by Jennie Jones
On Saturday, they’d done a cue-to-cue tech rehearsal with Ted taking hundreds of photographs during the many technical breaks, and Ryan finding time to take dozens of shots of Ted as the dead body and Ted as the detective. Her actors had found the tech exciting since it was the first time they’d seen the lights in action and heard the music and all the sound effects. The first time they’d all been in full costume and used all the props too. There’d been some bumping around, and going back to try entrances and lighting cues a second or third time, but that was the reason for the tech. Get the technicalities right.
The first dress rehearsal yesterday had been for all—cast and crew. It had gone fairly smoothly, but the second dress had flowed and given Edie a rush of pleasure and satisfaction.
There was now just under an hour until curtain up—not that they had a proscenium arch, let alone a curtain, but it was theatrical terminology and everybody used it. In about five minutes the barn doors would be opened and their audience would start arriving, at which point they’d need to make themselves scarce and head backstage, where they’d wait until Ryan called beginners to the stage.
There had been a fair amount of noise and chatter going on in the auditorium as Mrs Tam and Mrs Ormond settled themselves at the box office by the door—a trestle table with their ticket books. Olivia had efficiently set up the front-of-house bar and was sorting through order books so people could order drinks for the interval, which would reduce the queue. Ted’s daughters were handling the ice-cream counter.
Edie had asked them all to give the actors five minutes alone and they’d trooped out.
The barn was quiet, but the atmosphere was heavy with adrenaline. The house lights were on, although dimmed. The only lights on stage were the utility lights, not the bank of stage lights, and the only noise penetrating the silence now was that of raw energy, of expectancy and a little fear. Plus Dapple-Dancer’s munching of carrots offstage left. But she was part of the cast too.
Tony squeezed her hand. ‘Line,’ he said quietly.
She smiled up at him.
This was their own personal ritual, used every time they worked together, and spoken before every single show. A long time ago when they were in drama school, fresh and electrified with excitement—and a fair amount of show-off bravado—they’d had the fright of their lives. A fifteen-minute scene with only Edie and Tony on stage. Tony had dried halfway through the scene and Edie had been stumped too. They hadn’t rehearsed enough, they hadn’t learned their lines well enough and they floundered for a full two minutes, struggling to find their place in the scene. Tony had called ‘Line’ and the stage manager had given him the line, which was, ‘Let’s go back to the beginning’.
It was shocking enough to have to ask for a prompt! Mortifying for both of them. Edie and Tony had stared at each other, still in character, but taut with horror at not knowing their lines in front of an audience of two hundred and fifty, who had gone shockingly quiet. Neither had been able to comprehend that ‘Let’s go back to the beginning’ was Tony’s next line in the scene—both thought the stage manager meant them to go back to the very start of the scene which had led to a further full minute of confusion and dread. Somehow, they’d got out of it, and neither could remember how. But bravado had been tempered that night and the twenty-yearold actors had become professionals. They’d learned each other’s lines in the scene after that terrifying moment of sheer, blinding panic.
So their little ritual was three-fold. Tony said, ‘Line,’ and Edie responded with, ‘Let’s go back to the beginning,’ at which point, they’d smile wryly at the memory of being shocked out of their skins, and at the wish they were giving to each other that no harm befall them.
She was about to respond with her line when Simon ran onstage, banging into a flat and making it shake, and she forgot about finishing her ritual with Tony.
‘Sorry! So sorry,’ Simon said, puffing. ‘Had trouble with my costume and then I couldn’t find the toolbelt. Got it now.’
Edie gave him a stern look, then removed it and smiled instead. He’d broken the quiet and the concentration, and now she’d have to get it back. Magdalena stepped aside to allow him into the circle and he took hold of her hand, and Ted’s.
‘So what are we doing?’ Simon asked.
‘We’re having a group hug,’ Magdalena said.
‘It’s a pep talk,’ Ted said. ‘To get us in the mood.’
‘All of you,’ Edie interrupted in a soft-toned voice. ‘You’ve put in so much time and commitment.’ She was pleased to see they all quietened down in thought and were concentrating on her. ‘Tonight, we’re full of energy and adrenaline—and nerves. But remember this: you know what you’re doing. Don’t break your concentration. Use the energy and the adrenaline to stay focused.’
Everyone was watching and listening intently. Simon seemed a bit distracted and his hand kept twitching in Magdalena’s. His frown of concentration looked contrived, but perhaps it was nerves. He’d done a few amateur shows before but maybe Edie had insisted on too much professionalism, although she wouldn’t apologise for that. Her cast deserved her best attention and direction.
‘Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for being so wonderful.’
There was a moment of silence, as the full impact of what they were about to do cast its gravity on their shoulders.
‘It’s okay to feel scared,’ she told them. ‘We all do. Every time. Every opening night and every night thereafter. But we’re rehearsed. You stick to what you’ve done in rehearsal and you’ll be fine. You’ll get laughs, and you’ll get applause—pause when it happens.’ Oh, God, she felt for them. It was like throwing ducklings at a fox. ‘But stay in character. Just wait a few moments, then carry on.’
‘I certainly don’t feel like corpsing,’ Ted said, looking sickly beneath his makeup.
‘I’m glad I don’t have too many lines,’ Magdalena said in a tremulous voice.
Edie’s heart warmed when she saw Ted squeeze Magdalena’s hand, giving her reassurance. No matter what happened between these two, at least they were friends.
‘Break a leg, everyone,’ Ted said.
Edie smiled. ‘Thanks, Ted. But just so you know—here in Australia, we say chookas.’
‘Oh right. Well, chookas then. I hope I haven’t buggered up our success by wishing us all a broken leg.’
‘You haven’t,’ Edie assured him.
She waited a few moments, breathing in the atmosphere, then she broke the circle. ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’
27
Who Shot the Producer?
‘This is your half-hour call,’ Ryan said to the cast, popping his head around the dressing-room door.
Edie checked over her shoulder and smiled her thanks. I’m still here, her heart said.
The male cast had gathered in the ladies’ dressing room now that everyone was costumed up and ready. Tony was reading the newspaper, Magdalena was doing side bends and Ted was pacing.
Ryan noted her smile of thanks by giving her a single nod, eyes devoid of expression, which ran right through her heart like a sword.
He looked so damned big and gorgeous, dressed in black as were all the crew. A black long-sleeved T-shirt, black jeans, and perhaps a black look in his eye.
Why was he so mad at her? It’s all she could think—that he was angry. Probably because she’d shunned him. She’d hurt him, maybe, but she’d asked for time out as much for him as for herself. More for him.
He turned and headed behind the dressing rooms where her crew, Gemma and her twins, were waiting to take up their position at the sound and lighting board, and where Dapple-Dancer and Josh waited outside the side barn door, the horse chomping happily on grass.
Simon left the dressing room, heading towards the backstage area and Edie frowned. Maybe he was going to the toilet. He seemed just as nervous as Ted and Magdalena, which she hadn’t expected. She ought to cut him some slack. The simpleton groom wasn’t on until Act II. He had to sit,
nursing his nerves, right through Act I and the interval. She knew what that felt like, even with experience of having done dozens of plays. Even Tony, seemingly so calm reading his newspaper, would be slightly tense until he set foot on stage. That was the moment the rush of fear left and the character took over.
The tenseness remained for the next twenty minutes or so. She ran an eye over her cast again. Everything normal, she thought, a contentment settling inside her because this was her place. This was the spot she’d taken in the world for the last ten years. A crummy rehearsal room, a dressing room, a theatre, and an opening night.
‘Do-re-me-lah-ahhh!’ Magdalena sang, warming up her vocal cords. Fortunately, she didn’t have to sing in the play.
‘A little quieter please, Magdalena,’ Edie asked. ‘The audience is out front.’ The backstage partitions were only thin, although they were far enough behind the stage to talk and go through quick word runs of a scene.
The contentment she felt was a professional responsiveness, but personally, it was shattered when she thought about Ryan not talking to her. This last week they’d only spoken about things to do with the play, and about her protection. Not that anything bad had happened, or was likely to now.
Edie had spoken to Damien and given her apologies. The man Damien had taken up with, and the radio announcer who’d been spurned, another two actresses and a costume designer, plus Polly and Dick who’d been threatened by Marcus, had come together via their lawyers, to debate and discuss what they wanted to do. None of them wanted the fallout a revelation would bring if any photographs got out. They wanted vengeance but not to hurt their families or friends—or indeed, their careers. Neither did Edie. She just wanted it all over so she could take a breath and figure out how to handle the next few months without falling apart.
The lawyer Jonathon had hired for Damien and Edie was the main man, coordinating with the other lawyers and making all the arrangements.
Of course, she was the only one of those whom Marcus had damaged whose name had been splashed across the tabloids and glossy magazines. She didn’t see it as positive publicity in any way, even though they’d stopped with the Actress Has Affair headlines after her lawyer insisted Marcus make a statement deflecting this and saying it was nothing more than a contemptible rumour.
Edie dabbed powder on her made-up face, then drew a breath and looked into the eyes reflected in the mirror.
Whatever she was facing, whether it was a crisis, a challenge, or an opportunity, only time would tell.
The decision she’d made had been surprisingly easy in the end, and it had come in a flash. She hadn’t had to deliberate—not for a single moment. As soon as she closed the door between her and Ryan after he’d told her he was no longer going to sleep in her bed, she’d known. In a heartbeat, the truth of what she wanted had struck her like the evocative strains of a symphony where the violins offered sadness and the clarinet, hopefulness.
I’d like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for this opportunity, David. And I’m so sorry to let you down, but I won’t be taking the role.
She hadn’t told Tony or Olivia that she’d spoken to Whitcombe, or that she’d turned the part down. Time enough for that after this week’s run. She’d asked David not to mention it until after her play had closed, and he’d agreed.
‘This is your five-minute call, people.’
Edie roused herself at the sound of Ryan’s voice. Five minutes until he called beginners to the stage. Another five minutes until the intro music swelled and she’d walk onstage for perhaps her last opening night ever.
‘Beginners, please,’ Ryan said. He watched as Tony folded his newspaper, stood, and stretched, as calm as you please. Ted was breathing hard and possibly sweating beneath his makeup. As soon as the house lights went down, Gemma would lead Ted to the armchair upstage where he’d stay dead for almost twenty minutes. A long time to keep still.
Edie rose, did a brief neck roll, and moved to the door, walking steadily, like a gracious hostess about to welcome her guests. Ted followed, then Tony.
Ryan gave Magdalena a reassuring wink. She’d be on about ten minutes into Act I. He checked Simon, who wasn’t on stage until the second act. He was sitting, head down, legs apart and hands clasped.
Ryan had a moment of concern. A black haze blinded him for a second, and his heart rate picked up the way it did when he was about to jump out of a moving vehicle and clear a building full of insurgents.
‘Everything all right, Simon?’
Simon looked up, produced one of his wide smiles and nodded.
Convinced this moment of panic had been nothing more than some sort of stage fright, Ryan left to follow his actors to the wings. Vince was sitting outside the dressing-room door, arms folded.
Ryan made his way to the stage manager’s prompt desk, noting that Gemma was stage left with Ted, waiting to cue him to get into place in the armchair as soon as the house lights dimmed and before the lights came up on the stage.
The air backstage had changed. The audience were in their seats, murmuring, waiting for the lights to go down in the auditorium, and the tension stage left was palpable.
He silently wished the cast and crew good luck, then took his headphones with a wand mic off the prompt desk and sat, ready to cue house lights down, music a go, as soon as he got clearance from Ethan, who was front of house, that all audience members were seated.
He was silent while he waited, but he had to admit, he felt the rush of expectancy—and maybe a little fear.
‘Standby sound cue fourteen,’ Ryan said to his nephew. Both kids had their cue sheet, and were listening and following the script. Ryan was just the manager, making sure neither had lost their place, especially since they were brand new to the job.
He glanced to his right. Ted was at the prop table, gathering the detective’s bits and pieces, ready to make his next entrance.
He kept his fingers crossed that Dapple-Dancer wouldn’t get an unexpected fright when she saw the auditorium filled with people. So far the horse had been quiet. This was Act II scene two. Simon had already made his first appearance and Ted, as the detective, had discovered the gun in the groom’s toolbelt and confiscated it.
Simon had come offstage pale and sweating and had gone straight to the toilet. Ryan thought he might have momentarily forgotten his lines at one point in his first scene, and supposed it was nerves. No matter how much bravado the man had, being under those lights and in front of a hundred people would be nerve-wracking. Ryan certainly wouldn’t want to do it. He’d rather jump naked out of a fast-moving vehicle.
Ryan had just cued Josh, who was with Dapple-Dancer in the wings, ready to make her walk onstage. Simon as the simpleton groom would charge onto the stage a few minutes later, apologising for having let her into the house and reiterating that the gun wasn’t his and he hadn’t shot the producer. At that point the detective would be brandishing the gun at the horse, interrogating it—which had the people who’d been hanging around during tech and dress rehearsals in stitches.
There’d been a lot of laughter tonight too, and much applause. Edie’s play was a hit. He was happy for her.
He glanced to his right. Ted was at the prop table, gathering the detective’s bits and pieces, ready to make his entrance.
Ryan adjusted the wand mic on his headset. ‘Five-minute call for Simon,’ he said.
‘Gotcha,’ Gem responded.
He found a smile. It was good being in charge of his big sister. She had to do what he said. A first.
‘Little brother, Simon needs the toilet.’
‘Again?’ This was getting ridiculous. ‘Tell him to make it quick.’
A couple of minutes later Ryan took his eyes off his script when the scene between Edie and Tony came up.
Envy found its way into his system, filtering from his head to his chest. The guy was gay and he had a long-time and devoted boyfriend. But still, he was kissing Ryan’s woman. Or at least, the woman he’d always think o
f as his.
Cam, who’d been wandering quietly backstage and who’d arrived at the prompt desk a few minutes ago, shifted at his side. ‘How does that make you feel?’ he asked in a lowered tone, his focus on the stage.
‘Don’t ask,’ Ryan said, and cued his niece to stand by for a lighting change.
Minutes later, Ted was onstage waving the gun about. Dapple-Dancer was upstage left, her rein loosely looped over the back of a dining-room chair—although Josh was offstage, holding a longer rein the audience wouldn’t necessarily see. ‘Gem?’ he said into his mic. ‘What’s happening?’ He’d cued her to fetch Simon minutes ago. The groom was due to run onstage in about forty seconds.
‘I can’t find him!’ Gem said. ‘He’s not here!’
Ryan’s gut kicked. He turned to Cam. ‘Simon’s not in the dressing room. Find Vince.’
Cam turned and ran to the back of the barn.
Ryan checked the stage, eyes keen and senses alert. That black sheet of panic crossed his vision again. He blinked it away.
Ted was aiming the gun at everyone onstage, as rehearsed. Except he had his finger on the trigger. Ryan let out a frustrated groan. He’d told Ted time and time again that a detective would never put his finger on the trigger.
He glanced at the others. Tony was up by the mock fireplace, drinking whisky—cold tea—from a cut-glass tumbler.
Edie had her back to Ryan, speaking her lines to the detective, attempting to get him to see reason about the horse not being able to answer his questions.
Where the hell was Simon?
A rise of laughter filled the auditorium, peppered with applause.
Ryan turned to the sound of soft, fast footsteps.
‘He’s gone,’ Cam said. ‘Skipped off in his truck. Vince is following him.’