Death of a Blue Movie Star

"In my bag I had what was left of my savings, in cash, an original-edition Moliere play, a ring of my mother's, some jewelry. That was it. All my credit cards, driver's license, Citibank cash card letters, were in my purse in the room at Lame Duck."

"Aren't you afraid somebody here will recognize you?"

"Yes, of course. But Chicago's different from New York. There are only a couple adult theaters here, a few adult bookstores. No Shelly Lowe posters, like you see in Times Square. No Shelly Lowe tapes in the windows of the bookstores. And I had the surgery."

"And dyed your hair."

"No, this is my natural color." Shelly turned to her. "Besides, you're talking to me now, a few feet away-what do you think? Do I seem like the same person you interviewed on your houseboat?"

No, she didn't. She didn't at all. The eyes-the blue was there but they weren't laser beams any longer. The way she carried herself, her voice, her smile. She seemed older and younger at the same time.

Rune said, "I remember when I was taping you, you started out being so tough and, I don't know, controlled."

"Shelly Lowe was a ballbuster."

"But you slipped. Toward the end you became someone else."

"I know. That's why…" She looked away. They started walking again, and Rune grinned.

"That's why you broke into my houseboat and stole the tape. It gave away too much."

"I'm sorry."

"You know, we thought Tommy was the killer." "I heard about it. About Nicole… That was so sad." Her voice faded. "Danny and Ralph Gutman and all the others-they were just sleazy. But Tommy was frightening. That's why I left him. It was those films of his. He started doing real S amp; M films. I left him after that. I guess when he found he couldn't get off on just pain alone he started doing snuff films. I don't know."

They walked for a few minutes in silence. Shelly laughed sadly, then said, "How you tracked me down, I'll never understand. Here in Chicago, I mean."

"It was your play. Delivered Flowers. I saw it on Arthur Tucker's desk. He'd crossed out your name and written his in. I thought… Well, I thought he'd killed you-to steal your play. He really had me fooled."

"He's an acting coach, remember. And one of the best actors you'll ever meet."

"He gets an Oscar for that performance," Rune said. "I remembered the name of the theater. The Haymarket. It was written on the cover of the play. I called the theater and asked what was playing. They saidDelivered Flowers."

Shelly said, "That was his idea, the play. He said that we'd pretend he wrote it. A play by Arthur Tucker would be a lot more likely to be produced than one by Becky Hanson. He sends me the royalties."

"None to the AIDS Coalition?"

"No. Should he?"

Rune laughed and said, "Probably he should. But things've changed since we made our deal." Thinking: Damn, that man was a good actor.

"Arthur got the company here to produce it and arranged for me to get the lead… I thought about it afterward. It was very strange. Here, I'd had the chance to direct my own death. My God, what an opportunity for an actress. Think of it all-a chance to create a character. In the ultimate sense. Create a whole new person."

They walked along Clark Street for a few minutes until they came to a Victorian brownstone. Shelly took her keys out of her purse.

Rune said, "I don't know a whole lot about plays, but I liked it. I didn't, you know, understand everything, but usually, if I don't understand stuff all the way, that means it's pretty good."

"The reviewers like it. They're talking of taking a road company to New York. It'll hurt like hell but I won't be able to go with them. Not now. Not for a few years. That's my plan, and I'll have to stick to it. Let Shelly rest in peace for a while."

"You happy here?" Rune asked.

She nodded her head upward. "I'm nearly broke, living in a third-floor walk-up. I pawned my last diamond bracelet last month because I needed the cash." Shelly shrugged, then grinned. "But the acting, what I'm doing? Yeah, I'm happy."

Rune looked at the twisty wrought-iron gate. "We've got kind of a problem."

"What's that?"

"There's a film about you."

"The one you were working on when I was killed?" Shelly looked at her curiously. "But after the bombing… Well, there was nothing more for you to make a film about. You stopped working on it, didn't you?"

Rune leaned against the grille and turned to face Shelly. "It's slotted on PBS."

Shelly's eyes went wide. "Oh, Rune, you can't… PBS is national. Someone here could see it."

"You don't look like you."

"I look enough like me so people could make the connection."

Rune said, "You used me. You weren't honest with me."

"I know I don't deserve to ask-"

"You didn't want to help me make my film at all. You just used me."

"Please, Rune, all my plans… They're just starting to work out. For the first time in my life I'm happy. No one knows what I did-the films. I can't tell you how wonderful it is, not to be looked at like a thing. It's so wonderful not to be ashamed…"