Chapter 5
Minx’s hopes for a sudden illness were dashed when on opening night, Claire arrived at the theater looking robust and healthy and ready to take the stage. We had suffered through a rocky dress rehearsal the night before. Dame Sylvia couldn’t remember her lines due to acute intoxication. Liam mangled his one walk-on line. Sir Anthony was threatened with a harassment suit by a cute, wiry, and very heterosexual twentysomething stagehand. Akshay kept blocking me from the audience during our one scene together just to piss me off. And our director, Kenneth, got the shakes considering the possibility that this production would bring an abrupt end to his once-promising career. We all held our collective breath hoping the old adage would prove true: a bad dress rehearsal always means a good show.
Since I didn’t make my first entrance until the third scene in the play, I was the last one to head into make-up. I decided to grab some alone time in my dressing room and pray to the almighty gods that I wouldn’t somehow screw this up. Kenneth begrudgingly admitted I had come a long way from those inauspicious first rehearsals and was now on a par with the rest of the cast. Still, I had no illusions about ever working with him again once this production closed.
I passed Minx, who paced nervously up and down the hallway, eyes clamped shut, wishing Claire would trip and fall and fracture her leg at the last minute, thus allowing her to go on in her place. I flashed her a brief smile and hurried on, afraid if I paused for even a second I would be stuck in a vapid conversation with her. I slipped into my dressing room and was happily surprised to find an opulent gift basket filled with wines and cheeses and crackers and chocolates all wrapped in clear cellophane. I picked up the gift card that was tucked inside the red ribbon that tied it all together and beamed with joy.
The note read I ache all over, and not because of the bullets. I miss you. When are you coming home? Love, Charlie. My eyes welled up with tears brought on by a sharp pang of homesickness. I had been gone a month, and I desperately missed my better half. But I wasn’t going to cry. I had a show to do.
Stuffed in a corner behind my clothes rack was a big grocery bag of gifts. Two bouquets of flowers. A box of chocolates. Some Giorgio Armani aftershave. A bottle of scotch. I lifted it up in my arms and headed out the door. My mother, Priscilla, had begun a long-standing tradition during my days on Go to Your Room. At the start of each season, we would arrive on the set bearing gifts and dispense them all to our fellow cast members. It was a nod of gratitude for their enduring love and support and dedication to the show. Of course, I strongly felt that this motley crew of drunks and has-beens deserved nothing from me. Claire was the only one who had even shown me a modicum of respect during the last weeks, but it was a tradition. And I always felt it was bad luck to thumb your nose at tradition.
I stopped first at Akshay’s door and knocked. “Hi, Akshay, it’s Jarrod.” I heard him inside on his cell phone. He stopped talking for a moment, and then resumed his conversation. He didn’t deem me worthy enough to even bother opening the door. I set the bottle of aftershave down in front of the door and secretly hoped he would come out and step on it, crushing it with his bare feet and cutting himself. I moved on to Dame Sylvia’s and knocked heartily for fear she might be passed out in a stupor. She opened her door a crack, inspecting me with one eyeball.
“Yes?” she said with obvious disdain.
I thrust the bottle of scotch out to her. “Opening-night gift. From me to you.” Her hand shot out, snatching it from me like a grabby, snot-nosed little schoolboy. She inspected the label and sniffed.
“Thank you,” she said and slammed the door.
I arrived next at Minx’s dressing room. I figured why not include the understudy. She was just as much a prisoner at the Apollo as we were. But as I raised my knuckle to rap on her door, I envisioned myself getting dragged inside and forced to listen to her incessant girlish babbling. And I had to be in make-up soon so I softly knelt down, slid the box of chocolates quietly up against the door, and tiptoed away. She never even knew I had been there.
Only two to go. Sir Anthony and Claire. The gay pervert was next. I sighed, pulled myself together, and strategically took a position that would make it very difficult for him to pinch my butt. I knocked. When the door was flung open, I gasped. Standing before me was Sir Anthony. Stark naked. Like Baby New Year.
“My dear boy, how good of you to drop by,” he said with a proud smile.
“I was . . . um . . . I just wanted to . . .”
He leaned in conspiratorially and then glancing down at his groin region, whispered, “Mighty impressive, I know.”
He could have been telling the truth. Frankly, I didn’t know. I refused to look.
“Would you like to come inside?”
“No, I just wanted to give you these,” I said, thrusting a bouquet of multicolored carnations at him.
“They’re absolutely gorgeous!” He made a big display of sucking air through his nose and savoring the melodious odor. And then, with a hand over his heart, he bowed to me. “Thank you, dear, dear boy.”
He put his hands on his hips and jerked his pelvis outward, daring me to take a gander. But I still refused. I kept eye contact with him.
“Well, I know it’s only a few minutes before curtain. I don’t want to disturb you. You probably need some alone time to get ready and centered and all of that.”
“Oh no, I don’t need to be alone. In fact, I’m entertaining.” He leaned in close to me again. “One of the many male acting students from the Royal Academy that I’ve taken under my wing. I’m sure you understand,” he said with a wink.
“Oh, yes. Perfectly,” I said, desperate for an escape.
“In fact, right now we’re doing a few warm-up exercises. Would you care to join us?”
“No, not me, but thank you. I’m warmed up already.”
“You certainly are, Jarrod. In fact, you’re very hot.”
I let out a fey giggle that I felt ashamed about. But this guy was making me extremely nervous.
“Are you certain you don’t want to join the party? My boy has abs you could set a table on.”
Flustered, I shook my head. “I have to get these flowers to Claire.”
Sir Anthony perused my selection. “Traditional red roses. Very wise. I was afraid you might slip up and try to deliver her something of a peach color.”
“I’d never make that mistake,” I said, grinning, before whipping around and heading off down the hall. I could feel Sir Anthony’s eyes undress me from behind before his guest distracted him and he disappeared back inside his dressing room.
When I arrived at Claire’s room, I could hear a commotion inside. Instead of knocking, I pressed my ear to the door. I heard someone groaning. No. Not groaning. Moaning. Someone was moaning. No, wait. Two people. Two people were moaning. It wasn’t going to take Sam Spade to figure this one out. Claire and Liam were engaged in their own brand of warm-up exercises. I smirked to myself and set the roses down. If anything, I was discreet. I turned around and started back to my dressing room when I stopped suddenly. Standing in the wings watching patrons file into the theater and take their seats was a fully clothed and agitated Liam Killoran. His face was all red. Thoughts of having to deliver even just one sentence in front of a live audience was causing the novice actor to break out into hives.
He was perspiring and sucking on a cigarette, even though smoking was banned in the theater. As I passed him, I said softly, “Don’t worry. You’ll be great.”
He eyed me with contempt. “Fuck off.” He practically spit the words at me.
I should have told him the love of his life was doing just that in her dressing room with someone else, but a cooler head prevailed. In the interest of company harmony I would keep that little secret to myself. I simply shrugged and moved on.
I had to wonder, though. Who was Claire sleeping with besides Liam? I must admit I felt a tiny pang of jealousy. I thought I was the only one besides her Irish lover that Claire had designs on. But she was a celebrated star, oozing charm and confidence. She could have anyone she wanted. I took a quick inventory. Kenneth and Wallace were nowhere to be seen. I had heard Akshay inside his dressing room. And Sir Anthony, well, let’s say he was easy to rule out as a suspect. Of course, it could have been just about anyone. The young, delicious stagehand that Sir Anthony had been torturing with his undivided attention. Or the married lighting guy whose eyes sparkled every time Claire smiled his way. Claire had been around long enough to know it was imperative to make the guy in charge of lighting your new best friend. He is without question the ultimate authority on how you look.
The mystery of Claire’s moaning man would have to wait. Holly, the frizzy-haired young female theater intern from Oxford, raced past me, frantically speaking into her walkie-talkie.
“Two minutes to curtain,” she said as she rounded the corner. It was show time. And the nerves in my belly decided to let me know that I was about to pass out from fright.
I was done with make-up by the time Claire swept onto the stage to thunderous applause. The play had been a bit sluggish up to that point, with only Dame Sylvia wringing a few polite laughs from the expectant audience. But Claire’s entrance breathed life into the proceedings, and it was infectious. It raised the cast to a higher level. They had no choice. They had to keep up with powerhouse Claire or risk disappearing into the scenery. By the time I made my entrance well into the first act, the audience was enthralled with the entire show. There was polite applause from the few fans that remembered me, but even the modest audience reaction was enough to cause Akshay to visibly flinch with scorn.
After a shaky start, I got my bearings and managed to infuse the seedy character of Damien the valet with just enough sleaze and sarcasm to win instant admiration from my detractors. I was getting laughs. Big ones. This one performance was going to make this difficult ordeal completely worth it. I was on a roll. By the time I reached my big confrontation scene with Sir Anthony, I had hit my stride. I was having a ball. The audience was with me. The lines were slipping off my tongue as if I were coming up with them off the cuff. Everyone, even Claire, was caught off guard. This was going to be the most memorable night of my life. But unfortunately it would not be due to my crowd-pleasing performance.
I died right on cue in the third act, from multiple stab wounds administered by a heartless killer, just like in Creeps. But this seemed a far more highbrow death. When the lights went down between scenes, I quietly stood up and slipped offstage. The stagehand assisted me in removing my bloodstained shirt. He handed me a fresh pullover, and I slipped it on as I stood in the wings and watched Claire’s dramatic final scene. This was the linchpin moment of the piece. Claire’s character has solved the murder and unmasked the killer, who turns out to be Akshay’s character. Claire stabs him with the same knife he used to kill my character, Damien. Akshay, the shameless ham, took almost a full minute to die. But Claire ultimately triumphs and the ruthless killer is finally vanquished. Just as the audience has been lulled into a sense of security, believing that the murderer has finally been dispatched, Claire, the last character left standing, opens a door to exit. The lights dimmed, marking the end of the play. The audience sighed with relief. But then, at that moment, a gunshot rang out. The audience screamed. And Claire, clutching her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers, sank to the floor. It was Wallace’s surprise ending. The killer had vowed to do away with Claire and rigged up a shotgun that would fire off a round the minute anyone tried to leave the room. Claire had forgotten that one detail. His vow to murder her even if he had to reach out from the afterlife. It was a chilling end. Not for the faint of heart. And Claire pulled it off beautifully.
The curtain came down. There was a brief moment of silence and then an eruption of applause. We all gathered in the center of the stage and joined hands. I was between Akshay and Dame Sylvia. I was supposed to be between Claire and Dame Sylvia. That was how Kenneth had staged the curtain call. Akshay glared at me, and then grabbed my hand as the curtain rose. I looked around. Where was Claire? And that’s when I saw her. She was still lying on the stage in a pool of fake blood. And she wasn’t moving. The audience laughed uproariously at first. They thought it was one more ghoulish trick from the fiendish mind of the playwright. Until they noticed the cast onstage staring at Claire’s lifeless body in disbelief. The laughter died slowly and then disappeared altogether.
I took a step toward her. “Claire?”
I knew the moment I saw her dull, glassy eyes staring up at me. Claire Richards was dead.