Deuces Down

A FACE FOR THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR by Melinda M. Snodgrass

Dust filtered down from the rafters, shaken loose by the grips who scurried like a tribe of apes along the ancient wood catwalks. It glittered and spun gold in the bright work lights. Bradley Finn stared mesmerized at the spinning motes and wished he’d spent less of the night drinking Tequila Sunrises down in Santa Monica.

Finn and the rest of the Myth Patrol were perched on a fabricated cliff. Below them sat the deck of the Argo. The nat actors, including the stars of Jason and the Argonauts, David Soul and Arnold Schwarzenegger, were back in their trailers sipping Evian and keeping cool. The excuse for keeping the jokers was that they were hard to light, and the D.P. wanted another crack at it.

Finn sighed and tried to find a more comfortable position on his platform, which wasn’t easy since he was a pony-sized centaur. The action called for him to rear. He wasn’t relishing the prospect. The wood didn’t offer much traction for his hooves, and he’d left his rubber booties at home. Not that Roger Corman was going to let him wear booties in the shot.

So Bradley figured he was going to pitch backwards off the platform, fall twelve feet to the floor, break his back, and end up with a little wheeled cart so he could drag his back legs. There were five jokers in the cast, but the E.M.T. wasn’t certified in joker medicine. Finn knew. He’d checked. Which meant he’d probably be dealing with any injuries to the Myth Patrol-unless he was the myth who was down.

It was a sweltering August day in southern California, and he could feel damp on the palomino hide along his flanks. The stink of rancid make-up, stale coffee and donuts just added to his joy. The big air conditioning unit on the roof of Sound Stage 17 came to life with a grind and a rumble that shook more dust out of the rafters.

Clops looked up from his copy of Variety. His single eye was magnified to the size of a goose egg behind the fold-down lens which was mounted on an old fashioned surgeon’s headband. It was tough to be an actor when you were that near sighted.

Of course Clops had other disadvantages-like being seven feet tall, and having only one eye in the center of his forehead. Finn thought.

“You realize that dust may have been around when Mary Pickford was a star,” the cyclops said.

“I don’t think Pickford was ever at Warner’s,” Goathead responded.

“Hmbruza #** muffel wanda,” said Cleo. She was lying on her stomach while one of the snakes which sprouted from her head gave her a neck massage. Cleo, whose full name was Cleopatra Reza, was Turkish, didn’t speak a word of English, but never let that stop her. She commented on everything. The other jokers just agreed with her, and so far none of the men had gotten slapped.

When Finn had first been introduced all he could think was that her parents must have hated her. It would have been like naming me Seabiscuit, Finn had thought, and why Cleopatra and not Medusa? Clops thought it was because Cleopatra had died from the bite of an asp, and because Cleo was breathtakingly beautiful while Medusa was so hideous that she turned men to stone. Finn had to admit that Cleo was very beautiful-if you could ignore the tangle of snakes growing out of her head.

“You know what I mean. This is historic. This sound stage was built in 1927,” Clops said.

“Yeah, well, I wish we were on a new sound stage with real air conditioning that we didn’t have to turn off for every shot,” Goat-head groused. Goathead was your basic asshole who never missed an opportunity to trash anything and everybody. Finn just wished he wouldn’t cut at Clops, who was a gentle soul and completely star-struck. Clops had left his Kansas home at seventeen and headed west determined to be a star. Except he was seven feet tall, and had one eye.

Finn quashed the thought and glared at Goathead, hoping the other joker would correctly interpret the look as a stop pissing on Clops’s birthday cake. Apparently he did, for Goathead muttered that he was hungover, which for Goathead amounted to an apology. Cleo rattled off another of her incomprehensible comments.

The D.P. threw the lights, and there was a magnificent geyser of sparks from one transformer. Firemen rushed forward with extinguishers, but the sparks were all she wrote.

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

“Hell.”

“Damn!”

The curses rose from all over the stage, erupting from the D.P., the First A.D., the director’s assistant, and Goathead. Finn got the assistant’s attention. “Mary, can we please take a break?” Finn pleaded.

“Sure, go ahead. Nick, when do you want the Myths back?” she shouted at the D.P.

“Give me an hour.”

Clops just climbed down the front of the plaster cliff. It wasn’t that far for him. He then reached back up and, handling her as if she were made of spun glass, he lifted Cleo to the floor. She gave him her thousand watt smile. If only it weren’t snakes, Finn thought, and sighed.

Finn and Goathead had a ramp off the back of the cliff. Their hooves rang hollowly on the wood, and Finn felt the ramp sag under his weight. His stomach was suddenly too light, and heading for the back of his throat. Finn froze, waiting or the ramp to break. After a moment where nothing happened, Bradley resumed his cautious descent.

Once Finn was safely on the floor he trotted over to the craft services table. His stomach had been too off for breakfast and now he was starving. He surveyed the array. M & M’s, stale donuts, Oreoes, peanut butter, jelly and bread. A jar of pretzels. Corman was known for being a tightwad. Finn decided to head over to sound stage 23 where his dad was shooting The French Lieutenant’s Woman. Finn Senior kept an elaborate spread, but of course he was making a twelve million dollar extravaganza staring Grace Kelly and Warren Beatty, not a cheesy B action movie.

Finn slipped out the stage door, into the hazy but intense California sunshine. The white walls of the stages loomed like breakers on either side of the street. He kicked it into a lope, and went clattering past Teamsters tossing around footballs, (he got the usual calls of Hi Ho Silver, which was annoying because he was a palomino) past stars in their golf carts and lines of Star Waggons parked against the sides of the street. Spinning red lights indicated they were shooting on the various stages. There were a lot of lights. The movie business was booming.

He waited in front of his dad’s stage until the light went out so he could enter the set. Pulling open the door, he stepped into a Victorian drawing room complete with dark wood, red velvet and innumerable knick knacks on every available surface. Grace Kelly, looking like a swaying calla lily in her white gown, was gliding off the set. Stan Whitehorn-Humphries, dapper in his bow tie and tweed jacket, was blotting her make-up as she walked.

She passed close by Finn, and he caught a scent of sweat under the perfume. It was somehow comforting to know that someone that beautiful was still human enough to perspire. Kelly stopped. Finn gaped at her. Stan, a smile lurking beneath the brush of his white mustache, gave a nod, and Finn realized his pony’s ass was blocking the door. Muttering an apology, he swung his hindquarters out of the way. Kelly glided out, and Stan gave him a wink.

“You’ve just seen an example of what they mean by ‘stunningly beautiful’,” Finn said to the elderly make-up artist.

“She is quite remarkable, isn’t she?” Stan gazed for an instant at the closed door as if conjuring a picture of the star. “So who did your make-up? You look dead.” Fifty years in Hollywood hadn’t blunted his upper-class British accent. Of course it was an affectation after all this time, but no one cared. It was part of the legend of Stan Whitehorn-Humphries.

“I’m supposed to look scary,” Finn said.

“Sorry, dead. Come over to the trailer after you get a bite and sup, and I’ll touch you up.” Whitehorn-Humprhies walked away before Finn could thank him.

Finn cut through the set, admiring the design. Next week the production was scheduled to move to England for the exteriors. Finn would love to go along, but he badly needed to replenish his bank account before the fall semester. He glanced over to where his father was discussing the setup for the next shot, and briefly wished his dad had been the typical Hollywood parent-just throw money at your kids and hope they don’t embarrass you. But G. Benton Finn had clung to his mid-western roots, and believed his kid appreciated what he had to work for and disdained what he hadn’t. He would pay for Bradley’s medical school tuition, but if his son wanted to live away from home he had to swing it himself.

Finn stepped delicately over the snaking wires and cords, and got a glimpse of the craft service table. He broke into a smile. From here he could see salmon, cream cheese, bagels, fresh fruit, and an assortment of pastries and cookies. There was a gaggle of nat starlets gathered around the table. Two blondes, a redhead and a brunette. The taffeta dresses hissed and crackled as they moved, and they were showing a lot of bosom for Victorians. Still, with bosoms like that you didn’t want to hide them. These girls were stunners.

Finn briefly wondered if his father had ever availed himself of the casting couch. A moment’s consideration, and Finn decided that Finn Senior probably had, but mom had sense enough to look the other way. There were a lot of temptations and vices in Tinsel Town. You picked the ones you could tolerate and lived with them.

“I looked it up, she was born in ’28,” one girl was saying, as Finn stepped over the final power cord.

“That means she’s…” The brunette’s brow furrowed.

“Fifty-two,” said one of the blondes. She was tinier then her companions, and she reminded Finn of the figure in a music box, perfect in every detail. Then he got a look at her eyes.

A figurine constructed out of hard glass, he thought, as he waited for them to react to him. Jokers, even rich ones, learned to gauge a nat’s reaction before approaching too close.

“She’s got to be an ace,” mumbled the brunette around a mouthful of cookie.

“It’s illegal for them to be in professional sports,” said the redhead. “They should have done that in Hollywood.”

“Then Golden Boy couldn’t have had a career,” objected the zaftig blonde.

“Another good argument for banning wild cards,” murmured the petite blonde dryly. Finn swallowed a chuckle. This girl was quick.

“Kelly’s never said she’s an ace,” offered the brunette.

“Never said she isn’t,” countered the redhead.

“There’s a blood test that will tell if you’ve got the wild card,” mused the gimlet eyed blonde, almost to herself

The redhead picked a shrimp out of the melting ice and savagely chewed her way to the tail. “You’d think she’d want to move on.” The girl bit off the words with the same force she had shown to the shrimp.

Again the tiny blonde answered. “Why? Why would she? She’s been a star for thirty years. Every major role has been hers. Why quit?”

“So some of us could have a chance,” said the brunette.

“I wouldn’t do it,” said the gimlet eyed blonde.

“Yeah, but we all know you’d kill your mother for a part,” shot back the brunette.

The blonde gave her a look that clearly said, And what’s your point?

This time Finn couldn’t hold back the laugh. That did get their attention. The brunette and the zaftig blonde looked disgusted and walked hurriedly away. The redhead gave him a nervous smile, then made a show of checking the brooch watch which was part of her costume and hurried away. The tiny blonde held her ground.

He grabbed a plate and started loading up. “I’m sure you believed that watch really worked,” remarked the blonde.

Finn lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “Hey, at least she pretended to have an excuse.”

“You’re Mr. Finn’s son, aren’t you?”

“The one and only.”

“I’m Tanya.”

Finn shook the proffered hand. “I’m Bradley Finn. Pleased to meet you.”

“Well, I better go and walk off some of this,” she indicated the table“… spread.”

“It’s really hot out there. It’s not so bad when you’re down by the beach. I was at Santa Monica last night, and it wasn’t bad. It’s always worse in the valley. I’m a native Angelino and we know to avoid the valley.” Finn realized he was babbling. He tried to bite back the inane flow, only to have the worst of the inanities escape. “So, where do you live?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bradley, I’ve got the right area code and an acceptable Beverly Hills address. The casting directors call.”

“I’m sure they do,” and he knew there was no way that line was going to come across as anything but a leer. Bradley cringed. He’d grown up talking to actresses. He wasn’t usually this gauche.

That’s because your gonads are talking, you dope. And she thinks you’re a freak so shut up!

She surprised him by saying, “I’ve never had a decent meal or good time in Santa Monica. Maybe I need native guide. Nice meeting you.” She gave a little wave with the tips of her perfectly manicured fingernails and walked away.

A freak whose daddy is a director, Finn’s cynical side amended.

Still, Finn figured he’d get her number. He was male and twenty-three, and she might be adventurous.

Finn came trotting down the sidewalk toward his Spanish bungalow apartment, and checked at the sight of the man standing in the shade of the trailing bougainvillea. It wasn’t that he looked threatening. No one that short could be threatening. It was more the fact that he looked like a garden gnome.

The man’s face was a full moon with the wide, surprised eyes of a child. A fringe of graying brown hair ringed a bald pate. An open necked shirt revealed a mat of graying chest hairs mashed flat by a tangle of gold chains. The barrel chest was supported on an even broader belly. Finn noted the Rolex watch and the expensive slacks, then boggled at the sight of the high topped red tennis shoes.

The man surged out from beneath the brilliant red flowers with the rolling gait of a sailor. “Harry Gold,” he announced, and Finn found a card thrust into his hand.

Shiny slick red paper with the name embossed in gold and the title PRODUCER beneath the name.

“I don’t have any input with my father on his projects,” Finn said automatically.

“I don’t want your dad… not that he isn’t a great director, but I don’t want him. I want you.”

“I have an agent.” Finn began sidestepping toward the safety of his front door.

“Of course you do. You’re a savvy kid, but I knew he wasn’t going to let me get near you,” Gold replied. “So I decided to talk to you myself.”

Far from being alarmed by this admission, Bradley found himself amused. He now had a pretty good idea of the kind of movies that Harry Gold produced. There was a bubble of laughter filling his chest. He forced it down, and propped his hindquarters on a nearby planter.

“That’s right, take a load off, though it’s gotta be easier with four than two,” Gold said. “Where was I?”

“Wanting to talk to me.”

“I don’t want to just talk to you. I want you to star in my next film. What do you think of that?” The little man’s chest puffed out like a satisfied pigeon’s.

The devil was in Finn prompting him to ask, “A speaking role?”

“Absolutely. That’s what makes you so perfect. You can talk.”

“Harry, do you make porno movies?” Finn asked.

The little man drew himself up. “I make male art films.”

Finn heaved himself back onto all four feet. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.”

It was a ton of money for a porno flick. And you’d get some, said the bad Elmer Fudd who suddenly appeared on Finn’s left shoulder. He pictured his father and mother’s reaction. How would they ever know?

Because some teamster or grip would talk.

Finn hunched his shoulders, trying to dislodge his baser self. “Sorry, Harry, can’t do it.” He unlocked the door of his apartment.

“You’ve got to. You know how hard it is to train a real pony?” came the disconsolate cry as Finn closed the door.

“The frightening thing is that a woman would probably rather fuck a pony than a joker,” Goathead said the next morning when Finn finished telling them about his meeting with Gold. They were in the extras’ make-up area. Clops flushed to his eyebrow at the use of the profanity, and cocked his head significantly toward the joker woman seated near-by.

“What?” Goathead demanded. Clops cocked his head further this time and waggled his eyebrow. “Them? Hell, they don’t want to fuck a joker either,” Goathead said, upping the volume even further.

Finn sighed and looked up at the rafters. Goathead’s attitude was definitely starting to wear thin. On the other hand, Goathead had grown up poor in Detroit while Finn had grown up in Bel Aire, a child of privilege blessed with parents who had never treated him as different. He had had playmates and girlfriends…

And how many of them were with you because your daddy is a famous director? came the hateful little voice. They did always end up wanting to be “friends” and only one had ever put out, and Finn later heard she’d been busted in one of L.A. ’s more notorious sex clubs.

Clops looked pained. “I don’t think that’s true. There are whole magazines about us.” He held up a copy of Aces to prove his point.

Goathead stuck a nicotine stained finger under the title. “A. C. E. S.,” he spelled. “Aces. You see a magazine called Joker?!, you dumb shit? No.”

“Would you sit still?” the make-up man grumbled, trying to glue on Goathead’s horns. Despite the legs and hooves of a goat, the joker lacked horns, and Corman wanted big horns on his satyr.

Clops shook his head. “I think women pick men because of what’s on the inside, not on the outside.”

“Oh, God you are such a goober,” Goathead said. “And like how often are you getting any?” Clops flushed again and ducked his head. “Never? Right?”

The make-up man made a moue of distaste. “You’re done. Go away.” He made shooing motions with both hands, and Goathead went clattering away on his cloven hooves. Finn reflected that they were going to have to refinish the ancient wood floors after eight weeks of his and Goathead’s hooves.

The terribly sweet boy who was doing Finn’s make-up smoothed the foundation over his nose, and reached for the powder. “Did you hear about the commotion over on the Lieutenant set?” He punctuated every word with a little gusting breath.

Finn knew it was stupid. It was just a movie. But it was his dad’s movie, so he felt his stomach clench down into a small tight ball. “What?”

“Somebody broke into the production offices last night.”

Finn blinked. He had been prepared for a dead star, a fire on the set, lost film. “Was anything taken?”

“They don’t think so. The files drawers were all open, and they found the petty cash box by the open window, but all the money was there.”

It was an odd enough occurrence that Bradley decided to talk to his dad when the Argonauts broke for lunch.

There was a cafeteria on the Warner’s lot where extras, day players and the below-the-line people went to eat. The food was plentiful and cheap. You would often see writers in there, which said something about the self-image of Hollywood writers.

Then there was The Warner’s Restaurant. Table clothes, linen napkins, wines and gourmet food. This was where the powerful “did lunch.” Finn swung on down the street to the entrance to that restaurant. Steps led up to the etched glass doors. The doors opened out, and he had to lower his hindquarters down a step to make room for the swing of the door. Eventually he was inside. They had just repainted the place in azure blue and cream with pale blue upholstery on the furniture. Beneath the scent of fresh cut gardenias in a vase on the maitre d’s desk there was the tang of newly dried paint.

Tony, the maitre d’, grinned. “Hear you been slumming over at the cafeteria.”

Finn slapped his gut beneath the Hawaiian shirt. “I couldn’t take too many more gourmet meals and keep my boyish figure. Dad here?”

Tony indicated the direction with a cock of his head. “Corner right.”

“Thanks.”

Finn minced his way between the tables, exchanging hellos with various actors, directors, producers and studio heads. He had practically grown up on this lot, and in fact been the focus of a law suit between Disney and Warner’s in the late fifties. Warner’s had used Finn in some of their promotional material, and Disney had screamed infringement of trademark, citing Fantasia. Since Finn had been two at the time, he wasn’t sure how it had all been resolved. He just knew it was a favorite dinner tale of his father’s.

His dad was eating with Ester Flannigan, the most perfect of personal assistants. There was a slight frown on his long, lantern jawed face, and he seemed to be talking more than he was eating. Which meant Ester was taking shorthand instead of eating. Finn came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and gave her a kiss one wrinkled cheek. “Doesn’t the union have something to say about working through lunch?”

Benton Finn looked down at their virtually untouched plates and gave Ester an apologetic smiles. “Sorry, we’ll finish this after lunch.”

“What’s got your shorts in a twist?” Finn asked as he swiped a cherry tomato off his dad’s salad plate. He bit down and savored the tart/sweet explosion. He swallowed and added, “The break in?”

“So it’s all over the lot, is it?” Finn asked.

“I don’t know. It’s at Corman’s.”

“It’s all over the lot,” Ester broke in. “Jenny called to ask about it, and she’s over in the bungalows.”

“Why is this a deal?” Finn asked. “Nothing was stolen.”

“Because everything on Lieutenant has to go smoothly and if you look close enough at any production you’ll find problems, and Coppola will use it,” Ester said in sing song voice while Benton glared at her.

Finn gave his dad a look. “Wow, you are being paranoid.”

“Coppola wanted this movie, and Bernie told me Coppola told the Chairman I didn’t know how to pull something new and fresh out of Kelly. Kelly doesn’t need to be new and fresh. She just needs to be Kelly.”

“You’ve directed her in three other films. These other guys don’t know how to work with someone from that generation,” Finn soothed.

Ester closed her eyes briefly, then mouthed to Finn wrong thing to say.

“Meaning what?” Benton asked low and cold. “That I’m also from that generation so I know how?”

“No, that you’re a gentleman and Kelly is a real lady,” Finn babbled, and hoped his dad would accept this statement of the public’s view of Kelly even though everyone in the industry knew she slept with every hot young star who came along. “These young… er, new guys don’t know how to work with someone like that.”

Benton looked mollified. “You’re sure right about that. These new guys are punks. They have no respect for the institutions…”

Finn cocked a back foot for greater comfort and settled in to listen. He also helped himself to the sole almadin on his dad’s plate.

Finn heard the sharp clatter of high heels on concrete, and suddenly an arm was slipped beneath his. The redhead from the Lieutenant set had attached herself limpet-like to his side.

“Hi.” The word emerged on a puff of coffee scented breath. “Sorry I had to run off back there. By the way, I’m Julie.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Bradley said.

He waited to see if Red would ask for his name, but apparently she had discovered that the joker with the pony’s body was the director’s son, and she wasn’t bright enough to realize that she needed to pretend that she hadn’t. Finn had long ago stopped being angry over these sudden shifts in attitude from eager young starlets. What he hadn’t totally resolved was whether to laugh or cry about them.

“So, are you in the business?” she asked as she tried to adjust her steps to match Finn’s length of stride.

“No, not really.” He watched the glow of interest in her eyes die. “I’m in medical school.” A touch of interest returned. So we’ve established what motivates you, Julie. Looks like… money. Which is probably good because you sure can’t act.

“So, how do you like it out here as compared to the Bronx?” Bradley asked.

Julie pouted. “Oh, pooh! I’ve been working so hard to lose the accent.”

In your dreams, baby.“And you have,” Finn said diplomatically. “It’s more intuition. Native Angelinos are few and far between.”

“So you were born like… here,” the girl suddenly amended.

“Yeah, born at the Hollywood Presbyterian hospital. Went to Hollywood High. And I expressed my wild card moments after birth. Which was good, because if it had happened in the birth canal I would have killed my mother, and that would have really sucked.” He smiled at her brightly. She blanched at the image his words had elicited. Which showed she had some imagination.

“So it sounds like you really know the ropes here, and that’s good because I could sure use some advice.” It was the dogged delivery of a rehearsed line, whether it fit into the conversational flow or not. It also made it very clear relationship she envisioned-friend, mentor, confidant.

“Sure,” Finn answered. “My cards are in my briefcase on the Jason set. I just keep a wallet in my pocket.” He taped the breast pocket on his Hawaiian shirt. Julie’s eyes flicked toward his gleaming palomino haunches.

Years ago the sisters at his elementary school had forced him to wear pants. His father had declared that Finn looked like a bad clown act, and they’d found another school. Finn was careful to keep his penis sheathed, but nothing could hide his balls, and even pony sized they were still the envy of every male and a terror to most women.

“Why don’t you come back after shooting, and I’ll get you a card.” His bad angel prodded him to add. “We could have dinner.”

“Uh, I’m busy tonight. Sorry. I’ll get the card… later.” She glanced hastily at her wristwatch. “Well, gotta go.” She gave him a perky smile, waved, and hurried off between the stages.

Finn allowed himself a laugh. It felt a little hollow.

The next day Corman was shooting coverage on Jason and his merry band of Argonauts. Finn decided to use the free time to head down to U.C.L.A, and buy his books for the fall semester. He enjoyed medical school, but it seemed like the summer had just started, and he wasn’t quite ready for the grind yet.

He stood between tall bookcases, his arms stretched around a giant stack of books, squinting at the class list perched on top, and realized he only had half the required texts. He wondered if he could make it to the front of the store for a cart, or if he should just leave the books here and come back. But there had only been one copy of the epidemiology text, and some bastard would probably swipe it if he left them.

“Man, these suckers are heavy,” a voice suddenly said. Startled, Finn let out a yell and dropped the precariously balanced stack of books.

Harry Gold was peering around a bookcase like a malevolent leprechaun. He stepped around the case, and began to gather up the strewn books. “You shouldn’t try to carry these things. You’ll herniate yourself. You should get a cart.”

“Thanks,” Finn gritted.

Gold had stopped stacking, arrested by the picture of Dr. Tachyon on the back flap of his introductory text on Joker Medicine. “I hear this guy is a real stud, but he sure looks like a poufftah,” Gold said. “I tried to make a movie about the Four Aces back in the fifties, but Universal shut me down because of their movie. Actually it worked out great because after their movie came out I could do a parody and they couldn’t touch me. The Four Deuces, Golden Hotdog, the Enema, Cock Tease and Black Stallion.” Gold smiled fondly at the memory. He picked up another book and did an elaborate double take at the price. “Seventy-five bucks? These suckers are expensive.”

“Yes, and heavy,” Finn said.

“Look, I’ve been thinking about it, and now that I see the kind of expenses you got I realize I wasn’t being fair. I’ll give you twelve thousand dollars to be in my movie.”

“Mr. Gold. I don’t want to be in your movie. I’m not an actor…”

“I can teach you.”

“Look, Mr. Gold, I was trying to be polite. I’m not interested in being in a porno movie. I couldn’t face my family, my friends, and…”

“You could wear a mask.” Gold was charmed with the idea. “Yeah, like Zorro…”

It was hard to get out the words past the laughter. “Like nobody would recognize my big palomino ass bouncing up and down on the screen. How many joker centaurs do you think there are?”

“One. Which is why I need you. Look, I specialize in wild card porn. I got guys with double dicks, and gals with three boobs, but you’re unique.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Gold.”

Finn took the joker medicine text out of the producer’s hands and set it on the top of the stack. He slowly bent his forelegs until he was resting on his knees and picked up the pile of books.

“You’re being very unreasonable about this,” Gold grumbled. “I’m telling you ponies are a pain in the ass.”

I’m sure your star would think so too, Finn thought, but successfully resisted the impulse to say it. Instead he replied, “So get two guys and a horse suit.”

“That would look cheesy,” Harry complained.

Like your movie won’t? Finn thought, but he didn’t say that either.

Benton Finn was footing the bill for a bon voyage party at City, one of L.A. ’s more trendy restaurants down on Melrose Boulevard. Personally Bradley hated the place. It bowed to the new trend in interior design which decreed there should be no color, no fabric, no softness and no warmth. There were concrete walls and floors, exposed pipes in the ceiling, gleaming metal track lighting, and black metal tables. The wealth of hard surfaces amplified every sound, so forks connecting with china became a hail storm, the drone of conversation a roar, and the background music an irritating beat with no discernible melody. Worse, from Finn’s point of view, was the footing. The floor offered no traction so he was forced to wear his booties, and while they were practical he thought they looked dorky, especially with a French cuffed shirt, tuxedo jacket and black bow tie.

He spotted Julie sitting with the same group of females from the set. Since two of the four had indicated they would tolerate him he decided to head over. The plump blonde spotted him first, grabbed up her plate and bolted for the buffet. Finn found himself watching her behind in the satin sheath dress and thought nastily a few more runs to the chow line and she’ll be vying for the Shelly Winters roles.

Julie gave him a too bright, too large smile, Tanya coolly surveyed him, and the brunette eyed him nervously but this time held her ground.

“EVENING LADIES,” Finn bellowed.

“HI,” Julie shouted back. The brunette’s mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t hear what she said. Tanya just inclined her head with air of a queen. Again Finn felt respect for the girl. She knew how to avoid looking ridiculous.

Finn bent at the waist and put his lips close to Julie’s ear. “Who’s your friend?” He indicated the brunette with a jerk of his chin.

Julie turned to place her mouth near his ear. Wisps of hair tickled his nose and cheek. He could smell the hair spray. “Anne,” Julie replied.

“Hi, Anne.” Finn waved at the brunette. She gave him a tense smile.

“Nice party.”

It wasn’t that he heard her, but years at these events had taught him a form of ESP crossed with lip reading. It was the safest and most inane thing the brunette could say so Bradley suspected that was what she had said. He gave her a broad smile and nodded enthusiastically.

Tanya was watching him. The intensity of her gaze was such that he found himself looking at her rather than at Julie, who was trying to talk with him. Since he was only catching one word in four, it wasn’t working. Tanya lifted her champagne glass, quirked an eyebrow at him, and jerked her head toward the bar. Finn nodded. He make his excuses to Julie. From her expression when he walked away he gathered she hadn’t gotten the drift.

Tanya led him around the bar where it dovetailed into a corner. Amazingly it was almost quiet in the cubbyhole. Finn looked around at the rows of glittering bottles, and the racked glasses hanging like bulbous stalactites. A short hallway ran past them leading to the bathrooms. It made for an odd mixed smell of spilled beer and toilet bowl freshener.

“How did you know about this?”

“Used to tend bar here,” Tanya answered.

“A woman of many talents.” Finn cringed again.

Tanya gave him smile. Her lips quirked up higher on one side than the other which gave her a gamin look. “You really keep walking into them, don’t you?”

“Sorry, I’m not usually this gauche.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” Tanya asked.

“Yes. You’re quite beautiful and you fluster me.”

“Good. Can you fluster your dad for me?”

Finn was disappointed. He’d thought this girl might avoid the worst of the actress clichés. He realized she was watching him very closely with a measuring expression.

“Is this a test?” Finn asked.

“Yeah. I figured I’d do it for Julie and save both of you the embarrassment.”

“I never use the relationship on anyone’s behalf.”

Tanya pulled down a bottle of scotch and poured a couple of fingers into her champagne glass. “I’ll pass the word.”

“Guess this means I won’t be hearing from her,” Finn said.

“Oh cut the crap. If you really want to connect with women that way you’d be making promises whether you could keep them or not.”

Grace Kelly came gliding down the hall from the bathrooms. Stan followed a few steps behind. He was shoving a small make-up case back into his shoulder bag. The elderly make-up artist made himself unobtrusive and slipped away along the back wall. Kelly gave Finn and Tanya a smile, then swept on and rejoined Harrison Ford at their table. She had arrived with the actor, so Finn figured the fling with Beatty was over. Finn looked back down at Tanya and found her staring across the room at Stan Whitehorn-Humphries where he sat alone at a small table.

“So, you want to dance?” Finn asked.

Tanya kept looking at Stan. “I don’t think either of us want to look that absurd.” It stung, but Finn had to admit it was an accurate assessment. “Actually I think I’m just about funned out. See you around, Bradley.”

She waved her fingertips and slipped away. Finn looked back at Stan. The Englishman was watching Kelly. His expression was both fond and regretful. Stan had never married. Finn now thought he knew why. Bradley looked from Kelly glowing and radiant as she leaned against Ford’s shoulder, to the withered old man who watched her with such longing. They were separated by a vast gulf of age and status and it wasn’t going to be bridged. Finn glanced back along the length of his horse body. He looked at all the pretty girls. Suddenly he was all funned out too.

Three days Finn had a late call, four pm. He parked his van, and backed the length of the stripped interior and out the rear doors. There was a tendril of smoke hanging over the hills of Griffith Park, and the hot Santa Ana winds carried the acrid scent of burning.

The high walls of the sound stages blocked out the wind, and Finn’s shirt was soon sticking to his back. He trotted toward stage 23, and stopped dead when he saw the knots of people hanging around in the street. The small groups would split apart and coalesce in new configurations. Cigarettes were being nervously puffed, flipped onto the pavement and crushed. New ones were lit. Finn knew what this looked like. It looked like trouble.

Edgar Burksen, Finn Senior’s favorite director of photography, was pacing in small circles outside the stage door. Finn joined him.

“Hi, what’s up?” Finn asked the Dutchman. “ Warren shut down the production?” The rising star was known for his insistence on perfection.

“No, Kelly.”

Finn goggled. In all the long years of her career the actress had never shut down a production. “What happened?”

“We don’t know. She won’t come to the stage. She won’t let your father in the trailer.” The D.P. gave a very European shrug.

A big black limo came nosing down the street and stopped almost at the door of Kelly’s trailer. The driver climbed out and knocked. The door of the enormous Star Waggon abruptly swung open and with such force that it slammed against the metal side of the trailer. Everyone jumped, then stared as Grace Kelly emerged.

Her head and neck were swathed in scarves and enormous sunglasses hid her eyes. She almost jumped the two feet separating the trailer from the limo, and dove into the back seat. The back door was closed, the driver took his place and the car rolled away. Nothing could be seen through the darkly tinted windows.

Everyone released a pent up breath and began talking at once. Finn stared at Edgar. “She looks like Marilyn dodging the press,” Finn said.

“At least with Marilyn you knew why she was shutting you down-pills and booze,” Edgar said. “This is just a glamour fit.”

“About what?” Finn asked.

“Stan didn’t show up to work today, and she won’t let anyone else do her make-up,” Edgar explained.

“Did somebody check on him?”

“Your dad sent a P.A. over to his house. He wasn’t there.”

There was a tingle of concern down the length of Finn’s human back and into his horse back. It manifested in his white tail beginning to swish madly. “Or he couldn’t answer. Stan’s seventy if he’s a day.”

“We can’t exactly break in,” Edgar answered.

“Does he have family?”

Edgar gave the shrug again.

Finn felt really bad. Because Benton had directed so many Grace Kelly movies, and because Stan was her preferred make-up artist, Finn had gotten to know the English émigré pretty well. He had always treated Finn with courtesy and respect, and not just because of who his dad was or how much money they had. Finn hoped the old man hadn’t had a stroke or a heart attack. Finn glanced at his watch, and realized he was late for his call.

“Keep me posted,” he said to Edgar and kicked it into a gallop.

“Coppola has already been over to Diller’s office telling him that he knows how to handle a real star. That’s he’s an ‘actors director’.” Finn senior provided the quotes with his fingers, then twisted his lips in disgust.

“Be sure to seed the cucumbers,” Alice Finn said, as she bustled past Finn where he stood chopping salad fixings at the marble cutting board. “They give your father gas.”

“I’m discussing the eminent end of my career, and you’re discussing cucumbers?” Benton Finn demanded.

Alice paused to kiss her husband on the top of the head, “Actually your reaction to them,” she said, and headed across expanse of marble floor to the oven.

The family was gathered in the giant kitchen of the Bel Aire house. Black granite counters stretched out in all directions like an alien monolith. There were two ovens, a convection oven, a microwave oven, and an open hearth rotisserie. The refrigerator was hidden behind cherry wood panels, and glass fronted cabinets threw back the light from the track lighting. It looked like a movie set, but for the incongruity of a battered Formica breakfast table with cheap chrome chairs which sat in the bay window of the breakfast nook. Benton Finn was seated at the old table morosely drinking wine.

“So what is the deal with Stan?” Finn asked as he sprinkled on dressing. The pungent scent of vinegar and pepper made him sneeze.

“God Bless you,” said his mother placidly.

“Who knows?” Benton replied. “The cops say they can’t enter the house until he’s been missing twenty-four hours. By then my career will have ended.”

“By then Stan might be dead if he’s fallen or had a stroke,” Finn said.

Benton flushed. “Look, I’m worried about Stan too, but I’ve got two hundred people working for me…”

“Would you get the butter, dear?” Alice sang out to her husband as she pulled the pot roast out of the oven.

Benton started for the refrigerator. The phone rang. Benton answered it. “Grace, my God, we’ve been so worried…” His voice broke off abruptly, and he began listening intently. Finn stood holding the salad. Alice held the roast. The aroma of roasted potatoes and gravy filled the room. It was so quiet in the room that Finn could hear the tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

“I don’t think Dr. Tachyon is the right choice,” Benton finally said. “You’re not a wild card.” Benton listened again. “You think you caught it this morning?” His father rolled a desperate eye at Finn.

Finn shook his head. What the actress was describing was virtually impossible. If she had somehow caught a spoor she’d be dead… or a joker. Which might explain her demand for Tachyon.

“Look, I’ll try to get him here, but it’ll take a day…” There was obviously some kind of explosion from the other end of the line, because Benton broke off abruptly. His father was nodding, muttering uh huh, uh huh; finally Benton blurted out, “My son is in medical school. Specializing in wild card medicine. Let me have him take a look at you.”

I’m going to lose my license before I ever get it. Finn thought.

“Okay, just hang tight,” Benton was saying. “We’ll be right over.” The director hung up the phone, and headed past his wife and son. “Let’s go,” he snapped to Finn.

“Dad, I’m starting my second year of medical school. I barely know how to find the pancreas.”

“And dinner’s ready,” Alice protested.

Benton didn’t pause. He slammed out the pantry door into the garage. Finn heard the whine of the garage door going up. He looked at his mother and shrugged. The horn of the van started blaring in sharp staccato honks. Finn put the salad on the table, and headed out.

“Oh… Holy… Shit…!!”

It probably wasn’t the most diplomatic thing his father could have said, and it had the effect Finn expected. Grace Kelly started to cry.

The tears went washing down her cheeks, catching in the net of wrinkles around her eyes and racing down the crevasses on either side of her mouth. It wasn’t that the wrinkles were so deep; what was shocking was that they were there at all. From her debut role in Fourteen Hours in 1951 she had never changed. At least not physically. Her acting had become more elegant and nuanced, but the perfect face had retained the smoothness of porcelain. With other actresses of her generation it was apparent the wrinkles were being tucked away beneath their hairline. Not with Grace. She was perpetually twenty-two.

Now she was fifty-one. A beautiful fifty-one, but not the stunning ingenue currently staring in The French Lieutenant’s Woman.

Benton Finn was staring blindly at the far wall of the living room of the Los Feliz mansion. He was unconsciously combing his hair with his fingers. Grace, huddled on the curved sofa, pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. Finn shifted his weight from foot to foot to foot to foot, his hooves sinking in the plush beige carpet. He wondered how long the silence was going to last.

“Is this the wild card?” Benton finally rasped out.

Finn and Kelly’s eyes met. Her expression was desperate pleading. She drew in a shaky breath and said, “No.”

“Then why the hell did you want Tachyon?” the director asked.

“I was hoping he might know an ace or a shot or something that could… fix me. Give me back my youth.”

Now it was Benton ’s turn to give his son the desperate look. “Do you think there is such a thing?” he asked.

“No.” Finn looked at Kelly. “I’d say Ms. Kelly had the market on the Fountain of Youth cornered.”

“So what the hell happened?” Benton demanded. He swiped his hand through his hair again. It looked like a gray/blond haystack.

Finn thought furiously. It couldn’t be a substance or others would have discovered it. Kelly’s demand for Tachyon indicated it was wild card related. Which meant it had to be…

“Stan!” Finn blurted. “It’s Stan, isn’t it?”

Kelly stared at him with the air of deer caught in the headlights, bit her lip, and finally nodded.

His father stared at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. Benton pointed at Kelly’s face. “No make-up man is this good.” Kelly gave a gusty sob and held the sodden handkerchief to her eyes.

“He is if he’s a wild card,” Finn replied. He looked back at Kelly. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

The actress nodded. “We met on the set of High Noon. I had been out too late the night before. I asked him to cover the shadows. He gave me this smile.” The woman also smiled at the memory. “He leaned in close to me, and whispered he’d make them vanish. And he did.” She twisted the handkerchief between her fingers. “He’s been with me ever since. On every film.”

“So where is he?” Benton asked.

“I don’t know,” Kelly wailed.

“Have you checked his house?” Finn asked. Kelly’s eyes slid away.

“How could she?” Benton asked. His voice had lost the stridency of a few minutes before and he was taking on the director’s smooze tone.

“Because the effect obviously doesn’t last very long, which means he’s got to be doing her make-up before every date, every preview, every meeting. She probably has a key to his house.” Finn wasn’t a director and didn’t need to coddle stars. He simply laid it out baldly.

Kelly didn’t relish the tone. She gave him a dirty look. “He’s not there. His car’s there but he’s gone.”

“Was the door locked or unlocked?” Finn had often been an extra on Jokertown Blues. He suddenly realized he was sounding a lot like Captain Furillo.

“Locked.”

“So you have got a key.” Kelly bit her lip, then pulled the key out of a pant pocket, and held it out. Finn automatically took it.

“Any sign of a struggle?” Finn asked.

The actress looked startled as if that hadn’t occurred to her. Probably hadn’t. She was far more concerned with the ravages to her face than Stan’s fate. “No. Well… maybe. His dinner was on the table. He’d eaten a little.”

Finn faced his father. “We need to call the police.”

“No,” wailed Kelly.

“Impossible,” snapped Benton.

“This can’t get out,” they both concluded in concert.

“The man is missing,” Finn argued.

“This is directed at me,” came the duet again. The director and the star paused and looked at each other.

“Somehow I think Stan would think it was directed at him,” Finn said with some asperity.

“Stan’s just a pawn,” said Benton. “Coppola’s been after me for a couple of years.”

True, Finn thought.

“And a lot of actresses resent me,” Kelly said.

Also true, thought Finn.

“So, what are we going to do?” Finn asked.

Neither his father nor Kelly had an answer for that. Instead there was a lot of toing and froing about how she really hadn’t changed all that much. She was still beautiful. Then they moved on to whether Benton was going to recast the movie, since it was unclear how long Kelly was going to be off the set. Finn’s stomach, which had been expecting dinner two hours ago, let out a loud rumble. Kelly gave him a startled look, and his dad frowned at him.

“I took you away from dinner, didn’t I? Let me order in a meal for you,” Kelly said. It was nice of her to offer. Most actresses were far too self-absorbed to notice the people around them. And Grace Kelly had every reason right now to be totally self-absorbed.

Benton shook his head. “We really need to get home. I need to reassure Alice that you’re all right.”

Kelly looked pleased. Proving yet again that an actor always assumed everything was about them.

They let themselves out of the large double doors, and Finn skittered down the steep flagstone path to where the van was parked in the driveway. Behind them the Griffith Park observatory loomed like a white ghost castle on the hilltop.

Finn took over driving. His dad wasn’t terribly adept with the hand controls. “So are you going to recast?” he asked his father as they turned onto Los Feliz Boulevard.

“I’ve got twenty days in the can. The studio would never agree to that much reshooting. If we don’t find Stan this movie is dead.”

Neither of them said anything else for a number of blocks. “How do you think she kept him working solely for her?” Finn asked, desperate to break the morose silence.

“Probably threatened to have him killed,” came the equally morose answer.

“Doesn’t seem like her style.”

“The guy could have made a fucking fortune,” Benton said. “Gone from studio to studio, set to set, keeping actresses young.” Benton reflected for a moment. “Probably a good thing he didn’t. It would have killed the industry. The public wants a new flavor at least every few weeks.”

Finn was pondering something else his father had said. “But does he really keep her young… physiologically young? Her face may look twenty-three, but what kind of shape is her heart in? Her lungs?” They were rolling down Sunset Boulevard at the best speed the van could manage. Mercedes, Posches, and Rolls went flying past their tail lights like malevolent red eyes. “The break-in,” Finn suddenly blurted.

“What?”

“The break-in a few days ago. Nothing was taken, but the files had been rifled. The insurance policies are in there, and a medical exam is attached. It would prove that Kelly wasn’t a wild card.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“They’d know it was somebody near her, and Stan is the only constant.”

“Hey, I’ve directed most of her movies,” Benton argued.

“Most, not all. You heard her. Stan’s done her make-up ever since High Noon. She’s never married, and she never stays with any leading man much past a few months. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who held the wild card.”

“So who took him?” Benton. “And did they kill him?”

Worms seemed to suddenly go crawling through the pit of Finn’s stomach at his father’s blunt statement. “I don’t know. It depends on who took him. It’s a power worth preserving. I think. I hope.”

Finn turned up the hill toward Bel Aire and they rolled past the guard gate. The guard gave them a wave. A few minutes later they were home.

His mom was full of questions, and Finn began giving her the rundown while he wolfed down a slice of pot roast. Through the kitchen door they could hear Benton making a call in the living room.

“… Grace is down with the flu. I’ll be rearranging the schedule, but it’s no problem.”

Since Finn’s last remark to his mom had been that Kelly looked like the portrait of Dorian Grey, he and his mother exchanged incredulous looks at the lie. Benton hung up the phone and reentered the kitchen. Finn waved his fork at his father. “How can you say that? You said yourself, without Stan there is no movie.”

“So we find him,” Benton said. “You find him.”

“What!?” Finn’s voice rose to a squeak. “I’m a med student.”

“You’re a joker.” Finn watched his mother flinch, and he felt the beef turn to bile in his gut. His parents had always been careful to call him a “wild card” not the pejorative “joker.” Now his father had said the word, and he felt an aching grief as if the love and acceptance which had been the foundation of his life had suddenly proved to be a fraud. “You know the world. I can’t involve studio security or the police, and you’ve already had some great ideas. I’m depending on you, Bradley.” His father’s eyes were pleading. “I’m close to retirement. I just wanted to go out on top, not fired off my last film.”

We all have our griefs, Finn thought.

After dinner Finn went to Stan’s house. He had the key that Kelly had thrust at him, and it was where all the detectives started in the TV shows. It was a tiny white bungalow on the south side of Los Feliz Boulevard. On the north side were the Hollywood Hills and the homes of the rich and very famous climbing the scrub-covered folds and canyons. On the south were modest houses and ethnic restaurants, groceries, laundromats, shoe repair shops-the kind of place where normal people lived.

The front door opened directly into a long living room with hard-wood floors underfoot and several throw rugs. Finn avoided them assiduously. He had learned the hard way that hooves and throws didn’t mix. There was a shabby green recliner in front of a television set, and a couch that hardly looked used. There were built-in book-cases on most of the walls, and they were crammed with books.

There was a double glass door that divided the living room from the dining room. It was a charming room with built-in buffets on either side of the west window, and an array of china displayed behind the glass mullions in the doors. There was a plate on the table with the remains of fried chicken and mashed potatoes. A salad on a salad plate. A glass of red wine. It was sad and very uninformative.

Feeling like a voyeur, Finn proceeded to the bedroom. There was a large four poster bed, meticulously made with a canopy and dust ruffles and throw pillows. There was a large window looking northwest toward the hills. Finn gave a glance out the window, then snapped his neck around for a longer look. From the window he could see the upper story of Kelly’s house. Finn trotted back to the main rooms of the house. All the drapes were tightly closed. He returned to the bedroom and those wide open drapes.

After another look at the lights in the movie star’s house Finn began riffling through the bookcases in the bedroom. Not surprisingly there were a lot of books about the movie business. There were also lot of books about Grace Kelly. Finn flipped through a few of them skimming a sentence here, a paragraph there.

On the dresser was a framed picture of Stan standing next to a marlin hanging by its tail from a wooden scaffold. This was a familiar picture to Finn. Every male in southern California had a picture of himself next to a big fish he’d caught in Mexico. In the photo Stan was a good deal younger, and he was smiling off to the side as if to someone out of camera range. That was odd. Most of the mighty hunters beamed directly into the camera. The frame was also anomalous. It was an elaborate silver affair.

“Must have been really proud of that fish,” Finn muttered as he turned over the photo and looked at the back. There was a hand-written notation. La Paz , June 1954.

The date hit some memory or association. Finn stood struggling with that sense of reaching for something just beyond reach. Then it hit. He lunged back across the bedroom, and pulled down one of the biographies of Kelly. He flipped quickly through the pages.

The start of principal photography was delayed on To Catch a Thief due to Kelly’s exhaustion. She recuperated for several weeks in Mexico before returning to begin work …

There was more, but Finn had what he needed. Kelly and Stan had both been in Mexico in June of ’54. Question was, were they together? Finn flipped forward a few more pages to the section about Prince Rainier of Monaco.

Odds makers in Vegas were offering two to one that Kelly would wed the dashing prince, but it was the cynics who didn’t believe in fairy tales who made the best choice-in 1955 Hollywood’s princess declined the offer to join European royalty.

Finn closed the book. He looked back at the framed photo. He looked out the window at the distant lights in Kelly’s home. The lights went out. Grace Kelly had gone to bed. “She didn’t marry Rainier because she couldn’t,” Finn said aloud. “She was already married to you. Wasn’t she, Stan?”

It was an idiotic thing to say, but it was the only thing that made any sense. The only explanation for why the make-up man had stayed so loyal for all those years.

“All those years while she was fucking every new leading man. You were a schmuck, Stan.” Finn shoved the book back into its place on the shelf. “And you need to go home and go to sleep. You’re talking to yourself, Bradley, my man.”

The next morning he put in a call to the Myth Patrol. He knew he needed help, and he didn’t know who else to ask. They met at Dupar’s, and Finn outlined the situation.

“So tell me again how all us wild cards are brothers under the skin, and how I ought to spend my free time rescuing an ace,” Goathead mumbled around his double bacon cheeseburger.

Finn hadn’t counted on ace envy entering into the equation. “He’s not an ace. He’s a deuce. This is not a major league power.”

“He’s a seventy year old man who can make woman look young,” Goathead argued. “If that’s not a sure means to unlimited sex I don’t know what is.”

“I wish you wouldn’t always put your head in the gutter,” Clops said. He rolled his eye at Cleo.

“She can’t understand a fucking thing I say.” Goathead leered at her. “Hey baby, want to fuck like frenzied ferrets?”

” Cleo dumped her chocolate malt in Goathead’s lap.

Clops grinned as Goathead cursed and mopped at the sticky mess. “Looks like she understands just fine.”

“Guys, could we focus here,” Finn said, waving his hands in the air. “Where do we start?”

“ Hollywood and Cahuenga,” Clops said confidently.

The Myths were standing beneath an old brownstone building on the corner. The dark upper windows threw back the sunlight in sharp jagged glints. Cleo was glaring at a drunk who stood swaying and leering at her from across the street. Goathead was leering at a couple of female hookers just down the block. Finn stared at Clops.

“Okay. We’re here. Why are we here?” Finn asked.

Clops pointed to a corner window. “That was Philip Marlowe’s office.”

Finn fought down the urge to rip off the cyclops’s head. Forcing a mild tone, he said, “I hate to break this to you, but Marlowe was a character in books. Then he was a character in the movies. He’s not real.”

Okay, Finn thought, as Clops looked like a kicked puppy, it wasn’t your most diplomatic moment.

Surprisingly it was Goathead who came to the big joker’s defense. “No, he’s right. We’ve got to get in the space. Think like a detective. Find the character.”

Wonderful, beneath Goathead’s hairy chest beats the heart of a method actor, Finn thought.

“I think a tough, no nonsense Bogart approach,” Clops began, only to be interrupted by Goathead.

“Well, that leaves you right out.” replied Goatboy. “Whoever plays our detective, you’re destined to be the loyal sidekick. You’re not leading man material.”

Cleo glared at Goathead, and all the snakes hissed at him. The joker jumped back. Cleo laid a hand on Clops’s arm, and gave him a blazing smile. Finn was dazzled. She really was beautiful, if you just ignored the snakes. There was a barrage of Turkish being directed at Clops, then one halting English word.

“Gorgeous,” Cleo said, and smiled up at the Cyclops again.

A tide of red swept from the base of Clop’s throat to the top of his ears. “You really think so?” he asked the joker girl. She nodded vigorously. “Would you like to have dinner tonight?” he asked. Cleo nodded again.

“Gee, isn’t that just… swell,” muttered Goathead. “I’m going home.”

“Wait,” Finn cried. “We haven’t…”

But Clops and Cleo were strolling off with her arm tucked through his, while tourists on a bus gawked out the window and shot photos. Goathead went clattering off around the corner. Finn took a last look up at Marlowe’s window. Inspiration did not descend. Finn headed off down Hollywood.

In the old days the Boulevard had been a magical, glamorous place. Now it had fallen on hard times. The street was lined with cheap tourist shops selling tee shirts, tacky memorabilia and maps to stars houses. Hookers, male, female and joker, worked the corners, fading down side streets when an L.A.P.D. cruiser would roll past. Down those side streets the robbers waited. They generally left the hookers alone. Tourists were easier targets.

Finn, depressed and in a brown study, wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going or who he passed. He had to tell his father he couldn’t do this, and they had to call the police. Then a familiar voice called out to him. “Hi, Bradley.”

“Tanya.” He looked around, but he didn’t see any evidence of a boyfriend or even one or two of the Bimbo Battalion. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah.”

“This is not a good part of town for you to be in.” She laughed. “No, I’m serious.”

“So escort me,” she demanded.

Finn felt like a sun had started burning down in the pit of his belly. The warm good feeling spread upward and broke out in a broad grin. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

“I was going to Musso and Franks. Have you eaten?”

Banishing the thought of the short stack of pancakes, egg and sausage he had consumed only two hours before, Finn shook his head no. “But Musso’s is tough for me. Pretty much nothing but booths and narrow isles. Do you like Chinese?”

Tanya nodded. “But only in Chinatown.”

“Do you know Hop Li’s?” She shook her head. “Come on, you’re in for a treat. I’m parked over by Grumann’s.” She slid her arm through Finn’s and the bright glow seemed to explode out the top of his skull. He forgot about Grace Kelly, the movie, even Stan. He was prancing down the Walk of Fame with the prettiest girl in Hollywood.

Tanya did have a pretty good location. Off Melrose on the fringes of Beverly Hills. Lunch had been terrific, and he didn’t mean the food. They had talked for two hours, and by the second hour Tanya kept laying her fingers gently on his wrist. Once she had even brushed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Finn offered to drive her home. She agreed with a secretive little smile and then briefly touched the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip. Finn sensed she was going to invite him in. Then during the drive to North Hollywood Finn had started to worry. What if she lives in one of those nineteen fifties apartment buildings with the concrete and metal exterior stairs. There is no way I can negotiate those.

Tanya directed him up a quiet street off Melrose, and Finn felt his spirits soar. The street was lined with nineteen twenties duplexes. Most were not aging well. There was missing stucco, missing tiles on the Spanish roofs. Tanya’s was differentiated by the fact it had beautiful landscaping. She followed his look. “I take care of the landscaping in exchange for half the rent.”

“Wow, you’re an incredible gardener. You could do this professionally,” Finn said enthusiastically then realized from way the skin around her mouth tightened that he’d said the wrong thing. “Look, I wasn’t suggesting it as the fall back position when you don’t make it as an actress.”

She gave him a smile, and it was the first one Finn had seen that didn’t seem calculated. “You’re a nice guy, Bradley Finn.” He felt the same rictus tightening of his cheek muscles as his smile went thin. “And no, I don’t mean that as a kiss off. I mean it as a come on.” And she leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Her tongue flicked out to explore his lips. Finn suddenly couldn’t breath. “Now come on in.”

The duplex was sparsely furnished, something which he suspected had more to do with poverty then design. But it was clean and almost obsessively neat and the spicy scent of incense gave it an exotic feeling.

Tanya walked backwards down the short hallway, unbuttoning his shirt as they went. Finn was willing to follow. At that moment he would have followed her anywhere. She yanked off her tank top, took Finn’s hands, and cupped them around her breasts. The skin was warm, slightly sweaty, and very soft. He ran his thumb across her nipples, feeling the roughness as they puckered. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders. He felt it slid across his back and down his side and his horse hide quivered at the tickle.

Gasping, he pulled her close and kissed her. The flesh on their chests seemed to lock together, glued by sweat. Tanya tugged him forward. Finn opened one eye to see where they were going.

It was then that, if not sanity, practicality returned. Finn looked at the bed. “I can’t use that.”

That seemed to rattle her. “What?”

“I can’t get down like that. And even if I could I’d squash you. I weigh about four hundred pounds.” She retreated several steps. Too much information, Finn though with a cringe. Didn’t need to mention the weight thing.He could feel his erection dying.

She glanced at the walls of the room. “So what do we do?”

“Put the mattress on a table.” A new worry intruded. “Do you have a dining room table?”

She looked around the room again. “Yeah, but I don’t want to make love in there.”

“We could carry it in,” Finn suggested and cringed because he thought he was sounding desperate. Probably because he was desperate.

“There’s not enough room,” she said.

“Yes there is if we set it horizontal to the foot of the bed.”

She was looked desperately around the room again. “It won’t work. Look, what do you say we hold this thought, and you come back later. I can get some help moving the table…”

“What, you need movers? How big is this table? I can move the table.”

She was staring past his shoulder. Nausea replaced the earlier hot tingle of arousal. For the first time Finn took a hard look at the bedroom. He noted the way the track lighting spotlighted the bed. He spotted the tiny shotgun mike nestled next to one of the light cans. Careful mincing sidesteps with his hind feet brought him around to face the side wall. It wasn’t a large hole. It didn’t to be. He wasn’t sure if he saw or only imagined the glint of light off the camera lens. It didn’t matter. He gulped down tears of rage and shame and went galloping out the door of the bedroom.

Harry Gold popped out the bathroom door, and waved his arms over his head. “Whoa, whoa!”

Finn reared, forelegs pawing the air. It was a trick that usually made people step back. Harry Gold froze and stood staring admiringly up at Finn. Suddenly Finn realized what was holding the producer’s unwavering attention. Finn felt his balls trying to retreat, and his penis pulled as far back in his sheath as was possible. He dropped back to all fours and rushed past the porn producer. He felt his horse shoulder connect with Gold. There was a loud thump and a shout of pain from the little man.

Finn didn’t look back. He sprinted for the front door. As he charged through the living room, his hind brain noticed the dents in the carpet where furniture had stood. Far from being sparsely furnished, the room had been packed with furniture. They had moved it for him so he would have a straight shot to bedroom, led by his dick. Shame and humiliation were a foul and oily taste on the back of his tongue. Bradley yanked open the front door.

He shot through the colorful flower beds. Flower petals and leaves flew up around him chopped lose by his churning hooves. He cleared the low chain link fence like the front runner in the Grand National. Reaching his van, Finn realized his keys and his wallet were in his shirt pocket back in the apartment. He grabbed the spare set of keys from the magnetized box from beneath the chassis, got the doors unlocked, and staggered the length of the van. He could feel the muscles in his left stifle and hamstring starting to tighten. The physical pain was nothing to the shame he felt.

“Hey, no harm, no foul” said Harry Gold.

Finn had tracked down the producer at his offices in a rundown strip mall in Van Nuys. The walls of his office were lined with movie posters commemorating some of Harry’s classics, and huge blow-up photos of his stars. Finn tried to keep his gaze away from the equipment being flaunted by Jetballs and Dr. Tachydong.

Harry sat behind an acre wide cherry wood desk. It was loaded down with photo stills of actresses and piles of scripts. Finn didn’t know porn movies had scripts.

“And you can’t blame me for trying,” the little man added.

Finn rested his fists on the desk and leaned in on Harry until they were almost nose to nose. “I do blame you, Harry. I liked that girl. I thought she liked me. But you spoiled it all.”

“Hey, it’s not too late. We can set up only this time do it right with a table… a table. I didn’t even think of that…”

Finn cut across the flow of words. “Did you roll film?”

Harry held up his hands, palms out. “No. You were only warming up. Nothing to get.”

Finn spun around and let fly with his hind legs. His hooves connected with the front of the desk and wood splintered. The desk collapsed, falling forward to shed scripts and photos like a paper avalanche. Harry gave a yell of alarm, jumped out of his oversized leather chair, and retreated against the back wall. “What? Are you nuts?”

“No. I’m pissed. And tired of being lied to. Give me the film.”

The producer’s hands were trembling as he opened a filing cabinet and pulled out a cassette of film. “You are, like, way overreacting. Sure she owed me, but she could have said no, so she had to like you a little.”

Finn clutched the film and started for the door. Then it penetrated. He looked back. “What do you mean she owned you?”

“N… nothing. I gave her a start. That’s all. She’s one of my kids and I look after my kids even when they move on…”

“Christ, Harry, I hope you don’t play poker because you are the worst liar I’ve ever met.” Finn leaned over and grabbed the phone off the floor.

“What are you doing?” Gold asked.

“Calling the police.”

“What! Why? Because of this?” Gold pointed at the film under Finn’s arm.

“No. For aiding and abetting in a kidnapping and possibly a murder.”

“Kidnapping? Murder?” Harry squeaked. “You are nuts. I just put her in touch with a grip I know at Warner’s. B and E guy. Nothing violent. Gentlest guy you’ll ever meet.”

Finn glared at Gold. “Is that God’s own truth, Harry?”

“Yeah, yeah, I swear it!” the producer panted. He pulled out a big blue handkerchief and mopped sweat. This time Finn believed him.

Benton was taking the opportunity during Kelly’s “indisposition” to shoot crowd scenes. Finn called over to the set and learned that Tanya was there. He thought she might have had the decency to quit. Then he realized that she knew damn good and well that Finn wasn’t going to tell his father what had occurred, and nothing was going to keep Tanya from getting in front of a camera.

A call to the first A.D. established when the extras were going to be released. There was only one parking area on the Warners lot for extras, day players, and visitors. Finn parked his van down a side street which led to the back lot and waited. Eventually Tanya came walking into the lot. She wove her way through the parked cars to a dilapidated Nova, climbed in, and headed out onto Pass Avenue. Finn was right behind her.

He figured since he knew squat about tailing a car he’d just hug her bumper. Hopefully she knew squat about being tailed and wouldn’t notice. She led them over the hill and at Sunset Boulevard she turned west. They rolled past the entrance to the Bel Aire Heights where Finn’s family lived. He was surprised. This was high dollar country. Not the usual place to hide a kidnapping victim.

Then she turned north up the road to the Beverly Hills Hotel. Finn’s brain was starting to feel like it was spinning inside his skull. She went to the hotel, and parked in the free lot. Finn swept around to the entrance and availed himself of the valet service. He knew the dining room gave a pretty good view of most of the paths so he waited there. A few minutes later Tanya arrived. She headed through the lobby and out the back doors. Finn noted the path, and rushed out to find a busboy and a room service cart.

It required some significant greenbacks, but he was soon outfitted in a white jacket, pushing a cart in front of him. If he hunkered down a bit the long tablecloth hid his centaur body. Finn was worried he would lose her in the maze of paths and bungalows, but he caught a lucky break. He heard her voice over a high wall. “Julie, what the hell are you doing out here?”

“I was bored. I wanted a swim. Like, take a pill,” he heard Julie answer. “Besides, Susan said she’d watch him.”

Susan, Susan, Finn thought trying to place the name. Then he realized that was the plump blonde.

“She’s not on shift now,” came Tanya’s voice, sharp with suspicion.

“God, you are so anal. What difference does it make who guards him?” Julia replied. “And Anne stuck me with two shifts so I was due for a break.”

Is every starlet in Hollywood in on this? Finn thought, and he bit back a chuckle. Given the surroundings he was no longer worried about Stan’s physical well being.

“You are so stupid,” said Tanya. Finn heard the click of her heels retreating across the concrete.

“Well, fuck you too,” Julie shouted.

A moment later Tanya swung around a corner. Finn quickly looked away. She went up to the door of a bungalow and let herself in. Finn rumbled closer with his cart.

As the door was closing he heard Tanya say, “Out! Get your shirt on and get out!” The door shut. Finn started to grin.

A few moments later the fat blonde came flying out the door. One cheek was bright red, and her eyes were watering. Finn waited until she was out of sight, and then rolled up to the door. He knocked.

“Who is it?”

“Room service,” Finn sung out as loudly as he could.

“We didn’t order anything,” came Tanya’s voice.

“Actually I ordered some champagne,” Finn heard Stan say.

“Great, this is already costing us a fortune.” Her voice was getting louder as she approached the door. She threw it open. “We changed our minds. We don’t want…”

Finn knocked her down with the room service cart.

Stan was seated in an armchair with a large basket of fruit close at hand. “Hi, Stan,” Finn said. “I’m here to rescue you.”

“Why thank you, Bradley, but you might want to look out for Miss Tanya,” the elderly make-up artist said mildly.

Finn turned and found himself looking down the barrel of a small pistol. Tanya held it in a very confident and very business-like manner.

“I see you’ve noticed Miss Tanya’s assets,” Stan said. Finn’s errant brain suddenly flashed the memory of the warmth and weight of a pair of breasts cupped in his hands. He shook it off. “I found it a very compelling argument for accompanying her,” Stan continued. “Now that I’ve gotten to know her I realize that she wouldn’t shoot me.” The rigidity in Finn’s back started to slump toward his withers. “But she might shoot you.” The steel rod shot back up the centaur’s back. “I don’t think there’s anything that Miss Tanya won’t do in pursuit of a goal.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Finn said dryly. Tanya glared at him. Finn then did an elaborate scan of the opulent bungalow. “Hell of a hide-out.”

Tanya’s lips compressed. “Oh, don’t blame Miss Tanya,” Stan said. “She very sensibly had me stashed in a dingy little apartment over in Irvine. But I convinced Anne that I might be more willing to become her personal make-up artist if I were more comfortably situated. Since then Susan keeps taking her clothes off for me…”

“Stan, you’re a dirty old man,” Finn said.

“No, I simply saw no reason to argue. Susan is an unaffected child of nature.”

It sounded like a quote, but Finn couldn’t place it.

“Susan is a moron,” Tanya said. “What did Julie offer you?”

“Just money. Very unimaginative.”

Finn jerked a thumb at Tanya. “And Annie Oakley here just offers to shoot you?”

“No, she’s offered me nothing which inclines me to help her over all the others,” Stan said.

“I don’t want your help. I just want a chance,” Tanya spat out the words.

“And taking out Grace Kelly is going to help you how?” Finn asked.

“When the sun’s up you can’t see the stars. Why look for anything new when she’s there?”

“Tanya, it’s over. You’ve got to let him go,” Finn said.

“No, sooner or later the press will get a look at her, and then it’ll be over.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Finn asked.

“Keep you too. And I think when I tell your dad what went on between us he’ll want to keep me happy and quiet.”

There was a massive throbbing behind Finn’s eyes. A headache made up of equal parts rage and hurt. He fists clenched, but before he could react Stan tsked. “No, no, my dear. Crude threats are not the way to go. Now it’s time for you to ask for something. Let Bradley call his father, and negotiate a speaking role for you.”

Finn watched the calculation in her pale eyes. She then tucked the pistol back into her purse and gave a nod. Finn released the pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

There was a reason Stan had survived in Hollywood for fifty years, Finn thought.

Finn didn’t bother to take Stan home. He just drove the make-up man straight to Kelley’s house.

“Is there a reason you’ve brought me here?”

“It’s your home, isn’t it?” Finn countered.

“Home is where the heart is,” Stan said lightly, but there was a shadow in the back of his eyes.

“Then that would be here. I figured out about Mexico. You married her, didn’t you?”

The net of wrinkles around Stan’s blue eyes deepened as he smiled. “You’re a danger, young Bradley. Well, let’s go in to her.” Stan climbed out of the van.

They went around to the back where Stan unlocked the kitchen door. “Grace, my dear,” he called.

They heard her steps overhead. Stan led them into the foyer. Kelly came running down the grand curved staircase and into Stan’s arms. Finn sidestepped his way through an archway and into the living room. A few minutes passed and then they joined him. They were holding hands. It was really sweet.

“Would you like something to drink, Bradley?” Stan asked. “Would you get him something, dear, while I get my kit?”

Stan took a step only to be caught by Kelly. “Stan, wait. I’ve been thinking a lot during the past two days.”

Stan started shaking his head. “No, Grace. This is a beautiful movie, don’t…”

She put a hand over his mouth. “I’m tired, Stan. My back hurts. I’m hungry all the time, and I have to exercise twice as long now to stay the same size. I’m not twenty-three. You just let the mirror give me back that picture.” Stan stood silent, just staring at his wife. A wave of insecurity passed across her face. “You can’t love me like this?” She touched a wrinkled cheek.

Stan grabbed her into a tight embrace. His voice was thick as he murmured against her hair. “No, my love. I just want you to be sure before you give it all up.”

Kelly wasn’t trying to hide her tears. She kissed him hard. “But I’ll finally have you. For whatever time remains to us.”

The emotions-love, regret, joy-were like electric currents in the room. It was overwhelming, and Finn had to get out of that room. He placed each hoof with elaborate care. They still rang hollowly on the wood floor of the foyer, but neither Stan nor Grace noticed.

Amazingly, the movie continued. Kelly offered to split the cost of the reshoot with the studio. Benton recast, and the production moved to England. The tabloids made much of Kelly and Stan’s love story. SHE GAVE UP BEAUTY FOR TRUE LOVE! Stan hired bodyguards. And Finn started back to school.

One evening the phone rang.

“Hello,” Finn said around a mouthful of Chef Boyardi ravioli.

“Hi, Bradley.” It was Tanya.

Finn swallowed, and felt the inadequately chewed food hit his stomach like a lead ball. “Hi.”

“I was wondering if I could take up the offer of a native guide to Santa Monica?”

“Last time we met you aimed a gun at me, and the time before that you tried to trick me into a porno movie.”

“So? It’s not like it was personal.”

“And that’s why I think Santa Monica is a bad idea.”

“Coward.” He could hear the laughter in her voice.

“Tanya, would you fuck a pony?”

“No. But a centaur might tempt me.”