Three patrol cars were parked outside the executive lot. The police investigation was continuing. I found a parking space in the back, worked up my courage, and, ducking under a few scattered raindrops, started toward Puckerman’s trailer.
I passed the row of executive cottages, still dark and empty. The wardrobe building loomed in front of me at the end of the street. I turned and made my way to the side of the building.
“Mr. Puckerman—uh—Puck? I need you to answer some questions.” I rehearsed how I would begin. My voice came out high and shaky. I didn’t realize how nervous I felt.
I started along the wardrobe building wall—and stopped. “Oh, wow,” I murmured. I blinked two or three times. No trailer. It wasn’t there. The narrow road stretched to the back of the building and ended with a dark fence.
“Perfect,” I muttered. “He’s gone.” Had he moved his trailer to another part of the studio?
I turned and started toward the commissary. I was so early I had time for a cup of coffee. Wiping a raindrop off my forehead, I saw Betty Hecht hunched at the front door of the wardrobe building. Her red hair was tucked into the hood of a yellow rain slicker. She was struggling with the key to the door.
She called out when she saw me walk by. “Claire? Need an umbrella? I think it’s going to pour.”
“I’m okay,” I said. I took a few steps toward her. “You’re here early.”
She got the key to work and pushed open the door. “Yes. I got an early call. Lots of wardrobe changes at
Please Don’t
today.” She sighed. “Everyone’s eager to get back to work after … after all the trouble.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?” I pointed. “The trailer at the side of the building? Did they move it?”
She pulled back the slicker hood and shook out her hair. “Trailer?”
“Yeah,” I said. “The one that was right back there?”
“There’s no trailer over there,” she said. “What kind of trailer?”
“There was a man inside it and all kinds of jars and bottles. A short little man with a black beard and bushy black hair.”
She made a face, thinking hard. “Claire, do you think we should call security? You saw a suspicious man behind this building?”
“He said his name was Puckerman,” I said.
She frowned. “Sounds like a made-up name. I’d better call the studio guards right away. We have to report anything we see after these horrible deaths.”
“I … I don’t think he was dangerous,” I said. “I mean, he was sitting in the trailer. Like he belonged there.”
“But there
is
no trailer,” she insisted.
I decided not to tell Betty about the magic potions. She would probably think I was making some kind of joke, pulling a prank.
“I’ll tell my dad about it,” I said. “Take care, Betty. I’d better get to the set.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” she called as I hurried away. “Can’t be too careful these days.”
* * *
The morning rehearsal went okay, although it was hard to get used to the gray-uniformed security guys crawling everywhere like ants. We all knew why they were there, but it was still creepy to have these tough-looking dudes watching our every move. And they all had revolvers in holsters at their waists.
Was I tense much? Three guesses. I knew the stairway scene was coming up tomorrow, and I had to convince myself over and over that I wasn’t going to die the way Darlene in the old movie died.
Delia seemed more worried than anyone. “I promise I’ll make sure they double-check every stair,” she said. “No way there will be a hole for you to fall in.”
The rehearsal ended at noon. Les Bachman had afternoon meetings, so he sent us home early.
* * *
That night after dinner, I was on my way to my room to text Jake and see if he wanted to hang out. And I wanted to make sure he hadn’t turned back into a ninety-year-old again. I knew I’d have nightmares about that forever.
But Dad stopped me in the hall. “Claire, do you have a minute to talk?”
“Sure,” I said. “What’s up? You—you don’t look good.”
Dad sighed. He definitely looked a lot older. “Guess you might say I’m a little stressed. We can’t have any more accidents on that set. The police … the endless investigation … I don’t want the studio to be known forever just as a death scene.”
He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll be honest with you. After all the trouble, we probably should stop this production. But if we do, the studio will fold. It’s do or die for us. We’re under a lot of pressure, Claire.”
He guided me into the den. He motioned for me to sit in the black leather armchair. Then he dropped wearily into the armchair beside me. He sighed again. “Maybe we should just call it a day. I don’t know. The Castellanos want to shut it down. We know we’re facing lawsuits from Lana and from Jeremy Dane’s people. It’s going to be expensive.”
“Sorry,” I murmured. I didn’t really know what to say. I pictured Jeremy’s melted head.
“It’s impossible to run an old-fashioned kind of studio these days,” Dad said, frowning. “It’s taken everything we have to keep things going. If we can finish this film without any more horrible incidents…” His voice trailed off.
Finally, he raised his gaze to me. “I know acting in this film has meant a lot to you. But—”
“You know,
my
big death scene is coming up next.” I don’t know why I blurted that out. I guess it was just on my mind.
He squeezed my hand. “I’ll make sure you’re okay. You’ll have more security than the president.”
I pushed back against the soft leather. I tapped one hand against the chair arm. “Have you heard from Mom?”
He nodded. “She’s still in New York. Her meetings are going pretty well, I guess. She’ll be there till Saturday. Then she’ll come home a limp noodle. Exhausted. You know how she is after these trips.”
“She hates flying so much. She told me she takes enough Ambien to put her out for the whole flight. She’s so funny. All her hilarious expressions. She told me she sleeps like a bird.”
Dad chuckled. He pulled out his phone and squinted at it. Then he tucked it back in his pocket.
“Don’t worry about your birthday party,” he said. “None of this will affect your party. We’re still going all out. It really will be A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We’ll light up the trees. Have bands playing everywhere. A dance floor. People walking around in fabulous costumes. Like a dream.”
“Awesome,” I said. A little bit of the gloom seemed to lift off him as he described the party plans.
“We’ll open the whole studio. Let everyone go wherever they please. We’ll have a band in the plaza by the front gate. And a band in front of the commissary. You can choose the bands. Maybe we’ll open Soundstage B and let kids film whatever they want. You know. Birthday greetings or whatever.”
“Excellent. I really can’t wait, Dad. I’ve been thinking about my party nonstop.”
He raised tired eyes to me. “It will be good for the studio, too. A huge party will bring a lot of press and media attention. And it’ll remind people that the studio can be a magical place. Not a place for crime scene investigations and horrible deaths.”
“That’s true, and—”
“We’ll close off Mayhem Manor. We’ll leave the whole back lot dark. Your guests won’t have to go anywhere near it. In fact, we’ll put up security and make sure no one goes near.”
“Brilliant,” I said. I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “You’re the best.”
His phone buzzed. “Have to take this call.”
I jumped up and ran to my room to call Delia. I had to tell her about the party plans. She picked up on the third ring. I heard music in the background. “Where are you?”
“I’m on Sunset,” she said. “Just driving around.”
“Huh? By yourself? Why didn’t you invite me to go with you?”
A pause. “I don’t know. Just felt like being alone, I guess.”
“Delia, you’re still upset about me doing the stairway scene tomorrow?”
“You mean you’re
not
?”
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
Silence.
“I was just about to text Jake. See if he wants to hang out,” I said.
“Don’t waste a text,” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Before I left home, I checked Annalee’s Facebook page. Don’t go there. Unless you want to see a lot of photos of Jake on a couch with Annalee, and the two of them lip-locked in every shot. It looks like they’re trying to eat each other’s face.”
I groaned. “Annalee strikes again. Is there any boy she hasn’t had?”
Delia replied, but the phone cut out for a second.
After the disaster with the potion last night, I’d decided to finally tell Jake plain and simple how I feel about him. But now, he’d probably just laugh in my face. Or maybe run away. Whatever I said, it would be
awk-ward
.
I lose.
I lose and Annalee wins.
I suddenly felt like I could cry. Instead, I said, “Delia, I’ll be okay tomorrow. Really.”
“Tell that to Jeremy.”
“Shut up. I mean it. Shut up. There are security dudes every inch of the studio. And those stairs will be totally checked. I’ll be fine. I know it.”
But as I changed the subject and started to tell her about my birthday party, my sadness about Jake was replaced with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. A heavy feeling of dread.
What if Delia was right? What if everything
wasn’t
going to be fine?
31
“THOSE STAIRS LOOK NASTY”
THE NEXT MORNING, DAD DROVE Delia and me to the studio. The sun was finally out, the winds had stopped, and it was a beautiful L.A. summer day.
But it was nearly silent in the car. Dad was thinking hard about something and kept his eyes on the road. In the backseat, Delia kept her hands clasped tightly together as if she were praying. I fiddled with the satellite radio, moving between the pop stations.
Dad always pretended to like the new music. But I could see that Ke$ha was annoying him. I clicked off the radio. “Dad, what are you thinking about?”
He smiled. “Actually, I’m thinking about
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Aren’t there a lot of fairies in that play? Fairies that play tricks on humans in the woods?”
“That’s the one,” Delia chimed in from the backseat. “We read it last year. It was supposed to be a comedy, but it wasn’t very funny.”
“We did a college production at USC,” Dad said. “I tried out for Puck, I remember. But I didn’t get it. I—”
“Whoa!” Delia and I both cried out.
“What did you say?” I demanded.
“I tried out for Puck. And—”
“Puck!” I cried. “Oh my god!” I turned back to Delia. She looked as excited and surprised as I was.
“Are we dumb or what? Why didn’t we remember?” I said. “Puck. Of course. From the play. How could we forget that name?”
Dad started talking about the USC production he was in, telling us some funny things that happened. But I didn’t listen. I was thinking about the Puck in the Shakespeare play, trying to remember what he does.
I was still thinking about it when we arrived at the studio. We said good-bye to Dad and made our way to Mayhem Manor. The studio was crowded and busy today. I think they were filming a big musical production number for
Please Don’t
.
Two security guards stood beside the makeup trailer. One of them nodded and said good morning as Delia and I entered. The other one studied us with eyes narrowed to slits and didn’t speak.
Another security guy, whose big belly poked out of his tight gray uniform shirt, watched us enter the dressing room. We pulled on our ’60s outfits. I adjusted the tight straight skirt.
We studied ourselves in the full-length wall mirror. Our clothes had to match the last day’s shooting exactly.
Delia didn’t speak. “Are you okay?” I asked.
She sniffed. “I don’t think so. I’m scared for you. Really.”
I shook my head. “Everything bad has already happened. It’s over. Think positive.”
She rolled her eyes. “You never change. Big smile in a thunderstorm.”
I laughed. “That sounds like one of my mom’s sayings.”
At the entrance to the old mansion, a lanky, red-haired security guard asked our names and checked us off on his clipboard. Inside, we were greeted by the usual cold, damp air. Voices echoed off the high walls, and we heard the rumble of equipment being moved around.
I hesitated. Delia took my arm and led me onto the set. Les Bachman was doing his angry number, arguing with a crew member, tossing his hands in the air and pacing back and forth in front of the guy.
“Look. There’s Annalee.” Delia pointed.
I heard Annalee’s teasing laugh. Then I saw her near the far wall in deep shadow. Who was standing behind her? I squinted to see.
It was Jake, and he had his arms around her from behind. He was holding her close to him. She turned her head and they kissed.
I had a sinking feeling. Like my whole body suddenly weighed two tons and I was about to drop to the floor. I turned away. My chest felt all fluttery.
“Seriously. Doesn’t Annalee ever quit?” Delia said, rolling her eyes.
I felt too upset to answer her.
I realized I still had the aging potion in my bag.
I could turn Annalee into a ninety-year-old woman.
The thought cheered me up a little.
I glanced around. I saw more guards standing tensely near the set. Dad wasn’t kidding around. He really didn’t want any more horrible incidents.
Les came running over to greet us. “Hope you have your running shoes on, kiddo.”
“I’m … a little nervous,” I stammered.
“That’s good,” Les said. “Get the adrenaline going. Don’t worry. We’ll do a couple of run-throughs. You know the drill.”
I nodded. “Darlene is desperate to get out of the house. I lead the way up the stairs. I run all the way up, looking terrified. The others follow me.”
“Good.” Les brushed a lint ball off the shoulder of my blouse. “In the original movie, your character fell through a hole in the stairs. But we’re not going to do that. We have much more horrifying things planned for you all in the rooms upstairs.”
That made me smile. “Awesome. I really don’t want to fall through any stairs.”