Drop That Dwarf

The annoying ring of the telephone stirs Vanessa Akin from her sleep. She curses under her breath as her husband, Trey, rolls over, groaning.

“Well, are you going to get that?” she asks. “You know it’s for you.”

Trey reaches for the phone, nearly knocking it off the end table. Smiling apologetically at Vanessa, he wonders when she’d cut her luxurious midnight black hair into a bob or when the circles under her once sparkling eyes had begun to dominate her looks. Glancing down at his stomach, he ponders where the extra pounds he’s carrying came from.

“….Trey? It’s Gavin Gorman….,” the frenzied voice on the other end of the phone cries out. “I’m at Gemma Pentel’s house. She passed out on me. I’m afraid it’s serious…”

“I’ll call the Medico Magicians, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Bring the new girl, maybe she can help.”

Vanessa glares at Trey as he rolls out of bed.

“Sorry, it’s an emergency.”

“It always is,” Vanessa says snidely. “Doesn’t Gorman realize what time it is? What perverted predicament is he in now?”

“He’s my boss, Vanessa. He’s the head of the biggest studio in Hollywood.”

“Did you tell him?”

“What?”

“I knew it. You’ve completely forgotten what we talked about,” Vanessa says. “You promised you were going to talk to Gorman about transferring to a normal security job.”

“But I’m ‘The Fixer,’ Vanessa.”

“You keep getting phone calls at three in the morning and you’re going to need to fix our marriage.”

Trey parks his Audi around the corner, away from inquiring eyes. Brooke Murdoch springs from her Preiss, nearly running toward him. Even early in the morning, the long-limbed twenty-six-year-old brunette is full of enthusiasm and energy.

“Is it true? Gemma Pentel?” she asks.

“Yeah. Be prepared, and don’t let yourself get star-struck. This isn’t like handling an insurance claim for some sitcom star or taking a former talk show host for a checkup. Like I explained to you when you took this job, fixing is a whole other level.”

Entering Gemma Pentel’s posh home, the pair respectfully nod at the unsmiling chauffer guarding Gemma’s bedroom door.

“She’s a great Shakespearian actress, a lady. She’s the last person you’d expect to be involved in a scandal,” Brooke says.

“She’s very different off-stage.”

The door creaks as Trey pushes it open.

“…Isn’t that?” Brooke asks.

“Our boss in his underwear? Yeah. Just don’t forget he signs your paycheck.”

Gavin Gorman stands over a prostrate Gemma, his ample gut hanging over his briefs, his toupee slightly askew. Although he is seventy-four, his pasty features, now twisted with concern, make him look even older.

Even in obvious distress with her blonde tresses disheveled, thirty-seven-year-old Gemma Pentel’s figure is fit and enticing, worthy of the worship of her millions of fans.

Trey immediately notices the bruises on Gemma’s back and legs.

“I really need you to keep this quiet,” Gorman says. “They’ll be big bonuses for you two if you keep me out of this.”

Gorman notices Brooke looking at Gemma’s bruises.

“Things got out of hand. She likes it rough.”

“…Close your mouth...,” Trey whispers to Brooke.

“She’s a highly educated, a champion for the arts.”

“And an animal behind closed doors,” Gorman says, giving Brooke a lascivious wink.

“The Medico Magicians are on the way, Mr. Gorman,” Trey says. “They’ll rush her to the hospital. As for the bruises…We can say she got them in a boating accident. She came home, and the pain started getting worse. She self-medicated and overdosed. Check her pulse, Brooke.”

Brooke moves to Gemma’s side, reluctantly touching her wrist.

“It’s faint, but she’s still alive.”

A private doctor and three sturdy men enter the room. The men put Gemma on a gurney and whisk her out to an ambulance.

“What do you think Cutter?” Gorman asks Dr. Cutter Blaisdale.

“I think you need help. You’re worse than the Marquis de Sade. You need to stop beating on actresses or find some freak who likes it.”

Gorman’s features burn red. “I didn’t ask for a critique. Will she live?”

“Maybe,” the suave-looking physician answers. “But she’ll have the brain function of a zucchini.”

Gorman turns to Trey and Brooke.

“Go with Dr. Blaisdale’s crew. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Trey quickly responds. “No. You should go home. We’ve got this. I’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”

The ambulance speeds to the hospital. Two of the burly nurses monitor Gemma’s condition.

“Say, you’re new,” a swarthy dark-haired nurse says to Brooke. “Where’d you get this one, Trey?”

“She was promoted from the Actor’s Benefits Department.”

The nurse sticks out his massive hand. “Name’s Richard Lovelady. I’ve been with the Medico Magicians for how long, Trey?”

“Apparently too long. How about keeping your eyes on Ms. Pentel instead of my assistant?”

Lovelady flashes a perfect smile. “Sure. Say, it’s gonna be a long night and a tough morning. How about some coffee together afterward?”

“You work fast, Richard,” Brooke replies.

“As you can see by Ms. Pentel’s condition, life is too short to hesitate.”

Gemma’s body begins to shake violently.

“She’s in cardiac arrest!” Brooke says.

The two nurses desperately work on Gemma.

Opening the transom, Lovelady whispers to the driver.

“Why are you slowing down? We’re almost there!” Brooke says.

“We did all we could. She’s gone,” Lovelady replies.

“Then let’s take her to the morgue,” Brooke suggests.

Trey and the two nurses laugh heartily.

“No. We go with Plan B,” Trey says.

“Plan B?”

“Always have a Plan B, Brooke. Take us back to Ms. Pentel’s house, Richard. I’ll call Grime Stoppers to clean up.”

The nurses lay Gemma Pentel back down in the bed the way they found her.

“Sorry things turned out this way, Trey,” Lovelady says. Turning to Brooke he adds, “You know where to find me if you want me.”

Following the nurses out as they leave, Brooke says to Trey, “There’s something unhealthy about my attraction to him, isn’t there?”

“Just wait,” Trey replies. “As a fixer, you’ll meet a lot of beautiful people who are hollow inside. You might even become one.”

A prim SUV pulls into the driveway. Four white-haired women in their seventies get out.

As the others head inside, a stern-looking squat woman carrying a vacuum walks toward Trey. Smiling, she pecks him on the cheek.

“Sorry to call you out so early, Inga.”

“Anytime for you, handsome.”

“Inga Binga, this is Brooke Murdoch, my new assistant.”

Inga casts a suspicious eye at Brooke. “So, you really are thinking of giving it up, aren’t you, Trey? Pay attention, Brooke. You’re working with the best fixer in Hollywood. You listen to him and maybe someday you can be him.”

Inga hands Brooke a card. “Anytime you need a situation cleaned up - night or day - call me and my girls.”

Inga proudly walks toward the house. “Give us half an hour, Trey.”

Brooke turns to Trey for an explanation.

“Close your mouth,” he says.

“My jaw drops whenever I see something amazing. Grandmas covering up a murder?”

“If this gets out, and it better not, what jury would believe four arthritic grandmothers cleaned up Gemma Pentel’s death scene?”

Trey drags himself across the plush carpeting in the living room, barely able to make it to the couch.

Vanessa comes into the room. For a moment, her waning love for her husband burns brightly, but it’s extinguished by what she must tell him.

“Our son has been acting out again.”

“Socially, or at school?”

“Does it really matter? A girl made fun of his braces, then his glasses, then his awkwardness.”

Laying back on the couch, Trey covers his eyes. “I keep telling you, it’s a phase. He’ll grow out of it.”

“You’re talking about the future. Luke lives in the now. He slapped the girl who made fun of him. And when her brother found out what happened he slapped him too. So, the embarrassed brother went and got two of his friends, and the three of them decide to humiliate Luke.”

“Is he alright?”

“Some cuts, bruises. They broke his glasses, and he’s going to have a black eye. The psychological damage is much worse.”

“I told him to toughen up, to stand up for himself. He also needs to learn how to act around others, especially girls.”

“That’s where you come in,” Vanessa says.

“He’s twelve now. It’s time for him to stop hiding behind being a child. Maybe he needs more discipline. Let’s send him to military school.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about it first?”

“We just did. You’ve been after me to take a more active role in the kids’ lives. Well, I’m doing it. How’s Lucy?”

“She moved in with her boyfriend,” Vanessa replies.

“You let her do it?”

“I told you what she was doing two days ago. You mumbled between snores that you’d take care of it.”

“I must not have been paying attention.”

“You seldom do anymore,” Vanessa says.

“I’ll send somebody to get her.”

“One of your men in black? Why don’t you get her?”

Trey’s phone rings. “That’s why.”

Trey meets Brooke at Hays Hawkfield’s house. The pair wade through Hawkfield’s collection of classic cars parked in the driveway.

“I remember Hays Hawkfield in ‘Man With a Gun’,” Brooke says. “He was the toughest cowboy west of the Mississippi. And now he’s dead under circumstances that make him look like the biggest pervert of all time. The hooker says she knows you, so you can talk to her. I’m going to go puke in the bushes.”

“Don’t judge,” Trey returns.

Trey approaches Sugar Cain, who is dressed in a skimpy kimono, biting her nails, and fretting over her fate.

“I didn’t know who else to ask for,” she says apologetically.

“You did the right thing. We’ll work this out.”

“Well, you are ‘The Fixer’.”

Sugar guides Trey to the bathroom.

The two-time Oscar winner is naked and hog-tied with his head in the toilet.

“He drowned,” Sugar says.

“So, the Oscar protruding from his backside didn’t kill him, the mound of Peruvian marching dust on the mirror in the bedroom didn’t make his heart explode, and the pharmacy of assorted pills in here didn’t put him in a coma. He drowned?”

”Yep. I thought the sounds he was making were, you know, moans of pleasure.”

A noise behind them catches their attention. Brooke is wrestling with a dwarf wearing a diaper.

“Drop that dwarf!” Trey commands.

Brooke releases the dwarf. Crossing his arms over his bare chest, the dwarf says, “You’re gonna regret this girly. Tell her, Trey.”

“This is Marcel Moustakas. He calls himself an actor. What’s with the diaper, Marcel?”

“Hawkfield hired a bunch of us as entertainers. You know, pretend we’re munchkins from ‘The Wizard of Oz’ and sing a few other tunes like ‘Short People’ and ‘Cut Across Shorty.’ I did the gig and partied a little….”

“A little?” Sugar comments.

“Okay, a lot. I woke up a few minutes ago. I don’t have any idea what happened.”

Trey eyes the phone in Marcel’s hand.

“You didn’t happen to record what happened last night, did you?”

Marcel’s thick eyebrows shoot upward in mock surprise. “Moi?”

“I thought blackmail was beneath you, Marcel.”

“I’ve got a hangover the size of Mount Olympus and I’m wearing a diaper. Nothing’s beneath me.”

“I think you’ve sunk a long way since playing Fenwick the Rabbit.”

Brooke gasps. “You were Fenwick?”

“Remember what I said about being star-struck,” Trey cautions.

“Gotcha. My niece is going to be very impressed when I tell her I wrestled with Fenwick.”

“Leave the diaper part out,” Marcel says.

“The phone, Marcel,” Trey demands.

Marcel tosses trey the phone.

Sugar covers her eyes as Trey views the footage.

“I had no idea you were that flexible,” Trey says to Sugar.

“You had your chance.”

Trey erases the footage.

“Aw, c’mon, Trey, I needed that for leverage,” Marcel protests.

“I’ll tell Mr. Gorman to get you a part in the Hobbit TV series, okay? Go home, Marcel.”

Marcel snaps his fingers at Brooke.

 “I’d hate to be his Uber driver,” Brooke comments.

“So how are you going to fix this?” Sugar asks.

“…Cars…,” Brooke says.

“Elaborate, Brooke.”

“We put him in one of his expensive cars, turn it on and say he died from carbon monoxide poisoning. The only problem is the Oscar.”

“Inga Binga is Hugh Hefner’s cousin. I’m sure she’s pulled worse things out of people.”

“You sure this is a good idea? I can wait in the car,” Brooke says as she follows Trey into his house.

They can hear Vanessa arguing with Lucy.

Lucy turns to look at her father, who hardly recognizes her. It seems that only a short time ago Lucy was a smiling blonde cheerleader, now she’s a sullen eighteen-year-old hellion with purple and blue streaks in her hair.

“Who’s this, your latest mistress?” Lucy asks.

“No, I’m Brooke, his assistant.”

“Sure. He usually likes them busty, doesn’t he, mom? You’re kinda tall for him too.”

Brooke turns to Trey. “Maybe I should wait in the car.”

Brooke leaves them arguing. Outside she sees a blonde-haired boy standing in the middle of the yard staring at the sky.

“See any dragons?” she asks.

“My dad says there’s no such thing as dragons,” he lisps.

“Is Trey your daddy?”

Luke blinks sporadically behind his thick lenses.

“Yeah. I like turtles. Can I see you naked?”

“…Ah…No…”

Luke’s eyes bulge and he stomps his feet.

“WHY NOT?”

Brooke spots a ball nearby. “How about we toss the ball around instead?”

Brooke throws the ball to Luke. He sticks his arms out, but the ball hits him in the head.

Trey bursts out of the house.

“You’re on the couch… again!” Vanessa screams after him.

Brooke follows Trey to the car.

“Your boy’s personality is a bit… Well, up and down.”

“Military school will fix that.”

“Military school? The thugs there will eat him alive.”

“All right. I’ll reconsider it,” Trey replies, starting the car. “I’ve got a bigger problem. I’m going to be a grandfather.”

“Are congratulations in order?”

Trey and Brooke’s phones ping as they receive a text message.

“Buzzy the Clown rolled his van on the highway and three eight-year-old boys dressed as girls spilled out,” Trey says.

“I never liked clowns,” Brooke replies.

“This job is a real myth buster. First Buzzy, now Pooky Baden,” Brooke says as the car pulls in front of Pooky’s house. “She was one of the biggest child stars of the nineties. She did the Raggedy Ann movie, the Brady Bunch reboot, and The Princess and the Pea.”

“Then she hit her thirties,” Trey replies. “The studio put her on a regimen of diet pills and enemas to keep her looking like a girl.”

“Guess it didn’t work. I’ve only seen her in bit parts lately.”

“That’s because she graduated to using much stronger medications that affected her ability to remember her lines,” Trey says.

As they get out of the car, Trey points at the roof of the two-story home.

Pooky Baden is dancing on the roof naked, flapping her arms like a carefree bird.

“WEEE! I CAN FLY!”

“Don’t try it, Pooky!” Trey yells.

“Is that you, Trey? Don’t move, I’ll be right down!”

“I take it she’s done this before?” Brooke asks.

“Once a month. Sometimes she thinks she’s Batgirl. That role was supposed to be her comeback, but her agent, her mother, Naomi, asked for too much money, so they fired her. She’s still under contract to the studio, but she’s been feasting on edibles and pills ever since.”

Pooky stretches out her arms. “HERE I COME!”

Trey and Brooke run to where they expect Pooky to land. Holding out their arms, they try to catch the hurtling former child star.

Pooky lands on top of them.

Regaining her feet, Brooke stifles a laugh when she sees Pooky’s naked form splayed across Trey’s face.

“Who’s happier than you right now?”

Trey’s reply is muffled. “Try and stay professional. Get her a towel or something.”

Pooky pops to her feet, swaying contentedly. “Nice catch, Trey. There’s a fur coat hanging by the door, Stretch.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Trey asks Pooky.

“Love me. Nobody else does, especially my momma. She screwed up my life again. I told her the last time she got me fired I’d dig a hole in the backyard and put her in it… So that’s what I did.”

Brooke wraps the fur coat around Pooky.

“Did you just admit to killing your mother?”

“I told her I was going to dig a hole for her. I’ll show you.”

Pooky runs toward the backyard.

“WAIT!” Trey yells running after her.

Trey trips over a rock, falling downward. When the world stops spinning, Trey finds himself laying in a deep hole, looking up at Brooke and Pooky.

Brooke’s jaw drops.

“Close your mouth, Brooke.”

Brooke muffles a scream, pointing at something next to Trey. Turning, he sees Naomi Baden’s moldering corpse.

“What are we going to do?” Brooke asks.

“The Medico Magicians can fill in the hole and see that Naomi gets a less conspicuous resting place. We’re going to take Pooky to Whispering Pines sanitorium. She can star in their in-house plays.”

“I have to admit this is more than a bit awkward,” Brooke says as Trey twists the key in the front door.

“Relax. You, me, and Vanessa will sit down and have a talk. That way Vanessa will know our marriage is still on solid ground.”

“And I’m not a homewrecker.”

“Exactly. Then I can tell her the good news that I’ve got an appointment tomorrow to talk with Mr. Gorman about changing jobs.”

Trey opens the door.

The house is bare. The furniture, rugs, photos, and appliances are gone.

Trey and Brooke’s phones ring.