Actor

by Parnell Hall

  “I know about as much as you do.”

  He held up both hands. “Fine. But on the off chance you know more than you think you do, I’ll ask you some questions, and if you know something, maybe the Socratic method will bring it out.”

  “Socratic method?”

  “Hey, just ’cause I’m a small-town cop don’t mean I’m dumb. By the way, I say don’t by choice, not by education, I know it’s incorrect usage. Anyway let’s have it. Tell me how you found the body.”

  I took a breath. “All right. I was onstage at the end of the play. With all the other actors. I said my last line and I exited.”

  “Which way?”

  “Stage right.”

  “And how many exits were there from the stage?”

  “You saw the set yourself.”

  “Yeah, but I want your recollection, not mine.”

  “There were two. Stage left and stage right.”

  “You exited stage right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The stage manager, Goobie Wheatly’s position was where?”

  “Downstage right.”

  “So you walked offstage and found the body?”

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean, no?”

  “I didn’t find it right away. See, my exit is not the very end of the act. There’s one line after it. Sergius Saranoff says, ‘What a man! Is he a man!’ Then the curtain falls. So when I got offstage, I turned around to watch the last line. He said it, I waited for the lights to go down and the curtain to fall. Didn’t happen. I could understand Ridley blowing the light cue—”

  “Ridley?”

  “The apprentice running lights.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Yeah, well, I could understand him blowing the light cue, even if Goobie gave it to him. But I couldn’t understand Goobie not bringing the curtain down. So I went to look and I found him.”

  “And where was he when you found him?”

  “Right where you found him. ’Cause I didn’t touch a thing.”

  “Sitting in the folding chair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Next to the lectern?”

  “Yes.”

  “With the prompt script in his lap?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the knife in his chest?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t touch the knife?”

  “I didn’t touch a thing.”

  “What did you do?”

  “The actors were all onstage looking around like, What the hell’s happening? I walked out from the wings, put up my hands and said, “Excuse me, there’s been an accident. Actors please take your seats in the auditorium. Herbie, come up here.”

  “Where were you standing when you said this?”

  “Downstage right.”

  “In the doorway?”

  “No. The doorway’s upstage right. I walked from the lectern straight out through the wings onto the stage.”

  “You walked between masking flats?”

  “Actually, I squeezed out between the proscenium and the front of the set.”

  “You were standing downstage right, you just walked out on the stage and made this announcement?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did the actors do what you said?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “Right away?”

  I frowned. “I wouldn’t say right away.”

  “Right,” he said. “But aside from the usual huh?-what’s-going-on? type of bullshit, did the actors leave the stage, or did any of them come over where you were standing and try to look into the wings?”

  I frowned again. “Actually, a couple did.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not sure. But I think the guy playing Nicola and the woman playing Catherine.”

  “What are their names?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Right. You just got here.”

  “Yeah. Just last night. Jesus, was it just last night?” I shook my head.

  “Right. So aside from those two, what about the rest?”

  “I think they crowded around, but I’m not sure.”

  “And they all went and sat in the audience?”

  “That’s right.”

  “They climb down off the front of the stage?”

  “Yeah. No one went backstage, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “Yes, they climbed down.”

  “And Herbie climbed up?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You took him to show him the body?”

  “Actually, first I shouted to Ridley to turn on the house lights, which he did. When they came up I asked everybody to please stay seated for just a moment. Then I took Herbie offstage.”

  “The body was right where you found it?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “It hadn’t moved in that short time?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “The knife was sticking out of the chest?”

  “Yes.”

  “You saw it when you first found the body?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or was it the second time, when you brought Herbie into the wings?”

  “I saw it the second time. but it was the second time. That was not the first time I’d seen the knife.”

  “The first time was when you first found the body?”

  “Right.”

  “That was the first time? You hadn’t seen the knife before that?”

  “No.”

  “Really? I understand it was from the show. Zoo Story.”

  “ Right. But I didn’t see the show. Since I got here, I’ve done nothing but rehearse.”

  He nodded. “I see. So what happened then? After you showed Herbie the body?”

  “As soon as he saw it, he went and called you.”

  “Where’d he call from?”

  “The box office, I think.”

  “You go with him?”

  “No, I stayed onstage, made sure no one went near the body.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Herbie came back, took charge, relieved me of that responsibility.”

  “He made an announcement?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said what I said. That there’d been an accident, and would everyone please remain in their seats until the police arrived.”

  “He did not say anyone had been killed?”

  “No.”

  “Or that it was a murder?”

  “Not at all.”

  “But by the time I got here everybody knew. How is that?”

  “Obviously somebody talked.”

  “Yeah, but who? Who knew?”

  “Me, Herbie, and the murderer.”

  He nodded. “Interesting.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Amanda Feinstein came up and spoke to Herbie. I didn’t hear what was said. They’re partners and he probably told her.”

  He nodded again. “That could be it all right. Too bad.” He scratched his head, thought a moment. “Okay,” he said. “I know you’ve only been here twenty-four hours, but can you think of anyone with any reason to want to see this guy dead?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. The man had an abrasive personality. He probably offended everybody. I don’t think anyone liked him much. But that’s not the sort of thing you get killed for, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do. Aside from that?”

  “As you say, I haven’t been here long.”

  He nodded. “Okay, you’re no help as to motive. Let’s take opportunity. Who could have done it? Well, you, obviously, because you found the body and you found it alone. But you’d only been here one day, didn’t know the man before—you didn’t, did you?”

  “No.”

  “So we would have a totally motiveless crime. Not too promising.” He smiled. “So, if you
don’t mind, let’s say you didn’t kill the gentleman. In that case, who else could?”

  “I’ve been trying to think.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, let me help you. You say at the end of the play all the actors except you were onstage?”

  “Yes, I did, but I’m not entirely sure of that.”

  “Oh?”

  “The servant, Nicola. He may have exited after his scene.”

  “You say may have?”

  “Yeah. I’m not sure. I did this play twenty years ago. Aside from that, I’ve rehearsed the whole thing for only one day, and Act Three least of all. He has a bit in the final scene where he explains why he claimed to be engaged to Louka when he is in fact not. He may exit right after that, but I’m not sure.”

  “Would it be in the script?”

  “Yes, of course. Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “My script. It’s onstage. Well, in the wings, actually.”

  “Stage-right wings?”

  “Yes. I barely know my lines, but I was trying off the book. I had the book offstage, I was looking over my lines every time I got a chance.”

  “It still there?”

  “It must be. I forgot about it when I found the body It should be right where I left it.”

  “Which is?”

  “Top of the stage-right stairs. You know how there’s a railing on the side, with a kind of shelf over the top? Well, it’s right on there.”

  “I see.” He strode to the door, bellowed “Felix.”

  Moments later the cop I’d spoken to upstairs, the one who couldn’t spell actor; came in. “Sir?”

  “This man left his script upstairs. Let him get it. It’s at the top of the stairs leading to the stage. Did it have your name on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It has his name on it. Stanley Hastings. It’s a script for the show they’re putting on. It’s at the top of the stage-right stairs. Now I know that’s the crime scene, but I said it’s okay. You can go with him, make sure all he touches is the script. When he’s got it, take him out in the audience with the others, then start bringing ’em down one at a time. Start with the actors. I don’t care whose nose gets out of joint, I want to see them first. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “After the actors bring me the trustees—that’s the money people. They’re the ones clamoring to go home. If you wanna tell ’em anything, you can tell ’em they can leave after they’re questioned. But that won’t win you no points, since I’m takin’ the actors first. They can leave after they’re questioned too.” He jerked his thumb. “Except him. I’m sorry, but I’ll need to see you again.

  “Last of all, you bring me the apprentices. No problem with them. They’re either asleep or they think it’s fun.

  “You got all that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.” He stretched out his arms, then clasped his hands together. He shook his head.

  “Looks like a long night.”

  13.

  “WE’RE GOING ON WITH THE show.”

  “What?”

  Herbie was holding onto my arm with what I think was supposed to pass as camaraderie and support, but which came across as if he were afraid I might suddenly vanish.

  “That’s right,” he said. “I already told the others. But I spoke to Bob—that’s the chief—before he took you down. He says to go ahead. As far as he’s concerned, we can open.” He took a breath. “Now, I know that’s rough on you. There was little enough rehearsal time as it was, and now this. Plus Bob says he wants your help.”

  “Herbie—”

  “I’m sorry, but I had to tell him. It’s not just that I’ve gotta live in this town. He’s a friend.”

  “So he said.”

  “Did he? Well, it’s true. And he’s acted for me. Cameo roles, you know. The King in Imaginary Invalid, or the Royal Messenger in Threepenny. And it’s a lot better I tell him than it comes out in the questioning, you know?”

  “Yeah, Herbie. But it’s not like there’s anything I can do.”

  We were interrupted by Amanda Feinstein. Out of the corner of my eye I’d seen her pestering Felix, obviously to no avail, and as he exited with Avery Allington in tow, she turned her sights on me.

  “Well,” she demanded, “what did he say?”

  “Who?”

  I shouldn’t have said that. Amanda Feinstein’s social graces had been stripped bare by the situation, and she made no attempt to hide her annoyance.

  “Who?” she snapped. “Bob, of course. The cop. What did he say?”

  I sighed. “I hate to tell you this, but the last thing he said was, ‘It’s going to be a long night.’”

  Amanda exhaled noisily “Did he say anything concrete?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t think he has any ideas yet. He has to talk to everybody.”

  “Well, the trustees should come first,” Amanda said.

  So, they actually were trustees. I, of course, being totally ignorant of any corporate structure, had no idea what Herbie’s setup actually was.

  “They may be more important,” I said, “but they’re peripheral. The actors were onstage and had a better chance to have seen or heard something.”

  “If they’re so damn peripheral, I don’t see why they can’t go home.”

  That was when Margie-poo horned in. She insinuated herself between Herbie and Amanda and said in a half-pouty, half-whiny voice, “Herbie, what do I have to tell them?”

  “Tell them?”

  “Yes. What are they going to ask me, Herbie? What do I have to say?”

  Herbie frowned. “Huh?”

  Margie-poo said, “Do I have to tell them everything?”

  Herbie did a double take. You see them in movies all the time, but it’s not that often you see one in real life. There was a beat while he looked at her, then suddenly his mouth dropped open and his eyebrows launched into orbit.

  Herbie knew what she meant. And I knew what she meant. And from the look on her face, Amanda Feinstein knew what she meant.

  I wondered if Herbie’s wife, who came bustling up at that very moment, would have known what she meant if she had been there to hear it. But she missed that statement, arrived instead just in time to see him standing there with his mouth open and his eyes bugging out of his head, looking very much like something one might see in the window of a fish store.

  She grabbed him by the arm. “Herbie,” she said.

  He managed to close his mouth, but his eyes were still wide. Behind his thick-lensed glasses they looked enormous. “Yes, dear,” he croaked.

  “What about the kids?”

  Poor Herbie’s mind was obviously blown. “Kids?” he said stupidly.

  “Yes, the kids. They won’t let me leave, and the baby-sitter has to go home.”

  Herbie’s wits had returned. “I know, I know, dear. But it’s an emergency.”

  “I know it’s an emergency, but this is a sixteen-year-old girl. She was supposed to be home by now. What am I supposed to do, call her parents?”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. Good idea. Call her and call her parents. You can call from the box office. If they’re upset with her being there that late alone, maybe one of them can go over there and stay with her.”

  “They’re not going to like that.”

  Herbie spread his arms wide. “What can I do? Tell ’em if they got a beef they can take it up with Bob. This is not our doing.”

  Herbie turned imploringly to Amanda Feinstein. “Amanda, take her to the box office, let her make the call.”

  Amanda gave him a look, but put her arm around Herbie’s wife’s shoulders—Christ, I gotta learn these people’s names—and led her off up the aisle.

  Margie-poo watched her go almost triumphantly, then turned back to her man.

  But Herbie was having none of it. He took me by the shou
lders, said, “Excuse me,” and piloted me off into the comer.

  “As I was saying,” Herbie said, “the show must go on. I talked to Bob and it’s okay. Right now the stage is a crime scene, but he assures me by tomorrow all this will be gone.”

  As if on cue, two young medical-assistant types emerged from the wings carrying a stretcher with a body bag on top.

  The full type.

  The audience, which had been abuzz with little pockets of chatter scattered throughout the auditorium, suddenly fell deathly quiet.

  The two medics stopped in the middle of the stage, looked around. A white-haired man carrying a medical bag came out from the wings, and the other two looked at him for guidance. He in turn looked around and spotted Herb.

  “Herbie,” he said, and it occurred to me how strange it was for a New Yorker that, in this small town, all these people seemed to know each other. “How do we get out of here?”

  The loading door sprang to mind, and I had a vision of them bumping Goobie Wheatly down the loading dock, as if he were a flat, but Herbie said, “You’ll have to lift it down off the stage, then up the aisle and out the back.”

  There was once again dead silence while they accomplished this. Every eye in the place watched spellbound, while the body went up the aisle into the lobby and out.

  As the lobby doors closed, Herbie turned back to me. “All right,” he said. “Here’s the thing. This is a tragedy and I’m real upset and all that, but the fact is, I got a show to put on.” He looked at the book in my hands. “I see you got your script. Good. If you’re gonna be stuck here anyway, you might as well work on your lines.”

  Good lord. I held up my hand. “Herbie, I’m not gonna be able to concentrate on the script.”

  “Of course not, I’ll get someone to cue you.”

  He looked toward the back of the auditorium where the apprentices were. I could sense his eyes stopping on Captain Kirk.

  “Herbie,” I said. “I’ll kill you.”

  He looked at me.

  “Poor choice of words,” I said. “But you get the picture.”

  “Right,” he said. “You want Margie to run scenes with you?”

  About half-a-dozen responses came to mind. I stifled all of them, contented myself with a simple no.

  My roommate, Nellie/Louka, who’d been chattering away with Nicola, Catherine and Major Petkoff, none of whose names I knew, chose that moment to break away and descend on Herbie. He intercepted her smoothly. Before she could even open her mouth he said, “Nellie, please, do me a favor. We’re all screwed up, we’re gonna lose rehearsal time. Cue Stanley, will you? At least till you’re called. It’s a tough thing and we all gotta hang together.”