Actor

by Parnell Hall

  That was more than I could deal with. I didn’t want to come walking out the door into that group of kids, none of whom would have given a flying fuck about me, assuming they recognized me at all. That humiliation I didn’t need to go through.

  So I retreated back into the lobby and went down the stairs in order to sneak ignominiously out the side door.

  That’s when I saw them. Or half saw them. They were the length of the hallway away, and when I saw them they ducked back into a doorway so I really couldn’t be sure. Not without walking the length of the hall and staring, which I wasn’t about to do.

  But unless my eyes deceived me, what I had just seen was none other than Margie-poo Miller, my young co-star and the apple of producer/director/married-man Herbie Drake’s eye, in a close encounter with tech director, lighting and set designer, newly appointed stage manager, what’s-his-name.

  28.

  THE SHOW THAT NIGHT WAS good. That sometimes happens too. After the second-night letdown, the next night is good. It’s an up-and-down sequence, almost predictable. Extended, it’s bad dress rehearsal, good performance, second-night letdown, third night good.

  The matinee doesn’t count, by the way. Matinees aren’t really performances, they’re a different kind of animal. Just something to get through. Of course there are good matinees and bad matinees, but they tend toward the latter. And they don’t figure in the overall scheme of things.

  Or maybe I just wanted to forget that one, but I sure wasn’t counting it. Anyway, Sunday night’s show was good. Not as good as the opening, but nowhere near as bad as the second night. And much better than the matinee.

  For me, Sunday night’s show was a bit of a vindication. To reinforce the impression I had had from opening night, which every subsequent performance had tended to tear down, that I was quite good and Avery Allington was quite bad.

  Well, that’s the way the Sunday night crowd saw it. The scenes went great. I felt great. They liked me. I got laughs on all the right lines and I had the audience in my hip pocket.

  Avery Allington gave his usual overblown performance, which got the lukewarm reception it deserved.

  Sometimes life is good.

  Anyway by the time the final curtain came down, I was all pumped up from the performance and was once again a bloodhound on the scent. My meeting with Chief Bob this morning had inspired me to investigate the crime. The surprise matinee had thrown a monkey wrench into that, and then been such a downer to boot. But tonight’s show was a real lift. It was kind of a reaffirmation, a yes-I-can. Solve a murder? No problem. Lead me to it.

  Besides, what better time to investigate the actors than right after the show when they didn’t have a rehearsal and when I knew where to find them?

  Sure enough, when I got to Morley’s, the actors were there. At least enough of them to suit my purposes. I didn’t see Herbie and Margie-poo, but then again you can’t have everything. I didn’t see our new stage manager either. It occurred to me maybe the three of them were off somewhere and the guys were fighting a duel for her affections.

  Avery Allington was there, of course. To my distaste I saw that he was coming on to Nellie Knight. I don’t know if she was buying it or not, but she appeared to have accepted a drink from the fellow. I have to admit that lowered her considerably in my eyes.

  Anyway, Margie-poo and Avery Allington weren’t my main targets anyway. After my talk with Chief Bob I was more concerned with the resident company.

  Peter Constantine, standing alone at the bar; seemed as good a place as any. I squeezed in next to him and said, “Good show tonight.”

  He looked at me rather coolly I wondered if it was just that we hadn’t had any real conversations before, or if he had some other reason.

  To my surprise, it turned out he had.

  “I suppose so,” he said. “Not that it matters in my case.”

  I was still smiling, but my brow farrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nicola’s not the funniest part in the world, now is it? Fairly thankless task.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, I guess it is one of the straighter roles in the play.”

  He looked at me. “Straighter roles? I suppose you could call it that. The fact is, I feel like I’m doing some deserving apprentice out of a part.”

  My smile was becoming somewhat fixed. “It’s not as bad as all that.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he said. “How’d you like to be in the resident company—be here all summer long, go through the grind, do every show, back to back, no time off? It would be fine if the parts were worth doing, but what happens? Any decent part comes along and they get some big-shot actor from New York to come play it.”

  That was too much for me. “Hey, look,” I said. “It’s not like I came up here to ace you out of a part. I’m here filling in on two days’ notice because somebody died.”

  “Right,” he said. “The New York actor they brought in to play the juicy part to begin with.”

  I took a breath. “Okay,” I said. “But that’s just one show. Aren’t you playing the gentleman caller now?”

  “Oh, sure, in the small-cast shows. The ones nobody goes to see. But in the big shows ...” He shook his head. “We did The Fantasticks, you know. Think I played El Gallo? You think Dave did? Not that he’s right for it, of course, but what’s wrong with me? But you think I got it? Hell, no. They brought in some singer from New York, couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag. They always do with the musicals. As if acting don’t mean shit, they just go with a voice. They brought a kid in to play the boy, and Dave and I wind up playing the fathers. Plant a radish. Whoopdedo.”

  “Glass Menagerie’s a good play,” I said. “I did it myself.”

  “Sure you did. Twenty years ago, right? All the shows Herbie does are at least twenty years old. You notice that? You know why? He only directs things he’s already been in. He’s afraid to try anything new.”

  I frowned. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Yeah, well I would. I’d like to do The Foreigner. It’s perfect for summer stock—small cast, one set. And I’d love to play that part. Only Herbie won’t do it. You know why? He’s never been in it and he’s never seen it, so he doesn’t know how to do it.”

  Things were not going exactly as planned. I was trying to shed some light on the murder. Instead I’d run into an actor with a personal ax to grind.

  Well, so much for subtlety. Time to take the bull by the horns.

  “All right, listen,” I said. “I wanted to ask you something. What do you think about this Goobie Wheatly thing?”

  He frowned, “What do you mean?”

  “Who do you think might have done it?”

  He frowned again, deeper this time, and looked away, and I could see his mind going. Of course. He along with everyone else in the cast had already suggested to the cops that I was the most likely person to have done it.

  “That’s hard to say,” he said. Then, counterattacking, “Why are you interested?”

  “No particular reason,” I said. “I just happen to have spent the last two mornings being grilled at the police station. The fact is, the cops have no real suspect, so they’re picking on me. Since I just got here and don’t really know what’s happening, it’s hard to know what to tell ’em.”

  “Tell ’em the truth,” he said.

  “Right,” I said. “The truth is, I don’t know shit. Somehow that doesn’t seem to satisfy them.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Yeah. So I was wondering if you could help.”

  “How?”

  “You’re in the resident company, right? Been here all summer. So you’d know what’s going on.”

  “Whaddya mean? Nothing’s going on.”

  “It’s a figure of speech. Look, Goobie’s been here all summer too, right? Running all the shows?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So what he did to me about the prompter—hauling the kid out onstage and firing him to make me look like an as
shole—he ever do anything like that to anybody else?”

  He frowned. He hesitated a moment, and I got the impression Goobie probably had humiliated him at some time or other. “Goobie was always a pain in the ass,” he said. “Offended almost everyone. That’s no reason to kill him.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “I thought I had this terrific motive. You mean I probably didn’t commit the crime?”

  The minute I said that I realized I’d just flunked Private Detective 101 again. Christ, what an asshole. One sarcastic remark and you could just see the guy shut down. I’d never get anything out of him now.

  Too bad. Take your lumps, learn your lesson and move on.

  I looked around the bar for fresh game.

  Avery Allington was still hitting on Nellie Knight. No matter there—I could always talk to her in the dressing room anyway.

  Farther down the bar, David/Major Petkoff and Catherine what’s-her-name were sitting talking together. Fine. I’ll take ’em on both at once.

  I moved on down the bar to see what they were talking about, to see how I could edge into the conversation. It wasn’t going to be easy. They seemed to be having a heated conversation about the movies. That puzzled me. I hadn’t seen any movie theaters in town, and we didn’t have time to go anyway.

  Stranger still, what they were saying sounded vaguely familiar. Then I realized. It was Glass Menagerie. They were running lines.

  That let me out. I’d have butted into just about any conversation at that moment, but not two summer-stock actors trying to learn their parts.

  Well, that took care of the whole resident company. Great. Who should I tackle next?

  As if on cue, Beth apprentice-that-launched-a-thousand-ships Scott detached herself from a table of her peers and bellied up to the bar.

  I slid in next to her smoothly. “How’s it going?” I said.

  She smiled. “Not bad. Good show tonight.”

  “Oh? You saw it?”

  “I see ’em all. It’s what I’m here for. You think I’m here to learn to sew? I wanna be an actress. I watch the shows every chance I get.”

  “You see the matinee?”

  “No, I missed that.”

  “You didn’t miss much. It was the Avery Allington fan club. Average age eight to ten.”

  She grinned. “Yeah. Matinees are a hoot.”

  The bartender came and she ordered a beer. I realized when it came she’d be gone, so I had to move fast.

  “Listen,” I said. “I could really use your help.”

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  “You know I haven’t acted in a long time.”

  “You wouldn’t know it to see you onstage.”

  “Thanks. But the point is, I’ve been doing other things. For the past few years—well, I happen to be a private detective.”

  Her eyes got very wide. She sank down on the bar stool and looked at me in a goofy but totally enchanting way. “You’re a private eye?” she said.

  I put up my hand. “Do me a favor,” I said. “Keep it to yourself. Don’t spread it around.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “The Goobie Wheatly thing. The murder.”

  Her eyes got all wide again. “You’re here to investigate that.” She frowned. “No, you were here when it happened. You’re here to play the part.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Coincidence,” I said. “I mean me being a P.I. I’m here to play the part. But since I am a P.I., I’m doing a little investigating. I sort of have to. Because the cops haven’t got a clue in this case, so they’re leaning toward me. New kid in town. Plus that whole business of getting the prompter fired. And I was the one who found the body. So you could kind of say I’m investigating this thing in self-defense.”

  I know I had TV to thank for the buildup, but I have to tell you, Beth was absolutely thrilled.

  She lowered her voice conspiratorially “What do you want me to do?”

  “I need information,” I said. “Because I haven’t been here that long. I don’t know what the relationships are—the people in the theater. I don’t just mean with Goobie Wheatly—who had reason to hate him. From what I understand, everybody did. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but unfortunately he wasn’t a very nice guy. He pissed everybody off, and they all resented him. I understand he even hassled you.”

  “Oh? What did you hear?”

  “That he broke up some relationship or other.”

  She made a face. “Oh, that isn’t true. Phil and I were just friends. It’s not like—well, it wasn’t anything. I stopped seeing Phil because the relationship wasn’t going anywhere, you know? So Goobie starts acting like he broke us up. Which he didn’t. Because there was nothing to break up, see?”

  “Yeah, I do. But tell me something. What other relationships were there where there was something going on? Some juicy bit of gossip Goobie might have got his hands on? Somebody he might not have liked? How about the actors in the company, for instance? You know anything interesting about them?”

  “Actors in the company?”

  “Yeah.”

  She frowned. “Not likely. There’s only two guys and look at ’em.” She looked around to see who was in earshot, spotted Peter Constantine sitting at the end of the bar. She lowered her voice. “Peter Constantine. He’s gay.”

  That hadn’t occurred to me. I frowned. “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure. I mean, it’s not like he ever says anything, ever talks about it. But here he is, a young actor in summer stock, and he’s not coming on to the apprentice girls, you know?” She put her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like he’s coming on to the apprentice boys either. He just acts like he’s not interested. Keeps to himself. The quiet type. A loner, you know?”

  I did, and I felt a shudder. That was just the way mass murderers were always described by their neighbors after they were caught. Beth might not think much of him as a suspect, but I figured I could set my sights a notch higher on Peter Constantine.

  “So he wasn’t having a relationship with anyone that you know of?” I said.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Not with this other actor, this David what’s-his-name?”

  The beer had long since arrived. She had taken a sip and now she nearly spit it out giggling. “Him? No way.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “He’s not gay. Just fat.”

  Ah, youth. When perceptions were so cut and dried.

  “What about Goobie Wheatly?” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think there was anything between them?”

  “Between him and Peter?”

  “Yeah.”

  She wrinkled up her nose. “You mean sexual?”

  I shrugged.

  “Come on,” she said. “Give me a break.”

  “You’re saying there wasn’t?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Do you remember what kind of relationship he did have with Goobie Wheatly?”

  “None at all.”

  “Well, that’s strange, isn’t it?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “From what I hear, Goobie pissed everybody off. Are you telling me Peter Constantine wasn’t one of them?”

  “If so, it was nothing special. Nothing worth talking about. I’m sure Peter didn’t like him.”

  “Why?”

  “Like you say, nobody did.”

  “The other actor. David. What about him?”

  “What about him?”

  “Did he have any relationships, anything to hide? Or any particular grudge against Goobie Wheatly?”

  “Not that I know of. If you ask me, I think you’re on the wrong track.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “About the resident company. I can’t imagine them doing anything.”

  “What about the women?”

  “In the company?”

  “Yeah.”

  “N
o way. Not them.” She looked around. “You see Nellie there, talking to Avery Allington? You know why he’s buying her drinks?”

  “I have a pretty good idea.”

  “No, I don’t mean that. Sure, he’s trying to get her into bed. I mean, why is he trying? It’s because he’s new. ’Cause he’s jobbed in for the show, so he doesn’t know her yet.”

  “So what?”

  “She’s a cock-tease. All talk and no action. Likes to lead guys on. Then when they find out they’re getting nowhere, they drop her like a hot potato.” She jerked her thumb in Avery’s direction. “He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll see.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Huh?”

  “How do you know she does that? Who did she do it to?”

  “Oh. Well, Phil for one. That’s the one I told you about, the one Goobie said he broke us up? Well, afterwards Phil made a play for her and she pulled the whole routine.” She shrugged. “I could have told him. But he wouldn’t have listened.”

  “You’re saying she’d done it before?”

  “Yeah.”

  “To who.”

  “Our producer/director.”

  My eyes widened. “Herbie?”

  “I shouldn’t be saying this, should I? He’s a friend of yours, right?”

  “Yeah, but we’re talking murder here. You saying there was something between him and Nellie Knight?”

  “No, there wasn’t. He might have thought there was, but it never happened. A cock-tease, see?”

  “Good lord,” I said. “And this was before the thing with Phil?”

  “Oh yeah. Way back. The beginning of the summer.”

  “And nothing since?”

  “What do you mean? The two of them? No, why would there be, when he found out it wasn’t going anywhere?”

  “Was there anybody else?”

  “You mean with Nellie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not that I know of. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It certainly is. What about the other one?”

  “Who? Julie?”

  “If that’s her name. The woman who plays Catherine.”

  “Yeah, that’s her. Julie Katz.”