They had passed the director’s empty bungalow, with its dark, lifeless windows. Mattie stopped and gazed back at it. “Strange to think he died in there,” she said, then faced forward and continued walking. “Do you think his body’s been shipped home yet or whatever they do with it?”
“I don’t know, to be honest,” said Charlotte. “He could have been cremated, I suppose, and his ashes returned to his family. Maybe there’ll be a service for him in Stratford.” They were now approaching the star bungalow. A slight swinging motion at the edge of the curtain indicated that someone had been looking out the window and then dropped the curtain as Charlotte and Mattie approached. “And how are you getting on with Audrey?” Charlotte asked. “Everything all right there?”
“I’m not sure,” said Mattie. “At first she seemed as if she wanted to help me, but when she says her lines with me, they’re mechanical and don’t really give me much to work off. And yet when she’s acting with the actor playing Benedick, there’s the liveliness you expect. Of course it’s just rehearsal, so she may be holding back, but Wade has asked everyone to put it all out there. There’s something about her that just seems fake. Even when she’s not acting, she’s acting, if you know what I mean.”
“Interesting,” commented Charlotte. They had reached the end of the path, and Charlotte called Rupert to her to turn around for the walk home. They walked along in silence, Rupert leading the way. As they reached the star bungalow, Maxine hurried toward them.
“Charlotte,” she said, “I wondered if I might have a word.”
“Of course,” Charlotte smiled at her. Maxine folded her arms and found something of interest at her feet. When she said nothing more, Mattie got the message.
“Right,” she said. “Thanks for the walk, Charlotte.” She gave Rupert a friendly pat around the ears, then remarked casually to both women, “See you around.”
Maxine watched Mattie’s retreating back, and when she judged the young woman to be far enough away, she spoke. “We’ve had some good news. Exciting news, actually. The New York Times wants to do a piece on Audrey. Well, at least that man, what’s his name, the local reporter . . .”
“Fletcher Macmillan?”
“Yes, that’s the one. Apparently he writes occasional articles for the New York Times, and he’s going to do a story on Audrey. So the thing is, they’re sending a photographer tomorrow, and they want some shots of her in costume. Will her dresses be ready?” It wasn’t really a question; it was an order.
“Yes, of course. Where is the shoot taking place? Will you pick up the costumes in my department, or do you want Aaron to deliver them somewhere?”
“If he could just have them in Audrey’s dressing room by nine o’clock, we’ll take it from there. The final details haven’t exactly been arranged. I don’t know if they’ll want a theater-type setting or . . .” She gestured toward the woods. “They might want something out here. Bucolic. Pastoral. Something along those lines.”
Tree hugging. Something along those lines, Charlotte thought. It’s been done before, I believe.
“That’s fine,” she said with what she hoped passed for a sincere smile. “You can let me know tomorrow if you need my help with anything.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you to offer, but we’ll manage. I’ve been looking after Audrey for a long time. I know how she likes things done, and I take care of her hair and makeup.”
She looked at Rupert, who had been sitting quietly a little way off, waiting and watching. He strolled closer to Charlotte and stood beside her, his dark, furry body leaning protectively against her leg.
*
The next morning, Aaron unlocked the door to the star dressing room. Located to give easy access to the backstage area, the dressing room had benefitted from a modest makeover. At Maxine’s request, it had been painted a soft cream; the lighting surrounding the makeup mirror had been updated; the portable costume rack had been replaced with a smaller, newer one; and every effort had been made to ensure the room was clean and comfortable. The window opened to let in fresh air, a feature many dressing rooms—often located in the bowels of a theater—did not have.
Theater dressing rooms are as individual as the actors who occupy them. Some are messy and lived-in, others are neat, clean, and tidy. Audrey’s was pristine. Without turning on the overhead lights, Aaron hung Audrey’s costumes on the rack. He’d been up late the night before, finishing them with hand stitching and careful pressing. As he smoothed the skirts and then stepped back to examine them, he was pleased with the result. After sliding one costume just a little farther down the rail so it couldn’t touch the skirt of the one beside it, he entered the bathroom to change Audrey’s towels. She had asked for new white ones when she arrived, and it was one of his jobs to make sure a plentiful supply was always on hand. He scooped the used ones off the rail, replaced them with fresh ones, and after cleaning the sink, was about to leave when he heard voices approaching from the hall.
“Stop going on about it,” said an irritated female voice that Aaron recognized as Maxine’s. “It’s over and done with. How many times?” The approaching footsteps stopped. “Oh, that’s not good. The door’s open. I know I locked it last night. I always check to make sure it’s locked. If the cleaners left it open, that was very careless of them, and I intend to complain.”
“It’s all right,” said Aaron, emerging from the bathroom. “I unlocked it. I’m just dropping off Audrey’s dresses.” At the severe frown from Maxine, he corrected himself. “Sorry. Miss Ashley’s dresses.” Maxine flipped on the light switch, flooding the room with a white fluorescent light as Audrey entered. She placed a cup of tea on the dressing table and turned her back to Maxine, who helped her off with a light-beige Burberry raincoat.
“Miss Ashley’s got to get ready for a photo shoot, so you’ll have to excuse us,” Maxine said to Aaron. “The photographer is due in an hour.” Audrey sat at the dressing table and switched on the three rows of bright lights that surrounded the makeup mirror as Aaron edged toward the door. A moment later, Maxine closed the door quietly but firmly behind him.
Chapter 23
With its heightened sense of excitement and expectation, the second-most intense performance of a play, after opening night, is the first dress rehearsal. The company sees for the first time how well blocking and rehearsal, costume design and fittings, and set and lighting design come together, as well as how all the backstage work—artistic and technical—showcase the play and allow the actors to shine in their center stage roles as the face of the drama.
As the play’s director, Wade Radcliffe had a busy afternoon ahead of him. The time for discussion and experimentation was over, and it was now time to lock in the production, so any changes would have to be small ones. Aaron would oversee the matinee dress rehearsal production backstage while Charlotte and Wade watched from the aisle seats where the exit sign overhead provided just enough light for them to make notes. Also in the audience would be local high school students and senior citizens, happy to snap up tickets at discount prices and fill seats.
As curtain time approached, the actors assembled backstage. A few went through the comforting little rituals they performed before they took the stage; others stood off by themselves, clearing their minds of everything but the performance ahead of them.
And then, Aaron made the announcement asking the audience to take their seats because the performance was about to begin. He stood beside the curtain, watching the countdown light turn from red to green, and when it did, he pressed the button to open the curtain. He then scurried to his seat at the prompt desk, and the drama began.
Although the play was running smoothly, Charlotte could sense Wade concentrating intently on the stage business, leaning forward at moments that concerned him, and scratching notes on the yellow legal pad on his lap.
As act three, scene one ended, Mattie, playing Hero, exchanged a few lines with the actress playing Ursula, and then, with Mattie leading the way, the two
women exited the stage. A moment later, the sound of a heavy thud filled the theater, followed by a sharp cry of pain and then a low, unearthly moan. Wade jumped to his feet, tossed his yellow pad on his seat, and raced up the stairs at the side of the stage to the backstage area.
The audience, unsure what was happening, sat in stunned silence. Charlotte had seen actors injured, and too often, for reasons she could never understand, the audience laughed, thinking it was part of the show. She hurried after Wade to find out what had happened and to offer what help she could.
Mattie was propped up in an awkward, half-sitting position, her weight resting on her right hand and her other hand stretched out to her left ankle. The floor-length skirt of her costume billowed around her calves, revealing her left foot caught in a coil of cabling. As Charlotte arrived, Wade knelt beside Mattie, and a black wing curtain was pushed back, revealing a slightly out-of-breath Aaron.
“What happened?” Aaron asked and then, taking in the scene in front of him, added, “Is Mattie all right?”
No one answered him.
“Aaron should make an announcement and close the curtains,” Charlotte said to Wade. He glanced up at her and nodded.
“What do you want me to say?” Aaron asked.
“Tell them there’s been an incident backstage and there will be a ten-minute intermission,” Charlotte said. “Oh, and apologize, of course.”
“And have them bring up the house lights,” added Wade.
Mattie reached for Charlotte’s hand. “It’s my ankle. I must have twisted it. It hurts like hell.”
“Do you think you can stand?” Charlotte asked. Having made his announcement, Aaron reappeared with a chair.
“I’ll try.” Charlotte and Wade lifted her to her feet, and because she could not bear weight on her injured ankle, she hopped the few steps to the chair and sank gratefully onto it. The actress playing Ursula, who had followed Mattie offstage, hovered helplessly nearby.
“What happened?” Wade demanded of her.
“We had just left the stage, and Mattie suddenly took a tumble right in front of me. I grabbed the curtain just in time, or I would have tripped, too, and landed right on top of her.”
Mattie pointed to the place where she had fallen. “I tripped on some rope or whatever it is. It shouldn’t have been there.”
An angry red flush crept up Wade’s neck. He walked the few paces to the spot where Mattie had fallen and picked up a coiled length of electrician’s cable.
“Aaron,” he said in an icy tone, “when the performance is over, I want you to assemble the cast and every member of the crew.” He glanced at his watch. “But right now, we’ve got about five minutes to figure out if the performance can continue or if we should cancel it.”
“I don’t have that much more stage time,” said Mattie. “I’d like to try to finish.”
“I wonder if there’s a doctor in the house,” said Charlotte. “Before Mattie decides if she should continue, we should get a medical opinion. She could make her injured ankle even worse by putting weight on it.”
“No,” Mattie protested. “Really, I’ll be fine. If I can hold onto the actor beside me, I can get through this.”
Aaron broke in. “Here’s a suggestion. Mattie takes a couple of pain killers now, and for the rest of the play, we find her a chair, and she can sit.”
Wade, Charlotte, and Mattie exchanged looks of agreement, and Mattie nodded. “That’ll work,” she said. “Let’s at least give it a try, and I can see a doctor when the play’s over.”
“I’m sure the audience will understand,” agreed Wade. “If no one has a better suggestion, let’s do it.”
“I’ll get some fabric and we can drape a chair to make it look better,” said Charlotte. “Good thinking, Aaron. Well done, you!”
*
The performance limped to its conclusion, and for the curtain call, Mattie’s chair was arranged in the lineup several actors away from Audrey, who was positioned in the center. Normally, Audrey would have had her moment alone in the warmth of the spotlight, to be swept away on a tidal wave of enthusiastic applause just for her, but because of the logistics of Mattie’s injury, the cast acknowledged the audience’s accolades as a group one time, the curtain was closed, and the actors prepared to leave the stage.
Mattie remained seated as cast members paused to tell her they hoped she’d be back on her feet in no time, made a couple of ‘break a leg’ jokes, and dispersed to the dressing rooms to take off their makeup and change into street clothes.
As they disappeared into the wings, Paula Van Dusen climbed the stairs to the stage and took charge of Mattie. “Barnes will drive us to the hospital,” she told her, “and I’ll stay with you and bring you back. Barnes has gone to get the hotel wheelchair for you, and then we’ll be on our way.”
When the last audience member had shuffled out of the auditorium, the cast and crew members returned. Following Aaron’s instructions, they filled the front rows and sat next to one another; Wade had instructed there were to be no empty seats between them. Flanked by Aaron and Audrey, Charlotte and the rest of the company waited in silence for Wade.
He emerged onstage, hands behind his back, and allowed his eyes to wander over the assembly.
“We had a serious incident during the performance,” he began. “Somehow, a length of electrical cable was left on the floor of the wings.” He paused for effect and then brought his hands out from behind his back. His right hand held up the cable. “This cable. Does anyone know how it got there?” A murmur rippled through the company. “Somebody’s carelessness—if indeed it was a simple act of carelessness—led to Mattie Lane being injured. We were fortunate she wasn’t more seriously injured and was able to finish the performance. It could have been much worse. So for all our safety, I ask that you be more aware in the future. And I’m determined to get to the bottom of this and find out who left that cable there. So if you left it there, or you know who did, please let me know.”
The hot red flush had crept up his neck again, but his words dripped with a cold suppressed fury that was almost frightening in its intensity. Audrey shifted uncomfortably in her chair, sighed, and glanced at her watch.
“Honestly, what is the point of this?” she whispered to Charlotte. “It’s got nothing to do with me. What a waste of time.” Charlotte did not reply.
Wade moved on to discussing the performance and praised the company for adapting to the sudden change in staging that Mattie’s injury had made necessary. Audrey made a dismissive tsking noise, folded her arms, rolled her eyes, and leaned back in her seat.
A few minutes later, Wade wrapped up and the meeting was over.
“Finally!” exclaimed Audrey, getting to her feet. “Maxine and I are going into town today to order extra copies of this Saturday’s New York Times. They’re running the article about me this weekend.” And with that, and without speaking to anyone else, she charged up the aisle and opened the door, passing Paula Van Dusen, who was entering. She glanced back at Audrey, then made her way down the aisle and joined Charlotte.
“Audrey looked like she was in a hurry.”
“She didn’t like the meeting. Thought it a waste of time. How did you get on with Mattie?” She glanced in the direction of the stage where Wade, having spotted Paula, was hurrying down the stairs. “Never mind. Here comes Wade. You might as well wait until he gets here and then you only have to tell us once.”
Still carrying the length of cable, Wade joined them. “Well? How is she? Is anything broken?”
Paula shook her head. “She’s got a bad sprain, and they suggested she keep off it for a week or so. They loaned her some crutches. She’s gone up to her room to lie down. I’d have her supper sent up on a tray, if I were you.”
“Good idea,” said Wade. “I’ll take it up myself. I want to talk to her about how we’re going to get her through the next performances until she’s back on her feet. We’re going to have to rethink her scenes, especially how she enter
s and exits.”
Charlotte and Paula exchanged a concerned glance, and Paula said, “It would be better if Charlotte took her tray up to her.” Wade frowned, so she added, “Perception, Wade. It might look a bit, well . . .”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Wade spluttered. “I only offered to take up her meal, but if you want Charlotte to do it, fine.”
“It’s completely understandable that you need to discuss staging matter with her,” said Charlotte. “But surely that can wait until tomorrow. Let her rest.”
Wade nodded.
“It would be a good idea if we sent up a tray now,” said Paula. “I wonder if she’d like tea or coffee. Plus something sweet.” She turned to Charlotte. “What do you think? Cake?”
Before Charlotte could reply, Wade responded with, “She likes tea, with a bit of milk and sugar.”
Chapter 24
“I’ll walk back to your bungalow with you,” said Paula Van Dusen after they had taken Mattie her tea tray. “If that’s where you’re going now, that is.”
“It is. Let’s get Rupert and walk.”
“I’d like you to tell me what happened when Wade addressed the company. I was sorry I had to miss that.”
They walked in silence to Charlotte’s bungalow, and then, with Rupert running ahead, Charlotte said, “He showed a side I hadn’t seen before. Angry. Seething really, but under control. I think everyone felt a bit unnerved by it. It was unsettling.” She turned to Paula. “How well do you know him?”
“Only professionally.”
“Have you worked with him before?”
“He did a couple of seasons here a few years back. Well, quite a few years back, I guess. Before your time. And then he moved on.”
“He seemed really keen to get this job. When we interviewed him, I was really struck by his intensity and how much this work seemed to mean to him.”
“It’s very sad for people who work in theater and in films when they reach that point in their careers when the offers dry up and the phone doesn’t ring anymore,” Paula Van Dusen replied. “So much of their identity is tied up in what they do, it can be hard for many of them to retire. They have egos that need stroking, and it helps them to know that they’re still wanted and haven’t been forgotten.”
Much Ado About Murder Page 15