File M For Murder

TEN

“Come on, boy. We’ll be in the way here.” I patted Diesel’s head and led him across the stage past the proscenium arch to the stairs. As I settled into an end seat a few rows back, with Diesel getting comfortable in the aisle beside me, I tried to identify the source of Laura’s quotation. I’d heard or read it before, and after a minute or so, I had it. “Henry V. Shakespeare, of course,” I muttered. Diesel meowed in response, as if he were acknowledging I was right.

Meanwhile the cast had reassembled center stage. With the area bare of any props, even chairs, the space the cast occupied appeared almost desertlike. I couldn’t imagine watching a play without some kind of set. This would be an interesting experience.

Connor Lawton stood downstage. From my vantage point his face was a placid mask, his stance relaxed. I hoped he could maintain this mood.

I heard voices behind me, and I turned to see Sarabeth Conley and Ralph Johnston taking seats halfway down the aisle on the other side of the auditorium.

Laura clapped her hands for silence, and I turned back to watch. When the last snatch of conversation died away, she said, “We’re going to try this again. Remember what we discussed in class about sight-reading. We haven’t had much time to work on that, but do your best.” She turned to Lawton. “Where would you like to start?”

“Beginning of the third scene.” Lawton crossed his arms across his chest. Pages rustled as the actors found their places. “We’ll start with Ferris.”

Dead silence followed. One of the students, an attractive brunette, nudged the tall, pudgy young man standing beside her. “That’s you, Toby,” she hissed.

“Um, right, old man Ferris, that’s me.” Toby was clearly rattled, and he stared like a mesmerized goldfish at Lawton.

“Take deep breaths, Toby,” Laura said in a firm, but kind, tone. “Center yourself, then start.”

I saw Lawton shake his head, but he didn’t speak. Toby nodded and I could see the change in his face and body language as he followed Laura’s instructions.

When he began to speak, I blinked in surprise. Out of his mouth came the quavery voice of an ill, elderly man.

“I tell you, Henrietta, I’m not shelling out any more of my hard-earned savings on that no-good daughter of yours.”

The pretty young woman next to Toby responded, her voice sounding surprisingly mature. “She’s your daughter too, Herb. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

Toby snorted. “Don’t see why as I should own up to begetting that shiftless piece of jailbait.” He paused to gasp for breath.

“See what happens when you get your dander up?” “Henrietta” shook her head dolefully. “Gives you spasms, and what’s the use of that?”

Toby gulped air again before he spoke. “That girl’s enough to give a healthy man spasms, much less me. I tell you I’m not giving her—or you—any more money.”

Another young woman, a chubby blonde, entered the conversation. “But Papa, we can’t put her in jail. All you have to do is pay back what she stole. Surely you don’t want to see your child behind bars?” She emitted a muffled sob. “You can’t do that to my baby sister.”

“Quit your caterwauling, Lisbeth.” Toby spoke sharply. “You’re so goldarned concerned about Sadie, you pay back the money.”

“Lisbeth” sobbed again. “I don’t have it. The rent’s way overdue, and it looks like Johnny might get laid off. Papa, please.”

“Reckon you’ll be begging for money next, because that no-good bastard you married can’t keep a job.” Toby coughed so hard his face turned red.

“Herb, calm down.” The note of panic in “Henrietta’s” voice sounded real to me.

Based on what I was hearing now, I’d have to say these young people were reading well, although I was not in the least impressed by Lawton’s “genius.” Was this reading significantly better than what Lawton heard earlier? If that was the case, then perhaps his temper tantrum had energized them somehow. I’d have to ask Laura about that.

What a shame, though, that what they were reading was so banal.

“Herb” told his wife to shut up in a crude manner. “Henrietta” uttered his name in shocked protest.

“I’m fixin’ to go lie down for a spell,” Toby said. He sounded exhausted, his patience at an end. “I don’t want to hear any more about Sadie’s problems. I’m done with her.” He mimed an old man, shuffling out of the room, leaning on a cane.

“Lisbeth” and “Henrietta” exchanged glances, waiting until the old man left the room. Toby stepped back, and the two young women moved closer together as they continued the scene.

“Mama, what are we gonna do?” Lisbeth practically sobbed the words out. “Sadie can’t go to jail, she just can’t.”

I thought the young woman was overdoing the histrionics, and evidently Connor Lawton agreed. He held up a hand. “Hold on a minute.” He pointed at “Lisbeth.” “What’s your name again, doll?”

The young woman blushed and swallowed. “Um, Elaine, Mr. Lawton.”

The playwright walked forward, and when he paused beside her, he stood at an angle that allowed me a clear view of his face. I caught a grimace, but then his expression smoothed out. He placed an arm across Elaine’s shoulder. “Elaine, you’re giving me too much. Dial it back a few notches, understand? All that weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth this early on, you’ve got nothing left later on.”

He paused long enough for Elaine to nod twice before he went on. “Lisbeth, now, remember she’s thirty-two, married, no kids, and Sadie’s like her own child because Mom and Pop are so much older, right? Lisbeth is emotional and not totally wrapped when it comes to Sadie, but you can’t let it all go in this scene. Dial it back a little, like I said. Can you do that for me?”

Frankly I was surprised by Lawton’s patient tone and demeanor. It almost seemed like a different man had come back from the break.

Elaine gazed at the playwright like Diesel mesmerized by a bird outside the archive window. After a long moment of silence, she swallowed and said, “Yes, sir.”

Lawton patted her shoulder. “That’s great, doll.” He moved back downstage and faced the actors. “Right. Take it from where old man Ferris leaves. Hey, Tobe, excellent job by the way. You’ve almost nailed it.”

Toby blushed and beamed as “Lisbeth” and “Henrietta” prepared to start the scene again. If Lawton kept up “slobbering sugar” like this—what my aunt Dottie would have called it—they’d all adore him and soon forget the earlier tantrum.

“Lisbeth” repeated her lines in more restrained tones, and Lawton nodded.

“Henrietta” picked up from her fictional daughter’s lines. “I don’t see much hope. Your father’s made up his mind. You know how he is when he talks like that. Remember your wedding?” She sighed heavily. “Wasn’t nothing on earth going to make him pay for you a decent wedding once he took against Johnny.”

Could this possibly get any worse? I was no expert, but the average soap opera probably had better writing. But I soon discovered it could get worse.

“He’s a mean old bastard, and I hate him.” Elaine’s face twisted into an ugly mask. “I wish he’d up and die. Let him join the demons in Hell where he belongs.”

“Henrietta” drew back her hand and swung it at her daughter’s face. The intended blow became a light tap on the cheek, but Elaine drew back and howled as if she’d been struck hard.

“Girl, don’t ever let me hear you talking about your father that way. He’s had many a sore trial in his life, and he doesn’t deserve disrepect like that.”

Before Elaine could respond, Lawton surprised everyone by gesturing wildly with both hands and saying, “Enough, enough.”

No one onstage moved. They all gaped at the playwright.

Lawton grabbed his ears and rocked his head from side to side. “God, that’s awful. Freakin’ bloody rank. Sounds like third-rate dinner theater.”

I definitely agreed with that, and I sought Laura’s face to see her reaction to this outburst. Was Lawton talking about the reading, or was he referring to the words themselves? The pitying glance Laura directed toward Lawton answered my question.

“It’s okay, everyone.” Laura spoke in an undertone, but thanks to the acoustics of the theater I had no trouble hearing her. “Connor’s not talking about your reading.”

The actors relaxed visibly. All the while Laura reassured the cast, Lawton continued to mutter, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

If this was an example of a playwright’s method for creating a play, I decided I was glad I didn’t have an artistic temperament.

“Everyone, take ten.” Laura made shooing motions with her hands, and the actors moved off the stage in a hurry. A couple cast puzzled glances back at Lawton.

Laura approached the playwright, who was still absorbed in his frenzy of negative self-criticism. She slapped the top of his head.

“Ow. That hurt.” Lawton let go of his ears to rub his head and glared at her.

“I meant it to.” Laura looked and sounded exasperated. “This is not the time for you to get into one of your self-flagellation sessions. You’re freaking out the kids, and frankly I’m pretty sick of it myself.”

Well done, Laura, I thought. I’d never seen such an emotional grasshopper.

“Who the bloody hell cares whether they’re used to it?” Lawton threw up his hands. “If they can’t take it, they’re never going to last in the theater. You’re not doing them any favors by babying them.” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re not up to the teaching gig after all.”

“Nice try, but this isn’t about me, Connor. You wrote the stinking dialogue. And I do mean stinking.” I knew Laura in this mood. She wasn’t about to back down. Would that make Lawton even angrier? Provoke him to violence?

Diesel was not happy with the loud voices and the tangible tension. He crawled under my legs and tried to hide beneath my seat, but of course he was too big. His tail stuck out between my knees. I scratched his back to reassure him, but right then I was growing more concerned for my daughter. Should I go onstage and interfere before this got any uglier?

“Yeah, thanks to you, babydoll. You’re my muse, you know that. How can I write anything decent when you’re tearing my heart out?” The fight seemed to have gone out of the playwright.

“Don’t give me that pathetic little act. That’s all it is, and we both know it. Bourbon is your muse. Go drink a bottle or two and rewrite the scene. Leave me out of it.”

Lawton’s expression turned ugly, and he was clenching and unclenching his hands. I was out of my chair and halfway to the stage by the time Laura finished speaking.

Lawton yelled an obscenity at my daughter, and I was so furious I was ready to teach him some manners—with a baseball bat, if necessary.

He didn’t stick around to judge the reactions to his vulgarity. Instead, he rushed across the stage and disappeared into the wings.