Death of a Movie Star Read online

  “I’ll take ‘Mother of All Tantrums,’” said Rye.

  A faint gasp and a murmuring of the word “Casmo” rippled through the audience. Micah pretended not to hear it. The actors craned their necks and looked at Cassandra Moreaux. She sat expressionless.

  Micah smiled. He didn’t trust her. She had no good reason to be on the show, and he didn’t trust her. He continued, “OK, Rye, you’ve chosen ‘Mother of All Tantrums.’ According to the paparazzi, the actor listed in this category has thrown one or more viral tantrums that include all of the following: at least fifty cuss words, at least three broken objects, at least five minutes in length, and, finally, saying the words ‘I am an artist’ at least thirteen times. Rye Steadly, are you ready to name the ‘Mother of All Tantrums’?”

  “You betcha. I’m so ready.”

  “Who do you accuse?”

  “I accuse Cassandra Moreaux!” said Rye, with a fist pump for a flourish.

  The audience murmured loudly. Micah plowed forward. “Tiffany, please show us the answer.”

  Tiffany, the comely pointer, performed her magic, and a name instantly appeared. The audience gasped and, after a beat, clapped loudly. The displayed name was not Cassandra Moreaux. Rye Steadly slumped in his seat and looked sick. The chant of “Casmo” erupted spontaneously, first quietly then more loudly. Micah didn’t understand. It was wrong…it was supposed to be…He looked at Cassandra Moreaux. She smiled and winked.

  ***

  It’s not an easy task putting on makeup remover when you’re smiling like a clown, but Cassandra couldn’t help it. Micah Bailey, the Tinseltown Tinker Bell, had stepped in horse shit on national TV, and she couldn’t stop smiling. It almost made the whole dreadful experience worthwhile. Thank God the money guys were nothing if not predictable. That’s how she knew she’d make it past the first round. For the last two weeks, they’d plastered her face on coast-to-coast commercials. They finally had a big name on their pathetic show, and they wanted to show it off; it didn’t take a marketing wizard to know that they’d throw super-tubular Rye Steadly under the bus in a heartbeat if it meant keeping the golden goose safely locked up for another day.

  And if that seemed crooked, nobody really cared. StarBash belonged on the lowbrow side of the performing-arts spectrum, next to roller derby and professional wrestling. So as long as the money guys got paid and the cretin audience got to see some movie star ass-slapping, everyone went home happy. Except Micah Bailey. Cass sat at the makeup table in her trailer and covered her cold-cream-slathered face with a warm washcloth.

  Despite what Micah had exclaimed to the world, the actors lived full time in trailers on location, sequestered by contract from the rest of the world. The magnificent hotel with the penthouse suites had been movie magic made out of stage flats and scaffolding. Because of problems controlling the wind, the crew had assembled it that morning and broken it down that night. The rest of the shows were filmed on the soundstage or back lot, which contained smaller, more manageable portions of the façade. From façade to soundstage to back lot, the entire production took place on Lenora Danmore’s estate, Rancho de Fresas, located eighty miles outside Los Angeles in the foothills northwest of Ventura. Lenora had purchased the property from one of the studios many years before and had spent her twilight years turning it into what was to be The Lenora Danmore Museum.

  Cass turned out the light, slipped into bed, and closed her eyes. As her mind slowly wound down, backtracking over the events of the day, it got stuck in one particular spot, on a particular face, actually: Brandi Bonacore. She and Brandi shared an unpleasant history, and the sight of her sitting with the other contestants had unsettled Cass. StarBash loved putting microphones on troublemakers. And nobody in the world knew how to make trouble better than Brandi Bonacore—especially for Cass. This show had been a bad gamble in the first place. Cass didn’t need a big-mouthed booby trap making it even worse. She thought about some different solutions to the problem, everything from bribery to a big diva tantrum, but eventually decided that maybe it didn’t really matter. She had fulfilled her contractual commitment and had no intention of sticking with StarBash for more than a couple of episodes. During that time, she needed to concentrate on the real purpose: Lenora Danmore. With any luck at all, she’d finish her business with Lenora the next morning. After that, Cass planned to orchestrate the fastest heave-ho departure in the history of reality TV. Goodbye StarBash, goodbye Lenora, goodbye Brandi-what’s-your-name.

  ***

  Lenora stepped into the doorway of the workshop. Micah stood across the room next to a sports car, his latest project. He ignored her. She admired his appearance, which had always been a secret source of pride for Lenora. He was handsome, not like a flashy European charmer but like one of those old-time salt-of-the-earth Americans who built log cabins and hunted wild game. He had simple, utilitarian, and neatly trimmed American good looks. Unfortunately, he also had the straight-and-narrow personality to go with it.

  Lenora eased into the shop a few steps and said, “Micah…”

  “Yes, Lenora.” He compared paint samples to the hood of the car and didn’t bother looking up.

  “I’ve always…in my own way…been a dependable part of the team, haven’t I?”

  “OK,” said Micah.

  “And everyone knows ‘dependable’ is practically your middle name.”

  “What do you want, Lenora?”

  Lenora told herself to stay calm. Micah had an infuriating way about him, especially when she wanted something. She continued: “We have always been a team.”

  “That’s not why you’re here,” said Micah.

  “The final two exhibits just came out of design.”

  “And…”

  “They’re calling for six more androids. We have to go for another season. I need the money. I need you to make the deal with the network,” said Lenora.

  “Disneyland opened with only twenty attractions and wet paint. Start with what you have and add to it as you go along,” said Micah.

  “This isn’t Disneyland. It’s more comparable to the theater, which means I’m only going to get one shot. If I don’t make it on opening night, the museum is as good as dead. Why take that kind of risk when we don’t have to?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” said Micah. “I haven’t made the deal because I haven’t decided.”

  “You have the highest-rated show in history. What exactly is the problem?” said Lenora.

  “We’ve become a mirror image of the institution that we’re supposed to be mocking. That’s the problem. We chase ratings and dollars, and we’ll do anything to get them. And since we’re talking about it, what happened out there with Cassandra Moreaux? We sacked the wrong actor, and we did it for the money.”

  “It’s reality TV! What do you expect?” yelled Lenora.

  “OK. I’ll give you the answer. I haven’t decided. That’s the answer, and you’re just going to have to live with it for now. There’s plenty of time to worry about next season.”

  “I’m trying to be reasonable, Micah, but I’ll drag you into court if I have to. You’ve seen me do it to others, and I’ll do the same to you if I have to!”

  “And tie up your money with high-priced lawyers? I don’t think so.”

  “You listen to me, Micah! You make the deal, or we’re through! Do you hear me? We’re through!”

  “Does that mean no more gin rummy?” asked Micah.

  Lenora stormed out of the workshop. He’d done it to her again.

  Chapter three

  An hour before the scheduled meeting, Cass received a hand-delivered message from Lenora telling her that the meeting place had been changed. It said, “I’d like to show you my museum. Meet me inside. Just follow the signs. Pretend you’re a tourist.”

  Cass cussed. She had done the show. She had lived up to her part of the bargain, and now she expected some good faith from Lenora. Instead she got manipulation.
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  Cass grabbed her handbag, closed the trailer door behind her, and did what the note said: She followed the signs—life-size images of Lenora—that had been planted all over the property. There was Lenora the pauper flower girl, Lenora the gypsy with ruby-red lips and shiny dagger, Lenora the settler riding shotgun on a six-horse buckboard, etc. All of the signs pointed up the hill to a large Spanish-style structure, and all of them had the words “Lenora Danmore Museum.” Farther on up, past the museum, sat Lenora’s famous Victorian mansion. It looked like a predator hovering at the top of the mountain and could be seen from many miles around.

  Cass looked down at her outfit. What do you wear to confront the woman who stabbed your mother in the back? Executioner garb might’ve been a little over the top, so she made do with a muted turquoise V-neck knit sweater with a gray scarf, gray skinny jeans, and simple flats. The outfit matched her mood…and the cold, gray February morning in California.

  The signs, all positioned along a network of neatly trimmed converging paths, led to a cobblestone street that branched off from the main road that ran the length of the property. Cass followed the cobblestone street past a large parking lot until it ended at the Spanish tiled building. She stopped at a short distance for a look. A stucco archway spanned the cobblestone street. At the peak of the archway, an imposing sign, cast from solid bronze, said, “Lenora Danmore Museum.” In front of the archway, two guard stations, with a striped boom gate between them, blocked the entrance to the museum. They’d obviously designed it to resemble the classic looks of an old-fashioned movie studio. Cass frowned. She’d seen her share of movie-star museums, and they usually left her feeling like she’d just witnessed an indecent display of self-gratification.

  Cass approached one of the guard stations. It had a speaker and a ticket slot built into the glass. The portly guard on the other side of the glass smiled and said, “Hello. Which call sheet are you reporting for?”

  “Uh, excuse me?” said Cass.

  The guard smiled again and massaged his double chin. And then he froze—catatonic, call-the-ambulance kind of froze—but before Cass had time to panic, a techno-digital voice said, “Please choose from one of these Lenora Danmore productions.” And then the glass partition of the guard station lit up with a list of ten or fifteen of Lenora’s movies.

  “I’m here to see Lenora Danmore,” said Cass.

  Once again the digital voice said, “Please choose from one of these Lenora Danmore productions.” Cass, not a Lenora Danmore fan to say the least, chose the least offensive movie from the list, and the guard instantly came back to life. She figured he must be some kind of android-robot thingy.

  “Please type in your first name,” he said.

  Cass tapped out her name on a keyboard that appeared on the glass.

  The guard smiled and said, “Thank you, Cass. Here’s your pass. Please wear it around your neck, and keep it on at all times.” He pushed a plastic card attached to a lanyard through the slot and said, “Now you better hurry, they’re about to shoot your scene.”

  OK, that was bizarre…but kind of interesting, thought Cass. She stole another glance at the chubby robot and then passed through the raised boom gate and down the cobblestone street, which led to a large portico and a set of ornately carved wooden doors. Above the doorway a sign said, “Those Who Make Movie Magic Will Live Forever.” The doors opened automatically and revealed a sight that caused Cass to stop dead in her tracks. She’d expected the usual claustrophobic shrine full of props, costumes, and a screening room that ran a never-ending loop of Lenora’s first studio audition. And maybe a cheesy gift shop on the way out. What she actually saw was a chaotically busy studio courtyard full of rehearsing actors, harried craft workers, and a small army of manic gofers zigzagging every which way. A series of large rolling metal soundstage doors lined the sides of the courtyard. Each door had a big stencil number and a rotating beacon light next to it to indicate whenever filming might be taking place inside.

  This is too much, thought Cass. There’s no way this is real. She stepped forward for a closer look but immediately got intercepted by an electric cart. The driver of the cart—a perky twentysomething in a business skirt and a ponytail—said, “Hi. My name is Jo. Are you Cass?”

  Cass didn’t answer. She stared closely at the driver.

  Then the driver repeated the question in exactly the same way with exactly the same voice inflection, and Cass became suspicious. She said, “Yes, I’m Cass. What’s the circumference of the earth?”

  “Twenty-four-thousand-nine-hundred-and-one miles.”

  “Who wrote Symphony No. 9 in D Minor?”

  “Ludwig Van Beethoven.”

  “What is the official state dance of Wisconsin?”

  “The state dance of Wisconsin is the polka.”

  Robot. The place is crawling with robots, thought Cass.

  “It is nice talking with you, Cass. I am going to give you a lift to the soundstage. Please get into the cart, and place your hands on the black bar.”

  Cass climbed into the cart, and, just like at an amusement park, when she put her hands on the black bar, a different bar lowered onto her lap and locked her into place. She tried pulling up on the bar. It didn’t budge an inch. The cart sped away.

  “You are on stage nine, but I have to warn you, the director is in a bad mood. One of the performing dogs peed on his storyboard.”

  All right, that’s it; this shit’s getting scary, thought Cass, but before she had time to even think about it, the cart pulled into the soundstage. The restraining bar raised, and the driver said, “Here we are, Cass. Have a wonderful day, and remember…break a leg! Please exit to your right.”

  Cass got out of the cart and watched as it backed out into the courtyard. Then the big soundstage door closed and left her standing in the dark, except for a single beam of light that pointed to an escalator just a few feet away. Above the escalator entrance, an illuminated sign said, “Enter Here.” The handrails of the escalator had embedded fluorescent lighting. She looked around the darkened stage and saw a glowing exit sign, an escape route, on the far wall. She thought about the two options for a second and then stepped on board the escalator; she needed the meeting with Lenora ASAP. When her foot hit the escalator tread, a voice said, “Please hold on to the handrails.” The same message then repeated in Spanish, French, and Japanese.

  As she moved forward into the mysterious darkness, Cass had the unpleasant realization that Lenora’s museum project had started looking decidedly first class and that it actually had her halfway hooked.

  The escalator passed through a small opening in a black curtain and into a wide-open soundstage where up ahead Cass saw an exact recreation of the barn interior from Simon’s Glory, one of Lenora’s early movies. But, she realized as she got closer, the set didn’t just depict the interior of the barn; it depicted the whole shoot: director, cameraman, camera assistant, sound crew, light crew, barn animals. It looked immaculate, perfect in every detail, and even though it showed only a static display, it looked ready to jump right onto the movie screen. She stared…maybe more than halfway hooked.

  The escalator voice dislodged Cass from her gaze. It said, “Please prepare to disembark,” delivered in English and subsequent languages. At the end of the line Cass stumbled forward into a partitioned viewing section. The large barn scene occupied one side of the exhibit, and the viewing section, where she now stood, occupied the other.

  “Hello, my dear.”

  The voice startled Cass. She turned, expecting another robot encounter but saw Lenora. There was no mistaking the high cheekbones accented by green eyes. Everything else didn’t look quite as recognizable. The refined nose had plumped somewhat with age, and the perfect lines of her famous face had given way to some droop and jowl. For an eighty-seven-year-old, she still looked pretty good, though. Cass fumbled for some words and said, “Lenora Danmore…”

  “Yes, and you’re Cassandra Moreaux
. Come closer, and let me look at you.”

  Cass stepped closer.

  “And there’s that beautiful blonde hair, one color but so many shades. You can’t buy hair like that. The same goes for your elegant neckline. You can ruin it by eating too many potatoes, but you can’t buy it. Now teeth, those you can buy, and you obviously did, but that’s OK. Overall, you still have a great deal of your original equipment. Do yourself a favor, and keep it that way because plastic surgery is like a French cookbook; the pictures look beautiful, but in real life the results are sometimes scary. There, that will be the last of the unsolicited advice. Now, tell me what you think of my little project.”

  This lady is sharp, thought Cass, maybe a little too sharp, but it beats a drooling bib and diapers. She answered the question, “What do I think? Unexpectedly surprised, I guess you could say.”

  “‘Unexpectedly surprised’ is probably OK, considering you haven’t even seen the best part yet. It’s interactive. You have to experience it to get the full effect. Go stand in that circle, and you’ll see what I mean. I’ll sit over here and watch,” said Lenora, as she pointed toward the display.

  Cass didn’t like the way Lenora had quickly taken control of the conversation, but before Cass had a chance to say anything, Lenora had turned her back. Cass watched as she walked to one of the cushioned benches that lined the back wall. She wore a green sleeveless China print dress and had good posture and a strong gait. She didn’t look anything close to her age. Whatever she is on, I want some of it, thought Cass.

  Cass turned toward the display and noticed a peninsula walkway that jutted out from the rest of the partition. At the end of the protrusion, in the heart of the set, was an illuminated circle. It still had a handrail partition, but it occupied a space in the middle of all the action. She walked up to it. Inside the illuminated circle, fluorescent green words rhythmically flashed on and off. They said, “You have talent! Step inside, and show the world!”