The Final Curtain

by Gilbert, Morris

  He leaned forward, studying her face. “You know, I met lots of women, but never one like you. Guess if I had, I wouldn’t have made such a mess of things.” He sat back, reflecting on his past. “I was the first one the cops looked at after Amber got killed. That’s because I was sent up for manslaughter a few years ago.”

  Dani soothed him, “Your life’s been very hard, Ringo. Mine has been so easy that I feel guilty.”

  “No need to feel like that,” he objected with a look of surprise. “I had it tough, but it wouldn’t have helped if you’d had a rough time, too.”

  “How’d you get into acting?” Dani asked.

  “Had to eat,” he answered wryly. “After I got out of jail, I tried several things. None of them worked, though. Then I got a job as an extra in a movie an outfit was making in Denver. They needed a big, ugly guy to be a heavy, and when they saw me, they bought it. Since then I’ve been the bad guy in I don’t know how many movies and plays. Don’t call for much talent; I just look mean, that’s about it.”

  “How about a family?” Dani asked. “Were you ever married?”

  “Once,” he said briefly. His lips closed over that single syllable like a steel trap; NO TRESPASSING his attitude shouted.

  They heard Lyle call out, “Curtain in five minutes!” and got to their feet.

  “Well, let’s do it.” Ringo smiled.

  They walked together to the wings, and Dani saw Ben moving around, his eyes everywhere. He gave her a slight nod, but that was all.

  The first two acts went well. Jonathan said in between scenes, “Well, Adrian isn’t as high as he was last night, but he’s doing fine.”

  Earl came up to whisper, “Mr. Ainsley, Ben said that in the dining scene you’re not to let the audience see that the food is artificial.”

  “Artificial!” Ainsley stared at him in amazement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We forgot to lay in fresh food.” Earl nodded. “So Ben says don’t eat so much—and be careful, because some of it’s made out of plastic!”

  “My sacred aunt!” Ainsley snorted. “Plastic food! Somebody will certainly try to eat a plastic chicken leg and choke! Well, let’s spread the word. I’ll take the other side. You tell Mickey and Calvin.”

  “All right.” Dani found both men standing together and passed the message along.

  “Good thing we found out before we were into the scene.” Mickey grinned. “It’s always a shock to eat that stuff anyway, all cold and greasy! But it’d be worse to bite into a plastic biscuit!”

  The scene they spoke of took place in a large, ornate dining room, and at one time or another, every character in the play made an entrance, even Calvin and Carmen as the butler and a maid.

  “This scene,” Jonathan had explained to them carefully, “brings all the members of the board together. The fate of the huge business empire is in the balance. The audience has a chance to meet every character—and we all have to project the spirits of those characters.”

  It was a very long scene, during which a meal was consumed, several debates took place, and emotions ran rather freely. At the end of the scene, all the cast exited except for Sir Adrian, who remained with Jonathan. The struggle narrowed down to these two men, protagonist and antagonist, face-to-face.

  Dani had never liked the scene for the simple reason that she never liked the theme of the drama, had never believed in it. As always, however, when it was time for her entrance, she forced herself to stop thinking her own thoughts, trying to suit herself to the character.

  The scene began poorly, when Mickey knocked Victoria’s champagne glass from the table. It shattered loudly, and he was forced to ad lib while picking up the pieces. After that false start, however, the cast caught the spirit of the thing, and it went well.

  They seated themselves at a long dining table, with Jonathan at one end and Sir Adrian at the other. Lady Victoria sat to her husband’s left, next to Mickey Trask, and finally Ringo—all facing the audience. Dani sat at Sir Adrian’s right hand, directly across from Lady Lockridge. Beside her was Lyle, with Lily in the end, at Jonathan’s right hand.

  The first part of the scene was dominated by Jonathan, who had a very long monologue that expressed the theme of the play: Man must make himself, for there is no other power that can help. The content of the monologue reminded Dani a great deal of a liberal philosophy professor’s words to her, during her junior year at college. “Man is just another onion,” he had insisted. “You peel off layer after layer, and when you get to the center—there’s nothing there!” She had not believed it then, and she did not accept it now.

  Since her back was to the audience, Dani was not required to let any particular emotion reflect a mood to the audience. Instead, she watched Lady Lockridge, who sat right across from her, and Sir Adrian on her left. Both of them looked pale beneath their makeup. Sir Adrian watched Jonathan, appearing, for the sake of the drama, to listen, but Dani could tell that his mind was far away. It hurt her a little to see him, for he was identified in her mind with the vigorous and youthful star who had blazed across the world of the theater decades ago. Dani wondered suddenly how actors felt when seeing their old films. Did they envy the slim bodies, the unlined faces, and careless air of being on top of the world? Or did it seem as if another person had played that part?

  Since she had spoken to Sir Adrian about Christ, they had not had any long talks, but several times he had given her good smiles. Once he cried, “It’s made all the difference to me, Danielle, our day together!”

  Dani’s glance shifted to Victoria, and the thought came that she was very different from her husband—much harder to know. I wonder if Adrian told her about his conversion? Dani wondered. She ought to at least try to give Victoria the gospel.

  Jonathan gave the line that was the cue for the toasting scene. “Jefferson, we’ll have the wine now.”

  Tom Calvin had been standing at attention, with his back to the wall. “Yes, sir,” he murmured and went to the long, ornate liquor cabinet located to the right of the dining-room table. At the same time, Carmen, who was also waiting to serve, got crystal champagne glasses, and put one before each of the guests. As she did, Ringo read his line, a challenge to all that Jonathan had said: “You’re wrong about all this, Leo! Dead wrong!” He then drew Jonathan into a heated argument, which required all those at the table to pay careful attention to their encounter. Dani had to turn halfway round in her seat to see clearly, and the others were careful to let their faces reveal what they felt about the conflict. As this was taking place, Calvin popped the cork, waited until the overflow stopped, then proceeded to go around the table. Beginning with Lady Lockridge, he filled each glass. Then he turned and put the bottle back in the iced container on the liquor cabinet.

  “A toast!” Jonathan proclaimed, rising. He waited until they were all standing with their glasses in hand. Then he said to Ringo, “Max, we do not agree on the methods, but we will agree on one thing—the strong will always be victorious! We can all drink to that!”

  At those words, all of them lifted their glasses and drained them dry. It was only ginger ale, but Dani had always hated the taste of the beverage. It was suddenly her turn to respond. She ignored the unpleasant tingling in her mouth and began to speak her lines. After her monologue, Lyle and Mickey exchanged lines. Lily said nothing, but stood looking at Jonathan with her large eyes expressing love.

  Then Sir Adrian stood, saying firmly to Jonathan, “We must talk more about this, Leo. I am not in agreement!”

  At that point, Jonathan drawled, “I think you and I must talk—alone. If the rest of you will excuse us?”

  They all rose to make their exit. Dani took Mickey’s arm and moved with him to the right exit. Lady Lockridge stood for one moment beside her husband. Her line was “Don’t be late, dear,” and she seemed to have trouble with it. Then he kissed her, saying, “Wait for me. I won’t be long.”

  She was the last to leave, before the stormy confrontation
between the two characters began. Ainsley had created the part of Robert Warren expressly for the purpose of being the alter ego of the protagonist, Leo King. In this scene, King, the driving humanist who believed in nothing but himself, battled Warren, who believed that man needs more than himself to reach his potential.

  Dani watched as Jonathan played his role so well. First, he tried diplomacy. Inviting his adversary to take a chair, he said, “Now, Robert, let’s have some sherry and talk this over.” Going to the liquor cabinet, he got a new bottle from inside, poured two glasses full, and brought them to where Sir Adrian sat. “First, let’s have one more toast.” He smiled at him. “To the victory that each of us so clearly wants!”

  Sir Adrian raised his glass, commenting sternly, “Yes, to victory—but only the proper sort of victory.”

  “Let’s drink to that,” Jonathan suggested, and the two men drank their wine. From that point on, an argument built between the two strong characters; neither would capitulate. The scene had brought down the house the previous evening, with Sir Adrian rising above the text to express his outrage against a philosophy that was to him abominable. It had been a defeat for Jonathan, in one way, Dani had realized. For somehow Sir Adrian had taken the words written by Jonathan—words that stated the opposite of Jonathan’s convictions—and made the audience accept them!

  As she watched the scene, Dani saw that the rest of the cast were huddled together, along with Ben and his men. All of them had been thrilled by the performance of Sir Adrian the previous evening and longed to see the old man do it again.

  But midway through the scene the script called for Sir Adrian to rise from his chair, and walk back and forth in front of the table as he recited his lines. Though he did get up, the actor took only a few steps, then seemed to falter. A few of the cast caught an almost imperceptible break in his voice. Dani thought, He’s having another of those awful spells—like the one he had the day I was with him!

  It seemed so, for Sir Adrian was not only struggling to get through his line, he was bent over sideways. Suddenly he grabbed his stomach, uttered a muted cry, and staggered toward the chair. His feet struck the small table, sending the wine and the glasses flying, and the bottle shattered as it hit the floor.

  Jonathan lunged forward, trying to help him to the chair, but Sir Adrian’s right hand caught at Jonathan’s sleeve and fastened to it, causing Ainsley to fall heavily as the older man collapsed.

  Suddenly, Lady Lockridge was beside them. Ignoring the audience, she took her husband’s head in her arms. Dani heard Ben cry out a command to drop the curtain, and at the same time move toward the three on the floor. Sir Adrian’s head was drawn back, his whole body arching backward. His feet made a little tattoo on the floor. His wife held his head, burying her face against his hair.

  Without warning, the feet became still, the terrible arching ceased. It was as though Lockridge had suddenly relaxed and gone to sleep.

  But when Dani saw Victoria raise her head, she had never seen such emptiness in anyone’s eyes. Her lips moved, and Dani heard her say clearly, “Well, Jonathan Ainsley, you’ve killed him at last! Now are you satisfied?”

  Then came the pounding of feet and the confused cry of many voices. Dani tried to shut out of her mind all that was sure to follow: the police, the investigations, and the accusations. She knelt and picked up the still hand of Sir Adrian Lockridge; thinking of the moment he had prayed with her, she lifted that hand and kissed it.

  16

  A Leap of Faith

  * * *

  The blustery winds of March ravaged the city on Wednesday, the day of the funeral. All morning, Dani had walked the streets aimlessly, thinking of the turmoil of the past week and of the ordeal that would take place that afternoon at one o’clock. Cold bit at her as the sharp wind, intensified by tall buildings that forced it through a maze, swept her along.

  She had always had an orderly mind, “Neat and organized as a filing cabinet,” her accounting professor had proudly hailed it. Always Dani had been able to analyze a problem, label information, then sort it into logical little stacks. Finally she made the stacks themselves release their meaning. But unlike many, she was equally adept at synthesis. That is, she was able to reach out into different—often completely unrelated—fields, select details, and make them fit into the larger picture.

  Her father had told her often that this was a great detective’s true gift: “Most detectives are good at analyzing the facts of a case, Dani. The trouble is that most of the time we don’t even have all the facts. We’re like the men who find a few tiny fragments of bones, and from those little pieces reconstruct an entire skeleton ten feet high! Anyone with patience could fit the bones together, if they were available; that would be just a large jigsaw puzzle. But to guess, to deduce, to reach out and pull something out of the mind when the physical facts aren’t there—why, that’s what a good detective can do.”

  “But how can you do that, Dad?” she had asked.

  “I can’t tell you,” he had cheerfully responded. “Someone asked Mozart once how to write a concerto. He told them he couldn’t tell them how. When his questioner reminded him that he’d written a concerto when he was only twelve, Mozart said, ‘Yes, but I didn’t ask anyone how to do it!’ It’s the sort of ability some people have, Dani, and you’re one of those people.”

  She had thought of that as she walked along the windy streets, hands stuck deep in her pockets to protect them. But it was no comfort. “Why can’t I make any sense out of this crazy case, if I’m so smart?” she wanted to scream. The shops that lined Fifth Avenue were full of the new spring fashions. From time to time she stopped to look at them. The designers had decided to use earth tones this year. Most of the styles featured garments that were baggy, and they hung on the mannequins awkwardly. Dani hated them, and when a covey of modish, upwardly mobile young women came down the street wearing the sort of bulky gear featured in the window, Dani thought waspishly, They look as if they’re smuggling rice out of China!

  Finally she returned to her apartment, took the phone off the hook, and filled the tub with hot water. Throwing her street clothes into a heap, she immersed herself and gave a sigh of relief. She loved a hot bath; it was the most useful thing Roman culture had given a woman. Slowly the fatigue flowed out of her body and from her mind as well.

  From time to time the water grew tepid, and she would turn the scalding water on, then settle back to soak a little longer. Closing her eyes, she went over the past few days, since the death of Sir Adrian. She thought of the angry response of the police, and she did not blame them one bit. It was not Jake Goldman, but Chief of Police Tim Flannery who had called the cast together—and at the station, not at the Pearl. Separately the cast were interrogated.

  She thought about Jonathan, who had stood firm, despite the threat of being charged with murder. That Flannery longed to make the charge was clear to all of them. But as she lay soaking, Dani went over the evidence—which really did not exist! She saw it clearly in her mind, large black letters on white, logically classified:

  Sir Adrian Lockridge was poisoned. The autopsy proved that.

  The poison could not have come from the first bottle—for the entire cast at the table drank from that.

  The poison might have come from the bottle of sherry, but Jonathan drank from the same bottle. (The sherry bottle and both glasses were broken when Sir Adrian upset the table, so there had been nothing for the police lab to analyze.)

  Summary: Victim was poisoned, but there is no physical evidence to prove how or when the poison was administered.

  The chief would have liked to have made the charge in an instant but was too old a hand, knowing that he could never make it stick without more evidence. He left in a fury, saying that there was some way to end the fool play, and he’d have every lawyer in the city government look for it!

  The warm water soothed Dani’s body, but not her mind. She kept thinking of the countless times she had gone over the murd
er, every detail of it, with Jake Goldman and Ben Savage. But they knew no more now than they did when they had started.

  Finally as she got out of the tub, she remembered how Jonathan had called them together the previous day, begging for unity. “We can’t quit now,” he had said, barely holding on to his composure. “Just one more time,” he begged, “and we’ll win this thing!”

  After toweling off with a huge pink affair, more a beach towel than anything else, Dani powdered, slipped into her underthings, and lay across the bed. She had slept little, and the warm bath had washed away her tension, so she fell asleep.

  At noon she awoke with a start and hurried to dress for the funeral.

  What does one wear to a funeral? The thought came to her as she went through her clothing, hanging in the small closet.

  She had one black outfit, but somehow the thought of wearing it caused a small rebellion to stir. The thought of Sir Adrian’s death brought sadness, but always there was the companion memory of the time he had said, “Our talk, it’s made all the difference, my dear!” She believed that Lockridge had given himself to Jesus Christ, and that gave her the courage to pluck the vivid green and white outfit from her closet. Slipping into it, she looked in the mirror, for she had never worn it. It was a spring dress, a bright green that picked up the color of her eyes, with a full skirt that billowed around when she turned. The long-sleeved jacket that went with it was pure white, except for a small embroidery over the left breast—a green and gold lion, rampant. She had seen the outfit in the window of a shop and at once wanted it—a rare thing for her. When she had tried it on and found that it fit her perfectly, she had asked the price—and had stared in unbelief when the clerk told her matter-of-factly, “Only three hundred and fifty dollars, dear. A real bargain.”

  But seeing how tall and regal it made her appear, she remembered the thought that had made her decide to splurge: I’ll bet Sir Adrian would like this one!