Audition for Murder

by P. M. Carlson

  “Flatterer. Anyway, some of us were born hardbitten.”

  “Not back then.”

  “Maybe not.” She became serious again. “She’s not drinking or doing drugs now.”

  “No. But it’s been up and down for years. And I still haven’t told you the worst of it.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Apparently it happened late in her senior year, just before I got back, when she was starting to deal. Just in the dorms. She’d actually been cast in a play, and one of the smaller parts had gone to a freshman girl. Jennifer. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but Lisette apparently gave her a small sample one night, heroin, and the next day Jennifer was found dead in her dorm room. OD. Quite a dose—she must have had other sources. Lisette was questioned and cleared, along with a lot of others. But somehow she convinced herself that her little sample was what killed Jennifer. The police said the kid had been shooting up for months. But it completely shattered Lisette. She’s never forgiven herself. In the first shock of it she managed to quit dealing, at least, and got a job in a bar, because she still had to support her own habit.” He swallowed, ashamed. “She didn’t want me to know about it.”

  He remembered the night, a week or so after he had come home. Waking, he’d found her side of the bed empty, and soft noises coming from the living room. Puzzled and helpless, he had found her on the sofa, crumpled like a trampled flower. At the hospital they’d said it was an overdose. He couldn’t understand at first; he just sat by her bed, bewildered. Big muscles, big brain—so what? He was helpless to protect her from the horror inside. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow. Finally he had understood a word that she repeated in her delirium: Jennifer. Later, he had asked, “Who’s Jennifer?” Lisette had been reluctant, but bits of the story had slowly come out.

  “So there you have it, Nicky,” she had said sadly. “A junkie and a murderer. Welcome home.”

  A light hand touched his shoulder. “It must have been bad,” said Maggie’s voice softly.

  “Yeah.” He opened his eyes again to the glare of the fluorescent light. “Yeah, it was.” He looked down at his boots, the leather splashed with little runnels of cindered mud. “You see, somehow it was like that kid from East Berlin.” He was explaining to himself as much as to her. “I just stood by and didn’t help when she needed it most. If only I had been there.”

  “You’ve been there ever since.”

  “Yes, and it helps her, I think. I worried for a while that maybe it was bad for me to hang around, reminding her of things. But the worst happened when I wasn’t there, and I think a lot of times I’ve been able to help pull her back. Maybe. She’s trying to make a new start.”

  “She’s a lucky woman.”

  He looked at her, astonished. “What do you mean?”

  “A lot of people don’t even get a second chance. You’ve given her a third, and a fourth…”

  “But it has to be her decision. Oh, I tried the other way at the beginning. Don’t worry, dear, big strong hubby will do all your thinking and feeling for you. A counselor finally straightened me out after her third suicide attempt. She’s doing better on her own.”

  “Still, you’re there when she needs you. She’s lucky.”

  “I guess what I want you to understand is that for me it’s not martyrdom or anything. Of course I’d rather have her healthy, but even at her worst somehow, the sordidness doesn’t touch her.” He shook his head. “I’m not making myself very clear.”

  But apparently he was, because after a moment she quoted, “Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, she turns to favour and to prettiness.”

  He gave her a quick grateful glance and nodded. Then, like a blow, the anxiety returned, and he looked across at the desk and at the door where Lisette had disappeared.

  “Maybe you should ask,” she suggested.

  He went over to the desk, but the nurse there had not heard anything. Nick returned to his chair. He looked down at Maggie, a little surprised at himself.

  “That was all in confidence,” he said. None of their friends knew, only the counselors. Lisette never mentioned it now. He felt faintly traitorous. Nick the blabbermouth.

  “I know. I’m not that callow. I can keep a secret.”

  He nodded, convinced that he could trust her, and changed the subject. “Rob and I were wondering if you acted.”

  She laughed. “I clown around. I can’t honestly say I’ve ever acted. Watching you people work has been a revelation.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of the amount of work and commitment it takes to be an artist. Even if you have the basic talent.”

  “You must have known that before.”

  “Well, I was beyond the stage of exclaiming, ‘Oh, my, I wonder how they remember all those lines!’” Nick laughed. “But you see, I’d never seen professionals work. Cheyenne is the only professional we have here, I realize now. Even Brian is forced to work in an amateur way because he’s dealing with students.”

  “He does pretty well.”

  “Yes, I think he manages to give us a glimmering of the real thing. But in the end, our first duty is to stay in school, and he checks on us. Won’t cast people in academic trouble. It’s the only thing he and Cheyenne disagree about. He hates to—”

  “Mr. O’Connor?” The nurse broke in crisply.

  “Yes?” He jumped up.

  “Doctor wants to see you. Through here.”

  He hurried after her, anxious again. She led him into a big room partitioned into curtained cubicles. In one of them Lisette lay drowsy but awake. Sick with relief, he seized her frail hand and kissed it, bending over her. Her tired eyes smiled at him.

  “Mr. O’Connor.”

  “Yes?” He straightened and turned to face an intern.

  “She should be all right now. We’ve performed a gastric lavage and given her oxygen and a little Metrazol. If she takes it easy she’ll be bouncing around again in a day or two. May still have some headache or dizziness tomorrow. I’d like to observe her another hour here just in case, and I think we should make sure she doesn’t go to sleep for a while, but you can take her home soon. Give her lots of coffee. It’s lucky she’d already had so much.”

  “That’s great, Doctor.”

  “Mrs. O’Connor wasn’t able to tell me how she came to ingest the barbiturates. Do you have any recollection?”

  “No. We had dinner at Chez Pierre. As far as I know, none of the rest of us feel sick.”

  “It wasn’t food poisoning. It was barbiturates. Although it could have been added to something she ate or drank.”

  “That’s very strange.”

  “Would there be a practical joker among your party?”

  Nick remembered the scorpion. And in fact, the whole dinner had been a practical joke, hadn’t it? But surely no one would knowingly endanger a life.

  “I’ll ask around,” he said.

  “I’ll try to remember too.” Lisette’s voice was weak but clear now, and anxious. “I didn’t take anything, Nicky.”

  He believed her. “I know,” he said. “We’ll figure out what happened. He says you’ll be good as new before long.

  She relaxed a little. “Okay. As long as you know.”

  “Doctor, can I stay with her here until she can go?”

  “Yes, we’ll want to make sure she stays awake.”

  “How about our friend who’s waiting for us?”

  “Only one of you back here at a time. It’s the policy.”

  “Yes. I see. Lisette, look”—he turned back to her—“let me run out to tell Maggie what’s happening. She may want to go home. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay, Nicky.” She gave him a pallid smile. He squeezed her hand before hurrying out.

  Rob was there. Maggie, standing next to him in the red dress and boots, was smiling a little. He looked contrite, the thick blond hair tumbling over his forehead, pale in the cold light. He turned to Nick
eagerly. “Nick! God, how is she?”

  “She’ll manage now. They’ve pumped her out and given her some sort of stimulant. She may be able to leave in an hour.”

  “Thank God!”

  “What was it?” asked Maggie.

  “Barbiturates.”

  “Oh, God!” said Rob. “Did I ever blow it! Will you people ever forgive me?”

  “Never,” said Maggie cheerfully.

  He looked at her in mock scorn. “Then we’re even, because I’ll never forgive you for trampling my best coat.” She smiled.

  “How did you get here?” asked Nick.

  “Taxi. Standing in the middle of the traffic down there sobered me up a little. I thought I’d better come rescue my car from this mad maiden.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome to it,” said Maggie. “The suspension is going and the points need cleaning.”

  “Insult to injury. Nick, I’m really glad she’s okay.”

  “Yes. She’s looking a lot better.” Nick saw that Maggie was carefully not asking, and added, “Apparently someone added them to her food. Maybe a practical joke. She knew nothing about it.”

  “A joke?” said Rob unbelievingly.

  “We can’t figure out how it happened,” said Nick. “Look, I’m going back to stay with her till they let her go.”

  “Can we see her too?”

  “No. They think it will get too crowded or something. But you two should go on home. We can get a taxi later.”

  “No, no,” said Rob. “We’ll get you back home.” He looked at Maggie. “Unless you want to leave now?”

  “No, I’ll stick around.”

  “Okay, thanks,” said Nick. As he went back through the double doors he heard Rob say something, and Maggie’s answering murmur. He found his way back to Lisette’s cubicle, where she was sitting up on the bed, trying to stay awake. She smiled and said hi, and he stroked her cool forehead and felt very alone.

  When they took her home, Nick had to help her up the stairs, because she was still dizzy and exhausted. Maggie and Rob went ahead with the keys to open the door and turn on the lights. Nick was subletting the apartment from an anthropology professor, now in Kenya, who had decorated the walls with handsome African masks that leered at Nick as he settled Lisette on the sofa.

  “How are you feeling?” Maggie asked her.

  “Headachy, but a lot better. Except that about now I’m naturally sleepy too.”

  “We’ll stay awake a little while longer, though,” said Nick. He sat down on the arm of the sofa and put his hand on Lisette’s thin shoulder. “Maggie, just saying thank you is completely inadequate. I wish I could repay you somehow.”

  “Same here,” said Lisette, pale and sincere.

  “As the obstacle which, overcome, helps make all this gratitude possible,” intoned Rob grandly, “may I suggest that our Miss Ryan will be covered in glory for this exploit, and that we can all help her toward her goal of becoming a legend in our time?”

  “How you tempt me!” Diverted, Maggie smiled at him, that wide flashing smile, and mimicked his pompous style. “A brilliant analysis of my character and motives. Why waste time studying math when instant fame is available by simply commandeering the visiting luminary’s car?”

  Lisette was smiling at Rob too. “That’s the worst thing about the whole experience,” she said lightly. “I was too zonked to see you get kicked out.”

  “Another great moment in the history of Hargate,” said Maggie. “But actually I think we’d better say nothing at all.”

  “Come, Maggie,” chided Rob. “Whatever your other virtues, you’ll never convince me that modesty is among them.”

  But Nick had caught the seriousness behind her words. He didn’t often need a cigarette, but now he was grateful for the one Rob offered him. “Because of that sandbag?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Maybe that was an accident. Probably it was. But…” She paused. Nick had reached for his topcoat, pulled out the photograph.

  “Sorry, Blossom,” he said, unfolding it apologetically.

  “Oh, God,” said Lisette. She looked away.

  “Christ! What kind of a sick mind are we dealing with?” flared Rob.

  “Where was it?” demanded Maggie.

  “It was pinned into her coat at the dean’s party. A nasty joke. And anyone could have done it.”

  “I’ve been thinking about dinner, and anyone could have done that too,” said Rob. “We passed around bread, salad dressings.”

  “And coffee,” said Maggie.

  “Several times,” said Lisette ruefully. “A lot of people handled my cup.”

  “But why?” said Rob. “Who would want to do these things?”

  Nick’s fingers played with Lisette’s soft curls, mussed now. “Rob, did Brian tell you about the problem getting Lisette here?”

  “No, not really. He just explained calmly that the original plan he outlined to me had been changed when he found a good Ophelia. But the minute I arrived I started picking up the message from Judy Allison and Laura Eisner and a lot of others. The decision wasn’t popular here.”

  “It was damn ugly,” said Maggie. “Everyone felt betrayed. Even Grace almost refused to help do it. Cheyenne defused some of us technical people, saying that sacrifices always have to be made to get a good show. But the acting students are still upset. If Brian hadn’t started out with so much good will, he would have had a walkout on his hands.”

  “You mean people would sympathize with these jokes, if they knew about them?” asked Nick.

  “The scorpion, maybe. Not doping her food. Probably it was just to make her look drunk and silly, and people might sympathize with the feelings that inspired it, but it was dangerous. They’d be horrified. And everyone would be watching everyone else, and the most casual actions would begin to look suspicious.”

  “Yes, we have to think about the show,” said Lisette. “I thought we’d built up a little trust this week.”

  “I think so too,” said Nick. “Things are tense, but improving. And there’s another thing. This little scorpion is nasty, but harmless. I can’t reconcile it with an attempt to do real harm. The overdose must have been a slipup, an accident, really meant to get her embarrassingly woozy.”

  Rob asked, “What about the sandbag?”

  “Yeah.” Maggie looked unhappy. “I was thinking about that too. But Paul and Cheyenne are sure it was the Blithe Spirit people, just an accident. Another accident.” She shrugged. “Lisette, you should decide. You’re the one being threatened. If you think publicizing it is the way to make it stop, it’s your choice.”

  “I’m not the only one,” observed Lisette. “You’ve risked your life twice to help me out.”

  There was a brief pause. Then Rob said, “I think you’re right. It’s probably a string of ugly, thoughtless jokes. And the worst punishment we could inflict on the joker would be to pretend nothing happened.”

  “Worst for the joker, and best for the innocents,” said Nick.

  “Let’s try it, then,” said Lisette.

  “Can you manage?” asked Maggie. “Because it looks as though you’re under siege.”

  Lisette smiled. “A melodrama!” she exclaimed. “What dread affliction will strike our heroine next?”

  Nick took her hand. “We’ll watch your food and where you walk,” he promised. He was angry at himself for taking the scorpion so lightly. Still, the danger to Lisette must have been a mistake; shock, unpleasantness, embarrassment had been the goals of the joker.

  “Monday night we do the nunnery scene,” said Lisette. “The headache should be better by then. I’ll try to look normal.”

  “Okay. We’re sworn to secrecy, then,” said Nick. “But we four should keep our eyes open. I’d love to get my hands on whoever it is.”

  “I pity him if you do,” said Rob, stubbing out his cigarette. “Well, O’Connors, we’d better go. I’m going to take our mute inglorious Maggie home to blush unseen. Then I’m going to New York.”
r />   “At this hour?” Lisette was startled. “That’s three or four hours, Rob!”

  “Well, there are some people I want to see tomorrow. I’ll be back in time for Monday’s classes.”

  “Okay, we’ll make your excuses if anyone cares,” said Nick, and then wished he hadn’t. There was a flicker of pain before Rob’s smile came.

  “A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man,” he quoted in a quavery voice. “But the city will rejuvenate.”

  Nick gave him a friendly thump on the shoulder and watched them go down the stairs, two handsome people, blond hair, black curls, white fur. Then he closed the door and turned back to his own handsome pale person. “We’ll find out who’s behind this,” he said with determination. “But now it’s time for some more coffee. Come help me fix it.”

  Six

  The rehearsal Monday was in two sections. At seven-thirty, Brian had scheduled some of the Ophelia scenes; at eight-thirty, the first rehearsal of the full-cast court scenes. Cheyenne had finished the model of the Hamlet set, and because the dress rehearsals of Blithe Spirit were running smoothly, he planned to take time out to demonstrate the model to the Hamlet cast.

  Ellen, sitting next to Judy taking notes on the scenes, was not surprised that people came early. There was a lot of curiosity about the professional actors, and for many, this was the first excuse to see them working. By a few minutes after eight the majority of the cast, and many of the crew members, were crowded into the rehearsal room watching. The room was not much larger than the stage, and the dimensions of the set that Ellen had taped onto the wooden floor left only a few feet along the front and sides for spectators. Rob and Nick had been sitting behind Ellen; when Cheyenne came in with his bulky model, they stood up so that he could set it on their chairs, and the three leaned against the wall behind. The few seats had filled rapidly. People now stood along the wall or sat on the floor in front of the chairs. A couple of staging crew members, enthusiastic freshman girls, pushed up against Ellen’s feet. Brian and the actors, professionally oblivious to the shuffling crowd, continued.