The Final Curtain

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Come on, now! You’ll never make me believe that some guys haven’t had that something that wakes up the woman in you. The new feminists have finally admitted that gals get some sort of sexual charge from looking at men.”

  Dani met his gaze, saying evenly, “Yes, there’s that. God made us that way, didn’t He? We have all kinds of hungers, and a hunger is made to be satisfied.”

  Goldman shifted uneasily, then asked, “Let me put it bluntly. Do you ever feel what the preachers call ‘lust’? And remember, I’m a trained policeman accustomed to getting the truth out of suspects.”

  Dani’s eyes were bright, and she asked with a trace of humor in her voice, “What do you suspect me of, officer? Being human? I plead guilty. Do I get hungry? Yes, I do. Do I eat anything that falls before me? No. Do I feel desire for a man? Certainly! I’d be worried if I didn’t!”

  “I’m glad to hear that!” Goldman said. He came across to the couch, and with one swift, practiced movement, put his arms around her. She lifted her head to speak, but he put his lips on hers. He held her there, aware that she neither drew back, nor surrendered. Her perfume came to him, faint but enticing, and the pressure of her body as he held her stirred him. But she pulled back, saying, “You’re a good kisser, Jacob. I can tell you’ve had lots of experience.”

  He stared at her, frustrated but not angry. “You’re a piece of work, Danielle!” he exclaimed, then he grinned. “Why do I feel so good, when I’ve been thrown to the wolves?”

  “You haven’t been thrown to anything, Jake.” Dani smiled. “But you’ve got lots of bad ideas about love.”

  “What is it then?” he asked, leaning back to watch her. “Give me a quick rundown on the nature of true love.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly!” she exclaimed and got to her feet. “Get out of here, Jake. I’m ready to drop.”

  “No lesson from the teacher?” he pleaded as he rose.

  She pushed him to the door, but paused as a thought touched her. “Well, maybe just one. Love is not a single thing, Jake. It’s not just physical—and it’s not just emotional or spiritual.”

  His dark eyes studied her. “I think you’re trying to tell me that I’m a carnal person, aren’t you, Danielle? That all I know about is bedding down with some broad.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know you well enough to make that judgment, Jake. But I know love isn’t like a case of flu—which is what Hollywood and writers of those awful ‘romance’ novels try to project.”

  “A case of flu?”

  “Sure. You ask the average guy—or gal—what love is. They’ll say, ‘Well, it’s when my knees get a little shaky and I breathe hard and I feel feverish—and I can’t think very well.’” She opened the door and pushed him out, explaining, “That’s the flu—and you get over that in a few days.” Then she grew very serious, her eyes still and fixed on him. “I’m saying, Jake, when I love a man, it’ll take more than a healthy body. I’ve got to have what’s on the inside. Then when the outside begins to get old, I’ll have the man who’s real! End of lesson. Good night, Lieutenant!”

  Goldman walked out to his Lincoln, got in, and turned the key. But before he pulled away, he looked upward to where a light burned in a window and grinned. “A case of flu!” he murmured, laughed, and drove away at top speed.

  10

  Midnight Encounter

  * * *

  Tuesday afternoon the cast met at the Pearl at the behest of Simon Nero. He worked through some rough spots, but they were interrupted by Tom Calvin, who came in with the papers. “Review!” he cried, and they all gathered around, grabbing at the editions of the New York papers.

  Dani took no part in the excitement, but she saw that for the others the reviews were a life-and-death matter. On the whole, they were very good, and Ainsley, of course, came in for the juicier items. He read aloud a flattering review, his face beaming with happiness. “Look here,” he shouted. “Maynard Hines says that we’ll be sold out for the rest of the year! I never could stand Maynard, but I’ll always like him now.”

  Calvin came over to stand beside Dani, noting her lack of participation. “Not interested in what the critics have to say about your performance, Danielle?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure I want to hear, Tom.”

  “Why, it’s good!” he said in a pleased voice. Spreading the paper out so that she could see, he read aloud:

  One of the surprise treats was the performance of Danielle Morgan, who played the role of Marian Powers. The role itself is not difficult, but stepping into a play at the last minute—and in such trying circumstances—is always a challenge. The most one can expect, in most cases of this sort, is adequacy. Miss Morgan, however, possesses at least a trace of intensity, which carries over into her role. She never once fell into the trap of overplaying the part (which would be a temptation even for a veteran!), and in the scene where she is shot by the star, the audience held its breath. It was impossible not to think that the last time this scene was enacted, the result was the death of Amber LeRoi. But Miss Morgan refused to succumb to the temptation of trading on that bit of human drama, relying instead on a range of expression both in voice and body action that has great promise. The only flaw in her performance was the love scenes with Jonathan Ainsley, which proved rather insipid.

  Dani gave Calvin a quick smile. “That trace of intensity, Tom, is unmitigated nervousness.”

  “I don’t think so,” he disagreed.

  Ainsley had come over, smiling at her. “So, our love scenes are ‘insipid,’ are they? Well, we’ll have to put some fire in them, won’t we Danielle?”

  “Congratulations, Jonathan,” Dani offered. “I’m glad the critics appreciated your play—and your performance.”

  “Critics!” Ainsley sniffed with contempt. “I like what Mark Twain said about them: ‘The trade of critic, in literature, music, and the drama, is the most degraded of all trades.’”

  “But we all grab the papers and stand around reading their reviews, don’t we, Jonathan?” Lily objected. She had gotten reviews almost as good as Ainsley’s. Her face glowed, and bright animation filled her face as she looked up at him.

  “Why, I suppose we do,” he admitted, putting his arm around her. “But I feel about critics as I suppose statues in the park must feel about pigeons!”

  A laugh ran around the group, and Dani began to read the reviews for herself. The most intelligent one, she thought, was written by a rather ferocious sort of man with the formidable name of Slaughter. He ignored Ainsley and stated flatly that the skill and presence of Sir Adrian Lockridge made the play hang together. Dani privately agreed and went at once to where Sir Adrian and his wife were standing more or less to themselves. “Sir Adrian, I know you must be pleased with this review,” she commented. “It’s a very penetrating analysis, and I couldn’t agree with him more. Congratulations!”

  “Thank you, Danielle.” Sir Adrian beamed. “It is rather unusual for Slaughter to be so complimentary. He’s rather a tartar!”

  Lady Lockridge patted his arm, and her smile was triumphant as she said, “You are a perceptive young woman, my dear!” She cast a sly look at Jonathan, adding for her husband’s benefit, “I would think that now you won’t have to put up with more of that man’s impertinence! He’s livid with jealousy, you know,” she confided to Dani. “Can’t bear to have another actor get any credit!”

  “This can mean great things,” Sir Adrian said, staring at the review. “It will mean a long run for this play, of course. But I’m thinking—”

  Dani had been reading the article, but glanced up when Lockridge broke off abruptly. His face was pale, and his sensitive mouth twisted in pain. “Sir Adrian, are you ill?” she asked quickly.

  He seemed not to hear her, but putting his hand on his stomach, moved away. “He’ll be all right, dear.” Victoria confided, “He’s been having digestion problems lately.”

  Dani watched as the pair left the set, disappearing through the wings. “Wh
at’s the matter with Lockridge?” a voice broke in, and she turned to see Mickey Trask, looking curious. “He sick or something?”

  “I don’t think so,” Dani said. “Just a stomachache. I think they went to get him something for it.”

  “He sure is a hard guy to know,” Mickey observed. “In a second he can go from being real nice to being mean as a snake! Just today he got sore at Ben, when something went wrong with the props, and I thought he’d light into him!”

  Trask usually wore a smile, but now an angry look covered his smooth face. He held one of the reviews in his hand, and with an angry gesture smashed it with his fist. “Did you read the garbage that stupid ape of a critic wrote about me?” Without waiting for her reply, he began harshly cursing the critic, a man named Larry Selby. Finally he pulled himself up short, saying bitterly, “I don’t have to take this, Danielle. If Ainsley had kept his word, I’d be directing this play—instead of that oaf Nero!”

  Dani hardly knew how to respond. She had always thought of Mickey as a cheerful, happy sort. He had a drinking problem, of course, but she had never seen this vicious streak. The expression in his eyes as he spoke of the critic—and of Jonathan Ainsley—had been a flash of pure hatred. For the first time, Dani wondered if the happy-go-lucky actor might be more of a suspect than she had thought. Although she had known from the beginning that Trask resented both Nero and Ainsley, not until this moment had he revealed the depth of his antagonism.

  I’ve got to consider them all guilty until they’re proven innocent, Dani decided as she moved around the stage, studying the cast and their reactions to the reviews. She came to stand beside Lyle, who was absorbed in reading. When he looked up to see her standing there, he smiled happily. “Looks like we’re in a hit, Danielle. Are you glad?”

  “Why—of course, Lyle,” she answered. “I’m happy for the good reviews you got.”

  “I was pretty worried, to tell you the truth. Everything’s been so uptight in this play, I’m surprised that I’ve been able to remember my lines.”

  “It has been rough, hasn’t it?” Dani looked around, then added in what she thought was an innocent tone, “Poor Mickey! He feels awful about what that critic wrote about him! And of course he blames Jonathan for it all.”

  “Mickey’s got a real hate building up against Jonathan. I’ve thought a couple of times he might be the killer.”

  “Why, Lyle, you don’t think he’d kill Amber just to get even with Jonathan, do you?”

  He shrugged, saying soberly, “Somebody did.”

  “I can’t believe Mickey would be capable of murder.”

  Lyle bit his lower lip, thought about it, then reasoned, “Actors are a funny breed, Danielle. Most of us are egotists, buried up to our necks in self-worship. That makes for pretty unstable personalities. When somebody jostles us, we tend to explode.”

  “Oh, but just verbally, you mean, Lyle!”

  “If the ego is big enough, Danielle, it’s just like a time bomb. You know how those things are. Somebody puts one on an airplane, and it just sits there, ticking away. Nobody knows about it or thinks about it. But when the clock runs down—boom! It explodes.”

  “You paint a pretty grim picture, Lyle,” Dani commented slowly. “Do you really think people are as bad as that?”

  He dropped his head, studying the floor, then looked up—and Dani was shocked to see the depth of anger in his brown eyes. “Sure I do. I’ve never said much to anyone, Danielle, but when Lana was murdered, I hated everyone! She was going to divorce Simon and marry me. It was as if the sun had been ripped out of the sky! All during the trial I was so filled up with hate, I didn’t care much what they did to me.”

  “It’s hard to lose one we love,” Danielle murmured.

  “Yes.” He hesitated, then in a bitter tone, he struck out, “Nero says he thinks I killed Lana—but I know he did it!”

  “Lyle!”

  “Sure.” Jamison nodded. “He’s insanely jealous, not just of Lana, but of anything that’s his. He didn’t kill Lana by his own hand—he’s too clever for that! But he was behind it.”

  Dani admitted, “Well, he hates you. Maybe that would be the motive for trying to drop that chandelier on you. But why would he kill Amber—or try to ruin Ainsley? That wouldn’t make any sense. His career hasn’t been going too well, but if this play makes it, he’ll be back on top. It wouldn’t be reasonable for him to try to stop the play.”

  Lyle laughed shortly. “No, but psychotics aren’t reasonable, Danielle. You’ve never seen Simon when he’s in one of his rages. He’d kill anything that got in his way. Ainsley promised him he could direct the film version of this play. Maybe he changed his mind, and if he did, I’m telling you Simon Nero would kill him with pleasure.” He would have said more, but at that moment Nero called out, “All right, let’s go through it. Places, everyone!”

  Nero kept them at it for three hours, and that night the performance went much more smoothly. Jonathan took it on himself to give the love scene he had with Dani a little extra, whispering in her ear, “Merely trying to keep the critics happy, Danielle!”

  As usual, after the performance, most of the cast were ready to go home. Dani said good night and left the Pearl, but when the cab pulled up in front of her apartment building, she discovered that she had left her script and Nero’s new notes in her dressing room. “Take me back to the theater,” she directed the cabby. When she got out at the theater the driver said, “I gotta go, miss. But there’s always a cab near this location.”

  “All right.” Dani paid him, then went to the stage-door entrance. Stan Waltoski, the custodian, was just leaving. “Just pull the door shut, Miss Morgan.” He nodded. “The lock is set.”

  “Thank you, Stan.” Dani went at once to her dressing room and found the manuscript. One of the changes had displeased her. Sitting down, she found the note that Simon had made. Carefully she read it, then tried to think of another way to get at the change he wanted. Her concentration was so complete that she sat there for five or ten minutes, immersed in the problem.

  A faint sound, not loud at all, but clear, brought her out of the study. Getting up, she went to the door and listened. The sound had seemed to come from the left. Her dressing room light was on, but the rest of the theater was dark, except for a single bulb casting harsh shadows over the tangle of ropes and gear behind the stage.

  Then another noise—this time she identified it clearly as the sound of feet moving across the floor. Ignoring her first impulse, to get out of the theater, she steeled herself and moved into the murky darkness of backstage. Her high heels made a tapping noise, so she paused long enough to slip them off her feet. As she moved silently across the cold floor, her heart began to beat so hard she was afraid that it would be heard.

  But heard by whom? The cast was gone. Stan would not leave until everyone got out of the theater. Dani had felt frightened before, but something in the silence and darkness of the theater put a lump of fear in her stomach. Her mouth was dry, and her hands were sweaty. Finally she paused, straining to hear something.

  Once she thought she heard a faint sound from the outer section of the theater, something that sounded like a door closing. But she could not be sure. Carefully, she continued across the cold floor, poised to flee at the slightest alarm.

  She reached the end of the backdrop, moved around into the wings, and suddenly her foot touched something soft and yielding!

  A gasp of fear broke from her as she yanked her foot back, and Dani almost ran away. Whatever it was on the floor remained silent, and suddenly she bent forward and peered at what seemed to be a bundle of sorts. Then she saw that it was a man lying on his side—a man who was moving slightly. Heart pounding, she knelt down and by the dim light studied him. Her breath stopped until she whispered, “Ben!”

  The sight of Savage’s still face ran along her nerves. By the dim light she could see that his eyes were shut. But when she reached out and touched his face, the flesh felt warm.

>   Carefully she ran her fingers over his head, at once finding a large swollen area over his left ear. It was also damp, and she knew that he was bleeding. Her first impulse was to run for help, but that would mean leaving him alone. Her lips tightened, and she sat down on the floor. Taking his head in her lap, she sat there in the darkness, straining to hear. Nothing broke the silence, and as the time ran on Ben started to stir.

  Leaning forward, she saw his eyelids begin to flutter. Quietly she whispered, “Ben? Can you hear me?”

  He rolled his head slightly, grunted at the pain, and opened his eyes. For a moment he lay there, his dark eyes expressionless; then he suddenly reached up and touched her face. “Dani?” he asked thickly. “What—?”

  “Don’t try to talk, Ben,” she urged. “You’ve been hurt. Just lie there until you feel better.”

  He studied her as she bent over him, not speaking. Finally he reached up and touched his head gingerly. “I think I can stand up now,” he muttered.

  She helped him to his feet, ordering, “We’ve got to get you to a doctor, Ben. I think you might have a concussion.”

  “No, I’m all right.”

  Ignoring this, she walked with him to her dressing room, gave him a shove through the door and demanded, “Let me see your head. Sit down here.” He sat down obediently, and she carefully examined the bump. The skin was broken, but only slightly. “Doesn’t seem too bad,” she murmured. “Let me get you some aspirin.” She went to her dressing table, got two aspirin, filled a cup with water, and brought them to him. “Does it hurt much?” she asked as he downed the medication.

  Handing the glass back, he blinked at her, then tried for a smile. “It’s not as bad as a root canal.” Then he wondered aloud, “How did you happen to find me?”

  “I came back for my script. Everyone was gone, and while I was sitting here, I heard a noise.” She laughed somewhat nervously. “I wanted to run, but I prowled around—and found you lying on the floor.”