Show Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  “Working late?” I knew Penny was often the last one standing. Doing who knew what.

  Her head bobbed. “Been handling a reporter from the Etonville Standard—they’re doing a follow-up, you know.” She cracked her gum knowingly.

  “On Jerome’s murder, you mean?”

  “Duh,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Walter’s falling to pieces, what with the rehearsals starting soon and the murder investigation.”

  “It’s a lot to handle.”

  “Whatever. Too bad about the money.”

  “What . . . money?” I asked carefully.

  “The missing box-office cash.” Penny buttoned her jacket. “Walter told me. But I’m not buying it.”

  “Why?”

  “Jerome wasn’t the type,” Penny said.

  “Jerome? Walter thinks Jerome took the money?”

  “Anyway, Walter loses things.”

  “Even money?” I asked.

  “Especially money. We’ve had box-office cash go missing before. Sometimes he even borrows a little bit,” she said confidentially.

  “Penny, I wonder if you could do me a favor?” I asked amiably.

  She looked suspicious.

  “I know you’re on your way out, but I was wondering if you could take one more minute? I’d like to borrow the sign-up sheets from auditions. Just overnight?”

  “Sorry. Walter doesn’t let paperwork leave his office. Under lock and key. Good night.” She started off.

  “I could look them over in his office,” I said.

  Penny put her hands on her hips and squinted at me. “Why?”

  “Well, there were a few folks who auditioned that I need contact information on.”

  “Why?” she asked again, planting herself squarely between me and the theater.

  My mind ran through a catalog of possibilities before coming to rest on a surefire Penny-motivator. “Chief Thompson asked me get the names and addresses of anyone who left the theater after ten p.m.” Did that even make sense? “Maybe you could help me? In case I don’t remember who auditioned early and who stayed later.”

  The mention of the chief was like a shot of adrenaline for Penny. Before I could say anything more, she had the door open, lights on, and audition forms in a stack on Walter’s desk.

  * * *

  We’d been at it for twenty minutes. I suggested she start with the women and I do the men; each audition form had the actor’s name, address, phone numbers, and email.

  “Some sheets aren’t complete. They don’t have cell numbers and email addresses,” I said.

  “Yeah. Some of the older actors are still living in the twentieth century,” Penny chuckled. “Like Jerome. He just got an email account a few months ago.”

  I wrote down names and information and, when her back was turned, I stuffed Jerome’s sheet in the pocket of my jacket.

  Penny held up a form. “NOYL,” she read from the paper. “Abby.”

  “Huh?”

  “Not On Your Life.”

  I was so fixated on finding Jerome’s sheet that I’d neglected to read Walter’s handwritten comments on each actor’s audition. I had noticed that he coded them with a plus, minus, star, double star, or a series of letters such as NOYL or HWFO—Hell Will Freeze Over, Penny had explained.

  “I feel sorry for some of them.” I was ready to call it a night.

  “Hey, O’Dell, that’s show biz.” Penny grinned.

  “I think we have all the names we need. Thanks for your help.” I stretched and checked my watch. “I need to get back to the Windjammer.”

  “Go ahead. I’m almost done.” She gathered my sheets and tucked them into her pile.

  “Thanks, Penny.”

  “I’ll run these names down to the station tomorrow. The chief can check—”

  “I can deliver them,” I said quickly.

  Penny held the papers close to her chest. She was not going to surrender her authority easily.

  “Okay. Bye,” I said.

  I’d created a potential problem. Bill would wonder why Penny was delivering a list of auditionees; of course, he might chalk it up to her general enthusiasm regarding Jerome’s murder. I doubted she would mention me; she was saving all of the glory for herself. Meanwhile, I had exactly what I needed. Jerome’s email address.

  Chapter 11

  I hadn’t quite figured out exactly what all I would be doing during rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet, but I knew I could help Walter and Lola get the show up, and keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. And maybe I could talk with someone who might have been familiar with Jerome’s love life.

  Lola and I entered the theater and bumped into Penny.

  “We were wondering where you were.” She tapped her pencil against the clipboard.

  Lola shrugged and set off to find Walter. I followed Penny down the right aisle. “I told Walter I didn’t need an assistant, but I guess he figured you might stay on book and run lines with actors in a week or two.” She adjusted her glasses.

  “Sure. Anything I can do to help,” I said.

  The theater was full of actors. Half stood up, laughing and talking together; the other half, and I was willing to bet they were the scared-to-death ones, had their noses buried in scripts. I sat in the house, halfway back, on the aisle. Walter appeared from backstage, accompanied by Lola, who was arm in arm with Elliot Schenk. The theater grew quiet.

  “He’s the new Prince,” Penny croaked in my ear.

  There was a slight rumbling among the cast members, a few astonished expressions, and one clearly disgruntled elderly fellow.

  “Guess everyone’s not thrilled to have him in the cast.”

  Penny scampered through a row of seats to Walter’s side.

  “Where is Tybalt?” Walter was trying to get the reading started.

  “In the john. Want me to get him?”

  “No, Penny, I’m sure he can find his way back here.”

  Walter called all of the actors onstage and proceeded to have the cast introduce themselves so we could “all get to know one another. After all, the theater is like a family.” Walter had clearly thought this whole thing out. Seats were arranged according to which characters were related, or had scenes together. The guy playing Romeo, six feet of muscle with slick black hair that definitely suited Bernardo in West Side Story, and Walter sat on either side of the petite blonde playing Juliet.

  “Lola, would you scoot around here so Tybalt can sit next to you? After all, the two of you are related.” He winked and Lola smiled, first at him and then at Elliot, who sat himself on Lola’s other side. I wasn’t sure the Prince cozying up to Lady Capulet was part of Walter’s game plan, but he let it go.

  Tybalt, with a cute smile, two big dimples, and a head of curly hair, returned from the men’s room. He looked more like a Romeo to me.

  “He was almost cast as Romeo,” Penny whispered to me. “But he didn’t have the emotional depth.”

  “Oh.”

  She tossed her head. “Anyway, he’s wacko just like Tybalt.”

  “That sweet-looking guy?”

  Penny rolled her eyes.

  The rest of the cast—Nurse, Friar, Mercutio, Benvolio, Gentlemen, and Ladies-in-Waiting, including Edna, who waved jauntily, and Abby—was spread out around the ends of the table. I caught Abby’s eye to say hello, but her dissatisfaction with the casting was evident. She looked pasty white with a frosty pout. Finally, Walter introduced Penny and she smirked smugly. I was left for last and referred to as “Penny’s assistant.” Elliot inclined his head graciously, as if to say, Welcome. Penny and I sat behind Walter; it was a great vantage point from which to scan the group.

  Lola murmured something to Elliot while Romeo stared at her chest and flirted with Juliet.

  “Isn’t he cute?” Penny whispered in my ear.

  “Well, in an oily sort of way.”

  Walter was clearing his throat, a sign that he was ready to begin. The cast started to read. Most of the major charact
ers were new to Shakespeare and iambic pentameter. Occasionally, Walter would stop someone and have them reread a line while he pounded the table with his fist: short, long, short, long, short, long, short, long, until the actor’s speech sounded like a ping-pong ball. Only Lola and Elliot were left alone to find their own ways through the text. They had such a natural sense of the language, meaning and meter melded together. Lola and Elliot were Lamborghinis in a cast full of Fords.

  By the end of Act III, Walter had browbeaten the cast into iambic submission. Tybalt had been up and down five times, Romeo and Mercutio were texting back and forth like school kids, and the Ladies-in-Waiting appeared to be tired of waiting. We took a break and I followed Lola to the restroom.

  “You are really good at this,” I said to her back as she disappeared inside a stall.

  “Thanks. I took a Shakespeare class in New York a couple of years ago.”

  She shut the door. I could hear a zipper, rustling of clothing, the creak of the seat.

  “Interesting that Elliot is in the cast.” I checked my face in the mirror: circles under my eyes. I needed sleep. I retouched my lipstick and ran a brush through my hair.

  “It was a no-brainer. Walter needed an older man who could handle the text.”

  “So he’s going to be in town for a while?”

  “He’s renting an apartment in Creston temporarily,” she said.

  “Is Walter happy about that? I mean, you know, you and Elliot . . .”

  “Walter didn’t have a choice. Elliot was a leading man here for years.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh-huh. He played opposite me in Noel Coward’s Private Lives and we were together in Death of a Salesman and some Tennessee Williams plays.”

  The outer door opened. “Break’s over.” Penny pushed her glasses up her face and banged the clipboard against her leg. “Lola, Walter wants to know if you’ll lead the trust exercise after the reading.”

  “Sure.” Lola emerged from the stall and washed her hands.

  “What trust exercise?”

  “Just something that Walter likes to use to prove ‘we’re all one happy theater family.’ ” She walked through the door and I followed.

  Penny stopped me. “Walter wants you to work on the rehearsal schedule.”

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  “So can I,” she said with the kind of fake smile that usually suppressed a scream. Her nose was out of joint.

  “Penny, can I ask you a question?” I said.

  She looked suspicious. “What?”

  “Did you ever see Jerome with a woman around the theater, like a . . . girlfriend? Maybe an ELT member?”

  “Jerome and a girlfriend?” Penny grunted. “No way.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked, curious.

  “First of all, Jerome was too busy with box-office stuff to be ‘dating’ an ELT member. And second, he wasn’t the type. Jerome was more of a loner. Didn’t hang out with female members of the ELT.” She clapped her clipboard against her leg. “Let’s go, O’Dell. Break’s over.”

  Penny took off.

  So Jerome’s mystery woman was no part of the theater.

  * * *

  By ten-thirty, we had slogged our way through the play and listened to Walter lecture on Elizabethan manners, and I had sketched out a broad, tentative rehearsal schedule based on the character breakdown for each scene.

  “It is time for us to take our leave”—Walter had begun to speak Shakespearean—“but before we depart, we must join hands and demonstrate our trust in the circle of light.”

  People seemed to know what he was talking about. They abruptly rose from their seats, moved to a clear space on the stage, and formed a circle. Lola motioned for me to join them and she stepped inside.

  “Lady Capulet will demonstrate her trust in us.” Walter smiled warmly at Lola.

  The circle tightened and the cast raised their hands, palms facing inward. As if in slow motion, Lola fell backward as Walter and Tybalt stopped her fall with their outstretched arms. They nudged her forward and she pivoted slightly into the arms of the Nurse and Benvolio, then Romeo and a Lady. She bounced lightly from person to person, trusting that the cast would not let her down—literally.

  After a few minutes, she came to rest in Walter’s arms. “That was wonderful, Lola! Who’s next?”

  I was the last to slip into the center of the group. Closing my eyes, I adjusted my balance and before I knew it I was falling through the air into the arms of Mercutio and Tybalt. They pushed me forward and I rebounded into the Nurse and Lola. I moved quicker and quicker. Someone behind me giggled, but I ignored it. I was on a giant spring—boing, boing, boing.

  And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Romeo reach behind the Nurse and grab for a Lady. At that exact second, Abby and another Lady propelled me in Romeo’s direction. He extended his arms too late. I slipped through his hands. He tried to break my fall by reaching for my waist. My weight must have been too much for him, because he went down and I went down on top of him, wrenching my upper body in one direction and my lower half in another.

  There was stunned silence for a second. Then everyone seemed to go into action at once and half a dozen pairs of hands grasped at me. Tybalt and Walter pulled me to my feet.

  “Do you need 911?” Edna asked efficiently. She’d switched from Lady-in-Waiting to emergency dispatcher in a heartbeat.

  “This has never happened in the circle of light,” said Walter frantically.

  “Are you hurt?” asked Elliot. “Let me drive you home.”

  “I’m okay,” I said and stretched my back tentatively.

  “You took a pretty hard fall.” He smiled sympathetically. “Let me at least follow you home.” He flashed his startlingly white teeth, and I forgot he was at least twenty years older than me.

  “Well . . . thanks.”

  I handed the rehearsal schedule to Walter, who looked stunned to see the timeline for the next week, and told him he should approve it and get Penny to post it online. I said good-bye to Lola and Elliot helped me make my way out of the theater.

  He was unfailingly solicitous as he walked me to my Metro, opened the door, and waited until I was settled in.

  “Thanks, Elliot. You really don’t need to hang around. I’m only a couple of miles away.” I pushed my lower back into the seat cushion.

  He grinned. “Etonville’s a small town, I know.”

  “I was surprised to see you at the reading,” I said.

  “I moved back to the area recently, and when I heard about Jerome. . . it just felt right to be back at the ELT.” He paused. “I couldn’t refuse Walter’s request.”

  “You and Jerome were good friends?” I asked.

  “We were theater friends. Didn’t really see each other much outside the ELT.”

  “Anyway, it’s great of you to take a role and help out,” I said.

  “My pleasure to do what I can. Shakespeare at the Etonville Little Theatre . . . Walter’s taking on quite the challenge.” He arched an eyebrow.

  “You can say that again.”

  We both laughed companionably as if we were also theater friends. I cranked the engine and he patted the door and said good-bye.

  I turned right onto Fairfield and left on Ames, Elliot’s Honda Accord keeping pace right on my bumper. As I pulled in front of my house, I waved him off and he honked and drove on. I watched his taillights grow small and disappear into the distance just as a pair of headlights came toward me moving down Ames in the opposite direction. I turned into my driveway and flicked off the lights as the automobile cruised past my place. I glanced in the rearview mirror. I could swear it was the dark SUV I’d seen on Jerome’s street. Those little hairs danced on my neck.

  * * *

  I awoke early, bothered by bizarre dreams of Jerome and me on a trip to the Bahamas. What was that about? I tossed and turned for an hour and had just drifted off when the alarm clock rang. I opened one eye: 7 AM. I’d forgotten to tu
rn it off last night. My one bona fide day off this week—I’d switched days with Benny—and I was up at 7 AM. In frustration, I gritted my teeth and threw back the covers. Last night’s fall into the circle of light had left some lingering soreness in my lower back. Over coffee and cereal, I thought about my part in the murder investigation. I’d shared my visit to Jerome’s and the ring box with Bill, but not my visit to Sadlers. Once he discovered I’d beat Officer Shung to the jewelry store, he might not be so friendly. Should I even mention the SUV driving down my street last night? Maybe I owed him a visit....

  Since I was up so early, I treated myself to a relaxing bubble bath to ease my aching back. I lowered myself into the tub and closed my eyes. I pretended that I was in one of those sybaritic anti-stress chambers. I could have stayed submerged all morning. But I wanted to stop by the police station. I washed and conditioned my hair, dried off in the last of my clean Turkish towels, a gift from my mother when I set up housekeeping years ago, and studied my wardrobe. I settled on black jeans and a crisp cotton blouse. I brushed my hair, until it lay softly skimming the tops of my shoulders, applied a touch of mascara and a swipe of lipstick, and checked my image in the mirror. Not bad, I thought. I collected my leather jacket and headed downtown.

  I wound my way from Ames to Fairfield and down Main to Amber. I drove past the station and parked on a side street. One last look in the rearview mirror and I was out of my Metro and bounding down the sidewalk.

  I entered the Municipal Building and turned into the right hallway. I stopped at Edna’s dispatch window.

  “Hey, Edna.”

  She spoke into a headset. “Mrs. Parker, you just stay put. Officer Ostrowski is en route to the scene.” Her radio crackled. “Ralph. That’s right.” There was a pause. “I know you want the chief, but he’s out on a call so Ralph will get Missy out of the sewer pipe.” She clicked off. “That woman calls 911 three times a week. It’s either her dog or her cat or her husband. One of them is somewhere they shouldn’t be.”

  “So the chief’s not in?” I asked.

  “Nope. It’s a 594 over on Route 53. He had to take the call.”

  “594?”