Kill the Mother!. Michael Mallory
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pages of a design magazine, but was uncomfortable as all get-out to actually use. About three minutes later, a forty-ish, very thin guy with close-cropped hair appeared and Cassandra pointed him in my direction. “Hi, I’m Terrence Holving, talent coordinator for Gelfan Productions, and you are.…”
“Dave Beauchamp,” I said, sticking out my hand, which he wetly shook.
“What’s this about, Mr. Beauchamp?”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked.
“My office,” he said, turning and heading toward the elevator. I followed, and within seconds we were on our way up to the fourth floor. “So,” Holving said, “how are the Brothers Alpha?” The last two words were delivered with the kind of sarcastic bite in which Paul Lynde would have taken pride.
“Creepy and unnatural as ever,” I said, truthfully.
Terrence Holving burst out with a choppy, gaspy laugh, like he’d been punched in the stomach with a joke book. “Well, at least I know you’re acquainted with them,” he said, as the elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor. “This way.” We went down a very convoluted hallway, which I doubted I could have navigated on my own, and past a reception desk emblazoned with the “Max Gelfan Productions” logo. The knockout blonde seated behind the desk smiled as we walked by. Finally we came to a small, but well decorated office. There were posters and mementoes from any number of past projects covering the walls. Holving closed the door behind us. “Please sit, Mr. Beauchamp,” he said, motioning me to a chair, and then seating himself behind his overburdened desk. “What do you want to know about the Brothers Alpha?”
“First, Mr. Holving, please understand that while I am a private investigator who has been hired on a matter by Nora Frost, I am in no way here to threaten you or anyone else in Max Gelfan Productions. I don’t as a rule start conversations with that kind of disclaimer, but in the short time I’ve known Nora Frost, I understand how it might be best to get that out in the open right up front.”
“She’s some piece of work,” Holving said. “But hiring a detective? What in god’s name does she think we did?”
I explained as best I could the written threat to the boys, and how I had already contacted several of the other mothers involved in auditioning for Junior Idol.
“Oh, good god,” he muttered. “How like Nora to think everybody’s out to get her little darlings. It’s people like her that sometimes make me wish I’d stayed in Topeka and become a high school music teacher. All the moms want their kids to shine, but Nora thinks hers shit rainbows, pardon my French.”
“But what about the other moms?” I pressed. “Could her fears be warranted? Have you seen anything that might be construed as vindictive behavior?”
“No. One of the mothers actually pulled her daughter out of the running because of Nora.”
“Would that have been Leslie Brielle, by any chance?” I asked.
He smiled suspiciously. “You seem to have all the answers already.”
“Not at all. It’s just that Nora gave me a list of five other moms, which I took to be those she encountered in the course of these auditions, and the only one whose name did not pop up immediately on the database was Leslie Brielle. That would indicate that she doesn’t really want to be found, which I would think is something of a liability for this kind of business. Or, it may indicate that she is overly protective of her daughter on a personal level, and is afraid someone is going try to get to her, which would be in line with pulling her out of a contest at the first sign of trouble. So was it Leslie Brielle, right?”
“Yes, it was Leslie, and she pronounces her name Brie, like the cheese. Lexy…Alexis…that’s her daughter, desperately wants to be in the spotlight, but for some reason that makes Leslie nervous. She goes along with her daughter’s wishes, but reluctantly. Lexy, in fact, seems to be the dominant one in the relationship.”
“What does Lexy’s father think of all this?”
“Leslie mentioned one time that she was divorced, but winced as she said it, as though the word itself hurt and frightened her. I think it must have been a bad breakup.”
“So you don’t think there’s any way possible that Leslie could have sent a nasty letter?”
“No, no way. Lexy, now.…”
“Are you serious?”
Terrence Holving gave me a wry look that indicated he was not. “Oh, in ten years, maybe. I don’t know. Look, Mr. Beauchamp, all of us around here grit our teeth and do what we can to get through every visitation by Nora, but in answer to your question, no, I cannot think of anyone who would actually threaten the twins…oh, pardon me…the brothers, with violence. It’s not their fault.”
“True, but if someone wanted to hurt Nora, really hurt her, wouldn’t that would be the easiest way? Do you happen to have a contact number for Leslie Brielle? Just so I can cover all the bases and earn the money I’m being paid.”
Holving sighed and reached for the desk phone that was on the executive table, jabbing in a number and waiting. “Hi, Janelle? Could you get the phone number for Leslie Brielle and bring it to me right away? Thanks.” He hung up. “Mr. Beauchamp, I’m not going to ask you what Nora is paying you to investigate this, but whatever Nora it is, I’ll double it if you could somehow convince her to never enter this building again.”
“Can’t you do that by not calling her in?”
“That’s just it, I don’t call her in. I called the boys in for an audition when we first started work on Junior Idol, based on their photos, but it was clear from that session that they didn’t have what we were looking for. Even their camera slate took multiple takes. As far as I was concerned, we were finished with them, but Nora keeps showing up. Somehow she knows when we’re holding callbacks. I don’t know how. But it has gotten easier to just run the boys through their paces and send them home than to fight it, so that’s what I do. If you can discover how she’s finding out about our calls, I’d appreciate it, because it’s not me who’s inviting her back.”
“Have you specifically told her to stay away?” I asked.
“God knows I should, but in an audition situation, sometimes the path of least resistance is the easiest way.”
“Couldn’t you inform her through a letter?”
“I suppose so, but—” He stopped and regarded me with a narrow-eyed stare. “Are you accusing me of sending that threatening letter to her?”
“I’m just covering the bases, Mr. Holving,” I said, as innocently as I could.
“Have you even seen this supposed letter?” he demanded. “Are you sure it exists, instead of being some figment of her demented imagination?”
I had not planned on showing him the actual letter, but now I pulled it out, unfolded it and set it down on the table. “As you can see, it specifically tells her to keep the kids away.”
“Shit,” he said, sliding the letter back to me after having read it. “I cannot state this emphatically enough. I had absolutely nothing to do with this. Threatening the boys would be a way of giving them attention, and I don’t want to give them attention. I want Nora and the twins to go away, move to Arkansas, or somewhere.”
As I refolded and returned the letter to my pocket, I heard a light tapping on the open door and a young woman came in holding a sheet of paper. It was the blonde who had smiled at us from the reception desk, now fully upright and visible. Usually I don’t gawk at women, but it was hard not to stare at this one. Barely concealed under a painted-on tee shirt emblazoned with the logo for the game show Brain Trust, which I assumed Max Gelfan Productions produced, the young woman’s bust thrust forth with the kind of 3-D effect of which James Cameron could only fantasize. Her lower half, though, was petite. If this woman ever tired of her job with Gelfan she could start a new career on Sesame Street