Audition for Murder

by P. M. Carlson

  “Oh, right.” Maggie explained, “We’ll have to figure out something else, Brian. One of those big hot instruments could trigger the sprinkler system.”

  “Hey, terrific symbolism!” enthused Rob. “I stab the King, and the heavens open! Divine intervention!”

  “Après moi, le déluge,” declaimed Nick.

  “Well, we’ll think of something,” said Brian, grinning. “But right now, let’s get back to work. First court scene.”

  As usual, a few people lingered after rehearsal to talk to Brian. Rob waited until a couple of students in the Players’ troupe finished their questions, then said, “Brian, I’d like to ask an important favor.”

  “Sure. What is it?” The two men faced each other in the middle of the imaginary stage.

  “I’d like to switch the Saturday rehearsals to the morning.”

  “That’s a real problem, Rob.” Brian frowned, sympathetic but unwilling. “Some people have Saturday morning classes. And we’ve all planned our lives the other way.”

  “I know it’s inconvenient. But the afternoon rehearsals turn out to be a major problem.”

  Ellen saw that Nick, halfway into his storm coat, had paused to listen to them.

  “This is the way we outlined it to you to begin with,” said Brian.

  “I know that, Brian. But I still want to change.”

  “Damn it, Rob!” Brian couldn’t understand his stubbornness. “Look at the whole picture! We can’t rehearse in this room Saturday morning, there’s a class in here at ten. It would really be difficult to change everything now. You knew what you were getting into. We spelled it all out.”

  “Things have come up,” said Rob. He was calm, but coldly determined. Ellen’s stomach knotted. Then Nick joined in.

  “Brian, I know it’ll be a big adjustment, but Rob is right,” he said. “It would be a lot easier on Lisette and me too, and probably Chester, if we could shift the schedule just that little bit.”

  “It’s not just a little bit, Nick,” said Brian. “It’s a major upheaval. We’ll have to rework the whole rehearsal schedule because of people with Saturday classes. We’ll have to locate a new room. We’ll have to reorganize everything in a way I just don’t have time for now.”

  “We have a real problem too, though,” Nick said quietly. “I’m enjoying everything we’re doing here. But we have to think ahead, keep up our New York City contacts. It’s almost pointless to drive into the city Saturday night and spend just Sunday there. Part of Sunday.”

  “Nobody’s even awake on Sundays,” said Rob.

  “Right,” said Nick. “But if we can get there by dinnertime Saturday, we’ll be able to catch most of the people we need to see. It’s important, Brian.”

  “I see that, Nick.” Brian, outnumbered, was not giving in. “But you did agree. And it’s too damn inconvenient to change now.”

  Nick was sympathetic. “I know it is,” he said. “And you’re probably doing something important yourself on Saturday mornings.”

  Brian almost didn’t answer, but Nick was friendly, and he finally gave a rather sheepish shrug. “It’s my son,” he said. “Gary. I take him skating. He’s in school now, and with these rehearsals every night, it’s the only time I see him all week.”

  “I’m sorry, Brian.” Nick glanced quickly at Rob, who was looking unhappily at the floor, then went on. “I know that’s important. But we have to worry about our contacts in the city.”

  “It’s our careers,” said Rob. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone’s son.”

  “Oh, I understand that,” said Brian. “But…”

  “We probably won’t all be gone every weekend,” said Nick. “So we can switch back sometimes. But I still agree with Rob: it would be best for all of us if we could count on that time off.” Brian was stubbornly silent, and Nick added, “You see, Brian, we’re always job-hunting. We don’t have tenure.”

  “Oh, hell!” Defeated, Brian shook his head. “I’ll see what I can do. Damn it.”

  “Thanks, Brian. I appreciate it,” said Rob warmly.

  “It’ll help us all,” said Nick.

  Brian nodded shortly and turned away to talk to Chester Morgan. Nick exchanged an unsmiling look with Rob before joining Lisette at the door. She said softly, “Nicky, it’s for the best.”

  He shoved the door open with a heavy shoulder. “Yeah. For an encore, you want to see us drown a few kittens?” She took his arm affectionately and they went out.

  The discussion that Chester and Brian were having looked like a long one, so Ellen picked up her books and took them into the little adjoining room to read. She found Maggie and Paul there already, heads bent together over a physics book.

  “Okay, I see that,” Paul was saying. “But I don’t understand this step right here. Where does that number come from?”

  “That’s just algebra. You have to multiply both sides of the equation by the same number.”

  “Oh, right. Fine. All right, I’ve got that one. Now the next problem I had trouble with was this one.”

  Maggie looked up at Ellen. “We’ll be a while,” she said. “Want me to lock up for you?”

  “Thanks,” said Ellen. She tossed her the key and left.

  Jim ambushed her in the hall, falling into step beside her as she started downstairs. “Great rehearsal,” he said.

  A safe topic. Ellen let her enthusiasm show. “That nunnery scene, Jim! I couldn’t believe how exciting it was already!”

  “They’re professionals,” he said, holding the door for her.

  “Yes, but they weren’t even off book yet. And Rob looked so tired before he started. But then it was so exciting. Like electricity between them.”

  “I’m glad you liked it too.”

  His voice was warm. Ellen fumbled for her car keys. There were snowflakes blowing in the bleak night. She said, “I’m going home, Jim. I have work to do.”

  “Can I ride along? I’ll leave right away when we get there. I promise.”

  If he hadn’t looked so cold, she might have said no. Damn him. But she unlocked the door for him and turned on the heater a moment before putting the car into gear and asking brusquely, “Okay, what is it?”

  He was just a shadow sitting beside her in the moving car, a shadow that without touching her dragged at her like a magnet. “I love you,” he said simply.

  “Goddamn it, Jim! That’s over!” No, no, Ellen, cool down, she told herself. Not worth a flap. She added calmly, “We went through all that last term. Remember? All that love conquers all stuff. Well, it doesn’t.”

  “I know.”

  “You just broke promise after promise. You were never there when you said you’d be. I went crazy changing plans, never knowing what was happening, or when you’d decide to ignore me.”

  “It’s the work, Ellen. I can’t help it.”

  “I can’t help it either. I need reliability. Commitment. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  “Because this is killing me,” he said miserably.

  She hated him, sitting there reminding her of the worries, of the last-minute disappointments, of the anger. Of the comfort in his arms. She hated him. Or something. Damn him. She drove wordlessly past the dorm and turned into the parking lot.

  He said, “I just wanted to know if, I mean, is it really better for you without me?”

  “Yes!” cried Ellen, swinging recklessly into a parking space. Before she could switch off the ignition she was snuffling stupidly. He reached over timidly and touched her hair. She shook her head wildly. “Damn you, Jim!”

  “Yes,” he said soothingly, not timid anymore. “Yes.”

  He broke another promise that night. He didn’t leave right away. Not at all.

  Seven

  There was no fun in Maggie’s demeanor tonight, no laughter in those eyes. “What’s wrong?” asked Nick. He and Lisette had stepped into the hall during a short break in the rehearsal to find her waiting by the drinking fountain.

  “Another one,” s
he said.

  “Hell. Where? We checked her things. Nothing there.”

  Last week Lisette had picked up her script after a court scene to discover one of her photo-resumes tucked into it. A black spider—real but dead—hung from a fake web that reached from her ear to her nose.

  “Maybe our joker is going public,” said Maggie. “It’s in the costume room. It’s not pretty.”

  Nick and Lisette followed her down a flight of stairs from the rehearsal room floor to the empty costume room. Maggie indicated the bulletin board that usually held Cheyenne’s sketches of the Hamlet costume designs. Tonight they were gone, replaced by Lisette’s photo. Above the smiling face, the hair writhed eerily, a Medusa-like mass. Earthworms. Most of them still alive.

  “Oh, shit,” said Lisette.

  “Wonder where they got live ones in February?” Maggie, with admirable nonchalance, began to unpin the creatures and drop them into a styrofoam cup. “I’ll pop these fellows into the woods behind the gym before the costumers come back.”

  Nick stroked his chin, stubbly now with a two weeks’ beard. “There’s a sort of pattern,” he said dubiously.

  “What sort of pattern?” asked Lisette.

  “The photos were stolen at the cut rehearsal. The scorpion was at the dean’s reception. The drugs were at the restaurant. Last week’s spider was at the blocking for the court scenes. Tonight we’re working the crowd into the Players’ scene.”

  “Crowds,” said Maggie. “There’s never been an incident when only a few of you were rehearsing.”

  “You mean it’s someone in the crowd scenes?” asked Lisette.

  “Could be. Or it could be someone you see every day who wants to keep us guessing.”

  “The smallest group was at the restaurant,” said Nick, “but fourteen people is pretty close to a crowd.”

  “Brian is only calling one full-cast rehearsal a week, right?” asked Maggie.

  “Yes. The next one is Friday, the first week in March,” said Lisette, checking her book.

  “Friday. Okay. Let’s set a trap,” suggested Nick. “We could arrange things so that Lisette’s things will seem to be unguarded, but we’ll really take turns spying all evening. Okay? I’ll get Rob to help. Maybe it’ll be pointless and the joker will find another public room like this one. But all the other times involved her things.”

  “Or her,” Maggie reminded him, capping the cup of worms and sticking it into her parka pocket.

  “Maybe you should leave me unguarded too,” said Lisette. “Spy on me. Ever since the restaurant you’ve been hovering around like a big hairy hen with one chick.”

  Nick smiled and shook his head. “No, Blossom. That we won’t risk. We’re guessing that this is a basically harmless person with a sick and angry sense of humor. We’re guessing that the drug at the restaurant was a miscalculation, and the real goal was to get you embarrassingly drunk. But the problem is, it’s just guessing. And even if we’re right, the idiot might miscalculate again.” He picked up the photo and crumpled it into his pocket.

  “Lisette is right, though,” said Maggie thoughtfully, following them into the hall. “Watching her things might not work unless we’ve got bait. Pardon the expression, fellows,” she added, addressing her pocket.

  “Bait?”

  “Something to attract our joker to whatever we’re watching. Something irresistible to put with her things.”

  “Irresistible,” mused Lisette. “What?”

  “We’ll think of something by Friday.” They started upstairs as Maggie made her way down. Behind them they heard voices approaching the costume room. “See you soon.”

  “Okay, Jason, let’s do climbing stairs,” Nick said on Friday afternoon.

  Jason, in black exercise tights and tank top, with a new beard like Nick’s, moved into the middle of the classroom and began to mime going upstairs. His movements were angular and jerky. Nick watched carefully a moment and said, “Freeze.” Jason did. Nick moved to his side. “Okay, look. You want to get more of a mismatch. See, your thigh and your arm are working together.” He demonstrated. “Break the line more. The Man of Dreams is out of touch with his body. Usually you work for harmony; here you want to destroy it.” Nick adjusted Jason’s arm. “Okay, slowly now. Good. The trunk is still a little rigid. Try more translation of the shoulders. Yes, good. That’s got it.” He watched in satisfaction as Jason, his tall limber body controlled to the point of seeming uncontrolled, different forces pulling it different ways, wavered his angular way up the nonexistent set of stairs. “Okay. Good. But I’m afraid our time’s up for today. We’ll work on it again Monday.”

  The students stretched and started for their next class. Most were going to a tumbling class in the gym across the parking lot, but Jim Greer lingered a moment.

  “Nick, I had a question.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s sort of personal.”

  “I’ll try.” Nick smiled, and Jim took courage.

  “It’s just, well, is it really fair to be married if you’re an actor? You and Lisette seem very happy. But isn’t it hard?”

  “God, Jim.” Nick was taken aback. He smoothed back his thin hair. “Yeah. It’s hard. What can I say? You know that actors have a lousy domestic record.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I was asking. Because Chester and Rob seem like terrific people, but they’re divorced. The current Mrs. Morgan is supposed to be the fourth.”

  “Well, marriage can be hard work even for people with normal jobs. And ours is such a crazy business. You have to be totally committed to what you’re doing, or you won’t have a chance at all. And you have to expect some jealousy of that commitment.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Anyone who cares about you is going to feel abandoned at some stages of your work. Not everyone can be understanding.”

  “Jealousy.” Jim gnawed at the idea, brows mobile in the tanned, sensitive face. The reason for his concern was obvious to Nick; every night now, he waited to leave rehearsal with Ellen. Jim continued: “Because you’re so focused on your work. It really is a rotten life to offer anyone, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. A rotten and wonderful life. Best and worst. She wants to be a lawyer, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes. She’s really bright.” Jim kicked the table leg unhappily. “I keep thinking it might be better if I got out of her life. Better for her, I mean.”

  “God, I wish I could say something useful,” said Nick. “But I can’t, really. Typical day: you work out all morning. Voice lesson. Your coach says at the rate you’re going, you’ll be lucky to play frogs. Off to work, a commercial if you’re really lucky. Four hours of being part of the crowd behind some famous jock who can’t even pronounce the words, much less remember them. Afterwards you call your agent. None of the fifty auditions you just did is working out, and he hasn’t heard of anything coming up. You learn that the one solid contact you had, a top director who liked you in an Equity showcase, is moving to Europe for tax reasons. You call the restaurant that’s always let you wait table and they’re under new management, going cafeteria-style. Okay. Home at last. Your wife says, ‘Boy, Jim, have I had a rough day!’ Are you ready to listen to her?”

  Jim smiled sadly, shook his head. Nick added, “It’s great when it does work, Jim.”

  “Yeah.” He seemed grateful. “Well, thanks, Uncle Nick.” He picked up his gym bag and left.

  Uncle Nick. Rob’s nickname had stuck, and seemed as good a term as any for what he felt for his students. Closer than a professor, older and wiser than a brother. Maybe his advice was worthless to them, but he was warmed by the respect arid the confidence they placed in him. Clay-footed though he was. Well, he tried to be honest. The Ann Landers of Elsinore.

  He turned, feeling athletic in his black tights, and began to rearrange the room for his next class. His seniors were studying dialects, and he had asked Grace to work with them for a few minutes at the beginning of the class. As he set up the chairs, he wondered again
at his own sense of well-being. He was worried about Lisette, of course. There was the problem of the jokes—he hoped their trap would work tonight—but there was a much bigger worry. Lisette’s greatest enemy was herself. Was Ophelia going to be a danger to her? She was still resisting work on the mad scene, although her other scenes were going well and she was generally pleased with it. He knew her battle with herself would come to a head when she faced Ophelia’s death and madness.

  “Hi, Nick.” Grace came in, set down a small stack of books, and leaned back against a table, half-sitting. “Any special instructions?”

  “None at all. You know what they’ve done already. Take them wherever you want from there.”

  “I thought I’d work a little on upper-class British.”

  “Great. That’s very useful, and not easy for them.”

  “The vowels are hard when you’ve been doing something different all your life.” She was wearing a white blouse and a gray wool jumpier that set off her gray eyes and sun-streaked hair. A pleasant, competent woman. Nick was working with her closely on the play, and despite her lack of physical training, she was finding a genuine emotional base for Gertrude, a warm and loving woman too easily swayed by the manipulating politicians around her. Vocally, at least, she was going to be good.

  “What do you do besides teach, Grace?” he asked suddenly.

  She was a little surprised. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned against the table next to her. “Well, as a speech professor. I know you spend a lot of time seeing students, and coaching plays even if you aren’t in them.”

  “Oh, there are a million things. Committee meetings. Research. I’m up for tenure year after next, and I need to get some more publications. Professional meetings.” She smiled. “My parents were amazed to hear that I only spend twelve hours a week in the classroom. They don’t realize that with everything else, a sixty-hour week is an easy one in this business.”

  “And doing this play must add another twenty hours a week.”

  “Yes. But…” Her gaze, unexpectedly soft and open, met his. He was suddenly pleasantly aware of the muscular lines of his own body in the tights. She put a warm hand on his forearm and said, “Nick, I’m enjoying every bit of it. I’m learning so much from you.”