Let’s Talk Terror (2 page)

M
Y PICTURE
!” Marcy cried, the color draining from her face. “It's totally destroyed!”

“I don't know who did this to you, Marcy,” Nancy told her, “but we're going to do our best to find out. Right, George?”

George agreed by nodding.

Marcy slid the torn pieces back into the envelope and held it out to Susan. “Get rid of this,” she said. “I never want to see it again.”

“That photo had to have been torn in the past few minutes,” Nancy pointed out. “Who exactly has access to your office?”

“Why, anybody who works on the show,” Marcy answered with a helpless shrug. “I don't lock my door every time I leave.”

“All right, everybody out!” a stout, gray-haired woman in a white smock announced, marching into the room. “Ten minutes to show time, Marcy. We're late.”

Marcy took a deep breath and exhaled it noisily. “I have to get myself together. I have a show to do.”

Setting a satchel down on the vanity countertop, Midge began taking out bottles of foundation, brushes, makeup pencils, and mascara wands.

“Let's talk after the show,” Marcy called to Nancy and the others at the door. Then she obediently turned her face toward the makeup sponge and added, “Susan, make sure Nancy and George are seated down center.”

“Yes, yes, Susan will take care of everything,” Midge kidded. “Goodbye, everyone.”

“I don't know how Marcy can function after something like that,” George said when they were out in the hallway.

“It's horrible,” Susan agreed, “but Marcy is a pro, and she won't let anything interfere with her performance. Come on, I'll show you where to sit.”

“Susan,” Nancy said, lightly touching her friend on the arm. “Keep the pieces of that photo in a safe place, will you? I want to look at them after the show.”

“Behind you,” came the sound of a masculine voice. Nancy turned as two handsome,
muscular young men, dressed casually in chinos and cotton sweaters, came striding up the hall. Judging by their obvious good looks, they had to be the calendar models, Nancy decided.

Nancy and George exchanged a grin as Susan introduced herself and her friends. “You're Bill and Joe, right?” she said, extending a hand to greet them. “I'm Susan, Marcy's assistant. I was just going to look for you so I could show you where to go. This is Nancy and George.”

“Bill O'Donnell,” the model with jet black hair said, shaking Susan's hand and nodding to Nancy and George. Nancy noticed that his gorgeous dark eyes lingered on her, and she felt heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Nice to meet you all,” the other model said. “I'm Joe Spiro.”

“Backstage is right this way,” Susan said, leading them down the corridor to a set of double doors with an unlit red bulb over it. “When the light up there is on, it means they're taping,” she explained. After punching in a code on a digital pad next to the doors, Susan led them into the semidarkened backstage area.

“You guys can wait here in these chairs until Marcy calls you out,” Susan said.

When the models had disappeared, Susan reached into her pocket and pulled out two tickets. “These are for you. Just go down those
steps at tie side of the stage, and the usher will seat you. See you after the show.”

“Where will you be, Susan?” George asked.

“I'll be watching on a monitor while I confirm guest bookings for the rest of the week—one of my many jobs,” she added with a wink.

Susan hurried off toward the offices while Nancy and George made their way into the packed auditorium. All around them, the audience buzzed in happy anticipation. Onstage Nancy noticed two bright blue sofas with red and yellow coffee tables in front of them. A TelePrompTer was hung overhead.

“It looks so different on TV,” George said.

A dark-skinned woman in a red dress walked onstage, holding a headset in her hands. “Hi, everyone,” she said greeting the crowd. “Thanks for coming to ‘Marcy!' I'm Brenda Fox, assistant to the producers, and I want you all to know that Marcy is real easy to talk with. So don't be nervous if she asks you something,” she advised. “And if you've got a strong opinion, come on out with it! That's what ‘Marcy!' is all about.”

“This is so cool!” George whispered to Nancy.

Ms. Fox held up a finger and paused to listen to her headset. “Okay, we're ready, folks,” she said after a moment. “Counting, five, four, three, two—and rolling!”

Bright lights and music came on, and suddenly
Marcy Robbins was onstage, with the audience applauding wildly.

“You're so nice! Hi, I'm Marcy Robbins, and this is ‘Marcy!' ” The music ended, and Marcy seated herself on one of the sofas. “Today I have a treat for you! We have some top male models with us. They're gorgeous and they make big bucks—when they're working, that is. But they may not be what you expect! We'll meet Bill and Joe right after these messages.”

“She seems so relaxed,” Nancy said as a large monitor on one side of the stage began showing the commercials that the audience at home was watching.

Onstage Marcy leaned forward and waved to some people in the audience. “How you doing? Having fun?” she asked. Then she turned to the stagehands and said something that made them laugh, though Nancy didn't hear what it was.

The makeup artist Nancy had seen backstage trotted on and began dabbing Marcy's face with a sponge, while the hairdresser adjusted a stray curl of Marcy's auburn hair. When the monitor showed the station logo, Jack, the production stage manager, appeared at the side of the stage. “Five seconds,” he announced.

“We're back,” Marcy said brightly. “And now, meet Bill and Joe. Fellas, can you come on out here?”

The audience applauded, and a few people whistled as Bill and Joe filed onstage and sat down. “Here they are,” Marcy said. “And aren't they gorgeous. Could you tell us a little about yourselves and how you got started as calendar models?”

Joe explained that he was a former fast-food restaurant manager from Pittsburgh. Bill had been a highly paid model since he was a child.

“I work to support my mother and little sister,” Joe said with a shrug. “For me, modeling is just a job, like any other.”

“That's not how I feel at all,” Bill said. “I love my work! It's totally glamorous. And I love the money I can make doing it.”

“These guys are selling their images, so that women will drool over them. What do
you
think about that? Is this sexist? Is it exploitation?” Marcy ambled toward the audience and pointed her microphone at George.

“Well,” George began, sounding slightly nervous, “it's not hurting anyone. I think it's okay.”

“Just okay? I think it's fantastic, Marcy,” a girl behind George piped up. “Why shouldn't girls have a chance to appreciate good-looking guys?”

“This is
more
than appreciating, isn't it? It's ogling!” Marcy said. “And a lot of people say it hurts everyone. Some even say it's immoral! What do
you
think?”

Nancy realized Marcy was zeroing in on her. “I don't know about immoral,” Nancy said. “To me, it's—well, kind of silly.”

That comment drew an unexpected laugh from the audience, and Nancy found herself blushing.

Feeling herself out on a limb, Nancy explained, “I guess I basically don't think it's great when we treat people as bodies, and not as individuals.”

“Hmm.” Marcy walked over to a young man on the other side of the aisle. “What do
you
think about that?”

Nancy was struck by the ease with which Marcy handled the opinions of the studio audience. When her theme music came on to signal the end of the show, Marcy signed off to enthusiastic cheers.

“You were all terrific!” Marcy told the audience as she walked among them, greeting them. Several fans asked for autographs, and Marcy busily scrawled her signature for them.

Just then Nancy tugged on George's sleeve. “There's Susan,” she said, making her way down the aisle.

Susan was standing between Jack and Brenda Fox, who were all smiles. “Good show, wasn't it?” Brenda was saying.

“Susan, can I speak to you for a minute?” Nancy asked, approaching the small group.

“Sure,” Susan said, stepping away from the others.

“Can we look at that photo again?” Nancy asked. “And take a look around Marcy's office?”

Susan led them to the backstage doors. “I heard the show on the loudspeaker,” she said. “You sounded terrific.”

“You mean you couldn't hear my heart pounding?” Nancy asked with a laugh.

Susan stopped at a small cubicle just outside Marcy's office. “This is my work area,” she explained. “I put the photo in my desk.” After unlocking a drawer with a key she took from her pocket, Susan pulled out the envelope and handed it to Nancy.

“Jack Cole was in Marcy's office when we were,” Nancy said as she dumped the pieces of the photo onto Susan's desk. “But he left when we did, right?”

“Right,” Susan said. “And in that next five minutes anyone who works here could have gone in and ripped up the photo. Besides, I don't think Jack could possibly be a suspect. He's been friends with Marcy since they were kids.”

Nancy stared at the pieces of the torn photo. “Right now,” she said, “everybody's a suspect. Hey, look,” she added excitedly, “there's writing on the back of these pieces.”

Working quickly, Nancy pieced the photo
together like a jigsaw puzzle. The writing, done in thick magenta marker, began to form words.

“I didn't see that before,” George noted.

“I was afraid it might be something like this,” Nancy murmured. She stepped aside so the others could read the note.

“Get the message, Marcy? Quit the show—or die!”

W
E'D BETTER
show this to Marcy right away,” Nancy said, shuddering slightly.

“Show me what?” Marcy's voice came from the doorway of the small office. She approached the desk with an anxious expression on her face.

Nancy pointed to the message and frowned. “This.” Then she noticed something she hadn't seen the first time. “Check this out,” she said. “The marker was running out of ink at the end.”

“ ‘Quit or die?' ” Marcy read out loud, her voice catching on the last word.

“Marcy,” Nancy said, gently touching her arm, “this is a real death threat. I think it's time to contact the police.”

“But I hate to do that, Nancy,” Marcy said.
“If my producers or the network find out about this, they might think twice about extending my contract. I had a hard time finding sponsors for this show, you know. Not many want to take a chance on a talk show exclusively for young people. Even though my show seems successful—oh, no,” she said, interrupting herself. “The
Tribune!
They wanted that photo this afternoon!”

“I'll get the photographer to print another one and send it to the paper,” Susan suggested.

“Good thinking, Susan,” Marcy said, then added, “Why is this happening to me?”

“Marcy, we really need to talk to you,” Nancy said.

“Let's go into my office,” the talk show host said quietly. “It's more private there.”

Susan had already picked up the phone on her desk to call the photographer. “I'll be in soon,” she said. “By the way, Marcy, Vic Molina called and wanted you to call him right back.”

“Vic Molina, the television producer?” George asked.

Marcy's face brightened for a second but then collapsed. “I almost forgot he's threatening to sue me,” she said, going into her office before Nancy could ask her about the lawsuit.

After replacing the pieces of the photo in the envelope and stuffing the whole thing into her bag, Nancy joined the others. Inside the office,
Marcy picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Excuse me while I handle this,” she told Nancy and George.

Nancy listened with one ear as she glanced around the office. Marcy's desk was positioned so that someone could be at the desk but not be seen from the corridor, she noted.

Marcy didn't say much on the phone until she blurted out, “Vic, you're out of control! You're really losing it!” She slammed down the receiver. “You'd think he'd be too busy producing ‘Southern Star' and ‘Miller's Dream' to bother me, wouldn't you?”

“Those are the two most popular dramas on TV,” George remarked.

“The guy's twenty-nine years old, and he's already done more than most fifty-year-olds,” Marcy said, her face softening slightly. “I guess you could call him driven.”

“Why is he suing you, Marcy?” Nancy asked, settling in a director's chair next to her desk.