by Denise Dietz
Anissa stood and presented Delly with an enlarged photo of the studio mural, signed by the cast. Then she held out Pandora’s striped smock from the first day’s taping. “When you look at this,” she said, “always remember—”
“That I can be an actress in spite of my costume?”
“Actually I was going to quote Zsa Zsa. ‘Ze only place men vant depth in a woman is in her décolletage.’ ”
Sporting a Tabby Cat pink and black spiked wig, Echo returned from a trip to the restroom. “What did I miss?”
“Charl’s quote,” Delly said.
“Not Charl, Anissa,” Drew amended. “One day Anissa, as Charl, will step up to the camera and deliver her own lines. I thought she’d do it during our wedding. She had that look in her eyes.”
“How could you see a look beneath my veil, Cal?”
“What would you have quoted, Anissa?” asked Heidi Hesselman, who played Nurse Marybeth. “Something about wedded bliss?”
“Okay, gang, you asked for it. ‘I hate television. I hate it as much as peanuts. But I can’t stop eating peanuts.’ Quote, unquote.”
“Jimmy Carter,” Drew guessed.
“Orson Welles,” said Anissa. “Enough quotations, people. Tabby has a gift for Delly.”
Reaching beneath their table, the wigged actress held up a neon-lettered sign that read: THE ECHO CHAMBER.
“Echo Foster!” Peter placed his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “You thief! If I don’t kill you, Maxine will.”
“Oh, pooh. Make another sign.” Echo downed her glass of champagne. “I’ll kill our Max off first, before she can do me in. I’ll sabotage her sky booth, booby-trap her speakers so that the sound pierces her eardrums and penetrates her tiny brain.”
Delly joined in the applause, giggling as each cast member suggested elaborate, goofy ways to murder Maxine Graham.
“Mr. Ratings lurked yesterday,” Echo said, “disguised as a delivery boy from the Deli. Maybe he’ll stab our Max with a sharp Kosher dill.”
Anissa said, “They fired Topher Coombs.”
“You’re kidding,” Heidi squealed. “I wondered why he was missing from our wedding scene, but I figured he was nursing one of his famous hangovers.”
“He was, but that’s not why he got axed . . .” Echo paused for effect. “Statutory rape,” she stage-whispered. “Maxine tried to hush it up.”
Heidi said, “How did you find out?”
“I happened to be strolling past Maxine’s office when I heard the ruckus. Topher, the sly sleaze, took a motel room and invited some dumb mother to bring her little girl there for an audition. Mom waited outside. You can guess what happened. Luckily, the kid screamed bloody murder and Mom fetched the motel manager before too much damage had been done.”
“Shit,” Heidi swore. “Topher was my plot treatment.”
“Anyhoo,” Echo continued, “Topher threatened Max with dire consequences if she broke his contract, even mentioned something about cutting off her balls. We might have a new little girl on the show since that was Mom’s condition not to press charges. I, for one, wish they’d arrest Topher. But you know how Maxine feels about adverse publicity.”
“Maybe Topher will murder our Max,” Drew said. “If he cuts off her balls, she could bleed to death.”
Jon held Delly’s hand under the table. Midway through the celebration, she felt his fingers clutch hers tightly, and she followed his glance toward the Sawmill’s entrance.
Samantha walked through the room, flanked by her arranger and a young actor. The towheaded boy, who looked barely older than his shoe size, had his arm draped around Sami’s shoulders. His fingers brushed her low-cut, sleeveless, beige suede vest. A matching skirt and boots completed her outfit.
Delly watched Sami slide her butt across a redwood bench at the front of the room. Oblivious of other diners, she kissed the boy, then placed her hand on his jean-clad groin. He squirmed, aroused or embarrassed. Sami laughed.
Goodbye, Rattlesnake, hiss-off, thought Delly.
Sami’s arranger, Garrison Smith, said something. Sami sat up straight, her hands clasped together, as if she were a naughty girl who had been chastised by her teacher.
Jon said, “Do you want to leave?”
“How can I leave my own party? I’m okay.”
“Champagne?”
“No, thanks. I’m on the wagon.” She reached for a cigarette and flicked a tiny gold lighter several times. “Sami left this behind. Damn thing doesn’t work. Out of fluid, I guess.”
Jon tossed her a box of restaurant matches.
There was the sound of a drum roll.
The Sawmill’s band leader introduced Samantha and induced her to join him. She winked at the audience, then raised her arms for silence. “I want to dedicate this song to my dearest sister, actress Delly Gold . . . I mean, Delly Diamond. She’s just been fired from her soap opera, Morning Star, but she’s here tonight, folks, celebrating. Or maybe she’s plotting her revenge against the show’s producer and director.”
Only Jon heard Delly’s gasp amid the cheers from Anissa, Echo, and the rest of the cast members.
“This is a brand new song,” Samantha continued. “To sing it, I need my dearest composer and arranger, Garrison Smith.”
Garrison took over the piano. Samantha turned to the other band members. “See if you can follow me, boys,” she said.
The ballad had a country-western flavor. Its lyrics told about twin sisters in love with the same man.
That’s not one of Mom’s songs, thought Delly. Sami and Garrison must have composed it together.
Anissa wended her way around the long table and knelt by Delly’s chair. “Drew tracked your sister down through her agent. She told him to go straight to hell, do not pass go, but when he mentioned your goodbye party—”
“Why did Drew invite her? Why?”
“Another surprise. What’s wrong?”
Delly flung her legs over the bench, stood, whirled about, and fled.
Staggering upright, Anissa turned to follow.
Jon gently grasped her arm. “I’ll take care of this.”
Losing sight of the small figure in red slacks and white blouse, he headed for the restrooms.
Delly stumbled outside and zigzagged across the parking lot. Where’s the car? There it is. Leaning against the Rabbit, she dug through her purse for her key ring. Where’s the key? Turning her handbag over, she watched its contents spill to the ground. Receipts, makeup items, pen, wallet—where were the damn car keys?
“Keep your tongue in your pocketbook,” she cried, pounding her fists against the Rabbit’s window.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
May I, thought Delly. She squinted toward the bearded man who wore a sweaty cowboy hat. He held a six-pack of Bud.
“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked.
“Panda can’t get in her car.”
“Did you lock the keys inside?”
“I guess.”
“Maybe the restaurant has a coat hanger.”
“Panda wants to go home.”
“Don’t cry, Panda. I’ll take you home.” Placing his free arm around Delly’s waist, leading her away from the Rabbit, he maneuvered between two cars, and pressed his body against hers. “You’re cute, baby doll. I was gonna sit out here in the parking lot, drink my brewski, and listen to the music. Then you come along like the answer to a prayer.”
“Music. Awful.”
“You don’t like country, Panda?”
“No. Dizzy. Kiss me, Jonny.”
“I’m not Johnny. They call me The Duke.”
“If Panda lets you touch her tatas, will you talk to Maxine?”
“Sure.” Placing his six-pack on the hood of a Plymouth, The Duke unbuttoned Delly’s blouse and reached around her back to unhook her bra.
“Did you hear Samantha?”
“Samantha who?” He cupped her breasts with his hands.
“Goody, goody, Panda will sing for y
ou.” She pushed his fingers away and climbed up onto the Plymouth’s hood. Blouse unbuttoned, bra dangling by one strap, she sang, “Some enchanted . . . when you meet a strange . . . when you see a strange . . . damn it, I can’t remember the words!”
“That’s okay, Panda. We’ll go to my place and listen to Toto’s new album.”
“Toto’s a dog, silly.”
“No. I meant—”
“There’s Jonny.” She shaded her eyes, even though there was no sun, and surveyed the parking lot from her high perch. “He’s looking for me. ‘Bye.”
Climbing down from the Plymouth, she hooked her bra and ran toward the Rabbit. “Jonny, here I am. The car’s locked and I dropped my purse.”
“Why is your blouse open?” he asked, helping her gather the spilled items.
“I want to lick stamps and envelopes.”
“Soon.” He pushed the buttons back through their loops. “Here’s an idea. How about visiting your mother over the Thanksgiving holidays?”
“A vacation, Jonny?” At his nod, she said, “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“I’m almost finished with my script revisions. You fly to Chicago and I’ll join you there.”
“Okay. Tomorrow I’ll call Mom. Then I’ll collect my stuff from the studio. They don’t tape on Saturdays.”
Delly reached inside her pants pocket for her crumpled pack of cigarettes. She withdrew her hand and looked with surprise at her set of keys.
“My tongue was in my pocket all the time,” she said and burst into tears.
* * * * *
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Jon said. “It’s almost noon.”
Delly stretched. “Why did you let me sleep so late?”
“Because you needed it. We had quite a workout last night. It was good, wasn’t it?”
“When she was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad—”
“Is that your quote for the day?”
“I’m running dry. I’ll have to call Anissa.”
“She phoned earlier. Said not to wake you, that she’d try again later.”
Delly reached for a cigarette.
“Don’t smoke, honey. Tarz dove into river and fought crocodiles to bring Jane fish.” He retrieved a tray from the dresser. Next to a thick sandwich, fresh flowers nodded from Delly’s puss-in-boots inkwell.
“Tuna fish, Jonny? First thing in the morning?”
“It was either tuna, leftover pizza, or parrot. Our cupboard is bare.”
“I’ll learn how to shop before I learn how to cook.”
“I’ll hire a shopper and a cooker. I love you just the way you are.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m off to the health club. Tarzan requires rejuvenation. Do you need the Rabbit?”
“Yes, please. Jane has to swing through Hollywood and Vine. Errands. Groceries and lighter fluid. Thanks for breakfast, Tarz, and the flowers.”
“You’re welcome. Let’s eat out tonight and pick up groceries on our way home. Tarzan can carry heavy sacks.”
“I thought sacks was a department store.”
“Very good, Smarty-Pants. I love you. ‘Bye.”
Through her open window, Delly heard the loud chug of the Audi. Then she wolfed down half a sandwich and called Carolyn Ann.
“My part on Morning Star ended, Mom, so I thought I might fly to Chicago, visit you and Uncle Sam.”
“How marvelous, darling. I’m sorry about your show, but you’ll find another part. You’re such a gifted actress.”
“Aw, you’re just saying that because you’re my mom.”
“When does your plane land? I’ll start plucking the turkey.”
“Whoa, Mom. It’s still a week away. What’s all that noise?”
“Juliet, Will, Carrie and Nellie. Jules flew them out, poor man. He couldn’t cope very well after Nanny quit. Samantha canceled part of her concert tour to search for a house. She’s going to stay in California, says she has lots of irons in the fire. I didn’t approve of her leaving Jules, but I guess it will all work out in the end. When are you going to marry Jon?”
“Maybe I should wait.”
“You’ve waited a long time, Delly.”
“I meant my visit, Mom. You and Uncle Sam are full-up.”
“Don’t be silly. Thanksgiving is for family. What’s one more in this crowd? Juliet, no!”
Delly heard a loud crash.
“I’ve always hated that old vase.” Carolyn Ann laughed.
“Gee, Mom, I don’t know if—”
“Samantha will arrive in a few days. We’ll have a family Thanksgiving. Is Jon coming, Delly? I consider him family.”
“Sami’s flying to Chicago?”
“Didn’t she tell you?”
“No. I . . . we haven’t talked much lately. We’ve both been so busy.”
Delly stared at the Humpty Dumpty mechanical bank, her heart slamming against her chest. It wants to kill me. It wants me to kill me.
“I’ll have my piano tuned,” said Carolyn Ann. “You and Samantha can sing together. What was it you used to say all the time? Oh, yes, I remember. The Gold sisters, da-dum.”
“Wait a minute, Mom,” Delly said, striving to keep her voice calm. “The visit isn’t definite.”
“Why not?”
“Panda . . . Pandora might be reinstated. Panda . . . I have to stick around until I know for sure, be available if they need her . . . me. Jon has to finish his script. Panda . . . I only called because there’s a slight possibility she . . . we can make it.”
“Are you feeling all right, darling?”
“Party last night. Samantha sang. Late. Tired.”
“Get some sleep, darling. Juliet, no!”
Another crash.
Delly Diamond sat on the wall.
Dumpty Delly had a great fall.
“Delly, are you still there?”
“Yes. I’ll let you know, Mom. About Thanksgiving. Love you.”
Delly started to hang up the receiver. Instead, she tugged the cord from the wall and flung the phone toward her doll shelf. Barbie, Shirley, Mumpsy, and other dolls tumbled to the floor. Frantically, Delly searched through the mess until she found the French Jumeau doll.
She walked through the kitchen, stepped barefoot into the back yard, walked toward a wooden shed, entered, tripped over a rake, and felt a nail scratch her heel. Ignoring the pain, she grabbed a hammer from its pegboard.
That won’t work!
Dropping the hammer, she reached for a hatchet.
Back inside the house again, she methodically demolished the piano’s exterior. Discordant music filled the room as she banged the piano keys with her Samantha look-alike Jumeau doll, laughing when its porcelain features splintered.
Music by Toto.
Ding dong, the wicked bitch is dead.
She opened the door to the guest room and stared at Sinbad. Parrot poop littered his cage.
Pandora Borden took an ax, gave the parrot forty whacks. When she saw what she had done—
She showered, scrubbing her body with lemon-scented soap. She dressed in green corduroy slacks, a pink blouse, and white sneakers. Then she brushed her hair into a Pandora ponytail.
I’m off to see the Wizard.
Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
She glanced at the ruined piano, smiled, strolled outside, locked the front door, and slipped behind the wheel of her Rabbit convertible. Pulling out from the driveway, she narrowly missed Mrs. Grady, who was walking her giant mutt.
Follow the yellow piss road. Road show. Road hog. Road kill. Parrots and rabbits and dogs, oh—
“My aching head,” she cried.
Interlude
Propped against two foam-rubber pillows, he watched a commercial for Rosebud perfume.
The red-haired model lit his fire, but she wasn’t Charl.
Only Charl could make him burn.
The red-haired model rode a white stallion. A man sat behind her, hugging her waist. They galloped along a beach, waves splis
h-splashing against the shore. The perfume was called FANTASY.
“Escape into Fantasy,” said the man on top of the horse, “and make all your dreams come true.”
He recognized the voice. Caleb. Cal. Drew Flory.
Flory, hah! Probably a fake name, shortened from Florstein or Florowitz. A Jew. He could always tell.
Hollywood was full of Jews. They changed their names, even Michael Landon—Little Joe, for Christ’s sake—and they had plastic surgery. He knew this for a fact because the biggest Jew of them all, Phil Donahue, had once interviewed some plastic surgeons.
He’d have to rescue Charl from the Jews.
He watched the white stallion gallop into a sunset. Then he saw the Morning Star logo, heard music, and Charl appeared.
So did Cal! Again! Shit!
Mentally erasing Cal from the scene, he focused on Charl. Dreamy eyes and creamy skin, but she wore too much makeup. He’d rub that stuff off when they were finally together.
He felt himself coming and gave in to the sensation, arching his back, writhing with exquisite agony. Then he wiped himself clean with a tissue, sat up, and opened a bottle of Wild Turkey.
Turkey! Thanksgiving!
He’d been in California three months, and it was time to set his plan in motion.
Time. Did he have time to rewind the tape and watch Charl’s scene again? He had to go to work soon. A real waste since it was Saturday and they didn’t shoot the shit on Saturday. Should he call in sick?
He’d taken the job because it got him through the gates, into Charl’s studio. He’d seen Charl but she never saw him.
Bitch!
After rewinding the tape, he flopped down on the bed. “C’mon, Charl,” he said. “Light my fire.”
Too much lipstick. Too much gunk on her eyes. At least they couldn’t screw up her hair. Long. Blonde. Soft as corn silk.
“Come on, Charl, light my fire. Light my fire, light my—”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fired, thought Delly.
Would Henry let her enter the studio without Maxine’s permission? Why not? After all, Wayne County was one huge mental ward and she was the star mental case.
