Remington Steele (1982) s02e08 Episode Script

- My car! Someone's stealing my car! - We had evidence in the trunk.
This could have been an attempt to poison one of your stars.
- That woman's an animal.
- And he's just a washed-up old has-been! You really are a very striking woman.
I am not going to give him another chance to kill me! The bone structure of Garbo.
- The man's an animal.
- Stop it, Mr.
Vivyan! Let go of me! - You made a pass at Miss Holt.
- Oh, yes.
Watch out.
! Excellent, Mildred.
It sounds as if Mr.
Steele has everything under control.
I can't find the boss anywhere.
I've called every gin mill in Los Angeles.
That's the kind of initiative the Remington Steele Agency is noted for.
Well, do you want me to start trying the saloons in the Valley? I couldn't have said it better myself.
And please, tell Mr.
Steele that the client anxiously awaits his arrival.
Good news, Miss Wagenbacher.
Mr.
Steele is making great progress in locating your star.
Ah.
You look honest.
You seem honest.
That gives you three on a scale of 10.
If you're doing a number on me- Miss Wagenbacher, the Remington Steele Agency does not do numbers.
Now, look, Miss Integrity this is not some pointless little miniseries we're shooting here.
It's not some infantile sitcom to save a floundering network.
- This is important.
- I know.
It's a commercial, the linchpin of the television industry.
Not a commercial! The hottest commercial on the tube.
I am producing the- the E.
T.
of frozen foods here.
Now, we've already lost one day's shooting and you people promised to find Derek and have him here on the set this morning.
- Doris.
! - Heather, baby.
! - I've been thinking.
- Of course you have.
We don't need that old drunk Derek.
I can do the scene alone.
Oh, darling, that is so flexible of you - so gallant.
- Oh.
It's spirit like yours that gives me the will to go on.
Then it's okay? Well, of course it is, dear.
Just give me a moment to rewrite the script rearrange the set and restructure the business.
Mwah! Kiss, kiss.
She could do the scene alone.
It's a love scene.
But America's gone bananas over a couple and a couple is one of each sex at least on the screen.
You know, Derek Vivyan is a very corrupting influence.
If he's got Mr.
Steele caught up in his childish high jinks- Miss Wagenbacher, if there's one thing I can assure you about Mr.
Steele it's that when he's working, he's deadly serious.
You fool, Raleigh! You headstrong fool.
You'll die for your childish idealism.
No, Lord Ivan.
Good always triumphs.
- Did I really say that? - Thrillingly, as I remember.
Oh, bless you, Steele.
And to think that your death will be for so little cause! - Uh- Uh- - Lady Huguette! - Ah, Lady Huguette is, uh- - What is mere life, when a lady's virtue is at stake? Whew! If I said that, I must have been very young.
You, Ellen Drew, Basil Rathbone.
- Lord, what a memory! - I watch it every time it's on the late show.
Yes, I must try to catch it myself.
I hear I'm rather good.
Derek, you have exhausted me.
- And we really must be on our way to the location.
- Oh, so soon? Look, can't we just have one more go-round? This time from The Passionate Troubadour.
Derek, you promised the dueling scene from Young Raleigh and then we would be on our way.
- I did? - Three hours ago.
Well, if I'm nothing else I am a man of my word.
Ahh.
Come, old and trusted friend.
It's time to face the cameras again.
What an intriguing companion.
- How long have you had him? - Olivier? Ah, about, uh, 12 hours.
He's a gift from an amorous ornithologist.
Innkeeper? A last libation.
And you, my dear? - Derek, old chap.
- Huh? I doubt if they can start without the star.
Nice try, Steele.
Nice try.
Yes, but do bear with me.
I've played Hamlet at the Old Vic.
I've played Congreve at Chichester, Beckett at the Edinburgh Festival and now I'm to play second lead to a platter of Chef Gaston's preshrunk beef bourguignonne.
Make it a double.
Hello.
- Morning! - Morning.
I should say.
- Open your mouth.
- Thank you very much.
Aha! Avast there, my hearties! Heave to and prepare to be boarded.
That's The Pirate Prince.
And they say the booze has gotten to me.
Bring on the food.
You call that food, Mady? Look at it.
I want to see it shimmer and shine.
Put some carnauba wax on it.
My lamb.
My pet.
My most treasured possession.
You think only of me.
How can you tell? Why, because you've prepared a feast fit for a king a repast to tickle the most prejudiced palate.
Chef Gaston's Beef Bourguignonne.
Brilliant.
Now, you both sit down.
And now, Heather, I want you to lean forward.
Revealing most, if not all, ofher talent.
Listen, you! Just because I didn't study at the Old Victrola- - Old Vic! - doesn't mean I don't know my craft.
What craft is that? Assault or landing? - Stop it, you two.
- Let's go for a take.
Uh, Stanley, old chum.
Might we just make a slight adjustment? What kind of an adjustment? Couldn't I, just this once, feed her? I always feed him.
After all, if I love the sow so much wouldn't I want her to be the first to experience this glistening glop? I have to feed him.
It defines my character.
It's contemporary.
It's- It's dynamic.
It's something Joan Collins might do.
Mady.
! Mady, will you get this damn bird out ofhere? He's destroying my composition! It's a disaster, an absolute disaster.
The company's wrapped, my two stars have locked themselves in their dressing rooms and all I have to show after two days' work is a dead parrot! Well, we'll have the food analyzed, perform an autopsy- - On a bird? - My dear Miss Wagenbacher- Doris.
Please, call me Doris.
It's faster.
This could have been an attempt to poison one of your stars.
Oh, no.
Don't say that.
Don't even think that.
It's too much to bear.
I realize it's emotionally unsettling.
Unsettling? It's earth-shattering.
If that little pecker was poisoned, Derek and Heather will run for the hills.
Who knows if they'll ever come back? Is that all you're concerned about? You don't seem to understand.
Those two are irreplaceable.
They have captured the hearts of the television audiences.
Without them, there are no Chef Gaston commercials.
Oh, it was so much simpler in the old days when we had dancing cigarette packs and little Speedy Alka-Seltzer.
Huh.
Well, Doris, look on the bright side.
Perhaps Olivier here was just allergic to carnauba wax, eh? - Mr.
Steele.
- Doris.
Miss Wagenbacher.
Miss Wagenbacher.
Mr.
Steele! Neither Heather nor Derek answers.
Either they've left or they're too terrified to come to the door.
It's understandable.
One of them could be marked for murder.
Now, let's not jump to conclusions.
Perhaps the bird expired from sunstroke.
Mm-hmm.
Or that last martini that Derek gave him.
Or maybe the lights spoiled the food.
It's- My car.
Someone's stealing my car! Well, at least it saved us the cost of an autopsy.
I think it's safe to say that that food was definitely poisoned.
Now all we have to do is figure out whom it was meant for.
Yeah.
Alas, poor Olivier.
Dear parrot for you the war is over.
May you find the peace you so richly deserve.
- Have they arrested her yet? - Whom? - The silicone starlet.
- You suspect Heather tried to kill you? Have you any idea why those commercials are so successful, Miss Holt? It's my talent and her cleavage.
In this town, "D" cups are a dime a dozen.
Even the public knows that.
"To the real star of the Chef Gaston commercials.
- Mm-hmm.
- A devoted fan.
" One of these arrives every morning, like clockwork.
Oh.
You see, Heather's jealousy finally drove her over the brink.
Take it from me.
That woman's an animal.
The man's an animal, an absolute animal.
The first day we worked together, he invited me into his dressing room.
Well, I thought it was to talk about the part but then he peeled off his robe, and he was stark naked.
Hmm.
Well, calm as you please, like he was ordering tuna on rye he says, "Shall we get to it?" Well, I just thought it was some sort of method acting, so I started reading my lines.
But he grabbed me, and he threw me on the sofa.
And- Oh! Being a serious actress and knowing I already had the part I slapped him across the puss, and I left.
I hardly think a man of Derek Vivyan's stature would stoop to murder just because you wouldn't, uh- - Come across? - In a word.
Oh, he can't stand it because he knows I'm the real star of those commercials and he's just a- a washed-up old has-been with stinky breath.
Why do you think he wanted me to eat that stuff? - Hmm? - Because he knew it was poisoned.
He poisoned it himself.
Why did you want to change the script and feed Heather? Well, a script is merely a starting point a sodden piece of clay waiting for the imprint of the actor.
Besides, that silken-haired sow had been shoving that slop down my throat for a year always managing to miss my mouth and jab me in the upper lip with the fork.
So I decided to give her a dose of her own medicine.
- A fatal dose, Mr.
Vivyan? - Me? Perhaps for the same motive you attributed to Heather.
I have nothing to be jealous of.
I will admit there was a time when parts weren't exactly coming my way but all that's changed now.
Why, I've even been asked to play King Lear at Stratford.
So, until that strumpet is safely behind bars I shan't be choking down any more of Chef Gaston's cardboard cuisine.
So, until that madman is locked up in the clink, I refuse to set foot on that stage.
I am not going to give him another chance to kill me.
I'm afraid there's not enough evidence to arrest Heather.
At the moment, there's no case against Derek.
- I guess she'll be doing the commercials by herself.
- She will? - So, I suppose he'll be forced to carry on by himself.
- He will? I shan't let the company down.
Hundreds of people depend on me for their livelihoods.
And after all, the audience does depend on me for what little entertainment there is on the tube.
You can count on me, Mr.
Steele.
The show must go on.
You're a real trouper, Mr.
Vivyan.
I like to think so.
But I'm planning to sleep with my eyes wide open.
Derek Vivyan will kill me over my dead body.
Well, I must say, visually I find the image quite intriguing.
Uh, good day.
It's Heather.
We're gonna have to move the timetable up.
I don't care how risky it is.
Just do it.
Yes.
Yes, Sergeant.
I've already notified my insurance company.
Well, you see, I don't think it was an ordinary car theft.
We had some evidence in the trunk, and- A dead parrot and some beef bourguignonne.
- What's he doing? - Laughing.
Hmm.
Where do you suppose Mildred keeps the numbers for car rentals? I've looked through "A" for automobiles, "C" for cars, "R" for rentals and all I've come up with so far is a recipe for ratatouille.
Yes, Sergeant.
Well, thank you.
Thank you for your concern.
According to the sergeant, my car is probably a Tijuana taxi by now.
- Oh? More fries? - Thanks.
- You want the rest of my cheeseburger? - No, thanks.
Come right in, hon.
That's it.
Well, I found out who's been sending Derek Vivyan all those booze baskets.
Oh, put 'em right down there.
It cost us a little, but actually it's very nice wine.
Here you go.
Thank you so much.
Who's been sending Derek those baskets? They have all been charged to the same account- Doris Wagenbacher's.
- Doris Wagenbacher? - Try Doris.
It's faster.
Why would Doris send booze to an incipient alcoholic? You know, Laura, we may have overlooked one possible motive.
Whoever's behind this may be trying to sabotage the commercials, not the actors.
You're saying Doris was trying to get Derek so drunk or hungover he'd miss the filming? Uh-huh.
And when that failed, perhaps she even went so far as to poison the food.
But she produces those commercials.
Why would she try to kill the goose that lays the golden egg? No, no, no, no.
That set is rife with hostility.
Oh, I can't believe that.
Are you trying to tell me that they don't like one another? Let's just say I wouldn't put them both in the same room with a loaded gun.
Ah! Television is so disillusioning.
Could it be that both Heather and Derek are telling the truth that neither one of them is trying to kill the other? I'm so depressed.
What do you say we christen the wine? Thank you, but no, thank you, Mildred.
- We have to be on the set early in the morning.
- Me neither.
After spending an afternoon with Derek Vivyan I have an overwhelming urge to attend an A.
A.
meeting.
Yes.
Say, Mildred, tell me- - Where do you keep the numbers for the car rentals? - Under "T.
" - Ah.
For transportation.
- Tax-deductible.
Good night, Mildred.
Ah, that was exhausting.
Yes, liebchen, but think of it.
We've reached the very top of the world where no man or woman has ever trod before.
Oh, and the most exciting part is we have Chef Gaston's Veal Fricassees to celebrate.
Oh, liebchen you think of everything.
You are standing in my key light.
That's right.
You know why? You didn't brush your teeth.
That's right.
Do you know why? Because you stood in my key light yesterday.
- Murderess.
- Poisoner.
- No talent! - Has-been! Cut.
All right.
Print that.
Congratulations.
I never thought either of them would show up after what happened yesterday.
What ab- What about the food? Was it poisoned? Well, the analysis is taking a bit longer than anticipated but all the evidence points in that direction.
However, if one of them is trying to kill the other that's not just biting the hand that feeds you.
- It's devouring it.
- Obviously you don't know actors.
They're children, self-destructive children.
You can't think of anyone else who might have reason to see one of them dead? - A critic or two.
- What about someone who wanted to stop the commercials? Well, why would anyone want to do that? No pun intended, but these commercials do put food on our table.
Then perhaps you can explain to me why you've been sending Derek Vivyan gift baskets of alcohol.
Don't be absurd.
That'd be like force-feeding chocolate to a diabetic.
They were charged to your account.
It must've been someone in my office.
After all, it's customary to give gifts to actors.
Every day since the filming started? No doubt this person was unaware of Derek's predilection.
I'll have it stopped.
Don't give it another thought.
But I've been giving it a great deal of thought.
You hired us to see that these commercials were done on schedule and Mr.
Steele never goes against a client's wishes.
I told you it was a mistake and I'll correct it.
Moptop.
I knew you looked familiar.
I've been trying to place you all morning.
You're Mady Moore.
Moptop.
Allied Artists.
Um 1963.
I was 10 years old.
You can't hold me responsible.
I loved your films.
Little Miss Mischief.
And- Oh, what's the other one? Uh, Flossie of the Yukon.
Flossie of the Yukon? They pulled that one out after a week.
I hurried.
- I always wondered why you quit acting.
- I didn't.
- Acting quit me.
- Hmm.
- My awkward age lasted 12 years.
- Ah.
Please, Mr.
Steele, no one knows me.
- I'd like to keep it that way.
- Oh, I see.
But don't you- Don't you ever get the urge to get back in front of the camera? No.
I had enough of that as a child.
That's why I left.
Wound up in Chicago.
That's where I met Stan.
He was a photographer for a food layout magazine.
One thing led to another, and I became his assistant.
And now you're content to spend your days waxing zucchini, eh? Zucchini doesn't complain about its makeup.
We had a few good times in Chicago.
Then Stan met Heather.
She was on a promotional tour for something or other.
She got him this job.
So, here I am back in Hollywood whether I like it or not.
But I go where my husband goes.
Hey, Mady! Come on! Let's go! Get the lead out! Come on! - I got a schedule to shoot! - Sorry.
- Is Stan your husband? - That's what the marriage license says.
- Doris, I've been thinking.
- What is it now, Heather? How do we know we can trust these guys? Miss St.
Germain, the Remington Steele Agency does not employ the Borgias but if it will make you feel any safer, I'll taste the food.
- Oh, no.
No, you won't.
- Just a nibble.
Your nibble might destroy the statement I'm trying to make.
Well, I am not going to eat that food.
For once, I agree with the old trollop.
All right, everybody, let's do some close-ups of the fricassee.
My costumes! Every one, ruined! Oh, my evening gown, my negligee! You! You fiend! You crazy, old coot! You, get out of here! How could you do this to me? Steady.
Steady.
That's a wrap! Well, I really must apologize, Miss Holt.
Studios aren't usually this dull.
Watch out.
! My car.
! My car.
! I think we have some good news and some bad news, Derek.
What's the good news? You're no longer a suspect.
Well, what's the bad news? You're definitely the victim.
I feel positively invigorated.
A brush with death really gets your adrenaline pumping.
Ha ha! Sort of like a perfect Rob Roy.
Rob Roy.
Rob Roy.
That reminds me.
Why didn't you get out of the way? Ah.
Well, now, don't bandy this about.
It could be very embarrassing but just for an instant down there I thought I was on a film set and I was waiting for the director to yell, "Cut!" You really are a very striking woman.
Are you aware of that? Not really.
You have the skin of a de Havilland.
Have you heard any talk on the set? The bone structure of Garbo.
About why Doris might want the commercials to end? The lips of a Lamarr.
Anything? Stop it, Mr.
Vivyan! Let go of me! Ah, you proud vixen.
Your cries will go for naught.
I intend to possess you this very evening, and I shall not be denied.
What the hell's that from? Oh! Oh! I'm almost beginning to regret saving your life.
What are you trying to prove? That you're still attractive? You are.
That you're still young? You're not! I'm not a great many things, Miss Holt.
All that talk about King Lear that was just to keep up appearances.
Being a semi-serious actor I'm supposed to loathe and despise those commercials whilst looking for something in which I can exhibit my acting prowess and show my talent.
But, alas, I'm no longer equipped to play King Lear or anything else that lasts for longer than 30 seconds.
My booze-soaked brain simply cannot recall the lines.
I find it very difficult to remember "Chef Gaston's Instant Gourmet Dinner.
" I don't know which frightens me more- dying or losing those commercials.
I know, Derek.
I know.
Excuse me.
May I help you? Uh, just admiring your shrubbery.
We don't get many gentlemen for afternoon tea.
Actually, I'm supposed to meet Miss Wagenbacher, but I see she's with someone.
- I find it such bad manners to intrude.
- Of course.
- You wouldn't happen to know who her companion is? - Mother Trust.
I beg your pardon? Mother Trust of Mother Trust's Frozen Sunday Dinners.
- Her picture's on every package.
- You've been invaluable.
- Thank you ever so much.
Excuse me.
- It's quite all right.
Excuse me, ladies.
Do forgive me, please.
Thank you.
- There you are, Doris.
- What are you- And you, of course, don't need any introduction.
I see that handsome face staring at me every time I open my freezer.
- Love your pot pies.
- How dare you- Be late? A thousand apologies, but I just got out of court.
Please, Doris, do sit.
Please sit down.
Sterling Gillette of Drummond, Brady and Sterling Gillette.
- How do you do? - How do you do? Isn't it a bit early to bring in a lawyer, Doris? - He is not- - Here in any official capacity.
Doris just asked me to drop in and listen to what you ladies had to say.
- I warn you.
He's- - Oh, park it.
You want your lawyer in on this? It's no skin off my nose.
As soon as those Chef Gaston commercials bite the dust- Don't say any more.
Now, Doris, we don't want Mother Trust here to think there's any problems, do we? - Is there? - Nothing we can't negotiate our way out of, eh, Doris? Hmm? As you were saying.
Those commercials have flushed my profits down the dumper.
When Doris puts an end to them, I'll set her up in her own advertising agency.
With Mother Trust's Frozen Sunday Dinners as her very first client.
It means a lot of dough all around.
Well, Chef Gaston could sue.
I mean, Doris here, after all, has been contracted to produce those commercials.
Contracts were made to be broken.
What a healthy attitude.
After all, that's what keeps us lawyers in Cadillacs.
When we're finished with him he won't have a dime to call Legal Aid.
Would you like another? Five's my limit.
Well, when you've hammered something together give me a jingle.
So, your very own advertising agency.
I've earned it.
I worked 20 years to get an offer like this.
- Were you ready to kill for it? - I am now.
- And I don't even have to leave this table to do it.
- Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.
You know you want it.
You know you need it.
Just like me.
I can't live without it because it makes me feel so good.
Come on.
What are you waiting for? Step right up and grab yourself a handful of Ecstasy.
Ecstasy Shampoo to make you look the way you feel.
And cut.
! - How was that? - Well, you sold me.
Oh, great.
- Mmm.
- Oh.
- Oh! - Me too.
I'm gonna run right out and buy the giant family-size.
What are you doing here? - I wanted another look at your costumes.
- Why? They disturbed me.
Well, how- how do you think I felt? No, I mean, I was disturbed by the look of them.
The tears were so neat.
Every one appeared to be right on a seam.
A good wardrobe woman could whip those back together in a matter of hours.
But I kept asking myself why you'd want to shut down the company.
- Thanks for the answer.
- This isn't what it looks like.
We're just fooling around, having some fun.
You shoot commercials all day, and then just for fun you shoot some more at night as well? I was helping the kid out.
- She's got a shot at being the new Ecstasy Shampoo girl.
- Stan.
According to Heather's contract, she can't do any other commercials.
She's exclusive to Chef Gaston.
Unless, of course, there weren't any Chef Gaston commercials.
That old drunk tried to kill me, remember? You couldn't know Derek would come up with that interesting bit of actor's invention.
You always feed him.
Isn't that right, Stan? Hey, don't pull me into this.
I'm just the director.
I do whatever the script says.
The written word is sacred to me.
Are you going to direct Heather's new commercials too? - Stan has a feature lined up.
- Heather! Then you're another one who wouldn't be unhappy if these commercials were to be scrapped.
Tell her who they're talking about for the picture, Stan.
Newman, Redford and Hoffman.
Sounds like a project worth killing for.
You better believe it.
Uh, I didn't mean that the way it sounded.
Didn't you? - Mady.
- Hi! What are you doing here? I went to get some coffee in that machine near the dubbing room.
Oh, I didn't see any food in there.
You just lending moral support? They don't know I'm here.
I just thought I'd surprise Stan.
Oh.
You know, I don't think that's a very good idea because they're sort of involved in there in- in the commercial and stuff.
Why don't you show me where the coffee is, huh? You don't have to protect me, Miss Holt.
I know all about Stan and Heather and the big brass bed.
But, believe me as far as Stan is concerned, it's just part of the business.
Just like having lunch at the Polo Lounge or taking an ad out in Variety.
Well, that's a unique way of looking at it, Mady.
Well, we certainly have a full complement of suspects.
Mmm.
Your taco's getting cold.
Oh, I'm not hungry.
Our esteemed client, Miss Wagenbacher, wants the commercials to end so she can represent Chef Gaston's archrival.
Try a burrito.
It's actually quite tasty.
Heather has an offer to be spokeswoman for a shampoo.
- Is there any more sauce? - Oh, yeah.
Stan wants to direct a movie.
- And even our little Miss Moptop has a motive.
- Hmm? What's that? She knows about the affair Stan is having with Heather.
She thinks if he leaves the commercials, he'll leave Heather too.
Well, I'm delighted we've crossed Derek off our list.
You know, I actually miss him.
I mean, doing all those scenes from his old movies none of which he can remember.
Hmm.
He's actually quite an endearing character.
Hmm.
Yes.
Good old endearing Derek.
One of our more unique people we've encountered, don't you think? Flamboyant, charming.
Flamboyant, charming.
Wistful yet sensitive.
Great panache, zest for life.
But caring, very concerned.
- Enough about Derek, all right? - Excuse me? Let's just get off Derek for a while, shall we? Did, uh- Did something happen between you two? Of course not.
Why do you ask? Because every time I mention his name, you begin wolfing down food.
- I'm not hungry.
- Precisely.
- It's nothing important.
- Then you won't mind sharing it with me, eh? - It was a little misunderstanding.
- Mm-hmm.
Ah, hell.
He made a pass at me.
Derek? It wasn't anything I couldn't handle.
Actually, I felt sorry for him, in a way.
He was so transparent in his attempt and so childlike in his guilt.
- What kind of pass? - What sort of passes are there? - I mean, verbal, physical? - Both.
- How physical? - I don't think this is water that we should wade into here.
You're the one who brought this up.
Why did you mention it in the first place? - You dragged me into it.
- I didn't drag.
I simply inquired, and you chose to respond to my inquiries.
Now, damn it! I mean, how physical did- did the bloody twit get? - A few kisses.
- Did you respond? - Of course I responded.
- How? - I told him to get off.
- What was he on? The couch.
- Where were you? - Under him.
Oh, God.
The more you reassure me, the worse it gets.
- Where are you going? - To barbecue an old ham.
Excuse me, will you? Hmm.
Hello? Ah, yes, he is.
Just a moment.
- What? - Phone call for you, Mr.
Vivyan.
Oh? This is an unlisted number, so I take it you know whom you're calling.
Derek, it's Heather.
Aren't you content to torment me for 12 hours a day? Must you make obscene calls too? I just want to apologize to you for thinking you were trying to kill me.
I know who it is now, and I never thought I'd say this to you but Derek- Derek, I need you to help me prove it.
Look, look.
I'm at the studio.
Please, you must help me! Of course, my dear child.
You stay where you are.
I'm on my way.
- Remington Steele Investigations.
- Laura? I've just received a most strange call from Heather.
No, no.
Let me amend that.
Any call from Heather would be strange, but this one positively reeks of nutsiness.
She apologized for suspecting me of trying to kill her said she knew who the real culprit was and asked for my help to prove it.
- Where is she? - Waiting down at the studio.
Better let me handle it.
Why do you think I called? I may be a drunk, but I'm not a fool.
I wouldn't trust that little twitch in a room full of nuns.
- Tell Mr.
Steele to meet me at the studio.
- Steele? He's not here.
He will be.
- I've got a bone to pick with you, old chum.
- A bone, sport? - You made a pass at Miss Holt.
- Oh, yes.
That's expected of me.
I'm the Errol Flynn of the '80s.
You embarrassed her, and you disappointed me.
We're supposed to be friends.
Why should a harmless assault affect our friendship? In addition to being business associates, Laura and I are personally involved.
I must say, you do a remarkable job of keeping it a secret.
Well, we can't go around pawing each other in public, can we? How would it look to our clients? Besides, we've been awfully busy on this case.
Literally haven't had a moment to ourselves.
No candlelit dinners, no unexpected flowers no unbridled passion.
That sort of thing could be fatal to a relationship.
Keeping your nose to the grindstone only gets you a sore nose.
We did share a taco earlier.
Yes, well, you take it from a scarred veteran of the romantic wars that it is distressingly easy to fall into a rut take each other for granted, misplace the magic.
That's how I lost three of my wives.
- Oh.
- Yeah, the three I liked the best.
Now, you must lavish her with flowers, champagne a sensible diamond.
Ah! Yes, she's, uh- she's gone to the studio.
Uh, she's gone to meet Olivier's killer and she wants you to join her there.
- I'm afraid the sensible diamond will have to wait.
- Do you mind if I join you? After all, I am the intended victim.
Please, do follow.
Can you walk? - Just! - Good.
Heather? What are you doing here? Ah, Derek called me.
He said you wanted him to come.
I'm-I'm here to help you.
Where is Derek? He isn't coming.
That's too bad.
That's really too bad.
Heather? Heather, why don't you come out? We can talk.
- Mady? - Mady, that little wimp.
Now I know why Stan doesn't want to have anything to do with her when he can have me.
Wouldn't you want someone like me? Someone fresh beautiful, sexy.
Stan says mental illness isn't sexy.
But did she get the message? No.
Now she follows us everywhere.
She spies on us.
She watches us make love.
That's sick.
Don't you think that's sick? But Stan won't leave her because he feels sorry for her.
But I don't.
- I want to kill her.
- I'll help you! I'll get Mady out of your life, for good.
- Will you put her back in the nuthouse? - Yes! That's where she belongs! They said she was cured.
But if she's cured, why does she have those bad dreams all the time? Why does she wake Stan up every night, shrieking? We'll call the doctor.
They'll take her away.
No.
She'll never leave him.
We'll have to live together, side by side.
Then why not kill Mady, Heather? - Why go after poor Derek? - Poor Derek! He makes me crazy.
Always laughing at me! He tries to make me out to be a fool in front of the crew.
I'm the real star of these commercials and he's holding me back, making me sell all this frozen garbage! That must be Derek.
He said he'd call to see if you really wanted him to come.
Let me tell him to come.
- Please, he's gonna hang up in a minute! - Tell him to hurry.
No answer.
Perhaps she hasn't arrived yet.
Hmm.
Hit it, Fred.
I hate people who lie to me! Hollywood is so full of phonies, it's all you can do to keep your head on straight.
It was Derek.
I know it was.
Let me call him back.
No! It's the rescue scene from Young Raleigh.
Poor, sweet Mady.
I sincerely hope they can help her.
As far as I can understand it, since Stan preferred Heather to her in Mady's disturbed mind, she became Heather.
Wouldn't it seem logical- and I know that's a strange word to use- for her simply to kill Heather? It would be like committing suicide.
After you.
Since Heather, the real Heather, hated Derek it was much easier to go after him.
Truly a wondrous place, Hollywood.
What is this? I thought we were just going to grab a quick bite while we finished our paperwork.
Laura, we must never, never allow our work to interfere with other more pleasurable pursuits.
Voilà.
Thank you.
And now, for the pièce de résistance- Which would you prefer- Chef Gaston's Beef Bourguignonne or Veal Fricassee, eh?