Saturday, December 18, 2010
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The Joan Crawford Murders (in paperback)
THE JOAN CRAWFORD MURDERS
The day had been so exciting that she drank way too much. Just as
she was about to pass out, there was a knock at the dressing room
door. She opened her eyes, opened the door, and saw a Joan Crawford
in an old fashioned padded-shouldered 40s suit. She was
"I'm Joan Crawford."
She answered, slurring, "Noooo, I'm Joan Crawford!"
"I'm the only Joan Crawford, so I'll have to kill you."
"BALLS! Look whah-you're wearing! It's goddam 1953, for chrissakes!"
"Bloody knife!" Bloody knife!"
Joan squinted, trying to see straight. "Who are you?"
Three studio security guards rushed into the hall and two of them
dragged the kicking and swearing impersonator away. A third guard
stayed and asked, "Are you alright Miss Crawford?"
Only able to think about having had far too much to drink, she tried
to keep her eyes open, and found that her tongue had became
He chuckled. "All right Miss Crawford. I'll lock you in now for the
"MGM can go-ta Hell!" She hiccupped as she slammed the door. She
grabbed her razor sharp silver From the Desk of Joan Crawford letter
opener and held it out to the room like a weapon as if she was still
in danger. "Wha-ya want!" She sliced at the air. Then she realized
she didn't see anybody else in the room. "Oh." She went to put the
letter opener back but missed the desk by a foot and it fell to the
floor, sounding a pretty chime. She didn't hear it as she fell to
her knees knocking an empty vodka bottle to the side. Then she
started to raggedly snore.
* * * * *
The phone rang. She woke up. "Goddam! Why am I on the floor? That
must have been some party. Oh, my head!" She picked up the phone
but it had stopped ringing, so she washed her hands, popped some
aspirin and fixed herself a drink. While she washed her hands again,
the phone rang again. She grabbed it. "You're speaking to a star!"
"Cranberry! You get to be Joan Crawford again! You get … "
"Bill!" It was Joan's oldest friend, the ex-star, Billy Haines, who
helped her start out in the silent days. "Bill!" Joan shifted the
heavy metal telephone to her other ear as she began to rub freesia
glycerin on her elbows. "Is that you? Bless you! How dear of you
to jingle-ling me, here! How's my favorite fairy dust? How's your
hubby, Jimmy? How are my favorite Hollywood homosexuals?"
It's in paperback in general fiction at: htt://stonegarden.net/