Offed Stage Left

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “It’s okay,” she said, reaching for his arm. “It’s not like there was anything you could have done, and at least you didn’t have to see what we saw.”

  He pulled away, gripped suddenly by a combination of fear, anger, and hurt as her actions sank in. “And you went back? Without telling me any of this?”

  “You didn’t honestly think something had happened—to all three of us?”

  “I didn’t know! And now with two people dead, it isn’t exactly unreasonable to fear that whoever is knocking off members of our company is getting more efficient in his removal technique!”

  To his immense annoyance, Isobel burst out laughing. “That’s one of the things I love about you,” she sputtered. “You can be mad as hell, but you still manage to turn a pretty phrase.”

  He grabbed her hand. “We have to talk.”

  She pulled back, her expression veiled. “We are talking.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She gave an exaggerated yawn. “Look, it’s late and it’s been a difficult night. Can we talk in the morning?”

  If he were back in Cambridge, if she were an English girl, he’d back off in an instant. Then again, things would never have come to this pass in the first place. Their native reserve would have kept their tempers in check, and eventually they’d simply have drifted apart. But Isobel was so confounding that he knew he had to be aggressive like an American or he might never have the guts to confront her again.

  “Now.” A wheedling note crept into his voice, and he despised himself for it. “Please?”

  “Your place or mine?”

  “Mine.”

  She followed him silently down the hall to his room, which was adjacent to Sunil’s. She sat on his bed, and he felt her eyes on him, following as he paced.

  “I’ve hardly seen you since Delphi got here.”

  “It’s safe to say we’ve all been a bit busy since then.”

  He shook his head sadly. “It isn’t that. It’s like you’ve gone into full detective mode with your friends, and the whole reason we were excited to work together—so we could have some time alone—just went out the window.”

  “You once said you’d totally support me any time I wanted to investigate a crime.”

  “I do. But that doesn’t mean I want to be left out completely.”

  She gave a tiny squeak. “You’re jealous!”

  He cringed and ran his fingers through his hair. “You make me sound like a year-nine girl. But all right, maybe I am. It’s more than that, though. I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Just say it.”

  This was the moment he had been dreading. Once he gave voice to the niggling doubt that had been plaguing him since they started dating, there was no going back. Either she would dispel his fears and their relationship would continue to grow, or she would confirm them and that would be the end. Then again, he had been the one to insist on this conversation. It was time.

  “I’m never entirely sure how you feel about me.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “Let me finish. I mean, obviously you don’t find me repulsive, but there are times when I feel…” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed them roughly on his shirttail. “I don’t know how to say this and not sound like a total wanker…sometimes I think you’re more attracted to my talent and to what you think I can do for you professionally than you are to me.”

  God, that sounded awful, he thought, but he’d made his point. He glanced at her to see how she’d taken it and realized he couldn’t make out her expression without his glasses. He put them back on, but they were cloudier than before. Still, he was able to register her response, and the best way he could describe it was caught out. In an instant, however, this morphed into something aggrieved, but then, just as quickly, her lip twitched and she looked like she was about to cry.

  “I don’t know,” she said finally. A single tear slid down her cheek.

  His heart sank. He was right. But before he could say anything, she went on.

  “I won’t lie. Part of what attracts me to you is your talent. I mean, my God, you’re amazing! But I also think you’re incredibly attractive. I wouldn’t be sleeping with you if I didn’t think so. But the truth is…” A second tear chased the first, and she wrung his blanket between her hands. “I don’t know if it’s…”

  “Love?” He felt the room swim a tiny bit. “I guess on some level I always suspected I felt more for you than you for me.”

  She rose and took his hands in hers. “Does it have to be a full-on serious commitment? Can’t we be dating without having to make pronouncements and measure our feelings on some scale of indifference to marriage?”

  He pulled his hands away. “You want to solve the murders, and I want to think. Maybe we should keep our relationship professionally friendly for the time being. When the show is over and we’re back in New York, we can…reevaluate.”

  An expression that might have been relief flickered across her pert features, and she sighed. “Oh, Hugh. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sure we can find a way.”

  He nodded bravely. “I’m sure we can, too. Perhaps just not right now.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “LOOK AT THIS.” Delphi shoved the New York Post toward Isobel. “Exactly what you’d expect.”

  Isobel scanned Roman Fried’s column.

  The Post has learned that Livingston Stage Company’s leading lady and former Miss New York Arden Claire has passed away. Her able young understudy, Isobel Spice, steps into Ms. Claire’s role as Jennie Sousa in “Sousacal,” the biographical tuner now playing at LSC. One must wonder if Ms. Spice has watched “All About Eve” one too many times, especially since it appears her former role as Sousa’s first love has been reassigned to her bosom friend, Delphi Kramer, who just happened to be in the audience opening night. Details of Ms. Claire’s death have not been released. Watch this space.

  “He’s falling down on the job.” Isobel tossed the paper aside. “No mention of Thomas.”

  “He wouldn’t have heard about that yet,” Sunil reminded her. “I’m sure he’ll be all over it when he does.”

  Isobel pushed away from the kitchen table and made a show of pouring herself more coffee. “I don’t understand why he’s so interested in a production in Albany. ‘Watch this space’? Is there really nothing happening on Broadway? Or off, for that matter?”

  “When you put it like that, it does seem strange,” Sunil said.

  “What seems strange?” Talia asked from the doorway.

  Sunil offered her the paper. “The New York Post seems unduly interested in our offstage drama.”

  Talia took it with a shrug. “Not that strange. It’s a new property, starring a former Miss New York…”

  “Very former,” Delphi said under her breath.

  But Talia didn’t respond. She was frowning at the page.

  “What is it?” Isobel asked.

  Talia looked up, somewhat guiltily, it seemed to Isobel. “Nothing. I guess it is a little strange.”

  Isobel took the paper from her and ran over the article again, but nothing new jumped out at her. She kept her eyes on the page as she spoke. “Chris seemed broken up about Arden, which I also thought was a little odd.”

  “What’s so odd about that?” Talia asked.

  Isobel looked up innocently. “I’d gotten the impression he was no more a fan of hers than the rest of us.”

  Talia’s face reddened. “Speak for yourself. I thought Arden was okay. And she and Marissa were good friends.”

  She stalked over to the fridge, opened it and stared blankly at the shelves.

  Delphi cocked her head toward Talia’s back. Isobel cleared her throat.

  “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I didn’t realize—”

  Talia whirled around, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Didn’t realize what? That not everyone wanted Arden dead so they could play her part? And she and Chris were engaged once, but she called it off—so no, it’
s not odd. The only thing odd about any of this is you!”

  She slammed the refrigerator door and stormed out of the kitchen.

  “I suppose you’re going to pretend your goal all along was to piss her off so she’d say something interesting,” Delphi said.

  “People reveal a lot in anger,” Isobel said defensively. “And now we know Chris and Arden had a past. That’s unexpected, don’t you think?”

  “It explains his contradictory feelings,” Sunil said. “He loved her, but she dumped him. He probably still loves her.”

  “Isobel!”

  She turned to see Hugh standing where Talia had been a moment ago, sadness spreading across his face, and realized with dismay that he thought Sunil was talking about them.

  “Talia just told us Chris and Arden were engaged once,” she explained quickly. “We’ve been trying to get our heads around why he burned a photo of her but then mourned her death.”

  Hugh blinked. “Ah.”

  “That’s why we went back to the theater last night. To find the charred photo to give to the police. Which we did.”

  She emphasized her final words to remind him that their actions last night had a measurable purpose. Somehow, she was more concerned about driving that point home than restoring equilibrium to her feelings about him.

  “And you say Chris burned a photo of Arden?” Hugh asked.

  “I saw him behind the theater opening night,” Sunil said. “Of course it doesn’t mean he wanted her dead, although it certainly makes him a suspect.”

  “It also explains the call I just got,” Hugh said. “We’re having an understudy rehearsal for you today.”

  Sunil’s eyes went wide. “Me?”

  “Chris has been taken in for questioning. Kelly wants to make sure you’re on top of the part in case he’s not released in time for tonight’s performance.”

  “But I—I—” Sunil stammered.

  They all stared at him.

  “Please tell me you’ve been learning the role,” Isobel pleaded.

  “Yes, but I thought since I’m the second cover, it wasn’t a super top priority for me to have it down, at least not this early in the run.”

  Isobel and Hugh exchanged a glance, united in their surprise.

  Hugh recovered first. “What are you talking about? As far as I know, you’re the only cover.”

  Sunil swallowed. “Um. I hope that’s not true.”

  “Oh my God!” Isobel clapped her hand to her forehead. “I told you to work on it!”

  “What made you think you were the second cover?” Hugh asked.

  “Jethro told me after the first read-through.”

  “If you’re not the first cover for Sousa, then who is?” Isobel demanded.

  Sunil gave them a sheepish look. “Jethro.”

  “What?” Delphi exclaimed.

  “Impossible,” said Hugh.

  “And it never occurred to you to check with Kelly or Ezra or Felicity, who’s the person who hired you?” Isobel asked.

  “How was I supposed to know he was making it up?” Sunil’s voice rose angrily. “And maybe he wasn’t! Maybe he really is planning to go on.”

  “He’ll have to, if you’re not prepared,” Delphi said.

  “Which is probably what he was counting on,” Isobel said. “Except if that’s the case…”

  “What?”

  “It means he was expecting to have the opportunity.”

  “You think Jethro framed Chris so he could go on as Sousa in his own lousy show? That makes less than no sense,” Delphi said.

  “Especially since Chris burning the photo doesn’t have anything to do with Jethro,” Sunil said. “No, I think he just wanted to reserve the option. And by telling me and nobody else, it ensured that if something did happen to Chris, I’d be underprepared and he’d get to go on.”

  “Not everyone would have taken Jethro’s unsubstantiated word on the subject as a get-out-of-jail-free card,” Isobel scolded him.

  “Jethro is not going on as Sousa if I have anything to say about it,” Hugh said firmly. “He’s enough of a pain in the arse as the writer. I can’t imagine what he’d be like to conduct.”

  “But I’m not ready,” Sunil protested.

  Isobel yanked Sunil to his feet. “Then you’d better get cracking.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  AS THEY ALL WALKED to the theater together, Sunil berated himself for being naïve enough to believe Jethro, especially since his contract was perfectly clear about his duties: “Cover: Sousa.” He cast his mind back to that first day of rehearsal to see if he’d missed any signs that Jethro was having him on. Their conversation had taken place during the act break. Stage management had provided the customary first-day spread of bagels and coffee, and Sunil had been refilling his cup when Jethro’s reedy voice startled him and he’d spilled powdered creamer all over himself.

  “Nice reading of Swallow,” Jethro had said.

  “Thanks.” Sunil had acknowledged the compliment while ineffectively brushing granules of creamer off his favorite sweater.

  “Sorry you don’t have more to do in the show. I mean, you’ve got the Pawnee chief, but I’m guessing you’re not exactly thrilled about that,” Jethro observed shrewdly.

  Sunil responded with characteristic self-deprecation. “It’s a step up from Halal Guy Number Two. And at least I’ve got Sousa to work on.”

  Jethro whistled through his teeth. “You’d have to knock off both of us, though. And that’s not likely, is it?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “You’re the second cover for Sousa, after me, right? Something would have to happen to both Chris and me for you to go on. You don’t need to spend all your coffee breaks cramming. You can explore our lovely state capitol building and its environs.”

  “But my contract doesn’t specify second cover.”

  “They never do.”

  Like an idiot, he’d taken Jethro’s words to heart and blown off learning the role, although he hadn’t taken him up on the sightseeing. Still, he wondered now at his reluctance to explain to Isobel why he wasn’t bothering to study up. He remembered almost telling her during the ten-out-of-twelve, but somehow they’d gotten off the track. Did he know on some level she’d call bullshit? And why hadn’t he double-checked with stage management? Why had he eagerly accepted Jethro’s permission to avoid learning Sousa’s part?

  He knew the answer. The material was downright embarrassing, and Sousa had the lion’s share of it. He had taken refuge in his supporting role, knowing there was a better chance of avoiding ridicule the less he had to do. Unlike Isobel, who seemed thrilled to expand the parameters of making a fool of herself, he shrank from it, despite the egotism that fueled every actor’s desire to take center stage. Perhaps it was because so often he was relegated to Halal Guy #2 or, to his mother’s horror, Terrorist #1, that his threshold for feeling foolish was lower than Isobel’s.

  Of course, he should have known better. He should have acted like a professional and done the job he was hired for, regardless of the alleged line of succession. And now he was completely behind the eight ball. He’d have to learn the entire role in a day—unless Jethro was somehow able to strong-arm the powers that be into letting him go on. Sunil hoped he had absorbed most of the words by osmosis, and as far as the blocking went, the others could always propel him in the right direction if he got in some chorister’s way.

  Who was he kidding? He was totally unprepared, and that was nobody’s fault but his own. It was going to be an intense day, followed by a nerve-racking performance that he’d have to get through with as many notecards and mnemonic devices as he could devise. One thing was for sure: he’d never be this irresponsible again.

  When they walked into the lobby, Sunil was surprised to see Ezra, Felicity, and Kelly standing in front of the theater doors, which were firmly shut.

  “I have no idea what it is,” Kelly was saying. “Or where it’s coming from. It seems to be everywhere.”
r />   “Well, call someone,” Felicity demanded.

  “Who? What kind of person deals with this?”

  “What’s going on?” Hugh asked.

  Kelly jerked a thumb at the theater doors. “Smell for yourselves.”

  Hugh opened the door, and Sunil, Isobel, and Delphi followed him inside.

  Delphi clapped her hand over her nose. “Oh my God. It’s worse than South Street Seaport after Hurricane Sandy.”

  Sunil nodded, trying to hold his breath. The stench was overpowering. He couldn’t imagine where it was coming from. Undeterred, Isobel bolted down the aisle toward the stage, where the curtains were drawn and a work lamp was set up.

  “It’s worse down here,” she called through her fingers.

  Sunil gasped for air, felt his stomach churn ominously, and ran back into the lobby. Hugh and Delphi were close on his heels.

  “Ugh!” Hugh coughed. “That’s awful. What is it? What can be done?”

  “I don’t know,” Kelly said. “I mean, who do you call to fix a smell?”

  “It’s your job to figure it out. And fast,” Felicity snapped. “There’s no way we can allow an audience in there with the theater smelling like—I’m not even going to say it.” She stalked away down the hall.

  Kelly gestured helplessly. “I’m open to suggestion.”

  But Sunil’s mind was racing in the opposite direction. This could be the reprieve he hadn’t dared hope for. If they couldn’t rid the theater of the putrid smell, they’d have to cancel the performance. And by tomorrow, Chris would be back, unless they’d arrested him of course, but in any case, with an extra day, he’d have time to nail down the role before he had to perform it. Unless…

  He darted back into the theater, with Delphi calling after him, “What are you, crazy?”

  “Isobel?” he cried. “Isobel!”

  She poked her head out from the wings and called back, “I’m over here. I think I’ve figured out—”

  “Shhh!” He galloped down the aisle waving his arms frantically and sprinted up the side stairs to the stage. “Tell me. Quietly.”