Following the murder of his partner, Richard Dunphy-they'd done a TV movie review show together-Tobin had found himself essentially unemployed. The company that owned the show had been sold and the new owner didn't like TV movie review shows at all. 'That's sissy stuff,' he'd said on the day he'd announced 'World Wrestling Wrap-up' as Tobin's replacement-and so Tobin was dispatched to that limbo of late payments, bounced checks, and toadying-to-lessers called 'free-lance.' There were pieces, and good pieces, if he did say so, for American Film and Cinema and Esquire; there were less good pieces, but far more lucrative, for Parade ('Sally Fields' Seven Rules for Being a Good Mother'), and then there was the celebrity circuit.
While Tobin and Dunphy had hardly been famous, at least not exactly, their movie show had played on more than three hundred stations around the country, making it successful, so successful that Tobin's agent was certain that 'any day now, babe, we'll be connecting with some moneymen who'll want to not only give you your own show but actually spend some bucks. Truly.' Tobin's agent was named Phil Annis, a name that led to all sorts of jokes, in his case deserved. 'In the meantime, though,' Phil had said, which was how he always preceded news he knew Tobin would hate. 'In the meantime, though, I've made a deal with Cartwright Productions for you to appear on all their basic cable shows. Not much bread, but really good exposure.' Cartwright, which Tobin had only dimly heard of, turned out to own five shows: 'Celebrity Gardener' (Tobin pretended to be planting roses), 'Celebrity Handyman' (Tobin pretended to be building a fancy bookcase, nearly taking off a finger with a SKIL saw), 'Celebrity Fitness' (Tobin was seen walking past St. Patrick's Cathedral as the camera grabbed a tight shot of his $250 walking shoes), and 'Celebrity Confessions' (a show for which Tobin contrived a tale of being kidnapped at age eight and then left to wander in dark and deep woods for two days before Mommy and Daddy in the family Buick found him alive).
All this nonsense went on for six months before Phil stumbled onto 'Celebrity Circle,' which was known in some uncharitable quarters as 'Celebrity Circle Jerk' and which, if not exactly Hallmark Hall of Fame, was actually a successful show, one of the most successful of all syndicated game shows.
But 'Circle' was having a problem-it seemed to have peaked. Ratings while still very high were not reflecting 'all that demographic and psychographic shit they worry about so much' (in the words of Phil Annis) and as a result the show went in search of a gimmick, which turned out to be a 'very special two weeks of 'Celebrity Circle,'' a cruise aboard the St. Michael, 'the world's most glamorous ship filled with the world's most glamorous stars-your very favorites from your very favorite shows including a brand-new addition- everybody's very favorite movie critic!' (all this from the publicity handout) and then two paragraphs about Tobin and all the wonderful things he'd done with his life.
The pay wasn't a great deal over scale but for once
Phil was right about it being 'important exposure' and for another thing the cruise was in fact a great one, loaded with women, food, sun, and a certain deference paid him because he was after all that most enviable of American entities, a celebrity.
All he had to do was show up to tape nine segments in the jerry-rigged studio on the main deck and the rest of the time he was free to do whatever he could get away with-if he could spare the time from viewing.
Presently, that seemed to consist of helping out a delicious-looking but definitely strange young woman who kept muttering about someone called Aberdeen.
He was very officious, actually. He came in and clipped on the lights and then made a very manly show of not being disturbed at all over the sight of the blood-soaked body.
He knelt down next to it-knowing she was watching him from behind-the way his hero Alan Ladd might have-and said, as if it needed to be said, 'Stabbed.'
'Yes.'
'And you didn't argue?'
'No.'
'You were in the bathroom?'
'Yes.'
'Just freshening up?'
'A shower. This was going to be very special.'
'I see.'
'I'd dated football players before and one U.S. senator but never a network star.'
'Ah.' What sins 'dated' hid.
'And so while you were taking a shower, getting ready for-'
'While I was taking a shower, getting ready for-'
'— the killer came in and-'
'— and hid in the closet.'
'The closet?'
She nodded to the louvered doors. 'There.'
'How do you know?'
'Because I saw him. Or her.'
'Him or her?'
She described the getup. 'It was supposed to look like a he but it could have been a she. You know?'
'You didn't tell me about the closet before.'
'I forgot.'
'Is there anything else you forgot?'
'You really think they're going to blame me, don't you?'
For the first time, he noticed how vulnerable she looked. Much younger, and sweet in a midwestern way. By now the blood on her hands and arms had caked. She still held them away from her body as if she did not want them at all.
'I just think you need to get your story straight,' he said, softly.
'You're really nice.'
Standing up, knees cracking, turning his face away from what had been the handsome towheaded body of Ken Norris, he said, 'You mean for a critic.'
She smiled. 'My father never forgave you for the crack you made about John Wayne.'
'All I said was that Wayne made the mistake of confusing his politics with his art. He was a very good actor, actually.'
'My father said he wanted to punch you.'
'Be sure to invite me to your next family reunion.'
Then he stared at her a moment. She stood on one side of the body, he on the other. 'I have to ask this.'
'Oh, God.'
'Did you kill him?'
And she began instantly to cry, soft midwestern-girl tears, and all her lusciousness trembled beneath her white terry-cloth robe and he found himself feeling like a shit again.
'I had to ask.'
She kept crying. 'I know.'
'Do you need some Kleenex?'
'Please.'
So he went and got her some Kleenex from the bathroom, which still smelled of steam and perfume, and brought her back a pink handful and said, 'Now I'll have to call the captain.'
'Will you stay here with me?'
'Yes.'
'I really didn't kill him.'
'I know.'
'I was going to write Aberdeen all about it.'
'Who's Aberdeen?'
'A woman at the insurance company.'
