with Muenster cheese. An apparently restored Bruno
Zepf downed a great many pills, which may or may not
have been vitamins, shared the strong coffee with
Winifred, and ate half a grapefruit and a slice of dry
whole-wheat toast. Chips Madigan asked for cornflakes.
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Dade Costello never showed. The moody screenwriter had gone for a walk, said Ellie Linn. He wasn’t
hungry. Nobody seemed curious about his defection.
The omnipresent cell phones were in use again, especially by Bruno, Winifred, and Ben. Somehow they
all seemed capable of talking to whoever was on the
other end of the line and to members of the party at the
table. Between rustling up the various breakfast items
and making what seemed like a hundred trips in and
out of the dining room, Judith caught snatches of conversation. Most of it dealt with the logistics of the premiere and how to deal with the media. It struck Judith
that the only topic of conversation the group shared
was the movie business. Maybe it was the only thing
that really mattered to them. She tuned her guests out
and got on with the task of running Hillside Manor.
As soon as she finished clearing up the kitchen, Judith called Renie. “Give me the details,” she requested.
“Who’s marrying whom?”
An elaborate sigh went out over the phone line.
“I’m not sure I’ve got all this straight myself. Tom’s fiancée is the daughter of a local Native American tribal
chief. Her name’s Heather Twobucks, which is symbolic, since that’s about all the money Tom has managed to save over the years. But at least she’s got a
job—she’s the attorney for the tribe.”
“That sounds very good,” Judith put in.
“She’s also one of seven kids and does most of her
work pro bono,” Renie said. “As for Anne, the man of
her dreams is in medical school. You know what that
means. Anne will have to get a real job instead of making jewelry out of volcanic lava and selling it at street
fairs.”
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67
“Mmm—yes, she probably will,” Judith agreed.
“What’s the future doctor’s name?”
“Odo Mann,” Renie replied. “She’ll become Anne
Mann. Personally, I wouldn’t like that.”
“Mmm,” Judith repeated. “And Tony?”
Renie let out another big sigh. “Tony’s beloved just
returned from Tangiers, where she was Doing Good.
She works for a Catholic charity and makes just about
enough to pay Tony’s monthly milk bill. She—her
name is Cathleen Forte—wants Tony to join her in the
leper colony over there.”
“Oh, dear.”
“That’s what I said,” Renie responded. “Except not
quite those words and much louder. Bill’s in a daze.”
“Yes, I can see that he might be,” Judith allowed.
“Have any of them set the date?”
“Not yet,” Renie said, “though Anne and Odo are
talking about next spring.”
“That gives you some time,” Judith remarked.
“Time for what?” Renie demanded. “Time to kidnap
our own children and seal them in the basement?”
“I mean,” Judith said, “to . . . um . . . get used to the
idea.”
“You’re no help,” Renie snapped. “I’m hanging up
now. Then maybe I’ll hang myself.” The phone went
dead in Judith’s ear.
It was noon before Winifred began bringing the costumes downstairs. Judith was astonished by the detail.
They had come, Winifred informed her, from one of
the big L.A. rental warehouses that stocked thousands
of garments, many of them worn in movies from fifty
and sixty years ago and lovingly restored.
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“Bruno and I considered using the costumes from
The Gasman, ” she explained, “but only Angela, Ben,
Dirk, and Ellie appear in the film. We could have
drawn from Wardrobe’s collection for bit players and
extras, but we decided it would make a statement if we
used older costumes. More in keeping with the picture’s theme, you see.”
Judith thought she recognized Ellie’s outfit. It
looked very much like one of Elizabeth Taylor’s gorgeous gowns in Cleopatra. Angela’s was familiar, too,
though seen only briefly on the screen—Scarlett
O’Hara’s honeymoon ensemble from Gone With the
Wind.
Pointing to the flowing robes and burnoose for
Bruno, Judith made a guess: “Lawrence of Arabia?”
“Khartoum,” Winifred replied.
“Is this yours?” Judith gestured at a nun’s white
habit.
“Yes.” Winifred’s expression was rueful. “It’s a
generic nun’s costume, depicting the growth of the
monastic movement. We’re representing the eras the
movie focuses on. I preferred wearing something
closer to my own heritage, maybe Muslim dress, from
the period of Muhammad. But Bruno insisted that he
be Muhammad.” She waved a slim hand at the Khar-
toum robes. “So I end up being a nun, and I’m not even
Catholic.”
“I am,” Judith said, “and I think it’s a lovely habit.
Very graceful. You’ll look terrific.”
Winifred gave an indifferent shrug. “Whatever. Dirk
Farrar symbolizes the early Renaissance while showing off his manly physique in that silver-and-goldslashed doublet and tights. Tyrone Power wore it, I
SILVER SCREAM
69
think. The less lavish doublet and the fur-trimmed surcoat came from an MGM historical epic. Or maybe it
was Fox. Dade Costello’s wearing that for the era of
the printing press. The nineteenth-century frock coat
and top hat belong to Ben Carmody. The industrial revolution, of course. And Chips Madigan gets to dress as
the computer whiz kid.”
Judith smiled at the suntan pants, the flannel shirt,
the horn-rimmed spectacles, and the box of Twinkies.
Living in the land of Microsweet, she was familiar
with the outfit.
“What about the rest of the movie company? What
will they wear?” she asked.
“Whatever suits The Gasman, ” Winifred replied.
“We left everybody else pretty much on their own.
They’ll conform, of course.”
The statement seemed to reflect the general attitude
of Bruno Zepf’s circle. Winifred had no need to add,
“Or else.”
Pointing at a stack of garment bags that lay on the
living-room floor, Winifred commented, “We’ll put
them in those. Remember, they have to be back by four
o’clock. The premiere is at six.”
Carefully, Judith picked up the Scarlett O’Hara costume. “I understand that the ball is at ten. What time do
you think you’ll be back here for the midnight supper?” She dreaded the idea of putting on such a late
event, but Bruno had consented to pay an extra two
grand, and Judith couldn’t refuse the money.
“A midnight supper is just that,” Winifred replied,
tucking her nun’s habit into one of the garment bags.
“We should return shortly before twelve.”
Judith gave an absent nod as she fumbled with the
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Mary Daheim