Offed Stage Left

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  As he opened his eyes, he saw a flash of gold shimmer and then disappear around the far side of the vom. Even though he was stage left, where he needed to be for his first entrance, he crept around to the other side and peered up the stairs. A figure in a black and gold cape was sweeping up the last two steps. Curious, he followed, but when he emerged, there was nobody there. He wondered who it was. Nobody wore a costume like that. Mark, the props guy, strode into the wings from the stage and took his place by the long table, where each prop sat in its labeled spot.

  “Who was that guy who just came through?”

  Mark looked blank. “What guy?”

  “He looked like he was wearing a cape.”

  “Nah, didn’t see anyone.”

  Sunil looked past him onto the stage, where the ensemble members were taking their places for the opening number, chattering among themselves. There was always a buzz of excitement when an understudy went on, and normally Sunil would have allowed himself to enjoy the attention, but given the recent murders, somebody lurking around backstage who shouldn’t be there took precedence.

  “Places!” Kelly’s voice echoed over the monitor.

  He crossed the stage, barely hearing the well wishes from his colleagues. Delphi was waiting for him on the other side. She clasped him in a bear hug, which he was also too distracted to appreciate. She pulled back and held him at arm’s length.

  “Are you so nervous you won’t even hug me back?”

  “I saw someone wandering around backstage who shouldn’t be here.”

  “Who?”

  “I didn’t see his face. A guy in a black and gold cape was going up the stairs from the vom stage right.”

  “Nobody wears anything like that.”

  “I know.”

  They heard a burst of applause, which died down a moment later as Felicity stepped in front of the curtain. Sunil heard his name over the monitors as she informed the audience that he would be playing the title role and Matt Hurd would be taking on the roles of Benjamin Swallow and the Pawnee chief. Felicity’s exit was accompanied by whispers and scattered applause, but Hugh cut them off with the overture.

  The resounding brass brought Sunil back to himself, and he determined to forget the figure in the cape. This was his chance to show them all what he could do. He caught sight of Isobel pacing in the wings stage right. He tried to catch her attention, but the moment she looked up, the curtain rose and the ensemble began to sing.

  ISOBEL TRIED TO CATCH Sunil’s eye, but he became distracted as soon as the curtain went up. She had hoped to spend a few moments with him before the show to wish him luck and relish the surprising reward of going on opposite one another in the leading roles. When they’d accepted their contracts, neither of them expected it to happen, yet that slim hope was what made them both sign on the dotted line (that and the fact that, no matter how you sliced it, it was a bona fide regional theater job). And now here they were. With Delphi and Hugh, no less. Isobel knew enough about show business to realize that the likelihood of a confluence like this ever happening again was small. But she’d been too preoccupied by the argument she’d overheard between Jethro and Ezra to make Sunil a priority.

  Ezra. She’d dismissed him earlier, but something there didn’t add up. Mostly he was genial and warm, but he had a short fuse. Sometimes he seemed to enjoy his job, and sometimes he seemed like he was there under duress. Putting in understudies didn’t strike her as enough of a reason for him to stay. That kind of thing happened all the time, and it was the stage manager’s job to oversee the transition. Once a show was open, it belonged to the stage manager, not the director, and Kelly had proven herself more than competent. So what was Ezra still doing in Albany? Of course, there was the continuing tussle over “Song of the Sea.” Could Ezra have stuck around just to make sure Jethro didn’t sneak the duet version back in, or to finish the job and cut it entirely? Or was it more sinister, like maybe he wanted to make absolutely certain the show sank without a trace, so nobody would ever connect his name to the flotsam. Even if it meant weighting it down with a body or two.

  Suddenly, Isobel was on. Hearing her entrance cue brought her immediately back to herself. And there was Sunil as Sousa, gazing at her as if he really were falling in love with her. They sailed through their first scene, then their second. Before she knew it, “The Washington Post” duet was upon them. She saw him hesitate for a millisecond before pulling her onto his lap, but the move passed without incident. They finished the number to an enthusiastic ovation. But while they were holding for applause, Isobel saw the color drain from Sunil’s face.

  It was all she could do not to break character and ask what was wrong. He turned back to her and continued with the dialogue that led into the first-act finale, but the lines came out detached and robotic, devoid of the warmth and charm he usually radiated. Overcompensating, Isobel’s voice soared into singsong territory, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was as if she and Sunil were having an entirely different conversation underneath Jennie’s and Sousa’s lines. This, she realized, was what acting teachers were getting at when they talked about subtext.

  The first-act curtain came down at last. She turned to Sunil, the question poised on her lips, but he answered before she could voice it.

  “The theater ghost. I saw him,” he said throatily. “Wearing a black and gold cape. He was there, and then he wasn’t.”

  FORTY-ONE

  ISOBEL DREW AWAY FROM him, agog. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Sunil knew he sounded stupid, but he also knew what he’d seen. “He was in the vom before the show, and then I saw him again in the wings after ‘The Washington Post,’ dressed in Revolutionary garb. It was the ghost of Robert Livingston.”

  “I don’t doubt there’s a ghost in the theater. What I can’t get my head around is you admitting you saw it.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Come on. We have to find it.”

  She pulled free. “That’s not how ghosts work. They find you. Besides, we have to change for act two.” She hurried into the wings, calling over her shoulder, “By the way, you’re amazing!”

  He rushed after her, but suddenly Delphi was there, throwing her arms around him. “You are absolutely magnetic! I can’t take my eyes off you when you’re onstage!”

  “Thanks, but I can’t right now.” He patted her shoulders and pushed past her, not before noticing the flash of hurt on her face.

  In different circumstances, he might have seized on the unexpected encouragement to press his suit, but he could only file away the compliment for quiet enjoyment and hope to recapture the moment later. Right now he had other fish to fry, and exactly fifteen minutes to do it.

  First thing was to return to the scene of the initial sighting. He scurried downstairs to the pit, where musicians were milling about the entrance. Sunil slowed his pace and crept quietly into the vom. It was empty, except for the stacked chairs near the stage left stairs. He leaned against the wall where he had prayed earlier and half-closed his eyes, waiting for a shadow to pass again. Nothing happened. He continued around to the other side of the stage and yanked open the door to the stage right bathroom, but it too was empty. He climbed the stairs where he had seen the figure retreat earlier, but the wings were now a bustle of activity as the running crew set up for act two. The black and gold cape was nowhere to be seen.

  As Sunil hurried back to his dressing room to change, he realized it was unlikely the ghost would make an appearance during intermission when there were so many people around. He didn’t know why, but he felt certain the ghost wanted him, and him alone, to acknowledge its presence. When he returned to the wings stage left costumed for act two, he realized the only place he hadn’t looked was the one he had been too scared to visit before the show. He steeled himself, opened the side door, and silently crept out into the alley.

  ISOBEL HAD MASTERED buttoning herself into her second-act costume in under five minutes, and she was changed and gone before Delphi returned t
o their dressing room. A truly bizarre thought had taken hold, and she had exactly ten minutes to check her theory. She stuffed her phone and her kid gloves into the little drawstring purse she carried in act two. In the wings, she waited until Heather was otherwise occupied, and then Isobel opened the stage door into the lobby.

  She realized her folly immediately. The lines for the bathrooms snaked around the corner, and she was in full view of most of the female and a handful of male patrons. Passing them to get to the main stairwell would draw unwanted attention.

  “Oh, honey! You have such a lovely voice,” a woman called.

  “Muriel, look, that’s the girl playing Jennie!” exclaimed another.

  Isobel gave a feeble wave. Her mission would have to wait. She had a solid twenty-minute break midway through act two from the scene between Mrs. Blakely and Sousa through the international touring medley, where Talia sang her second aria. That was a much safer bet. She took refuge backstage, thinking back to the end of act one. Sunil was certainly acting strangely. Last summer, when she’d seen the ghost onstage at the Galaxy Playhouse, he never believed her, in spite of mounting evidence in support of her claim. To this day, he refused to acknowledge her brush with the supernatural. And now he was claiming one himself? Impossible. He was up to something, and whatever it was he didn’t want her involved.

  Fine, she thought, if he was going to be that way. But it wasn’t like him, and she had to admit she was curious. She glanced at her phone. Five minutes to go. Just in case he was telling the truth, she circled behind the set and descended the stairs to the vom.

  “Hello?” she called. “Show yourself! I’m a welcoming spirit. A friend.”

  “I’m jolly glad to hear that.”

  Isobel clapped her hand over her heart. “Hugh, you scared me!”

  “What are you doing back here? I was on my way back to the pit, and I hear you carrying on like a bacchante.”

  “I was looking for the theater ghost. Sunil claims he had a sighting here earlier, but I don’t believe him.”

  “I should hope not. He never did you the courtesy of believing you.” Hugh came toward her and took her hand. “Beautiful job tonight, as always. You and Sunil are quite magical together. You have real chemistry.” For a moment, she was afraid he might kiss her, and she didn’t want to have to deal with that in the middle of everything else. But he brushed her fingers with his lips instead. “Now, go slay them in act two!”

  She winced. “Maybe not the best choice of words.”

  Hugh gave a pained shrug and continued to the pit. She looked down the empty passage. Even if the ghost decided to turn up now, there was no time left to pursue it. She sighed and tromped back up the stairs. As she came to the top, she heard a muffled banging. It seemed to be coming from the door to the alley. She wrenched the door open, and Sunil stumbled into her arms.

  “What were you doing out there?”

  “Nothing, it was stupid. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Anyway I got locked out. Thank God you came along.”

  “Someone would have heard you eventually, or Kelly would have flipped out when she called places and you didn’t show.” A shadow crossed Isobel’s face. “Did anyone see you go outside?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  Before she could answer, her phone buzzed in her purse. She scanned the text and felt a flash of terror before reason took over.

  “What is it?” Sunil asked.

  She darkened the screen and palmed the phone. “Nothing important.”

  “Places,” Kelly called.

  “If you say so.” He sounded unconvinced. “Meet you at the double bar line.”

  Here’s hoping, she thought as he took his position in the wings. She turned her phone over and reread the text from Roman Fried.

  Enjoy your last performance.

  FORTY-TWO

  ISOBEL BEAMED AT SUNIL as he sang to her. He seemed to have set aside his preoccupation with the ghost of Robert Livingston and was once again fully committed to his portrayal of John Philip Sousa. Isobel’s head, however, was spinning, trying to find a place for Fried’s text in her working theory. It didn’t not fit; it only suggested a link she had missed somewhere. There was time to work that out later. In the meantime, she tapped her toe impatiently along with the music, waiting until she was sprung for her hiatus and she could resume her aborted intermission investigation.

  She marveled anew at Sunil’s glorious tenor. He really was exceptionally gifted. He was also a wonderful actor and so attractive. She couldn’t for the life of her understand why Delphi wasn’t interested in him, especially when his feelings for her were so obvious. Isobel hoped her friend would wise up and see what a catch she had in Sunil.

  He must have felt her gaze on him, because he turned toward her in a spot where Chris usually interacted with one of the ensemble men. Of course, this was Sunil’s first time on for Sousa, and minutiae like shifting one’s focus was not the kind of thing a director specified. A movement like that was solely at the actor’s discretion, but as Sunil caught her eye, she saw something she didn’t expect.

  Fear.

  And in a flash, she understood everything. She willed the song to end, but it seemed to her that Hugh was slowing down the tempo deliberately, when it was more important than ever that she get back upstairs.

  Finally the audience was applauding. She gave her exit line and left the stage, trying to keep her walking pace normal. But as soon as she reached the wings, her boots skittered across the floor.

  “Where are you going?” Heather’s urgent hiss followed her out the stage door. “You can’t go out there in the middle of the show.”

  “I’ll be back in time for my entrance, I promise.”

  “Isobel, wait!”

  Ignoring her, Isobel ran into the hall, now empty of full-bladdered patrons, knowing Heather wouldn’t dare leave her post during the show to come after her. Isobel paused for a moment and pulled out her phone again. Closing the text from Roman Fried, she opened her browser, navigating quickly to Amazon. She found what she was looking for and knew for certain she was on the right track. She had to act quickly.

  Taking the stairs as nimbly as she could in a bustled evening gown and high-heeled boots, Isobel emerged finally onto the third floor. She hurried down the hall past the rehearsal studio and flung open the door to the costume shop.

  “Where are you?” she asked, her voice above a whisper but not quite conversation level.

  There was no answer. She glanced nervously over her shoulder and tried again louder.

  “I heard you before. I know you’re in here.”

  And there it was. The same scuffling noise she’d heard when she’d taken refuge in the costume shop before the show.

  “Keep doing that. I’ll find you.”

  She pulled on her kid gloves as she followed the sound to a closet in the far corner of the room by the window. She opened it and gasped.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?”

  Chris blinked groggily at her. His hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound together with duct tape, and he was propped up against several bolts of material.

  “Drugged?” Isobel asked.

  Chris nodded in slow motion.

  She knelt beside him and spoke quickly. “I need you to stay here for another forty-five minutes or so, okay? I promise you’ll be safe, but we can’t let him know I found you. I have a plan, but I have to leave you here. Please don’t hate me.”

  “He killed them,” Chris croaked. “Arden and Thomas…”

  “I know.”

  “But not me.”

  “No, not you. I promise we’ll get you out of here. Just not yet. This is the best way.” She searched his face earnestly. “Do you trust me?”

  Chris worked his lips together slowly and closed his eyes.

  “Stay quiet and sleep it off if you can.” Cringing, she closed the closet door again.

  She glanced at her phone. Thirteen minutes before she wa
s due back onstage. There was no time to waste. She closed her eyes and ran through the rest of the show in her head, trying to anticipate his next move, but her mind was spinning in circles.

  Then she remembered. The banquet scene, which was also the next time she was onstage. The running crew would have preset the props offstage right on the banquet table during intermission, because it was a complicated set change. That meant the wings stage right would be clear—now.

  Isobel had never run so fast in her life. By the time she came flying through the stage door again, she was panting and gasping. But if Heather expressed surprise, Isobel didn’t stick around to hear. There was one more set of stairs, the ones leading down to the vom. She stumbled on the last step but caught herself before she fell. The figure was lurking at the foot of the stairs on the right side of the passage, the gold and black cape grazing the floor behind him. She righted herself and took two steps forward.

  “Mr. Livingston, I presume?”

  FORTY-THREE

  THE FIGURE STIFFENED. Clearly, he had not expected to be disturbed. Isobel saw him hesitate, deciding whether to confront her or continue up the stairs to execute his diabolical plan. She couldn’t risk that happening.

  “Jethro,” she said, her heart pounding with fear, “I love you.”

  Slowly, he turned, the tricorn hat casting his face in shadow.

  “What did you say?”

  She moved toward him, and her college acting teacher’s words filled her brain. Work with whatever you’re feeling.