“Ladies and gentlemen of the Catskills Shakespeare Theater Company, final half!” At seven PM, assistant stage manager Aaron Jacobs roamed the backstage area of the theater at Jacobs Grand Hotel, knocking on dressing-room doors, calling out the thirty-minute warning to cast and crew. And because Brian Prentice liked an individual notice, Aaron knocked on the designated star dressing-room door. “Final half, Mr. Prentice. Final half!”
Brian sat at his dressing table and, holding an eyeliner pencil, gazed at his reflection in the mirror. His weight loss was now reflected in his face. Where once it had been full and relatively unlined, now every line, every furrow was pronounced and deep. He looked older than he was, and he felt older than he looked. His eyes drifted to the top drawer of his dressing table. Adjusting the robe on his right shoulder, he opened the drawer, and after moving aside an old theater program, he pulled out the whisky bottle underneath it.
Just a drop to steady my nerves won’t hurt, he thought. It’s been so long, and I’ve been so good. As he was about to twist off the cap, a knock on the door startled him. With a small sigh, he replaced the bottle in the drawer and closed it.
“Yes. Who is it?” he shouted.
“It’s me. Charlotte. I’ve brought your trousers.”
“You’d better come in then.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Brian, but Aaron’s sorted these out for you. The waistband will be a much better fit.” She handed him a pair of gray trousers. “Even though your cloak mostly hides them, you’ve lost so much weight, I can’t let you wear your old ones onstage tonight.” She removed a pair of trousers from his costume rail. “You’ll be better in the new ones. Aaron customized them to your new measurements.” He said nothing, but indicated with a brief movement of his head that he’d been listening. “You all right, Brian? Is anything the matter?”
“I’m all right. Just tired, that’s all. Not really up for it tonight. Got to psych myself up to get through this performance.”
“Well, there’s a lady here with just the thing to cheer you up.” She stood aside and gestured to someone in the hall to come in, then disappeared into the hallway.
“Hello, Brian! Brought you these from my garden.” Paula Van Dusen, carrying a huge vase of red-and-white roses, slipped into the room. She looked about for a place to set them, and Brian swept the contents of his dressing table to one side, clearing a space.
“I read somewhere that sending flowers to an actor before the curtain has fallen on the first performance is bad luck,” said Paula, “but since you’re well into your run, I thought these might brighten up your room.”
“They’re lovely, and I thank you,” said Brian.
“Well, I mustn’t keep you from your preparations,” said Paula. “There’s to be a little get-together after the play, and I hope you’ll be joining us.”
“Will you be there?” asked Brian.
“Oh, most definitely.”
“Then so shall I.” He stood up. “And now, dear lady, thank you for the lovely flowers, but if you’ll excuse me, I must complete my preparations.”
“Of course. Your audience awaits.”
When the door had closed, Brian unfolded the trousers Charlotte had left. He pulled them on and was pleasantly surprised at how much better they felt. He hadn’t realized how much weight he’d lost. Until this summer, he’d always had his own dresser to help him get ready for a performance: somebody who would make sure his costumes were clean and laid out for each performance; his makeup was smudge-free; his wig was on straight; and any accessory, like a ring, was on his hand and any accessory not needed, like a wristwatch, was left behind on his dressing table. But now, he had to fend for himself much of the time, although to be fair, Charlotte helped him when she could. And although Aaron was too busy during the performance with all his backstage tasks, he occasionally helped before or after a performance, too.
With a disgruntled sigh, he sat down once again in front of the mirror. His makeup was finished; it just needed a light dusting of power to fix it. He did this, washed his hands, and then began his articulations. “Red leather, yellow leather,” he repeated over and over, as fast and as clear as he could. “Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather.” He started off softly but increased the volume each time he said it.
“A star,” Noel Coward once said, “is someone with that little bit extra.” And whatever he meant by “that little bit extra,” Brian undoubtedly once had it. His onstage presence was commanding and magnetic; every member of the audience felt he was speaking directly to them. And even those seated in the gods, the last rows of the balcony, could hear every word he uttered, clearly and plainly. In his darkest moments, he realized that his star power was turning to dust, but to maintain the illusion onstage, he had to maintain the illusion that put him there.
“You’ve still got it, Brian, old son,” he reassured himself, leaning into his face in the mirror. A pair of dark-brown eyes, heavy with eyeliner and mascara, stared back at him. He switched off the bright makeup lights that surrounded the mirror, throwing the room into a shadowy gloom.
He stood in front of the door, squared his shoulders, made a little exploding gesture with both hands, and whispered, “Show time!”
“This is your five-minute call. Five minutes, please. Stand by, technical staff.” Aaron raced down the corridor.
A rapid pounding on the star dressing-room door. “Five minutes, Mr. Prentice. This is your five-minute call.” The actors who would appear in act one, scene one, including Brian, prepared to take their places onstage while others emerged from the dressing rooms and gathered in the wings.
“Stand by, everyone,” Aaron called, eyeing the red-and-green light system that provided timing cues visible to the actors and crew backstage but was invisible to the audience. The actors onstage stood motionless beside the small pool of flashing red light.
Tension rose as a recorded announcement warned the audience that the play was about to begin.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this evening’s performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream performed by the Catskills Shakespeare Theater Company. Please make sure your cell phones are switched off, as they can prove distracting to other members of the audience and the performers. Flash photography is also not permitted. We hope you enjoy the show!”
Aaron silently counted down the seconds, then pulled the lever to raise the curtain. When it had almost reached the top, he pressed the button to change the cue light from red to green. Brian reached out his hand to the actress playing Hippolyta, former Queen of the Amazons, to his Theseus, Duke of Athens, and the performance was under way.
When the scene ended, he exited the stage and hurried to his dressing room to change into his next character, Oberon, king of the fairies. Charlotte would be there in a few seconds to dress him. He pulled open the drawer in his dressing table and moved the theater program covering the bottle aside, but at the sound of approaching footsteps, he closed it again. He stepped back from the dressing table just as Charlotte rushed in. Wordlessly, he swung around and turned his back to her so she could pull off his robe, help him switch shirts, and drape another cloak over his shoulders. Each knew what they had to do, and the costume change was swift and efficient. He turned to face her, and she changed wigs and placed a crown on his head, centering it.
“Let me see you,” she said, stepping back. “You look fine, but you seem very tense. Is the performance going all right?” A dark scowl crossed his face, and he clenched his fists.
“Fine,” he muttered. “I’m fine. But I do wish people would stop asking me how I feel.”
Charlotte opened the door. The voices of actors onstage drifted down the hallway, and she turned to Brian, signaling it was time for him to go and stepping to one side to let him pass.
The vanity of actors, she thought as he swept past her. Something’s got him wound up. Oh, well, it’ll have to wait, and we can sort him out later. She hung up the robe he’d just taken off and picked up the wig from the dressing table, placing it on its stand.
Her eye was drawn to the black-and-yellow corner of a theater program sticking out of the table drawer. She pulled out the drawer to close it properly, revealing a bottle of whisky half covered by the theater program. She picked up the bottle and, with some relief, noted it was unopened. She hesitated, not knowing what to do, and then realizing it was neither her business nor hers to take, she put the bottle back where she’d found it, covered it up with the program, closed the drawer firmly, and hurried toward the backstage area. She stood in the wings, watching, as act two began with an exchange between Puck and a fairy. A few moments later, Brian, as Oberon, entered from one side of the stage, and the actress playing Titania, queen of the fairies, entered from the other.
“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,” said Brian. The actress playing Titania carried most of the dialogue at the beginning of the scene, but as it unfolded, Brian had more and more lines. Charlotte hoped he wouldn’t forget them and moved closer to the prompt desk to warn Ray that Brian was on edge and might be headed for trouble. As she slid into the empty chair beside Ray, he glanced briefly at her, then returned his attention to the prompt book. Charlotte said nothing but, with rising apprehension, watched as the actress playing Titania and a couple of other actors left the stage.
“Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this grove . . .” Brian was saying as a door at the rear of the theater opened, allowing a burst of bright light to flood in. Two dark figures, silhouetted in the smoky light beaming down on the stage, made their way down the aisle.
“Is this row four?” Gino Bartucci asked a seated audience member in his normal speaking voice.
“I think those are our seats right there.” His wife pointed to two aisle seats, and they sat down. Gino took a sip from a water bottle just as Brian picked up his cue from the actor playing Puck.
“That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,
Flying between the cold moon and the earth
Cupid, all arm’d; a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west,
And loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow . . .”
Bartucci leaned forward to say something to his wife just as the James Bond theme song alerted everyone in the theater that his cell phone was ringing. As the theatrical illusion was shattered, Brian Prentice stopped speaking, stepped to the edge of the stage, and raising an arm, pointed at Bartucci and bellowed, “Switch that bloody thing off!” After a moment of stunned silence, the audience burst into applause.
As Brian returned to his place on the stage, Bartucci stood up, and with his wife running along behind him trying to keep up, the two left the theater. When the door had closed behind them, Brian took a moment to refocus, then picked up where he’d left off, and the play resumed.
Charlotte covered her face with her hands, and Ray put his arm around her.
She lowered her hands and remarked, “Well, there goes our funding.”
The curtain calls over, the clapping subsided and the audience members gathered up their belongings and began to file out. After sending Aaron along with Brian to help him change and saying good-bye to Ray, who had gone home to check on Rupert, Charlotte caught up with Lynda.
“Well, what did you think?” Charlotte asked. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I certainly did. It was terrific when that actor gave Bartucci what he deserved. What’s that old saying? ‘Money can’t buy class’?”
“Well, I suppose anybody’s cell phone can go off in the middle of a performance—it’s certainly happened before and in better theaters than this. And if we had proper ushering staff at the main door, the Bartuccis never would have been allowed to enter in the middle of a scene. They’d have been made to wait until a suitable break in the play, maybe even until the next act. But the audience certainly supported Brian. He hasn’t had an ovation like that in years.”
“Well, I did enjoy the play. It’s been too long since I’ve seen a performance here. When you live somewhere, you don’t take as much advantage of what the area has to offer, as visitors do.”
“Oh, I know what you mean. How many people who live in London have been to the Tower? And yet in the summer, you can’t move because of tourists.”
They’d reached the small backstage rehearsal room, where a couple of bottles of wine in ice buckets and light refreshments awaited them.
“Could I get you a glass of wine, Lynda?” Charlotte offered. “Red or white?”
“No, not for me, thanks. I don’t drink anymore, but a mineral water would be just fine.”
“Still or sparkling?”
“Still, please.”
Charlotte poured her a glass and handed it to her. “I suppose if there’d been any news of Mandy, you’d have told me.”
Lynda picked at a napkin.
“Yes, I would have. It’s just awful. One of the worst things is, I’ve been so tempted to start drinking again.” She gave the glass of water in her hand a slight tip. “Sometimes this just isn’t enough.”
Before Charlotte could reply, Aaron and Simon entered, discussing the night’s performance.
Excusing herself, Charlotte joined them.
“Where’s Brian?” she asked Aaron.
“In his dressing room. He said he didn’t need me anymore and wanted a few minutes to gather himself. Said he’d be along in a few minutes.”
She let out a small sigh and then pulled Simon aside. “I think Brian’s about to start drinking again,” she said in a low voice. “I found a bottle of whisky in his dressing table. I think you should check up on him right away, just in case.”
Simon tilted his head to one side. “Not sure I’m comfortable with that. I’m not his nanny, and if Brian chooses to drink, well, that’s his business, isn’t it?”
Saving him the trouble of having to make a decision, Brian himself appeared in the doorway with Paula Van Dusen by his side.
“Good,” said Simon. “There he is. Problem solved.”
“Still, I hope everything’s all right with him. Not just for the theater company, but for him. For Brian, personally,” said Charlotte. “For health reasons. For his well-being.”
“Yeah. Well, there’s definitely something going on with him. And now I’ve got to deal with the fallout from what happened onstage tonight. When actors step out of character like that and break the fourth wall, it’s a big deal. I’ll speak to him tomorrow and see . . .” His voice trailed off as a slight commotion in the doorway drew everyone’s attention. “Oh, God,” said Simon. “Just what we need. Who let him in?”
Fletcher Macmillan took a moment to survey the room, and then, fixating on Simon and waving his reporter’s notebook, made a beeline for him.
“Simon, old chap, how are you?” he said, reaching into his pocket for a pen. “Listen, I got a tip something happened in the theater tonight, so I hurried right over. Something involving Brian Prentice. What can you tell me about it?”
Simon said simply, “Here’s your quote, Fletcher. ‘A member of the audience’s cell phone rang during the performance, causing Brian Prentice, in the role of Oberon, to lose concentration, so he asked the gentleman to switch it off.’ How’s that? Will that do you?”
“Well, it’s a start, I suppose, but I suspect there was rather more to it than that. I see Brian over there, so I’d like to hear his side of the story. And this gentleman, the one with the cell phone, you wouldn’t happen to know who it was, would you?”
“It’s a theater, Fletcher,” said Charlotte. “It’s dark. You know how it is. It’s difficult to see who’s in the audience across the footlights.”
Macmillan’s eyes narrowed, and his head tipped downward and turned slightly to one side.
“Right. Well, I’m still going to talk to Brian and hear what he’s got to say for himself.” As Macmillan approached Brian, Paula left him to join Simon and Charlotte.
“How’s Brian doing?” Charlotte asked her. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him since the performance ended.”
“Well, I don’t know him as well as you do, of course, but he doesn’t really seem himself. I got to his dressing room just as Aaron was leaving, and he seemed a bit agitated. Jumpy. Could be a result of what happened during the performance, I suppose. And there’s that Fletcher Macmillan snooping around.”
“Won’t be long until he finds out who Brian shouted at, and then he’ll have a real story,” Charlotte said.
“Bartucci that newsworthy, is he?” asked Simon.
“I’m sure he likes to think so, but I suspect only when he’s in control of the content. I don’t know what he’ll do if this gets out. And I hope it won’t affect Brian too badly.”
“Well, maybe it won’t get out. Let’s just hope Brian isn’t saying too much to Macmillan. Hopefully the theater was dark enough from his vantage point onstage and with the light in his eyes that he didn’t recognize Bartucci from the dinner party.”
“We shouldn’t have left them alone together,” said Charlotte. “Excuse me.” She touched Paula Van Dusen lightly on the arm and left to join Brian and Fletcher Macmillan. Lynda Flegg, who had remained near the drinks table, hovered nearby, keeping a concerned eye on Brian.
“And that’s the trouble with theatergoers today,” Brian was saying. “It used to be that going to the theater was a proper night out. People dressed up for it. Now, people treat it much too casually instead of with the respect it deserves.”
“Oh, you are so right, Sir Brian,” said Macmillan. Although Brian Prentice had never been knighted, Macmillan had somehow got it into his head that he had, and liking the sound of his name with a title in front of it and fully believing himself overdue for a knighthood anyway, Brian had never bothered to correct him. He suspected, however, that Macmillan knew the truth, and calling him “sir” had become a little joke between them.
“Hello again, Fletcher. I wonder if I might have a word,” Charlotte asked. “But before we do, I’d like to introduce Brian to Lynda Flegg. Lynda, would you be so kind as to fix Brian a drink? I’m sure he’d like what you’re having.”
“Sure.” Understanding what Charlotte meant, Lynda smiled at Brian and picked up a glass.
“Fletcher,” Charlotte said, turning back to him, “I’d be so grateful if you’d do something for us. That lady, Lynda Flegg, her dog was recently stolen from the groomers, and we’re desperate to get her back. Could you please talk to Lynda and do a story on the theft? The kind of publicity only you can bring might be just what we need to find it. I don’t know why we didn’t think of contacting you sooner. The missing dog’s a white poodle called Mandy.”
“Sorry, no can do. We don’t do stories about missing pets, or there’d be no room for real stories.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Charlotte. “Are you sure?”
“Well,” said Fletcher, “unless you have something to offer me. A name perhaps? Now that you’ve had a few minutes to think about it, maybe something has occurred to you about that incident in the theater involving Brian?”
“Actually, Fletcher,” said Charlotte, “I do have a name for you. Paula Van Dusen. She likes dogs, and I’m sure she’d be very grateful to you if you ran that story to help us find Lynda Flegg’s lost dog.”
Macmillan smiled. “You know, I think she would, too. I’ll have to clear it with my editor, of course.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll go along with it. Would you like Paula to have a word with him?”
“That won’t be necessary. Now I’d better ask Lynda for some photographs.” Lynda’s brown eyes glistened as Fletcher told her the local paper would run a story on her missing Mandy and asked her to send him a few photographs. Her hand trembled as she reached for her phone.
“You don’t have to do it right this minute, dear girl,” he said. “Tomorrow will be fine. I’ll ring you in the morning to get all the details of the abduction.” And then, hugely satisfied that he had much bigger fish to fry with the Brian Prentice incident, he sauntered off.
“Brace yourself, Brian,” said Charlotte. “He’ll be off to call in your story to the New York Times.”
“Oh, really? Too bad we don’t have a video of it,” he said. “It certainly gingered up my performance. I felt invincible after that. Haven’t felt that on top of things in years.”
“The audience loved it,” said Lynda. “And they loved you.”
“Do you really think so? How kind of you to say. Yes, they did seem to appreciate it, didn’t they?” said Brian. “Well, it was lovely to meet you, Lynda, but all in all it was rather an exhausting performance, so I think I’ll be off home. Must just say good night to everybody.”
“Good night, Brian.”
They watched as Brian spoke to a few people, including Paula Van Dusen, who placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Almost imperceptibly, he shrank back from her touch and continued on his way out the door.
“Brian’s in danger of relapsing, I think,” said Lynda, lowering her voice. “I recognized the signals from my own experience. He’s headed for a dangerous place, if he’s not already there. I gave him my card and told him to phone me if he feels like he’s going to take a drink. Recovery is a long, hard road, and often at this point, people feel they’ve got it all under control and a drink or two won’t hurt. They think they can handle it. But in a twelve-step program, we say, ‘While you’ve been resting on your laurels, your disease is out on the front lawn doing push-ups.’”
“I hope he will call you,” said Charlotte. “Would it be acceptable for you to call him in a day or two to see how he’s doing, or is that . . .”
“As long as he doesn’t feel I’m checking up on him or judging him in any way,” said Lynda. “You hear about actors and musicians—creative people—having fragile egos, and I wouldn’t want to upset him or say anything that could possibly tip him over the edge.”
“Yes, you’re right. We’ve been asking him if he’s okay, and he’s getting fed up with it. Wants us to leave him alone. It’s hard to know what to do for the best.”
“If he were just an ordinary guy, I’d offer to take him to an AA meeting, but he’d be uncomfortable going to one in Walkers Ridge. He’d be afraid of being recognized. We could find one somewhere further afield, though, where he could be anonymous.”
“Simon and I really want him to be okay, for a lot of reasons.”
“Because you’re good people,” smiled Lynda. “I’ll do what I can. And Walkers Ridge is no different than any other place. All kinds of people here have the same problem. Paula Van Dusen’s husband, for example, had a drinking problem, and so did Mr. Middleton, who owned the house you’re interested in.”
“I am interested in that house, and I’m also interested in Gino Bartucci. In fact, I’m sorry that unfortunate business with Brian meant they left. I was hoping to talk to them tonight, to learn more about them. And after what you told me about the Manhattan real estate world, I can’t help wondering if there could be a real estate connection to Hugh Hedley’s murder. What do you think?”
“Me? Haven’t got a clue. It’s possible, I guess. But I do understand now how ordinary people can be moved to kill someone.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because if I ever find out who took my Mandy, I’ll be so tempted to kill them myself.”
“Kill who?” asked Paula Van Dusen, who had joined them in time to catch the last of what Lynda was saying.
“The thugs who stole her dog from the groomer’s,” said Charlotte. “You must have heard about that.”
“No, I haven’t,” said Paula. “Tell me what happened.”
Lynda told her story, to Paula’s dismay and indignation.
“So if you haven’t heard about it,” said Charlotte, “it’s just as well that Fletcher Macmillan’s agreed to do a story about it, so hopefully more people will be on the lookout for Mandy.”
“Fletcher Macmillan! That awful man,” said Paula as the three of them laughed lightly. “I’ve never been able to figure him out. Such a social climber. And a name-dropper.”
“Well, speaking of name-dropping,” said Charlotte, “I’m afraid I just dropped yours to get Fletcher Macmillan to do the story on Lynda’s missing dog. Hope that was okay.”
“Absolutely!” agreed Paula. “If that’s what it takes. And I’d be happy to offer a reward for Mandy’s safe return, if that’ll help.”
“Oh, I’m sure it would,” said Lynda. “Thank you.”
“Right,” said Paula. “I’ll call Fletcher myself and tell him.” She brightened. “I was happy to see during the performance that Bottom’s still getting some use out of the mink hat.”
“Oh, yes,” said Charlotte. “I meant to ask you if we could keep it. Obviously we can’t use the old donkey’s head, and the actor really loves the lightness of the hat. We’d like to put better ears on it, if we can keep using it.”
“Oh, by all means,” agreed Paula. “I don’t need it. Nobody’s worn that old thing in years.”
“Donkey’s years!” said Charlotte. As everyone laughed, she added, “We were fortunate you were able to sort it out so quickly during the performance. There really wasn’t much delay at all, not so the audience would have noticed, anyway.”
“Yes, I’m surprised I was able to find it,” Paula said. “I rely on Phyllis for that sort of thing because she knows where everything is kept, but she had so many things to attend to that night, including getting ready for the after party, she couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“Has she been with you long?” asked Charlotte.
“Oh, gosh, let me see. Must be about twenty-five years. She used to work for my mother-in-law, and I inherited her, you might say. I don’t know what we’d do without her. Oh, and by the way, Charlotte, I’m still waiting for you to come and pick up that dress Belinda wants you to have. Phyllis will see to it for you.”