The Innocent Woman

22

Steve Winslow was dreaming.

He’d finally gotten the lead in the Broadway play he’d always wanted. It wasn’t just any Broadway play, it was Hamlet. With him in the title role. There he was, out on stage doing the famous soliloquy. “To be or not to be.” The audience was hushed, quiet, listening to his words. But still, there were whispers. Faint but audible whispers, echoing around the theater. Better than Olivier. Better than Olivier. Better than Olivier.

It was hard to concentrate, hearing that. Still, Steve was doing a great job. Not better than Olivier, but a damn good Hamlet.

But no one was watching him.

What?

That sea of faces in the audience, the same ones that had been whispering, “Better than Olivier,” weren’t even looking.

Not possible. How fickle is the attention span. But sure enough, they were all looking stage left. What the hell was stage left?

Who cares? Gotta concentrate on the part. Can’t be distracted by-

By what?

In spite of himself, Steve turned, looked, saw-

Amy Dearborn and Tracy Garvin, dressed in identical sunsuits, arms linked, tap-dancing across the stage singing a Double-Mint commercial.

Damn, that pissed Steve off. What were those girls doing? Ruining his concentration on the one hand, and stealing his audience on the other. There they were, dancing to a Double-Mint jingle.

Only it wasn’t a jingle. It was a ring. A whirring ring.

Like the ring of a telephone.

On the fold-out couch, Steve snaked his arm out from under the blanket, groped, found the phone.

“Hello.”

“Steve, it’s Tracy.”

“Huh?”

“Steve. Wake up. It’s Tracy.”

“Tracy?”

“Yeah.”

“Tracy. Jesus Christ. What the hell time is it?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but-”

“You don’t have to call to say you’re sorry. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, don’t hang up!” Tracy shouted.

Steve shook his head to clear it. “Tracy, what the hell’s going on?”

“What’s going on is I’m in jail,” Tracy said. “I only get one phone call. It was between you and pizza. I opted for you. Don’t make me think I made a bad choice.”

“What the hell?”

“Got your attention now?” Tracy said. “Good. Here’s the picture. It happens to be two A.M. I’m in the D.A.’s office. He’s here, and so is Sergeant Stams. They’re both trying to ask me questions. I don’t want to answer. I told them I wanted to call my attorney. They weren’t happy, but they had to let me. I called you. Now did I make a good choice, or should I call someone else?”

“Oh, hell.”

“Assuming they let me call someone else. I don’t know how this one phone call bit works. Do you? I mean, if the first attorney you call is a dud, do they let you keep calling until you score?”

“All right, all right, I’m awake,” Steve said. “Just hang on, I’ll be right there.”