Philip Cable's Night Mistress

By Philip Cable

SHE WASN'T JUST A MONSTER... SHE BECAME SIX MONSTERS IN ONE

COLLECTORS ITEM - MOVIE EDITION - 43 FULL COLOR BEHIND-THE-SCENES PHOTOGRAPHS

Shelly Steel had it all. She was beautiful, famous, and Hollywood’s number one horror fright film Queen. She was also engaged to Stan Goldman, the hottest young director in town.

But when the underworld murdered Stan, Shelly had a nervous breakdown, all she could think of was revenge. But the crime lords responsible were heavily guarded and lived behind high walls and alarms. Taking them down was no easy thing. Shelly needed an edge....

Then the light dawned and she came up with a brilliant plan. She would paralyze and distract the guards and the killers by donning the make-up of the six most terrifying monsters from her horror movies. And before they could recover from their surprise – she would execute each and every one responsible for Stan’s death!

She would become six monsters in one!

As the bodies began to fall, Shelly found herself hunted by both the police and the underworld. But Shelly had an advantage – she didn’t care if she lived or died. One by one she recreated the scenes from her movies, slaying each of the men responsible.With the police and the Mob closing in Shelly decided to take her life in her hands. She would go face to face with the head of the Hollywood crime syndicate, and his countless guards, in a terrifying battle to the death! A battle Shelly could not afford to lose – and could never truly win.

"In the novel NIGHT MISTRESS there are many scenes that do not appear in the movie. Which scenes are they? You'll have to read this book to find out.” -Philip Cable

• Language: English
• Publisher: A&T Books
• Release date: Nov 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798501484597

Book preview

NIGHT MISTRESS

A Novel of Suspense

Philip Cable

Strange Particle Press

© 2021 Dream Cinema Productions 

ISBN 9798501484597

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from Dream Cinema Productions

Strange Particle Press is an imprint of PageTurner Editions LLC

Cover Art: Edward Luena

Cover Design: Frankie Hill

PREFACE

When I first wrote a screenplay called Night Mistress, little did I know that it would take over two decades for it to be produced or that I would also write a novel based upon that same script.

Writing a screenplay is one thing, but having it filmed is something altogether different. Film production is a series of compromises. Locations that you wrote to be filmed outside suddenly change into an indoor setting due to a terrible heat wave. Your image for a character can unexpectedly change when you discover an actor or actress whose talent transcends your initial concept. And, while a compromise can sometimes work better than your original idea, a compromise is still a compromise. As such it can stick in your craw and your original vision will call to you like a slighted siren. This inevitably leads you to occasionally wonder What if. Thus, it has been most satisfying to write this novel which allowed me to recapture the spirit and imagery of my original story wherein time, budget, and the limits of reality were not a factor. It has been challenging but also fun.

I would like to thank both Dream Cinema Production LLC and Page Turner Editions LLC for their help in making this book a reality.

CHAPTER ONE

Hollywood, city of dreams; city of nightmares.

The leftover vestige of fog was all that remained of the cool coastal blanket that had covered the city the night before. The bright sunrise began to kill off the fog as if it were a vampire, leaving only the over-the-hill hookers, the homeless, and the occasional drug addict behind. They, like the fog, seemed alive, but it was only an illusion.

The Carnaby Museum was also a place of death, wherein the works of those who had long passed could still be seen and, upon occasion, appreciated.

Perhaps.

Shelly Steel walked down the stairs from the second story of the museum toward its main floor where much of its greatest treasures were kept. Treasure maps, uniforms from all the most important wars of the past hundred years, rare books and paintings, whatever pulled in a crowd. Shelly was an unusually attractive woman with dark brown hair, haunted eyes, and a figure that a stripper would envy. She walked with the effortless grace of a gymnast, which was quietly sexy. There was something else in the way she moved that was equally obvious. She had a noticeable intent in her step that suggested that each movement was done with a sense of purpose. Shelly cradled a highly important exhibit in her arms. Said exhibit was a historic lantern, which belonged in the Civil War display. Shelly casually paused at the foot of the stairs and looked to her left. She noticed that the World War One German uniform had not been hung correctly upon a manikin. She crossed to it and straightened the uniform. Upon completion, she stared at her work pleased. Well . . . almost. She reached over and took a large piece of lint from the breast of the jacket and tossed it into a nearby trashcan.

Now she acted pleased.

Shelly did an about face and made her way past all of the dimly lit century of history to the front of the museum which held the Civil War exhibits. Setting down the lantern, Shelly took out a key to open the large glass case that held many of the smaller exhibits such as guns and photographs. Before she could open the glass case Shelly took note of something nearly hidden from view by the edge of the display. It looked a little like a glove? She slowly walked around the corner of the display and could plainly see that it was not a glove, but was instead, a hand. A hand belonging to a motionless body! It was the body of the director of the museum! The Director went by the name of Janice Walker. She was 5 foot 6, dressed simply in a business suit, had light brown hair, and from the bullet wound in her forehead she looked to be very, very dead.

As if driven by instinct, Shelly bent down to check her pulse. Shelly’s full attention was focused upon the body before her. On the bullet wound, on the dull look in Janice’s eyes, and on the growing pool of blood next to her head. If Shelly’s attention had not been directed upon the motionless body on the floor she might have been able to see the large figure creeping up ever so slowly behind her.

The man came out of the shadows and moved with a speed that belied his great size. He was at least six foot seven and dressed all in black except for the white hood worn on his head. A hood with a bloody handprint across its front. Shelly did not react to his growing near, until she heard the click of a .45 caliber pistol being cocked!

Shelly whirled around quickly and came face to face with the most dangerous weapon she had ever seen. Then she saw the hulking figure that held it. She gasped and leapt upright and back two feet.

He came toward her.

She backed up into a display knocking over a rare tea set that fell to the floor, shattering into a hundred pieces!

She opened her mouth as though trying to scream, but no sound came out.

The man came closer. Would he kill her or toy with her a while?

The terror in Shelly’s eyes seemed to give him his answer. He shoved his pistol hard into her belly!

Shelly could peripherally see an old clock from the 1850’s was sitting on the fireplace mantle behind her. Could it be used as weapon? Perhaps if she grabbed it she could use it like a club.

The man’s pistol moved slowly up her body.

Shelly began to ease her hand back toward the old clock.

The barrel of the .45 leisurely made its way up Shelly’s body to her ample bosom.

The fingers of Shelly’s right hand were just over two feet away from the old clock, moving ever closer.

Suddenly the man used his pistol to tear open the top buttons of Shelly’s blouse.

Her fingers were now only 18 inches away.

The man used his free hand to rip away the bra beneath Shelly’s blouse exposing her breasts.

Her hand was one foot away.

The man briefly paused and stared at her magnificent torso.

The clock was now six inches away.

The man took aim and placed his pistol next to Shelly’s face. A distraction was needed for her hand to cover the remaining inches and grab the clock without his noticing.

He took deliberate aim at her.

Unexpectedly, Shelly stuck out her tongue and licked the gun sensuously.

The man reacted with shock. He froze to the spot.

This gave Shelly the distraction she needed. Shelly grabbed the clock and slammed it into the side of the man’s head!

The man just stood there. The impact seemed to have no effect. His only reaction was annoyance.

Shelly was completely stunned for a moment then fury erupted in her face as she jumped forward and pounded the man’s chest and head to no avail. As she did this, she grabbed at the edge of his hood and ripped it off! There, beneath it, was the most hideous mockery of a face that she had ever seen! It was the hideous misshapen imitation of a countenance. A distorted brow hanging over two bulging inhuman eyes. Worst of all were his cheeks that seemed to be oozing blood from the dozens of open sores. The man’s face was horror personified.

God! Shelly managed to say before a loud scream poured out of her. As she screamed, the man took careful aim at her head.

Please, Shelly pleaded. Her words had no outward effect on him. Her imminent death was only a gunshot away.

The second passed and then . . .

Cut . . . and print it! yelled out a voice from just a few feet away.

The film crew relaxed and the director whispered something about the lighting to the director of photography. Shelly and the actor portraying her disfigured attacker also relaxed. The make-up man began to touch up the make-up of the disfigured man to make sure the latex appliances on his face would not start to peel away. As he did this the dead body sat up and looked at the director of the movie.

Was that a good take? asked the actress with the fake bullet wound. I held my breath as long as I could.

It was fine, said Stan Goldman the director.

Ken, the director of photography, looked concerned. Mister Goldman? Miss Steel’s face fell out of her key light for a second when she slammed into the display. Sure you don’t want to take it again?

Stan reflected for a moment. Naw, he said finally. We’ll just fix it up with an insert. Stan turned his attention to Shelly. And Shelly, you wanna button up your blouse so we can bring the rest of the crew back on the set?

Shelly closed her blouse with appropriate modesty while giving Stan an impish smile. Prude! I never asked for a closed set, she said playfully.

Stan merely shook his head with mock fatigue. You wouldn’t, he replied.

Stan crossed to her. His walk was not that of a boss, but instead came across as something friendly, even intimate.

Shelly’s smile became broader. You’re the one who wanted me to play the scene half naked, she said with all the drama of an actress.

Stan came within a foot of her and leaned in. It was in the script, he said simply.

The edge of Shelly’s smile curled upward making her look sly. Licking the gun wasn’t.

Stan leaned closer. So?

So you’re a desperately sick man, Shelly pointed out. And thank god for that!

Shelly started laughing then hugged Stan. He hugged her back and kissed her on the cheek. She seemed surprised.

Just on the cheek? she asked.

Stan nodded. Well, when we’re on the set, yeah. Afterward is another matter. Shelly giggled and pecked him affectionately on his cheek.

The director of photography called out to Stan, Where do you want the next setup?

Stan pointed in the direction of the entryway by the stairs. Over there, where she enters.

You want the camera inside the museum or at the bottom of the stairs? Ken asked.

Inside, Stan replied.

Shelly stroked Stan’s chin to get his attention. It worked. She asked, Have we got a few free minutes? I want to talk to you alone.

Stan thought about the tight shooting schedule, but he could see that whatever she needed to say to him was evidently important to her. We can spare a couple minutes, he said to her.

Let’s have some coffee, she said.

I’d rather have something else, said Stan so quietly that only she could hear.

Shelly’s response was worthy of a Barrymore. Beg all you like, but I shall never surrender my virtue.

Stan winced at her performance. Please tell me that you never got that line from one of my movies.

Shelly was going to make a smartass remark, but instead chose to take Stan’s hand and lead him in the direction of the craft service area which was located outside of the rented museum. She held his hand lovingly.

Before they had taken even a few steps, a production assistant approached Stan carrying a cell phone. Mister Goldman? Mister Goldman!

Yes? What is it?

The investor is on the phone. He says it’s urgent.

Stan sighed and looked at Shelly knowingly. Every time he reads about a movie flopping in the trades he has an anxiety attack. Excuse me. This is going to take a little while.

Stan got on the phone and, with practiced expertise, began to sooth the frazzled nerves of his investor. His voice was authoritative yet calm and Shelly knew that the investor would be fine in a short time. Still, she was slightly annoyed by the interruption. She had wanted to speak to Stan about going to see their friend B.J. Cosentino when the day’s shoot was done. B.J. had her most recent movie premiering across town and if Shelly had not been busy on the set, she would have been there to support her friend. If the film did well, they could all celebrate with her and if it did badly they could all get drunk together. As Stan’s phone conversation continued, Shelly could not help but wonder how the premiere went for B.J.

The Acme-Crest Theater was often used as a test theater for filmmakers wanting to premiere their movies. The old expression was ‘If your movie bombs at the Acme-Crest it’ll bomb everywhere’. While this was an exaggeration it was believed to be true by most of the producers in Hollywood. And so, B.J. Cosentino sat in the last row of that theater for 99 minutes waiting for the closing credits to roll and get a final reaction to her new $22 million dollar movie. That movie was an Action Comedy starring two major TV stars who were hoping to break into feature films. B.J. was a 50ish, plump, albeit pretty, woman who had been a producer for over 13 years. She had numerous successful films on her professional resume, but this movie was her first independent movie and she was very nervous. She had a lot riding on this motion picture and she muttered at least three prayers during its showing. The reaction of the audience had been good. Really good, in fact. They laughed in the right places and cried when they were supposed to. The performances were top notch and the direction was excellent. She was literally sweating for the last half of the movie. Despite the initially good response of the audience, the movie could fall apart if the last 15 minutes were not liked. The end credits began to roll and she had to remind herself to breathe every so often.

Then, upon seeing the final credit, there was thunderous applause from the audience!

For the first time in months, B.J. felt the weight of the movie’s responsibility lift from her shoulders. She sat back in her seat and watched the audience leave with smiles on their faces. As the lights of the theater came up, she took out her cell phone and dialed her assistant.

As B.J. made her phone call, she did not notice two men dressed in dull gray and brown suits entering the emptying theater. Even if she had looked in their direction, she would have been unlikely to notice them because they were so nondescript. One was black and one was white, but other than that, it would have been extremely difficult to remember anything else about their features. They were bland ciphers that were as close as anyone could come to being invisible. Curiously, they just stood there at the theater entrance waiting for the last of the audience to leave. The man in the brown suit remained at the entrance while the man in gray