Audition for Murder Page 3

  Ellen asked, “Have the others arrived yet?”

  “You mean the New York actors?” said Judy. “I haven’t seen them. Have you, David?” The dean’s son shook his head.

  “Brian told me you’ve got the O’Connors,” said Rob.

  “Yes. Do you know them?”

  “A little. About two years ago I did a ghastly TV show with Nick. We had dinner a few times and so forth. But you lose touch.”

  “What is she like?” asked Judy, too quickly. Rob’s shrewd blue eyes regarded her thoughtfully. An uneasy lump gathered in Ellen’s middle.

  “Lisette?” He frowned. “How shall I put it? Like Vivien Leigh, maybe, if only Vivien Leigh had been truly beautiful.”

  “Oh,” said Judy, the disappointment too thinly disguised in her voice. “Can she act too?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Damn it, he’d figured out what was going on. “She’s a little erratic, maybe, but who isn’t? I take it you’re a would-be Ophelia?”

  The phrase hit Judy to the quick. Warmly, Ellen said, “She would have been a damn good Ophelia!”

  Too warmly. His eyes, bright as blue flames, shifted to her. “I’m sure she would have been,” he said mildly.

  “Not for this show. It’s Brian’s decision, and he should know.” Judy recited the official position, her desperate manner telling Ellen to shut up. David’s soft gaze was uneasy.

  “Nick is really good too,” said Rob, shifting ground smoothly. Unreasonably, Ellen felt grateful. “He’s done some amazing things.”

  “A few of us went into the city before Christmas and caught his show,” said Judy, scrambling to recover her aplomb.

  “He was terrific,” added David enthusiastically.

  “I didn’t see it,” said Rob. “But I was impressed with what he did with the stupid lines they gave us in that soap opera. He was the only one of us who came out looking human.”

  “A bad show is a tough test,” said Judy. “But we’re supposed to be getting Rob breakfast. Can you join us, Ellen?”

  “Thanks, I just finished.”

  “Well, we’ll see you at two.”

  They went back to the cafeteria line. Ellen stood watching him a moment. So that was Hamlet the Dane. His quick eyes flashed back once and caught her still rooted in the same spot, gaping. She jerked around abruptly and pushed out through the door. Time to buy some books.

  Lunchtime. Her errands finished, Ellen returned to the cafeteria for a salad and found an empty table next to the wall. A moment later, Jim appeared. Damn. He saw her at the same instant, hesitated, and then approached with his tray.

  “Hi.” His thin tanned face was questioning.

  “Hi, Jim,” she said calmly. “Join me?”

  “Sure.” He was wearing his Irish sweater, a blue shirt under it. And under that, Ellen knew, the tan skin, the lean powerful chest and arms. Damn him. She concentrated on spearing a cherry tomato.

  Jim indicated her clipboard. “I see you’re ready to start.”

  “Mm-hmm. Tabula rasa.”

  “Brian said he’d give us the cuts today.”

  “I’d hate to have that job. Can you imagine deciding that a line in Hamlet isn’t worth giving?” She risked a glance at him.

  Jim grinned around his sandwich. “Just try it uncut, and see how much of the audience sticks with you until two a.m.”

  “I know. I still wouldn’t like to have the job.”

  “You legal types idolize the written word too much.”

  “Well, it should be performed. Better half a loaf than none.”

  “In this case, better half a loaf than a whole.”

  Ellen stabbed at a chunk of lettuce. He was so easy to talk to. Surely they could be friends. “You’re probably right,” she said. “Have you met Hamlet?”

  “You mean Jenner? Not yet. Have you seen him?”

  “In glorious person.”

  “Really.” His eyebrows lifted. “It’s like that, is it?”

  “This campus is about to receive a visitation from Apollo himself.”

  “He sounds difficult.”

  “Well …” Ellen decided she was being unfair. “Look, I only saw him about two minutes. In that time he ran Judy and me all the way from slavish devotion to blind fury and back again. I don’t like that.”

  “I know,” said Jim.

  Ellen ignored him. “I don’t know anything about his work.”

  “Brian said he had good small parts behind him, and a star-studded career in North Carolina rep before he hit New York.”

  “I suppose we’ll survive him. But it’s a double-threat cast. According to him, the female O’Connor will be doing to you males what he’ll be doing to us.” She picked up her coffee mug.

  “What a term this promises to be.” He was watching her, she knew, but she kept her hazel eyes obstinately on the mug. After a moment he said, resigned, “What do you hear about Blithe Spirit?”

  She relaxed a little. “The staging people were all going out of their minds before Christmas. Cheyenne got a bunch of them to come back last week, though, so they’re in good shape now.”

  “The actors were optimistic when I saw them last.”

  “They’re always optimistic before tech, poor ninnies.” She grinned at him. He smiled back, appreciative and warm, and then the plea flickered again in his dark eyes. Warnings clanged in Ellen’s mind. She pulled her gaze away and stood up abruptly.

  “I’ve got to get over there early,” she said.

  “Okay. I’m done too. I’ll go with you.”

  “Fine.” But she didn’t look at him again.

  The first meeting would be on the stage itself. Brian wanted to give the newcomers a tour of the backstage areas after his initial pep talk. Then they would settle into the more comfortable auditorium seats to record the lines that would be cut. They couldn’t rehearse on the stage until after Blithe Spirit closed.

  Jim and Ellen went down the half flight of stairs from the stage door to the greenroom and on through to the stage itself. Some rehearsal benches and a few chairs were scattered about among the tall, half-painted units of the Blithe Spirit set. Stage lights were on, for some reason, instead of work lights, and there was a large brilliant pool in the middle of the stage. Ellen looked up into the cavernous fly area above the stage, but could see nothing but blackness behind the glare of the big Lekos. She dumped her parka and clipboard in a corner and, with Jim, began to arrange the seats in a rough circle. The lobby door banged, and she turned to see a frail man walking down the aisle.

  “Hello,” she said as he mounted the temporary steps from auditorium to stage. “Are you Mr. Morgan?”

  “Chester Morgan,” he said, beaming. He stepped instinctively into the lighted circle and placed an artistic hand on his heart. “At your service. Polonius and Gravedigger.”

  “Hi. I’m Ellen Winfield. Stage manager. And this is Jim Greer. He’ll be Horatio.”

  “Glad to meet you,” said Chester. “I’m delighted to have an opportunity to do Hamlet. I’ve been on the stage now forty-five years, and never did it. Can you imagine?”

  “Well, we’re pleased to be working on it too.”

  Cheyenne and Laura Eisner entered, carrying folding chairs. “This ought to be enough,” Cheyenne said to Ellen without greeting her. He looked at her arrangement. “Cozy circle, eh?”

  “Yeah. Figured Brian would prefer that.”

  “Probably will,” said Laura, a touch resentfully. She was a graduate actress too, an intense, tawny brunette; her consolation prize was heading the costume crew.

  “Hello, Cheyenne!” called Chester.

  Cheyenne nodded curtly and walked into the dim shadows in the wings to inspect the fly ropes.

  Judy Allison came through the shop door with David Wagner and some other acting students. “Lost your escort, Judy?” asked Ellen, smiling.

  “He stopped off to talk to Brian. They’ll be along.”

  “Have you met Mr. Morgan?”

  “Yes
, briefly,” said Judy. “Hi again.”

  Other people trickled in. Grace Halliday, the speech professor who would be playing Gertrude, strode over to talk to Judy and Laura. Paul Rigo gave Ellen his crooked smile in passing but joined Cheyenne immediately. Various members of the costume and properties crews sauntered in, and actors with minor parts. Many carried soft drinks or coffee mugs. They clustered together, catching up on the post-vacation news.

  Ellen was writing a note on her clipboard about announcing the theatre rules when she became aware of a hush spreading through the groups of chattering people. She looked up and saw a man and woman, both in jeans, approaching from the shop door. The man was big, balding, with friendly, interested brown eyes. The woman, tall and slim in a buttercup-yellow ski sweater, was devastatingly lovely. Honey-colored hair, clear smooth skin, soft rosy mouth as gentle as a child’s. She stepped into the lighted circle and paused. The man stopped just behind her, hands in pockets, his warm mild gaze traveling around the group.

  No one said anything.

  Ellen realized suddenly that they didn’t know anyone here, except for Cheyenne, who had never been known to introduce anyone. Judy and Laura, she saw with a sidelong glance, were still stunned by the injustice of this slender beauty. So it was up to Ellen. Ellen, who had spent most of the day already feeling like a three-hundred-pound dwarf. She mustered what dignity she could and clumped over to them sturdily, footsteps echoing through the silence, to present her unlovely self.

  “Hi, I’m Ellen Winfield. Stage manager. You must be the O’Connors.”

  “Right.” The man’s brown eyes, intensely friendly, thanked her. It was hard for them too, Ellen realized, and suddenly felt less clumsy. He said, “I’m Nick, and this is Lisette.”

  “Hi, Ellen.” Lisette’s smile was friendly too, and her voice. “Glad to meet you.”

  “Come meet the others,” said Ellen. People were beginning to pick up their conversations again. The bad moment was over. “Brian isn’t here yet, but his assistant director is. Judy?”

  Judy had prepared herself by now. She joined them with a regal smile and said the proper things when introduced, then led them to Chester Morgan to talk. Ellen gazed after them.

  “Once more unto the breach,” said Jim’s voice softly in her ear.

  “Well, someone had to do it,” she said crossly.

  “Granted. You just beat the rest of us cowardly oafs.”

  Ellen, startled, looked into his comprehending eyes an instant, then clutched her clipboard to her chest like a shield and marched to the ring of seats to sit down on the end of a bench. Jim, undaunted, took the folding chair next to her. It was a sort of signal; other people, glancing at their watches and finding it a couple of minutes after two, sat down also. The three New York actors sat near Ellen — Lisette at the far end of Ellen’s bench, then Nick and Chester and Judy on folding chairs. Ellen noted wryly that no one took the wide space on the bench between her and Lisette. Laura had pointedly crossed to the other side of the circle. But Lisette seemed unoffended.

  Ellen heard Brian a moment later, approaching from the dimness of the greenroom door. Then Rob Jenner’s voice exclaimed, “Hey!” and rapid steps rang through the vast dusky space. Laura, alone on the bench across from Ellen, looked up in alarm as Rob hurdled her bench and landed in the center of the brightly lit, startled circle.

  “Nick! Zetty!” he cried, delight in every line of his body. “It’s great to see you!” He lifted Lisette from her place on the bench and whirled her around exuberantly. The light glanced off the spinning pair, the two beautiful smiles, the two shining heads, one the color of sunshine and one the color of honey. Then he replaced her, gently, beside her husband and seized Nick’s burly forearm. “Hey, Nick! How’ve you been?” He sat on the bench next to Lisette, leaning toward them eagerly.

  “Fine. Good to see you, Rob.” Nick seemed amused rather than impressed. Ellen decided she liked Nick O’Connor.

  Brian, following, stepped over Laura’s bench in his turn and into the circle. “Looks like everyone’s here,” he said, glancing around. “Most of you have probably figured it out, but just for the record, our four guest actors for this production are Rob Jenner, Hamlet; Lisette O’Connor, Ophelia; Nicholas O’Connor, Claudius; and Chester Morgan, who will do both Polonius and the Gravedigger.” The four newcomers nodded affably at the circle. Brian faced them apologetically. “Now the big job, introducing us to you. You’ve all met Cheyenne.” In the dim light by the pin rail, Cheyenne saluted them as they turned to peer at him. “You’ve met Judy too, I see. How about Ellen Winfield, our stage manager?”

  “Yes,” said Nick, smiling at her.

  “Okay. This is Grace Halliday, our Gertrude. Also our speech coach.”

  “Hello,” said Grace. She was an attractive woman in her thirties, fit and sturdily built, with sun-streaked brown hair.

  Brian introduced Jim, David Wagner, and the other actors with major roles, then started on the crew heads — properties, makeup, publicity. Hands waved as Brian identified them. “Hope you’re remembering a little of this,” he said to the four newcomers apologetically. “Let’s see. There’s Paul Rigo, staging.” He indicated Paul back near the ropes, with his pleased crooked grin. “Laura Eisner here, costumes.” Laura inclined her head, but didn’t smile. Brian squinted around the circle. “Okay, now. Did I miss anyone?”

  “Lights,” said a clear feminine voice from the vast blackness above their heads.

  Oh, God, thought Ellen. She peered up into the dark beyond the glaring lights.

  “Oh, yes,” said Brian. “Come on down, Maggie, we can’t see you.”

  “The paradox of our profession,” said the voice philosophically. A pair of sneakers appeared out of the darkness above, followed by a gangly pair of jean-clad legs. “We are invisible that others may be visible.” She bounced lightly onto the bench beside Laura. There were lively blue eyes, a tumble of unkempt black curls, and a rangy athletic figure in a scruffy sweatshirt. Clown, thought Ellen.

  But Brian was amused. “Maggie Ryan, lights,” he announced.

  She bowed to the newcomers with a balletic flourish, then skipped back over the bench, out of the light, away from Ellen’s exasperated glare. Rob Jenner grinned and leaned toward Nick O’Connor. Ellen, cringing inwardly, was near enough to hear him whisper, “Knows how to make an entrance.”

  “Topped yours,” observed Nick, to Ellen’s relief. Rob chuckled. Brian started talking, but Ellen listened shamelessly instead to the whispered conversation beside her.

  “Do you suppose she tries to act, too?” Rob went on.

  “Maybe.”

  “Not bad-looking, really,” added Rob judiciously, “but too bony and tall for an ingenue.”

  “Oh, much too gawky for that,” came a new whisper. “More of a soubrette, I always thought.” Maggie Ryan had come up behind them. Ellen’s embarrassment gave way to guilty pleasure at the instant of discomfiture in Rob’s eyes before his brows arched indignantly at Maggie.

  “Do you always intrude into other people’s private conversations?” he demanded, as severely as he could in a whisper.

  “Only when I know more about the subject than they do,” she replied with equanimity, stepping over the bench and sitting between him and Ellen. “Now, let’s listen to Brian,” she added soothingly. They stopped talking, but Ellen was aware of the amused glances that Rob occasionally gave the lanky young woman beside him.

  Brian finished explaining the plan—the quick tour of the backstage areas, followed by a meeting in the auditorium to get the cuts—and then looked at Ellen.

  “That’s all for me,” he said. “Do you have any words of advice, Ellen?”

  “Only the usual,” she said. “Check the call-board every day. Don’t smoke anywhere except in the greenroom. And don’t spit on the stairs.”

  Everyone laughed and started to get up to show the New York actors around. Ellen, turning in their direction as she gathered up her things, noticed
Rob leaning forward, preparing to say something to Maggie. But, as Ellen half expected, Maggie’s dark curly head turned away, ignoring him to look at Ellen instead.

  “Goddamn showoff,” Ellen muttered to her.

  Maggie laughed. “Delighted to see you too, roomie!”

  Three

  Stifling a yawn, Ellen caught Nick O’Connor’s amused eye on her. She gave him a guilty grin. The greatest tragedy ever written, it turned out, was exceedingly dreary when read for cuts.

  Even Brian sounded bored. “Okay. Same speech—522 will be the last line, cut 523 to 526,” he said at last.

  “Okay.”

  “And that’s it. We’ll play straight to the end of Act Two.”

  “Thank God!” Ellen heard Rob say. “I thought I was going to lose ‘Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I!’”

  “He probably knows you’ll drop so many lines, he won’t have to cut it,” said Lisette impudently.

  “Nick, how do you live with this vicious creature?”

  “Cotton in my ears,” said Nick. “Look, must be break time.”

  At the front of the auditorium, Brian was standing and stretching. “Be back in ten minutes, okay, gang?” he said. “Say, has anyone seen Cheyenne?” When no one answered, he wandered off. Rob and Nick followed him out.

  Lisette appeared at Ellen’s elbow. “Excuse me, Ellen. Where’s the rest room?”

  Maggie was standing beside Ellen, one long leg propped on the seat in front of her. “I’ll show you the one backstage,” she said.

  “Thanks.” They moved toward the stage, two tall slender figures, one dark and athletic, the other golden and delicate. Ellen was left alone, Miss Three-Hundred-Pound Dwarf of 1967. She glanced around. Most people, including Jim, had left the auditorium. After a few minutes, Rob and Nick returned, discussing something as they strolled up the aisle. A few student actors followed them bashfully — David Wagner; Maggie’s tall admirer, Jason, who would play the Ghost; and several others, including Jim. Ellen joined the group.

  “Doesn’t anyone have an umbrella?” Rob was asking plaintively. “Well, okay, let’s use pencils.” He reached into the pocket of his parka, which was draped over a seat, and pulled out two, tossing the blue one to Nick. “Okay. The yellow Eberhard Faber here is poisoned. Back, everyone, out of the aisle. En garde!” Brandishing the ridiculous colored sticks, he and Nick assumed classical fencing posture in the middle of the aisle. “Now, what we did—I’m Laertes and he’s Hamlet, folks—we fenced for a while, snickety snick.” The pencils clicked together for a moment. “Now Hamlet jabs me one.” Nick obligingly thrust at Rob. Nick was a lot more agile than he looked at first, thought Ellen. “’A hit, a very palpable hit,’ et cetera,” continued Rob. “Now the King drinks and Hamlet hits again. Then there’s the business with the Queen drinking the poison. We play again and Laertes thinks he hits Hamlet, but Osric says ‘Nothing neither way.’ They hadn’t invented grammar teachers yet.”