“Look, Kiely. Don't get so caught up in your spooky beliefs that you lose sight of reality, okay?”
“Yeah, right.”
He sighed and left the stage. I started to play the “Brazos Shuffle,” but paused. I supposed he had been trying to be nice. I couldn't fault him for not believing in psychic phenomenon. Up until a few days ago, I hadn't bought into it, either.
“Rafe?”
He turned. I waved my hand at him. “Change of subject. I wanted you to know before we start rehearsals. In honor of your mother's past career and your own days imitating the Rockettes with Notre Dame, I've added a few little things to the ‘Brazos Shuffle.’”
He appeared skeptical and even worried. “Why is it you're saying that with far too much enjoyment? What did you do?”
I showed him the kick sequence at the end of his soon-to-be-learned dance. He burst out laughing. “I love it. My mom would be so proud. You watch, my lean, mean, stacked choreographer. I'll do that dance so well, the audience will forget to throw popcorn.”
I was delighted. I could like this man, if he'd quit sneaking up on me, sticking his butt out of pianos, and being such a naysayer about my ghost. That got me thinking about Don Mueller again.
Had I truly been visited by a dead man? If sowhy me? Thelma Lou did seem like a psychically connected soul. But Lida Rose was the one who should be seeing him. She firmly believed in six impossible things before breakfast, read palms and tea leaves, was highly sensitive to anything eerie, and probably had a subscription to Paranormal Times. But I was merely a dancer who'd seldom experienced more than one moment of déjà vu in my whole life. How did I get the honor of visitations by a dead villain?
I had no answers. I nudged Jed, who yawned, showing a cavernous mouth and every one of his teeth. He promptly fell asleep again. “Uh-uh. Don't think so. Come on, mutt. I need fresh air. We've got fifteen minutes 'til rehearsals start, and I'd like to get out and breathe before the hordes arrive.”
Jed heard the magic word. Out. He leaped up and bounded toward the door enthusiastically. I chased after, with no hope of overtaking him. I do love this dog.
We strolled slowly around the grounds. The theatre was situated between two vacant lots and had a sizeable parking area as well. This area was part of the Deep Ellum community that was beginning to enjoy a return to businesses and restaurants. From the lot behind El Diablo's I could see a boutique that looked as though the main attraction was body piercing and tattooing, and a small art gallery. On either side of the lot were old businesses that had been closed for more than thirty years. One, an import-export shop had at least stayed in good shape. I squinted. There was a new sign proclaiming this to be Mia Maya Imports. I immediately began to plan a shopping expedition there for junky good-show gifts to give the cast on opening night.
An old department store stood next door to Mia Maya, its broken sign swinging from frayed awning, but still reading Henry's Five and Dime. Hopefully with the reopening of East Ellum Theatre, this area would enjoy new prosperity, although I doubted that Henry's would ever make a comeback.
If only there'd been more people around, Joe Hernandez might not have been run down in the street. I shivered under the midday sun.
I'd reached the back of the theatre and was yelling at Jed to get away from the dumpster—he was trying to jump inside after watering the corner—when I noticed a pair of jeans standing by the loading dock of the scene shop. The owner hadn't heard me because his head and upper body were buried in an old steamer trunk. I recognized the butt. It was a decidedly sexy butt.
“Yo! Rafe. What's up?”
I heard the sound of his head as it hit the top of the trunk. Ouch. This would not make him happy.
“Kiely? What are you doing back here?”
“I'm walking Jed. Actually, he's walking me. What are you doing back here? Why are you immersed hip deep into wooden luggage?”
“I was seeing how large it was and whether it might work for that bit in Act three when Nick Nefarious is looking for a place to hide.”
It sounded almost plausible. As had his piano operation earlier this morning. I didn't believe a word. I was getting mighty suspicious of Rafe Montez and his omnipresent appearances and prying at the East Ellum Theatre.
I smiled at the man. “Why don't you simply talk to Charlie, our resident tech genius, about making a trunk? He's very creative. Not to discourage you, but that thing looks way too real. Doesn't appear to have an abundance of air holes.”
Rafe escorted me back to Jed, who had succeeded in pulling a large garbage bag out of the dumpster and was now blissfully rooting through it, emitting an occasional yip of glee.
“You may be right. The trunk is a bit too solid. It looked like it might have been the one they used the first time they did this melodrama. About a hundred years ago. In which case the props people would have provided spaces in order for the actor to be able to breathe. Guess this was used for a different show as a real trunk.”
I was engaging in a tug-of-war with the mutt over the garbage bag and only half heard this semi logical reason for Rafe's behind turning up in an odd place. The man himself nodded in my direction.
“So, are you and the canine trash machine ready to go back in?”
I picked up my watch, which had fallen to the ground during my struggle to free a paper sack full of chicken bones from Jed's eager grasp.
“Yeah. It's almost ten. Rehearsal time. Jedster. Are you through with your business, puppy?”
The dog trotted good-naturedly ahead of Rafe and me as we headed toward the door of the theatre nearest the loading dock.
Seconds before we entered, something made me glance back. Don Mueller was sitting on top of the trunk. He waved at me. Apparently his territory extended to the theatre grounds as well. Perhaps even ghosts need a bit of sunshine.
Chapter 8
The cast members were seated in the first two rows of the theatre. Daisy slumped at the piano to their left. Lida Rose faced the group with her back leaned up against the orchestra pit railing. Everyone was quiet and on time. Something must be wrong.
Rafe and I hastily joined the others and grabbed two chairs in the second row. I sat on the outside so Jed could lie in the aisle and rest his head on my feet. He circled three times, performing the doggie-must-find-the-best-spot dance, flung himself to the floor, and immediately went to sleep, obviously worn out by our stroll around the theatre.
Lida Rose nodded to both Rafe and me.
“Thanks, everybody, for being here on time. Now then. There have been rumors going around that the playwright of Bad Business withdrew our rights to perform it. Since he died about eighty years ago, I don't think that's a problem. What is true is that the composer from the show done fifty years ago wants to join us at rehearsals this week. There are several changes to Act Two that should have been implemented back then. We'll do them now.”
A hand shot up. Macy Mihalik's. “Excuse me, Lida Rose. This doesn't even make sense. Who the hell is this old coot who wants to come in and monkey with a show that doesn't need it?”
“I am.”
Heads whipped around fast enough to make a chiropractor smile. As one unit we stared at the tiny woman marching determinedly down the aisle in tandem with a man who matched her size. They made a cute couple. Neither was over five-foot three. They were dressed in identical khaki trousers with blue golf shirts the exact color of their eyes. Each had been blessed with an abundance of white hair. She was neat and natty, chin-length bob in place, trim, wiry, and tough. The gentleman reminded me of an aging Cary Grant or Sean Connery. Much shorter, but suave and handsome with that air of “I'm now coming into my own.”
Lida Rose stepped forward to greet the pair. “Cast, meet Billie and Cyrus Boone. Billie was the composer of Bad Business on the Brazos when it was turned into a complete musical fifty years ago. The gentleman with her played the original Lance Lamar.”
I couldn't help but grin. Billie Boone looked bright, fun, and more
than capable of making changes to the score. I rose to shake her hand but was stopped by the strident sound of Jason Sharkey's voice. “Billie Boone? I thought you were a guy.”
The lady in question smiled. “That was the point. When I began composing, most producers wanted music or a script by a man. I knew my work was as good as anything I heard sung or played, but I couldn't get anyone to listen. I decided to send the songs for Bad Business to this theatre fifty-one years ago. I mailed it to the producer under my nickname, Billie. My given name is Amelia.” Billie nodded at Jason. “I got a call shortly after they received the music. They were about to produce the show, and wanted some changes in the script and music from the original of one hundred years ago. They planned to use my work for the gala anniversary of the theatre. I was thrilled. Then I sent Cyrus over to audition and he got the part of Lance Lamar.”
Jason stared at the couple. “Mrs. Boone, I'm Jason Sharkey. The current Lance Lamar. Do you mind explaining why you want to play havoc with these songs fifty years later, after this cast has memorized both music and script? This isn't some cheesy community theatre moseying around with a summer's worth of rehearsals. We had a total of three weeks to put up this show. Eight days now. We'd like to be perfecting, not relearning.”
Billie crossed to Jason. She looked up into the man's hard blue eyes. Jason was at least a foot taller and about forty years younger, yet Billie had by far the more formidable presence.
“I'm changing the music and with it part of the script because I always felt Act Two ended with a whimper. It's boring. I dislike boring. So I rewrote a scene and added a song or two.”
“Well, no offense, ma'am, but I think the idea of changing something now stinks. Especially since it will probably affect what I do in that scene. Am I right in that assumption?”
Billie rejoined her husband, and then turned to face Jason again. Two sets of blue eyes pierced through the man.
“Yes, Mr. Sharkey, it will indeed affect your scene. However, we felt that your character ending that act in a love duet with the ingénue was a bit too Oklahoma! It was sweet and lovely and ultimately wrong for this show.”
Jason began speaking in a rapid clip. I could tell he was furious. “You're taking my number? Oh, terrific. I don't have that many good songs in this production anyway and now I lose the best one? Since they're the resident minorities here, I'm sure Theo or Lindsay or Rafe will have wonderful solos instead of me. What's next, kill the hero instead of the villain?”
Lida Rose picked up my dance bag, which was full of ancient cassette tapes, character shoes, and dog treats. The look in her eye suggested Jason was about to be bonked right on his tactless skull.
I guess I've lived too long in Manhattan. I think nothing of yelling at cab drivers, or kneeing perverts in delicate areas when they get overly frisky on the subway. I even chased a pickpocket down Columbus Avenue one afternoon, and then tackled him by executing what I must say was a spectacular leap into the air. Before Lida Rose could move more than an inch with my bag, I marched up to Jason Sharkey and glared directly into his far too pretty face.
“You, Jason, are one stupid, arrogant swine, ya know that? This is not about your career. It's about making the show better and if that means changing, then it means we work at getting it done in time. And by the way, you owe a huge apology to the Boones—and to Theo and Lindsay and Rafe. You know, those 'resident minorities' you've maligned. And if you don't care to give one, I will personally take this opportunity to kick your expensively perfect teeth in.”
I could hear gurgling behind me. Rafe was either choking or stifling a laugh. I didn't turn around to see. Jason looked stunned that anyone would speak to him this way. The ever-adoring Macy looked stunned that anyone had dared challenge her man. Daisy Haltom looked stunned for the same reasons as Macy. All stunning emotions were aimed at me.
After an excruciatingly long moment of silence, Jason drew himself up to his full six-foot four inches, turned around, and faced the cast. “I'm sorry. I have to admit I'm not thrilled with changing this scene and my song, but I didn't mean any offense to anyone. Including Lindsay, Theo, and Rafe.”
The Humble twins and Theo surrounded him. Ham gestured to our director who had stayed silent for the last few minutes. An amazing feat in itself. “Lida Rose? Want us to take this boy behind the woodshed and open up a serious can of whup-ass?”
She chortled. “I don't think that will be necessary. Yet. Now then. Jason? Behave. I've worked with you in what, five shows now, and you've become steadily more obnoxious. It’s time you concentrate on giving the best performance you know how and not annoying these folks—or me—any more than is possible for you. Holy Henry. We've wasted about half of the time it takes to perform the entire act Mr. Sharkey is so worried about. Enough, already. Everybody. Places. Daisy? Are you at the piano?”
Jason took a breath. Rafe stood up and strolled to where Jason and I still stood facing each other in the aisle. Rafe stared for a second at Jason, then quietly took my arm. “Leave it, Sharkey. Not another word. Your apology, inept as it was, is accepted.”
He glanced at Theo and Lindsay, who both nodded. I was still furious. I thumped Jason in the arm with my index finger.
“They might accept it, but I don't. Honesty, Jason, you need lessons in sensitivity. And I'd be more than happy to provide them.”
Rafe lifted a different eyebrow. “I'd watch my step, Jason. Our feisty red-haired choreographer here is more than capable of taking you down. I, for one, would love to be there for the fight. And my money would be on Kiely.”
Cheers rang out from Theo, Lindsay, and the Humble brothers.
I blushed. “Sorry, everyone. I realize Rafe and Theo and Lindsay are more than capable of fighting their own battles. As is Ms. Boone. I'll retire to my corner now and try to stay out. At least 'til the next round. Ring the bell if you want me.”
Cyrus and Billie were still standing, but remained silent. Billie motioned for Jason to sit. He did.
Billie looked around at the cast and continued explaining the changes in Act Two as though Jason's interruption had never happened. “I think most of you will be very pleased with what we've done. There was always a lot of humor in Bad Business and we're adding even more. Like having the villain held at gunpoint by heroine Polly Sue Primrose while Lance Lamar literally hog-ties him,” she said.
Rafe's left eyebrow lifted. Then it dropped and the right one came up. “Hog-tie?”
Billie laughed. “Think calf roping at the rodeo. With you as the calf. Feet and hands trussed up. The twins will lift you and it will appear they're about to throw you into the orchestra pit. Instead, they'll cart you out like they're on their way to a barbeque. Which they will be. We've added some lines about having Nick Nefarious roasting over hot coals and a low spit.”
Billie looked at the cast, the majority of whom were now smiling. She waved her hands as she explained. “At the end of the act, Polly and Lance will embrace, not sing. Nick will enter, accompanied by Jackson Wild. Nick shakes his hat out, and sauce comes dripping down. Jackson runs his finger down Nick's coat and says, 'Hey, Nick, you're tastin' better'n a steak at the Cattle Baron's Ball. We should bottle you and sell it at the county fair next year.' Nick will start to strike Jackson, but will twirl his moustache instead, then pull out a handful of papers from his coat. His last line is, 'I've got patent papers right here. Nick Nefarious' Barbeque Sauce. Hot and spicy like the man himself. We'll make a million.' He'll give an evil laugh and the audience will roundly boo.”
I loved it. It seemed that most of the cast did, too, because immediate applause came from everyone but Jason, Macy, and Daisy. I did see Jason nodding as if he privately liked the idea of getting to lasso Rafe on stage.
Ham and Hank Humble jumped up from their seats and began advancing on Rafe. They lifted him up by his hands and feet and pretended to swing him into the orchestra pit. Rafe took it calmly, sighing occasionally as he swayed in the air. Then he laughed 'til he began to cough. T
he twins put him down none too gently.
Lida Rose had regained her equilibrium and good humor. She beamed at all of us as though she'd written the script and songs herself. “Isn't Billie wonderful? I knew y'all would love the idea.”
Everyone began chattering at once. Pandemonium reigned until a loud chord sounded. We all turned toward the piano.
“Well, excuse me for interrupting this gaiety, but does this mean we're cutting the song Lance and Polly sing right before he shoots the villain? It's Jason's—I mean Lance's—best number, you know. And I guess I have to learn to play a bunch of new songs?”
The words attempted to be fierce, but they came out of Daisy's mouth like a whiny mouse griping about the cheese being gone. She appeared to be deaf as well as stupid. I almost felt sorry for her. Her single-minded devotion to Jason Sharkey was fast reaching the point of embarrassment for him as well as for her and the rest of the company. Lida Rose walked over to the piano and patted Daisy on the shoulder. I knew she was dying to thwack the girl in the jaw, but she stifled the impulse.
“It's okay, Daisy. The ending to Act Three stays the same. We're discussing Act Two. Act Three still ends with the villain being shot. Lance and Polly will perform the song they originally did in Act Two before the final kiss. It's actually a better place for a song. It'll stay in the audience's mind that way. And yes, there will be a few new tunes. I'm sure you can handle them.”
The cast began talking again. I took the opportunity to approach the Boones. “Hi. I'm Kiely Davlin. The choreographer. And playing Delilah Delight.”
Two pairs of bright blue eyes with bevies of crow's-feet circling them crinkled at me. Billie said, “We know. Lida Rose has told us all about you. Her description was quite solid, I might add.”
“Uh-oh. Dare I ask what she said?”
Billie smiled. So did Cyrus, who still hadn't said a word. I remembered Thelma Lou's comment about Cyrus “not being the same since Don's death. Too quiet.” I shivered. Billie must have thought I was worried about what Lida Rose had said about me, because she immediately jumped in with, “It was very complimentary. Along the lines of, ‘You'll like Kiely. She's an Irish beauty with grit in her soul, fire in her eyes, and too much sensitivity for her own good.’ I'd say she was dead on.”
Ghosts, Wandering Here and There Page 6
