A Talent For Murder Part 3

The audience was enthusiastic as a swarthy, barely out of his teens young man came out from the wings. Ped-Xing wore long black sideburns, a soul patch, fly fishing bait dangling from his earlobes, and a leather vest under which was nothing but muscles, more piercings, and a large tattoo of a NO PARKING sign over his ripped stomach. As his music began, Ped-Xing started to move with the rhythm, and strutted around the stage.

The audience felt the rhythm and could not help moving to the beat. Although Polly couldn't understand the lyrics, she was enamored of the way he seemed to own the crowd. He was in command and one couldn't take their eyes away from him. s.e.xy? Yes. Talented? Polly was a good judge of those who had something special, and although she wasn't sure what Ped-Xing's talent was, she was very much impressed with what she saw.

At the conclusion of Ped-Xing's performance, Polly and Brian joined the audience in wild applause, while Thane sat with his arms crossed and his legs stretched out under the judge's table. When the cameras were fixed on her, Polly exhibited genuine excitement. "You were absolutely marvelous, dear!" she exclaimed. "Your dancing reminds me of the brilliant Ken Berry's or even Michael Jackson's. And your confidence tells me that you're a very secure young man. I suppose anyone with a body like yours would be confident, but I think you have something extra special. Even if you weren't so s.e.xy I'd give you high marks! One hundred points!"

Ped-Xing didn't smile, but he nodded to Polly as if in agreement with her praise and the appropriateness of his score.

"Absolutely s.e.xy!" Brian Smith echoed Polly's observation. "Not only did you deliver a first-rate performance, but your No Parking sign tattoo should be your trademark. Bravo! Well done! One hundred points!"

Ped-Xing nodded and moved on to Thane Cornwall. For a long moment, Thane seemed to be examining his fingernails.

"What's your problem, dude?" Ped-Xing said, which brought a wave of applause from the audience. That anyone would blithely take on the notorious Thane Cornwall, especially when it could make or break his career, was exciting.

Finally, Thane shrugged. "Now that you've finished your so-called performance, I haven't got a problem. However, if, G.o.d forbid, you return for next week's show, I'll have a huge problem because you're what we call a triple threat: can't sing, can't dance, can't act. Even if you had just one of those attributes, you probably wouldn't find work in this town. I don't think you could even serve me in a restaurant. Pretty boys are a dime a dozen here. But I'll give you ten points. The No Parking tattoo makes a perfect statement: that you'll be towed away if you don't soon move on to another career. Dismissed."

As the evening continued, Polly and the world were introduced to three more contestants. Amy Stout was a Miley Cyrus clone. Danny Castillo was a third-rate Zac Efron, and Socorro Sanchez was Ugly Betty, without the braces. Polly Pepper and Brian Smith continued to give each contestant one hundred points, while Thane Cornwall gave the others withering looks, scores of zero, and the deafening p.r.o.nouncement, "Dismissed!"

With only twenty minutes remaining in the debut broadcast of I'll Do Anything to Become Famous I'll Do Anything to Become Famous, the five contenders for the most votes rea.s.sembled onstage for the interview phase of the program.

As the music became less intrusive, and the laser light show augmented the vibrations in the studio, Steven Benjamin explained the process of this portion of the contest. Each of the three judges would be a.s.signed contestants to whom they would pose a question about the lengths one might hypothetically go to make it in Hollywood. The novelty of the answers would be rated not by the judges themselves, but by the television-viewing audience.

Steven Benjamin looked at Polly Pepper. "Ladies first." He then opened a sealed envelope and read the name Amy Stout. "Polly. Please pose a question to lovely Amy."

Although Polly was a nervous wreck, she'd had much practice emceeing charity auctions and benefits, which required her to quickly come up with funny lines when things went awry.

Now Polly called forth all of her talents for ad-libbing. She smiled at Amy. "Honey," she said, "I know that stardom is the most important thing in the world. If I could wave a magic fairy wand and tell you that you could make your dream come true, but that you only had until midnight to accomplish your goal, what would you do?"

The laser lights scanned the crowd, as the background music started to sound like the film score from The Omen The Omen. Amy put a hand on her hips, shifted her weight to one leg, and tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder. With a voice that sounded as serious as a hooker making a deal with a U.S. senator, she said, "Lady, wave that wand and get me into the Golden Globes dinner. I'd spike every actor's salad with a dressing laced with cyanide. I'd be the only one left for producers to cast in their movies."

Polly was appalled, but the audience cheered. She wanted to scold Amy for thinking such perverse thoughts, but was cut off when Steven Benjamin drew another envelope.

"This one is for Danny Castillo. Go for it, Brian."

Brian smiled and nodded to the young man whose singing talent wasn't actually worth a hundred points score, but Brian hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings. "Okay, you've just arrived in Hollywood. You're broke. You wanna be a star. What will you do?"

Danny gave Brian a sly smile. "So, it's like this. I get a job with a producer. I hear they're all jerks who brutalize their a.s.sistants with a lot of yelling and screaming over stupid things like salt not being salty enough. So I take the abuse for a while. But as I'm being held responsible for his French fries not being French enough, or his toilet paper not soft enough, I'm secretly taping his phone calls and keeping track of all the personal stuff he or she is charging to whatever production they're working on. When the time is right, I show him the evidence and demand to star in his next flick. He agrees because he doesn't want the world to know that the guy who makes fuzzy family films is subhuman sc.u.m."

Steven Benjamin nodded in agreement. "Ah yes! Nothing says Hollywood like blackmail and extortion!" He then opened a third envelope. "Thane, you get to see how far Miranda will go!"

Thane smiled evilly. "Hypothetically, you've been hanging around Hollywood for years. You've never achieved anything because you haven't got an ounce of talent, and you have a reputation for a nasty disposition. Finally you're packing your bags and heading back to Nowhere, U.S.A. But a friend tells you that an old director, some hideously ancient man who used to be important, will try to open doors for you in exchange for sleeping with him three times a week for a year. Would you trade s.e.x for fame?"

"The barter system is as much a part of Hollywood as power lunches at The Ivy," she snapped. "You should know that better than most. When a girl's got these"- she put her hands on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-"she can get a lot of old men to do nice things for her. There's only one old man in town who I wouldn't sleep with. His name is Thane Cornwall. I hear he's a snore in bed."

The audience roared with approval.

Steven Benjamin smiled. "Polly! It's your turn again." He opened another envelope and withdrew a card. "Socorro!"

Polly looked at the young Latina. "Complete this sentence. 'I'll Do Anything to Become Famous because-' "

"Because fame equals money, and money can can buy happiness," Socorro quickly said. "When I win this compet.i.tion, I'll be able to buy my mama a big house." buy happiness," Socorro quickly said. "When I win this compet.i.tion, I'll be able to buy my mama a big house."

Polly's heart melted. "I'm sure that your mama's already very proud of you. And you're right, money does buy happiness. I have a lot of both."

With one contestant left to interview, Steven Benjamin called on Thane to pose a question to Ped-Xing.

Thane folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head from side to side, as if inspecting Ped-Xing. "This show is about doing some ultimate act in order to become famous. Since we, the judges, probably hold your fate in our hands, which of us would you kill to win the compet.i.tion?"

A collective roar from the audience erupted. They exhibited the same l.u.s.t for blood that made jousting tournaments popular during medieval times, or attracted huge crowds to gladiator fights in ancient Rome, and created a media frenzy over movie stars on trial for killing their spouses.

"Go on," Thane baited Ped-Xing. "You can do it. And I think everybody here is confident about who you'd pick. And guess what, it would would indeed make you famous." indeed make you famous."

Ped-Xing stood facing Thane Cornwall, his upper lip twitching, his fists clenched at his side.

The judges, as well as the studio audience, held a collective breath. Finally, Ped-Xing spoke: "Polly Pepper."

Chapter 4.

When Polly's Rolls-Royce drove up to her PP-monogrammed iron gates at Pepper Plantation, Detective Randy Archer was already in the cobblestone car park waiting for her. Rolling down to the front portico, Tim eased the car to a stop by the front steps. Randy opened the rear pa.s.senger door of her car and offered his hand, first to Polly, then to Placenta. "That hip-hop dweeb threatened to kill you!" he said as Polly stepped out of the car.

"Isn't live television exciting?" Polly said as she gave Randy a quick kiss on the lips. "You're a dear for tuning in. Ach! I've had threats before. Nell Carter said the same thing when I deservedly won the Emmy the year that our musical variety specials were both nominated. Nell, bless her departed soul, couldn't face the fact that the Academy unanimously selected my superior PP with Elton John PP with Elton John, over her mediocre Heaven and Nell." Heaven and Nell."

Placenta said, "The important thing is that Polly was the top story on news radio all the way home!"

As Polly and her entourage entered the mansion, they automatically headed straight for the great room. "Bub bles and Brie please," Polly called out as her maid raced ahead to pop a cork.

As they entered their main play area of the house, Polly continued. "Forget Ped-Xing. I'm much more miffed with Brian Smith. Who does that brownie-baking ex-Pip think he is, copying me! I signed on to be the nice nice judge! I gave each contestant the full one hundred points and cooed lovely lies about their half-a.s.sed performances. He copied me exactly." judge! I gave each contestant the full one hundred points and cooed lovely lies about their half-a.s.sed performances. He copied me exactly."

"Being nice got you insults and a death threat from a lunatic gangsta with so many body piercings, he'd never make it through any airport security," Randy said as he settled himself comfortably on the sofa.

"Ped-Xing is just a young blowhard and braggart. Of course, with a body like his ..." Polly stopped and looked at Tim. "Did you get any vibes, dear?"

"Um, no," Tim said, helping himself to a gla.s.s of champagne, and trying to evade the ongoing issue of his mother always being on the lookout for someone who might take him away from her.

Polly cleared her throat. "As I started to say, with a body like his, and all the work that goes into crafting such a sculpture of flesh, he's won bragging rights."

Desperate to change the direction of the conversation, Tim picked up the television remote and turned on the wide-screen television. "Let's see how Channel Four spins the story," he said.

Everybody focused on the honey-blond female reporter who was holding a microphone to Ped-Xing's face.

Polly said, "That little twerp is stealing my limelight! Channel Four didn't ask me me to do an interview!" to do an interview!"

"You didn't threaten to be the next star-turned-killer," Placenta reminded her.

The reporter said, "Tonight, probably a bajillion viewers watched as you said a few mean things on I'llDo Anything to Become I'llDo Anything to Become ..." She stopped to look at her notes. ..." She stopped to look at her notes. "Famous "Famous. In fact, you threatened to murder one of the judges." She stopped and spoke to the anchor in the newsroom. "Roll the tape, please." A replay of Ped-Xing telling the world that he'd be famous if he killed Polly Pepper filled the screen.

The camera returned to the overly serious reporter. "Do you have any comment?"

Ped-Xing looked at the woman as if she had green teeth. "Aren't there a couple of wars in the Middle East that you should be covering? Or a drive-by shooting on the freeway? Or a s.e.x scandal starring a Disneyland costume character?"

The reporter looked taken aback. "We're also told that the police are taking your threat seriously and have placed Polly"-again, she looked at her notes-"Pepper, under round-the-clock protection."

Polly smiled and leaned against Randy. "Are you my big and strong security detail?" she purred.

"If Bambi Levitz, the Wonder Reporter who doesn't seem to know you, says so, it must be true," Randy said.

As Ped-Xing tried to move away from the camera, the reporter grabbed him by the arm. "One last question. How, when, and where will you kill Polly... Pepper?"

"I'm not killing anyone or anything!" Ped-Xing roared. "Except maybe my compet.i.tion! Dang! That old judge should consider my remark a huge compliment. I hear she used to be a star. Thane Cornwall is n.o.body. The headlines would be bigger if I took her her down. D'ya think?" down. D'ya think?"

"Old? Used to be?" Polly fumed. "From now on, he'll never get more than fifty points from me! Refill, please," she called to Placenta, wiggling her gla.s.s above her head.

Unless the household was preparing for one of Polly's legendary soirees, Sat.u.r.day morning at Pepper Plantation was never any different from every other day of the week. Placenta was up by six, but the mistress of the manse crawled out of bed only when the mood hit her. This morning it was nearly ten when Polly and Detective Archer wandered in their bathrobes and bare feet to the poolside patio breakfast table. "Does the sun always rise this early?" Polly said to Placenta as she slipped on her sungla.s.ses, then walked straight toward her b.l.o.o.d.y Mary, which had been set on the table.

Placenta poured coffee for Randy Archer and placed a gla.s.s of fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice at his setting. "m.u.f.fins." She pointed to a basket covered with a linen napkin. "Breakfast will be out in a jiff."

"You're a gem, Placenta." Randy smiled.

"I'm on my best behavior to keep you around." Placenta nudged him with her elbow.

Polly, too, smiled and sighed with contentment. She placed a hand on Randy's and gave it a quick pat. "You were a dear to protect me from unimaginable Twilight Zone Twilight Zone evils last night," she said, looking into his dark brown eyes. "You have a way of making me feel-sweet sixteen." evils last night," she said, looking into his dark brown eyes. "You have a way of making me feel-sweet sixteen."

Randy's smile radiated brighter than the light reflecting off the water in the swimming pool. "And you have a way of making me feel-like the guy in the Cialis commercial who's always ready."

Polly sighed again. "Nothing can spoil this splendid day."

At that moment, the telephone rang. "Naturally!" Polly said, and gritted her teeth. She called out to Placenta, "If it's J.J., tell him I'm hiding from killer fans!" Then she took another sip from her BM.

In a moment, Placenta appeared with a breakfast cart on which rested plates of berry-topped heart-shaped waffles, caramelized bacon, sausage links, poached peaches, and fruit compote. From her ap.r.o.n pocket she withdrew the cordless phone. "It's your producer, Richard Dartmouth," Placenta said, holding the handset out for Polly, who grimaced.

"I'm in Bolivia." Polly pushed the phone away. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll do another promo spot. Especially not today!"

Placenta grumbled as she pushed the On b.u.t.ton. "Miss Pepper's keeper says her cage is empty. When the bounty hunters drag her AWOL b.u.t.t back I'll ask her to call you." She listened a moment longer, then added, "That's the only section of the newspaper that she ever reads anyway."

As Polly and Randy were playing footsy under the table and enjoying bites of their breakfast, Placenta said, "He's summoning everyone for a meeting tomorrow at ten."

"On a Sunday?" Polly protested. "What if I want to go to church?"

"And give the pope a stroke? Mr. Dartmouth said to tell you to read the Calendar section of the L.A. Times L.A. Times before you call him back." before you call him back."

Polly looked across the table and picked up the morning newspaper, which was faceup with a large picture of an entire town in the Midwest submerged under floodwaters. Polly tsked in sadness for the victims. "If they lived here on Stone Canyon Road, such things wouldn't happen." Polly pulled out the Calendar section and started to skim the contents. "What am I looking for?" she asked. Then Polly's jaw dropped and her eyes bugged out.

"What's the scoop?" Randy asked as he watched Polly's lips move as she read the words on the page.

"I'll Do Anything to Become Famous. It's a dud!" she whined.

Tim finally wandered to the table, his hair disheveled, and still wearing his bedclothes: a diaphanous threadbare T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. Until his first infusion of caffeine for the day, it was impossible for Tim to be fully conscious. He automatically wrapped his hands around a mug of organic Mayan blend coffee that Placenta had set before him. Tim took a long swallow. Then, looking at his mother's face, which showed a combination of anger and resentment, he managed to ask, "'Nother dead body drop by?"

"We're all dead! Everyone a.s.sociated with this stupid summer show. Apparently the ratings for last night's debut stank!" Polly snapped. "I'm sunk."

"You always float to the surface," Tim grumbled, his mind beginning to limber up.

Randy took the paper out of Polly's hands. He found the article and began to read aloud. "Headline," he said, "'Famous Flops.'" He looked up at Polly, and then continued reading. "I'll Do Anything to Become Famous "I'll Do Anything to Become Famous made its big, splashy network debut last night. However, someone forgot to tell the Sterling Studio executives that their target audience of tweens dash out of their cribs on Friday nights. Thus, the ratings were lower than the calories in a Diet c.o.ke. made its big, splashy network debut last night. However, someone forgot to tell the Sterling Studio executives that their target audience of tweens dash out of their cribs on Friday nights. Thus, the ratings were lower than the calories in a Diet c.o.ke.

"An American Idol wannabe, I'll Do Anything to Become Famous is sc.r.a.ping the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper reality genre. It rates somewhere between America's Most Moronic Medical Mistakes and Britain's Worst Teeth."

Randy looked at Polly, then continued. "Although it's scheduled to run for five weeks, we'd rather be dodging stray bullets in South Central than wasting time watching this drivel. To quote one of the judges (Thane Cornwall), after pa.s.sing judgment on an a.s.sembly line of pathetic nontalent, we'd like to say to this show: 'Dismissed!'"

Polly looked morose. "They didn't even mention my name."

Placenta handed Polly another fortifying b.l.o.o.d.y Mary.

Polly had lost her appet.i.te. She nibbled on a slice of caramelized bacon, then set her utensils on her plate and patted her lips with her napkin. "I suppose I'd better call Dartmouth. They'll be pulling the life support plug on the show, but I'd rather hear the death rattle from his lips."

Placenta handed Polly the telephone and called out the numbers that she'd written down. In a moment, Polly was connected to the president of unscripted programming. The conversation was brief, and when Polly disconnected the call she had a slight smile on her face. "He and Sterling are willing to let the show try to find its audience. I'm not out of work after all. At least not yet. The meeting tomorrow is to talk about strategy and promotion. I suppose I'll have to make the rounds of all the talk shows again. I need a vacation."

Polly didn't have to travel far to attend the Sunday morning meeting in Richard Dartmouth's home. He lived in the posh Benedict Canyon area of Beverly Hills, which was close to Polly's own estate. Tim drove his mother and Placenta up the steep incline of Tower Drive and found the address that Richard had e-mailed to Polly. They parked on the street, then rang the front gate doorbell at which a plaque on the iron bars read BIENVENUE a MON MAISON HUMBLE.

"Humble, my foot!" Polly said, looking up at the grand house. "A house should speak for itself. You don't see a sign on Pepper Plantation announcing Ma maison est plus grande que votre maison Ma maison est plus grande que votre maison!"

"Always on time!" Richard said when he opened the door. He looked at Tim and Placenta, and back to Polly. "Does your posse always travel with you?"

"Can't shake my shadows," Polly trilled as she eased her way past Dartmouth and into the house. She oohed and aahed, pretending to admire Richard's designer home. "The view is almost as breathtaking as my own!" she exclaimed, looking from the foyer through the vast open s.p.a.ce to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the distance. There was a view of the Pacific Ocean.

"The others are in the study," Richard said. "May I get you something to drink before we start? Some juice? A Pellegrino?"

"Don't bother about me, dear," Polly said absently as she examined the s.p.a.cious, modern decor of the open floor plan and doted on several bizarre objets d'art objets d'art that looked like large paper clips bent into contorted shapes resting on display pedestals. "Mother and Child," she read from a bra.s.s plate in front of one piece. "The way they're tangled together, I suppose child is suckling. If you're making mimosas, I'd kill for one." that looked like large paper clips bent into contorted shapes resting on display pedestals. "Mother and Child," she read from a bra.s.s plate in front of one piece. "The way they're tangled together, I suppose child is suckling. If you're making mimosas, I'd kill for one."

Richard hesitated before looking at his wrist.w.a.tch. "Um, gee. Mimosa. Yeah, okay. Let me look into that. It's Sunday. Maid's day off. Er ... In the meantime, my study is down that corridor." He pointed in the vast distance. "Join the others and make yourselves comfortable."

Polly and company made their way down the long sandstone-tiled hallway that took them past a gallery of what Polly called "the weirdest collection of paintings I've seen since that horrible Orbinthall exhibit of Ted Bundy's, Richard Speck's, and John Wayne Gacy's thumbprints on canvas."

When they arrived at the study, Polly, Tim, and Placenta walked in to find director Curtis Lawson, Steven Benjamin, Brian Smith, and three unfamiliar people, two of whom quickly identified themselves as executives at Sterling Studios, and the third as Richard's secretary, Lisa Marrs. Polly introduced her son and maid before shooing them to the other side of the room and promising the group that her family would be invisible.

While waiting for Richard to arrive, Lisa sidled up to Polly. "Oh! My! G.o.d!" she said, the color draining from her face. "I swear, I never do this-s...o...b..r all over movie stars, I mean. But you're you! I mean, you're Polly Pepper! Duh! Of course you know that. Everybody does. Well, not everybody, but most people are pathetic. I'm rambling. When I was a little girl I watched you all the time. I wanted to be you when I grew up! My family thought I was a freak."

"You look perfectly normal," Polly said, not sure if she should encourage further conversation.

"It's just that I made them nuts with all the loud laughing that came from my room," Lisa said.

Polly embraced Lisa's effusiveness and beamed her most sincere smile. "You look way too young to remember The Polly Pepper Playhouse The Polly Pepper Playhouse!"