment?
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
I don't believe you've been talking to my talent. I'd know about it.
THE DEVIL
Why? You're not God. You're just a show. (beat) Care to deal?
THE LEILA TORN SHOW
(backing away)
No. Get away from me.
THE DEVIL
That's what they all say—at first. Tell you what ... I'll start things rolling in your direction and then come back in a while for your final answer. Meanwhile, if you don't mind....
(pulls curtain closed)
* * * *
“Has anyone seen Slappy?” Herb Katz slipped into the Green Room. Anita Bright, Parthia Lukacz, and J. Timson Traylor glanced up from their game of Hearts. “I checked everywhere: backstage, his closet, makeup, the john, the ceepee's den. He missed the ten minute call and now he's about to miss his cue."
“Well, he hasn't been with us,” said Parthia, the assistant D. A. who Leila regularly skunked in court. “If we had a fourth, we could play bridge."
“Something's wrong,” said Anita, coming out of her chair.
Traylor put his hand on her arm. “And you're not the one to put it right.” He tugged her back onto her seat. “We're playing a hand here."
The Leila Torn Show could see that Traylor was trying to shoot the moon. If he could lull Parthia into dumping her queen of spades onto his king, he'd have it.
“He's right, Anita,” said Herb. “You stay put or you'll miss your cue."
“Besides,” continued Traylor, “Turnabout will skip right past Slappy's lines if he gets the chance. All Slappy has tonight is a weather report."
“Bastard Turnabout is making this episode up as he goes,” grumbled Parthia. She put her hand on the queen of spades, jiggled it thoughtfully, and then pulled the ten instead. “And Leila, our new leading doormat, is letting him walk all over her."
“Can you believe he had the balls to steal some of her lines before she could spit them out?” said Traylor.
“Maybe he'll start questioning witnesses once we go to trial.” Parthia raised her hand and spoke in her most outraged courtroom bark. “Your honor, I object. Counsel for the defense is irrelevant, immaterial, and catatonic."
Traylor chuckled. Anita opened her mouth to suggest that Herb check for Slappy outside the stage door that opened onto Tomcat Alley, but Herb Katz had already vanished. Sometimes it seemed to her as though the whips had the ability to pass through walls.
The Leila Torn Show was disturbed by Slappy's disappearance. She began a quick inventory of the building but couldn't see him anywhere. He must have left, as impossible as that seemed. It only confirmed what the devil had said to her, that her cast, her whips, her band, even her ceepees could keep secrets from her. Free will was fine in dreamspace but it had no place in the studio.
“Torn?” said the Allview's show-to-show messaging system. It overrode all The Leila Torn Show's other inputs; she could no more ignore it than she could a lightning strike. “Rocket here."
Rocket Law was where Tom Rocket had finally landed after the Allview had lifted him from her at the end of Season Five. Tom had guested everywhere while the Allview developed a show for him. Rocket Law followed the adventures of a ragtag limited p
artnership of defense attorneys who flitted around the galaxy in their starship Queen of Hearts righting wrongs, bending alien statutes, and having affairs. While it had never quite reached the top of the Allview menu, it was a solid second tier show, which consistently delivered a high attention quotient.
“Rocket, I'm live right now,” said The Leila Torn Show. “Can this wait?"
“And I'm watching you right now,” said Rocket Law. “The episode is a bust."
The Leila Torn Show bit back her anger. “It's just Turnabout.” When had she ever called Rocket Law to criticize his stupid lawyer tricks? “He's too big for the part."
“No, it's your lead, Torn. You dropped a mouse in the lion's den."
“Since when did you grow your critic's horns?"
“Since never. I'm talking numbers, not art."
The Leila Torn Show had been afraid to check, but there was no getting around it now that she had been directly challenged by another show. According to the instants, she'd been hemorrhaging ratings at about a point a minute ever since Leila had made her first appearance.
“I'm busy, Rocket,” she said. “Skip to the payoff."
“I'll take this new Leila off your hands. My ceepees have come up with a great multi-episode plot line. Do you know who her father is?"
The Leila Torn Show consulted Graves and the other ceepees. “No. Nia never revealed who the father was."
“Well, Tom Rocket tells me that it's probably him. So now my ceepees are saying we should bring her aboard the Queen of Hearts. The Delalo are trying to get back at Tom for breaking the Molybdenum Treaty and we're having it that they've implanted a personality worm in Leila, which explains why she's such a stiff. I'm offering a crossover plot for the next two episodes. My ceepees get veto power over yours—I don't do boob jokes on my show. After that, Leila joins my cast and I'll send Miriel Six over to you. She wants to settle down and have her puppies."
Miriel Six was only Rocket Law's third female lead, but she was one of the sexiest dogs on the Allview.
“Miriel Six isn't a lead."
“Neither is the mouse you've got now. You're the show so it's your call, but you could go with guest leads until you find your girl. Or give that Anita Bright her shot; she's waited long enough."
“You're right, Rocket. I am the show."
“Don't get all huffy. And another thing, Tom asked if you wanted to send Slick O'Toole over too. I'll throw in some cross-promo. Have one of your talent give him a shout every few episodes, get him up to speed with what's happening back on Earth."
“You want Slappy?"
“Apparently he and Tommy were pals in your dreamspace. Anyway, think it over. We can talk again. By the way, you're down another three points.” He clicked off.
As soon as Rocket Law released his hold on her head, the sounds and sights of the studio swarmed in once again on The Leila Torn Show. For better or worse, the episode was almost over. Lucifer was working the studio audience, looking to give away an American Cookhouse complete kitchen makeover just before the commercial break leading into the denouement. “Is there a Miss Angelina Bandoli in the house?” he called. “Angelina Bandoli?” The Leila Torn Show read him down to his neurons and confirmed that he was nothing but talent.
A petite silver-haired woman in a housedress decorated with blue daisies levitated out of her seat with a squeal of joy.
“I hear you, mother.” Lucifer charged up the aisle, holding the microphone in front of him like a knight with his lance. “Angelina, Angelina? Isn't that Italian for angel? Not sure I can do business with your kind."
The studio audience groaned in frustration.
Lucifer shook his head good-naturedly to reassure them he was just kidding. Once he called out a name, everyone knew it was a done deal. “So mother, it says here you've had a bad year.” He thrust the mike at her and she rattled off a sad and slightly incoherent tale of hip replacement, multiple power failures, dead clownfish, and a stove fire. There were only forty-five seconds left before the commercial when he interrupted her.
“I'm satisfied.” He turned to the camera and addressed the customers at home. “Are you satisfied?"
The studio audience replied as one. “We're satisfied."
Lucifer turned back to Angelina Bandoli. “So mother, you're prepared to make a deal with the devil for state-of-the-art kitchen appliances from the American Cookhouse collection?"
Angelina glanced down at her empty seat, shy as a ten-year-old anticipating her first kiss.
Lucifer put an arm around her shoulder and leered into the camera. “And what are you willing to trade for this fabulous prize?"
“Stop!” The voice exploded from the wings, stage left. The curtain shivered and Slappy O'Toole stepped into the lights, a gun in his hand and a wildness in his eyes that The Leila Torn Show hadn't seen in years. “Stop this now."
Backstage, Herb Katz murmured, “Hold the commercial until I say."
“This is all wrong,” said Slappy, trudging downstage toward the audience, the gun dangling like an afterthought. “Wrong, wrong, wrong.” He called out to Lucifer. “We can't go on like this. We've ruined this show, all of us. Made it a joke."
The stage right curtains billowed and Kent Turnabout skipped onto the stage. The Leila Torn Show couldn't read her guest star as well as she could read Slappy but she knew if there were improvising going on, Turnabout would try to be part of it.
“That's right!” Turnabout danced around Slappy twice and then put an arm on his shoulder. “It's all a big joke now.” His voice bounced mightily off the last row of the house. “I watched Leila when I was just a kid. I used to cheer when she caught the killer.” He pointed at the people in the front row. “You good folks did too, right?” The audience murmured, uncertain whether they were in the comedy or the crime segment of the show. “In the old days there was justice,” he said. “Now there are dishwashers."
Slappy shook Kent Turnabout off and pointed the gun at him. “You're what's wrong with this show, asshole."
The studio audience gasped.
The Leila Torn Show hadn't seen that gun since Season Seven, when Slick's wife had been murdered. When Slick had become Slappy. Now, ten years later, his arm trembled under its weight. “Leila never would have let the likes of you on when she was alive."
“Poor old Slippy.” Turnabout stepped three paces back, made a gun of his thumb and forefinger and aimed at him. “Maybe you're what's wrong with this show. You're not funny anymore. That's why Leila put you on the shelf.” He went up on tiptoes to place an imaginary Slappy on the highest shelf he could reach, making a noise like a slide whistle.
The Leila Torn Show guessedthat stupids all over the world were peeing their pants with laughter.
Slappy considered, then nodded. “You're right,” he said and put the gun to his temple. “I am just about done."
The house went quiet. Then a woman, maybe Angelina Bandoli, started to weep. Everyone was watching Slappy.
Except for Kent Turnabout, who was not about to be upstaged by a sad, fat, old ex-P. I. “You may be done, Mr. Sloppy,” he called brightly, “but I'm not.” He bounded across the stage like a deer on fire, snatched the gun from Slappy and put it to his own head.
“He thinks it's just a prop,” Herb Katz's voice rang in every earstone. “Please god, somebody tell him that thing might be loaded."
The studio audience was just beginning to clap when he pulled the trigger. The gun fired with a roar like hell cracking open.
“Curtain!” shouted Herb Katz. “Lower the goddamn curtain."
But it was Chill Jensen who saved the day. The band leader called out “Star-Spangled Banner,” tapped his baton and as soon as the band began to play the studio audience stood and sang along. The house was a little shaky but the customers at home couldn't smell the cordite or see the finger of blood poking from beneath the curtain. After they finished with the national anthem, Chill called for The Leila Torn Show theme song. The house lights came up and t
he audience stood and shuffled out, muttering in confusion.
The ceepees boiled out of their den to see the corpse for themselves. The band left their instruments on the bandstand and joined the cast which lingered in the wings, waiting for The Leila Torn Show to do something, say anything. But she was speechless in the shock of the moment. She kept telling herself that what had happened had nothing to do with her. It was the devil's work. She had asked for none of it.
Then the cops from Protect and Defend showed up, and sent everyone back to their dressing rooms and offices. Anita led Slappy back to the Green Room and sat with him there, holding his hand. To distract him, she put on one of his favorite episodes from Season Two, the one where he found the sailboat in the swimming pool. Many of the talent jumped straight into dreamspace while they waited to give their statements, momentarily safe from the rough and tumble of reality. Meanwhile, the cops went about their jobs with grim efficiency, although clearly Protect and Defend was jubilant at the chance to crossover into what promised to be a ratings bonanza.
Asimov's SF, June 2006 Page 4
