“You’ve seen me bloody before … and anyway, who cares? You look … just … just—”
She laughed and threw her arms around his neck.
“I’ve got bad news for you, Greco. This is how I always look in the morning.”
He laughed. “I’m tough, I can take it.”
Debbie Macadam had joined them. “So, you must be the man in the Hathaway shirt ad we’ve been hearing so much about … the one-eyed wonder!”
Greco laughed. “That’s me.”
Billy Blumenthal was clapping his hands in the doorway. A champagne cork popped in the quiet.
“Okay, kids, give me just a minute here. I’ve got an announcement you might be interested in. As you know, we have a movie studio backing us through this first stage of production. Frankly, based on what I saw out there tonight, they’ll be sticking with us—”
A cheer went up but he waved them quiet again.
“I’m very pleased to tell you now about something that’s been in the works for the past week or so. We have a definite second commitment—are you ready for this? Another half-million dollars!” He was drowned out by shouts of excitement. Celia felt a shiver of excitement and felt Greco squeeze her shoulders. “And … and,” Blumenthal went on, “we’re going to take this little mother all the way to Broadway!” Pandemonium, hugs and kisses all around, champagne spilling and foaming.
“The Martin Beck Theatre,” Billy said. “We open late in August after two months in this little Chelsea sauna”—laughter, moans—“and we’re the first show of the new season!”
From among the excited cries Debbie Macadam’s voice could be heard. “Who is it, Billy? Who’s our angel?”
“Ah, my darling, you have but to ask. I’d like you to meet our new back—a true lover of the theatre … an angel beyond our wildest dreams … a wonderful guy you’re all gonna love … here he is!”
Billy stepped out of the doorway and everyone peered forward, applauding, as a very fat man, blushing pink, perspiring profusely, rode his wheelchair into view.
Celia felt her breath catch as the others crowded around him. Linda Thurston couldn’t have worked it out better. She put her mouth to Greco’s ear.
“You are a scoundrel, you darling man—”
“And a bit of a blackmailer … but listen, he told me he loved the show.”
“You talked with him tonight?”
“Hell, we sat together. I figured he had this half million sitting around gathering dust …” He shrugged.
“I love you, scoundrel!”
“I’ve earned it, right?”
“I guess you have at that. …”
Peter Greco winked his big brown eye.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1986 by Dana Clarins
cover design by Michael Vrana
978-1-4532-6614-4
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The Woman Who Knew Too Much Page 21