Chapter 42 – At The Hall
He was in the car in a flash and the car was out of the plaza in a flash and he said, “Where we going?” and I said, “To The Hall,” and he said, “I don’t have an overnight bag with me,” and I said, “You won’t need one,” and he said, “I’ve missed you,” I said, “That’s why I’m here,” and he said “I’ve been bored stiff,” and I said, “If only I wasn’t married,” and he said, “So your Plato’s on duty?” and I said, “I tried to shake him but no luck,” and he said, “How’s Gwendolyn?” and I said, “How would I know?” and he said, “Is there booze at The Hall?” and I said, “I can have it catered in,” and he said, “How far we going in this bomb?” and as I abruptly jerked the wheel over hard and turned into an alley and at the end jammed on the brakes and cut the engine I said, “We’re here.”
Tommy sat back in the bucket seat and said, “You had some fun back there at the museum, didn’t you?” I nodded. “You made a mess of their bluestone.” I smiled. “They’re going to want you to pay to have that cleaned, you know.”
As I opened my door I said, “They’re going to have to catch me first.”
As I led the way up the stage door steps and ran my card through the card reader, he said, “You like to play, don’t you Gwenny?”
Holding the door open and looking down at him I said, “I love to play, Tommy Crown, I love to play.” Inside I went to the rear of the stage, opened the panel, and turned on the lights, the air conditioner, and the sound system. I took him by the arm and led him towards the front of the stage where after staring out at the theater seats I turned to him and said, “I’ve had some great times here over the last three years. Pretty wild.”
He said, “What is this place? What did you do here?”
“This is The Hall. I own it. 800 seats, built in 1921. Three years ago we produced a ballet here, the world premiere of a ballet score written in 1914 and lost until we found it and produced it. And a year ago we did a rock opera. You might have heard about it.”
Immediately he said, “No shit. That was you, with McCartney? I heard about it the way most people heard about it, all over the world. I was in South America, and I heard about it.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Looking for people.”
“Why?”
“They stole something.”
“You find them?” He nodded. “And they’re where now?” He didn’t answer, didn’t smile, just looked at me. I smiled at him and said, “Here’s the plan. We watch a video of one of the performances of the ballet on the big screen over there. It was an hour and forty minutes, but I have an abbreviated version, about an hour. Then we get some coffee and I call up Gale and Jinny, tell them to come down, maybe call Richard if you’re not too pissed at him about his scheme, and we watch the video of the rock opera. After that I have McCrady’s restaurant cater in a late lunch and we eat it here on the stage.”
“Will they bring wine?” I nodded. “Sounds great,” he said.
So I went to the control booth out into the seats, fooled with the gizmo that lowered the huge flat screen from high up over the rear of the stage, turned on the computer, launched the ballet video, and motioned him to come down from the stage to the seventh row, where we sat down. As the credits rolled I told him about the production. Some friends of ours had found the musical score by Igor Stravinsky in the hidden compartment of a small antique desk. I didn’t mention that the desk was a piece of a large collection of third rate artifacts we'd stolen from warehouses of the Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg, and smuggled back to Charleston. I didn’t mention this because Tommy already knew I was of the pinching persuasion and I didn’t think I needed to advertise the fact. The we who had stolen the stuff, pinched the stuff, included Jinny and Roger and the friends who got the desk out of the deal, and a few other associates.
Stravinsky had written the music in 1914 and hidden the score in the desk, thinking he would come back for it, but his return to Saint Petersburg from Switzerland where he was living was interrupted by the start of World War I, and the score had remained lost for almost a hundred years. My husband and I had decided to produce the world premier mainly because two of our associates in the heist happened to be Russian billionaires who thought the production would be a good use of their funds, and had written us a blank check. Would you say no if you were presented with that opportunity?
Roger, my hubby boy, more handsome even than Tommy, which is saying a lot, had managed to coerce the great rock musician Pete Townshend of The Who fame, to come to Charleston, transcribe the ballet score from orchestra to synthesizer, and to play the music for the six performances, a one man tour de force of composition and instrumentation. We also happened to be friends with two dancers living in Charleston, the woman retired from the New York City Ballet and the guy retired from the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden, retired and married and looking for a challenge, which we presented to them when we asked them to choreograph the show. I tried not to name drop to Tommy, figuring that was enough to impress him, but somehow I let slip that Mikhail Baryshnikov and Catherine Deneuve also were involved. I realized that later, when we looked at the opera video, I would mention the people involved in that production, and I didn’t want Tommy to think I was, umm, laying it on. It had been a long time since I had watched the shows and I just wanted to enjoy them with him.
The credits faded, the lights dimmed, the camera showed Townshend alone in the orchestra pit at the massive bank of synthesizers, and then moved to the stage and the entrance of the thirty members of the ballet corps, dressed in costumes Gale had helped design. After Townshend started the Overture we didn’t speak again for an hour except at the part where the choreography called for the principle male dancer to jump OVER six of the shorter corps ballerinas, who stood upright. Like everyone during the performances, Tommy said, “My God!” Some of the younger people in the audiences had said, “Holy shit!”
The Stravinsky composition was beautiful, blending elements and motifs both classical and modern, and the synthesized sound was stunning, played by a musical genius. I have to admit that when it was over I was engulfed in a feeling of pride at having been part of the production. I got up and went back to the booth where I turned on the theater lights and filed the video back into the computer. As I led us back onto the stage I said, “You hungry? Thirsty? You recovered yet from your hangover?”
He smiled and said, “Took two days, but I’m ready for another glass of wine or two. That was great. Thanks. What a show. I wish I’d been here to see a live performance instead of chasing cr....” He stopped himself from saying, “....chasing crooks in South America.”
I didn’t mind. We understood each other. I went to a wing, wheeled two large upholstered chairs out to center stage, took out my cell, and called McCrady's. The manager was glad to hear from me, our team being a regular customer of his catering during the six month production cycle of both the ballet and the opera. He knew what I liked and told me he’d have lunch to The Hall in two hours. I told him enough for five knowing he’d send enough for ten. Then I called Gale. “Yo, hon, long time no kibitz. How ya doing?”
She started in where she’d left off, ranting, though not as badly as Gwendy, “The question isn’t about me, is it? I’ve been corrupted; I’m corrupt, incorrigible, low rent. The question is about you. How are you? Have you been corrupted by that blackguard? Do you now inhabit the ranks of the corrupt, with me and Jinny? Have you told Roger he’s coming home to no one but a nosey dog with limited conversational skills, and certainly no love-making skills? Have you graduated downwards into the hovels that grace the districts inhabited by those low renters, like me? God, I wish Jinny had taken that blue-eyed monster and dumped him off the rocks past Fort Sumter the day he set foot in our town.”
Jesus, poor Gale. I said, “Honey, how long has it been since you’ve had sex? Can’t you up call up the Sons of
Confederate Veterans guy, ask him to set off some cannons again? Pour you a few glasses of Charleston Light Dragoon Punch, assuage your irritation?”
“None of your beeswax. This ain’t about me. Where are you?”
“At The Hall.”
“You’re with the rat, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m with the sandy haired rat. We just watched the ballet video.”
“What else you been doing, and don’t try to deny it? I can smell it through the phone.”
I ignored her and said, “I called to invite you to lunch, and then to watch the McCartney video. McCrady's is sending over baskets.”
“There gonna be wine?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Ok, I’m in. Who else?”
“I’m going to call Jinny and Richard.”
“What about the dog?”
“You can stop at the house and pick him up if you want.”
“What about Gwendy?”
“Very funny.”
“Can I bring the Sons of Confederates guy?”
“If you think it appropriate.”
“I take your point, maybe not a good idea. I’ll save the cannon fire for later, when we’re alone. But I bet he’d be interested in performing at The Hall sometime, up on stage.”
“Yes, dear, I’ll arrange that sometime. Get Jinny and the dog, and we’ll see you soon. When you get here will you be nice to Tommy?”
“Tell McCrady's they better not put any large knives in the food baskets, lest they want one returned with blood on it.”
Gwenny June's Tommy Crown Affair Page 42
