Rehearsal was scheduled for seven o’clock sharp Monday evening. I arrived early, hoping to spend some “quality time” with Bill. There were names for women like me, brazen hussy being one of the nicer ones.
I pushed open the doors of the auditorium and stepped inside. Only the stage was illuminated, leaving the rest of the cavernous space in relative darkness. Lance had flashed his charm and charisma at Serenity Cove Management and secured the rec center’s auditorium for our use-or should I say his use. Cast and crew were merely the means to an end. Lest we forget, he was quick to remind us this was a Lance Ledeaux Production.
Lance and Claudia, unaware of my presence, occupied center stage.
“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal over this,” Lance complained.
“Maybe it’s because thirty thousand dollars happens to be a big deal. Especially when it’s a cash advance against my credit card,” Claudia fired back.
“Claudia, dove, no need to get all upset. You’re not exactly in the poorhouse.”
Lance reached out to draw Claudia closer, but she jerked away. “That’s exactly where I will be if this spending of yours keeps up. I’ve overlooked the new wardrobe, the laptop with every bell and whistle known to mankind, the fancy iPhone, but this…” Her voice trailed off.
I stepped back until I felt the door handle jab me between the shoulder blades. I hoped they were rehearsing a new scene from Lance’s masterpiece. But I knew better. This argument was the real McCoy.
Claudia presented her back to Lance, then whirled to face him. “When were you going to tell me?” Her voice rose. “Did you think I wasn’t going to find out?”
“Claudia, my pet, you need to trust me.” He pressed his hands together and held them to his chest. The expression on his handsome puss was a page straight from Sincerity 101-so saccharine in its sweetness, I wanted to barf. “This is a sure thing, darling. I know what I’m doing. I promise I’ll pay back every cent-with interest-since money is such a big deal with you.”
She advanced on him. In her tight black pants and animal print top, she looked like a lioness moving in for the kill. Only the pointy-toed ankle boots with three-inch heels spoiled the effect. I clutched my shoulder bag tighter, scarcely daring to breath. I don’t know how Lance felt, but this was scary serious. I’d never seen Claudia this angry.
“While we’re on the subject of money”-she poked him in the ribs with a fingertip lacquered bloodred-“I happened to get a call from the Jaguar dealer in Augusta just as I was leaving the house. The salesman claimed you placed an order for a new car-a seventy-five-thousand-dollar new car.”
I smothered a gasp at hearing the amount. So much for Lance’s pretending to love his “classic” Hugger Orange Camaro.
“Seventy-five thousand?” Lance waved his hand dismissively, but even from a distance I could see perspiration sheen his brow. “That’s a drop in the bucket, sweetheart, compared to what my Super Bowl winnings are going to be.”
I felt a sharp stab in the region of my heart. I never hear “Super Bowl” mentioned without being reminded of my late husband. Two years ago, Jim, the poor dear, landed facedown in the guacamole dip after suffering a fatal coronary during halftime. He never knew he’d won fifty bucks in the football pool.
“And if there are no Super Bowl winnings?” Claudia continued her tirade. “What then? Write another check out of my money market account to pay for it? Drain my account down to nothing? Lance, this has to stop!”
Lance adopted a new approach, his tone faintly mocking. “After watching you at the roulette table in Vegas, I never took you for such a tightwad. I’m seeing a whole new side of you, sweetheart-a very unattractive side.”
In her fury, Claudia’s face was turning as red as her hair. “I’m seeing a new side of you as well. I won’t stand for this kind of behavior, Lance. This has to end-and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to see that it does.”
“Is that a threat?” he asked, feigning outrage.
I wasn’t overly impressed with Lance’s theatrical ability. At this point if I were a casting director, I’d have yelled, Cut!
“No, Lance.” Claudia’s voice dropped so low I had to lean forward to better hear her response. “It’s not a threat; it’s a promise.”
“You’re my meal ticket, babe. It’s going to cost you a pretty penny if you want to get rid of me.” At last the kid gloves were off. Lance was showing his true colors; black with a white stripe down the center of his back.
“Over my dead body, you two-bit actor,” Claudia snarled. “I’ll find a way to get you out of my life-one way or another.”
From the hallway outside came the sound of people talking and laughing. I nearly fell into Bill’s arms when he opened the auditorium door.
“Whoa,” he said, steadying me.
Unsettled by the argument I’d overheard, I blurted, “You’re late.”
“Looks like you’re early,” he countered. This time not even Bill’s smile was able to cheer me.
I stood aside while Bill flicked the light switch next to the door. Monica and Rita entered, too engrossed in their conversation about props to give me the time of day. Gus, Bill’s brand-new buddy, gave me a friendly nod as he shuffled by. The only one who hadn’t made an appearance yet was Bernie Mason, who was to play the part of the villain in Lance’s magnificent production.
Bill matched his pace to mine as I trailed the others toward the stage. “Gus and I spent all afternoon taking measurements and making lists of materials we need before starting on the set. We didn’t realize the time and thought we’d better duck out for a quick bite before rehearsal. Besides,” he added, “I need to ask Lance a couple questions.”
“Questions?” I mumbled, trying to collect my wits after overhearing the fight between Claudia and Lance. Now, I’m no relationship guru like Dr. Phil, but I’d bet my last bag of M &M’s this marriage was in trouble-big trouble. Lance Ledeaux seemed hell-bent on sucking Claudia’s nest egg dry. And Claudia wasn’t about to take the nest egg- sucking lying down.
“Hey, everyone.” Claudia turned and greeted us with a smile-a smile as phony as the creep she married. He was nothing more than a scam artist. I almost said “cheap” scam artist, but there was nothing cheap about someone set to rob you blind.
Lance looked spiffy in his fitted black jeans and yellow oxford cloth shirt with a black cashmere cable knit sweater artfully draped over his shoulders. The sweater alone probably cost a week’s worth of groceries for a family of four. He didn’t bother with a welcome but looked pointedly at his watch. Knowing his proclivity for the expensive, I wondered if the Rolex was real or a clever knockoff.
“As soon as everyone’s here, we’re going to run through act three, scene one,” he announced, doing his best commander-in-chief imitation. “No one leaves until we get it right.”
The announcement was met by a chorus of groans. The only good thing about that night’s rehearsal was that all the cast members didn’t have to subject themselves to Lance’s edicts. This meant that of the cast, only Claudia, Lance, Bernie Mason, and I needed to be present, in addition to a crew that included Monica, Rita, Bill, and his ever-present shadow, Gus. The remainder of the cast, Gloria, Megan, and Eric Olsen, a nice young man and a member of the Brookdale police force, had the night off. Lucky them. What a shame I wasn’t a tad younger; I would have tried out for Megan’s part-the role of ingénue.
All of us trooped up the steps to the stage.
Bill approached Lance, who was inspecting an array of props spread out on a table. “Ah, Lance, do you have a minute?”
Lance looked up with a scowl. If one didn’t know better, one would have thought he’d never laid eyes on Bill before. “Bill, isn’t it?”
For crying out loud, Bill was an easy name. Nothing complicated about it. How hard was it to remember the man who’d stepped up to the plate and graciously offered to build whatever set he wanted?
“Now?” Lance’s scowl darkened even more.
“Yes, now.”
I had to give Bill credit. He didn’t cave beneath Lance’s attempt at intimidation. Here was Lance all decked out in Ralph Lauren and Rolex. And then there was Bill in Levi’s and Timex. Do I have to come right out and say who won my vote?
“There’s a matter we need to discuss,” Bill said, all business.
“Can’t it wait?”
“Not if you want a set for opening night.”
Lance assumed a put-upon look. “Very well.”
“Gus and I spent all afternoon going over the diagram you gave us for the set.”
Lance rocked back on the heels of his polished loafers. “So what’s the problem? Too complicated?”
Bill’s color deepened at the implied insult. The rest of us eavesdropped shamelessly while pretending not to. Some leafed through the script; others developed a sudden interest in the display of props.
“I can build your damn set with my eyes closed. That’s not the trouble.”
“So, Bill, suppose you tell me just what the ‘trouble’ is so we can get on with rehearsal.”
“It all boils down to the matter of money. Who’s going to pay for materials? Lowe’s isn’t about to hand them over out of the goodness of their heart.”
Now it was Lance’s turn to redden as he seemed to sense all eyes fixed on him. Everyone ceased what they were doing in order to watch and listen to the minidrama being enacted right under their noses.
It was Claudia who broke the awkward silence and came to her bridegroom’s rescue. “I’ll give you my credit card, Bill. Lance can repay me from the proceeds.”
Lance rubbed his hands together. “Good. It’s settled, then.”
At that precise moment, the auditorium door swung open and Bernie Mason sidled through. If pressed to describe the man, I’d call him a string bean with a bad comb-over. He always put me in mind of Bert, the character from Sesame Street. Kind of tall, gawky, and slow on the uptake. Like Gloria, however, Bernie showed an uncanny knack for the dramatic. He made a perfect villain in Lance’s little drama.
“Good of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Mason.” Lance’s voice dripped sarcasm.
Bernie ambled over, a hangdog expression on his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Car trouble.”
Monica nudged me in the ribs. “Likely story. Guy probably can’t tell time.”
“Be nice,” Rita whispered.
“Places, everyone,” Lance barked. “Get ready to run through act three, scene one.”
This was the part where all the action took place-the part where Claudia’s character, Roxanne, confronts the villain who brags he just killed her lover and tells her she’ll be his next victim unless she goes along with his blackmail scheme. She does what any red-blooded woman would do-she shoots him. At least that’s what happens in Lance’s version of what a red-blooded woman caught up in those circumstances would do.
“Let’s go through the scene first without props, then a second time with them.”
Claudia, Bernie, and I took our places.
As I mentioned, I played the part of Myrna, the housekeeper. Putting on what I imagined to be my best housekeeper countenance, I entered the pretend living room and announced that the lady of the house had a visitor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bill give me the thumbs-up as I exited stage right.
Claudia ran through her lines, but her heart clearly wasn’t in her performance. Bernie Mason was even worse. He kept flubbing his dialogue. When Lance berated him, Bernie admitted he’d been spending most of his time on the golf course instead of memorizing lines.
Lance, obviously frustrated, ran his fingers through his hair. No amount of spray could help a hairstyle withstand that amount of torture. If Lance happened to glance in a mirror, he’d scare himself. His usually smooth blow-dried style stood up in spikes. “How hard can it be, people, to inject a little emotion? Didn’t anyone believe me when I said we’re going to stay until we get this right-even if it takes all night?”
Rita and Monica exchanged looks. Neither looked happy at Lance’s decree. Bill and Gus kept their heads bent over a set of blueprints. There was no telling what they were thinking-probably calling Lance a big fat jerk like the rest of us.
“Let’s take five, everyone. Then we’ll run through the scene again. Bernie, you stand aside and watch while I show a bunch of amateurs how it’s supposed to be done. Maybe using the props will inject some life into this scene.”
“Take five” always sounds so… so… theatrical. But I quickly learned that in reality the five invariably turns into ten-and occasionally fifteen. We milled about, chitchat-ted, took bathroom breaks, and complained about Lance. No one seemed to like the guy.
“The man’s an idiot,” Bill said in a low voice. “A complete and total idiot.”
“Let’s hope Claudia comes to her senses before it’s too late,” I said, remembering the argument I’d overheard.
Bill’s look sharpened. “What do you mean?”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Lance look at his probably fake Rolex. The take-five break was over. I needed to confide in someone, but this was not the time or place. “Later,” I told Bill. “Why don’t you stop over for coffee and lemon bars?” Do I know how to play the seductress, or not?
He thought about it for a second, then nodded. “OK.”
We resumed our places onstage.
“Claudia”-Lance pointed a finger at her-“I want to see you put some fire into your lines.”
Tightlipped, Claudia gestured at the table holding the props. “Is the gun real?”
“Of course,” Lance snarled. “What did you think we were going to use-a cap pistol?”
“I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off.
“Don’t be such a wuss. Just remember what I told you earlier, and you’ll be fine.”
Monica jumped to perform her duty as prop princess. Oops! I meant prop mistress. She gingerly placed the gun on a small table temporarily substituting as a desk, then retreated to the sidelines.
Claudia assumed her place center stage. “One more time, Lance. Then I’m calling it quits.”
“That’s for the director to decide, and, in case you’ve forgotten, that happens to be me.”
“Will you two stop bickering?” Rita folded her arms across her impressive bosom, a disgusted look on her face. “Can we please get on with rehearsal?”
Lance huffed out a breath. “Remember, people, this is the scene where Roxanne, Claudia’s character, confronts the man who brags he murdered her soul mate. I don’t want puppets. I want action. I want drama. I want emotion!”
I cleared my throat, then nodded to Monica, who pressed a buzzer serving as a doorbell. Our esteemed producer-director-writer-star wanted drama? Wanted emotion? Would my character, Myrna, be more interesting as a bipolar housekeeper-one who forgot to take her meds? Would Lance applaud my portrayal and nominate me for best actress in a supporting role? Or should I play it straight? Knowing the limitations of my acting ability, I played it straight. I entered, recited my lines, and exited, leaving Lance, subbing for Bernie, and Claudia-Roxanne to their big scene.
Claudia looked decidedly more animated this run-through. Lance read Bernie’s lines, in which he brags to Roxanne that he killed her lover and now intends to blackmail her.
I watched from the wings along with the others while she opened a pretend desk drawer and pulled out a gun.
She took aim at the villain’s chest. “Take that! And that and that!” she cried as she fired three rounds.
Lance fell to the floor. A single red blossom stained the front of his yellow oxford cloth shirt.