Theater Nights Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  He was snatching his scripts back and telling everyone off when a statuesque beauty entered the room in a cloud of pale pink silk. She wore her hair in a graceful silver bob, and when she walked, not a hair dared to flutter, as if her lithe, dancer’s body had hidden wings while I was forced to stamp around like a barn animal.

  Mother Gibson jabbed me in the side with her elbow. “That’s Blanche Carrigan.”

  The gossip lowered to a hush and all eyes turned to Aunt Ginny.

  “Moira.”

  The angel smiled serenely and took Aunt Ginny’s hands in hers. “Ginny, it’s so good to see you. And please, Moira was so long ago. I go by Blanche now. I’m surprised you’re still around. Have you been unwell?” She looked Aunt Ginny up and down with a shade of pity.

  Aunt Ginny returned an insincere smile. “I’m fit as ever. I’m glad to see the twelve-step program is working. We hadn’t expected you to be sober tonight.”

  Mother Gibson trilled under her breath, “Woo-hoo.”

  Blanche’s smile cracked at the edges and her pale blue eyes flashed a sharp pang of irritation. She dropped Aunt Ginny’s hand and opened her mouth to say something.

  Suddenly, all eyes swiveled in my direction. I was at first flattered and wished I’d worn my dressy yoga pants; then I realized they were looking behind me at the very dashing gentleman with a head full of fluffy white hair. He was wearing a tan linen Italian suit with a crisp white shirt and tan-and-white loafers. He was lightly bronzed and smiling like he’d just arrived by yacht from sunny Tuscany.

  I whispered, “I gather that’s Royce. He sure doesn’t look like he’s in his eighties.”

  Mother Gibson whispered back, “Good genes.”

  Aunt Ginny whispered a little more loudly, “Botox.”

  Mr. Ricardo scowled as the room broke into applause and his ladies left him to turn their attentions toward the dashing newcomer.

  Blanche floated to the tall man and air-kissed him on each cheek. “Royce. How good to see you again. Are you settling in okay?”

  She crooked her arm around Royce’s and gave a triumphant look to Aunt Ginny.

  Her triumph didn’t last long, because a little toad of a woman with pinkish-red hair and a thick coating of blue paste on her eyelids removed Blanche’s arm from Royce and snapped hers in its place. She wore a garishly bold print of Technicolor cats and had on a shade of orange lipstick that made her skin look like egg custard.

  Royce looked down at the round little toad and gave her a gleam of pearly whites. He patted her stubby hand with his own.

  She grinned back, and her painted-on eyebrows scrunched down to her flat nose.

  Royce turned a warm smile on the roomful of strangers. “It’s good to be home. I see some friendly faces.” His eyes lingered on Aunt Ginny for just a moment longer than everyone else. “You all remember my sister, Fiona. And her son, Ignatius.” Royce looked around confused. “Where’d he go?”

  Fiona tipped her head back and screeched, “Iggy!”

  A brooding hulk with rounded shoulders, a swayback, and a paunch appeared in the doorway under an invisible gray cloud. He ran his hand through the few wisps of black hair that did little to hide his bald spot no matter how far they were combed over. “What?”

  Fiona jabbed him in his faded MÖTLEY CRÜE T-shirt. “Iggy, Uncle Royce wants to introduce you.”

  Iggy mumbled a frosty “Whatever.”

  Royce gave the room a sheepish grin and cocked his head. “Iggy, everybody.”

  I raised my hand and started to say, “Hi, Iggy,” but all the ladies started talking at once and rushing to get a piece of Royce’s attention. Fiona clutched his sleeve, creating trenches in the linen. Only Aunt Ginny and Mr. Ricardo stayed where they were. One was being aloof and the other was pouting.

  “Aren’t you going to go over and say hi?”

  Aunt Ginny returned my innocent question with a glare. “I’d rather set myself on fire.”

  Everyone was talking at once, peppering Royce with questions about Broadway and other famous stars they’d read about in gossip magazines.

  “What’s it like to work with Liza Minnelli?”

  “She’s delightful.”

  “Do you know Barbra Streisand?”

  “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “I saw you perform with Carol Channing in Sugar Babies!”

  “Oh my, that was forty years ago!”

  Royce was taking it all in stride, nodding, smiling, and signing autographs, but Fiona had taken to swatting at people like flies. “Get back! Get back! Royce didn’t come here to be mauled. My brother is only here as a favor to Neil. Get back!”

  Royce patted his sister on the shoulder. “That’s all right, Fee. I don’t mind. I spent a lot of years on tour and didn’t get back as often as I would have liked.”

  Blanche smiled brightly. “Or at all.”

  Fiona jabbed her tube of lipstick at Blanche. “Hey, my brother toured with the Royal Shakespeare Company in London. Only the very best actors get that honor. Every director wanted him. He couldn’t come home whenever the mood struck like some two-bit extra.” She applied another layer of coral to her thin lips.

  Blanche remained perfectly composed except for the death grip on her handbag. Her knuckles were white and one of the rhinestones popped off the clutch and rolled under the paint cabinet.

  Royce began to wax poetic. “Oh, to be on tour with the Bard again. Those were the glory days. ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’”

  Fiona gave a smug look to the room. “That was Shakespeare.”

  Royce gave a modest chuckle. “Well, I don’t know if I would say I’m a superstar . . .”

  Aunt Ginny muttered next to me. “No one else said it either.”

  Duke was trying to shove one of his booklets into Royce’s hands when Neil Rockford, the new Senior Center director, appeared.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Just wait till you see what I have in store for you!”

  Chapter Seven

  “Hey! You made it.” Neil Rockford thrust his hand into Royce’s. He was tall and thin. His hair was white, and he looked like he was about fifty. He had the physique of someone who was naturally athletic. In the few months since he had taken over as director of the Senior Center, he had done a marvelous job of making it a place full of fun activities for Cape May County’s elderly. Although I suspected many of the ladies faithfully came to the events because Neil was handsome, and they liked to keep their flirting skills sharp. He shook Royce’s hand with vigor. “This is quite an honor, sir. Quite an honor.”

  Royce allowed his hand to be pumped and smiled affably. “Good, good. Well, anything I can do to help local thespians.”

  Neil continued to hold Royce’s hand. “Wonderful. Just wonderful. This is going to be the best production the Cape May Senior Center has ever put on.”

  Royce liberated his hand and Fiona promptly reclaimed his arm. “Oh? I was under the impression that this would be your first play.”

  Neil crossed his arms around himself. “Well, yes. But it will set the bar very high.”

  Royce grinned and patted Fiona’s hand.

  “Besides,” Neil continued, “now that you’re back in town, how could we not put on a play?”

  Blanche snapped her fingers in front of Neil’s face and sang out, “Daylight’s wasting, dahling. Where do you want us?”

  Neil set his eyes on Blanche. “You look lovely tonight, dear.”

  Aunt Ginny turned and tried to walk out the emergency exit, but I caught her by the elbow. “Uh-uh.”

  Neil took Blanche’s hand and tucked it in his arm and started leading the procession down the hall. “I convinced the county to let me turn the assembly room into a proper theater. It’s a project that’s been in the mix for several months, but my contractor assures me it will be completed in time for opening night.”

  Duke called out from the middle of the procession, “What if we don’t
want to do Mamma Mia!?”

  Everyone but Neil shushed him.

  We picked our way down the long hall, Neil escorting Blanche, followed by Royce with Fiona embedded into his side like a bright orange tumor. A morose Iggy plodded behind them, followed very closely by the rest of the seniors, trying not to let Royce get out of fawning distance. Aunt Ginny and I brought up the rear, mostly because Aunt Ginny was trying to escape and I was determined not to let her do something she’d regret later.

  The old assembly room had been converted into a little theater with a large stage and two-story red velvet curtains at one end, a modest backstage area with a booth to operate lights and sound effects, and six rows of off-set seating for about seventy-two patrons with an aisle down the center. There was a scaffolding set up, and some of the lights rested on the floor waiting to be hung.

  Neil hopped up on the stage and held out his arms. “The seats were bought from a theater in Atlanta that was being torn down, and most of the equipment is refurbished. I got the curtains on Etsy, and the piano was donated by the Methodists when they raised enough money for their new baby grand.”

  The seniors oohed and aahed over the plush red seats and tried them out, bouncing and testing the springs.

  “Hey!” Mr. Sheinberg popped up from the second row. “This one poked me in the keister.”

  Neil grinned. “Yeah, some of them do that. Now, if I can get everyone’s eyes on me for just a minute . . . yes. I know you are all excited to get going with the auditions.” He chuckled. “I mean, you’ve been hounding me since I got here to put on a play. I think you’re going to love Mamma Mia! The costumes alone . . .”

  Duke held up his booklets. “Let’s do something more dramatic!”

  Someone threw a pack of Tic Tacs at Duke’s head. “Sit down!”

  Duke dropped into a theater seat with a loud squeak.

  Neil ignored him. “Mamma Mia! is a story about love and second chances . . .”

  Duke hollered through the pages of his script that he’d turned into a tube. “Lame!”

  Neil shot Duke a look.

  Duke jumped up. “Mine has everything. Drugs. Guns. Betrayal. Crime. Car chases. Gambling. Redemption.”

  Mr. Sheinberg imitated Duke. “Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Revenge. Meh.”

  About fifteen seniors shouted, “No!”

  Duke flopped back in his seat and sulked.

  Neil went on like nothing had happened. “I picked Mamma Mia! because there are a lot of parts for both men and women, and you all know most of the songs already.”

  Mother Gibson stage-whispered, “If we can remember them.”

  Mrs. Davis whispered back, “I saw ABBA in New York in ’79.”

  Mrs. Dodson narrowed her eyes. “You did not.”

  Mrs. Davis narrowed her eyes right back. “I did too. I saw them getting out of a cab at a Beanie’s Pizza.”

  Mother Gibson snorted, and Aunt Ginny groaned and looked for the exit.

  Neil jumped down from the stage and took a stack of papers from the top of the piano that he began handing out. “I’ve chosen two scenes for readings, and for the vocal tryouts, Mr. Iggy Sharpe has graciously volunteered to play the musical numbers for us.”

  Iggy mumbled, “No, I didn’t.”

  Fiona poked him in the butt and growled through gritted teeth, “Ignatius Jeremiah! Get up there.”

  Iggy dragged himself over to the piano with all the effort of a slug in a footrace for free salt.

  Neil handed Royce two pages and flashed him a brilliant smile. “Of course, you will be playing the lead role of Sam, but I’d love it if you’d read across from the ladies as they try out.”

  Royce took the pages and returned a brilliant smile of his own. “I’d be delighted.”

  Duke groused when Neil handed him his lines, and he tried to swap Neil a copy of his script.

  I whispered to Aunt Ginny, “I wonder what part he’s picked for you to read.”

  I didn’t have to wonder long because Neil paused when he got to Aunt Ginny. He looked deep into her eyes with bright intensity. “I know you will do especially well, Mrs. Frankowski.”

  Aunt Ginny blushed. “Call me Ginny.”

  Neil flashed his brilliant smile. “Ginny.” He winked at her before moving on to Mrs. Dodson and Mrs. Davis.

  Mother Gibson waved him off. “I’m not trying out. I’m just here to watch.”

  Neil put his arm around the woman who might have been old enough to be his grandmother. “Do you know what I need most of all?”

  Mother Gibson shook her head.

  “Someone to be in charge of the stage crew.”

  Mother Gibson’s face lit up. “Well, I don’t know what stage crew does, honey, but I love to be in charge. I’ll do it!”

  Neil squeezed her shoulder. “Excellent.”

  He turned to address the room. “I’ll call you in the order that you signed up. Royce, would you please take your mark on the stage?” Then Neil turned and sat in the first seat of the front row.

  Royce took his place center stage. Aunt Ginny and I took our seats and Fiona plopped down next to us.

  “Iggy is just delighted to be a part of his uncle’s play.”

  Aunt Ginny and I leaned forward to look at Iggy, who was slumped over with his forehead resting on the top of the piano. Fiona didn’t seem to notice. She was beaming. “Just wait till you hear him play. My Iggy has a master’s degree in piano.”

  Aunt Ginny didn’t look convinced. “Does he?”

  Blanche was called to the stage and made a big production with her entrance. With her arms outstretched, she swept onto the platform with a flourish. “Together again at last. This is quite a treat for all of you. Royce and I made a great team on stage during our very successful Broadway careers, didn’t we, partner?”

  Royce’s eyebrows shot up, but he declined to answer.

  Fiona snorted. “Stupid cow. She didn’t have a Broadway career. She tried to ride my brother’s coattails until she was finally chased out of New York. It serves her right for taking my brother away from me. If she hadn’t enticed him to go to the city, he could have stayed home and worked in the family welding business.”

  Welding? That would be a hard no.

  Aunt Ginny muttered under her breath, “He would have loved that.”

  Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Dodson turned around in their seats to properly gossip and snub Blanche. Mrs. Davis whispered, “I heard she came home early because she couldn’t even get a part as an off-Broadway extra.”

  Fiona leaned forward in her seat. “Royce said that no one would work with her. He had to escape to London before she ruined both of their careers. That’s why he signed up to apprentice with the Shakespeare people.”

  Mrs. Dodson put a hand on her bosom “Well, I don’t normally like to gossip.”

  I almost choked, but I managed to hold it together. Aunt Ginny had less success, and I had to pat her on the back a few times.

  Mrs. Dodson glared at us before continuing on. “I heard she came home flat broke and with a little prob-lem.” Mrs. Dodson nodded and made the sign for kicking back a shot. “Had to do a stint in Cape Rehab.”

  Fiona looked from side to side. “She was singing a different tune back then. There was none of this my-old-partner-Royce stuff. She called our house every night and made herself a menace, demanding that if we ever heard from him to tell him she needed to speak to him right away. She said he owed her that much. Can you believe?”

  Mrs. Davis shook her head. “The nerve.”

  Aunt Ginny finally piped in. “I don’t know where all her money came from, but it wasn’t her fame as an actress.”

  Fiona’s painted-on eyebrows leaned toward each other, making a pinkish-red seagull on her forehead. “Ha! I’ll tell you where the money came from. It came from her second husband.”

  A loud “Ahem!” came from the stage. We looked up to see Blanche scowling in our direction. Apparently, she expected a rapt audience while she auditioned.<
br />
  Fiona ignored her. “That poor man—Vernon, I think his name was. Or maybe it was Victor. Anyway, she didn’t have a pot to pee in before she met him.”

  Mrs. Davis said, “He must have been loaded, because after he died she was rolling in it.”

  Aunt Ginny stiffened beside me. “Oh no.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  With trembling hands, she handed me her audition pages. “Look what scene we have to perform.”

  I scanned the pages. It was the scene where Sam and Donna fight about their breakup. I had no words. I took a long look at Aunt Ginny squirming in her seat. Iggy started to play “SOS” for Blanche’s audition. I handed the pages back. “What do you want to do? If you’re going to regret not trying out, I think you should go for it. But if it’s too much considering . . . I can get us out of here with any number of fake emergencies. It’s your call.”

  Aunt Ginny watched the stage. Blanche was very good when she wasn’t off-key, and Royce was still trying to get into the rhythm of the song. Next to us, Fiona was enumerating all the productions Royce had been a part of on Broadway and London’s West End.

  Mr. Ricardo appeared and threw himself down on the other side of Aunt Ginny in a huff. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. He’s not Hugh Jackman.”

  I kept my eyes on Aunt Ginny but asked Mr. Ricardo, “What scene are the men reading?”

  He held up his pages. “The scene where someone named Sophie asks me if I’m her father.”

  Aunt Ginny squared her shoulders and bit her lip. “I’ll do it. I’m not backing out.”

  I patted her knee. “You’re going to be great.”

  Mr. Ricardo threw his arm over Aunt Ginny’s chair. “What do you have to worry about? You have a great voice. Blanche has made the piano player start over three times. She told him he was off-key.”

  Iggy was effortlessly teasing “SOS” out of the keys, and Blanche kept stepping in front of Royce to deliver her lines.

  Royce threw his hands up and took a further step back. He let Blanche sing her lines and his. When her audition was over, only Neil’s applause was more than polite. Blanche seemed very confident in her performance and took an opening-night bow.