“In New York? I hadn’t heard she was leaving Bay Rep.”
“Just rumors,” Emma said, cutting another piece of salami and popping it into her mouth. “Nothing’s been confirmed. Tomorrow night at the reception may be a good opportunity to get more information.”
“Well, keep me posted on what you find out,” I said. “I’m going to see Babs tomorrow. Thanks for letting me know, so I don’t step in it.”
“You’ll be fine,” Emma said. “I’ve never met anyone who plays her cards so close to her vest as Babs Allyn. I’ve known her for years, but I couldn’t tell you anything personal about her. I’ve been thinking about this lately, after everything that’s happened. It’s true of most of the people I know. We’re all putting on a front. So I’m making a concerted effort to change, to be more open to letting folks in. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here, Sully. Glad we can spend some quality time together.”
I poured Emma some more wine and added more to my glass. “Me too,” I said. We both let our silence sit for a minute. Emma and I had been close as children, but we’d only gotten to know each other as adults these past few months. I was looking forward to spending time with her.
“Now, about the Cunningham Corporation and their tentacles of business—” Emma said, slicing off another piece of cheese and popping it into her mouth.
“Yes?” I put my glass down.
“You know, the Whitehalls and the Cunninghams have been doing business together for a while. Investing in projects, that sort of thing. Ever since we brought Gus on board—you don’t mind me talking about Gus, do you?”
Why would I mind Emma talking about Gus Knight, my ex-
husband and biggest heartache? Gus hadn’t been an in-house lawyer for the Whitehall Company for long, but I knew that he’d been working closely with Eric and Emma ever since their father was killed.
“Of course I don’t mind,” I said. “I still can’t believe Gus left criminal law, though. He spent all those years in the DA’s office and then opened his own defense practice. It’s quite the leap to corporate law.”
“He’s been a godsend, let me tell you. Immersing himself in some of our more recent business dealings, making sure they’re kosher. Especially the deals Terry initiated.” Terry had left a tangled web of intrigue and deceit behind when he died. I had no doubt Emma needed help untangling it, for a number of reasons, and was glad Gus was there to help.
“Gus wants to meet with Eric and me tomorrow,” Emma continued. “Eric’s going to Skype in. Then Gus and I are meeting some folks for drinks. The meeting shouldn’t impact you, but I did want you to know he may be around a bit.”
“Are you going to the Cunningham event tomorrow night?” I asked, avoiding the topic of my ex-husband.
“I am,” Emma said. “The reception is to celebrate a new building development that just opened. Everyone will be there, so I need to make an appearance. We have some money invested in the project. Tell you what—come as my plus one. I’ll make sure you have a chance to say hello to Jerry and Mimi. That way you won’t have to owe Hal a favor.”
“Thanks, Emma. I appreciate it.” For a million reasons, I liked having Emma take me under her wing for this, rather than relying on Babs or Hal or someone else. Particularly if there was bad blood flowing among the parties involved. I made a mental note to try and find out more about Martin Samuel’s disappearance. I told myself it was routine due diligence, but I was lying. I was curious. What had happened last winter on that boat?
I heard the key in the apartment door—somebody rattling it, turning the key again, and finally opening the door.
“I assumed it was locked,” Harry said. “I’ll never get used to open doors in the city.” He shuffled his boots along the door mat and slipped his feet out of them. He hung up his coat and headed toward the kitchen area, and I stood up as he walked over to me.
He gave me a huge hug and hung on. “All I can say is thank heaven you’re here, Sully.” He pulled back and kissed me on the forehead. “You’ll never guess who’s playing Romeo as of three o’clock this afternoon?” He let go and walked over to the kitchen sink, washing his hands.
“You?” I said, pouring him a glass of wine. Harry had confided to me that he’d always wanted to play Romeo but was afraid he’d missed his window, since Romeo is supposed to be a teenager and Harry was well into his thirties. I’d caught him mouthing the lines with our Romeo from the wings on opening night at the Cliffside. “That’s terrific. Isn’t it?” I asked.
“‘Terrific’ is a loaded word. You’re going to have to help me run lines—”
“Of course,” I said. Not my favorite activity, but for Harry? Anything.
“First we eat, and drink,” Emma said. She stood up and turned up the heat on the pasta water. “No shop talk for at least an hour. Deal?”
“Keep the food and wine coming, and you’ve got a deal,” Harry said. He gave Emma a kiss on the cheek and sat down. I reached over and grabbed his hand.
“It’s going to be fine,” I said, squeezing it and letting go.
“Please let it be so,” he said, drinking his wine in one gulp and holding his glass out for a refill. I obliged, and filled up my glass as well.
• Four •
We’d stayed up late, too late. Harry didn’t have to go in until noon, so I let him sleep. I went out to a local coffee shop and had a breakfast sandwich and several cups of French roast coffee. Harry had no coffee in the house. Either his New Year’s no-caffeine resolution was still holding firm or he hadn’t been shopping for a while. Getting dressed before coffee was not my jam, so I made a note to stock up. I took another sip, watching people gingerly try to avoid patches of black ice, and then looked back down at my computer. I spent a few minutes reviewing changes I’d made to the grant application narrative. I hoped Babs would let me use a printer at the theater. Dimitri needed to look the proposal over, and he only read paper.
I considered leaving my car in the garage, but decided to drive over to the theater so I could stop and get groceries on the way home. I started a list, putting coffee in the first position. Added eggs, milk, cheese, bread, and bacon. I’d build up from there. Once I did the shopping I’d dump the car in the garage for the rest of the week. The stress of driving and parking in Boston was something I did not miss. Taking the T would more than suffice to get me around town. After all, where was I going except to the theater and back?
I circled around for a few minutes, but then gave up and parked the car in a parking lot near the theater. It was about nine thirty. After signing in at the stage door, where Babs had left my name, I walked inside. I hadn’t been to Bay Rep for years. As I stepped into the building, I paused to take it in and to get my bearings.
The theater was circular, and, depending on where you were in the loop around the theater itself, you were either backstage, in the box office area, near the bars, or heading to the bathroom. I walked to my left, toward an open door. I poked my head in and realized I was at the back of the house, where the audiences came in. I didn’t step in too far, but I did stop and examine the set. Harry’s reports of an iceberg stranded on the stage were not far off. Everything was bright white. There was a forced-perspective ceiling on the set that made it look as if there were a shiny white prism pulling the audience forward. There were a couple of ladders on the stage, and some miserable technicians holding up gels, focusing lights, and swearing into the dark void of the theater. Lest I interrupt this creative enterprise, I backed out of the theater and walked up the side, taking a left into the lobby.
Connie was talking to Babs Allyn. Babs was a few years older than me and had that casually elegant, put-together look I admired but would never even attempt. For one thing, my bank account couldn’t take it. But it was more than that. Babs took her average height and frame and did them up, showing off a toned body with expensive clothes and topping it off with perfect makeup. She had
obviously been a great beauty in her youth, and I couldn’t blame her for trying to hold on. The thing was, she looked like a million other women, fighting age with blond hair and little bits of Botox that kept her lips from moving too much.
I was being unkind. But since I had no intention of holding on to my own past, I didn’t understand the compulsion. As I moved into middle age, I felt that I was coming into my looks, finally. No youthful beauty to hold on to here. I hoped to become a striking old woman in the future.
Babs turned toward me and smiled. “Sully, so great to see you again.” She gave me the requisite air kiss, which I returned. “I understand Dimitri is down to a dull roar this morning. Must be because of you and Connie coming down. I really appreciate it.”
“Connie is the lion tamer. I’m just along for the ride,” I said.
“Speaking of which, back to it,” Connie said. “Let me know about the budget when you can, all right, Ms. Allyn?”
“Babs, please. And yes, of course. You’ve convinced me.”
“Sully, you coming in to say hello to Dimitri?” Connie asked.
“In a few minutes. Let me catch up with Babs first,” I said. Connie gave me a small smile and went back into the theater.
“I’m grateful to you both for making the trip. Dimitri is already easier to deal with now that Connie’s here. From what I can ascertain, they were up half the night at his place working on the show. You’re sure she’s not some sort of magician?”
“Stage managers are magicians, you know that. Connie’s better than most, since working at the Cliffside requires her to be well versed in all aspects of theater. And to think outside the box.”
“Well, she’s helping Dimitri and the technical director try to salvage the set and lights.”
“What are you doing about costume design?” I asked.
“Pierre was the set and costume designer, but since he lived in France, we hired a local coordinator to do the fittings and oversee the production. Cassandra Ryan is a designer in her own right, so we’ve moved her up.”
“I know Cassandra,” I said. “She works at the Cliffside a lot.”
“Having her on board has helped Dimitri’s stress level but not taken it away. And it’s added to mine. She’s a bit of a handful, isn’t she?” Babs gestured at one of the chairs in the lobby. There were several, all clustered around small tables. I looked toward the other end of the lobby and noticed that there were several seating areas spaced about.
I sat down. The chair was surprisingly comfortable. “Cassandra is a bit of a handful. That’s one way to put it. But she’s also a bit of a genius, and she works really well with Dimitri. They meet on the same wave length very easily.”
Babs took a chair herself. “Listen, I know Dimitri is in a tough spot, taking over a production this far into the process. I appreciate his willingness to come in like this. I wish we had more money to throw at the production to give him a better chance of putting his stamp on it, but we’re tapped out on this budget. This disaster should have been the jewel of the season. Oh well, sorry. I don’t want to bore you with our war stories.”
“Bore me? After A Christmas Carol, I’m grateful to hear other people’s tales of woe.”
“I look forward to swapping stories, maybe over drinks? Speaking of which, would you like some water? Or I could put the tea kettle on?”
“Water would be great, thanks.”
Babs walked over to the screen and went behind it. She came back to the chairs with two bottles of water. “It’ll be nice to tell the story to someone who gets it. We’d gone to France to see a Chekov production by Pierre a year and a half ago, and we were mesmerized. It was so original, and redefined the text for a modern audience. We were hiring outside directors for this season, and his work was highly regarded. We offered him a deal to come over here and direct what he wanted. He decided on Romeo and Juliet and told us he’d design the set and costumes. His assistant would design the lights and sound. We hired Cassandra to oversee the costume fittings and build here, since Pierre was in France until the first rehearsal. All seemed fine. He came over, did a meet-and-greet with some donors. He described his concepts for the show, which sounded great.
“We trusted him with the production, did check-ins over the past year or so, and then the preliminary designs came in. Cassandra voiced some concerns, I have to give her credit for that, but we didn’t listen to her. The concept was going to cost a lot, but since we weren’t hiring other designers, we figured it out. We started the set build early, since it was so complicated. When Pierre finally came over, he was a different man. Not sure what happened to him, but his aesthetic changed over the year. He’d gone from warm to stark. Romeo and Juliet as written no longer interested him. He was looking for darker subtext, and adding it where it didn’t exist. He decided that a lack of color supported his new vision.”
“As if Romeo and Juliet isn’t enough of a tragedy?”
“I know, right? You heard about the Capulet-as-sex-predator angle? And the Lady Capulet and Nurse affair?”
“Not about the affair.” I shook my head. “What did you do?”
“As you know, the Bay Rep is going through changes. Our artistic director left last summer. Honestly, we were sort of auditioning Pierre for the role, but that obviously won’t work. The company is working together on next season, so we can take our time before we make a decision on hiring a new AD. The collective is working well, but not having an artistic director was a problem for this show. There was no single voice in the room with the authority to question Pierre’s judgment so that he’d listen. When the cast started doing table work, we realized that he was adding a lot of blood, and nudity. He even wanted Montague to simulate urinating onstage. The company balked, and Pierre pushed back. He had a ‘my way or the highway’ approach to his work.”
“Don’t most directors?”
“Yes, but they also allow the actors to have process. Pierre just wanted them to say the lines using his line readings. You know how much actors love feeling like robots regurgitating text. Pierre was also slashing scenes and planned on replacing them with projections he’d developed for another production.”
“Of Romeo and Juliet?”
“No, a new piece. He was using German archival footage from World War II.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Quite the context to layer in. So anyway, we decided to part ways. His assistant is still here, though he’s useless. Thank god I remembered seeing Dimitri’s Romeo and Juliet. I knew he understood the play and hoped he could figure out how to do it on this set, with these costumes. He’s meeting with the technical director and the crew right now to talk about changes. Our TD is thrilled about Dimitri’s aesthetic and committed to making this work.”
“Looks like everyone’s got their work cut out for them. Are you still on the same schedule for opening?” I asked
“No, we’ve delayed it almost a week. You know something about delayed openings, don’t you?”
I did and do, though despite everything, we’d only delayed A Christmas Carol by a day. I felt for Babs. It was always hard when money was being torched in a production. I was frustrated that I couldn’t do anything to fix it for Dimitri. Or Harry. Or Stewart, if he was going to be part of the picture.
Babs turned on her phone and stood up. “I have an appointment downtown. A personal issue. I’d love to touch base again this afternoon. Might that work for you?”
“Of course,” I said. “You’ve got my number. Happy to help however I can.” My phone vibrated and I looked down at it. It was a text from Connie.
Where are you??!!??
“Starting now,” I said. “I’m going to go say good morning to Dimitri. Run while you can, Babs.”
Babs pointed me back down the hall and told me to go in the third door on my right. I landed onstage, entering upstage right. I still had to think about tha
t every time I walked onstage. I wondered if the Greeks realized that so many of their conventions would live to this day. Their theaters were built on the side of hills, so upstage was to the back of the stage, and downstage was the front. Stage right and house left were the same thing, since when you were standing onstage your right was opposite of the people sitting in front of you. My purview as a general manager was the front of house, from the edge of the stage, or apron, on. I never liked being onstage. Almost getting killed backstage in December hadn’t helped.
From where I stood, I saw the stairs to the dressing rooms on the other side of the theater. Normally the sides of the theater, the wings, are masked from the audience by flats or curtains, but there was no masking today. Just a wide expanse of shiny white with cube-like levels everywhere and a ditch, which I presumed to be the water feature, down the center. There were two bridges over parts of the stream. The theater seats were on three sides of the set, and raked sharply. Sight lines at Bay Rep were excellent even when you didn’t want them to be.
I hugged the edge of the stage, trying to avoid stepping on the white set with my slush-covered boots. I walked down a side staircase into the house. I heard Dimitri before I saw him, and recognized the tone.
“What do you mean, it can’t be painted? The scenic painter has come up with a scheme to help …”
“Help? This design needs no help. It is perfection.”
“Was perfection. For another show. Not this one,” Dimitri said quietly.
“It is no matter. The materials Pierre specified, they cannot be painted. They repel the paint. It helps keep it clean. Attempt to change it if you can, but it is folly. Never mind. I grow weary of dealing with your limited imaginations. Please remove my name from this debacle. I take my leave, and bid you good day.” And with that an intense, bespectacled, very young man gathered up his ground plans and harrumphed offstage, knocking me in the shoulder as he did so. I almost tripped him, but decorum stopped me. This wasn’t my theater.
With a Kiss I Die Page 5
