Yah-di-dah, yah-di-dah. Soon Jessica’s words droned in one ear and out the other, as the lights started their slow descent toward pitch-black. Then, in complete darkness, came the hush of anticipation.
With only a single spotlight illuminating the small stage, you could hear a pin drop when a lone young man walked out from stage left. He didn’t look like Alex Russo, but he, too, was handsome. According to the playbill brochure it probably was the twenty-year-old Chris Nelson. Slim, well built, he took his time staring out into an imaginary space, as if thinking profound thoughts.
Oh, boy.
Stroking his full, shoulder length hair back, he began. “In the twilight of our beginning, I want you all to know the purpose of this play. It’s about the true meaning of life, yet you will never know it.”
His dramatic pause lasted a good five seconds. Shoot me now.
Brooke looked over at Haley’s rapt attention toward the stage, then glanced left at Jessica, who was leaning forward, both hands covering her mouth.
The actor continued. “I was raised by simple folk. Not rich, not poor, but filled with love. Was it the same for you? Or did you eat out of an empty trash can?”
It’s gonna be a very l-o-n-g night…
Brooke glanced over to where Carrie Russo was sitting. Her former teacher was slowly shaking her head.
At least we have that in common.
Just then, three more actors emerged to form a chorus line next to the supposed narrator. Judging from their playbill photos, Brooke could make out the nineteen-year-old Peter Knowlton, a scrawny, awkward looking guy with glasses and a straggly beard. Next to him stood the eighteen-year-old Tom Winston, whose friendly face and broad smile was a lot more appealing.
Finally, the only female in the group, nineteen-year-old Cindy Langford, walked over to Chris Nelson and wrapped her arm around him for a fast hug before she, too, faced the audience.
Now they were a chorus, projecting loudly as a single voice. “We are the truth, and the truth always sets you free. Do not see us as false, because we shall make you honest. If you feel you are not honest, just wait and see how we can prove that you are.”
Oh, puleeze.
Brooke looked at her watch. Ninety more minutes of this? Sensing Haley shifting in her seat, she saw her niece look down at her own watch. Jessica’s eyes stayed glued to the stage.
Smiling, Brooke felt a sense of familial pride. Her niece had inherited good instincts.
All of a sudden, Alex Russo strutted out onto the stage. Not a walk, not a stride, mind you. It was a definite strut. Out of the corner of one eye, Brooke could see Carrie Russo make a mime-like clap of her hands and lean way forward.
For a young nineteen-year-old, Alex’s rich voice sure rang out through the theater. Powerful, deep, it was obvious he commanded a presence that was so lacking in the rest of them.
“Fear not,” he said with a Shakespearean flair. “I have come here, bearing the truth. There is nothing to fear, except fear itself.”
Plagiarizing Franklin Roosevelt? Are you kidding me? Brooke shook her head.
He went toward stage right, stopped, and let out an obviously false belly laugh. “If you believe in miracles, listen to the rest of our story. I promise, it will be worth your while.”
Brooke’s mind started to wander. It had to. It was her only salvation. Anything not to listen to the next words fumbling out of each actor’s mouth.
A few props floated in and out––a tray of fake food, plastic champagne glasses, paper napkins printed to ape linen ones. But none of that distracted her.
Closing her eyes, she shifted back to that time in the Jonsey Bar & Grill’s hallway with Tony––the kind, handsome detective who had given her a kiss worth remembering. The hunk who was always having women throw themselves at him. The guy that in reality, she didn’t think she had a prayer of keeping. Not according to her grandfather, who had always told her she would never be loveable.
Thanks a lot, Grandpa Bill.
Her eyes still shut, she could still picture being in the detective’s arms, and his soft kiss. Then suddenly, her mind switched gears. To Abby.
Good old Abby. Able Abby. Annoying Abby. Bestie friend, Abby. The twenty-five-year old girl who proved that time travel could work when solving cases. Now that was something Brooke never ever thought she’d believe in. No way, José. Yet there she was, surprised as anyone else, that her neighbor, Abby, had saved the day in their last case, the Cloth Sack Serial Murders.
She popped her eyes open. Alex was now drifting off the stage with Cindy Langford’s arm linked through his. Soon, they both disappeared from view. What had happened in the play? Well, it didn’t matter really, did it?
Ten seconds after that next sure did. A scream from backstage hit the audience like a gunshot.
Running out onto the theater’s platform, Cindy was having trouble speaking. “A––lex’s not b–b–breathing, he’s not breathing!”
Carrie Russo jumped up and raced over to the stage’s side steps, taking them two at a time. “Oh, my god!” she cried out.
Brooke jumped up as well. “Someone call 911, call 911!” she yelled.
Besides Haley, a whole slew of other people were frantically dialing 911. Soon, medics appeared, charging down the aisles with their gurneys and equipment then disappearing backstage.
Brooke looked over at a completely shaken Jessica, who was up and gasping. “I’ve got to see him.” She started to move, but Brooke held her still.
“Jessica, stay put until we find out more. Let the medics do their thing.” Turning to Haley, she demanded, “Stay with Jessica while I try and find out what happened, okay?”
Haley nodded and grabbed Jessica’s hand.
No sooner had Brooke made it backstage when she saw Alex already placed onto a stretcher. And covered by a sheet.
Dead? What in the world just happened?
Carrie Russo was inconsolable. But before Brooke could get over to her, Alex’s mother was being questioned by Brooke’s pal, Detectives Larry Sands, her childhood friend, and Detective Tony Marino, the potential Love Hunk in her life.
More cops appeared, telling everyone in the theater they could not leave. Actors, the audience members, a very upset looking director, Daniel Bianchi and his wife, crew members, pages, you name it.
Tears, gasps, and headshakes went viral as Brooke made her way over to Carrie, Larry, and Tony.
In-between sobs, Carrie kept repeating, “Alex always took his epilepsy medicine. I made sure of it. I swear I did, I swear it.”
Should she put her arm around this woman? The teacher who made her life so miserable she never wanted to return to school? Just do it, Brooke.
Brooke did, and amazingly, Carrie was more than receptive. She clung onto her former student like a lifeline. “Oh, Betty Ann, what am I going to do now?”
Larry stepped in. “Mrs. Russo, I know how difficult this is for you, but we will need to have a report from Alex’s doctor to confirm all of this.”
“Do you think I’m making this up?” Carrie’s voice had risen a good half octave. “He’s had epilepsy since he was a young boy. All kinds of situations can kick up a grand mal. How dare you imply that it was my fault? I can’t be with him every second of the day, you know. I can’t…I can’t…”
Her grief was back––with a vengeance.
Maintaining small back strokes, Brooke tried to calm her down. “He didn’t mean anything by that, Mrs. Russo. Detective Sands is just doing his job, that’s all.”
Nodding, Carrie’s sobs morphed into loud gulps, then slowly softened into a light wheeze.
After Larry gently took her arm and guided her over to the head medical personnel, Brooke was left alone with Tony.
What now? She was at a loss of what to say. Unchartered territories and all that stuff, as silence surrounded them like the biggest elephant in the room.
“How are you, Brooke?” Tony finally said.
I guess we’re going for polite. �
��I’m okay. And you?”
Were his eyes always that intense? It’d been a while since that kiss, so she’d lost track.
“Can’t complain. Except…”
Finish your sentence, for goodness sake!
He started to but was interrupted. The director Daniel Bianchi and his wife rushed by them and headed straight for Carrie. Their threesome hug was more than touching, and at that moment, Brooke forgot and forgave all the nastiness that Carrie had bombarded her with so long ago.
Soon Larry was back, dragging Tony away with him. With no more communication between them in sight.
A real relationship is obviously not gonna happen. More than disappointed, Brooke gazed after the two detectives, resigned to returning to her non-dating life. Then Tony did the unexpected. Halfway up the aisle, he flipped around, and staring at her, produced his great dimple grin. And a little thumbs-up gesture.
All right. Cool. She drew a deep breath and shifted her eyes over to the rest of the cast members, grateful to feel calmness, contentment, even.
That didn’t last. As bereft looking as Carrie, Daniel, his wife, and Jessica Taylor had all been, these actors not only almost looked relieved, a couple of them were actually smiling––Cheshire Cat style.
Wait a minute…
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Tea, Anyone Page 20