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As it turned out, Katya Pritchard wasn’t hard to find. Her law firm was well-known and well-placed on K Street and she was in the office and willing to talk. But puzzled.
“The Masque? That was ages ago! After all these years, you want to know about The Masque?” Pritchard said on the phone. “Why would anyone want to know about that ancient production?”
“Could I buy you coffee?” Lacey asked.
Coffee at Lacey’s expense would be fine, according to Katya. Of course it would. At the Starbucks on K Street near her office, Katya ordered a complicated grande latte with about a thousand calories and a gooey caramel brownie to go with it. It looked wonderful. Despite her own deep desire for something chocolate, Lacey stuck with her plain black decaf coffee and a small package of mixed nuts. It didn’t begin to fill the ache for something sweet.
The complex coffee ordering process gave Lacey a chance to observe this former actress and dancer. She would never have guessed the woman had been on stage: The day job had taken over. She was tall, but her dancer’s body was now padded in fat, fed by Starbucks lattes and brownies. Katya wore all-black, fitting not merely for a former theatre person or a K Street grunt, but as a denizen of the Capital City. Clad in some sort of clingy stretchy fabric, she looked overheated. Her knit top had an unflattering round neckline and long sleeves that squeezed her ample arms. Pants in the same black stretchy fabric covered the woman’s ample posterior.
Did Katya work in an office with a Felicity Pickles? Lacey wondered. Or was she their Felicity Pickles?
Katya was too young, Lacey thought, to wear pants with an elastic waistband. Stretch pants were a sign of giving up, in Lacey’s opinion. Katya’s face behind square black-framed glasses was soft and layered in plump folds, her skin pale and freckled and free of makeup. Her black hair was long and luxurious, obviously recently dyed, but she wore it in a severe and unflattering version of one of D.C.’s most popular hairstyles: pulled off the face and clipped up in back. She combed the bangs sideways to expose her ears, making her head look flat. Katya looked like a woman who had given up every vanity, except for her hair color. For that alone, Lacey silently applauded her.
“Thanks for the coffee.” She settled into a chair opposite Lacey and set her drink and gooey brownie on the table. “Isn’t this nice.”
“Yes, it’s beastly hot out there.”
The sun’s glare through the coffee shop window lit the disappointment that had settled into the lines of Katya’s face. It was increasingly hard to believe that she was once in the cast of The Masque of the Red Death. Although her part was small, understudying the lead dance role must have been physically demanding.
“Katya is a pretty name.”
“Thank you. It’s Russian. Like my mother. My father was English. We wound up here.”
“Yuri Volkov said it’s not necessary to be Russian to dance for Kinetic.”
“Maybe not, but it helps. That discipline is in the blood. I took dance classes since I was little. My mother insisted. So what are you writing about?” Katya apparently didn’t know Lacey was a fashion reporter. “Something about that Kinetic production I was in?”
“I’m looking into the costume worn by the character of the Red Death in The Masque. The role you understudied? I saw it at the theatre yard sale on Saturday. Someone bought it.”
Katya gasped. “They sold the red dress?” Her eyes were wide. “No!”
“Apparently it was sort of a mistake. But they did.”
She surprised Lacey by laughing. “Oh my God. Generations of actresses will be denied their chance to wear that thing to the Helen Hayes. I was fitted for it myself, you know. I even wore it at dress rehearsal, for like five minutes. Saige and I were almost exactly the same size.” She picked up her latte. “Yeah, I know it’s hard to believe that now. Don’t quote me.”
She brushed crumbs off her top and looked away. Ah yes. I was waiting for the obligatory ‘don’t quote me.’
“Hey,” Katya said suddenly, “do you want to see a picture of me in the red dress?”
Really? What are the odds of that?
“Do you have one with you?”
“Sure. On my phone.” She dug it out of her purse. “I keep it on here to give me some inspiration for my diet.” Katya looked ruefully at her brownie. “The spirit is willing, but you know.”
“Wow.” Lacey tried not to reveal the shock she felt looking at the picture. Young Katya in the tightly fitted crimson gown was beautiful and soulful-looking and very fit. “You look fabulous.”
“Thanks. That was at dress rehearsal. I was actually a little thinner than Saige that day,” she said with pride. “I wish I could have worn that dress in the show. It was a lovely creation. All those layers of reds, the mask, the headpiece. The colors just blended together like magic. It rustled when you walked, the way taffeta does, but it didn’t make you feel fragile. It fell just right, and it had weight, a real swing to it. It made you feel strong and powerful, in control. That’s the power of a great costume, you know. You sort of climb into it and just drive it. I didn’t get to wear it for more than a few minutes at a time, because I never had a chance to take over the role. Saige never missed a performance. The gown, however, was amazing.”
“I’m sorry you missed out on that. But at least you got to wear it for a fitting. So what was Saige Russell like?” Lacey sipped her coffee and took mental notes, not wanting to distract Katya with a notebook and pen.
“Saige? You wanted to talk about Saige?” Her face darkened. “I don’t know, really. After all, time slips by. Memories fade.”
Lacey doubted that. “You were friends?”
“Sure.” Katya had a lovely smile, though it was lit with a hint of malice. “Theatre friends. You know. Hugging, cheek-kissing, hello-darling kind of friends. For a few shows. And then, well, she died.”
“And you stopped doing theatre?”
“Life intrudes. You can’t make a living if you’re not Equity, and then sometimes you can’t make it even if you are Equity. You forget about the theatre and dancing and you grow up, get a real job.”
“Did you make Equity?”
Katya saw something in her memory. “Getting my Equity card was a peak moment. One of those moments you always remember. I was on my way.” Katya’s smile dimmed. “It didn’t work out. A lot of the little theatres aren’t Equity, so I lost those parts, and I couldn’t get cast often enough to survive. I taught acting and dance for a while, but I didn’t want to do that forever. You turn thirty, then thirty-five. Then—” She paused. “Being a paralegal for a big firm has its advantages, you know. Job security. Not to mention great health insurance.”
“Insurance is good.” Lacey hoped she would never look this sad to the world.
“It’s a good job. I wouldn’t trade my job for an early grave. I mean, Saige had her best role ever in The Masque. Great reviews, a hot show, she was on top of the world. She had Nikolai, and she was in love, and everything seemed to be going so brilliantly. And then she—fell off the platform. Fell off the stage. Fell off the edge of the world.” Katya was looking at something in the distance, something in her past.
“You said ‘she had Nikolai’? You mean Nikolai Sokolov?” Lacey asked. “The costume designer?”
“Nikolai.” Katya took her time sipping her latte. “He broke the bank on that red dress for Saige.” Something in her tone changed.
“So he was more than just her costume designer?’
“Oh yes. They had this big affair. I walked in on them a couple of times. Not quite in flagrante delicto. They ‘frolicked’ everywhere, in the dressing room, the costume shop, the theatre. The light booth.” She laughed. Gossip with a soupçon of glee was perking Katya up. “It just proves that you can have it all, but the next minute you’re dead. My life isn’t that glamorous, but I’m not dead.”
True. We’re not dead.
“Do you still act?”
“No. I don’t dance either. Not at this size. I could get parts, like comic parts, but...” The sentence trailed off and she looked away.
“Do you ever go to the theatre?”
“Once in a while. When I can get a comp. Who can afford theatre tickets?”
“What about Nikolai? Do you still see him around?”
“Around.” She nodded. “His home base is Kinetic though. He’s worked for a lot of theatres, the smaller ones. He’s so talented, he can do anything. Costumes, sets, lights, sound. He’s not a one-trick pony.”
“He’s making the costumes for Kinetic’s latest show.”
“Really.” Katya was tearing her brownie into tiny pieces. “He would be. He’s a great costumer. Nicky’s not super handsome, he’s good looking, but— Compelling. Dark hair. Intense. And those blue eyes. At least I think they’re blue.”
“You think?”
She made a face. “They seem to change. Contact lenses, probably. His eyes were extra blue back then. No one has eyes that color. Gave him a very intense look. Brooding. Romantic.”
“An actor too?”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“All the world’s a stage,” Lacey agreed.
“Nicky did some small parts. Like me. But acting wasn’t his main thing.”
“Theatre tech people don’t usually act, right?”
“Yeah, but he always said if he was on the stage with the other actors, he could get a better feel for the play, and what he wanted to do with the technical stuff.”
“Did you date him?”
Katya’s hand froze with a bit of brownie hovering near her mouth. “I wanted to, but Saige got there first. And afterward— Well, going after Nicky after she died seemed in bad taste.” She popped the brownie in her mouth. “Besides, the show was over. When the show closes, that one little family kind of breaks up. Things cool off.”
Lacey nodded. Or Nikolai might not have been interested in Katya, she thought, even though she’d been young and lovely. Chemistry was fickle and mysterious. Her black coffee was wretched and lukewarm to boot, but she wanted to keep Katya remembering.
“What about Yuri Volkov? Is he as intense as he seems?”
Katya grinned. “Intense? Yuri? More. He is a perfectionist. That’s why he gets such strong performances. Geniuses are like that. He can make you cry.”
“Did he make you cry?”
“A couple times. It felt like he wasn’t satisfied until you broke down at least once. After that, you could be friends. Yuri is a little weird.”
“Sounds like. Was he interested in Saige? Romantically?”
“That’s the big mystery about Yuri. No one really knows if he’s interested in men or women, or if he’s even interested in sex at all. Not a clue. I think he just likes to keep that part of his life private. Really private. Whatever it is. Really, I think the theatre is his whole life.”
“What can you tell me about the leading man? The one who played Prince Prospero?”
“Maksym. Oh yes. Good looking in a real traditional matinee-idol way. He had beautiful thick hair. Sexy eyes. Taller than Saige, and me. I think that’s why he was cast. Not many of the male dancers were that tall. And Maksym was always in beautiful shape. Great dancer.”
“Is he still around?”
“Yeah.” Katya gazed at her drink again. “He went to law school, became a lawyer.” She caught Lacey’s lifted eyebrow. “No, not with my firm.”
“How well did you know him?”
“Pretty well.” Katya fluttered her hands almost as if she were trying to forget him. “We dated for a while. He was very—pretty. We made a pretty couple. Back then. But it’s kind of hard when you always have to wonder which one of you everyone is looking at, you know? And it was all about Maksym, all the time, never about me. He was one of those performers who just suck all the air out of a room. Now he performs in the courtroom. He’s good.”
“Does he still dance?’
“I think he teaches a few classes at Kinetic sometimes. But he basically quit the theatre after Saige died. Not everyone is meant for a life on the stage.” She picked up her latte.
Apparently that statement included at least three performers in The Masque of the Red Death: Katya Pritchard, Saige Russell, and Maksym Pushkin.
Katya sighed deeply. She and Lacey checked their watches simultaneously. Katya said she needed to get back to work and stood up. Lacey did too.
I have a psychic to call on.
