A little over a week went by after my unfortunate visit to the ER before opening night of Domingo’s play.
By that time, I was chomping at the bit to get out of the house. Jim had treated me like a hot house flower and practically restricted me to bed rest.
I did get his permission to do one stake-out as long as I had someone with me. Kenny, it seemed, was now babysitting me instead of Laurie.
Kenny eagerly agreed on the stake-out and even packed us plenty of carbs and sugar. We had chips, coke, candy bars and enough Swedish Fish to survive a zombie apocalypse.
This time around, getting a snap of our lumberjack adulterer was easy peasy. They’d left the curtains open and the shots I took were so compromising, I had to tell Kenny to look away.
The woman was young, wearing a slinky black negligee and blonde hair twisted into dreadlocks.
Jim and I got all dressed up, and I was ready to paint the town red after the month that I had had. Between missing the shot of my perp due to a pregnancy craving and having to go to the hospital, I felt like I deserved an evening night out with the husband.
Speaking of my perp, I did finally manage to snag a picture of him and his side girl swapping spit in front of her house. I had the pictures printed at home and ready to send them to Galigani in the morning. Paula was unfortunately missing opening night and the after party; her kids and husband had all come down with the flu. I felt for her – especially since she had designed the set, but she had managed to snag two tickets for closing night, which meant I would be back to see the play again with her at a later date. Knowing that I was going to be sitting through this thing twice made me really hope it was good and entertaining.
Jim and I had great seats, and I was pretty excited for show time. The lights in the theater dimmed, and the curtains opened. I couldn’t resist texting Paula just to tell her how amazing the set looked before politely turning off my cell phone as the instructions over the speakers had requested before the show had started.
On stage was Peter and Nate. Peter’s character was dressed in a leather jacket as he sat down at the bar; he was playing the fictionalized version of Vicente Domingo, and I was excited to get a snap shot of Domingo’s life even if it was supposedly fictionalized. Vinnie ordered a cup of coffee, and Nate played it off like an annoyed bar tender. Next, Tony entered – he was playing the role of the cheating husband. The scene unfolded as Tony flirted with the steamy redhead actress in front of Vinnie. While the two flirted, the all silent character Vinnie snapped photos. It was supposed to be a serious scene – the undercover PI taking photos of his man, but the actors played it off almost like a photoshoot – a little gag at the end in which the pair intentionally posed made the audience snicker.
Jim nudged me, and I looked to where he was nodding. A few rows in front of us was Domingo, and he looked positively irate. The first scene, and already Domingo was fuming. I thought of one of the scenes later in the play I had witnessed my mom run lines for the other day, and I cringed. As much as I didn’t care for Domingo, I felt a little bad for him. His art was being picked apart on stage and turned into a lame comedy act. I didn’t blame my mom or the actors – it had been the director’s decision.
The character Vinnie paid the bill, and he and the cheating husband character made awkward and somewhat goofy eye contact on his way off stage that once again made the audience snicker. Lights down and up again – scene two. I grinned. There was one part of set that I hadn’t gotten a sneak peek off – the home. It was a kitchen – very cute and quaint. And, there was Mom standing there with her hair pulled up in a housewife dress. She was playing with a pill bottle. I frowned. This was obviously supposed to be a serious scene. My mom’s character is taking pills to drown the pain, but instead my mom had been instructed to play it off like she was high when Peter arrived on stage to deliver the news that her husband, the man from the bar scene, was cheating.
I kept glancing down at Domingo. The man was gripping each arm of his theater seat; I swear, he looked like he was seconds from tearing the arms off. When Peter’s character gave the big reveal, showing the pictures he had taken at the bar, my mom’s character, Anjie, announced that the woman in the pictures was her sister. The sound guys played a loud and ridiculous Dun-Dun-Dun over the speakers, and mom and Peter paused for a ridiculous, overplayed dramatic effect. Poor Domingo, I thought, shaking my head. The play was good this way. The audience was enjoying themselves. But, this was not what it was supposed to be.
I felt myself hiding by slouching down in my seat in embarrassment. I didn’t want Domingo to see me and think I was enjoying this mockery of his play. The next scene was even worse. Back at the bar was the cheat, the adulteress, and Nate still playing the bartender. When the adulteress headed to the ladies room, Nate’s character leaned over the bar. “Hey, Howie, that fella who was in here earlier… I think he snapped some photos of you and the side chick,” she mused, and several of the ensemble characters – biker bar types – all glanced up from the various tables set up on stage.
“What!” Tony yelped at the top of his lungs and jumped up.
I heard music. “Oh no,” I said under my breath. Not a musical number. An unscripted musical number!
Having had run lines with my mom more than once for this thing, I know Domingo’s original script didn’t include any musical numbers. Everyone was clapping and dancing, Tony was signing a ridiculous song that keyed the audience in on the fact that his character and his wife had a prenuptial agreement, that he thought he was being blackmailed, and that he was a big-shot powerful man in town. The whole thing, to make matters worse, was to the tune of the song Gaston from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast.
Jim leaned over in the middle of a chorus and whispered, “Is there supposed to be music in Domingo’s play?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. The audience was laughing and clapping along to what was basically a rewrite of the tavern scene from the Disney classic. I glanced over, and I could see that Domingo had completely sunk down in his seat in utter humiliation.
A few other hilarious scenes, followed by the big finale. Mom’s character and Peter’s, Vinnie, were wrapped up in what had obviously been an awkward off-stage sex scene, and suddenly Mom’s character, Anjie, is dead. Peter’s character freaks, calls in a favor, and they stage the whole thing to make it look like Anjie had just been given the news of her husband’s affair with her sister and that that had caused her to have a heart attack… rather than a woman with heart disease, hence the pills from earlier, getting a little too rough and tumble in bed.
Tony’s character, the cheating husband, enters screaming and ranting and raving about his dead wife. Peter’s character makes a comment about Howie not caring about his wife when he was in bed with her sister. The characters are pulled apart, and his buddy officer assures him the coroner will call this a death by natural causes and that Vinnie won’t have to worry. He tells him to get out of town. The lights go dim, and suddenly Peter is the only one left on stage, still playing the role of Vinnie. He gives a bit of a speech about love, loss, and guilt before making a phone call. The man is speaking to his cousin on the other line, telling him he needs to get out of town and needs a job.
“What do you mean you’re using some other PI?” Peter questions in at thick Spanish accent. “A woman! So, you’d rather have some broad handling your cases than me?” Peter paused, nodded, and smiled. “A restaurant owner in San Francisco has gotten himself in hot water, eh? His critics boyfriend is dead, and he’s being blamed? Sounds like my kind of case. A rich idiot in hot water makes for a great pay day. I’ll see you in San Francisco.” He hangs up the phone and stares out towards the audience. “Here I come, West Coast.” The light fades, and the play has ended.
I glance over, and I see Domingo storming out of the back of the theater. I’m feeling… puzzled. A woman PI in San Francisco competing with Vinnie? Could this story have been… real? Did Domingo really cover up accidentally killing a client? Surely he wouldn’t be dumb enough to write a play about it?
The audience clapped and gave the actors a standing ovation. After the play ended and the audience members cleared out, the lobby was opened up for the after party. Domingo was there, and I could see him speaking harshly in a corner with the director. I decided not to linger. Domingo was probably ready to strangle him for the betrayal. Instead, Jim and I mingled with Mom and some of her fellow cast members.
“That was… awful…” Peter said under his breath to Mom, Jim, and me. “I felt horrible. The writer was devastated. I could see him sinking down in his chair the whole time.”
“The audience loved it,” my mom said to reassure him.
Nate shook her head. “It was pretty bad. I’ve been telling Ricky since day one that this was a terrible idea. The musical number especially.”
“I love the musical number,” Jim said, and I stepped on his foot discretely. He smirked and gave me a sideways glance.
“Yeah, you sure can dance, Nate,” Tony said, smirking.
“The audience would have liked it just as much as a drama,” Nate said. “It wasn’t written to be a comedy. I feel like we just slapped the writer in the face.”
“So, the play is a fiction, right?” I asked. “I mean… it’s not based off his real life or anything?”
Peter laughed. “You really think he’d write a play about him accidentally giving a client a heart attack while they were in bed together and then covering it up and leaving town? Domingo’s a smart guy, right?”
“Right,” I said, but I was starting to question it. I glanced over my shoulder through the crowd of people, eyeing Domingo who was waving his arms around in frustration towards Ricky, the director.
“Jim!” a familiar voice called, and Jim and I spun around to see a woman with fiery red hair and a baker’s apron staring back at us.
It was Cassandra from Cassandra’s Cookies. I smiled at her; she and her workers had just finished setting up the dessert table, and I guess she had stopped by to say hello.
“Cassandra,” Jim said in this low, annoyed tone that caused me to feel a bit uncomfortable. It was so… rude… and so unlike Jim.
Cassandra ignored him and just smiled in my direction. “Hey, Kate, good to see you again. How were those brownies?”
“Amazing,” I said. “As always.”
“Wait… when did you two meet?” Jim asked.
“I went by the shop a last week ago to deliver the catering contract for the director,” I said.
Jim’s face flushed and he crossed his arms. “I didn’t know you were catering,” he said angrily.
Why is he angry?
Something was wrong. A sixth sense buzzed in my head. Why was he being rude to Cassandra?
I had been sending him to her café a lot to get those brownies. Had that had some sort of spat?
Cassandra, polite as ever, ignored Jim and continued to smile at me. “Well… anyways… I’m glad you liked the brownies. I was sure to put out a plate of them. I heard you were having twins?”
“How did you hear that?” Jim spat and I couldn’t help but to elbow him. My goodness, that tone of his!
“Paula told me,” Cassandra said, putting her hands on her hips. “Do we have a problem, Jim?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Okay, then,” she said, shaking it off. “Well, anyways, yeah. Paula told me – she came by to taste test the raspberry and cream cheese blintzes for the party.” Cassandra motioned to the table filled with delectable treats
I laughed. “Yum, I’ll have to try those next,” I said.
Cassandra smiled at me and then gave Jim a queer look, with that she headed off to chat to some others who were circling the dessert table.
“What was that about?” I snapped at Jim.
“It’s nothing,” he said in a tone that told me he definitely didn’t want to talk about this it, so I dropped it for the time being.
We were there to enjoy a party, so I wasn’t going to let petty stuff spoil the evening. Jim was normally a friendly and personable guy. I figured something must be up to make him act that way.
I squeezed his arm, letting him know I was giving him the benefit of the doubt.
The party continued, and apart from Vicente sulking in a corner, it was a lot of fun. We mingled, ate some amazing food, and of course once I had properly dined I headed for that dessert table.
I took one bite of that brownie with the purple icing and had to spit it out quickly into my napkin. Nope!
Craving done!
In fact, I was a bit repulsed by it. I suppose I’d had one too many. I tossed my napkin in the trash, glancing around hoping no one had noticed.
Suddenly, I heard people shouting over in the corner. “Call 911!” someone whaled.
“She’s not breathing!” called another.
I hurried over, and there she was. A woman wearing a Cassandra’s Cookies apron sprawled out on the floor.
“Is she unconscious?” someone asked.
“Is there a doctor in the house?” another called out.
Vicente rushed over. “Back up. Give her some air,” he demanded. “Let me help. I know CPR.”
The crowd parted for him and he dropped to her knees next to her. I got a good look at the woman. I was certain she was dead.
And, to make matters worse, I knew her.