Читать книгу Cue the Dead Guy - H. Mel Malton - Страница 10

PRINCESS: Without my crown, I’m incomplete.

CAT: You’re still a princess, though, my sweet.

-The Glass Flute, Scene vi

At nine o’clock, I stopped outside Rico’s and honked the horn. He poked his head out the door, waved, then emerged holding two tiny cups. He had, as he promised, dressed “butch,” in a Hydro coat, denim shirt, green work-pants and boots. He looked like a downtown Toronto construction worker. He hadn’t shaved.

“A little pick-me-up,” he said. “Espresso—fresh-made. I bet you didn’t get enough sleep. I didn’t, anyway. The whole thing kept going around and around in my mind like a bad Madonna video.”

“There’s no other kind,” I said and thanked him. I didn’t really need the caffeine jolt, but it was welcome nonetheless.

“Nose looks good,” he said. “Hey. You’re wearing makeup.” I blushed. George’s remark had been meant as a joke, because I never use the stuff normally, but when I was back up at the cabin, I’d accidentally looked in the mirror again. It was too much. I’d given in and searched out a crusty old tube of Max Factor foundation, left over from my fashion-conscious days in the city. I’d started out using only a little bit, just to hide the raccoon eyes, but that had made the rest of my face look pasty, so I’d gone the whole hog, slathering on the foundation, powdering it down, then using blush (sparingly, you understand) and topping the whole mess off with a coat of mascara that made my eyes look like two spiders. Actually, I looked okay. I’d unpacked my nose, and the swelling had gone down enough that I didn’t look like George Chuvalo any more, at any rate. I felt shy about the makeup, but by then it was too late to wash it all off again, so I just thought the hell with it, dressed to match in a decent pair of jeans and a new Mexican vest that Aunt Susan had given me for Christmas, and hit the road.

Rehearsal had been called for ten o’clock, and it’s a theatre rule that even if you’re dying, you get to rehearsal on time.

People trickled into the lobby slowly, and it took a while for me to realize that just about everybody in the cast and crew was wearing makeup that morning, so I didn’t feel so out of place. It wasn’t just the women, either.

Rico usually wore a tiny bit of eyeliner, applied discreetly so you didn’t notice it unless you’d seen him without it. Although he’s dark-complexioned, his eyelashes are sparse and his eyes are blue, so the eyeliner just makes up for what nature forgot. He may have been dressed “butch,” but the eyeliner was in place.

Juliet wore full daytime facial camouflage. She was seriously hung over, and when she came in moments after we did, she brushed past us with a grunt, went into her office and shut the door—very gently.

Kim Lee, the general manager, always wore a bit of makeup and today was no exception. She looked fresh and positively perky (she doesn’t drink). After one look at Rico and me, she steered us over to the coffee-maker in the lobby, handed us both a cup and then took one in to Juliet.

“She’s brave,” Rico muttered. I nodded. Juliet in a bad mood was worse than a pregnant crocodile.

Meredith and Bradley came in together, talking in low voices. Meredith, who had done the show before and knew how physically taxing it was, was wearing sweats. Bradley had on a tight pair of pants that would make him a soprano before the day was out. They said polite good-mornings (not forgetting to ask kindly about my nose), served themselves coffee and retired to a low sofa near the front desk to continue their conversation. At best, they were mildly hung-over, and Bradley had crimson lipstick on his neck, more or less the same colour as the stuff Meredith had on her lips.

Tobin came in next, looking ill. He sat with us, sighing as his large frame settled in the easy chair next to the coffee table. His bunch of keys, the badge of office for every Technical Director in the world, jingled heavily from a loop on his belt.

“Just plug me in,” he said and held out a muscular arm, veins up, in front of the percolator. “I closed up the place last night. This morning, I mean. Can you believe it? Four-thirty. I’m too old for this.” His eyes were bloodshot, and he, too, had not escaped the makeup epidemic. His lips, which had been cartoon-white the night before, still held a ghost of greasepaint. He caught me looking.

“I know,” he said, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. “Serves me right for mocking a mockery, I guess. I tried everything. Vaseline. Cold cream. I’m marked for life. Just call me honky-lips. Nice nose, by the way.”

Ruth Glass arrived in a hurry, clutching a folder crammed with sheet music. Her eyebrows were still clogged with green goo from her Martian outfit of the night before. She headed for the stairs which led up to the rehearsal hall.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, and stopped in mid-stride. “Hey. Why isn’t everybody upstairs?”

“Rehearsal doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes, Ruth,” Tobin said. “Our fearless leader is still in her office.” He pointed and we all looked. The door was still ominously shut.

“She’s being nursed into wakefulness by Kim,” I said.

“I’m going up,” Ruth said. “Juliet wants to do a sing-through this morning—told me last night, at two a.m.”

“A sing-through?” I said. “After last night, nobody’s going to be able to sing a note.”

“I know. It’s Jason’s fault,” Tobin said. “Spurned her advances and made her cranky. Then he started fussing around up in the rehearsal room and kept coming down to ask her tech questions in the middle of the party. Pissed her off enough for her to get vindictive.”

“Yay, Jason. Where is he, by the way?”

“Probably up there now, getting ready to take attendance,” Tobin said, gloomily. “He’s a real hard-liner, that one. Don’t know where Juliet found him.”

“He’s a local boy who made good,” I said. “You know how she is. Anyway, I think he came as a package deal with Amber.”

Ruth walked over to Meredith and Bradley to tell them about the morning schedule. Tobin lifted himself out of his chair, poured another coffee, put three sugars in it and headed for the basement. “Anyone needs me, I’ll be in my office,” he said. I knew he was going down for a last minute smoke, and I wondered if I had time to join him.

“A sing-through? Is she crazy?” Meredith said loudly. Her voice was hoarse. Everyone’s voice was hoarse, come to that. “You don’t do a sing-through the night after a party when everybody’s been whooping it up. Does she want to damage us for life?”

“Easy, girl,” Bradley said. “She won’t be able to stand the noise, anyway. She’ll call it off as soon as we’re halfway through the opening number.”

“Well, I should damn well hope so,” Meredith said. “I’m not straining my chords just so Juliet bloody Keating can sit back on the first day of rehearsal and do dick-all.”

Outside, a very large car purred up to the front of the building. We all stared through the glass doors of the entrance, mesmerized by the sheer luxury of the automobile. None of us drove anything like that. We heard a door slam with an expensive clunk, and Amber Thackeray and Shane Pacey made an entrance.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Amber was saying, almost in tears. “You are such an ignorant pig, Shane.”

“I was joking, for Chrissakes, Amber. It’s not my fault that wimp you call your fiancé is too stupid to take a joke, is it?”

“That was not a joke. It was an insult to me and to Jason. Why can’t you just let bygones be bygones?”

“Amber, he’s an idiot. You know it and I know it and I don’t understand why you . . .” They both stopped and stared at the group gathered in the lobby. We stared back. A pause.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to yez,” Shane said, with a fake Irish accent, lifting an imaginary hat. He smiled radiantly, a beautiful smile. He really was a most disturbingly gorgeous man, in spite of being an obvious dink. Amber emitted a peep and scurried over to the coffee, avoiding the eyes of the group. We all muttered hellos and let the moment pass.

Shane came straight up to me and put a hand on my arm.

“You’re Polly Deacon, right?” I nodded. “Listen, Polly, I’m really, really sorry about last night. I had way too much to drink and acted like a complete asshole. I’m sorry about your nose. You okay?” His charm was unnerving. I responded immediately, against all logic, gazing deeply into his dark-lashed, makeup free eyes. Something stirred deep inside me. An octopus, aroused.

“I’m fine, Shane,” I said. “Thanks for asking.” He squeezed my arm once, warmly, then let go. Then he turned to Rico. I could feel my friend stiffen beside me.

“You’re the person I should really apologize to,” Shane said, quietly. “I don’t remember a lot of it, but Amber filled me in. I’m not supposed to drink. Shit happens when I do. Can you forgive me?” Rico was flabbergasted. So was I.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Rico stammered. “It was, you know, a . . . misunderstanding, I guess.”

“Sure was,” Shane said, bathing us both in that impossible smile. “You make a terrific woman, eh? Just warn me next time.” Then he turned away and made a beeline for the coffee. Rico looked at me.

“Close your mouth, Rico,” I whispered.

“Is he real?” Rico whispered back.

“Hey, where’s Jason?” Ruth said, hurrying down the stairs. “He’s been messing around with my keyboard and the amp cables are gone.”

“Haven’t seen him,” I said.

“He wasn’t around when we got here,” Rico added.

Juliet’s door opened and she stepped out, followed by Kim, who had an armload of scripts. “Well, kiddies, shall we go up?” Juliet said. “Where’s that little stage manager?”

We heard heavy, running footsteps on the basement stairs and Tobin burst into the lobby. His face was so pale it was grey.

“Jason’s vest is floating in the workshop pool,” he said.