A Stranger in the Mirror By Sidney Sheldon

The case was closed.

 

 

36

 

 

The funeral was standing room only. It was held at Forest Lawn on a sunny August morning, on the day Toby Temple was to have started his new television series. There were thousands of people milling about the lovely, rolling grounds, trying to get a look at all the celebrities who were there to pay their last respects. Television cameramen photographed the funeral services in long shots and zoomed in for closeups of the stars and producers and directors who were at the graveside. The President of the United States had sent an emissary. There were governors present, studio heads, presidents of large corporations, and representatives from every guild that Toby had belong to: SAG and AFTRA and ASCAP and AGVA. The president of the Beverly Hills branch of the Veterans of Foreign Wars was there in full uniform. There were contingents from the local police and fire departments.

And the little people were there. The grips and prop men and extras and stunt men who had worked with Toby Temple. The wardrobe mistresses and the best boys and the go-fers and the gaffers and the assistant directors. And there were others, and all of them had come to pay homage to a great American. O’Hanlon and Rainger were there, remembering the skinny little kid who had walked into their office at Twentieth Century-Fox. I understand you fellas are going to write some jokes for me…. He uses his hands like he’s chopping wood. Maybe we could write a woodchopper act for him…. He pushes too hard…. Jesus, with that material—wouldn’t you?…A comic opens funny doors. A comedian opens doors funny. And Toby Temple had worked and learned and gone to the top. He was a prick, Rainger was thinking. But he was our prick.

Clifton Lawrence was there. The little agent had been to the barber and his clothes were freshly pressed, but his eyes gave him away. They were the eyes of a failure among his peers. Clifton was lost in memories, too. He was remembering that first preposterous phone call. There’s a young comic Sam Goldwyn wants you to see…. and Toby’s performance at the school. You don’t have to eat the entire jar of caviar to know if it’s good, right?…I’ve decided to take you on as a client, Toby…. If you can put the beer drinkers in your pocket, the champagne crowd will be a pushover…. I can make you the biggest star in the business. Everyone had wanted Toby Temple: the studios, the networks, the nightclubs. You’ve got so many clients that sometimes I think you don’t pay enough attention to me…. It’s like a group fuck, Cliff. Somebody always gets left with a hard-on…. I need your advice, Cliff…. It’s this girl….

Clifton Lawrence had a lot to remember.

Next to Clifton stood Alice Tanner.

She was absorbed in the memory of Toby’s first audition in her office. Somewhere, hidden under all those movie stars, is a young man with a lot of talent…. After seeing those pros last night, I—I don’t think I have it. And falling in love with him. Oh, Toby, I love you so much…. I love you, too, Alice…. Then he was gone. But she was grateful that she had once had him.

Al Caruso had come to pay tribute. He was stooped and gray and his brown Santa Claus eyes were filled with tears. He was remembering how wonderful Toby had been to Millie.

Sam Winters was there. He was thinking of all the pleasure Toby Temple had given to millions of people and he wondered how one measured that against the pain that Toby had given to a few.

Someone nudged Sam and he turned to see a pretty, dark-haired girl, about eighteen. “You don’t know me, Mr. Winters”—she smiled—“but I heard you’re looking for a girl for the new William Forbes movie. I’m from Ohio, and…”

David Kenyon was there. Jill had asked him not to come, but David had insisted. He wanted to be near her. Jill supposed that it could do no harm now. She was finished with her performance.

The play had closed and her part was over. Jill was so glad and so tired. It was as though the fiery ordeal she had gone through had burned away the hard core of bitterness within her, had cauterized all the hurts and the disappointments and the hatreds. Jill Castle had died in the holocaust and Josephine Czinski had been reborn in the ashes. She was at peace again, filled with a love for everyone and a contentment she had not known since she was a young girl. She had never been so happy. She wanted to share it with the world.