Final Curtain Read online

  Polly exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

  Karen continued. “You’ve played this role exactly three hundred and seventy-seven times over the years. All to rave reviews. You missed one little rehearsal today. I’m not at all concerned. Let me introduce you to your cast.”

  Karen knew precisely how to treat divas in order to induce mutual trust and respect. In Polly’s case, however, Karen was a genuine fan. She had set out on her career path with the mission of one day working with Polly Pepper. This was her golden moment. “This is Emily Hutcherson, our Vera Charles and your ‘bosom buddy,’” Karen said as she singled out Emily from the group.

  Both actresses smiled and shook each other’s hand. “Lovely to meet you, Emily,” Polly said. “You know you really have the best role in the show.”

  “It’s not the lead,” Emily said through gritted teeth.

  “No, it’s not, honey.” Polly returned Emily’s frosty greeting.

  Karen continued. “Marshall Nash is our Beauregard. Sharon Fletcher is Gloria Upson. Charlotte Bunch will be playing Agnes Gooch. Hiroaki Goldfarb is Ito. And here’s little Ward Stewart, your adorable nephew Patrick.” As Karen introduced the entire principle cast, Polly was overwhelmed by their graciousness. No one other than Emily Hutcherson seemed to mind that the star had nearly missed the entire first day. However, she again apologized to each of them for her untoward and totally out-of-character behavior.

  Karen looked at her watch. “Okay, gang,” she said. “Thanks for a terrific first day.” She glanced at Polly. “I’ll see all of you back here tomorrow at ten A.M.”

  As the cast collected their cell phones and car keys, they each welcomed Polly again with handshakes. Part of Tim’s job was to pay attention to the people his mother met in business and social situations. She was notorious for her inability to remember the names of anyone who wasn’t a star. However, as Polly made small talk with her cast, Tim’s peripheral vision picked up something interesting. Instantly his gaze was riveted to a muscled stud in a tank top leaning against the auditorium wall and who seemed to be intently observing all the action onstage. For Tim, the world instantly came to a freeze-frame stop. However, the planet abruptly began to spin again when director Karen Richards walked up the aisle, kissed the god, and left the theater with him linked in her arm. Tim’s heart sank as deep as the Titanic.

  When most of the other actors had left the stage, Sharon Fletcher, who was cast as bubblehead Gloria Upson, approached Polly. “Miss Pepper?” she said.

  Polly looked up and smiled. “Please, dear, call me Polly. And you are…?”

  “We met a moment ago. I’m Sharon. Fletcher. I’m engaged to your nephew, Patrick, but of course I’m the wrong woman for him, and you’ll get rid of me.” She laughed.

  A light dawned on Polly. “Didn’t I see you on Hygiene of the Stars?”

  Sharon blushed. “That’s awfully sweet of you. I mean a great big star like you knowing about little ol’ me and my unique flossing technique. I’m flattered. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am that I get to work on the same stage with you. Wait’ll I e-mail my dad, who thinks you walk on water. Oh, I hope I’m not being sacrilegious! I just mean that he worships you. I do too, of course.”

  Polly was instantly captivated by the pretty, young actress. She assessed Sharon and instantly decided that her blond hair was natural, as were the two substantial breasts, which nested in her pink cashmere sweater. “Shelley,” Polly said, “I feel terrible that I’ve never seen your daytime drama, One Life—”

  “Weather,” she corrected. “And it’s Sharon.”

  Polly looked puzzled.

  “It’s Never Fair Weather,” Tim translated for Polly, as he held out his hand to Sharon and gushed, “I’m Polly’s son. Wow! I watch your show all the time. This is very cool. Where’s your husband, Troy?” He looked around.

  Sharon sniggered. “That’s just on the show, silly. But Heart—the real name of the guy who plays Troy—is one of my best friends. He’ll be around and I promise to introduce you,” she said, as she looked Tim up and down.

  Now it was Tim’s turn to blush. “I’m not usually star-struck, but Troy, er, Heart is—”

  “Tell me about it,” Sharon interrupted. “Even I’m in awe of his looks. As a matter of fact, he’s in awe too.” She and Tim shared a laugh.

  Polly chimed in. “Sharon, honey, if you’re not booked for dinner this evening, why don’t you come to our little place? You can fill me in on what I missed today. And give me a rundown on everybody else in the cast. I’m still feeling abominable for the screwup. It was my agent’s fault.”

  “Ach! Agents! You can’t work without ’em and you can’t kill ’em. I was negotiated out of the role of Lois Lane when my brilliant agent insisted on more money than Warner Brothers was willing to pay. I should have had Kate Bosworth’s agent. Oh, and I’d be absolutely thrilled to have dinner with you!”

  Polly acted as though she were the grateful one. “Everyone seems so darn nice around here,” she said. “Except Gerold Goss, of course.”

  “Oh, him,” Sharon said with a shake of her head. “He stormed in this morning and began cursing at poor Karen. What a temper! He backhanded a can of Coke on the table and sent it flying into Hiroaki’s lap. Anyway, from the way Karen and Gerold were acting you’d think they were either lovers or mortal enemies. I figured one of them would murder the other. He’s too weird.”

  Chapter 2

  It didn’t take more than one bottle of Moët for Polly, Placenta, and Sharon to become new best girlfriends. As Placenta served her famous salmon tortilla appetizer, and Tim kept the glasses filled, Polly the primetime TV legend and Sharon the daytime drama star found that they had much in common. Sharon described her brief marriage to an actor who had a fear of disappointing his fans—so he slept with all of them.

  “I had a lousy starter marriage too,” Polly sighed. “The second Mr. Pepper turned out to be a variation on the same ol’ theme of the bluebird of happiness crapping in my wig.”

  “Third time’s a charm,” Sharon insisted, and raised her glass to Polly’s future. “Just don’t go looking for true love in L.A.,” she added. “I have a theory. The San Andreas Fault shakes out all the quality men and leaves the losers behind. They end up working in show business.”

  While Polly laughed she also thought about her new relationship with Beverly Hills police detective Randal Archer. Polly reluctantly admitted to herself that she, Tim, and Placenta were far from successful in their quest of Olympic gold in the mating marathon.

  Sharon raised her glass again. “Don’t get me wrong about the seismological activities separating the wheat from the chaff. There’s a lot of good-looking rubbish in this town! And on a lonely night, I don’t mind a little trash for company!”

  Tim and Placenta both hailed, “Amen!” and clinked their glasses together. The unspoken consensus at Pepper Plantation was that having another bright woman in the house, especially one as down-to-earth as Sharon Fletcher, who had a bawdy sense of humor that matched Polly’s, was a refreshing change from the sycophants who were afraid of saying something of which Polly might not approve.

  Polly took another long sip of champagne and took an even longer look at her guest. “Dear, with your Nicole Kidman skin and Bambi-like eyelashes, not to mention your Pamela Anderson boobs, don’t sit there and tell me you’re not a magnet for the crème de la crème of eligible gazillionaires! The first time down the aisle you’re allowed to marry for love. After that, one must go for all the perks that come with the package of being a trophy wife.”

  Sharon gave Polly a wink of her eye. “Trust me, I’m trawling. I can’t do the soap diva thing forever. Susan Lucci I’m not! Did you see me in People magazine last month? I’m this close to reeling in that cute philanthropist who escorted me to the opening of the Mel Gibson wing of the Museum of Tolerance.” Sharon raised her glass to herself and clinked champagne flutes with her hosts.

  “Enough about my personal life,�
�� said Sharon. “You invited me here to rag about the rest of your cast. I’ll say this much—watch out for your costar, Emily Hutcherson. When you didn’t show up for rehearsal today, that gorilla Gerold Goss announced that Emily would replace you. The moment you came through the doors, she morphed from a beaming supernova to a woolly mammoth trapped in a glacier.”

  Polly sat in silence for a moment. As a certifiable legend, she wasn’t used to having to watch her back around actors of lesser celebrity. “Thanks for the 411,” Polly said. “What about the others? And what about our divine director? What’s your take?”

  Sharon held out her glass for another refill, and considered the question as Tim poured. “I Googled Karen. She’s directed tons of rep and regional theater. Trained at Yale. Turned down Steppenwolf and the Geffen Playhouse to work in Glendale. Seems genuinely lovely. Strong but confident enough not to be mean. Of course this was only day one. By day two, everything could change. By the way, you’ll undoubtedly see the hottest man on the planet hanging around the theater. He’s Karen’s boyfriend, Jamie. They’re trying to keep a low profile but doing a terrible job of it.”

  “I caught their act this afternoon,” Tim said.

  “Oh, and the guy who plays your rich southern suitor, Beauregard—his name is Marshall Nash—he’s a bit more conceited than the average aging thespian,” Sharon continued. “He starred on that short-lived cable daytime drama, Sins of the Father, until he was written out by way of an altar boy uprising. Imagine drowning in a challis of Gallo red? Now he mostly does dinner theater in Maine. Decent singing voice—as he’ll be the first to tell you.” Sharon shook her head and added with incredulity, “But, Polly! You know everybody in the business. Surely you’ve worked with these people before!”

  Polly waved a hand and sighed. “I know a million people, and have worked with a trillion more. But it seems that as I get older my professional circle shrinks. I used to be able to rattle off the names of every Emmy Award winner. Now I can’t keep up with today’s fifteen-minute celebrities. However, I do know Charlotte Bunch, our Agnes Gooch. She’s a decent character actor. An obnoxious Chatty Cathy, but I can put up with her for a few weeks. She’ll make an excellent Gooch.”

  Polly noticed that Sharon twisted her mouth. “What? Something about Charlotte?”

  Sharon shrugged. “Oh, it’s probably nothing.”

  “I’ve known Charlotte for years,” Polly said. “We’re not joined at the hip, but she’s on my Christmas card list. I think.”

  “Well, it’s like this.” Sharon scooted over to be closer to Polly. “When it looked like you were going to be a no-show today, and after Gerold made his casting change announcement, Charlotte and Emily got into an argument over who should replace you as Mame. Emily thought that she was the logical choice for the role, and Charlotte disagreed, saying that because of being a regular on some sitcom ages ago, she herself was actually the more famous and therefore better marquee value.”

  Polly made a face. “Yeah, maybe she’d be swell as Miss Hannigan in a Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall production of Annie in Armageddon, but she’s all wrong for the part of Mame. Funny, yes. Sings a little. Dances somewhat. But she has no grace, no sophistication. She’s most famous for that Jack In The Box TV commercial. Remember? After the E. coli outbreak she played an irascible customer who orders the Biggie Burger with special sauce and barks, ‘And hold the crap!’”

  “That all-purpose phrase made her famous for a while,” Placenta said.

  “Charlotte doesn’t have the ethereal quality that Angie Lansbury carries so effortlessly,” Polly continued. “Nah. She’s nuts if she thinks she’d be any good in the lead role.”

  Sharon drained what remained of her glass of champagne. “Just wanted you to be aware of the parade of loonies who await you tomorrow. And they’re not all in the cast. I suppose you know that Gerold Goss didn’t even want you in the show, but when the theater’s subscribers were polled, you in Mame won out over Kathryn Crosby in When Pigs Fly, and Debby Boone in Urinetown.”

  Polly’s jaw dropped and her eyes popped. “It was a tossup between me and a dead legend’s wife, and a wannabe legend’s daughter? For crying out loud, who did that swine Gerold really want for his theater? Ruta Lee as Heidi?”

  “Try Howie Mandell in Hairspray. But don’t worry, Polly,” Sharon cooed, “Karen is totally committed to you and the show. And speaking of our show, we’ve got an early morning call. I’d better drag my weary butt back home.”

  Polly and Tim saw Sharon to the door and watched her get into her car, a Mercedes SL 500 with vanity plates that read MEWNR. “Me Love Winter?” Polly tried to decipher the cryptic language. “Me Heart Want New Romance?”

  “Emmy Winner,” Tim said.

  Polly gave her son a playful push. “Text-messaging has made you too smart.” They watched as Sharon’s car headed down the cobbled driveway to the twin iron gates at the edge of the estate, which slowly parted as she rolled past the electric eye sensor. As Sharon’s car nosed out onto the street, she gave her horn a quick double toot and then disappeared down the canyon road.

  Polly and Tim closed the front entry door, set the alarm system, and joined Placenta in the kitchen. In tandem, they went about the task of cleaning the dinner dishes and discussing Sharon. Without exception, they all adored their new friend and agreed that Polly would have at least one ally in the theater company. “It’s important to know who your friends and enemies are right from the get-go,” Polly said. “You two keep an eye on my cast for me. I’m never in the mood to be upstaged. By the by, do we know any rich eligible men—straight or gay, as long as they’re loaded—to whom we can introduce Sharon?”

  “She’s got that wealthy philanthropist,” Placenta reminded her.

  “Shows he can’t hang on to a buck. Imagine the insanity of giving it away?”

  Eventually Polly folded her dish towel, laid it on the granite countertop, and announced that she was heading off to bed. “I’ve got to go over my lines before beddy-bye. I’m so excited about tomorrow.” She left the kitchen and headed for The Scarlett O’Hara Memorial Staircase, which led to the second-floor landing of the mansion, and her bedroom suite. From the distance she yelled back, “I’ll kill that albatross Gerold Goss if he publicly insults me again.”

  Chapter 3

  Morning arrived at Pepper Plantation and to the shock and awe of Placenta, the mistress of the manor was awake at six thirty, seated in the kitchen, and ready to be served breakfast. “I couldn’t sleep,” Polly explained. “I’m too eager about going to work. Plus, I want to be extra early. No butter on the pancakes, please. I’ll show that bombastic rat that I’m as reliable as rain on a weekend.”

  Presently, Tim staggered into the kitchen. Until his first cup of coffee he had the physical lethargy and verbal ability of a corpse. He too was not used to getting out of bed before the morning was half over. But when his mother was working and needed a chauffeur, Tim fought the impulse to complain. He reminded himself that Polly asked relatively little in exchange for his weekly allowance, a new car every year, a personal fitness trainer who made house calls, and charge accounts in Beverly Hills at Neiman’s, Armani, Pierre Deux, and Bijan. Usually, by the time Placenta poured Tim a second cup of his favorite fresh-ground Ethiopian java, he was able to focus on the comic section of the newspaper and offer guttural responses to simple questions.

  This morning, however, Tim wasn’t given time for the paper, or for consuming more than one blueberry muffin to go with his allotted one cup of joe. Polly was in a hurry, and when the queen said to move his tushy, Tim did as instructed. He quickly showered and dressed and was waiting in the car when Polly and Placenta stepped into the vehicle at 7:45. The drive to Glendale took less time than expected and when they arrived at the theater, there were plenty of parking spaces in the section of the lot reserved for the cast and crew.

  Polly looked at her wristwatch. “Not even half past eight!” Then she spotted a familiar car. “Talk about
punctual, Sharon’s already here.” Polly pointed to the Mercedes with the vanity license plate. “These new kids have to advertise all of their accomplishments! Oh, hell, it’s probably the only time she’ll get an acting award, so why not boast? Goody,” she added, looking at the reserved parking spots for the director and artistic director, “Karen and Gerold are here too. They can all witness how early I am.”

  Tim eased the Rolls into a space near the stage door entrance. For effect, in case anyone was watching, he slipped out of his seat and made a big deal about opening the rear passenger door for his mother and Placenta and formally ushering them out of the car. He stood at military attention, then made the motion of clicking the heels of his Nikes. He led the way to the artists’ entrance to the theater and opened the door.

  After a brief exchange of “good mornings” with old George the doorman, and signing in on the daily attendance roster, Polly and crew wended their way to the lavatory to check her makeup. A few minutes later they climbed the stairs leading to the stage wings. Calling out in her most theatrical and projected voice, Polly announced herself in advance, “Guess who’s not only on time, but extremely early?” Her voice preceded her arrival onstage, but when she and her entourage stood together facing an empty house, she looked confused. “Where is everybody? Sharon? Karen? Gerold?” Polly asked.

  As Polly, Tim, and Placenta roamed about the half-dark stage and then checked out the auditorium, they killed time by commenting on the need to reupholster the seats, splash a coat of paint on the proscenium, and shampoo the carpet along the aisles. “Ugh. Glendale,” Polly said. Then, one by one, the other cast members began to trickle in.

  Charlotte Bunch was first. She beamed when she saw Polly and hurried from the wings onto the stage to greet her old friend. “Isn’t it too wonderful that we’re doing a show together again?” Charlotte embraced Polly. “My short-term memory isn’t what it used to be, but I clearly recall that week you invited me to be a guest on your show.”