The leading lady pulled a card from her purse. “They sell this shade to no one but me. You’ll have to give them my card before they’ll give it to you.”
“How exclusive.” I refrained from rolling my eyes, but just barely. Taking the card, I stared into Renata’s perfect face. She was a great beauty, but there was something plastic about her expression. Perhaps it was the lack of warmth in her eyes. Whatever, she’d lost the facile expressions of her youth and had become hard and brittle. She was only thirty-seven, but I could see the hardness of her future. Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard. If I worked at it, I could almost pity her.
“Get it right.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “Since you had no talent on the stage, Sarah Booth, perhaps you’ll work out as an assistant.”
“Did it ever occur to you, Renata, that if you don’t get your precious lipstick, I’ll open the show in your stead?” I’d hoped to harpoon her, but she only chuckled.
“The dream of the understudy. Fetch the lipstick, dear, and stop wasting all of our time with your futile dreams.”
It wasn’t the sting of Renata’s words that forced me to walk away, it was the look of pity on Tinkie’s face. I realized then that Tinkie knew more about my rusty dreams than I’d ever believed. She knew, and she hurt for me. I had to get out of there before I decked Renata Trovaioli and ruined all of Tinkie’s hard work.
Chapter 3
Standing outside the cosmetic shop on a busy Memphis street, I forced myself not to rip open the hermetically sealed lipstick. The old man who’d run the shop—a crank who looked like Ebenezer Scrooge—told me he didn’t keep samples of the colors, so I had no idea what Almond Mocha Retreat looked like. It had to be something pretty special for Renata to have such a fit over. Then again, she could have a hissy fit over the sequin count on a gown. She was that kind of gal.
Tapping the lipstick against my palm, I fought against the urge to rip it open and write Renata’s name coupled with obscenities on the sidewalk. Only my friendship with Tinkie saved the lipstick. I got in my car and turned toward home. Renata would have her Almond Mocha Retreat, the curtain would rise, and Tinkie could bask in the success of the production. I’d seen enough during the rehearsals to know it was a superb rendition of Tennessee’s work.
Although the playwright had never lived in Zinnia, he’d spent plenty of time in the Mississippi Delta. He would be proud that his work was being performed by such a talented cast. Despite the fact that she had the personality of Godzilla, Renata was a spectacular actor.
As I crossed the mighty Mississippi, my cell phone rang. Tinkie checking up on me for sure. I answered in a fake Japanese accent.
“Sarah Booth?”
Coleman’s voice sent chills down my spine. “Sorry, I assumed it was Tinkie.”
“We need to talk.”
Four little words that could stop a perfectly healthy heart. “Sure. When?”
“I have to go to Jackson this afternoon.”
“What’s in Jackson?” As if I didn’t know. Connie Peters was institutionalized in the Bridge, an upscale mental ward. I suspected that Coleman was footing the bill, but I’d never asked. He had to assuage his guilt in the way that worked best for him.
Coleman opted not to answer the question. “Tomorrow is the opening of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Would you like to go with me? Maybe we can talk after the play.”
That would leave me in torment for only twenty-six hours. “Sure.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up about six. Maybe we can have a cocktail at The Club.”
“Perfect.” I put the cell phone away and gripped the wheel with both hands. Something was definitely on Coleman’s mind, and I didn’t think it boded well for our relationship. I’d deliberately left him alone to deal with his feelings about Connie. He carried a lot of guilt about her mental condition, though Connie had always been half a bubble off plumb as far as I could tell. In high school she’d been the Energizer Bunny or Gloomy Gus. There was never that happy balance. Bipolar would be my uneducated guess. Since it was chemical, Coleman couldn’t assume the blame, no matter how hard he tried. And he was trying hard.
The truth was, he was trying much harder to feel guilty over Connie than he was trying to have a relationship with me. There was also the nagging fear that his wound wasn’t healing properly.
My own spirits sank even lower as I drove through the empty cotton fields toward home. My life was a void. Any minute I could step into the chasm and completely disappear. Only Tinkie, Sweetie Pie, and Reveler would notice.
I pulled into Dahlia House as dusk was settling. Perhaps I should have gone by The Club and delivered the lipstick, but I wasn’t up to verbal sparring with Renata. I’d let Tinkie take it in the morning. It was too late for a ride, but I went to the barn to feed Reveler. The cold weather had made him frisky, and he reared and bucked as I gathered his feed.
Horses are herd animals, and I wanted to get him a companion. While a goat might work, I had my eye on a beautiful little mare at Lee’s place. She was a half sister to Reveler and shared his good nature and common sense, but I’d have to break several big cases before I could take on another mouth to feed.
Sweetie Pie met me in the barn as I was finishing. Her tail wagged furiously in greeting, and she gave one low, sweet, hound-dog howl. Jitty had another greeting entirely as I stepped through the back door.
Her dress was rich green velvet, and before I could stop myself I hurried into the parlor to make sure the curtains were still in place.
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I haven’t pulled down the draperies.”
“And it’s a good thing.”
I had forgotten that her costumes came from another plane altogether. The ghostly seamstress who’d constructed this concoction must have used fifty yards of lush velvet and a half-mile of satin trim. “Panties in a wad isn’t exactly a saying from the pre-Civil War era. Scarlett didn’t wear panties.” I eyed the liquor cabinet but decided that Jack on an empty stomach was begging for a hangover.
“You look like someone stole your lunch money.”
“You look like a Cecil B. DeMille production.” I matched her tit for tat.
“Where’s that lawman?”
The one thing I didn’t want to do was explain Coleman’s whereabouts to Jitty. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. She just wanted me in the state of nuptial bliss. Until the divorce came through, Coleman wasn’t a good prospect to put me there.
“I’m going to—” The phone rang and saved me from a spur-of-the-moment lie. I picked it up and answered.
“Put on your best miniskirt and let’s go dancing.” Graf’s voice was a rough purr.
The one other thing I didn’t want to do was stay in the house moping about Coleman and arguing with Jitty. Heck, there was hardly room for her dress and me. “Sounds like a plan.”
“I’ll pick you up at ten when we finish rehearsals.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Jitty didn’t follow me to my room, and I bathed and dressed in privacy. Her absence worried me a bit, but I figured she was dancing the Virginia Reel with some Rhett Butlerish ghost. I intended to tap my toes to a far different sound. Super Chicken was singing at Playin’ the Bones.
Not caring that I might appear too eager, I was on the porch when Graf arrived. He kept the conversation light on the drive and through dinner. When Super Chicken took the stage, I’d forgotten how much fun it was to dance with a man who knew all my moves.
“What did you do to Renata today?” he asked after we returned to the table for more drinks.
“Not nearly as much as I’d like to.”
“She was fit to be tied for the whole rehearsal.” He leaned close and his breath touched my ear. “She said she was afraid you were going to try to kill her so you could get on stage.”
“Right. That’s my plan.” Around the club couples were dancing to a sexy tune. I was glad Graf and I were sitting this one out. My body
had a mind of its own when it came to hot music and men.
“She told everyone that you were out to get her.”
“She’d better worry about Kristine Rolofson. That woman has a reason to kill Renata. Imagine, hitting a dog and then driving away to let it die on the side of the road.”
Graf’s finger tucked the hair behind my ear. He leaned in so close his lips touched my lobe as he spoke. “Renata doesn’t like dogs.”
“Renata doesn’t like anyone.” I got up. Playing with fire would only get me burned. It wouldn’t warm the cockles of my heart. Only Coleman could do that. “I’d better head home, Graf. It’s a long day tomorrow.” I reached into my purse and withdrew the lipstick and charge slip. “But you could give this to Renata. I picked it up for her in Memphis.”
His left eyebrow arched. “You picked it up for her?”
“Is there an echo in the room?” When a Daddy’s Girl repeated a question, it worked. Graf was merely being sarcastic. “I charged it to my credit card, so here’s the slip so she can reimburse me.”
His laughter was warm as we stepped into the cold night. He put his arm around me and pulled me close, just as I noticed Deputy Dewayne Dattilo coming in with a date. Dewayne’s kicked-puppy look turned red-hot with betrayal. Coleman’s deputies were loyal to a fault.
I turned to Graf and whispered that I was cold. He pulled me closer. Let Coleman stew on that!
It took only long enough for me to get seated in the car to regret my actions. I wasn’t a high school kid; I was supposedly an adult. Yet I was acting like a hormonal teenager trying to make an uninterested boy jealous. Great. Move over in the loony bin, Connie, I’m about to book a room.
Now I’d simply have to live with the consequences of my actions. I’d admit the truth to Coleman when I saw him. I’d tell him that his absence had hurt me, and that I’d struck back in a truly childish action, using Graf, who deserved such treatment, but nonetheless I didn’t want to be the one dishing it out. By the time that train of thought ended, I was exhausted, and Graf pulled in front of Dahlia House.
“I’d love it if you invited me in for a nightcap.”
I didn’t remember him being so blunt. Then again, we’d been lovers for nearly two years in New York. Perhaps subtlety was only necessary for a first conquest.
“I’m in love with someone else.” It was time to be a grown up.
“You loved me, once.”
“Once upon a time is for fairy tales, Graf. What we had wasn’t real. I thought it was. I wanted it to be. But it wasn’t. Nothing about my life in New York was real except the disappointment and the fact that I didn’t have the talent to make it on Broadway. Those are the only truths I brought home with me.”
“I never thought you’d be a bitter woman, Sarah Booth. I’m sorry for the hand I’ve had in making that happen.”
I wasn’t bitter! I was a realist, and he was an egotist. Take a lesson from the past, Sarah Booth! “Good night, Graf.” I got out and walked into the dark and empty house.
During the week of rehearsals, I’d prepared my dresses to be Maggie the Cat. Since it was unlikely that Renata wouldn’t finish a week’s run in Zinnia, Keith Watley hadn’t allocated any funds for an understudy wardrobe. No matter, I had my own inspiration. My mother’s dresses, though a bit snug in the waist and bosom, were perfect for the part. I was holding them up on hangers, wondering how I could get them into Coleman’s truck without an explanation, when his knock came at the door.
Brazen was the choice I made. “Coleman, please put these dresses in the truck.” I handed them to him at the door without an invitation to enter.
He hung them in his truck, and when he got back to the door, I handed him a drink and ushered him inside. “Let’s have a drink here, where we can talk alone. What did you want to tell me? That I’d make a perfect Maggie the Cat?” I played it for humor because my heart was thudding.
“The play has sort of been the last thing on my mind.”
Looking into his eyes, I could see that. Panic struck me. He’d come to break up. The sadness was there, just behind the intelligence. “What’s been the first thing?”
“They’re going to operate on Connie. There’s a tumor. In her brain. It might explain her behavior for the past few years.”
My knees jellied and I found myself sitting on the horsehair sofa. Of all the things I’d expected, a brain tumor wasn’t one of them. “Shit.”
“I’ve been at the hospital talking with the doctors. It’s a very dangerous operation, but it’s her only hope of regaining her old life.”
Regaining her old life. I pondered the many things that could mean. “When is the surgery?”
“Next Monday.” He cleared his throat. “I realize with Graf Milieu in town you undoubtedly have better things to do, but will you go with me to the hospital while they operate?”
“Yes.” I spoke without a second’s thought. Whatever I could do for Coleman, I would. “Graf is nothing to me, Coleman, except for a few good memories and a lot of pain. Once I thought I loved him, but that was a long time ago. I was a different person then.”
He looked away. “The only person I’ve ever loved is you. No one else has even come close.”
Could I feel any more like a cad? “I’ll be ready to leave whenever you say.”
“Thank you.” He kissed the top of my head. “Once this is over, Sarah Booth, I want us to talk about the future. I have to find out what’s going to happen to Connie. Right now she’s still my wife. I have an obligation.”
It was why I loved him, and why I despaired. “I understand.” I did, but I also hated it.
“Let’s go to The Club. I want to imagine you on the stage.”
“If Renata would drop dead, I’d have my chance.” Coleman was chuckling softly as we walked out the door.
The Club was spectacular. Tinkie had outdone herself, and the “little black dress” she’d picked up was nothing less than Prada. Coleman got me a Jack on the rocks, and as he walked toward me I realized I’d never seen him in a tux before. He cut a handsome figure, right down to shoes so brightly polished I could see my reflection.
“You two make a handsome couple,” Cece Dee Falcon, the society editor at the Zinnia Dispatch, said as she came up to kiss me on both cheeks. “Coleman, I was wondering if you’d dumped Sarah Booth. I haven’t seen the two of you together at a single Christmas party.”
“Sarah Booth won’t get away from me that easily.” Coleman wasn’t the least bit flustered.
“You’d better treat her right.” Cece gave him a look that said she meant business. “She has friends in high places, you know.”
“Are you writing the review?” I wanted a change of topic.
“Indeed. I went backstage to interview Renata and she slammed the door in my face. I’d say unless she develops a new attitude, she isn’t going to do well in Hollywood.”
“Hollywood?” I’d been around The Club on and off all week, and I hadn’t heard a word about Hollywood. “Renata has a movie deal?” It was almost more than I could bear. “What, they’re refilming Bride of Dracula?”
Only Coleman appreciated my humor.
“I’m interviewing Graf.” Cece had lost interest in me completely. Her gaze had caught Graf’s lean, handsome figure moving across the room. Though Cece had once been Cecil, she still had impeccable taste in men. Graf was mesmerizing as he worked his charm on a bevy of Daddy’s Girls. Their response was a high squeal of pleasure in perfect five-part harmony. They must have practiced that for months in the Ole Miss sorority house. Cece didn’t even hear them. She was moving toward Graf. “I’ll find out about the movie deal with Renata. My understanding is that Graf got the deal, and Renata is a tagalong.” She was gone.
“Graf certainly works on women.” Coleman’s tone was lighthearted, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes.
“He used to work on me.” My past with Graf would be the talk of the town, but I could look at Graf objectively now. He was extraordina
ry, in physical detail. But the perfect exterior hid a flawed heart.
“Are you sure that’s past tense?”
Oh, the thought of tormenting Coleman with jealousy. It flitted through my mind, delicious and awful. “I’m sure it’s the past tense.” Coleman obviously knew of my dancing with Graf the night before. “I’ll be very glad when this production is over and gone from Zinnia. My New Year’s resolution is not to live in the past. Graf is the past. Acting is the past.”
“I wish I could see you on stage.” Coleman let his finger trace my jawline. “I regret I never got the chance to see you perform.”
Tinkie appeared at my elbow. “Sarah Booth, could you check the dressing rooms and be sure the fresh flowers are there?”
“Sure.” I kissed Coleman’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
Everything in the dressing rooms was perfection, including the tube of Almond Mocha Retreat set prominently on Renata’s dressing table. I’d just returned when Tinkie tapped a crystal goblet with a spoon. “Everyone, please take your seats. The show starts in five minutes.”
Coleman and I were front and center. Tinkie had reserved the seats for us. The auditorium was full, and I was happy for Tinkie.
When the curtain came up, I was transported into the world of Big Daddy. Sir Alfred was stupendous, but it was Graf as Brick, hobbling about on his crutches, that held the audiences’ attention. And Renata. Whatever her flaws as a human, she was mesmerizing on the stage.
The curtain for intermission came down at the end of the first act. Tinkie had decided on two intermissions in the hopes of selling even more booze. It was a great idea. Coleman and I were in the drink line when a scream shattered the laughter. Bobbe Renshaw came running into the room, a makeup towel in one hand and a brush in the other.
“It’s Renata! She’s dead!”
Chapter 4
Coleman pushed through the stunned drinkers and hurried toward the dressing room with me right on his heels. A horrible, self-centered thought zinged through my brain—at last I was going to get to be on stage. I almost veered away to Coleman’s car to get my dresses when I got hold of my galloping ego and reined it in. God, I was as bad as Renata had ever dared to be. Then again, I wasn’t hypocritical enough to shed crocodile tears for a harridan I loathed.
Ham Bones Page 3
