I walked toward Dimitri and put my hand on his arm, squeezing it briefly. He gave me a pained smile and then turned back to the matter at hand. I hung back while he talked to the other man and Connie.
“How about if you rough up the finish? Might it take paint? Or at least dull it?” he asked a middle-aged man wearing a plaid shirt and low-hung jeans.
“We built this set and created finishes to last for the run. Sorry to say, but we’re really good at our job, Dimitri. I don’t think there’s a lot we can do. Still, we’ll run some tests in the shop and get back to you with some ideas later on today.”
“Thanks. At this point a bare stage would be preferable. Is that possible?”
“Sorry, no. This was a bitch to install, and it required a lot of Tetris-type building that’s going to take a long time to undo. And since our rehearsal space is being used for the next show, you need to keep everyone in here. I really am sorry, man. I tried to tell them way back.” The plaid-clad techie ran his hand over his tool belt and shook his head.
“Thanks, Ron. Sorry, where are my manners? Ron Crystal, Sully Sullivan. Ron’s the technical director of the Bay. He’s trying to salvage this. Sully’s the managing director of the Cliffside.”
I didn’t take it personally that Ron didn’t look thrilled to see me. Technical directors never liked the “office types,” a direct quote from our new technical director at the Cliffside.
“Good to meet you, Sully. I’ve heard good things,” he said, giving my hand a firm shake, which I returned. Ron looked impressed. “Dimitri, give me a couple of hours to test out some ideas. I’ll get back to you, I promise.”
“Good enough for me, Ron. I know you’re doing what you can.”
Ron walked onto the set and exited stage right. Dimitri and Connie stepped back to look at their set. I joined them.
“I asked if they could burn parts of it to distress it, but it’s been fireproofed,” Dimitri said. “There isn’t a single playing space more than nine square feet. There are traps, which are always fun, but none of them make sense for staging this play. At least not to me. That little twerp resigned from the project because I’m intent on bastardizing the designs. Would that I could.”
“How about the costumes? I hear that Cassandra has been moved up to designer.”
“She has, but we can’t start from scratch. The costume design is white. Modern dress. White jeans. White boots. White T-shirts with C for Capulet or M for Montague. Nothing else to differentiate the characters. Everyone looks the same, men and women.”
“Cassandra must hate that.” I’d sat through enough production meetings to know that Cassandra took color seriously.
“She was here to coordinate, not design. She’s willing to change the designs, but the budget isn’t there.”
“She’s so talented and has an amazing shop. She may be able to pull the show from her costume stock. Cassandra works miracles, Dimitri. You know that. Remember what she did with Six Characters last summer? That show barely had a budget, but it was gorgeous. Genius.” I was laying it on thick, but not too thick. Cassandra really was amazing. She sat on my last nerve, but I was learning to cope with it, and her. In this case, talent won out.
“Lights and sound need a rethink as well … ” Dimitri sighed. “The entire production needs a rethink. At least they got Robin in for lights. That just happened. They’re still looking for a sound designer. One thing about the set, there’s some interesting speaker placement.”
“Robin’s great. She must be freaking out a little about shiny white—”
“A little?” Dimitri barked a short laugh.
“But it sounds like Ron’s working on that.”
“He’s doing what he can,” Dimitri agreed.
“Worse comes to worse, you can do the sound,” I said.
“I’m not a—”
“Dimitri, don’t start,” I interrupted. “You know that’s the one area you micromanage on every production. I’m sure you’ve thought it through already.”
Dimitri sighed and gave me a half smile. “I did call Liana to see if she’d do a soundscape for me,” he said. Liana was a jazz musician and one of Dimitri’s old flames. He had a knack of keeping former girlfriends on as friends. Liana was a great musician and also a good influence on Dimitri. Music soothed his savage beast.
“Perfect. You can worry more about sound later,” I said. One of my Dimitri skills was helping him prioritize. I noticed that Connie was taking notes and nodding while I was talking. “What time does rehearsal start?”
“We pushed it back to this afternoon. We have to wait for our new Capulet to come in. I moved Harry up to Romeo yesterday afternoon.”
“He told me,” I said.
“He’s a little old for the part, but he can pass for young. He’s always wanted to play Romeo. I felt bad I didn’t cast him in our Cliffside production.”
One thing about Dimitri, he’d never cast a show based on loyalty. When you worked for him, you’d earned the role. Our Romeo had been a brilliant choice for that particular production. As Harry would be for this one.
“He’ll be terrific,” Dimitri went on. “Besides, our Juliet is hardly in the blush of youth. But she’s good, and from the company.”
“And there isn’t a Capulet?”
“No, not in the company. Given Pierre’s take, the character has felt a little cursed for this production. So I called Stewart. He’s taking the train up today.”
“Speaking of which,” Connie said, “I need to go and talk to the company manager about his housing.”
Stewart Tracy. My good friend, ex-lover, and current emotional confusion was in fact coming to town. He’d come to Trevorton to help save our production of A Christmas Carol and almost got killed in the process. We hadn’t veered from the friendship path over the holidays, but I’d thought about it. Especially since the other object of my affection, my ex-husband, Gus, was dating the formidable Kate, one of the partners in his new law practice. I assumed Kate was formidable. We hadn’t met. Yet.
“Isn’t Stewart a little young to play Capulet?” I asked.
“A little. But he plays older, and wants the work. Bay Rep is a good resume credit. Or it was until this production.”
“Now, Dimitri—”
“How long are you here, Sully?”
“I think I’ll stay for a couple of days. There’s a show at the MFA I want to see. It also looks like I may have a chance to say hello to Jerry and Mimi Cunningham tonight.”
“The decision-makers themselves?”
“We’ve met a couple of times. I want to remind them of that. Their foundation money could seriously boost our building fund. New construction would be good for Trevorton. There are a lot of people who could use the work.”
“You don’t have to sell me, Sully. Let me know what you need me to do to help,” Dimitri said. “It’s impressive that the Cunninghams are still funding projects at this great pace. And that there are so many new Century Projects on the docket.”
“It is, I guess,” I said.
“You guess? You getting one of those gut twinges again?”
I hadn’t thought about it, but Dimitri knew me too well. “Yes. No. From everything I can find, the Century Foundation seems to be funding at the same level they’ve been funding at for the past few years. Thankfully. A lot of other foundations have dried up.”
“So that’s the reason you’re in town? To meet with them?”
“No, that’s a bonus. I thought I’d check in with the Bay Rep. See for myself what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Thanks, Sully,” he said, putting his hand on my forearm and giving it a light squeeze. “Just seeing you here calms me down. It really does.”
I thought I was on my way to the front of the house. I’d gotten turned around a bit and found myself in a sea of beer cases and boxes of
snacks. The door into the lobby was locked, which was as it should be given the value of alcohol. I walked straight ahead and another door was ajar. I walked through and found myself in the back hallway.
“Hello? Babs, is that you?” a voice said from the office on the left. A young woman came out the door and stopped short. She was tall, with black hair that was shaved on one side and swooped over her eye. Her black eyeliner was cat-eyed, and she wore deep red lipstick. Part Goth, part ’40s pinup. “You’re not Babs,” she said.
“No, I’m not. I’m a friend of Dimitri’s. Sully Sullivan. So sorry, I got lost getting out—”
“You run the Cliffside Theater, don’t you?”
“I do,” I said.
“I love that place. I went there with my father at least once every summer. It was always magical,” she said. I saw the glimmer of a smile flicker across her face, followed quickly by a shadow.
“Thanks for sharing memories of the Cliffside. I always love hearing them,” I said. “I went there a lot with my parents when I was a kid. My mother was an amateur actress and volunteered in the front of house when she wasn’t cast. I didn’t think she’d passed the theater bug on to me. But here I am.”
The young woman smiled and blinked a few times. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Holly Samuel.”
“Hello, Holly, nice to meet you. You work with Babs?” Holly Samuel, daughter of Martin Samuel?
“I interned here when I was in college. They offered me a job this fall. Working here is so different than interning. It’s more …”
“More real?”
“Yes, that. I always took it seriously, but now I feel so responsible.”
“Well, Babs knows what she’s doing. You’re learning from the best. But you’re right—it is a lot of responsibility. Sounds like you’ve all had quite the ride these past few weeks.”
“That’s one way to put it. Babs promises we’ll laugh about it all before the year is out, but right now I don’t see how. I’m sorry, I should have offered you a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”
My years as a cop helped me read people. Holly wanted to talk. I forced myself not to look at the time and nodded my head. “A half a cup would be great. Black. I’m pretty caffeinated already.” That was a lie. Before noon there was never too much coffee.
“Just a sec,” she said. She walked over to a small kitchenette in the hallway and poured two cups of coffee into BRT mugs. She handed me one and I took a sip. Good coffee.
“Why don’t we go out to the lobby?” she said.
“That’s where I was heading, but I got turned around.”
“Easy to do here,” Holly said, guiding me past the cases of beer through a narrow path that led to a hallway. In front of us was a small office with desks crammed in. “That’s my office. I share it with the house manager and box office manager. I’d invite you in, but there isn’t room to put down your coffee. The door’s right here.” Holly pushed open a panel I hadn’t noticed and we were back in the lobby, this time near the bar. There were several high-top tables with stools. We sat at one.
“These are great,” I said. I’d spent a lot of time considering lobby furniture lately, and I admired the utilitarian elegance of Bay Rep’s. The bucket seats were comfortable and the table tops were a good size.
“We put up a screen during the day, to hide this from view of the box office. We have a lot of meetings out here, which is why there are so many chairs and tables. We’re sort of mid-renovation, working on making access to the theater universal. You know, taking out steps that aren’t necessary, widening doorways. A ton of stuff. It requires shifting storage around, and our conference room is jammed. That’s why there are so many of us sharing an office, though I doubt that’ll change. There’s never enough room.”
“That’s so true,” I said. “We’re raising money for a new production facility, and I’m learning a lot about how to make the space functional for everyone. I’m also forced to figure out where the compromises need to be. No one is going to be completely happy with the space they’re given, but that’s the way it is. I will say, figuring it all out is easier to do with new buildings than old. It’s like a puzzle.”
Holly laughed. “Babs says the same thing.”
“We learn that in general manager school,” I said. “I’m joking, of course. I wish I’d been able to take some arts administration classes before I started my job. I jumped in the deep end and have been playing catch up ever since. I’m still learning all the time, which makes the job more interesting.”
“Glad it isn’t just me,” Holly said.
“Not just you, no. I’ve got a group of advisors I call on when I’ve got questions. I couldn’t do this without them. It’s so different from my old job.”
“Which was?”
“I used to be a cop.”
“Really?” Holly’s eyes got wide. She leaned forward in her seat.
“Really. A few years back I made a career change. Long story. But anyway, the Cliffside needed a general manager, and I needed a job. As I said, I had to learn on the fly, which was tough, but I had folks helping me along the way.”
“Do you like the job, or are you doing it because you feel like you should?” Holly asked.
“Interesting question,” I said. It was clear she wanted a real answer, so I gave it some thought. “Honestly, at first I did it because I needed a job. But now I do it because I love it. It’s challenging to run a theater, as you must be finding out.” Holly nodded, and I saw the hint of a smile. “But I’ve come to realize how important the work is, and how rewarding it can be. The one thing I hate is having to raise money, but even that I’m getting good at.”
“For whatever reason, the raising-money part isn’t too difficult for me,” Holly said. “My dad runs—ran—his own business, and he was constantly having to pitch his work. I learned a lot from him, even when I didn’t think I was.”
“We all learn a lot from our parents. My mother’s been gone a long time. I’d love her to know what I’m doing now. I think she’d be thrilled.”
At that moment, I heard Dimitri yell. I couldn’t hear the words but recognized the roar. It was how he let off frustration. Holly looked pale and her eyes glistened.
“He’s harmless,” I said, reaching across the table and patting her hand. I made a mental note to talk to Dimitri about his decibel level.
“Promise?” she said softly. “He’s a pretty spectacular yeller. I have to tell him we don’t have enough money to completely redo the costumes. I feel like puking.”
“You want some advice?” I asked.
“Yes, please.”
“Don’t wait to tell him. Make sure Connie’s in the room. She’s a good buffer and will help him focus. Do listen to him, even if he’s being loud. Also, be more worried when he’s being really quiet and you think he should be yelling.”
“Thanks. I need to meet Connie. I mean, I met her briefly, but I need to talk to her.”
“Do that first. She’s on your team. She’s really great at her job, and about a dozen others.”
Holly’s phone pinged and buzzed, and she looked down at it. “Sorry, this is how Babs gets hold of me.” Her brow furrowed while she read the texts. Her phone kept pinging, so it must have been a long text. “Babs says to find some money to put Connie on payroll. We’re going to make her assistant director since we have a stage manager already.” She glanced up at me. “Marcia Bartusiak was already hired as assistant director, part of our mentoring program.”
“Right. The plan is for them to work together. I know Marcia. She’s great, has a different skill set than Connie …”
“I’ll need to figure this out. Dimitri will be okay with two assistants, right? Do you think Connie will go for that?”
“I can’t speak for Connie,” I said. But I was glad they were coming through with finding some
funds for her. Negotiating jobs and job descriptions is always tough, and as wonderful as Connie was, she could be formidable. “Maybe just wait until Babs is back and you can talk to Connie together?”
“She says that something came up and she’s not coming back to the theater until tomorrow,” Holly said.
I didn’t want to pry, but leaving Holly alone to deal with all of this? That was odd. And it also struck me as unfair to the young woman. But this wasn’t my theater, so I needed to step carefully. “Tell you what, Holly. Here’s my card. Do you have a pen I can borrow? Thanks. This is my cell phone number. Feel free to call or text with any questions, or if something comes up and you need my help. Happy to offer my advice if I can. I don’t know your theater as well as I know my own, but some things are universal. Plus, I can give you hints about some of the people.”
Holly put my number into her phone and sent me a text. “Now you have my information as well. Thanks so much, Ms. Sullivan. I really appreciate it.”
“Sully, please. No worries at all. You’ve got this. I’m happy to help. And thanks for the coffee.”
• Five •
I took my phone out of my pocket. It had been on silent, and I had a text from Babs waiting for me. She said she’d be in touch later. I need your advice, was how she ended the text. I texted back that I’d be around.
I texted Connie. Be nice to Holly. She’s in over her head and running things today. Loop me in if she needs help. Normally I wouldn’t step in, but I couldn’t help but feel for Holly. This was a lot to deal with on her own, even if Babs was only a text away.
I sat down on a bench in the lobby. Deep breath. I looked at the center door to the theater and heard voices calling for a meeting onstage. I felt the pull of the room, but I fought it. Once I walked into the theater, I’d get stuck in the vortex and lose all track of time. I looked at my watch. Close to noon. I could get some grocery shopping done and then come back for rehearsal. Or head back to the apartment and do some work. I took out my phone and worked on my grocery list.
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