Miss May exhaled. “That’s all we’re after.”
Edward stood and crossed back to the kitchen to pour himself another glass of wine. “Then let me tell you all about Adam Smith’s enemies on Broadway.”
“Enemies… Plural?” Miss May stood. “How many people hated this guy?”
“Plenty. But I can only think of one person who wanted him dead.”
26
The Cat’s Meow
Over the course of the next hour, Edward Frame regaled us (in grand, dramatic fashion) with the story of Adam Smith’s arch-rival — one of the “unnamed cats” from the hit Broadway musical CATS.
At first, neither Miss May nor Teeny believed Edward. I didn’t either, for that matter. Why would an actor from CATS want Adam Smith dead?
“Why would an actor from CATS want Adam Smith dead?” I asked out loud.
Edward, obviously objecting to my skepticism, launched into a long story about stolen parts and roommates and the competitive nature of actors trying to make a living on Broadway. Based on his tone, Edward thought every second of his story was riveting, but I almost fell asleep at least three times. Finally, at the end of his long-winded story, he got to the point…
Adam Smith’s Broadway nemesis was a big, bald man named Ace. Turns out, Ace was still performing every night as “unnamed cat” in CATS. That was our next big lead, and even though we were two bottles of wine deep into conversation with Mr. Frame, we all politely excused ourselves and bolted out of there.
We arrived at the Neil Simon theater in Midtown Manhattan at around 9 PM. The street exploded with energy. A caricature artist drew a picture of a happy little girl. Tipsy 20-something girls stumbled out of a sports bar. A homeless man slumped against the wall, shaking his cup for change.
Dozens of well-dressed people stood outside the theater lobby, eating candy and chatting.
“It must be intermission,” I said. “If we find the actors entrance we can probably catch Ace after the play. I think they have to enter and exit through a special door.”
“So you want to just stand out here for another two hours waiting?” Teeny shook her head. “No way. We’re going to second-act this thing.”
I furrowed my brow. “What is second-acting?”
Miss May laughed. “One of the oldest tricks in the book.”
“Let me tell it. And don’t call my tricks old!” Teeny looked both ways to make sure no one was listening. “When you second-act a play, that means you wait outside at intermission, then when the crowds hurry back in for the second act… You join the masses and hurry in along with them. I used to do it all the time back in my 20’s.”
Miss May chuckled. “So just a few years ago then?”
“That’s right,” said Teeny.
Inside the lobby, the lights flickered. Teeny’s eyes widened. “That’s the signal. You girls ready?”
I thought about objecting, but I knew it was pointless. Before I could even open my mouth to agree, Teeny grabbed me and Miss May by our elbows and led us into the theater.
My clam-hands returned immediately. Even after breaking and entering and chasing criminals, I did not have the constitution to sneak into a Broadway play. I followed Teeny’s lead and seconds later I found myself inside the Neil Simon theater with a smile on my face.
“This lobby is beautiful,” I said. “Look at this Oriental rug. And the crown molding. And —”
“Yeah, yeah. We get it. Interior designer. Come on. Let’s get our seats.” Teeny hurried over toward a staircase and climbed the stairs, her short legs taking the steps two at a time.
Miss May glanced over at me with a smile. “Have you ever seen CATS?”
I shook my head. “No. I think I’m excited.”
The three of us settled into some empty seats in the back row of the theater. Even all the way up there, I could feel the energy in the room. A little girl in the row in front of us meowed like a little cat at her brother. He meowed back. Beside them, an older woman read her playbill. And I could see ushers escorting ticket holders down at the orchestra level.
I applauded as hard as I could when the curtains opened. Then the play began.
What can I say about CATS? What a strange production.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from the second half of the show, nor did I have any clue what had transpired in Act I. But as far as I could tell, Act II of CATS involved a bunch of people crawling around on stage, singing and acting like cats. There was a magical pile of garbage and some of the cats had magical powers. It was bizarre and wonderful, as all theater should be.
I glanced over at Teeny and Miss May occasionally, and I was delighted to see big smiles on their faces. In my mind, I made a note to take them both to Broadway plays more often. Miss May often talked about how she loved the theater — back when she was an attorney in NYC, she’d gone to Broadway shows at least once a month. We still lived so close to world-class theater, it seemed a shame that we didn’t attended a show more often.
Nights out in the big city are always fun with people you love.
At the end of the musical, the actors came out on stage to take a bow. The crowd stood to give the actors a standing ovation and I leaned over to Miss May. “Which one do you think is our guy?”
Miss May squinted to get a better look. “Big, bald dude. Third from the right.”
I stood on my toes to get a better look. Yep. There was a man standing on stage that exactly fit Edward’s description.
“Should we head out and stay near the actors door so we can try to meet him?” I asked.
Miss May shook her head. “Change of plans. If we do that, he’ll look at us like annoying fans. He won’t give us the time of day. You need to find a way backstage.”
I hung my head. “Why me?”
“Because you’re young and hot. And you need to convince him that you’re a successful theater agent. And you want to represent him.”
Teeny leaned forward with a smile. “That’s a great idea. Actors love agents. Tell him you’ll make him rich. Promise them that you’ll break them out of this cat carrier and get him on the big screen.”
I groaned. “Do I have to do this?”
Miss May made her eyes wide and sincere. “You don’t have to. But if you don’t, someone else might get killed real soon.”
Teeny grabbed her purse and headed toward the aisle. “Come on. I’ll create a distraction so you can sneak backstage.”
I sighed. Here we go.
A minute later, we were tiptoeing down to the orchestra level. Teeny took confident strides toward the edge of the stage. I spotted a small staircase off to the side and assumed it led to the backstage area. But two guards stood at the foot of the staircase and I had no idea how Teeny was going to create a distraction big enough to help me get past them unnoticed.
Then Teeny reached the edge of the stage and my question was answered…
Without hesitation, Teeny climbed up on the stage with her elbows then rolled over onto her tummy and slowly climbed to her feet. Once she was standing, she started loudly meowing and running around the stage… Honestly, it was a pretty convincing performance.
The security guards immediately left their post and crossed over toward Teeny. Miss May shoved me over toward the steps. “Now’s your chance. Go.”
I hurried over toward the staircase. I slipped up the stairs and seconds later, I was backstage at the Neil Simon theater. I threw one last look back at Teeny and the security guards before I went further backstage.
Miss May had joined them and she was speaking in a loud, apologetic tone. “I’m so sorry. My sister is losing her marbles. She thinks she’s an actor in this play.”
Teeny crossed her arms. “I don’t think I’m an actor. I think I’m a cat.”
I shook my head and slipped backstage as Miss May and Teeny argued with the security guards. I needed to find that big, bald actor. And I needed to find him fast.
I spotted a sign for the dressing rooms, down the long ha
ll behind the stage. I walked briskly toward it and stopped at a door labeled “male cats.” Seconds later, I was inside a long, narrow space I can only assume was a dressing room for the male cats. One of the walls was lined with mirrors and lithe men prowled everywhere, in various states of feline undress. I shielded my eyes to avoid seeing anything private and took a few steps into the room.
“Ace? Is Ace in here? Hello? I’m looking for Ace?” I tried to project my voice but the men were so loud I knew they couldn’t hear me. Then I spotted the big, bald guy in the far corner of the room. I took a deep breath and approached.
I remembered Miss May and Teeny’s advice as I approached the actor. “Pretend you’re an agent. Say you’ll take him to the big screen.”
I summoned my most agent-esque personality, which was somewhere between Lucille Ball and Erin Brockovich. I smiled big and approached with my hand outstretched for a handshake. “Hey. How are you? Fantastic performance out there. You are incredible.”
The man shook my hand and narrowed his weirdly cat-like eyes. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Who am I? I’m Ashley. Elizabeth. Ashley Elizabeth Morrison. Top agent at the best agency. We need to talk.”
The bald man sat a little taller and smiled. “Cool. You’re an agent. Awesome. I’ve been thinking about changing representation.”
“Good. Because I’ve got a big vision for you. I can make you so much money. I’m talking movies. Commercials. Advertisements for cat food.”
The man grunted. “You want me to be in cat food commercials?”
“Not if that’s not what you want, man. My vision for your future is your vision for your future. Dream your wildest dream, multiply it by fifteen, that’s where I’m standing. Waiting for you. With a pile of money. Standing on top of the mountain of success.”
The man turned down the sides of his mouth in approval. “I like the way that sounds.”
“I’m sure you do.” Suddenly, I remembered my mission. I had fallen too deep into character, like Master Skinner. I needed to snap out of it and find out some useful information about Adam. How can you possibly transition from super-agent to super-sleuth without raising suspicions? “By the way, so sorry to hear about your former costar Adam Smith. Couldn’t believe he was shot during that community theater production of Phantom of the Opera.”
“Wasn’t that insane?”
“I know you and Adam didn’t like each other but still… I wanted to offer my condolences before we talk more business.”
The man shook his head. “What are you talking about? I loved Adam.”
“Oh,” I said. “I must be confused. Are you not Ace?”
The man shook his head and pointed across the room. “That’s Ace. He and Adam were mortal enemies.”
I spun around to look at where the man had pointed. There, across the room, stood another incredibly tall, incredibly muscly actor with a bald head, wearing a catsuit. He was huge and intimidating. And it was my job to find out if he had killed Adam Smith.
Even worse? I’d used all my agent mojo on the wrong guy.
Ace saw me staring and took a few steps toward me. “What are you looking at?”
“This lady says she’s an agent,” said the first man. “I think she thought I was you. Watch out though. I think she might work for a cat food company.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m not here about cat food. I’m just… Um… I’m actually not an agent either. I’m just a friend of Adam Smith’s. I want to ask you a few questions about him.”
Ace narrowed his eyes and looked from me, to the other actor, then back to me. After fifteen seconds of silence, he finally spoke.
“I need to eat. You’re buying.”
27
Acting Fast
Ace barely took the time to greet Teeny and Miss May before he charged down the block toward what he called “his favorite spot.”
“Walk fast. Don’t walk like tourists. Stay close or get lost. And I won’t come back for you. I need to eat. Every time after I perform I go to this restaurant. The three of you won’t compromise my routine.”
Miss May took enormous steps to keep up with Ace. Teeny and I both had to break into a light jog to maintain the pace. Short legs don’t make big strides.
“You city people love to get places fast,” said Teeny.
Ace looked back at her. “You’ve got that right. And once we get there, we can’t wait to leave. It’s a beautiful thing. Life operating at maximum efficiency.”
“So you said you knew Adam Smith?” asked Miss May.
“Can’t walk and talk at the same time. Need to stay focused and determined. I’ll tell you everything you want to know once we get there.”
Miss May looked over at me. Neither of us had much practice dealing with difficult actors. I tried to look at it like a fun new challenge. But I could tell Miss May and Teeny were running out of patience for Ace’s real-life theatrics.
“Is it a far walk?” Teeny asked. “Because if we’re going to keep moving at this pace I’m going to need you to pick me up and carry me. Which, by the looks of your tree-trunk arms, you could easily do.”
Ace pointed up ahead. “See that hotel? The New Yorker?”
“It’s fifty stories tall and has a sign on top that says The New Yorker in giant letters,” I said. “Hard to miss.”
“Good. You see it.” Ace turned to me. “The restaurant we’re going to is on the ground floor of that building. On the corner. It’s called the Tick-Tock Diner and it’s been there since the 1950’s.”
Miss May nodded. “Sounds charming.”
“It’s incredibly charming,” said Ace. “Us New Yorkers walk fast but we don’t accept anything less than the best. And if you know the right places to go, the big city can be just as cozy as any small-town in America.”
Ace crossed to the door of the Tick-Tock Diner and held it open for us. “Please. After you.”
Ace was right. The inside of the diner had incredible charm. There was a classic black and white checkered diner floor. A row of chrome booths lined the far wall. And waiters and waitresses were dressed in all white, just like from a movie about the 50’s.
An elderly Greek man sat on a stool behind the counter. He climbed to his feet when he spotted us, came out from behind the counter and gave Ace a hug.
“Ace. So good to see you. How was the show tonight? You were incredible, I’m sure.”
Ace laughed. “It went well. Great audience. But I’m hungry.”
The Greek man smiled. “You always are.”
Moments after we got settled in our booth, before we’d even thought about ordering, the old man brought over a dozen plates of hot, fresh food. Ace laughed when he saw the spread. “Nicholas. This is too much.”
The man waved him away. “You bring friends to my restaurant, I want them to see how much we love you here. I bring you all my specialties. Disco fries, Western omelette, big plate of pancakes, onion rings, three milkshakes, everything.”
Teeny smiled. “I was hoping those giant cups contained milkshakes. Any chance you can bring some sprinkles on the side?”
Nicholas smiled wide. “For a friend of Ace, you have all the sprinkles in my restaurant.”
The man hurried away. Teeny smiled and rubbed her hands together. “This is my kind of restaurant.” She grabbed a fry and added, “Mmm. These fries are amazing.”
Ace squirted a big pile of ketchup onto the plate. “I told you, us New Yorkers don’t accept anything less than the best.”
Miss May rolled her eyes. “You know, we’re New Yorkers too. We’ve all lived in the city at one point or another, and you can be in our little town in less than two hours on the train.”
“Those two hours make a world of difference,” said Ace.
Miss May chuckled. “OK. Good point. It’s a little different pace of life. But I still only accept the best.”
Ace turned to me. “I don’t know anything about you, other than that you knew Adam Smith. And you preten
ded to be an agent for some reason.”
I stammered. “Yes. I did pretend to be an agent. Because… The truth is…”
Teeny leaned forward. “Chelsea is a reporter. She runs our town newspaper. She’s writing a story about Adam Smith. Of course she wanted to get some quotes from his friends on Broadway.”
“Adam and I had a…complicated relationship,” said Ace.
I pulled a small notebook and pen out of my purse, a gesture I’d picked up from Pine Grove’s actual reporter, Liz. “That’s interesting. Do you mind if I write some of this down for my story?”
“That’s fine.” Ace ate a fry. “But don’t ask me to repeat anything. I don’t repeat myself for journalists. Get it right the first time or don’t run the quote.”
I gulped. “Got it.” I could never be a real reporter, I thought. Too much stress. And the stakes were too high. “Go on.”
Ace sat back and looked up and to the left a little as he remembered. “Adam and I first met during an acting class, years ago. I don’t know if any of you are familiar with the entertainment industry but here’s the truth… Most actors are terrible. I don’t say that to be mean. It’s a sad fact, but 99% of actors in New York or Los Angeles or London… They’re just after the fame. The spotlight. The money. They don’t have talent.”
“Is that what you thought about Adam?” Teeny asked, getting into the gossip.
Ace shook his head. “Quite the opposite. I first took notice of Adam Smith because he was the only other talented actor in that class. We always tried to team up together to be scene partners so we wouldn’t have to read with one of the wet fish who called themselves our classmates. Our scenes were incredible. It was beginner stuff but I remember two or three times we moved the teacher to tears.”
“Impressive.” Miss May sipped one of the milkshakes. “Tell us more.”
“Yeah,” said Teeny. “I thought you hated Adam Smith. Mortal enemies. Let’s get to that.”
“The hatred didn’t come for years. For the first decade I knew Adam, neither of us found any work. We went out to the same auditions and neither of us ever got the part. After every rejection, we would meet up and drink wine and complain about how talentless everyone else was. That was fun. Then we both found a little success. At first, that was nice. Until we were competing for the exact same roles. If Adam got a role I wanted, it was painful. And if I got a role Adam wanted, he would yell and scream and cry and treat me like one of those talentless other losers on Broadway.”
Shot Through the Tart Page 11
