Long, Lean, and Lethal

“If this is ‘the’ shower scene—sorry, not the shower scene but a character imitating the shower scene in a way that we don’t get sued, I’m not so certain I can find a way to see it as a happy ending. Doug, I’m just not ecstatic here.”

  He grinned and leaned toward her. “It’s all a dream.”

  “What?” she said.

  “There’s a stalker in the Valley—we established that in previous episodes.”

  “And we’ve let it hang awhile.”

  “It’s a soap,” Doug said impatiently. “Things are supposed to hang.”

  “Come on, pay attention, we’ve got a busy afternoon here,” Joe said.

  “All right, Jennifer, here’s the concept. You’re upset, you don’t know who the father of your child is yourself.”

  “Which, of course, we’re going to milk forever,” Joe Penny told her.

  “Am I having a two-year gestation period?” she inquired sweetly.

  Doug snorted. “Maybe only a few short months,” he told her cheerfully. He widened his eyes, teasing her. “Maybe we’ll be going to the baby’s graduation next year.”

  “I thought you were explaining the story line,” Joe said impatiently.

  Conar leaned forward impatiently. “You’re worried about your situation. You’re suddenly very religious, and not at all pro-choice. You think each man is going to be furious. There’ll be cuts at first into scenes in which you are envisioning fights among all of us, and all of us ending up angry with you. As you’re busy being so afraid, the Valentine Valley Stalker comes upon you, unaware, and begins stabbing you in the shower. Naturally, his face never shows. The scene ends with you slinking down in the tub.”

  “Grabbing the curtain and falling forward with my eyes open?” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s what is intended.”

  “And we’re not going to get sued?”

  “No, of course, our killer is imitating a piece of pop culture.”

  “It’s a mistake—a big mistake. You’re going to lose your audience, not have it panting, Joe,” Conar said irritably.

  “I am the producer here, and this is the way the ‘bible’ was written.”

  “I still don’t understand how I wind up happy with this,” Jennifer interrupted.

  “It’s all a dream,” Doug told her. “You’re imagining how much trouble you’re in, how much everyone hates you, what everyone might want to do … and how it could all end quickly if the stalker did come after you.”

  “I don’t like it,” she said. “With what’s happened here lately, Joe, how can you do this?”

  “I’ve had this idea for a long time, ever since all the hoopla on Hitchcock’s hundredth birthday. Hey, Hitch was a good fellow. His actresses thought the world of him. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and I am making no bones about the fact that I admire him,” Joe said.

  “And no bones about the fact that Hugh Tanenbaum has made a fortune playing off of Hitchcock originals,” Andy murmured.

  “You guys, I feel really, really uncomfortable about this,” Jennifer protested. “And, Conar, your new superstar, is on my side.”

  “Oh, I don’t like it,” Conar said. “But I think that you have to shoot the scene.”

  “What?” she said, startled. Whatever personal was going on between them, she had been certain that he was on her side.

  “Jennifer, you know, you are just an actress on this set,” Joe reminded her politely.

  She stared at him. Conar stood suddenly, taking her by the shoulders. “Give me a minute,” he said to the others. He propelled her some distance away.

  “This is sick!” she whispered furiously. “Help me out here.”

  “Do the scene,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Liam is here.”

  She started to look around his shoulder. “Where—”

  “Don’t look, and trust me when I tell you—Liam is here. Do the scene.”

  “It’s a closed set.”

  “It’s a big building, with lots of ways in, and lots of ways out,” Conar told her. “Shoot the scene.”

  “But—”

  “Please.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Why not? When this is shown, my mother will be frightened to death.”

  “No, she won’t. She’s an actress herself. She knows it’s make-believe,” Conar said, walking away from her. “Jen is okay now, Joe. She’ll do it,” Conar called to him.

  “Good, good. Okay, let’s take positions, set the cameras … we’re going for a lot of angles, and lights! Get the lighting right, please. I’m afraid we’re in for a lot of shots, Jennifer.”

  “Really?” she murmured sarcastically. “The original with Janet Leigh took seven days to film, as I remember. We got that kind of time, Joe?”

  “Funny, Jennifer.”

  “Show her the script,” Jim directed. “Roger,” he told his head cameraman, “check all your angles while we’re here … Niall, get on those breakaway walls. Everyone, places. Jennifer, we’re starting with just the thoughts in your head. I’ve watched interviews with both Hitch and Janet Leigh. You’re washing away your guilt as well as dirt. The shower is good, it’s cleansing, it will make you feel clean again, clean and innocent, except that no amount of water can make you clean. You’ve cheated on your husband, you’ve slept with your own brother-in-law—not to mention half the town in previous episodes. But that doesn’t matter now. You’re having a baby, and you don’t know whose baby it is. Your father is going to string you up. Your mother will make you pay the rest of your life. Your conniving oldest sister, Verona, will see to it that your inheritance is stripped away …”

  The water ran, she showered. They changed some of the walls, the point of view of the camera, and she showered again. Once more they changed the walls and the POV. And again, and again …

  “Great. Andy, you’re doing the killer, right?” Jim inquired. “I need you now. The black face netting is there; the robe is there, and the rubber knife.”

  “I’ll do the killer,” Conar interrupted. He stood, approaching the set. His eyes met Jennifer’s. “You all right with this?”

  “I’m only an actress on the set,” she told him.

  “Are you all right with this?” he repeated.

  Of course she was all right with it! If she did suspect him of anything, she’d still be an idiot to think that he’d harm her here and now. And yet…

  Jesus! She hadn’t wanted Andy doing it!

  “I’m all right with it; please, let’s just get it done.”

  The first time was horrible. The curtain was ripped open. She couldn’t help feeling a terrible pain at the pit of her stomach, a roil of fear as she saw the huge man before her—faceless. The netting Conar wore blacked out his features completely. It would keep the camera from betraying anything about him, anything at all.

  The knife began to fall.

  And she began to scream … and scream.

  And she screamed, throughout the afternoon.

  In all, they spent five hours on the scene. The rubber knife came at her again, and again, and in the end, she fell, clutching the shower curtain.

  Just like in the original, they used chocolate for blood. The knife never really touched her flesh, and no slashes would be shown on her body.

  She went down.

  The cameras homed in on her face.

  Once …

  And again.

  And at last Jim called, “Cut!” And this word was followed by “And that’s it! It’s a wrap!”

  Conar reached out to help her up. He hadn’t ripped off the netting yet.

  She recoiled from his arm, stumbling up on her own. Niall Myers came up swiftly with her robe. She quickly slipped into it, shivering.

  The majority of the stage floor seemed dark. Yes, Jim had wanted perfect light, and so she was in a pool of it, and everything around her seemed dark. Liam was out there somewhere. That’s what Conar had said. Why? Had Andy convinced him that the murderer was among them?


  “Good girl, Jen, that was terrific,” Jim congratulated her. He started to hug her. She was too unnerved.

  “I need to change,” she told him. “I’m freezing.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “We’ll go right home,” Conar said, only he didn’t look like Conar. He was a faceless, huge enemy; he was the man who had wielded the knife. She shook her head.

  “Doug is coming for the weekend. He’ll drive me.”

  She forgot her slippers, stepping barefoot onto the cold cement of the main floor. All the other sets were in darkness. The Valentine dining room, Prima Piatti … empty, and dark. And yet … someone might be lurking there. Someone might be watching from there …

  She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt certain that she was being watched.

  The killer was watching. He was out there. He had watched her in the shower, watched the lights, the sets, the camera, the action. He had watched the knife, slashing down on her …

  Yes, oh, God! The killer was out there!

  Out there …

  Or nearer here.

  She was surrounded, and yet she was alone.

  She ran then, anxious to be away from all of them. Nearly desperate to reach her dressing room.

  And still she felt that he was out there.

  She could almost feel him breathe.

  Chapter 17

  JENNIFER HURRIED INTO HER dressing room and locked her door behind her.

  At last, she thought, a safe haven. She sat in the chair before her mirror, shivering for long seconds. Then she looked up. She was white. Get a grip! she warned herself. Her shivering slowly eased, and with it the strange sensation of panic that had seized her. No one was going to hurt her on this set.

  She quickly stood, dried, and ran a towel through her hair. She put on her street clothes, then hesitated. She was still really white, and come hell or high water, she was going to see her mother tonight. But she needed a little makeup if she was going to go see Abby.

  She blended base onto her cheeks and dialed Granger House. Mary answered; Edgar was out, maybe visiting Abby—Mr. Drew Parker was out as well, maybe seeing Abby, too. Mary had talked to her mother a while ago, and Abby was doing well. Jennifer could just call the hospital and talk with her mother now if she wanted—it was probably right around dinnertime, and they wouldn’t be giving Abby her sedatives for a few hours.

  Jennifer called the hospital, using the extension Mary had given her. Her mother answered cheerfully.

  She didn’t know why, but the sound of Abby’s voice brought tears to her eyes. Perhaps because she was so disturbed by the scene they had just shot. It was television, make believe. She was an actress, that was all.

  “Mom? You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, darling, feeling just a shade like a pincushion, but then, that feeling has been growing over the years with this sickness. But it’s been fine, dear. Drew has come by, Edgar, and even your friends! The girls stopped by—”

  “Kelly and Serena?”

  “Yes, with that Randy Rock—what’s his real name?”

  “Jay Braden.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Everyone has been so nice. And I’m only here for tests.”

  “I’m glad, Mom. They should be nice,” she added, half teasing, “they’re in the presence of a true legend when they’re with you.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. Maybe my legendary days aren’t quite done,” Abby told her. “We’ll see. No rush here, or anything.”

  “Um, no rush, eh? Well, I’m going to hang up and get out of here so that I can see you soon, okay?”

  “Don’t come alone, Jennifer. I know you think I’m crazy, but—”

  “Mom, Doug is coming for the weekend again. And Drew is there, and Edgar and Conar—and Conar went and hired cops to watch the house. I’m going to be fine. You worry about you.”

  “But no going out alone, sweetheart, please. Even with” the dog.”

  “Even with the dog,” Jennifer promised. She hung up. Within a few minutes, she was dressed, her makeup set, her hair dried and brushed.

  She unlocked her dressing room door and returned to the main stage floor. Walking along it, she heard her own footsteps, clapping against the cement.

  “Doug?” she called. No answer. “Conar, Joe, anybody?”

  She heard something … a rustling? Clinking? Ticking? Something. It came from the now darkened area of her character’s bed/bathroom.

  “Damn,” she swore softly. “Doug! Damn it, where are you? Let’s go.”

  Suddenly, even the few lights in the main section of the floor went out. The room was plunged into total darkness.

  Then something—someone—was hurtling toward her. A person. She could hear footsteps. Coming toward her, faster and faster. She could see nothing in the darkness.

  Neither, surely, could he!

  Her heart was racing; her breath seemed caught in her throat. She slipped out of her shoes and silently ran across the room. She heard a whooshing sound.

  What was it?

  A knife striking out! she thought in panic. Striking nothing but air …

  Then she felt it. Movement so close to her it barely missed her. She held her breath. Prayed that the pounding of her heart would not give her away …

  She closed her eyes; gritted her teeth. The sound was to her left then, farther, farther …

  She waited. It seemed like an eternity.

  “Jennifer?”

  It was Doug calling her.

  “Hey, why are all these lights out?” someone else demanded. Conar. His voice was deep, angry—and anxious.

  Once again, the main floor of the stage was illuminated. At the end of the length of the floor, near the exit doors, were Conar and Doug.

  They stared at her.

  “Someone—” she began, but she had no voice. “Someone was just in here,” she whispered.

  They both looked at her.

  “Lots of people were just here,” Doug said, not having a clue to the fact that she was standing there in terror. “Joe Penny and Andy were both very firm when they ordered a closed set. But you know, even with a closed set, for that kind of shot, you need people. So we had the cameramen, a lighting man, Niall from props, the two producers, the director, a writer, as in me—and Conar. Because he’s … well, because he’s Conar. I guess that sounds like a lot of people, even though it was a minimum of people. But most of them are still here … somewhere.”

  Conar was studying her. He walked toward her. She forced herself to move, walking back toward her shoes.

  He stared at her hard. She slipped back into her shoes. “Someone was just in this room with me. And I think he had a knife.”

  “Jen, we just did a shower scene, for heaven’s sake,” Doug said.

  Conar ducked down to the ground, where her shoes had been. “Here’s your knife,” he said. Rising, he produced the rubber knife he had used for the scene.

  “Someone was playing a cruel joke on you,” Doug said.

  “Were they?” she murmured. Her knees were rubber. She didn’t think that it had been a joke.

  “Want me to look around?” Conar inquired.

  Where’s Liam? she wanted to ask him. But did Doug know that Liam had supposedly been there, watching the filming, watching the people involved. Why hadn’t he seen who it was?

  Conar hadn’t waited for her answer. He didn’t seem to mind the dark. He walked onto every set, moving things, looking around.

  “Conar!” she called.

  “What? I can’t find anything.”

  “And you won’t. Whoever was here left before the lights came on. Let’s get out of here. I want to see my mother.”

  “I’ll tell Liam about this. I invited him to come over later.”

  As she had said she would, she drove with Doug. Conar followed behind them. When they reached Abby’s hospital room, she was awake and looking radiant. Drew Parker was at her side. They had been talking. Drew looked gravely at Jennifer, and then t
houghtfully at Conar.

  Watch out for the missing staircase, he had warned her.

  He rose. “I’ll let you three talk with Abby for a few minutes,” he said. “I’m afraid they’re coming soon with her sedative.”

  Abby smiled at Jennifer’s tight look of concern. “I’ve had some really great rest in here.”

  “Well, maybe we could change medications at home,” Jennifer suggested.

  “Jennifer, I don’t want to spend my life medicated and in bed,” Abby said softly.

  Jennifer fell silent, looking at her hands.

  “So how was the day’s work?” Abby asked cheerfully.

  By some kind of tacit agreement, not one of them mentioned the shower scene. Doug took the lead, talking about the terribly promiscuous way Natalie Valentine was leading her life. Poor dear was preggers, without a clue as to the father. “We’ve a million miles to go with this one, of course,” he told Abby, his eyes widening and eyebrows wiggling Groucho Marx style.

  Abby laughed, enjoying the conversation. “Is she going to be pregnant forever—or only a few weeks.”

  “Well, for the next month, at least. We’re actually changing the ‘bible’ around a bit, changing our main story line for the season, so I’m not sure. But I’m sure it’s going to be fun.”

  “And outrageous,” Abby supplied.

  “Of course. Only on Valentine Valley,” Jennifer told her.

  Abby’s nurse arrived; the same sweet girl who had been there the night before. Reluctantly Jennifer rose to leave. She hugged Abby tightly. “I love you so much!” she told her mother.

  “You, too. Jennifer. You won’t go out—”

  “Jennifer will be as snug as a bug in a rug,

  Abby,” Conar assured her. “She has me and Doug, Drew and Edgar—and a cop in the front yard at all times. Not to mention Lady in the_ back.” _

  “And Ripper in my room,” Jennifer said sweetly.

  “He barks like a son of a gun,” Conar said.

  “All right. All of you. Behave and take care.”

  “We will,” Doug promised.

  They left her. She took her pill obediently, and the nurse shooed them out of the room.

  Again, Jennifer opted to ride with Doug—Conar was right behind them in her car, and Drew Parker was right behind him.