SEX, DRUGS & MURDER ON THE FRANKENSTEIN SET

by Peter Joseph Swanson

There was a dry spell across Tinseltown the summer of ‘66. At RKO inside soundstage 4 the sprinkler system made it storm. A patch of fake mountainside was drenched. Three spotlights flashed on the monster as he stood with his huge arms outstretched.

Jonathan sat behind the camera and took one final look at the notes penciled on his script. This was going to be one of the final shots seen in a complicated movie. In the story, a bomb had been sewn into the monster while he took refuge in the fishing village convent. Now it was to detonate from a lightning strike that was to blow him to bits. The monster waiting on the set was a life-sized marionette. Its joints were hinges. A thin black metal pole up between his legs kept him upright, since even the legs had hinges to fly grotesquely outwards.

Cheryl, the script girl, rubbed her hands in glee. “Finally! We're filming! I'm so jazzed. We certainly don't save the best shot for last, do we?”

Penberry, the director, shook his head at her. “We might run out of money by then. Always shoot the end first. Then, no matter what happens, you have one. You never know what horrible things are going to happen in the meantime.”

She asked, “Like what could happen?”

“You can never tell.” He turned to the cameraman. “Jonathan! Do you have the exposures on that lightning yet? Film it a bit open so it's real bright! I want the flash to flash !”

Jonathan nodded. “And the animation department will be adding a bolt.”

Penberry grimaced. “Not if we run out of money by then. Film it as if this is all we got.” Penberry stood. “We got the lights! Now, camera !”

Jonathan pulled the trigger and looked at his camera dial. He saw the numbers climb to 24 frames per second. “Speed.”

“Action!”

Bill, the special effects man stood behind a protective cinderblock wall. He had just packed the dummy with a few gallons of pig gore from the Santa Paula slaughterhouse. As he waited, he worried if the three long piano wires from the rafters could take the extra soggy weight. The director had decided to add the gore at the last minute, and even with the pole up the monster's butt, the wires could snap and the figure would collapse if they didn't hurry. “Penberry should be the one who blows,” Bill said, and not too quietly.

Penberry yelled, “Now!”

The spotlights flashed one last time.

Bill turned on the juice. The dummy blew up. What was left of the wood pelvis and flaming pants twirled down the pole to the ground. The camera didn't see that, the twirling pants were behind a cloud of smoke and gore. Bill noticed from where he sat. “The director already screws one of us.”

“Cut!” yelled Penberry. He turned to Bill. “Hey, Special Effect Man! Damn it! Is that all the gore we're going to get? It looks like we only blew up a birdhouse!”

Jonathan chimed in, “Thank god the animation department will add a bolt of lightning!” He smiled at Penberry for approval. “ Frankenstein Atom Bomb will be so bad, man!”

Cheryl winked at Penberry. He was ignoring her so he couldn't see that a piece of pig intestine was in her bouffant because it had been a truly disgusting blast. He was too busy glaring at Bill as if he had just been cheated by him.

Bill glared back. “What's your bag?”

Penberry scoffed, “That was our finale?”

“ Yeah!”

“That was it?”

“ Yeah! Screw yourself!”

“What?” Penberry stood indignantly.

“Drop dead!” Bill walked away from the set. He decided then and there that he would not be back. He'd also been offered a Western and just decided to take it. Before he left the soundstage, he paused at a large matte-painting on a 5 by 9 foot piece of glass. It was for when the camera wanted a distant shot of the mountainside, to show the castle amid a few craggy peeks. The castle and craggy peeks part was painted. Where the full sized soundstage mountainside set would show through the glass was a clear area in it near the bottom.

Penberry yelled, “Get back here or you're fired!”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, if you book right now then you're fired!”

Bill smiled. If he was fired, instead of quit, then he would still get full pay. Union rules. Everybody had heard it said twice. He grabbed a wood board and shattered the glass, destroying the trick painting, and then went out into the hot glaring sun. The next morning, while an all female nudist club was playing catch with a long floppy fuchsia two-ended adult toy, they found Bill face down in the surf, dead.

*****

Inspector Adolf arrived at the soundstage in a roaring army jeep. He drove right up to the mountainside set, stopped with brakes screeching, and hopped out. He looked at the cast and crew of Frankenstein Atom Bomb in the eye. “All right, who did it?”

Since it seemed like Inspector Adolf really was expecting somebody to raise their hand, some of the crew chuckled.

Bette Small, the platinum curvaceous actress who would play the go-go dancer, put her script over her face and laughed out loud, then said out of the side of her mouth, “Ain't he a gas?”

Inspector Adolf lit a pipe. For a moment his head became lost in a thick blue cloud of smoke. The cloud spoke, “Murder is very serious.”

Mary, an older overweight woman who would play the nun who does the bomb sewing, nodded sadly in sympathy. “I saw a dead man once. In a dark alley.”

Jonathan glanced at Mary in astonishment. He thought that she looked far too sweet to ever be in a dark alley. He popped a tranquilizer and asked Inspector Adolf, “How do they know it was murder? How do they know he wasn't just drinking and swimming? I bet he was a really messed up cat! Huh Penberry?”

Penberry wasn't paying attention. He rubbed at the copper rouge on his cheeks. He wondered if it really did give him a glow and helped him look younger. He hated being thirty-four.

Jonathan added, “I saw Bill with a can of beer before noon!”

Penberry jolted to attention. “Did somebody say beer? Yes, let's all break for cocktails! I'm craving a nice shot of tequila with a tall beer chaser. Cheryl, is it time for my liquid sunshine? Cheryl? Where's Cheryl?” He was surprised that she wasn't near him.

Inspector Adolf asked Penberry, “Where were you last night between eleven and this morning?”

Penberry sat back down. “Is that when they say he died?”

“Precisely.”

“How did he die?”

Inspector Adolf poked his pipe towards him. “The details haven't been released yet. It's better for the investigation that they aren't.”

Penberry looked at everybody, grinning like a devil. “Where was I last night? Although I hated our special effects man because I thought he was going to make our picture look gauche, I hate his work, but I wasn't even thinking of him at all last night. I was only playing cowboys and Indians at my pool. You know how we have the best Hollywood parties with me, myself and I. And my pool boys. I love Indians with those little butt flaps.”

Inspector Adolf frowned. “Disgusting.”

“No. The costumes are all very nice. Beaded. Very costly. I had the Paramount costume department make them up for me. They sure charged me! And they always all end up at the bottom of the pool.” Penberry looked at everybody like they should be jealous of his fanciful wealthy lifestyle.

Mary wasn't. She just shook her head and commented, “Rich people have lots of alibis, don't they? They have all those people around them, all the time, who like to be around them. I mean … around money.”

Inspector Adolf smiled at Mary. He decided that she looked like a poor man's Shelly Winters. He asked her, “Where were you last night?”

“Well … oops … how embarrassing for me … must I confess?”

“Yes.”

“I was at the hot dog stand, the one that looks like a hot dog. I left at about eleven at night. I was having a bit of a contest with Orson Wells. I won't tell you who won.” She patted her belly. It jiggled a bit. She winked. “But it sure tasted good! I always see him there. I told him about my part. So he gave me advice. He told me to always make sure the camera is at an angle so it's always looking down on me a little bit. Then my third chin will disappear … somewhat.” She laughed. “I told him it didn't matter, being wrapped up like a nun.” She laughed louder. “He was seriously talking to me like you were all lighting up Marlene Dietrich!”

Inspector Adolf asked Mary, “And then you went and murdered Bill?”

She smiled. “Aw! Why would I do that? Maybe I would murder my stunt man. Just kidding. But I had nothing to do with Bill. Like our director, Penberry, I wasn't even thinking about him last night. I went to bed. All by myself. I know that's hard to believe. But I went to bed all by myself!” She was too large to completely cross her arms over her chest, so she grabbed her wrists like it was the same gesture, and she pouted. “Alone! No sugar for me last night!”

Jonathan glanced at her in astonishment, again, wondering why she would. She wasn't married and looked like she could be seventy.

Inspector Adolf pointed to Jonathan. “Where were you last night?”

“At a bar.”

“Are you even old enough to be at a bar?”

Jonathan stiffened. “I'm twenty-two, man.”

Penberry shouted at Inspector Adolf, “How do you know it's even one of us? It could have been somebody from Bill's own pathetic life – somebody that none of us here have ever met! He was a mean drunk; he could have made enemies all over town.”

Cheryl walked on the set with a tall heavy pile of scripts. “I have the new changes.” She smiled at Penberry flirtatiously. She put the pile on a table.

Inspector Adolf asked her, “Who are you?”

“The script girl. You can call me Cheryl.” She took a pencil out of her bouffant, looked at its sharp point, and then stuck it back in. She looked around at everybody like she was guilty. “And I help our director.” She smiled big at Penberry, again.

Inspector Adolf regarded her thick arms. “My, you're strong. All those scripts must weigh a ton altogether like that.”

She laughed nervously. “I did sports in college. Sure.”

“Where were you last night?”

She stopped smiling and looked guilty again. “Me?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, I was worried about my director.”

Inspector Adolf sucked on his pipe. “Why would you do that?”

“I always think of Penberry!”

Penberry seemed suddenly embarrassed and looked down at his feet.

“Oh, my my my !” Bette Small kicked up her white go-go boots and busted out in cruel laugher. She loudly chanted, “Cheryl and Penberry, sitting in a tree, K – I – S – S – I - N – G!”

Jonathan looked at Cheryl in surprise that she would gush something like that about Penberry, especially knowing how he was.

Bette Small made a sexy bratty pose, which for her wasn't having to do much.

Cheryl suddenly looked lost. Then she ran out the back exit.

*****

The next day, a big chalkboard on the wall said that eleven shots were scheduled for the mountainside set. The dialogue was chit-chat about uranium, body parts, car mechanics, whose castle it was over yonder, a hysterical confession about a fear of falling off of cliffs, and plans made for grave robbing. There was a small Styrofoam avalanche – most of it would be a miniature shot. Then there were some w.s. (without sound) shots filmed of some cars coming and going that would match with what second unit was filming on the real mountainsides of Colorado - including a chase scene. The sound effects man would make it very noisy, later. The several glass shots were scrapped, with the glass broken. The castle exterior would now be stock footage of some real fortress in Bulgaria supplied by their Ministry of Tourism.

That evening, as they were wrapping up for the day, a mature but fit Lucille Ball walked through the soundstage to check everything out. She looked worried. Without lipstick, she had no lips, so her frown fell into a deep horizontal line. She sucked hard on her cigarette. “This one better make me a pile of money.” RKO was now owned by Desilu, so Lucy was the big cheese.

Penberry assured her, “I'll keep it on schedule. And with a title like Frankenstein Atom Bomb , it's a sure hit.”

Cheryl walked up and shoved herself between Penberry and Lucy. Lucy looked at her for a moment, and then asked her, “What do you want?”

Cheryl became flustered, like she suddenly realized what she'd just done, and ran away.

“That's an odd script girl.” Lucy chuckled. “You'd think your script girl was jealous of us standing so close together.”

Bette Small, in her little go-go outfit, jumped up and down like a cheerleader and yelled, “K – I – S – S – I – N - G!”

Lucy glared at her, not amused. “Does she really wear that on a mountainside? It's got to be freezing over there!”

“It's in the script. Her car broke down.” Penberry looked off to where Cheryl had disappeared. He scowled.

Lucy said, “I know the script. What happened to Miss Bette Small's big yellow raincoat?”

Penberry smiled sheepishly. “This costume looks better wet.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes, not taking them off of his. “I bet! Put her back in the raincoat.”

“Hammer just started Frankenstein Created Women and it stars this years top Playboy Pinup. We are competing with that at the drive in. Which Frankenstein do we want them to choose?”

Lucy scrunched up her face and crossed her eyes. She said, sounding like a toy, “Oh cwap!”

He looked at Lucy hopefully. “ Sans the raincoat?”

Lucy reluctantly nodded, and then added, “If Bette Small catches a cold I don't want to hear about it, and the Union better not, either.”

*****

Day three. Jonathan walked into soundstage 6. With all the mountainside shots in the can, he was excited to shoot the scenes at the set of the castle laboratory. At first sight, he was disappointed. Although it filled two corners of the soundstage, the lab really wasn't terribly big. He said to himself, “As long as the props flash real good for my camera.” He popped a tranquilizer and opened his log to read a column of numbers. They were the lighting exposures of the different lamps on the set. Anything else, sparks, bolts of electricity, and fire, weren't listed in the log. The exposures of all that would just have to turn out however they turned out.

Lucy popped in again. “Where's Penberry?” She went over to the camera, sucked hard on her cigarette, and said to Jonathan, “In my day, if you weren't early you were as good as late.”

“He's here.” Jonathan looked around. “Somewhere. Hey. Where's the pit?”

“It's too expense to built the whole set so high up just so that you can have a pit.”

Jonathan looked at his script. “But the hunchback gets pushed into the pit. Oh. Never mind. I see here it's been changed. He slides down into a tank of acid, instead. I see we start with it this morning … shot 37 H. He silently read: CLOSE-UP. HIS BODY DISSOLVES IN THE ACID. Jonathan looked at the set. In the back he spotted a slide going from some of the recycled mountainside down to a glass tank about the size of a bed. “Cool.”

Lucy waved her cigarette at it. “It's two cents cheaper, but it's gross, so I hope your drive-in likes it a lot. Boy the movies have changed. I'm going to get an ulcer.”

Jonathan assured her, “It'll be cool, I'm sure. We'll get the picture in on time. We'll film even if the whole set blows up … for real.” He laughed nervously. “Sure.”

Lucy sucked on her cigarette again as she looked about in disdain. “I hope it does blow up for real. It's fully insured. I knew I should have made a musical, instead. The Sound of Music is making so much money right now I could cry. Oh well, this film has some mountains, too. And a nun. I wonder if Mary can sing. Maybe that's all people really want to see. Nuns singing on mountains. Just kidding.”

“You can be in your own hit musical. You are going to get Camelot. Aren't you?”

“That?” Lucy rolled her eyes that were still expressive even without the magnifying effects of makeup. “Warner Brothers just nabbed it and they paid three times what I would.”

“Are they crazy?”

“Yep!” Lucy smiled sadly and blew a cloud of smoke off to her side. “Warners is shutting down all their in-house work and back-lots. So they wanted one last studio-system hurrah. So they're willing to pay out the nose. Let them rest in peace. Geez, this town is changing fast. At least a Frankenstein film is old fashioned. Just make sure there isn't too much hanky panky, okay? When it comes to all that jazz, we can keep up, sure.” She snapped her fingers like a 50s cat . “But we don't have to lead the way. I've already cut all the potty talk but I'm sure you'll all make up for it with hand gestures, or something.” She shot him an accusing glare, then looked at her exquisite gold watch. “Holy-moly. I got a rehearsal in 20 minutes.”

Jonathan said, “You work too hard. You'll get an ulcer.”

She kissed the side of his face and then skedaddled back out into the glaring sun, to cross the studio street, off to the set of The Lucy Show.

Jonathan yelled after her, “Easy, man!”

*****

Jonathan sat on the camera stool and read a note that was paper-clipped to his script. It was from Penberry, dated the day before . “The first shot of the morning will be a damn mess. Always get all the most expensive and messy shots out of the way, right away. And then we don't have to worry about them ever again.”

Jonathan opened his script to 37 H again and read more about the shot. A dead pig, with its head, tail and legs removed to disguise it some, would slide down into the tank. The tank held real acid. The camera lens was to be butted up to the glass to pick up the gruesome details in close-up as it ate away and the bones exposed.

The shot that would come just before it, 37 G, would be filmed later. It would have the good doctor rolling the double-crossing hunchback up in the drapes and then sliding him down the chute into a safe pool of water.

Cheryl was breathless as she skedaddled up to Jonathan, “Where's Penberry? Where is he? We can't film this without a director. Or can we? Sure we can!”

“Calm down.” Jonathan explained, “It's just a gore shot. Penberry could care less about it and he trusts that I'll get it in focus. Why are you out of breath? Did you just go ape somewhere?”

She rubbed her upper arms as if she'd hurt them. “Oh, just helping get things set up. The shot can't fail. They say that real acid is so … so …”

“Deadly?”

She smiled. “I was going to say expensive .”

Jonathan nodded. “It's very dangerous to film with stuff like that. I think dangerous stuff like that should all be faked. But I suppose these days people can tell when something is phony. They want something real gross. They want to see a body really dissolve away, for real. Let them get their R rating for the drive in. I guess little kids don't drive so they don't make monster movies for them, anymore. The big kids want a real shock or two.”

Cheryl smiled big. “Even a little twelve year old boy likes to look at big breasts and dissolving bodies? You bet! This movie will bring out the twelve year old boy in everybody.” She looked around the room. “Oh where's the director? Oh, I wonder where he could be? I have to … see him.”

“About what?”

She winked. “Oh … nothing.”

Jonathan said, “My contract says that when the director fails to show, I direct the shot. So the director is me. What do you need?”

Cheryl became flustered. “I don't remember.”

Jonathan asked, “What's a script girl doing here for a shot like this, anyway? What is there for you to help set up?

“Oh?” She took her pencil out of her bouffant like she needed it. “Lots of things.”

“Careful or the Union will get pissed. They get paid for their work, so they want to do it.”

She made an angry face and hurried away.

Jonathan yelled up at the stagehand, “Are you ready to roll down the Oscar Meyer?”

He yelled back, “Sure but it's all wrapped up in drapes.”

“It's in the script. I guess they got an extra set of drapes for both shots. I hope.”

The stagehand yelled back. “It feels like a human body in here.”

“That's overdoing it. But that's what you get when you do a Desilu movie. It gets a bit of a budget. Some attention to detail. And a bit of class.”

The stagehand warned, “I better check it out. Shit. There's too much duct tape keeping it all shut.”

Jonathan yelled, “Duct tape is the backbone of this whole town. Let's just do it. Lights?”

“We're ready. Lights!” The spotlights came on from above, along with the lights in the set. Two decorative art deco lamps lit up on each side of the acid tank. Jonathan hoped the acid wouldn't splash on them and ruin them, but he wasn't going to deal with it, now. Too late. He fired up his big camera, checked the speed to see that the dial read 24 frames per second, and then yelled, “Action!”

The body slid into the vat of acid, bubbled and boiled, and then dissolved into a sea of gray wobbling globules. They rose into soupy foam. The art deco lamps didn't get splashed on. The camera didn't get splashed on. He didn't get splashed on. Jonathan was happy.

Cheryl clapped loudly from the exit door. “Oh that was beautiful! What a gas!”

She startled him. Jonathan didn't notice that she'd come back. “Cut! Print! Let's hope the ribcage or something disgusting like that actually shows up to make this shot all worth it.”

Cheryl clapped a while longer and then ran to Jonathan and hugged him. “Come to my pad tonight for drinks and a little roll in the hay! We'll celebrate!” She kissed his cheek and then winked at him again.

He thought she looked crazy. He didn't nod. He'd have to think about it.

*****

The full moon reflected brightly off the desert sand. Jonathan knocked on the door of Cheryl's desert bungalow.

She opened. “Jonathan? Huh? Why are you here?”

“You invited me - ”

“I did? Oh.”

Jonathan grew impatient. “ - when we were on the set.”

Cheryl pushed at her bouffant in confusion. “Oh.”

Jonathan became upset. “Well you did. And we work together, anyway. So I'm just popping by for a visit, then!” He pushed past her and let himself in. “Hey. You have a fire in the fireplace on a hot night like tonight?”

“It's hot?” She laughed nervously. “Oh sure. The desert always gets so cold at night.”

Jonathan said, “It's really hot out tonight. A real heat wave.”

“Really? Well … um … I just like the calm and relaxing mood a fire in the fireplace makes. Sometimes I need peace and tranquility. My poor nerves. Don't talk so loud. Shhh .”

“Oh? You like romantic moods? Then I came just in time.”

The black and white TV was on. The commercial was very loud. Peppy horns blared. A matronly but glamorous Joan Crawford was sucking Pepsi up through a straw while batting tremendous eyelashes.

Cheryl lunged for it and switched it off. “Get out!”

He unbuttoned his shirt. “Why?”

“I hate you!”

“Why?”

Cheryl began to cry. “I hate everybody!”

Jonathan regarded the fire again. “So much for your romantic mood. Hey, what are you burning in your fire? What odd wood. Are you burning your furniture?”

“Don't look at that. Get away.” She sat on her couch and unbuttoned her blouse. “What wood? Oh don't look at that. Come back here. Look over this way. Look here. Look at this. Do you like my blouse? I'm glad you came to cheer me up. See? I'm cheering up!” She rubbed her legs.

He felt his pants getting uncomfortably sweaty as he started to get a boner. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Wooo-eeee. It's sure hot in here.”

“Don't look at the fire! Look at this!” She showed him her boob. She smiled big.

He froze. He got the creeps. Her mood was changing too much. “Yes. You cheer up in a hurry.”

Cheryl frowned. “I hope you do too. Because you're going to button your shirt back up.”

“What?”

“I just decided that I don't want a roll in the hay. Not anymore.”

“Oh? Damn.” Jonathan went to the sink and poured himself a drink of water. “Well, anyway, have you seen Penberry lately?”

Cheryl made a horrible face as she pushed up on her hair. “Who cares. He's mean.”

“I can't find him anywhere – not all day. You heard from him at all ?”

“Well for just asking that, you could have just called.” She nodded towards a giant princess phone with paste jewels all over it.

“I've been out. I've been driving. It isn't like I can call you from my car.”

“No, I haven't seen Penberry all day, cross my heart and hope to die! But you know how he drinks. It makes him mean.”

“How?”

“When nice people are drunk they are even nicer. They want to hug you. They want to kiss you. They want to give you things. He didn't want to give me anything. He's a lousy bastard. Him and his hands all over his pool boys. He never looked at me that way. Damn him!”

“Why should he?”

Cheryl glanced nervously at the fireplace. “Oh. I don't know. You're right. Why should I care about him? He didn't care about me. He was just mean. Out.” She stood up. “I have work to do!” She pointed at her lime-green electric typewriter. “I wish this movie had a screenwriter who could stay around for rewrites. A script girl has no right doing rewrites! Where's the screenwriter?”

Jonathan paused at the door. “That cat stormed out on us when he heard we were going to burn down the nun. Damn was he mad at us for that.”

“Well, hell, why not burn down a nun? We have the budget, the film needs a pick-up right there, the nun has no more scenes after that, and she already has a versatile stunt man from when she gets rescued in the fishing nets. And his nun costume is just waiting to get ruined. So why not? Kill ‘em all! Kill the fucking asshole!”

Jonathan wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Do nuns really explode into flames after they've been exposed to too much radiation?”

“Probably not. But I'm not trying it to find out.” She quickly buttoned her blouse the rest of the way and sat at the typewriter. When she switched it on it made a cheerful ding. “Go now, I have work to do.”

He thought she looked attractive again, now that she looked sensible. He thought it was charming how she'd buttoned her blouse all wrong. He wanted to re-button it for her. He felt himself get hot again. “Me? Go now? With a romantic fire like that making us want to take all our clothes off before we die of heat stroke? Let's take our clothes off and talk about it.”

“Why?”

“You look so very pretty, and smart. And really nice. And … everything. Yeah, man.”

She fussed with a piece of paper. “Out!”

Jonathan glanced at the hot fire again, wondering why the wood in it seemed odd. He quickly pushed at his crotch and then waved goodbye. “Easy, man”. While walking back to his car he felt better after the desert air dried all his sweat away.

*****

Jonathan sat in the fifth row of the screening room, watching the rushes with Mary who was wedged into the seat next to him. Most of the footage looked just fine. A few shot were exceptional. One shot was a very big disappointment.

Mary asked, “Do you really think the movie could take a singing nun?”

He shrugged.

“I could sing while I'm sewing the bomb into his stomach, but that would be crazy. Ooooh. That's it! I could play it like I'm crazy! I could do my own version of Favorite Things , but my favorites list is just crazy!”

Jonathan said, “Aren't all nuns crazy … for being nuns?”

“It's probably a lot better than being barefoot and pregnant and chained to the stove. A walled-up world with no men? Sounds good to me.” She got up with a loud groan. “That ain't crazy. That's pretty smart.” She shuffled up the isle and left the screening room.

Inspector Adolf entered. “Is that you down there?”

“Who.”

“Oh, yes it is you, Jonathan, the very young camera operator. I need an usherette. It's dark in here. I can't see. Where's all the little people with their little flashlights?”

Jonathan stood. “You don't get usherettes, here.”

Inspector Adolf looked around. “The old studio screening rooms look like how they're building the new movie theaters nowadays. Have you been to the new one at The Palms, that new shopping area? It isn't much bigger than this.”

“I don't think you came to report on the shrinking movie screen.” Jonathan sat.

“No. I came to ask if your footage of the acid tank turned out.”

Jonathan shook his head. “What a waste of budget. I always said you have to fake those things to get them to show up the way you want. But now that it's the 60s they want some new realism. Whatever that is.”

“You talk like an old timer.”

Jonathan grew piqued. “I know a lot about what works and what doesn't from the old timers.” He popped a pill.

Inspector Adolf asked, “What do you see in that shot of the acid tank?”

“You can't see a damn thing. A shape splashes in towards us and instantly turns into a cloud of muck and then it gets even worse. You don't see any pig bones at all.”

“We now doubt a pig carcass was ever anywhere near that acid.”

“Why.”

“We found the creature, what was left of it after the coyotes were having their way with it, in the studio dump. It had been wrapped up in a bit of your Carpathian Mountains .”

“The Alps . And if a pig didn't go down into the acid – who did?”

“Who?” Inspector Adolf leaned close. “Was that a slip? You said who.”

“And we haven't seen our director since. Did he go in?”

“It's a possibility. It would have been nice if we'd seen his screaming face up there on the screen, if only for a second. Then we would know what went in the acid.”

“You don't see anything. I'll show you.” Jonathan yelled back to the projection booth, “Roll the acid tank again.”

The inspector watched and then asked, “Could anybody have tampered with this footage to ruin it?”

“Nope. That's it. That's just what the camera saw back then.”

“Who took the film to the lab?”

“I did.”

The inspector rubbed his jaw. “Hmm. You get to direct now that Penberry is gone?”

“Penberry still gets his name up on the credits, no matter what. Unless he's dead. But he'll be back, I'm sure. That pig you found in the dump could have just been a back-up. We usually have back-ups. God, I hope we have back-ups of those curtains. We have to roll the hunchback up in them yet.”

Inspector Adolf lit his pipe. “Even if Penberry's name is up on the credits, and all the dairy farmers in Wisconsin don't know the wiser, this is a company town and here they'll all know you did shoot the footage. It'll be quite a feather in your cap. You'll now be seen as director material. You have a lot to gain if the director isn't around.”

Jonathan became angry. “But not if he's dead. Everybody, even dairy farmers, know dead men don't direct movies. If Penberry is dead then a new director will be hired. I don't gain from any of this.”

“Not yet, so far.” Inspector Adolf got up and promptly left.

“Prick!”

Bette Small came in and sat next to Jonathan. “Like my new go-go boots?”

“You're not supposed to wear your costume around.”

“They're not. These ones are all mine. I got them at the shoe store on Vine Street . I'm go-go all the time, now. It's my new look.”

He put his hand on her pantyhose. “Nice boots.”

“You ain't looking at my boots.” She put her hand on his jeans. “There's going to be a big hippie orgy out at Laurel Canyon tonight. Lollipop Moses has a commune there. He's all for free love, and lots of it from all directions, get my drift? Want to come?”

“Tonight? That's a long time from now. Give me some head right now. Here.”

She licked her bright pink lipstick. “Wait for the orgy. Then you can get it from everybody.”

“The hippies don't like us movie people. They call us bourgeois poodles.”

Bette Small laughed. She let him slide his hand up her blouse and rub the front of her bra. “Oh they say that about everybody who gets a paycheck. Just don't tell them what you do and you'll be cool. It's all about being free. Free and cheap! It'll be AC/DC. You don't mind about that, do you?”

“I'm cool. I don't care what's hanging off me, as long as it isn't over thirty … and there's lots of pot.”

“Groovy. I love it when Lollipop Moses goes down on me. A big beard down there just drives me crazy. If you're lucky he'll do you too. He don't care if you're a boy or a girl. He's just very oral.”

“You go to his orgies often?”

“They're the best.” Bette Small stopped rubbing his jeans. “I love orgies when the nights are so hot. I hope you come.”

“Let's make out here for a while, now.”

She chuckled. “What is it about a movie theater that makes a boy so horny?”

He shrugged.

She left.

*****

That night the dry spell broke and it poured. Jonathan and Bette Small sat in his station wagon with fake wood siding, and watched the water streaming off the steep rocks of Laurel Canyon . Jonathan opened a warm can of beer with a church key and gave it to her. She smiled at it. “Copasetic.”

He opened one for himself and pouted. “And I saved my wad all day for this? What orgy?”

“Well you can't have much of one like this. How was I to know it would storm. I wonder if Cheryl was going to come. If she did, she got wet. There's nothing sadder than a wet bouffant.”

Jonathan was surprised. “She knew about the orgy, too?”

“I told her. I told everybody.” Bette Small chuckled naughtily.

Jonathan looked out his window and gasped. “Not here.”

A soaking wet hippie walked near, opened his pants while facing them, and took a whiz.

Bette Small chuckled. “Can he even see us?”

“He's had so much beer I doubt it. Blitzed. Peeing in the rain, how poetic.”

The soaking wet hippie finish and wandered off.

Jonathan looked out the window and gasped again. “Who's that?”

Bette Small chuckled again. “Oh! It looks like Mary.”

Mary wandered by, wearing nothing but Mardi Gras beads on her arms.

Jonathan put his hands over his eyes. “So much … skin!”

“Yep. She looks pretty wasted, too!” Bette Small laughed.

“Wasted? Her? But she plays a goddam old lady nun!”

Bette Small shrugged. “So what. That's just a part. This is her first part, don't-cha know?”

“But she knows Orson Wells.”

“And he knows her. That don't mean she's done a movie before.”

Jonathan asked, “What did she do before?”

“She was a hooker.”

“What? She must be seventy!”

Bette Small nodded. “Yeah, that's why she said she wanted to get into acting. She said being a hooker didn't age well. And the men nowadays were all creeps.”

“Who would sleep with a seventy year old woman?”

“Haven't you heard of doing it in the dark?”

“But she's fat!”

Bette Small slapped his arm. “Don't be mean! Men like a big girl lots better then they like flopping around on top a bag of bones, that's for sure.”

Jonathan poked her ribs. “Like you?”

“I'm picture weight.” Bette Small put her nose in the air. “I only care about looking good in a costume, and having cheekbones like a dead mummy!”

“Yeah, whatever – and what did Cheryl do before this movie? Do you know?”

“I think she's fresh from college. We don't have very much dirt on her. Not yet. Give me a few more days. I know she can't keep her mouth shut when she's had some pot. It's pure truth serum for her. So she'll blab! I wonder if she likes orgies. I couldn't tell. I told her you would be here. I thought she was jazzed about you. Everybody is. But she didn't light up when I told her.”

“What did she do?”

“She just looked at me like she'd farted.”

“She can be thicker than a five dollar malt.”

“You said it.” Bette Small nodded and pushed up her hair, to impersonate Cheryl's bouffant.

He took his shirt off. “I thought she liked me, too. She invited me to her pad for a roll in the hay. But then when I showed up, she was just in a bad mood and went ape over her typewriter.”

“She did?” Bette Small smirked. “Cheryl also likes Penberry.”

“She's barking up the wrong tree, there.”

Bette Small took a sip of beer and nodded. “After a few puffs of pot, Cheryl went on and on about how she loved him. She was crazy about him. She said she would go to the beach to spy on him.”

Jonathan was surprised. “The beach? But … he had a big swimming pool. Why would he go to a beach?”

“He did. She said she watched him from some bushes. She called them The Pirate Cove. She was very imaginative.”

“She told you all this?”

Bette Small nodded. “We were really high one night. I don't know what was all in that pot. She just went into stoned-motor-mouth-mode. And she just got to spilling her guts. She said all kinds of things about Penberry. I thought it was icky that she would spy on him, but heck. How stupid to want Penberry. She looks stupid, in the way she looks at him, don't you think?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Well, she isn't a murder suspect, then, is she, if she loved him.”

“There's a fine line between love and hate.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She may have been jealous of all his pool boys?”

Bette Small nodded. “I don't think her love would have ever been consummated. Penberry wasn't as free a thinker as Lollipop Moses. Penberry just mostly stuck with his pool boys and that was it for his jollies. Easy butts. He kinda got himself into a rut, that way. ”

Jonathan said, “It could have made Cheryl mad enough to murder? But how would she do it, even if she wanted to. Penberry isn't just going to stand around and let her murder him.”

“Who knows.” Bette Small shivered. “But she did it, and don't think for a second that it could have been anybody else. I know it. Nobody better ever think it was me. It was her!” She rubbed her arms. “Hold me. I'm so cold.”

He kissed the side of her face. “I love doing it in the car. It's so American this way. Sitting in a car makes me so horny.”

“No, I really am cold.”

“You are . But you didn't get rained on.”

“Still, I'm so upset.”

He put his arm around her. “You're shivering!”

Bette Small wept. “I'm so nervous.”

“Why?” Jonathan pulled her tight to him. “You think you're going to be killed next? I'll protect you.”

“No. I think I'm going to be accused next.”

“Why?”

“Penberry made me what I am today. He's my star maker. He paid for my boobs. He paid to get my teeth all capped. He paid to have my nose bobbed. My chin is even fake and it all cost Penberry a fortune just so I could now look like the perfect go-go dancer.”

“So why would anybody think you killed Penberry?”

She shivered. “It's terrible. I yelled it really loud where all his pool boys could hear. I yelled at him that I wanted him dead! I yelled that I wanted to murder him. I yelled that I wanted to kill him with my own bare hands. One of the pool boys even stuck his tongue out at me. Yep, I was loud.”

“Why? Don't you like how you turned out?”

“Like a Frankenstein monster? Like this? Look at me. Sure. It's great. But he didn't go all the way!”

“Yeah, he didn't break you of your habit of picking your nose all the time.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “Not all the time.”

“It's Hollywood . You just can't do that. It looks even worse in a photo.”

She frowned. “That's not what I meant, anyway, by all the way .”

Jonathan said, “He doesn't go all the way with chicks. He goes all the way with pool boys. If that's what you mean.”

Bette Small shook her head. “No, no, no; not that. Of course not.”

“What then?”

“He was supposed to get my name legally changed in time for my first picture, this one. It was supposed to be changed to Bette Big. Bette Small don't work for me anymore. And I was supposed to get the lead.”

“The monster?”

“No, no, no, the bride of Frankenstein … the doctor's bride, not the monster's, of course.”

Jonathan chuckled. “What? You don't like your part? I think it's the best one in the whole show. You get to run around in your underwear. So cool!”

“I feel like a fool.”

“If you don't like it then the next time we film you in your underwear, I'll be in my underwear, to even things out. Then you won't feel like we're making fun of you or anything.”

Her eyes teared up. “You'd do that for me?”

“Yes, I would wear underwear for you.”

Bette Small pouted. “But it still could have been a bigger part.”

Jonathan explained, “Penberry was a Star Maker. A classic. You have to be careful how you first expose your stars to the public. Ave Gardner did twenty films, walk-ons mostly, before she did Barefoot Contessa .”

“That many?”

“Yep. MGM used to be careful with its stars. The times go too fast now days for any of that anymore. Be glad Penberry did what he did, the way he did it. He knew what he was doing.”

Bette Small began to cry. “I can't believe I said I wanted to murder him. I didn't know he was so smart.”

***

After Jonathon got a blowjob, he dropped Bette Small off at her house and he went to Cheryl's. She was crying. The air smelled like pot. She smelled like beer.

Jonathan asked, and loudly so she would hear him over the TV where The Supremes were performing their new hit, You Can't Hurry Love, “Did you love Penberry enough to want to kill him.”

Cheryl bawled. “I was framed!”

“Nobody accused you yet. I'm just asking. And how were you framed, then?”

“I have to confess – I have to say everything – I'm so messed up I can't shut up – not now - I want you to - understand – you have to understand my soul – understaaaand - my soouuuul - ” Then she passed out and fell to the floor as if she'd been shot in the head. The carpet was so thick that she didn't hurt herself too much.

Jonathan went outside. The rain had stopped. He saw where there was a big black smear in the sand, out back. He went to it and saw it was ashes. Most had washed away so it was easy to pick out small metal pointy things. He looked close and they didn't seem to be empty bullet shell casings. He wondered if they were sleek modern arrowheads. In the sand, he also spotted a black metal plaque. He tried to read it but it was too black. He put it in his pocket, along with one of the metal pointy things, and then drove away.

***

The next day they were on the lab set again. Cheryl didn't show up and Jonathan assumed it was because she had a big hangover. Penberry didn't show up and he assumed it was because Cheryl had murdered him. But how to prove she did it … he didn't know. He rubbed his lower lip in thought while he watched the actor Samuel inspect the set.

Bette Small skipped up to Jonathan in just her bra and panties. “The makeup girls are having sex back there! Can you believe it? Sex! And right on a Frankenstein set of all places!”

“Oh?” He was sitting at the camera in his skivvies. “Where? And what are they doing?”

“Oh just licking each others' lipstick off. Do you like the color they gave me?”

“Bad, man.”

Samuel, who was playing Doctor Baron Von Frankenstein, stomped out in full makeup.

Jonathan added, “As long as everybody is in full makeup then we can start shooting.”

“Why is the bad guy a Jew in this movie?” Samuel asked, pushing gently on his long white muttonchops.

Bette Small pulled her purple gum out between her teeth and then snapped it back in. “Then don't play it like a Jew.”

Samuel threw his arms up in angst. “But then I'm saying that I'm ashamed to be a Jew!”

She shrugged, “Then be glad they got a Jew to be a madman. You get a part in a picture. That's all anybody wants … a part. Other than that, who cares.”

“Why does everybody stereotype Jews?”

Bette Small looked around. “ Who is?”

“Why does a doctor to have to be a Jew?”

“Are you a doctor, for real?”

“No, I'm an actor!”

“Well then, lighten up. I play a go-go dancer in her underwear!” Bette Small started to go-go dance in her underwear. She called out to Jonathan. “Hey! Can we make all the lights in the lab machines flash on and off when I go-go dance? That would be too cool, daddy O!”

Jonathan, looked around at the lamps. “It wouldn't look very real.”

“Making dead people come back to life from cut up dead body parts ain't very real either!”

Jonathan said, “Samuel will make it look real. He's a very good actor.”

Samuel asked, “Did you see my last picture? It was French. I played an adulterer. Why do they think to cast all Jews as adulterers?”

Jonathan popped a tranquilizer. “All people adulterate in French films. Don't worry about it. Here in America we just drive around fast and shoot each other. Now are you ready for the first scene?”

Samuel looked around. “Where's Penberry. I have to talk to a director. We have to decided how I'm going to play the part.”

Bette Small said, “He may not ever be coming in again. Our script girl may have had him done in.” She looked to the camera in alarm. “Or did I just spill the beans?”

Jonathan assured her, “No don't worry. If he really is dead then there's no point in our pretending otherwise.”

Samuel looked dismayed. “Dead? What is anybody doing about it?”

Jonathan put his hands up. “Chill. The cops, the producers and the insurance company all have their own investigations, I'm sure. Okay now, put the go-go girl in chains and let's get a take. Let's make Lucy proud.”

Samuel pulled on his ear. “But how am I going to play the part?”

As a stagehand carefully put Bette Small in chains while grinning ear to ear like a fiend, she suggested, “Just play like a crazy German Nazi. That ain't racist. Everybody and their dog knows they cut up people during World War Two for all kinds of top secret experiments that we'll never find out about. And they weren't very nice, either; they burned down half of Europe . And then they starved them. So it'll be authentic, even, if you play it that way ... all Germanic. It's all a matter of common sense.”

Samuel smiled. “Yes, and a small revenge for my people!”

Mary walked on the set with a bath towel over her head, and she loudly sang, “Dead rats and spiders and girls with dirty hair, storms that sink big ships and nets beyond repair. Chicken leg voodoo and swamps full of mist, this is a bit of my favorites list!”

Samuel chuckled. “You're not in this scene.”

“I know. I just wanted you all to consider me being a singing nun. It'll make my part a little bigger. And more memorable. Look how much money The Sound of Music is making right now. You gotta give the nun a bigger part if you want a hit, here!”

“Action!”

Bette Small swallowed her gum. “Ooooh … don't electrocute me!”

Doctor Frankenstein waved his arms around. “I vant power! I vant glory! I vaaaant the dead to rise to life and the living to bow at my feet! I have un-harnessed the power of God and all his devils! I have found the secret of life. I have made all of nature naked before me! I vant glory! I fucking vant it – vant it, aaaaall!”

“I just wanna dance !” She wiggled.

“Cut! Print. Very good!”

Samuel stopped waving his arms around. “How would you know? You're not the director.”

“I was just referring to the fact that I'm pretty sure it was all in focus.”

“Was my accent correct?”

Jonathan rotated the lens turret. “We can't keep any of this sound. The lab props are all way too noisy, man. We'll dub it all later. Lucy doesn't want the fucking f word in this, anyway.”

Samuel crossed his arms in anger. “But you see me say it!”

“We'll have the shot on Bette Small's face at the time.”

Bette Small pulled on her chains. “If we're done then get me the hell out of here. My nose itches!”

*****

Jonathan went to the same beach where the special effects man had been found dead. Jonathan kicked around. He also thought about Penberry. He started to cry.

Inspector Adolf pulled up in his army jeep, stopped in the parking lot, and walked down a narrow set of steep wood steps to the sand. “Hello. Odd to see you here!”

Jonathan turned away and hoped the breeze would quickly dry his tears. “Why?”

“Are you trying to hide evidence?”

“What's your bag, man? Why would I do that?”

“We had a car planted outside of Cheryl's house. We managed to see you in the back putting a few items in your pocket.”

“I didn't see any car.”

“It doesn't need to be close when it has a telescope.”

Jonathan walked to the edge of the ocean. Water washed over his feet. “Our special effects man was killed with an arrow. He was dressed like a cowboy.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.”

Inspector Adolf lit his pipe. “Those two details have not been released. To help identify the real killer.”

Jonathan said, “I'm not the killer. But I'm not stupid. Bill walked off our set to go work on a Western. The last time he worked on a Western he dressed up a bit in the style. He had a nice cowboy hat. He had a leather vest with fringe, in a row, across the front. It gave him a bit of a cowboy look. I know because I worked on a western with him last year. It was damn hot so I just wore a swimsuit, but I wore chaps over it to be silly. I said I was riding the camera. They called me Buckaroo Zoom Fuck. Pretty darn funny at the time. We all had pet names. Sometimes we dress crazy and dress the part. It's Hollywood . Look at you. You do it, too. A poor man's Sherlock. What a gas.”

“Was there anybody else from this cast and crew that was on that western with Bill? Did anybody else know that he would change into his cowboy look between the Frankenstein movie and the Western?”

“I don't know.” Jonathan thought for a moment. “I don't think so. We were in Monument Valley , so not anybody could just see us. It was just us.”

Inspector Alfred asked, “And what makes you think this cowboy was shot through with an arrow?”

“Ask your spy with the telescope. I've been doing a bit of my own investigation. He can do his.”

Inspector Adolf asked, “Why would you bother nosing around at all?”

“I have curiosity. It's one of those side effects of having a brain.”

“A brain? You used to be a pool boy yourself, once. A proud one, I bet. Knowing you - one of the best. One of Penberry's excellent pool boys.”

Jonathan punched him in the face.

After he got back up out of the sand, Inspector Adolf brushed himself off. “That's not how you ingratiate yourself with the investigators.”

“I just wanted you to know that this wrist isn't limp. I'm no fading daisy.”

“I've never thought that. Pool boys have got to be tough, it seems. It leaves them with a bit of a bruise that never heals. Bruised pride, too. Without pride, a man has nothing. And he'll even kill to get it back.”

Jonathan laughed loudly. “Is that the next motive you've thought up for me – for why I'm guilty of murder? I had to kill somebody to get my pride back? What would that get me?”

“I don't know. Humans are complicated – they are so messy. I'll have to see what the connection is between your director and your special effects man. What do they both have to do with you … so you would want them both out of your way.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Good luck.” He walked a bit into the water to grab a broken Styrofoam cooler that had been washing around. He flung it up onto the sand. “Everything is messy.”

“Do you shoot arrows?”

“I was in Boy Scouts. I went to camp. I killed a few straw bales.”

Inspector Adolf sucked on his pipe and squinted intently. “Is that so. And it doesn't even take brains to shoot an arrow. Just two strong arms.”

Jonathan clenched his teeth. “You have a thing with me not having a brain.”

“A pool boy isn't famous for what's big between his ears.”

Jonathan raised his fist.

“You punch me with your fist again and you're booked.”

Jonathan paused.

“You were in his pool and then you made sure you put him in your pool. A pool of acid! How witty.” He looked deep into Jonathan's eyes. “And put your fist down or you're booked, you filthy sodomite!”

Jonathan put his fist down. Then he picked Inspector Adolf up, one hand in his armpit and the other in his crotch, raised him high over his head and tossed him into the ocean.

The inspector splashed his way back up and coughed water. “I'll get you! For this! I'll find - something ! On you! I'll make – ack - sure! You hang !” A wave hit him from behind and he fell.

Jonathan popped a pill. “Easy, man.” He flicked a seashell with his big toe and walked away.

*****

The next morning, Jonathan went to Inspector Adolf's house. He felt guilty. He wanted to put all his cards on the table, reveal who he thought the killer was, and get it all over with.

The door to his trailer was open. It smelled weird. Jonathan stepped inside and jolted. He put his hand over his heart. He gasped. He cried out in shock. He felt dizzy, and put his hand on the doorframe to steady himself. It was sticky. He put his hands over his stomach and fought vomiting.

He beheld Inspector Adolf's chopped off head sitting on the coffee table, in a cookie tray. Blood had squirted all over the walls, floor to ceiling. A bowie knife was on the floor. Jonathan caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall, framed in rivulets of red. He jolted. He was so socked, his mind regressed, and he yelled at his gory reflection, “You! You evil twin! Look what you did!”

His twin had died at birth. His dead twin had been his imaginary playmate as a child. So whenever something bad happened in life he'd gotten in the habit of blaming his dead twin – his evil twin. And only a dead twin could make something so bad as this happen.

Then he came to his senses, slapping the sides of his head. “I have to stop acting crazy.” He told his reflection, “Don't go ape, man. My twin did not do this. A living person did this. And I need proof of who it is!”

*****

Jonathan arrived at the set that noon. Everybody was just standing around in the dim gloom of the work lights. He went to the lighting panel and patched in one spotlight.

Cheryl said, “What took you so long. I had a lot of cleaning to do and I still got to the set on time.” She had bags under her eyes. Her bouffant was lopsided.

“Were you up all night cleaning?”

She didn't answer him. She reached at her bouffant for a pencil but couldn't find one. She looked around at her feet.

Mary walked on the set wearing a grape moo-moo. She walked into the spotlight and put her sunglasses back on. “I know, I know. This movie star don't have any scenes today. And not tomorrow, either. I just came to watch. I wish I had more scenes. The big ole nun should always be in more scenes. If you're paying me, I might as well be around. I'm used to working hard for my money. Damn hard!”

Jonathan opened a shoebox he had brought in with him. “Here. I'm late because I baked brownies for everybody. Everybody eats one.” He yelled at the electrician. “Turn on the set lamps. Let's brighten this place up a bit more.”

Cheryl smiled. “I love brownies!”

“I know. You get two.”

Bette Small said, “I'll just nibble a corner. I have a diet. I have to count my calories. My cheekbones don't look like a dead mummy, yet.” She made a face.

Mary took one. “I'm always on a diet but that doesn't stop me from having my treats. Yum!”

Jonathan handed her one. “Suit yourself.” He smiled at the sight of Cheryl eating hungrily.

Samuel took a brownie. “Are these kosher?”

“All I know is they're vegetarian.”

Bette Small threw most of her brownie away. “Just a taste. Too many calories. I gotta keep my picture weight.” She started to go-go dance.

Jonathan turned on a reel-to-reel tape player. Then he went behind the camera. He aimed it at Cheryl. He said, “Let's loosen up everybody. Let's sing a song.”

Samuel looked at the last bite of his brownie. “What? Are these poisoned? I feel funny. Why do I feel like this? These brownies have been poisoned! I can't feel my cheeks!”

“Not poison. Not quite.” Jonathan watched the needle on the sound machine to make sure the voices weren't over-modulating. “I made them with lots of pot.”

Cheryl licked her fingers. “But … oh my! I just scarfed two !”

Bette Small looked shocked. “Pot?” She went to the garbage to fish her piece back out. “Fuck the calories! I'll do jumping jacks out of my mind to make up for this!” She gobbled it down.

Samuel sat and held his head. “Why would you do that? I say my lines on the ceiling?”

Jonathan said, “I did this so Cheryl would tell us the truth and the whole truth. She can't hold her tongue when she's high. Why did you cut off the inspector's head with a bowie knife.”

“Oh was that what it was? A bowie knife, la la la? Is that what it's called, la la la? Well I knew it wasn't a butter knife.” She started to giggle. “I saw him nosing around. I went to his trailer to see if I could figure out what he knew. I saw the knife on the wall. He told me he got it in some war. He told me he had a toe shot off, that he got shot while laying down and off it went. He told me all kinds of things as we had beer. He went to go take a leak and I just went at him from behind. I knew he knew too much. I was surprised at how sharp the knife was. His head came off in no time at all when he finally held still for me. But not after he ran around a while and squirted blood everywhere. It got all over me. I looked a fright. The lousy bastard!” She tried to do an impersonation of how he ran around. She was the only one laughing.

Jonathan asked, “Why did you shoot an arrow into Bill?”

Cheryl giggled. “How did you know I shot arrows?”

He took a square piece of metal out of his pocket. “I found this behind your house. You burned some things in your fireplace. I thought the fire looked odd. I later realized you were burning your bow and arrows. Because the metal arrowheads didn't burn. Nor this. After I cleaned this off I saw that it went to a trophy. It must have been a real nice wooden trophy. You were a prize winning archer in college.”

“Why would I kill Bill?” Cheryl giggled some more.

“You thought Bill was Penberry. They were both wearing cowboy outfits that night and it confused you. Penberry was playing cowboy and Indians. Bill was in his Western movie mood.”

She laughed louder. “Why would I kill Penberry?”

Jonathan asked, “Why would you? You tell us.”

She lay down on the floor. “I loved him! He didn't love me! I always spied on him. One night I drank a little too much vodka and decided he had to die because he was evil and he was making me unhappy.” She began to bawl. “He was evil. He didn't love me! He was making me unhappy! I couldn't stop looking at him . He looked so cool. He wore a bit of copper rouge on his cheeks and it made him seem so handsome. A man with a bit of makeup always looks like he has self-esteem. We don't have any men with makeup like that where I come from. I was just dazzled. I was just in awe of somebody like him … so fantastic and smart! I couldn't get him out of my head. He had to die. It was either him or me. There's only room for one person in your own head!”

“How did you get him to go into the acid bath instead of the pig?”

She began to laugh. “Easy. He liked his tequila with beer chaser. I made sure his beer chaser was half vodka. After he'd slammed that much booze all at once, he was rather bombed. So I hit him on the back of the head with a hammer with all my might ! He fell to his knees! Penberry on his knees! Oh … it was such a sight!” She laughed. “Then I rolled him up in the curtains and dragged the dead pig behind the mountains. I just made a little switcheroo … that's all. He fell into the acid and became no more. No more.” She began to bawl again. “I'm so sad … I want to become no more!” She pulled at her hair. “No more! No more!”

Cheryl leapt up and jumped into the acid bath. She just sat there, dripping. Nothing happened. It had long been replaced with regular water. She screamed. She angrily grabbed the art deco lamps at her side.

Jonathan yelled, “No!” He yelled to the electrician, “Cut the lights!”

He was too late. Cheryl pulled the art deco lamps into the water. It made a new circuit that passed right through her heart. She jerked underwater as her heart cooked into a black soup. Sparks shot up out of the water. Then sparks shot up out of the other lamps and lab props in bright popping explosions.

Bette Small walked into the set, amongst the flames, in awe. “Ooooh … it's … soooo pretty!”

Jonathan yelled at her, “Get out of there!”

Better Small began to laugh at it all. “Oh look! Brains! They love me.”

Jonathan ran to her and grabbed her and pulled her away from a burning pile of plastic brains before she could hug them. The stone wall caught fire, being Styrofoam. The sprinkler system came on and they were in a phony storm again.

They all went outside. Bette Small ran up to Lucy and hugged her. “I loooove you! I looooves Lucy!” She kissed her left breast. “I love Lucy!”

Lucy threw her cigarette off to the side. “What the hell?” She spotted Samuel dancing buck naked in the parking lot with his arms up to the sun. Mary was eating the flowers and singing about how they were her favorite things. A stagehand was dry humping the hood of a car.

Jonathan had the reel of sound tape under his arm. He popped a couple of tranquilizers. “Call the fire department. Call the morgue. Call the Union . Call the police. Call our psychiatrists. Call the insurance company.”