The Role Players (13 page)

“I assume you did not tell Gene about the note.”

He shook his head. “No, I really didn't want him to know about it. If he knew I was as aware of Rod's promiscuity as I was, he might resent me for not telling him about it earlier.”

“And where is Gene now?”

Tait glanced at his watch. “Keith should be picking him up right about now. I didn't want us to come together because I knew you wanted to talk to me in private.”

“Well, let's assume for now that he has a logical explanation for coming into town early, and for not telling you. When I talk to him, I'll see if I can find out without making it an outright confrontation.”

“Understood.”

*

We left Tait's office a few minutes later and he excused himself to go backstage. Not seeing Jonathan in the auditorium, I knocked on the sound/lighting/stage manager's booth, and heard footsteps as someone came up the short stairway and opened the door. It was Jonathan, who turned to call up to the booth, “Thanks a lot, guys.” He stepped into the vestibule and closed the door behind him.

“I never saw so many buttons and wires and levers and switches in one place before,” he said admiringly. “How can Joe possibly know which one does what?”

“Practice,” I said, grinning, and he reached out and punched me lightly on the shoulder.

As we were standing at the back of the center aisle, the side exit door opened and Gene Morrison and Keith came in. We exchanged smiles and greetings, and Gene suggested we all sit down for a few minutes and talk, since there was at least a half hour before any of the invited audience would be showing up, but Keith excused himself, saying he had some work to do in the box office, and then would open the main doors and collect the invitations as the audience came in.

Jonathan, knowing I wanted to talk to Morrison alone, said, “Is there anything I can do to help you, Keith?”

Keith smiled—had I mentioned that Keith was a very attractive young man with a very sexy smile? I didn't think I'd ever seen him smile around Tait. Interesting.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, if you really don't mind,” he said. “You could stand in the auditorium doorway and take the invitations. If there's any problem, just ask them to come to the box office and talk to me. There are a number of things that have to be checked over and set up in the box office before opening tomorrow, and this would give me a head start.”

I suspected he was referring to the program inserts, but didn't want to mention them in front of Morrison.

“Sure,” Jonathan said, smiling broadly. “I'll be glad to.”

Keith turned to Gene Morrison and me. “Well, then, if you'll excuse us….”

I noticed as Morrison and I sat down that Keith stopped briefly at a switch box behind the swinging doors to flip on the lobby lights. Then, while Jonathan went into the small lobby, Keith went quickly to Tait's office, coming out almost immediately with the package of inserts and following Jonathan into the lobby.

“You make a very handsome couple,” Morrison said, nodding toward the lobby with a small smile that held more than a little sadness in it. “I envy you.”

That took me a little by surprise, and I wasn't sure how to respond. “Thank you,” I said.

“He loves you very much,” he said. “I can tell.”

I was suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “And I him,” I said.

Without looking directly at me, he said: “How very lucky you are.”

Then his expression changed slightly, as if bringing himself back to reality, and he said: “So, do you enjoy being a private investigator?”

Again, I wasn't quite sure where this was going. “All in all, yes,” I said, “though there are moments….”

He gave another small smile, without the sadness. “I'd imagine both private investigators and writers share a similar basic motivation,” he said. “Curiosity.”

I nodded. “I suppose that's true,” I admitted. “If something piques my curiosity, I can't seem to leave it alone until I find an answer—if there is one, and often there is not. It's something I have to learn to control.”

“And did Rod's death pique your curiosity?” he asked calmly.

Whoa!
I thought.

“Well, yes, it did,” I said. “But Jonathan and I came here strictly on vacation, and will be going home at the end of next week. This is all terra incognita to me.”

At this point, we saw Arthur McHam coming up the aisle toward us, and Morrison quickly said, “Ah, I see we're about to be interrupted. Would it be possible for us to continue our conversation privately—tomorrow morning, say, over breakfast? I don't want to intrude on your time with Jonathan and your friends, but…”

“No problem,” I said. “I'd be glad to.”

McHam came up to us, gave me a nod and a “Mr. Hardesty” by way of greeting, then turned to Morrison. “Gene, may I speak with you a moment?”

“Certainly,” Morrison said, getting up out of his aisle seat. “Later, then, Mr. Hardesty,” he said as he followed McHam toward the stage.

Now what in the
hell
was that all about?

*

After a minute, and still totally confused, I got up and went to the lobby. Tait, I noticed, had joined McHam and Morrison by the stage. One side of the swinging doors was propped open, and Keith was moving toward the main doors, keys in hand. Six or seven people stood immediately in front of the doors, with another eight or nine standing around on the sidewalk, talking and smoking. Jonathan stood in front of the closed half of the swinging doors, next to what looked like an old-fashioned telephone stand with a large stack of programs. He grinned at me broadly and said, “Hi, Dick!”

“Having fun?” I asked.

“Yeah, I really am.”

At this point, the main doors were opened and people began entering, invitations in hand. Keith went back into the box office and I only had time to say, “I'll go save our seats” before Jonathan began taking invitations and handing out programs. And yet again I was impressed by how he looked and acted as if he'd been doing it all his life. Our friends Mario and Bob had been right when they said, after first meeting Jonathan: “This one's a keeper.”

I moved to the left-side aisle nearest the wall and sat in the second seat from the aisle in the back row, saving the aisle seat for Jonathan. They weren't the best seats in the house, but in a theater as small as the Whitman, there weren't really any bad ones.

Once people started coming in, the auditorium filled up rapidly until, just before curtain, I was rather surprised to see there were only a few empty seats. I'd been sitting there trying to figure out what sort of game Gene Morrison might be playing, and where he was planning to go with it.

As the houselights dimmed, Jonathan sat down beside me. “Keith's watching the lobby,” he whispered.

The houselights dimmed, the curtains opened, the light cube began to pulsate, the thrumming increased, and the show began.

*

Even though Jonathan and I had seen the show several times, this was the first time we could appreciate it as one seamless piece. Neither Cam nor Brent missed a line. When the stage plunged to darkness at the end, there were several seconds of total silence. And then the clapping began, and when the actors came out for the curtain call, there was a standing ovation. I thought Jonathan would clap the skin off his hands.

The cast began clapping, too, moving forward to the front of the stage. Cam and Brent leaned forward, motioning Gene Morrison to come on stage, which he did to renewed applause. He took a bow, then raised his hand and the audience fell silent and took their seats. He thanked the audience, the cast—especially Cam for taking over on such short notice—and the crew, then asked for a moment of silence for Rod. It was quite touching and made me realize that, however else he may have been involved in Rod's death, he must have loved him desperately. And maybe “desperately” was the key word.

*

There was a lot of milling around afterwards, the cast coming down into the audience to be congratulated by friends and family, Tait and Morrison and Arthur McHam surrounded by well-wishers. Chris came out from backstage to join us, and Jonathan excused himself to go see if Keith needed any help. I could tell he was having the time of his life, and I figured I should just let him run off some of his excess energy. Finally, the crowd started to leave and I noticed Gene step out from a group of admirers and motion me to come over. He handed me a business card with his phone number and address.

“Is eight thirty too early?” he asked.

“No, that will be fine,” I replied.

Before either of us had a chance to say anything else, part of the group he'd just stepped away from moved in to surround him. I put the card in my pocket and returned to Chris, who was talking to Doris and her son, out of makeup and ready to go home. I congratulated all of them, and especially Carl on his professionalism. Though he only had a handful of lines, he delivered them well and seemed a natural on stage.

“Thanks,” he said, clearly pleased, as was his mother. They excused themselves and headed for home.

The place was beginning to empty out and Chris and I followed two obviously gay couples into the lobby—Max was apparently still busy with something in the booth, since we'd not seen hide nor hair of him or Joe—to check on what Jonathan might be up to. We found him and Keith in the ticket booth putting inserts into programs. I tapped on the window to get his attention.

“About ready to go?” I asked.

He looked mildly startled. “I guess,” he said, and Keith smiled at him.

“Yes, it's about time,” Keith said. “I'd better go see if Mr. Duncan and Mr. Morrison are ready.”

With that they put the stuffed programs into a box and scotch-taped an insert to the top so they'd know which were which, then Keith squeezed past Jonathan to open the booth's door, which faced the front of the theater. He stood aside so Jonathan could get out, then switched off all but the one small light over the ticket window and came out himself.

“You don't keep the booth locked up?” Jonathan asked.

Keith shook his head. “Only during business hours. The money and tickets are kept in the main office at night and brought out when they're needed.” He smiled at Jonathan and said, “Thank you again for your help, Mr. Quinlan. I really appreciate it.”

Jonathan grinned. “Thanks!” he said. “It was fun.”

Keith gave us a nod and went back into the now-nearly empty auditorium.

Giving me a puzzled look, Jonathan said, “How come he won't call me Jonathan?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I guess he just doesn't think it's proper; he's working for Tait, after all.”

“So?” he said, but before I had a chance to try to find a reasonable answer, he moved on to another subject. “Funny they don't keep the booth locked up all the time,” he said.

“Why's that?”

“Well, they keep a gun in there,” he said.

That came as something of a surprise. “How do you know that?”

“When Keith went to get a couple of boxes to put the programs in, I thought there might be some scotch tape to seal them up with in one of the drawers under the counter. There wasn't. Keith had to go get some from Tait's office later. But in the back of a bottom drawer I found a gun and a box of bullets.”

“No shit?” I said. “I don't suppose you recognized what kind of gun?”

He shook his head. “We had a couple of hunting rifles at home, but I don't know anything at all about handguns. Sorry.”

“That's okay,” I said, though I was curious as to whether it might be a .38.
And of course even if it was, .38s are one of the most common handguns around.

Still…

Yeah, well, we'll check it out,
I decided.

Jonathan, who of course had no idea what I was thinking, had kept on talking. “I'd imagine they had it there in case someone tried to rob the box office,” he said, “though you'd sure think they'd be more careful with just leaving it around like that. Anyway, I didn't say anything about it to Keith—I didn't want him to think I'd been snooping. I did offer to help him tomorrow night, if he wanted me to, but he says their regular ticket taker will be here then.” Jonathan was obviously totally caught up in the mystique of show biz, so I could sense the disappointment in his voice.

“Well,” I said, “at least now you'll have another adventure to tell the gang back home.”

Jonathan grinned. “Yeah; they won't be able to shut me up for a week!”

Keith returned to the lobby briefly to lock the main doors. “Just about everybody's gone,” he said. “Anybody still left can take the side exit.” He again smiled at Jonathan. “Thanks again,” and we followed him into the auditorium as he closed the swinging doors and turned out the lobby lights.

Russ, the prop man, was moving up and down the rows of seats, picking up a few programs and putting the seats upright. Tait and Gene were waiting for Keith near the exit, and we exchanged waves of good-bye. At last the door to the booth opened and Max emerged, followed by Joe, who paused only long enough to exchange a combination greeting and good night before heading immediately for the exit. Max looked tired, and Chris moved behind him to massage his shoulders. Max leaned his head back against Chris's hands and gave a long sigh.

“I called for a cab,” Max said. “I figured if I had a choice between a ten-minute walk home and ten minutes more that I could spend in bed it wasn't much of a contest. Damn, I hate getting old!”