Kiss of Death

I WAS ABOUT to leave for the office when Chet called from Arizona. It was eight A.M. my time, two hours earlier for him.

“Dad made it through the night,” he said. “The doctor’s optimistic, but he warned Mom and me it’ll be awhile before we can be sure he’s going to be okay. I’m encouraged because Drake Memorial’s cardiac unit has the best reputation in the state.”

Chet laughed when I told him about discovering we had a character who lay down for a nap ten years earlier and vanished from the story. “Betty found the original actor, so we’re going to work him back in. And this morning Tommy and I are auditioning child actors.”

On his end of the line Chet groaned. “A couple years ago I had dinner with a woman I thought might be interesting. In the middle of the appetizer course she told me her profession was managing her six-year-old son’s career. That date lasted about twenty-five minutes before I sent her home in a cab.”

In the background, I heard a woman’s voice. Chet turned away from the phone for a moment. When he came back he said, “Honey, they’re going to let us visit Dad in the ICU. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

After we said goodbye, I thought about our conversation. His father, Richard Thompson, a decorated former P.O.W., was the man Chet admired most in the world.

Magic sauntered into the room with that “it’s time to pet me” look in his big green eyes. He rubbed the top of his head and his shoulder against my ankle. I picked him up and cuddled him. When he was finally satisfied, I set him down.

Glancing at the clock, I calculated the amount of time Chet would have been allowed to stay in the ICU, and called Chet on his cell phone. He answered on the second ring, and sounded pleased when he heard my voice.

“Chet, would you like me to come to El Mirage for a couple of days, to keep you company at the hospital?”

“Of course I would!” His enthusiasm erased any concern that I might not be welcome. “I’ve wanted you to meet my folks. Can you really get away?” I heard his self-deprecating chuckle. “I must sound demented.”

“No more than usual,” I joked. “If it’s convenient, I can be there late this afternoon, your time.”

Chet gave me the address of Drake Memorial Hospital. As soon as we said goodbye, I dialed Nancy’s number.

“I’m going to El Mirage, Arizona, for a couple of days, to be with Chet, while he’s waiting to find out about his father’s condition.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I remember when he flew all the way from The Hague to make sure you were safe, and how he rushed to Las Vegas when you were missing.”

“Can you do me a favor? Penny’s so busy getting ready for the taping of her first TV show I don’t want to ask her to take Magic. Would you keep him for me until I come back on Saturday?”

“I have a better idea. I’ll stay at your place. That way the little prince doesn’t have to be in a strange environment. And it’ll do Arnold good to wonder where I am.”

WHAT WITH PACKING a carry-on duffel bag with clothes and other items I’d need for the trip to Arizona, writing out instructions about Magic’s care—including the name and number of his veterinarian—calling Betty and asking her to have the company’s travel agent book my round-trip airline reservations, saying goodbye to my four-legged room-mate, and leaving my spare key at the reception desk for Nancy, I didn’t get to the office until nearly ten o’clock.

Carrying my duffel and a tote bag, I got off the elevator on the twenty-sixth floor to face an unusual sight: a double row of folding chairs on which sat the twelve little girls that the casting people had called in to be interviewed by Tommy and me. With each of them was an adult woman, presumably the mother. Some of the children and adults were whispering to each other, creating a soft rustle that sounded like the tide stroking a shoreline. Several women were fussing with the little girls’ hair and clothes.

As I made my way around the chairs, the whisperers fell silent. I sensed the group watching me. They were probably wondering who I was, if I was somebody important.

I turned to smile at the children and their chaperones, and greeted Betty Kraft at her desk outside the office I shared with Tommy. “Your ticket confirmations are just coming through from the travel agent,” she said. “Where are you going to stay in Arizona?”

“At whatever hotel or motel is closest to the hospital in El Mirage. When I get there, I’ll let you know. If you need me, I have my cell.”

“Figured you would,” she said with a smile. “I’ve arranged for a car to take you to the airport and pick you up when you come back.”

Easing the airline ticket information out of the printer, she asked, “Do you have credit cards with you?”

I patted my tote. “Right here. Oh, I almost forgot. Sometime this morning Jay Garwood is coming—”

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “He’s hungry,” she said. “Company manners. Too early to tell what he’s really like.”

On his side of our partners’ desk, Tommy was nervously eating an apple fritter from a donut box in front of him. He offered the box to me, but I shook my head. “No thanks. I had breakfast.”

“So did I, but we’ve got to talk to children, so I need fortification.” Tommy swallowed a few bites as I sat down and stowed my duffel and tote under the desk. He finished the fritter and put the box in a deep drawer. The act reminded me of one of those old movies where the private eye keeps a bottle of whiskey in his desk.

Wiping his hands on a paper napkin, Tommy said, “The casting people canvassed the kid actor agencies and preinterviewed about fifty little girls until they narrowed the list down to those outside.”

I buzzed Betty and asked her to send the girls in one at a time. “Alone, please—no adults. We want the child to be as natural as possible, without the stress of a parent hovering or coaching.”

As each child came into our office, we had her sit in the visitor’s chair Tommy had positioned so that it faced both of us.

The first eight girls we saw resembled the actor who played Gareth enough so that they might possibly be his daughter. To get an idea of their personalities, we chatted with them, and then had them read a few lines from the script. Some talented performers did poorly at cold readings, but then came alive in front of a camera. We had them read mainly to see how they handled the challenge, because in addition to connecting with the camera, we need performers who can listen and take direction.

The moment the ninth child came into the office we could see that her coloring was wrong for the part. She had an interesting, offbeat quality—which is how she must have survived the screening process—but I didn’t think the audience would believe that she was the daughter of actor Parker Nolan, who played Gareth.

“Yes.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. She handed me her photograph with her few professional credits fixed to the back.

“I’m afraid this isn’t going to be the right role for you, Monica,” I said gently. I hate this part of the job! Please, dear God, don’t let her cry. “We’ll keep your picture, and call you when another part comes up.”

“Monica’s mother just slapped her across the face, right in front of me, because she wasn’t in here as long as the other girls were!”

I felt as though I’d been slapped, and my reaction was rage. I jumped up and yanked the door open. Betty followed me. Typically, Tommy, who hated confrontations, stayed behind.

We caught up with Monica and her mother at the elevator. A red mark still burned on the little girl’s cheek.

Forcing myself to smile, I looked down at Monica. “Sweetie, I know I told you that this part isn’t right for you, but you impressed us so much we just thought of another role you can play. Betty, would you take Monica over to Craft Services and get her some juice, or milk—whatever she wants.”

Monica’s mother was practically giddy with delight. “How exciting! What kind of a part are you giving—”

No longer able to conceal my fury, I backed Monica’s mother against the wall between the elevators. I kept my voice low, but my tone was icy. “I know hundreds of people in this business,” I hissed. “If you ever lay a hand on that child again I promise you I’ll hear about it. I’ll turn you in to child protective services, and you’ll lose your little captive meal ticket.”

She began to sputter and defend herself, but I cut her off. “There is no excuse for what you did, and I swear to God I’ll make sure you never do it again.” Of course, I was bluffing, but I could see I’d frightened her so I pressed the advantage. “I have your address. To make sure you don’t hurt that child again, I’m going to have you monitored.”

That was a real whopper of a lie, but she was shaking, too cowed to realize that I didn’t have any such power. Time to change tactics, before she recovered her wits. I took a step back, and in a more pleasant manner, I said, “Go to our studio cafe down on the tenth floor and have a cup of coffee. My assistant will bring Monica down in a little while. Order lunch for the two of you, and sign my name to the check.”

Of the final three girls we saw, number eleven was the one Tommy and I immediately agreed would be perfect to play Gareth’s daughter. We interviewed the final girl out of courtesy, but made sure she stayed with us as long as had the others. Later today, Tommy would tell our head of casting to call the selected child’s agency and make the deal to hire her.

Betty stuck her head in the door. “Security is on the line. Didi Rose and her mother are at the desk downstairs. Didi said you invited her to come to the studio.”