Voices in the Wardrobe by Marlys Millhiser

with, discussed. It was like special interests bribing congressmen and all the other injustices in this world that are too huge to get a handle on. You hope someone else will address the issue.
    This young man’s name was Brodie Caulfield. He was dangerous.
    â€œAs a pitch it needs work but I found the story idea intriguing and by the number of young faces gone suddenly pale out in the room behind you, I may not be alone,” Charlie told him and the room.
    Each judge offered a spoken comment and then wrote on a numbered card with the sacrifice’s name on it. Charlie had cringed when Dr. Howard called this “giving notes.”
    Charlie wrote, I’d like to see a treatment on this and winked when she handed it to him.
    Brodie was pretty much the bright spot of her afternoon, a long afternoon with a three-hour session. And only a twenty-minute break, during which Brodie slipped her an envelope and turned away to speak to nervous aspirants about the interesting mentality of the Hollywood fringe society. Charlie was earning her honorarium. Never again.
    â€œThey” bombed the Celebrity Pit, was her every other thought. How could all these people go on as if it hadn’t happened?
    And if she heard the words “segue,” “back story,” or “wrap” one more time she would throw up her late breakfast right there in front of the whole room. But she heard them and she didn’t. Hollywood agents really are tough.
    Her cellular had recharged overnight while she’d had a good night’s sleep, and she’d returned calls from Libby, Luella, and Caroline VanZant, all of whom had been trying to contact her. Her room answering machine had refused to overdose on any more messages. Luella Ridgeway informed her there was no destruction at the office or the bank building in which C & M was housed. Some electricity and communications were out, but people still worked on laptops and by cellular. She could not leave now and come back to Maggie.
    Charlie wondered if Mitch’s new film would be jerked because distributors, theater companies, and customers might worry about a backlash from Muslim extremists.
    â€œNancy Drew meets J. Lo in outer space. And the universe will never be the same!”
    Ohgod .
    Hang in there. You can do this.
    â€œRoman gladiator travels forward in time and runs amok in sorority house. He …”
    Time to pop a Pepto.
    â€œHallucinating stripper …”
    Okay, let’s look at it this way. There seems to be no swelling of emotional backlash in this room filled with such desperate hope. Maybe dear Brodie defused it with his own little bomb. We feel safer than we did last night in the hallway, don’t we?
    Libby’s message had been, as it often was, mind blowing. “Mom, do not believe what you read. I am not pregnant. You are not going to be a grandma. Oh, that reminds me, Grandma wants you to call her. Mrs. Beesom OD’d on something but is fine and back from the emergency room. Jacob and I are taking care of her so I can’t come to Maggie. Who the hell is Kenneth Cooper? You know how I hate to have my friends see your picture in the paper with some guy. You are my mother, don’t forget. Oh, Kate came to clean up after Tuxedo and had a good talk with him. Gotta go, bye.”
    Kate Gonzales, bless her every breath, cleaned their little house, and had more sense than half of Long Beach and all of Congdon and Morse Representation, Inc. Jacob Forney was the only male other than Tuxedo who occupied the four small homes connected by an inner courtyard and surrounding high stucco walls, gated from street in front and alley behind.
    Caroline VanZant reported in, that Maggie Stutzman had finished another day with no medications, alcohol, fat, sugar, or tears. She had, however, removed the lid from the toilet tank and used it to smash the screen of the television inside the wardrobe. It would, of course, be charged to her