Offed Stage Left

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “We’re on a five,” Sunil said, unfazed. “I thought I’d give you a heads-up before the rabble descends.”

  “You’re a pal,” Isobel said.

  She and Hugh pulled themselves together as the other actors invaded, in various states of grumbling and exhaustion, heading straight for the kitchenette. Isobel glanced at her watch. Nine thirty. They were called until midnight. She left Hugh and returned to the sideboard to retrieve her cup.

  “Hey, somebody took my coffee,” she said.

  Heather set the empty pot back on the hot plate after pouring out the last cup for herself. “I’ll make more.”

  “Thanks, but at this point, I probably shouldn’t. I’ll be up all night.” Hugh’s water was still in the microwave, so Isobel programmed another minute to reheat it. Heather rinsed out the coffeepot and measured heaping tablespoons of dark roast into a new filter.

  “How far did we get?” Isobel asked.

  “Not far enough,” Kelly said, coming up behind them. “We finished with Marissa and Chris, but the touring medley is next, and that will take a while.”

  After the break, Isobel followed the others back into the theater and took her place onstage next to Sunil. Most of the company doubled in this scene as Sousa’s band, wielding dented brass instruments on loan from a local high school. She mimed playing trombone, while Hugh and Oliver banged out “King Cotton” on the piano four-hands. Chris, as Sousa, shifted his weight from side to side as he pretended to conduct.

  “And…hold,” Kelly called.

  Chris mumbled something and dashed offstage.

  “I want to spike that bench,” Kelly continued. “Heather?”

  Isobel glanced into the wings, but the assistant stage manager was not at her desk.

  “I don’t see her.”

  “Dan?”

  When Kelly got no response from the tech director, she clambered over Ezra, who was folded into his seat, and jogged down the aisle to the stage. She climbed the utility stairs, then knelt down and made a tiny L in bright green tape on the floor by the front right corner of the bench.

  She rose and looked around. “Where did Chris go?”

  “He said he’d be right back,” said Talia Romano. Talia, a dark-haired, alabaster-skinned soprano, was playing Marjorie Moody, the opera singer who soloed with Sousa’s band. “Can I mark my aria when we get to it? I don’t want to sing full out this late.”

  “Yeah, whatever. We can’t wait for Chris. Sunil, can you cover?”

  Sunil started in surprise, and Isobel gave him a push forward. He took his place and raised his arms to conduct, flashing Isobel a smile, as if to say, “No worries. I’ve got this.” Hugh and Oliver started to play again, and Kelly trotted back down the steps.

  “Talia’s right. It’s getting late, so let’s skip to the—” She looked around. “Where’s Ezra?”

  “He took off like a bat out of hell a minute ago,” Thomas called from the back row, where he was basting a hem.

  “Where is everyone?” Kelly asked. Suddenly, her face went white. “Oh, shit!”

  And she, too, was down the aisle like a shot and out the main exit into the lobby. Isobel scrambled down the steps and ran out after her. As she reached the lobby, she saw the door to the women’s bathroom swing shut. She waited a moment and then followed Kelly in.

  “Kelly? Are you okay?”

  “Oh…man,” Kelly groaned from inside a stall.

  “Can I get you anything?” Isobel offered.

  “Noooo…”

  Isobel crept out of the bathroom and started back to the theater. On a whim, she crossed the lobby and inched open the door to the men’s bathroom.

  “Ezra?”

  “Get the fuck out of here!” he bellowed.

  She let the door slam, turned the corner down the hallway that led to the stage door, and hurried upstairs to the green room. Sunil was standing guard in front of the bathroom door.

  “Chris?” she asked.

  “Yup.”

  “It’s like everyone has stomach flu or something,” Isobel said. “Where’s Heather?”

  “Maybe the other bathroom?”

  He followed her down the hall, and she jiggled the doorknob. “Heather?”

  “Um…just a sec…”

  Isobel turned to Sunil. “Jeez. Anyone else?”

  “I hope not. We’re running out of bathrooms,” Sunil said.

  “There’s one in the vom, stage right.”

  They chugged downstairs and poked their heads into the pit, where Hugh and Oliver were chatting.

  “What’s up?” Hugh asked.

  “Not sure,” Isobel said. “A bunch of people seem to have been seized by a collective need to use the bathroom.”

  Oliver jerked his thumb to the right. “I saw Dan run past a while ago.”

  “We are now officially out of toilets,” Isobel declared.

  “Don’t the dressing rooms have them?” Hugh asked.

  “Some do, some don’t.” Isobel motioned to Sunil. “Come on. Let’s see who else we’ve lost.”

  Marissa was in the bathroom in the dressing room she shared with Arden, and Talia was now occupying Sunil and Chris’s.

  Isobel and Sunil returned to the stage, where Arden was standing dead center, irate.

  “Where the hell is everyone?”

  “Bathroom,” Isobel said.

  Arden narrowed her eyes. “All of them?”

  “Actually, yeah.”

  “Come on, chop, chop!” Jethro Hamilton strode down the aisle toward them. “We can’t afford to waste time. We open tomorrow night!”

  Sunil surveyed the remains of the decimated company. “Yes, but tech is for Kelly, Heather, Dan, and Ezra to work out the cues. It’s their rehearsal, not ours.”

  The door to the lobby opened, and Kelly staggered down the aisle, her face drenched with sweat.

  “Go home,” she bleated. “We’ll finish tomorrow.” She waved at Jethro. “Find Heather, and if you can’t, will you shut everything down? I just…can’t.”

  “Stomach flu isn’t this coordinated,” Sunil whispered to Isobel. “It must be food poisoning or something. Did they all eat the same thing for dinner?”

  “I don’t think so. Everybody scattered.” Suddenly light dawned. “But they all drank the same coffee.”

  FOUR

  ISOBEL FOUND IT DIFFICULT to sleep, partly because she kept replaying the nine-thirty break in the green room, and partly because Talia, who had the room next to her in the condo they shared with Hugh and Sunil, spent most of the night making horrible noises in the bathroom across the hall. Isobel tossed and turned, reminding herself that tomorrow was a big day—dress rehearsal followed by opening night—but that only increased her anxiety. She kept coming back to the coffee. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced somebody had put some sort of laxative in it.

  She remembered watching Heather make the second pot of coffee, and she hadn’t seen her add anything. More to the point, Heather had taken the last cup from the first pot and been sick, which meant that if the coffee was indeed the culprit, it was the first pot that had been tampered with. Isobel had poured herself a cup from that pot, but had left it untouched on the counter when she and Hugh had repaired to the sofa. Whoever had stolen her coffee saved her from a night of cramps and diarrhea. Ha! Served them right. Somebody must have slipped into the empty green room during rehearsal earlier and stirred the laxative into the pot.

  But who? And, more importantly, why?

  By the time Isobel dragged herself out of bed at ten the following morning, she had come to a disturbing conclusion, which she voiced to Sunil and Hugh over breakfast in the condo’s airy kitchen.

  “You really think someone is trying to sabotage the show?” Sunil asked, generously cream-cheesing a bagel.

  Isobel drummed her fingers on the pine table. “It’s three things, isn’t it? The masking, the note, and the coffee.”

  Hugh looked up from his tea. “What note?
”

  Isobel sighed and handed him the crumpled script page, which was still stuffed in her jeans pocket.

  “This isn’t funny.” He lifted his glasses off his nose and squinted at it more closely. “Who wrote this?”

  “That’s the question,” Isobel said. “Was it Arden threatening me, or was it someone else trying to make it look like I wrote it about Arden? Sunil thinks the former, but given everything else, I’m starting to think the latter. Especially if the masking wasn’t an accident.”

  “Perhaps the scribbler thought it was Arden’s script and was threatening her,” Hugh suggested.

  “A quick glance would ascertain that it was my script,” Isobel pointed out. “Emma’s lines are highlighted in yellow and Jennie’s are pink.”

  “Well, aren’t you organized, Hermione?” Sunil ribbed her.

  “Don’t you think it’s likely that the same person who wrote the note also loosened the masking and doctored the coffee?” She took a bite of Sunil’s bagel.

  “Hey, get your own!”

  Hugh handed the page back to Isobel. “If you’re right, then someone could be setting you up. You did pull down the masking, albeit accidentally, and you might have tampered with the coffee while my back was turned.”

  “You know I didn’t. And besides, I poured myself a cup.”

  “Which you never drank.” Hugh took her hand. “Look, I know you didn’t mess with the coffee. And I know exactly what kept you from drinking it. But to anyone else, all three things combined with—and please don’t take this the wrong way—your eagerness to step into the role, well, it does rather point the finger.”

  Isobel pushed away from him and stalked over to the refrigerator. She pulled a yogurt from the taped section on the bottom shelf marked “Isobel” and ripped off the foil top angrily.

  “Not helpful,” she snapped. “And besides, Arden didn’t get sick. So can we please focus on who might have done it instead of talking about how everyone thinks it was me?”

  “What was you?” Talia stumbled into the kitchen.

  Isobel rushed to her, glad of the distraction. “Are you feeling better?”

  “A little.” Talia sank gratefully into Isobel’s chair. “I don’t think I can eat anything, though.”

  Hugh jumped up. “Tea and toast. That’s the thing.”

  “If you say so,” Talia said, looking distinctly green.

  “I’m curious…did you have coffee on our break last night?” Isobel asked.

  “Yeah. There was a cup on the counter that nobody claimed, so I took it.”

  That’s one mystery solved, Isobel reflected and immediately felt guilty for having thought the coffee thief deserved what she got.

  “And you’re sure that was the one sitting there before Heather made the second pot?”

  “I guess. I didn’t know she made more. Why?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that half the company suddenly got the runs last night?” Sunil asked.

  “Coffee does make you go,” Talia said uncertainly.

  “Not like that,” said Isobel, who had been privy to Talia’s ordeal in the privy.

  Hugh set some tea and dry toast in front of Talia.

  “You think there was something in the coffee?” she asked, tentatively breaking off a corner of toast.

  “There isn’t anything else that so many people consumed last night,” Isobel said. “Everyone split up for dinner. Where did you eat?”

  “Marissa invited a couple of us over to the other condo and made a big stir fry,” Talia said.

  “Oh?” Isobel perked up. “Who went?”

  “Me, Arden, and Thomas.”

  Isobel licked yogurt off her spoon. “Marissa’s the only one besides you who was sick.”

  “I know she had coffee,” Talia said. “I was talking to her while she poured it.”

  “What about Arden and Thomas?” Hugh asked.

  “Arden doesn’t do caffeine, and I don’t know about Thomas.”

  “What about Ezra, Chris, and Kelly?” Sunil asked.

  “Ezra for sure. He used up the last of the creamer. And Chris definitely had some”—Talia sat up, suddenly interested—“because I remember he commented that it needed more sugar because it was a little bitter. Don’t know about Kelly.”

  Sunil threw up his hands. “That’s a quorum. Somebody put a laxative in the coffee.”

  “What?” Talia gasped. “Why?”

  “Someone hates ten-out-of-twelves so much they wanted rehearsal to end early?” Sunil suggested.

  “Who would do that?” Talia asked, aghast. “We open tonight!”

  “Maybe the same person who rigged the masking to fall,” Isobel said. “I know we all think the show is flawed, but is there anyone who has that kind of grudge against it?”

  Talia blew on her tea to cool it. “Geoff, obviously. But I can’t imagine he would do anything like that.”

  The others exchanged a glance.

  “Who’s Geoff?” Isobel asked.

  “Hugh knows,” Talia said.

  “You do?”

  Hugh withered at Isobel’s accusatory glare. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I really don’t. Who’s Geoff?”

  Talia paused, her teacup in midair. “I can’t believe you, of all people, don’t know about this. I thought Oliver would have filled you in.”

  “Erm, he has not. Care to enlighten us?”

  Talia set her cup down and looked around the table at her expectant audience. “Geoff Brown. Oliver’s brother. He wrote the original score to Sousacal, and Jethro threw it out last summer.”

  “What?” Sunil, Hugh, and Isobel exclaimed in unison.

  Talia looked at them, bemused. “The show started as their collaboration. Geoff was also supposed to be the musical director, but he walked when Jethro junked his score.”

  Isobel turned to Hugh. “Remember at my audition when Felicity said they’d recently lost their musical director? It’s how you got the job.”

  Talia nodded. “That’s why I assumed you knew.”

  “I’m surprised Oliver stayed on if Jethro screwed over his brother,” Sunil said.

  “Maybe Geoff wanted a spy,” Talia said.

  Or an accomplice, thought Isobel.

  “But why would Jethro throw out an original score in favor of recycled Sousa marches?” Hugh asked. “He must have had to rework all his lyrics to get them to fit.”

  “Geoff’s score was music and lyrics. Jethro wrote all new words to fit the marches,” Talia explained.

  “I can’t imagine it’s an improvement over Geoff’s score,” Isobel said. “How bad could it have been?”

  Talia’s face grew pale. “Um…I don’t think I should have had that second piece of toast.”

  Sunil and Hugh edged their chairs away from the table to give her a clear shot to the bathroom, where loud, gastric noises erupted the moment she slammed the door.

  “Well, that was quite a dump,” Sunil said.

  Isobel smacked him. “Stop that—she’s suffering!”

  He rubbed his arm. “I meant an information dump. Firing the composer? Talia just gave you a lot to work with.”

  “But it doesn’t quite make sense,” Hugh mused. “Musicals aren’t written overnight. They must have been working on it together for a while, workshopping it, all that kind of thing. Why toss the score when it’s finally been slated for production?”

  “It’s happened before,” Sunil said. “Little Women got picked up after a workshop, and then they sacked all the writers before it went to Broadway. Finding Neverland, too. Makes you wonder what the producers thought they were picking up.”

  “The story itself, which is in the public domain, like Sousa’s life.” Isobel turned to Hugh. “You know Oliver best. Do you think Geoff put him up to sabotaging the show?”

  Hugh shook his head vigorously. “I don’t see it. For one thing, he’s never mentioned Geoff.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t, would he?” Isobel said. “The
n you’d start asking questions, and you’d get suspicious as soon as stuff started happening.”

  “How does Talia know?” Sunil pushed away his empty plate. “Is she that plugged in? I got the impression she was primarily an opera singer.”

  “She is,” Isobel confirmed. “She told me she’s doing this to get some theater on her resume.”

  “In that case, it seems odd that she would know something like this, don’t you think?” Sunil asked.

  “She could have heard about it from someone who’s more connected. In any case, she can’t be the only one who knows about Geoff’s score or that Oliver is his brother,” Isobel said.

  “True. And as soon as things started going amiss, anyone with half a brain would start asking questions,” Sunil said.

  Isobel smiled sweetly at Hugh. “You have half a brain. Will you start asking questions?”

  Hugh swept Talia’s toast crumbs into a napkin. “It’s rather awkward.”

  “Unless you want Sunil or me to—”

  “No, no, I’ll do it.” Hugh stood. “If an opportunity arises, I will engage Oliver on the subject of his brother’s score.”

  “Thank you.” Isobel rose and pecked him on the cheek. “It’s best if I keep my nose clean. I don’t want to get blamed for whatever happens next.”

  FIVE

  EVERYONE MADE IT TO the dress rehearsal on time that afternoon, although Isobel noted that those who’d had the misfortune to drink the spiked coffee were looking the worse for wear. Arden, however, was raring to go. She stalked up and down the dressing room hallway in her corset and bustle, warming up with yowls, screeches, and tongue twisters.

  Talia set her blush on the table in the dressing room she shared with Isobel and put her head in her hands. “I’m going to kill her if she doesn’t shut up.”

  Isobel did up the last three buttons on her bodice as she walked to the door. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Making a mental note to do her warming up in the rehearsal rooms upstairs, she gave Arden a wide berth and went in search of Heather. Isobel found her in the green room, examining the coffeepot.

  “So you came to the same conclusion I did,” Isobel observed.

  “What?” Heather turned around, startled.