Peter McNab read the latest reviews and remarks about his play. He hated having to use his computer this much, constantly refreshing the screen to see any new comments about Death of a Philanderer. Generally, the play received positive notes. The ratings ranged from three to four stars out of five. That meant it was well liked but fell well short of his expectations. The casual theatregoer was generally more favourable in their assessment but the local newspapers were harsh in their appraisal. He read out loud the review by Kerry Jones, a well-known columnist who covered the arts in a weekly newspaper feature.
“Death of a Philanderer has some interesting moments but just fails to reach the level it is capable of. Obviously, the play is meant to be a dark comedy, but the wooden acting undermines its success. Some of the lines were delivered so flat, the audience was left wondering if they should laugh or remain silent. The play opens where a house party was taking place, and one should assume the characters were all familiar with each other. Instead, the acting led us to believe they were merely strangers placed together. I give this play three popcorn kernels. Perhaps by the end of the Fringe festival our actors will be more comfortable performing in front of an audience.”
He slapped his hand on the desk, crossed his arms, and glared at the offending screen. Words taunted him as he read other reviews.
“Good play, but in the end, not memorable.”
“The play showed promise, but I can’t say it delivered. Just sort of petered out.”
“Death of a Philanderer came so close, but next week no one will remember it.”
His teeth worked against themselves. His arms moved about, crossed again, and finally cradled his neck.
“Damn actors. It’s a great play. If only they could act out their lines and characters the way I intended.” He stood. “I gave Paul the lead role. Why the hell couldn’t he focus on the play as much as he does on that damn woman?” He paced about the tiny room available in his office, his voice gaining substance. “It’s his fault my play—my play!—is not receiving the recognition it deserves. He shall pay the price for this fiasco.” He breathed in slowly, and in his best Shakespearean voice bellowed, “Boldness be my friend!”
Conner opened her apartment door. “Hi, Janet.”
“Hi, Tanya.” Gourneau stepped inside the living room. “I brought wine.” She smiled as she held the bottle in the air.
“I’ll get the glasses.” Conner went to the kitchen. “What did you want to see me about? It sounded important in your text.”
“A couple of things.” She poured wine into the two glasses and took one from Conner. “I see we’re alone.”
“Paul had some things to do. He’ll be back later to drive me for the next performance.”
“Okay.” She held up her glass. “To us.”
Conner touched her glass against Gourneau’s. “To us.” She sat on the couch, joining Gourneau, and took a drink of her wine. “You wanted to talk, so, here we are.”
“What do you know about Paul?”
“A fair bit. Why?”
“Do you know what happened in Calgary with Paul? He ran over a little girl after drinking.” Gourneau watched Conner’s face after her revelation.
“I know, he told me. He wasn’t drunk. That little girl ran right in front of him. There wasn’t anything he could do.”
“Maybe. It looks like he didn’t have to pay for her death. No fine or time in jail. Hell, he didn’t even have his licence suspended.”
Conner crossed her arms. “How do you know this?”
“I’m a reporter. I know how to dig up facts.”
“Okay, the fact is he was so distraught about what happened, he started using his second name and moved here. He paid plenty for what happened in Calgary. Not in money or in jail time, but in his mind. He’s a good man, and a terrible thing happened, but that doesn’t change that he’s a good man.”
Gourneau was silent, thinking. “Okay, maybe I was wrong. It sounds like he’s okay after all. I didn’t want to see you get hurt by a guy that wasn’t being honest with you.”
“He’s honest with me. I trust him.”
“All right.” She took another drink of her wine and refilled the glass. “I’m going back to New Zealand at the end of the month. Tanya, I never stopped loving you. I know this sounds sudden but will you think about joining me in New Zealand? You can stay as long as you want. No pressure. I realize I miss you so much.”
Conner dropped her jaw slightly. “I can’t, as much as I care for you too, I just can’t. My life is here. And there’s Paul. I feel very close to him. I think he’s a perfect man for me. Jan, what we had was wonderful and you’ll always be more than just a friend to me.” She took her hand. “We’ll always be connected, even when you live half a world away.”
“Thanks. I had to ask.”
“More wine?”
Paul was surprised when he returned to Conner’s apartment. The two women were sitting close to each other on the couch and giggling over a private joke. Gourneau noticed him, stood, and finished off the bit of wine in her glass.
“I best be going.” She walked up to Church and placed a hand on his shoulder as she walked past him. “Take good care of her. She’s very special.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
After Gourneau left, Church poured himself a drink. “Did you have a good time with Janet?” He looked at the glasses on the table.
“We did. We talked about the old times we had together. But that’s in the past. This is the present and I’m here with you.”
He smiled. “All right. It’s good you connected with her again.”
“Thanks. Can you drive me in the morning to the Walterdale? I know parking is a hassle but the bus to get there takes forever.”
“Not a problem.”
In the morning, Paul Church dropped Conner off near the Walterdale Theatre and then drove to park a few blocks away. The popularity of the Fringe had swallowed much of the parking, forcing a desperate search for spots that evaporated faster than a cold beer on a hot day. He finally found a parking spot and made his way to the theatre, drinking from a bottle of water. He made his way to the stage, he saw that Peter McNab was acting even more agitated than usual. He went to the back of the stage area and exchanged a kiss with Tanya Conner.
“What’s with Peter?”
Conner pulled his arm, leading him away from others nearby. She whispered to him. “It’s not good. He muttered that tonight could be the last performance for some of us. He ranted something about all of us needing acting lessons and he mentioned your name in particular.”
“Shit.”
“I don’t know if it means anything, but I saw Dana Sharpe here earlier. She came in through the actors’ door as if she belonged to our troupe and then just walked around saying hello to everyone.”
“Did she say why she was here?”
“She mumbled something about wanting to see the play she almost had a part in.”
“Where is she now?”
Conner waved a hand at the dark area where the audience sat. “Somewhere out there. She went to sit where the seating is.”
“Interesting and a little strange.”
Tyler Burgess came up to them. “Have you noticed anything peculiar going on here?”
Church responded, “What do you mean? Besides Dana being here.”
“That man standing next to Peter. He’s an actor, I think his name is Crestman. In any event, I saw him last year in a play. Quite good. But I wonder what he may be conversing with our director about. A possible replacement for one of our characters, perhaps?”
Conner frowned. “If that’s what Peter is planning, then he’s gone too far.”
Church crossed his arms. “To hell with him. Let’s put on our play and make the audience love us.”
“Tanya.”
Conner looked over to where people were filing into the seats. “Jan! What are you doing here?”
Janet Gourneau held up a ticket. “I thought I should support you and the play by actually buying a ticket.” She gave Conner a long hug, and a kiss on the cheek. She looked at Church. “Nice seeing you again, Paul.” Her smile was brief.
Paul nodded. “You’re getting to be a regular live theatregoer.”
“I know what I like.” She glanced at Conner, “I better sit down and let you guys get ready.”
Conner called out as Gourneau walked away. “Perhaps we’ll see you after the show.”
Gourneau replied as she twisted back, “Can’t. I have another commitment.”
Church put his arm around Conner’s waist. “I think she’s a little too interested in the play or, at least, in one of the performers.”
“Sorry, I know how it looks. But while I do care for her, it’s you I want to be with. I promise there’s no desire for me to be other than a friend to her.”
“Okay, thanks.” They broke apart as they reached the back of the stage. “Time to change and kick some butt on our performances.”
Church stood in the centre of the stage, listening to Brenda Thompson speak. He felt too warm in his trench coat as he acted out his second character in the play, Harry Rush. So far, the audience was enjoying the play, laughing at the lines and antics of the characters. Unlike the first few performances, he felt at ease and more comfortable with his lines and that seemed to make a huge difference on how the crowd was reacting to the murder mystery. The other personnel in the play took a cue from him. They all seemed more relaxed and able to present the play as it was intended.
“I thought he was cute. We had sex a few times. And he was a very good dancer.”
“I thought you went out with Jon?”
“I did. Also, with Jaret. Also, with... Let’s just say I’m a people person.”
The audience laughed as Thompson gave a shrug and a smile.
“This is all very interesting but one of you did murder this poor handsome fella.” Harry referred to his first character, Jaret, who now was represented by cushions under a blanket. Some of the audience understood his self-compliment and chuckled.
Church began to nibble from the food platter on a coffee table. After a couple of bites, he picked up a knife to cut a slice of cheese.
Immediately, Jessica Knowles exclaimed, “What are you doing?! What if that’s the knife used to stab Jaret?”
Church acted startled and began to juggle the knife before it fell to the floor. He made an exaggerated jump back as he peered at the knife. “Stabbed with this knife? Why am I the last to know how he was killed?”
Church raised his arms in the air, clearly showing his annoyance. He heard the laughter from beyond the stage, pleased at their response. “Well, this actually helps a lot.”
The professor, played by Burgess, asked, “How? By touching the knife you’ve put your own fingerprints on it over the killer’s.”
Church responded by lifting his nose in the air and lectured, “Your comment is something someone less skilled in detective work would make. However, this knife was not the weapon used to commit murder.” He picked up the knife, waving it around for emphasis. The rest of the actors stepped back away from him. “You see, there isn’t any blood on this knife. Therefore, it was not used to kill our victim. That means the real knife used in this hideous crime is still here.”
Church could only make out the rows of the seats closest to the stage. From what he could see, the audience was peering intently at him, listening to him speak. This is how it’s supposed to work.
Church escorted Burgess off the stage, arresting him for the murder of Church’s first character, Jaret, in the play. Once out of sight of the audience, Church hurried to the dressing room upstairs to change into the clothes of Jaret. Church’s final appearance was now the spirit of Jaret, thanking the spectators for attending the play, Death of a Philanderer. Jaret wore a long-sleeved shirt, which covered his arms, but the rest of his exposed skin needed to be white to give a white ghostly appearance. Church put on white latex gloves, and Jessica Knowles entered the dressing room.
“Great job acting.” She sat next to Church in front of the long makeup table. “We have had our differences but this performance went well.”
“Thanks.”
“Now, let’s get you into the spirit of things.”
Church chuckled. “Now, that was funny.”
As Jessica Knowles struggled to open the container of Kryolan white powder, Church looked up seeing Conner enter the dressing room, giving him a lover’s smile. Behind her, leaning against the doorframe, Burgess stood watching.
Knowles finally twisted the lid off the powder container. “That’s odd. I’m sure I didn’t leave it on this tight last time.” She let the lid roll on the tabletop and picked up one of the brushes lying on the table. She quickly applied the white powder on his face using a wide brush on his forehead and cheeks. Next, she used a smaller brush on the areas near his eyes and nose.
“Okay, all done.” She gave a smirk. “You actually look pretty good as a ghost.”
Suddenly, a squeal came from the open doorway. Church and the others looked over, and Burgess peered down the stairwell. He returned his gaze to the others in the dressing room. “Nothing serious. Brenda found a spider on her arm.”
Church grinned. “I was worried for a moment Harry Rush would have another murder to solve.”
The others laughed.
Church stood. “Okay, let’s finish the play.” He walked back downstairs and entered the stage where the kitchen was situated in the play.
The lights came on and he repeated his final lines of the play. “... It has been said, all the world is a stage, and men and women are merely players. If that is true, then the players in this stage wish to thank this audience for coming to our play, and we hope you enjoyed Death of a Philanderer.” He raised his glass of wine to the audience and took a drink.
Suddenly, he felt dizzy. Confused, he placed the wineglass on the kitchen table and used his hand on the table edge to steady himself. He took in several slow breaths and half stumbled to the doorway leading to the living room.
With his monologue complete, the rest of the cast entered the centre of the living room stage and he joined them, standing in front of them. He gasped for his breath, trying to focus on the crowd at the edge of the stage. As the audience applauded, he bowed with the rest of the performers.
He made his way toward the exit of the stage, only partially aware of someone speaking to him.
Tanya Conner whispered to him, “You killed it. Now Peter can take it and shove it. We’re now all actors who performed a play the audience loved.”
He walked off stage, gripping Tanya’s hand.
“After you change, let’s go for a celebration drink.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Are you okay?”
“Just a bit dizzy.” The words rushed out.
“I’ll help you to the dressing room.” Conner took his arm and helped him upstairs and to the makeup table. “Do you need help changing, taking off the makeup?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” He waited until Conner left, and began to wipe off the white powder, tossing the tissues into the garbage along with his gloves. The dizziness faded, and he changed his shirt. He looked around the dressing room, feeling confused, and exited the room.
Church saw the others had already gathered at the side exit of the building. “Sorry, I guess I’m the slow one here.”
Conner gave him a hug. “That’s okay. Are you all right?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got a headache. I don’t feel so good.”
“Do you want to just go home?”
Before he could reply, several of the other actors congratulated him on his performance, letting him know he played his part perfectly. The lone exception was Donnelly, who ignored him. Donnelly did interact with the others briefly in one-sentence conversations.
Tyler Burgess felt good about overcoming his own nervousness. He noted that McNab had again turned down the offer to join the troupe in a celebratory drink, suspecting he didn’t want to lower himself to the level of mere actors. Donnelly, he decided, still was jealous of Church landing the leading role. Although a young woman was hugging his arm, Burgess could tell by his frequent glances he still had eyes for Conner. What a bit of a soap opera there is among this group. Jessica has eyes for Paul and not always the friendly kind either. I wonder what their history is? And what is Dana Sharpe doing here, joining in this group? What is she up to? A strange group indeed, and all drawn to a play that involves a murder written by a man with an ego bigger than the play itself.
Burgess followed his fellow actors out to the lobby, where a few of the theatre patrons recognized them. The actors, surprised at their newfound popularity, graciously conversed with whoever wanted to say hello. A couple of autographs were also handed out, with Church receiving the most attention.
Burgess wasn’t asked for any autographs, although a couple of ladies told him how they liked the play and his performance in it. He smiled nervously, not adept at being the centre of attention. He did mumble his thanks and appreciation and was glad he was able to continue his journey out of the lobby and into the cooler evening air.
He increased his pace to catch up to the others when he saw Church bend over. He heard him gasp, his mouth wide open. Then, in slow motion, Church bent at the knees and tumbled to the ground. Burgess couldn’t see Church easily at that point as the others crowded around him but saw his legs twitch. He reached Donnelly, who stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets. His girlfriend, he observed, looked more concerned about Church’s condition than Donnelly.
More passersby joined the circle around the prone Church. Conner wailed as she tried to shake his shoulders.
A young man pushed his way through. “I’m a nurse. What happened? Did he have an attack?” He pressed his fingers against Church’s neck. “Someone call 9-1-1!” He began to apply pressure on the chest of the lifeless body.
Burgess watched without emotion. Two uniformed first aid practitioners ran to Church and immediately took over from the nurse. The nurse stood, watching, and slowly shook his head. Burgess watched the scene unravel. A police officer pushed the crowd back from close proximity, and then, they began to ask questions and jotted down names. He saw Brenda Thomson comfort Conner as she sobbed on her shoulder. Burgess didn’t know what to do as he took in the overwhelming emotion.
“Sir, your name, sir?”
Burgess looked at the cop staring at him. “Sorry, Officer. Tyler Burgess.” He dug out one of his business cards, containing his contact information.
“Okay, someone will contact you later.” A pause. “Are you all right?”
Burgess processed the question. “Yes, thank you. I’m okay.” A death in real life is a lot different from the fictional murders I read about. I need a good stiff drink or two.