Sidney Sheldon - A Stranger in the Mirror

She finished combing her soft, black hair, took one final look in the mirror, glanced at her watch and realized that she would have to hurry.

She had an interview for “The Toby Temple Show.”

25

Eddie Berrigan, the casting director for Toby’s show, was a married man. He had made arrangements to use a friend’s apartment three afternoons a week. One of the afternoons was reserved for Berrigan’s mistress and the other two afternoons were reserved for what he called “old talent” and “new talent.”

Jill Castle was new talent. Several buddies had told Eddie that Jill gave a fantastic “trip around the world” and wonderful head. Eddie had been eager to try her. Now, a part in a sketch had come up that was right for her. All the character had to do was look sexy, say a few lines and exit.

Jill read for Eddie and he was satisfied. She was no Kate Hepburn, but the role didn’t call for one. “You’re in,” he said.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“Here’s your script. Rehearsal starts tomorrow morning, ten o’clock sharp. Be on time, and know your lines.”

“Of course.” She waited.

“Er—how about meeting me this afternoon for a cup of coffee?”

Jill nodded.

“A friend of mine has an apartment at ninety-five thirteen Argyle. The Allerton.”

“I know where it is,” Jill said.

“Apartment Six D. Three o’clock.”

Rehearsals went smoothly. It was going to be a good show. That week’s talent included a spectacular dance team from Argentina, a popular rock and roll group, a magician who made everything in sight disappear and a top vocalist. The only one missing was Toby Temple. Jill asked Eddie Berrigan about Toby’s absence. “Is he sick?”

Eddie snorted. “He’s sick like a fox. The peasants rehearse while old Toby has himself a ball. He’ll show up Saturday to tape the show, and then split.”

Toby Temple appeared on Saturday morning, breezing into the studio like a king. From a corner of the stage, Jill watched him make his entrance, followed by his three stooges, Clifton Lawrence and a couple of old-time comics. The spectacle filled Jill with contempt. She knew all about Toby Temple. He was an egomaniac who, according to rumor, bragged that he had been to bed with every pretty actress in Hollywood. No one ever said no to him. Oh, yes, Jill knew about the Great Toby Temple.

The director, a short, nervous man named Harry Durkin, introduced the cast to Toby. Toby had worked with most of them. Hollywood was a small village, and the faces soon became familiar. Toby had not met Jill Castle before. She looked beautiful in a beige linen dress, cool and elegant.

“What are you doing, honey?” Toby asked.

“I’m in the astronaut sketch, Mr. Temple.”

He gave her a warm smile and said, “My friends call me Toby.”

The cast started to work. The rehearsal went unusually well, and Durkin quickly realized why. Toby was showing off for Jill. He had laid every other girl in the show, and Jill was a new challenge.

The sketch that Toby did with Jill was the high point of the show. Toby gave Jill a couple of additional lines and a funny piece of business. When rehearsal was over, Toby said to her, “How about a little drink in my dressing room?”

“Thank you, I don’t drink.” Jill smiled and walked away. She had a date with a casting director and that was more important than Toby Temple. He was a one-shot. A casting director meant steady employment.

When they taped the show that evening it was an enormous success, one of the best shows Toby had ever done.

“Another smash,” Clifton told Toby. “That astronaut sketch was top drawer.”

Toby grinned. “Yeah. I like that little chick in it. She’s got something.”

“She’s pretty,” Clifton said. Every week there was a different girl. They all had something, and they all went to bed with Toby and became yesterday’s conversation piece.

“Fix it for her to have supper with us, Cliff.”

It was not a request. It was a command. A few years ago, Clifton would have told Toby to do it himself. But these days, when Toby asked you to do something, you did it. He was a king and this was his kingdom, and those who did not want to be exiled stayed in his favor.

“Of course, Toby,” Clifton said. “I’ll arrange it.”

Clifton walked down the hall to the dressing room where the girl dancers and female members of the cast changed. He rapped once on the door and walked in. There were a dozen girls in the room in various stages of undress. They paid no attention to him except to call out greetings. Jill had removed her makeup and was getting into her street clothes. Clifton walked up to her. “You were very good,” he said.

Jill glanced at him in the mirror without interest. “Thanks.” At one time she would have been excited to be this close to Clifton Lawrence. He could have opened every door in Hollywood for her. Now everyone knew that he was simply Toby Temple’s stooge.

“I have good news for you. Mr. Temple wants you to join him for supper.”

Jill lightly tousled her hair with her fingertips and said, “Tell him I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” And she walked out.

Supper that evening was a misery. Toby, Clifton Lawrence and Durkin, the director, were in La Rue’s at a front booth. Durkin had suggested inviting a couple of the showgirls, but Toby had furiously rejected the idea.

The table captain was saying, “Are you ready to order, Mr. Temple?”

Toby pointed to Clifton and said, “Yeah. Give the idiot here an order of tongue.”

Clifton joined the laughter of the others at the table, pretending that Toby was simply being amusing.

Toby snapped, “I asked you to do a simple thing like inviting a girl to dinner. Who told you to scare her off?”

“She was tired,” Clifton explained. “She said—”

“ No broad is too tired to have dinner with me. You must have said something that pissed her off.” Toby had raised his voice. The people at the next booth had turned to stare. Toby gave them his boyish smile and said, “This is a farewell dinner, folks.” He pointed at Clifton. “He’s donated his brain to the zoo.”

There was laughter from the other table. Clifton forced a grin, but under the table his hands were clenched.

“Do you want to know how dumb he is?” Toby asked the people at the adjoining booth. “In Poland, they tell jokes about him .”

The laughter increased. Clifton wanted to get up and walk out, but he did not dare. Durkin sat there embarrassed, too wise to say anything. Toby now had the attention of several nearby booths. He raised his voice again, giving them his charming smile. “Cliff Lawrence here gets his stupidity honestly. When he was born, his parents had a big fight over him. His mother claimed it wasn’t her baby.”

Mercifully, the evening finally came to an end. But tomorrow Clifton Lawrence stories were going to be told all over town.

Clifton Lawrence lay in his bed that night, unable to sleep. He asked himself why he allowed Toby to humiliate him. The answer was simple: money. The income from Toby Temple brought him over a quarter of a million dollars a year. Clifton lived expensively and generously, and he had not saved a cent. With his other clients gone, he needed Toby. That was the problem. Toby knew it, and baiting Clifton had become a blood sport. Clifton had to get away before it was too late.

But he was aware that it was already too late.

He had been trapped into this situation because of his affection for Toby: he had really loved him. He had watched Toby destroy others—women who had fallen in love with him, comics who had tried to compete with him, critics who had panned him. But those were others . Clifton had never believed that Toby would turn on him. He and Toby were too close, Clifton had done too much for him.