The early morning sun was blinding as Cindy and I turned a corner in the center of the frenetic city. Though the sun severely lit the treeless city street, it hadn’t quite enough time to burn off the early summer morning chill.
I clutched a warm cup of low-fat French vanilla cappuchino. The warm cup and sweet smell promised both comfort and caffeine. Cindy was munching on one of New York’s famous bagels. I would have gotten one too, but I had never been able to eat that early in the morning, especially when I had so much on my mind. Still chewing, Cindy pointed up ahead, “There it is.”
We stepped in through the marquis area of the grand Royal Theatre. Just walking through the wide marble-floored lobby, I felt flushed with excitement. Theatre really must be in my blood, merely standing in that atmosphere had an overwhelming effect on me.
My heart began pounding and I was feeling a bit breathless. Then suddenly, like a heavy rock plummeting to the bottom of a lake, I remembered the reason I had gone after this particular tour: the possibility of learning the truth about my mother’s death. The flighty excitement faded, and switched to a confident determination.
Cindy and I reached the second set of doors, and heard a loud bang. When I turned to look, I saw it was Lindsay who “accidentally” let the door slam behind her. I’m surprised she even attempted to open it herself. Where was her slave, anyway?
She passed us without a word, got to the second set of doors, paused long enough to glare at me as though I had done something horrible to her. Maybe gave her a bad perm? She then opened the doors, walked through them, SLAM!
Cindy and I looked at each other. Trying to sound flippant, I shrugged my shoulders, grinned and said, “guess she wants to let everyone know she’s here.”
“She’s such a witch,” Cindy answered with a mouthful of bagel.
I stared at the latest slammed door. “Do you know where she’s from and how old she is?”
“What’s the sudden interest in lovely Lindsay?”
“Um, I think I may know her from somewhere, but I’m not sure.”
“Where would that be?”
“I don’t know.” I stared at the floor searching my mind for a connection. I often felt things I couldn’t quite explain.
“I’m not sure where she’s from. I do know she’s been off and on with this group for many years. Actually, she may have been with the very first group.” She wiped her hands on the crumpled napkin that had held the bagel and put it in a lobby trash can. “She thinks she’s fooling everyone about her age. She may have a great body, but if you look close, you’ll notice the bargain basement face lift.”
Knocking me out of my one track thinking, Cindy added, “Well, come on, we better get in there before Peter blows his stack.”
“Oh, I can’t imagine him getting very angry.”
“How often have you seen him? How long have you been around him?” We stepped into the auditorium and Cindy lowered her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, he can be a great guy but he does have his dark, director’s side.”
As we took a few more steps in, I was transported back in time. The site made me feel breathless and my heart began to pound again.
The theatre was decorated in lush reds and golds. The huge rose marble pillars near the sides of the stage ascended to two balconies decorated with golden sculptured cherubs.
Looking down through the rows of deep red velvet seats, I could see a long polished gold railing from which hung draperies made from the same luxurious red velvet fabric. They hung perfectly straight, beautifully concealing the orchestra pit.
I walked slowly toward the stage. My footsteps were silent on the plush carpet. The stage was immense, yet bare compared to the surroundings. Its wood floor was dark and polished. Another golden railing flanked the stairs to the right of the stage.
I looked up at the grand gold proscenium framing the stage. Rich, golden detail covered every inch. I remember learning in a theatre history class that many early theatres were modeled from baroque architecture and inspiration was often taken from European cities. At the top of the proscenium arch posed a golden god of some kind. I tilted my head to look up even farther. On the ceiling were carefully painted pairs of harp playing cherubs amusing themselves.
The atmosphere filled my senses. I inhaled deeply, taking it all in as though it gave me life. It filled me with energy, excitement and power.
Suddenly, brighter work lights illuminated the stage. Bobbi, our stage manager, began arranging some of the smaller set pieces.
Actors were scattered throughout the theatre. Some were studying their scripts and others watched what Bobbi was doing. A guy in the last row had his head tilted back and his mouth wide open. The sound he made with each breath reverberated off the elegant walls.
Peter walked briskly on stage and clapped his hands twice. The sound echoed through the theatre. “Okay, everyone, time to get this baby moving. I know we all love blocking rehearsals.” The actors moaned in agreement. “But if we really push through this and get the movement down, we’ll be able to move on to more stimulating aspects of rehearsal. So, let’s get started …”
I watched some of the actors work, but in no time at all we were up to the scene with the sisters: lovely Lindsay and me. I climbed the stairs to the stage and was feeling rather good about myself, like a queen as I held onto that golden railing, despite my tennis shoes, jeans and sweatshirt.
I stood on stage alone, just me and my script.
Peter rose from his front row seat. He turned toward the back of the house and looked at the actors scattered throughout. “Lindsay dear, we’re waiting.” There was just a touch of irritation in his voice.
Lindsay had been posed in a seat in the middle of the house. The diva slowly stood, smoothed her slinky dance-style skirt and strutted down the aisle and to the stage. She brushed past me, flipped me that same evil glare, then turned to silently pose and stare out into the audience. The character work for this stage relationship won’t take much effort.
“Okay, ladies, let’s begin on page twenty. I’d like to block this scene first. We’ll work on your earlier scene at our next rehearsal.”
Just then Cindy trudged in, struggling to keep hold of her armful of books, scripts and schedules. Her cell phone balanced on the top of the pile and slid around as she tried to hold it steady. Everything fell to the floor with a loud thud.
“Damn.”
Peter stopped what he was doing and went to help her. I could see them talking but couldn’t quite hear them. Peter seemed agitated and Cindy looked apologetic.
Suddenly Peter was loud enough for the entire theatre to hear. “Get that jerk on the phone. I won’t put up with this.” Okay, just a hint of the darker, director side. Could he always switch moods so quickly?
Cindy set her stack of work on a table in front of the stage and left the way she came in.
Peter’s gait stiffened, his shoulders looked rigid and both hands balled into fists.
Almost through clenched teeth, he started blocking our scene.
“Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself to make a bondmaid and a slave of me,” I said in character during a scene where Lindsay got to show how hateful her character really was.
“When you grab her, make it look as though you’re really hurting her,” Peter told Lindsay.
“No problem.” She looked at him with a gleam in her eye.
She didn’t grab me quite as hard as her look had threatened. I survived the scene.
“All right, onto the next scene,” Peter directed. More actors took their places on stage.
“Where’s Denny?” Peter peered out into the theatre seats, then looked at the stage manager. “Bobbi, where the hell is he? Find him and tell him to get his butt on stage now, or he’s fired.”
Eyeglasses perched atop her head, she closed the large vinyl book that was our official “production book”, set it on the floor and rushed toward the backstage area.
Peter stalked to the table on which Cindy had put her pile of work. He grabbed a pitcher and a glass and gulped down a half liter of water. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out what looked like some type of pills, popped them in his mouth and swallowed another mouthful of water. He took a deep breath and walked back to his seat.
Rehearsal was tense but it was moving along. That was until Bobbi came back in. She entered the row behind Peter, leaned down and whispered something in his ear. The part of his face that wasn’t hidden beneath his thick beard and moustache began to turn a dark crimson. He stood, paced in short distinct steps as if he were trying to hold back an explosion. He picked up the pitcher; it looked like he was going to pour himself another drink. But instead, he held it up, a little behind the side of his head, then with what looked like all his strength, threw it at the front of the stage. Water and pieces of glass flew everywhere. There was complete silence. He looked at the shattered glass, turned around and stormed out through the theatre.
After he slammed through the back doors, Bobbi calmly got our attention. “Hey, guys, we’re gonna take five, but stay in the theatre; we’re gonna run what we started with this morning.” She must have had to do this before.
Despite the problems and the anger we were all feeling or witnessing, I decided to take another crack at Lindsay. Maybe I could put some pieces together.
She was now poised on a folding chair on the stage, legs crossed, reading her script. “Hey, I think our scene went pretty well.” In my own head I sounded like a little kid who was obviously lying.
She looked over her script at me, “I guess so.” She went back to her script.
Okay, let’s try something else …
“You look familiar to me, but I can’t figure out from where.” She gave me what I think was one of her best annoyed looks.
“Umm, could I have seen you in some film or television series?” Penny, don’t schmooze, you’re not good at it.
“I don’t think so, dear. Yet, you look quite familiar to me, too.” She looked me up and down.
Though I was trying desperately to act cool, her voice, her manner, her stare, gave me an unsettling feeling. I felt a chill despite the warm lights.
She seemed to have gotten what she wanted. I gave up, left her alone for now.
“Come on, everyone. Run through, starting with Penny and Lindsay’s scene,” shouted Bobbi. Everyone settled back into their seats and eventually quieted down. Our scene was moving quickly this time. Lindsay backed me into the large wooden table, grabbed me around the throat and pushed me down. Her bony hands gripped my neck with such force I started to see sparkling lights. Not the stage kind, the kind you see just before you black out.
It must have taken people a while to realize this was not in the script, not in Peter’s blocking. She was really trying to strangle me. Why?
The next thing I remembered I was coming to, lying on the stage floor. Bobbi and Jim were at my side. Bobbi was wiping my face with a cool wet washcloth while Jim nervously held a glass of water.
How long was I out? I tried to sit up. “Whoa.” The stage and everything and everyone on it began to spin. They carefully laid me back down.
Jim looked at me with sincere concern on his face. “Are you all right?” I nodded. He shook his head, looked over at Bobbi and said, “You know, Lindsay really is one crazy bitch.”