• Four •

We’d stayed up late, too late. Harry didn’t have to go in until noon, so I let him sleep. I went out to a local coffee shop and had a breakfast sandwich and several cups of French roast coffee. Harry had no coffee in the house. Either his New Year’s no-caffeine resolution was still holding firm or he hadn’t been shopping for a while. Getting dressed before coffee was not my jam, so I made a note to stock up. I took another sip, watching people gingerly try to avoid patches of black ice, and then looked back down at my computer. I spent a few minutes reviewing changes I’d made to the grant application narrative. I hoped Babs would let me use a printer at the theater. Dimitri needed to look the proposal over, and he only read paper.

I considered leaving my car in the garage, but decided to drive over to the theater so I could stop and get groceries on the way home. I started a list, putting coffee in the first position. Added eggs, milk, cheese, bread, and bacon. I’d build up from there. Once I did the shopping I’d dump the car in the garage for the rest of the week. The stress of driving and parking in Boston was something I did not miss. Taking the T would more than suffice to get me around town. After all, where was I going except to the theater and back?

I circled around for a few minutes, but then gave up and parked the car in a parking lot near the theater. It was about nine thirty. After signing in at the stage door, where Babs had left my name, I walked inside. I hadn’t been to Bay Rep for years. As I stepped into the building, I paused to take it in and to get my bearings.

The theater was circular, and, depending on where you were in the loop around the theater itself, you were either backstage, in the box office area, near the bars, or heading to the bathroom. I walked to my left, toward an open door. I poked my head in and realized I was at the back of the house, where the audiences came in. I didn’t step in too far, but I did stop and examine the set. Harry’s reports of an iceberg stranded on the stage were not far off. Everything was bright white. There was a forced-perspective ceiling on the set that made it look as if there were a shiny white prism pulling the audience forward. There were a couple of ladders on the stage, and some miserable technicians holding up gels, focusing lights, and swearing into the dark void of the theater. Lest I interrupt this creative enterprise, I backed out of the theater and walked up the side, taking a left into the lobby.

Connie was talking to Babs Allyn. Babs was a few years older than me and had that casually elegant, put-together look I admired but would never even attempt. For one thing, my bank account couldn’t take it. But it was more than that. Babs took her average height and frame and did them up, showing off a toned body with expensive clothes and topping it off with perfect makeup. She had obviously been a great beauty in her youth, and I couldn’t blame her for trying to hold on. The thing was, she looked like a million other women, fighting age with blond hair and little bits of Botox that kept her lips from moving too much.

I was being unkind. But since I had no intention of holding on to my own past, I didn’t understand the compulsion. As I moved into middle age, I felt that I was coming into my looks, finally. No youthful beauty to hold on to here. I hoped to become a striking old woman in the future.

Babs turned toward me and smiled. “Sully, so great to see you again.” She gave me the requisite air kiss, which I returned. “I understand Dimitri is down to a dull roar this morning. Must be because of you and Connie coming down. I really appreciate it.”

“Connie is the lion tamer. I’m just along for the ride,” I said.

“Speaking of which, back to it,” Connie said. “Let me know about the budget when you can, all right, Ms. Allyn?”

“Babs, please. And yes, of course. You’ve convinced me.”

“Sully, you coming in to say hello to Dimitri?” Connie asked.

“In a few minutes. Let me catch up with Babs first,” I said. Connie gave me a small smile and went back into the theater.

“I’m grateful to you both for making the trip. Dimitri is already easier to deal with now that Connie’s here. From what I can ascertain, they were up half the night at his place working on the show. You’re sure she’s not some sort of magician?”

“Stage managers are magicians, you know that. Connie’s better than most, since working at the Cliffside requires her to be well versed in all aspects of theater. And to think outside the box.”

“Well, she’s helping Dimitri and the technical director try to salvage the set and lights.”

“What are you doing about costume design?” I asked.

“Pierre was the set and costume designer, but since he lived in France, we hired a local coordinator to do the fittings and oversee the production. Cassandra Ryan is a designer in her own right, so we’ve moved her up.”

“I know Cassandra,” I said. “She works at the Cliffside a lot.”

“Having her on board has helped Dimitri’s stress level but not taken it away. And it’s added to mine. She’s a bit of a handful, isn’t she?” Babs gestured at one of the chairs in the lobby. There were several, all clustered around small tables. I looked toward the other end of the lobby and noticed that there were several seating areas spaced about.

I sat down. The chair was surprisingly comfortable. “Cassandra is a bit of a handful. That’s one way to put it. But she’s also a bit of a genius, and she works really well with Dimitri. They meet on the same wave length very easily.”

Babs took a chair herself. “Listen, I know Dimitri is in a tough spot, taking over a production this far into the process. I appreciate his willingness to come in like this. I wish we had more money to throw at the production to give him a better chance of putting his stamp on it, but we’re tapped out on this budget. This disaster should have been the jewel of the season. Oh well, sorry. I don’t want to bore you with our war stories.”

“Bore me? After A Christmas Carol, I’m grateful to hear other people’s tales of woe.”

“I look forward to swapping stories, maybe over drinks? Speaking of which, would you like some water? Or I could put the tea kettle on?”

“Water would be great, thanks.”

Babs walked over to the screen and went behind it. She came back to the chairs with two bottles of water. “It’ll be nice to tell the story to someone who gets it. We’d gone to France to see a Chekov production by Pierre a year and a half ago, and we were mesmerized. It was so original, and redefined the text for a modern audience. We were hiring outside directors for this season, and his work was highly regarded. We offered him a deal to come over here and direct what he wanted. He decided on Romeo and Juliet and told us he’d design the set and costumes. His assistant would design the lights and sound. We hired Cassandra to oversee the costume fittings and build here, since Pierre was in France until the first rehearsal. All seemed fine. He came over, did a meet-and-greet with some donors. He described his concepts for the show, which sounded great.

“We trusted him with the production, did check-ins over the past year or so, and then the preliminary designs came in. Cassandra voiced some concerns, I have to give her credit for that, but we didn’t listen to her. The concept was going to cost a lot, but since we weren’t hiring other designers, we figured it out. We started the set build early, since it was so complicated. When Pierre finally came over, he was a different man. Not sure what happened to him, but his aesthetic changed over the year. He’d gone from warm to stark. Romeo and Juliet as written no longer interested him. He was looking for darker subtext, and adding it where it didn’t exist. He decided that a lack of color supported his new vision.”

“As if Romeo and Juliet isn’t enough of a tragedy?”

“I know, right? You heard about the Capulet-as-sex-predator angle? And the Lady Capulet and Nurse affair?”

“Not about the affair.” I shook my head. “What did you do?”

“As you know, the Bay Rep is going through changes. Our artistic director left last summer. Honestly, we were sort of auditioning Pierre for the role, but that obviously won’t work. The company is working together on next season, so we can take our time before we make a decision on hiring a new AD. The collective is working well, but not having an artistic director was a problem for this show. There was no single voice in the room with the authority to question Pierre’s judgment so that he’d listen. When the cast started doing table work, we realized that he was adding a lot of blood, and nudity. He even wanted Montague to simulate urinating onstage. The company balked, and Pierre pushed back. He had a ‘my way or the highway’ approach to his work.”

“Don’t most directors?”

“Yes, but they also allow the actors to have process. Pierre just wanted them to say the lines using his line readings. You know how much actors love feeling like robots regurgitating text. Pierre was also slashing scenes and planned on replacing them with projections he’d developed for another production.”

“Of Romeo and Juliet?”

“No, a new piece. He was using German archival footage from World War II.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Quite the context to layer in. So anyway, we decided to part ways. His assistant is still here, though he’s useless. Thank god I remembered seeing Dimitri’s Romeo and Juliet. I knew he understood the play and hoped he could figure out how to do it on this set, with these costumes. He’s meeting with the technical director and the crew right now to talk about changes. Our TD is thrilled about Dimitri’s aesthetic and committed to making this work.”

“Looks like everyone’s got their work cut out for them. Are you still on the same schedule for opening?” I asked

“No, we’ve delayed it almost a week. You know something about delayed openings, don’t you?”

I did and do, though despite everything, we’d only delayed A Christmas Carol by a day. I felt for Babs. It was always hard when money was being torched in a production. I was frustrated that I couldn’t do anything to fix it for Dimitri. Or Harry. Or Stewart, if he was going to be part of the picture.

Babs turned on her phone and stood up. “I have an appointment downtown. A personal issue. I’d love to touch base again this afternoon. Might that work for you?”

“Of course,” I said. “You’ve got my number. Happy to help however I can.” My phone vibrated and I looked down at it. It was a text from Connie.

Where are you??!!??

“Starting now,” I said. “I’m going to go say good morning to Dimitri. Run while you can, Babs.”

Babs pointed me back down the hall and told me to go in the third door on my right. I landed onstage, entering upstage right. I still had to think about that every time I walked onstage. I wondered if the Greeks realized that so many of their conventions would live to this day. Their theaters were built on the side of hills, so upstage was to the back of the stage, and downstage was the front. Stage right and house left were the same thing, since when you were standing onstage your right was opposite of the people sitting in front of you. My purview as a general manager was the front of house, from the edge of the stage, or apron, on. I never liked being onstage. Almost getting killed backstage in December hadn’t helped.

From where I stood, I saw the stairs to the dressing rooms on the other side of the theater. Normally the sides of the theater, the wings, are masked from the audience by flats or curtains, but there was no masking today. Just a wide expanse of shiny white with cube-like levels everywhere and a ditch, which I presumed to be the water feature, down the center. There were two bridges over parts of the stream. The theater seats were on three sides of the set, and raked sharply. Sight lines at Bay Rep were excellent even when you didn’t want them to be.

I hugged the edge of the stage, trying to avoid stepping on the white set with my slush-covered boots. I walked down a side staircase into the house. I heard Dimitri before I saw him, and recognized the tone.

“What do you mean, it can’t be painted? The scenic painter has come up with a scheme to help …”

“Help? This design needs no help. It is perfection.”

“Was perfection. For another show. Not this one,” Dimitri said quietly.

“It is no matter. The materials Pierre specified, they cannot be painted. They repel the paint. It helps keep it clean. Attempt to change it if you can, but it is folly. Never mind. I grow weary of dealing with your limited imaginations. Please remove my name from this debacle. I take my leave, and bid you good day.” And with that an intense, bespectacled, very young man gathered up his ground plans and harrumphed offstage, knocking me in the shoulder as he did so. I almost tripped him, but decorum stopped me. This wasn’t my theater.

I walked toward Dimitri and put my hand on his arm, squeezing it briefly. He gave me a pained smile and then turned back to the matter at hand. I hung back while he talked to the other man and Connie.

“How about if you rough up the finish? Might it take paint? Or at least dull it?” he asked a middle-aged man wearing a plaid shirt and low-hung jeans.

“We built this set and created finishes to last for the run. Sorry to say, but we’re really good at our job, Dimitri. I don’t think there’s a lot we can do. Still, we’ll run some tests in the shop and get back to you with some ideas later on today.”

“Thanks. At this point a bare stage would be preferable. Is that possible?”

“Sorry, no. This was a bitch to install, and it required a lot of Tetris-type building that’s going to take a long time to undo. And since our rehearsal space is being used for the next show, you need to keep everyone in here. I really am sorry, man. I tried to tell them way back.” The plaid-clad techie ran his hand over his tool belt and shook his head.

“Thanks, Ron. Sorry, where are my manners? Ron Crystal, Sully Sullivan. Ron’s the technical director of the Bay. He’s trying to salvage this. Sully’s the managing director of the Cliffside.”

I didn’t take it personally that Ron didn’t look thrilled to see me. Technical directors never liked the “office types,” a direct quote from our new technical director at the Cliffside.

“Good to meet you, Sully. I’ve heard good things,” he said, giving my hand a firm shake, which I returned. Ron looked impressed. “Dimitri, give me a couple of hours to test out some ideas. I’ll get back to you, I promise.”

“Good enough for me, Ron. I know you’re doing what you can.”

Ron walked onto the set and exited stage right. Dimitri and Connie stepped back to look at their set. I joined them.

“I asked if they could burn parts of it to distress it, but it’s been fireproofed,” Dimitri said. “There isn’t a single playing space more than nine square feet. There are traps, which are always fun, but none of them make sense for staging this play. At least not to me. That little twerp resigned from the project because I’m intent on bastardizing the designs. Would that I could.”

“How about the costumes? I hear that Cassandra has been moved up to designer.”

“She has, but we can’t start from scratch. The costume design is white. Modern dress. White jeans. White boots. White T-shirts with C for Capulet or M for Montague. Nothing else to differentiate the characters. Everyone looks the same, men and women.”

“Cassandra must hate that.” I’d sat through enough production meetings to know that Cassandra took color seriously.

“She was here to coordinate, not design. She’s willing to change the designs, but the budget isn’t there.”

“She’s so talented and has an amazing shop. She may be able to pull the show from her costume stock. Cassandra works miracles, Dimitri. You know that. Remember what she did with Six Characters last summer? That show barely had a budget, but it was gorgeous. Genius.” I was laying it on thick, but not too thick. Cassandra really was amazing. She sat on my last nerve, but I was learning to cope with it, and her. In this case, talent won out.

“Lights and sound need a rethink as well … ” Dimitri sighed. “The entire production needs a rethink. At least they got Robin in for lights. That just happened. They’re still looking for a sound designer. One thing about the set, there’s some interesting speaker placement.”

“Robin’s great. She must be freaking out a little about shiny white—”

“A little?” Dimitri barked a short laugh.

“But it sounds like Ron’s working on that.”

“He’s doing what he can,” Dimitri agreed.

“Worse comes to worse, you can do the sound,” I said.

“I’m not a—”

“Dimitri, don’t start,” I interrupted. “You know that’s the one area you micromanage on every production. I’m sure you’ve thought it through already.”

Dimitri sighed and gave me a half smile. “I did call Liana to see if she’d do a soundscape for me,” he said. Liana was a jazz musician and one of Dimitri’s old flames. He had a knack of keeping former girlfriends on as friends. Liana was a great musician and also a good influence on Dimitri. Music soothed his savage beast.

“Perfect. You can worry more about sound later,” I said. One of my Dimitri skills was helping him prioritize. I noticed that Connie was taking notes and nodding while I was talking. “What time does rehearsal start?”

“We pushed it back to this afternoon. We have to wait for our new Capulet to come in. I moved Harry up to Romeo yesterday afternoon.”

“He told me,” I said.

“He’s a little old for the part, but he can pass for young. He’s always wanted to play Romeo. I felt bad I didn’t cast him in our Cliffside production.”

One thing about Dimitri, he’d never cast a show based on loyalty. When you worked for him, you’d earned the role. Our Romeo had been a brilliant choice for that particular production. As Harry would be for this one.

“He’ll be terrific,” Dimitri went on. “Besides, our Juliet is hardly in the blush of youth. But she’s good, and from the company.”

“And there isn’t a Capulet?”

“No, not in the company. Given Pierre’s take, the character has felt a little cursed for this production. So I called Stewart. He’s taking the train up today.”

“Speaking of which,” Connie said, “I need to go and talk to the company manager about his housing.”

Stewart Tracy. My good friend, ex-lover, and current emotional confusion was in fact coming to town. He’d come to Trevorton to help save our production of A Christmas Carol and almost got killed in the process. We hadn’t veered from the friendship path over the holidays, but I’d thought about it. Especially since the other object of my affection, my ex-husband, Gus, was dating the formidable Kate, one of the partners in his new law practice. I assumed Kate was formidable. We hadn’t met. Yet.

“Isn’t Stewart a little young to play Capulet?” I asked.

“A little. But he plays older, and wants the work. Bay Rep is a good resume credit. Or it was until this production.”

“Now, Dimitri—”

“How long are you here, Sully?”

“I think I’ll stay for a couple of days. There’s a show at the MFA I want to see. It also looks like I may have a chance to say hello to Jerry and Mimi Cunningham tonight.”

“The decision-makers themselves?”

“We’ve met a couple of times. I want to remind them of that. Their foundation money could seriously boost our building fund. New construction would be good for Trevorton. There are a lot of people who could use the work.”

“You don’t have to sell me, Sully. Let me know what you need me to do to help,” Dimitri said. “It’s impressive that the Cunninghams are still funding projects at this great pace. And that there are so many new Century Projects on the docket.”

“It is, I guess,” I said.

“You guess? You getting one of those gut twinges again?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but Dimitri knew me too well. “Yes. No. From everything I can find, the Century Foundation seems to be funding at the same level they’ve been funding at for the past few years. Thankfully. A lot of other foundations have dried up.”

“So that’s the reason you’re in town? To meet with them?”

“No, that’s a bonus. I thought I’d check in with the Bay Rep. See for myself what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Thanks, Sully,” he said, putting his hand on my forearm and giving it a light squeeze. “Just seeing you here calms me down. It really does.”

I thought I was on my way to the front of the house. I’d gotten turned around a bit and found myself in a sea of beer cases and boxes of snacks. The door into the lobby was locked, which was as it should be given the value of alcohol. I walked straight ahead and another door was ajar. I walked through and found myself in the back hallway.

“Hello? Babs, is that you?” a voice said from the office on the left. A young woman came out the door and stopped short. She was tall, with black hair that was shaved on one side and swooped over her eye. Her black eyeliner was cat-eyed, and she wore deep red lipstick. Part Goth, part ’40s pinup. “You’re not Babs,” she said.

“No, I’m not. I’m a friend of Dimitri’s. Sully Sullivan. So sorry, I got lost getting out—”

“You run the Cliffside Theater, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said.

“I love that place. I went there with my father at least once every summer. It was always magical,” she said. I saw the glimmer of a smile flicker across her face, followed quickly by a shadow.

“Thanks for sharing memories of the Cliffside. I always love hearing them,” I said. “I went there a lot with my parents when I was a kid. My mother was an amateur actress and volunteered in the front of house when she wasn’t cast. I didn’t think she’d passed the theater bug on to me. But here I am.”

The young woman smiled and blinked a few times. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Holly Samuel.”

“Hello, Holly, nice to meet you. You work with Babs?” Holly Samuel, daughter of Martin Samuel?

“I interned here when I was in college. They offered me a job this fall. Working here is so different than interning. It’s more …”

“More real?”

“Yes, that. I always took it seriously, but now I feel so responsible.”

“Well, Babs knows what she’s doing. You’re learning from the best. But you’re right—it is a lot of responsibility. Sounds like you’ve all had quite the ride these past few weeks.”

“That’s one way to put it. Babs promises we’ll laugh about it all before the year is out, but right now I don’t see how. I’m sorry, I should have offered you a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”

My years as a cop helped me read people. Holly wanted to talk. I forced myself not to look at the time and nodded my head. “A half a cup would be great. Black. I’m pretty caffeinated already.” That was a lie. Before noon there was never too much coffee.

“Just a sec,” she said. She walked over to a small kitchenette in the hallway and poured two cups of coffee into BRT mugs. She handed me one and I took a sip. Good coffee.

“Why don’t we go out to the lobby?” she said.

“That’s where I was heading, but I got turned around.”

“Easy to do here,” Holly said, guiding me past the cases of beer through a narrow path that led to a hallway. In front of us was a small office with desks crammed in. “That’s my office. I share it with the house manager and box office manager. I’d invite you in, but there isn’t room to put down your coffee. The door’s right here.” Holly pushed open a panel I hadn’t noticed and we were back in the lobby, this time near the bar. There were several high-top tables with stools. We sat at one.

“These are great,” I said. I’d spent a lot of time considering lobby furniture lately, and I admired the utilitarian elegance of Bay Rep’s. The bucket seats were comfortable and the table tops were a good size.

“We put up a screen during the day, to hide this from view of the box office. We have a lot of meetings out here, which is why there are so many chairs and tables. We’re sort of mid-renovation, working on making access to the theater universal. You know, taking out steps that aren’t necessary, widening doorways. A ton of stuff. It requires shifting storage around, and our conference room is jammed. That’s why there are so many of us sharing an office, though I doubt that’ll change. There’s never enough room.”

“That’s so true,” I said. “We’re raising money for a new production facility, and I’m learning a lot about how to make the space functional for everyone. I’m also forced to figure out where the compromises need to be. No one is going to be completely happy with the space they’re given, but that’s the way it is. I will say, figuring it all out is easier to do with new buildings than old. It’s like a puzzle.”

Holly laughed. “Babs says the same thing.”

“We learn that in general manager school,” I said. “I’m joking, of course. I wish I’d been able to take some arts administration classes before I started my job. I jumped in the deep end and have been playing catch up ever since. I’m still learning all the time, which makes the job more interesting.”

“Glad it isn’t just me,” Holly said.

“Not just you, no. I’ve got a group of advisors I call on when I’ve got questions. I couldn’t do this without them. It’s so different from my old job.”

“Which was?”

“I used to be a cop.”

“Really?” Holly’s eyes got wide. She leaned forward in her seat.

“Really. A few years back I made a career change. Long story. But anyway, the Cliffside needed a general manager, and I needed a job. As I said, I had to learn on the fly, which was tough, but I had folks helping me along the way.”

“Do you like the job, or are you doing it because you feel like you should?” Holly asked.

“Interesting question,” I said. It was clear she wanted a real answer, so I gave it some thought. “Honestly, at first I did it because I needed a job. But now I do it because I love it. It’s challenging to run a theater, as you must be finding out.” Holly nodded, and I saw the hint of a smile. “But I’ve come to realize how important the work is, and how rewarding it can be. The one thing I hate is having to raise money, but even that I’m getting good at.”

“For whatever reason, the raising-money part isn’t too difficult for me,” Holly said. “My dad runs—ran—his own business, and he was constantly having to pitch his work. I learned a lot from him, even when I didn’t think I was.”

“We all learn a lot from our parents. My mother’s been gone a long time. I’d love her to know what I’m doing now. I think she’d be thrilled.”

At that moment, I heard Dimitri yell. I couldn’t hear the words but recognized the roar. It was how he let off frustration. Holly looked pale and her eyes glistened.

“He’s harmless,” I said, reaching across the table and patting her hand. I made a mental note to talk to Dimitri about his decibel level.

“Promise?” she said softly. “He’s a pretty spectacular yeller. I have to tell him we don’t have enough money to completely redo the costumes. I feel like puking.”

“You want some advice?” I asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Don’t wait to tell him. Make sure Connie’s in the room. She’s a good buffer and will help him focus. Do listen to him, even if he’s being loud. Also, be more worried when he’s being really quiet and you think he should be yelling.”

“Thanks. I need to meet Connie. I mean, I met her briefly, but I need to talk to her.”

“Do that first. She’s on your team. She’s really great at her job, and about a dozen others.”

Holly’s phone pinged and buzzed, and she looked down at it. “Sorry, this is how Babs gets hold of me.” Her brow furrowed while she read the texts. Her phone kept pinging, so it must have been a long text. “Babs says to find some money to put Connie on payroll. We’re going to make her assistant director since we have a stage manager already.” She glanced up at me. “Marcia Bartusiak was already hired as assistant director, part of our mentoring program.”

“Right. The plan is for them to work together. I know Marcia. She’s great, has a different skill set than Connie …”

“I’ll need to figure this out. Dimitri will be okay with two assistants, right? Do you think Connie will go for that?”

“I can’t speak for Connie,” I said. But I was glad they were coming through with finding some funds for her. Negotiating jobs and job descriptions is always tough, and as wonderful as Connie was, she could be formidable. “Maybe just wait until Babs is back and you can talk to Connie together?”

“She says that something came up and she’s not coming back to the theater until tomorrow,” Holly said.

I didn’t want to pry, but leaving Holly alone to deal with all of this? That was odd. And it also struck me as unfair to the young woman. But this wasn’t my theater, so I needed to step carefully. “Tell you what, Holly. Here’s my card. Do you have a pen I can borrow? Thanks. This is my cell phone number. Feel free to call or text with any questions, or if something comes up and you need my help. Happy to offer my advice if I can. I don’t know your theater as well as I know my own, but some things are universal. Plus, I can give you hints about some of the people.”

Holly put my number into her phone and sent me a text. “Now you have my information as well. Thanks so much, Ms. Sullivan. I really appreciate it.”

“Sully, please. No worries at all. You’ve got this. I’m happy to help. And thanks for the coffee.”