If only the paper provided an adult nap room, we’d be so much more productive, she thought. When we’re not napping.
The library wasn’t large, but movable stacks maximized the floor space and slid apart at the press of a button. The volume she sought from twelve years before was easier to find than she expected, and Lacey lugged the big binder to a table by the window. Nodding to the statue of Admiral Farragut and the birds perched on his hat, she settled down to read.
The newspaper’s physical layout had changed over the past decade-plus. The Eye had matured from its weekly tabloid origins, but it was still the brash and bracing newcomer on the D.C. media scene. While the paper had vastly expanded its online coverage, the page count had begun to shrink in recent years, and Lacey was amazed at how thick these old issues were, stuffed with page after page of classifieds, personal ads, theatre and restaurant reviews. She flipped the dusty pages, trying not to be distracted by the ads.
The first article was a preview in the Arts section of the upcoming production of The Masque of the Red Death, describing the Kinetic Theatre’s original design and unique production process. The show drew its inspiration from the Edgar Allan Poe text and the vintage Roger Corman and Vincent Price film, said the director, Yuri Volkov, but the Poe tale itself was so brief that they had needed to “flesh it out.” That job fell to young local playwright Gareth Cameron. Dialogue would be kept to a minimum, however, and Kinetic was creating a musical interpretation of Poe’s short story with the troupe’s signature style of dance and movement. Nearly the entire troupe consisted of Russian émigrés who had trained in Russian theatres, according to The Eye.
Next came a review of the show’s opening night. KinetiC THEATRE brings RED Death to Life was the headline. The Eye’s critic at the time (before Tamsin Kerr) described the movement style as “a cross between ballet, martial arts, and Cirque de Soleil” and the music as “heavy metal meets Russian folk songs way off-Broadway.” Nevertheless, she gave the show a rave, calling it “daring and visually exciting,” and provided The Eye’s readers with a synopsis.
...The castle’s seven rooms, described in the Poe story as being decorated in seven different colors, have been reinterpreted by the Kinetic Theatre as also embodying the seven deadly sins: Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Envy, Lust, Pride, and Wrath. Set on interlocking mechanical platforms, the colors change and the rooms rise and fall and turn as dictated by the action.
True to Poe’s tale, the plague of the Red Death is running riot through the land, the blood pouring from the bodies of its dying victims giving the disease its name. Fearful of this deadly plague, the cowardly tyrant Prince Prospero abandons his people and invites his nobles and favored subjects to his remote castle. They lock the gates and plan to party away the plague year, even as it ravages the common folk.
As an amusement, Prospero throws a grand masque, here staged as a play within the play, studded with nuggets from other Poe stories. His guests don elaborate costumes and masks of every color, the color red alone being forbidden. At the climax of the masque, Death crashes the party disguised as a beautiful woman, swathed in a glorious, flowing red gown, her face concealed by a jewel-encrusted red mask. Intrigued by this mysterious seductress, Prospero follows her, desperate to know her identity. They whirl and pirouette, up and down, around and through the castle’s seven sin-themed rooms. The woman in red teases and beckons the prince further and further, until finally in the red room (for Lust) he catches and embraces her.
But she is the Red Death. The beautiful stranger opens her red gown to reveal the rotting corpse beneath. She removes her red mask to show her face, a gleaming jeweled skull. With shifting light and dazzling makeup, Kinetic’s stagecraft sleight-of-hand transforms costumer Nikolai Sokolov’s beautiful crimson dress from a lovely dream to a ghastly spectre of doom.
The Red Death spins exultantly across the ballroom floor as Prospero, realizing his fate, falls and dies. Death triumphs over all, laughing and dancing as the music swells. The rest of the cast join her for one last big production number as the revelers drop dead, one by one, leaving only Death to take the final bow...
Sounds like a hell of a show. At least our theatre critic was having fun.
Lacey turned back to the preview describing the costumes and the overall production design. This article was accompanied by several photographs. In the first, Saige Russell, the young actress who played the Red Death, wore the jeweled red mask, only her eyes visible. In the second, she gazed seductively at the camera, wearing the red gown but sans mask. Saige Russell was lovely, with large green eyes and masses of wavy dark hair, and yet the only time in the show when she took off the red mask, she was made up to resemble a death’s head. A shame she had to play that part without ever showing her real face.
Lacey paged through the volume to find the issue immediately following the show’s final performance. The news of the Red Death disaster had jumped from the Arts section to the front page of The Eye.
Red Death Actress Dies in Tragic Closing Night ACCIDENT
Uh oh. So the rumors were true. Damn.
Lacey had convinced herself it couldn’t possibly be true, that it was just a lurid local theatre legend, like Ford’s Theatre’s ghosts of Mary Todd Lincoln and John Wilkes Booth, and the spectral Hamlet in the National Theatre. Now she felt like the crimson gown was mocking her. Or maybe it was simply the world at large that mocked. Saige Russell really was dead, it seemed, and had been dead for a dozen years.
The paper reported that Russell appeared to have fallen from the top of the highest mechanical platform on the stage in a freak accident, and she suffered a broken neck. Her body was not discovered until the next morning. A Kinetic Theatre spokesman said Russell failed to show up at the opening night party at a nightclub called the Black Cat. That was unusual, but everyone thought she was simply exhausted from the performance and went straight home. No one knew what Russell was doing on the stage after the final curtain, the paper said. The story neglected to mention whether or not she was found wearing her Red Death costume.
A Russian children’s play, “The Nutcracker and the Mouse King,” had been scheduled for the following afternoon, using the same elaborate castle set but with brighter set dressing. That show was canceled. The Eye’s story was short on facts, but long on sympathetic quotes from Russell’s fellow theatre folk.
“Saige was on the cusp of great things,” said one Maksym Pushkin, the actor who had played Prince Prospero. “A star in the making.”
Of course. What else could anyone say?
“A beauty. A true professional,” said Yuri Volkov, the play’s director.
“She would have made it to the top,” said Katya Pritchard, another Kinetic actress and Saige’s understudy, apparently without irony.
It seems Saige did make it to the top, Lacey mused. And then she fell off.
More actors and theatre production people were quoted in several variations on what a terrible tragedy it was. There was nothing in the story that suggested to Lacey a connection to LaToya’s break-in. After all, it happened so long ago.
Lacey jotted down all the names mentioned in the three articles and lugged the heavy binder over to the library’s copier. It wasn’t easy wrangling the oversized book, but she was sure Mac and LaToya would want their own copies. She noted that the last seat in the chilly library had been taken by yet another sleepy staffer. Fighting a yawn herself, Lacey re-shelved the volume and gathered her copies.
Back at her desk she left a voice-mail message for Tamsin Kerr, The Eye’s current theatre critic. Did Tamsin know of any actresses who had worn the red dress who might be willing to talk about it?
She checked her notes. Amy Keaton still hadn’t returned her call. She tried her again: no answer, so she left another message. Why was this woman ducking Lacey’s calls? She begged me to intervene with LaToya, you’d think she’d want to hear from me. Was Keaton feeling ashamed of her behavior, which might include that bizarre break-in? Lacey hoped t
hat was the reason.
Because if Amy Keaton didn’t do the break-in, my only other suspect is Saige Russell’s ghost. Maybe she wants her red dress back.
CHAPTER 10
As promised, LaToya showed up at Lacey’s desk in the late afternoon, wearing a sleek sleeveless linen paprika-colored dress and red heels. She was keeping warm with a patterned scarf twisted around her neck.
“Red, really?” Lacey asked. “I assumed you’d had enough of red dresses.”
“Hell yes, red. I’m seriously jangled and red is my go-to color. Burgundy, crimson, claret, scarlet. Doesn’t matter. This is my way of defying bad things. You want me, world? Bring it on, I am wearing a red dress! Besides, this one was still in my closet, untouched.”
“Fair enough. Your go-to color might make a good Fashion Bite.” Lacey filed the idea away for later.
“Bite on. I’m ready to bite the head off the wacko who burgled my place.” LaToya took a breath. “So, what did you find out about my dress?”
“Only this.” Lacey handed her the copies of the articles from the archive. “I haven’t found any connection between that woman, the red dress, and your break-in.”
“Not yet.” LaToya’s red fingernails separated the pages like small daggers.
“No, not yet.” Lacey shifted in her chair. “I can’t imagine who would dare tangle with you, LaToya.”
“Makes two of us. I get that sucker, I’m gonna tear his, or her, lungs out.”
LaToya almost sat down in the Death Chair but thought better of it. She kicked it out of the way and dragged another chair over and sat down.
“I’ll take your word for it. If that Kinetic gown is going to cause such problems, are you sure you don’t want to just take it back to the theatre? Get your money back? Get the Keaton woman off your case?”
“Smithsonian, this is no longer a matter of style. Now it’s a matter of principle.”
“Which principle is that?”
“The nobody makes LaToya Crawford back down from anything principle.”
Lacey smiled. “No wonder Broadway Lamont is afraid of you.”
“He is not afraid, he’s just shy. He’s gotta warm up to me.” LaToya stared at the old photos of Saige Russell. “Okay, listen up. I’m too close to this story, I know that. I’m willing to let you take it and run with it, write the tale of the red dress, so I can tell it to my future children. All I want is a happy ending. And that red dress. After all, this may be the thing that brings Broadway and me together.”
“So when are you going to take the dress off my hands? Soon, I hope.”
“Are you crazy? I want it, but I don’t want it till it’s been cleaned,” LaToya said. “Between you and me, Lacey, I’m not sure I really do want it anymore, but no one else is getting it.”
“Cleaned? You mean dry cleaned?”
“Don’t be coy. You know I’m talking about washing the weirdness out of that dress. That’s what I want, a dress cleansed of all that bad juju. Psychically purified. Spiritually spotless.”
“Not my specialty.”
“So you say, Smithsonian.”
“You just want it to have a story, LaToya. A great story to go with a great dress.”
“We’re reporters, Lacey. Everything is about the story. Who wouldn’t want a notorious dress? Well, a certain amount of notorious.” She read further and suddenly dropped the article on Lacey’s desk. “Oh my god, she did die in that dress!”
Across the newsroom, reporters’ heads popped up like prairie dogs.
“We don’t know she died in the dress. And keep it down,” Lacey whispered. “Don’t forget, if that dress is related to her death and your break-in, the cops might want it for evidence. It will disappear into an evidence locker and that might as well be a black hole.”
Mac materialized at Lacey’s desk and loomed over the two reporters like a storm cloud. “Someone yelling out here?”
“Not me.” Lacey glanced over at LaToya.
“I wouldn’t call that yelling,” LaToya said, turning the articles over to Mac. “You’ve heard me yelling. That was more like a startled reaction. Mild surprise.”
“I heard the words dead and dress. So there was a death associated with that crazy dress?” He raised his eyebrows at Smithsonian.
“Not necessarily,” Lacey said. “The dress may have had nothing to do with the woman’s death.”
His eyebrows gathered together to form an impressive storm front and he pointed them at LaToya. “And what about the break-in?”
“I’m waiting for Smithsonian to find a connection,” LaToya said.
“Come on, LaToya. There’s no connection! Sometimes things just happen.”
“Well, they don’t just happen to me.”
“These are a lot of articles for one show.” Mac picked up LaToya’s stack of copies and flipped through them.
“I got lucky,” Lacey said. “And it seems The Eye had more than one theatre writer back then.”
He snorted in reply. “Unless it’s murder, keep the noise level down out here. And keep me in the loop.”
Lacey and LaToya watched him make an obligatory pass over Felicity’s desk, checking for afternoon snacks. There were none. He walked away, grumbling.
“Okay, storm’s over,” LaToya said. “Did you talk to that frizzy-haired woman?”
“She hasn’t returned my calls.”
“She’s the type, all right.” LaToya glowered. “Makes you crazy, doesn’t answer your calls, won’t call you back.”
“I’ll try again. In the meantime, don’t say anything to Harlan Wiedemeyer. He loves weird death stories, he’ll want to steal this one.”
“The jinx? I’d never tell Wiedemeyer anything. That man practices some strange upside-down magic.”
“He’s not a jinx. And he’s heading this way.”
“He is a jinx. My berry-red dress better not go up in flames.” LaToya jumped up from the chair. “Gotta finish a story, I’m on deadline.” She strutted away at top speed on her dangerous red heels.
There’s got to be a name for that walk, Lacey thought Maybe the Reporter Quick Step. Lacey’s desk phone rang, and it was Tamsin Kerr returning her call. Tamsin sounded like she was still in bed. The life of a theatre critic.
“Thanks, Tamsin, I need your special knowledge. Do you know any of the actresses who have worn the red dress from Red Death?”
A pause. “Ah, the famous dress. Possibly. Let me think. One curious thing, though. No one at Kinetic ever wears it, only actresses from outside the company. Their own people seem to think it’s not a good idea, but they’re happy to loan it out. I knew a few actresses at Woolly Mammoth who wore it years ago, and that one woman at Arena Stage, but they’ve all gone to New York, I don’t even have numbers for them anymore. Oh, wait, I can think of at least two women at Source Theatre who have donned the deadly dress for special occasions. Susannah Kittredge and Noelle Pepper. One of them wore it this year to the Helen Hayes Awards and one last year, but don’t ask me which was which. I’m good, but not that good.”
“I appreciate your gift.”
“Do get something dramatic out of this, won’t you?” Tamsin yawned.
“I’ll settle for newsworthy. You have their phone numbers?”
Lacey called Susannah Kittredge, who said she’d be happy to meet her for lunch the next day at Trio’s Restaurant, and she would call Noelle Pepper, who was a friend. If that lunch, of course, was on The Eye? Lacey assured her it would be. Kittredge explained she had a daytime gig reading books for the blind through the Library of Congress, while Pepper worked in industrial films. Tomorrow though, she thought their lunchtime schedules might just possibly be free.
Of course they’re free, if there’s a free lunch. Actors!
CHAPTER 11
What makes this gown so special?
Lacey loved good clothes, but she was always a little surprised when others got obsessed with a dress, especially when the obsession involved her coworkers. And her e
ditor, of all people. It was a mystery.
Her only plan this afternoon was to go back to the beginning. She reread all the articles she had copied and found a name she’d overlooked before, the costume designer, Nikolai Sokolov. The Eye only mentioned him once, but he was also credited with the set and lighting design. He seemed to be a one-man wonder, but then the Kinetic Theatre was just starting out back then. The article credited one of the actors, Maksym Pushkin, as a wardrobe assistant. Lacey knew theatre people often worked double and triple duty, especially in struggling small theatres.
Sokolov was one place to start. In the archive she found a few more mentions of him in connection with Kinetic and other local theatre companies. He had won a couple of Helen Hayes Awards, Washington’s equivalent of Broadway’s Tony, but he had no other social media trails. She called Kinetic. Someone had to be at the theatre by now.
Someone was. However, Kinetic’s artistic director, Yuri Volkov, made it clear he was sorry he’d picked up the phone. He reluctantly allowed that if she really had no intention of leaving him alone, she could come by the theatre, if she really wanted to waste her time. It would have been easier to just answer a few questions on the phone, Lacey thought, but no, he wanted her to jump through hoops.
Maybe it’s a Russian thing. He makes Gregor Kepelov seem charming.
The sun was searing as she left The Eye’s cool lobby. The June heat wave had Washingtonians praying for rain. Lacey tried hailing a taxi, without luck. She strolled on in the heat, stopping at a café for an iced tea. When she reached the theatre both she and the tea were melting.
Kinetic occupied an old building just off Sixteenth Street NW near Dupont Circle, where it had resided for the past several years. The Masque of the Red Death had been produced in a different space, Lacey remembered from her clippings, one borrowed from another theatre.
The Masque of the Red Dress Page 8