On Monday the rest of the cast had rehearsed in Dennis's absence, and now that he had returned, they still rehearsed in his absence. Dennis was there, they all felt, in body only.
He grew paler and thinner as the days passed. Those who had lunch with him saw him eat, but could see no trace of the nourishment in his flesh. Even his singing voice, that wonder of regularity whose lack of failure had never caused him to miss a performance, was growing weak. The notes were always there and on pitch without cracking, but their fullness had diminished to heard shadows of what they had been. Kelly and the others who shared scenes with him tried desperately to draw the Emperor of old out of him, but with no success. They worked around him.
Many of them had rehearsed shows like this before, star vehicles for music theatres in which the lead, usually a TV celebrity, came in for the final run-through, and was represented in early rehearsals by an assistant stage manager who carried the book, read the lines lifelessly, and walked through the movements like a trained zombie. It was little better than acting with a puppet. Only in this case the puppet was a performer who had won two Tony Awards and the applause and respect of the theatre world.
Ann Deems did what she could for Dennis. She encouraged him, admonished him, seldom left his side, lived with him, made love to him, and loved him. His reciprocating love, she thought, seemed the only real thing about him anymore.
When she met him at the studio at the end of the day's rehearsal, he showed more life than he did at any other time. Still, she thought
'He's dying, John. I really think he is.'
Steinberg quickly looked up from the papers they had been about to go over, as if surprised at the unexpected comment. 'They said he was all right at the hospital.”
“But he seems so weak, and getting weaker.'
'I know. But too, I know Dennis. I've known him for a much longer period of time than you, my dear, despite your recent relationship. And there were times he was absolutely dreadful in rehearsals – disinterested, bored, lifeless -'
'But ever as bad as this?'
Steinberg sat back in his chair, folded his hands upon his generous lap, and looked up at the ceiling, as if his memory dwelt there. 'No,' he said. 'I'll concede that. No. But the situation… all the deaths, the loss.' He sighed. 'Robin… Whitney… Donna …”
Steinberg sighed, and Ann knew that he was remembering the woman who had worked with him for so many years. Their own relationship had improved considerably in the past month, and she thought that Steinberg might be trying to turn her into a replacement for Donna.
Steinberg jerked his head down. 'He'll change once he gets on a stage. And when he finally has an audience… well, you'll see. We'll have the old Dennis back again. We'll have the Emperor, by God.' A shiver ran through her at the intensity of his grin. 'But enough of this. I can only say don't worry about him. You're good for him, Ann. He needs you. And he'll be all right. Now our job is to make sure that the evening of the performance is everything that he wants it to be.'
She nodded. 'I'm sorry. Sometimes it just gets to me. I worry that he won't… have it.'
'He'll have it. And we'll have one hell of an audience. I've got the donations to date here. At $5000 a seat, we'll be filling the Venetian Theatre to capacity.”
“John, that's incredible!'
'Not so incredible when you think about it. Only about half of these names are our prior investors. The others are all from news services, magazines, television stations… both Geraldo and Sally will be there.'
The truth hit her then. 'My God, because of what happened… and -“
“Because of what might happen again, yes, you're right. The vultures are out in force, hoping for a show beyond the show.'
'You can't let them, John.'
'I can't stop them, Ann. Their money is as good as anyone else's. But understand, nothing will happen beyond the show. Backstage will be filled with cast and crew, and we will have security people en masse. There will be no opportunity for what happened to Tommy Werton. These news hounds will see a musical, nothing more. And the publicity this will bring the project is something that no money can buy. I confess I hadn't thought of that angle when Dennis said he wanted to do Empire again.'
'But it seems so ghoulish…”
'What's ghoulish about playing A Private Empire? Some people may have a morbid reason for coming, but that's their problem. They'll soon learn that if they want to see Grand Guignol, they had best go to Paris. They won't see it here. No, Ann, the only thing they will see on that stage is the, shall I say, transformation of Dennis Hamilton.' Steinberg's eyes got very small, and he leaned across the desk toward her. 'Why is he doing it, Ann? He hasn't told me.'
'Maybe he thought you were right about it, and changed his mind.'
'It's not that. It happened after Evan had his attack. Why does he want to do it? What good does he think it will do?'
'Why don't you ask him?'
'I won't do that. I have never… pried into his affairs. He's told me much without my asking, and I don't want that to change.'
'Maybe he thinks,' Ann said slowly, 'that this is something you'd have trouble accepting.'
'Perhaps I would. But I would try.'
'I'm sorry, John. Just know that he believes that it's for the best. And I believe it too. If it works, if what's supposed to happen happens, it will change things. End things.'
'The killings.'
She paused. Had she said too much? John was such a materialist, how could he believe in the reality of the Emperor?
'Is he trying to… draw this person out?'
'In a way,' she said. 'Or maybe drive him away.'
'If what Chief Munro thinks is true, that could be very dangerous.”
“It could be more dangerous for Dennis to do nothing.'
'Ann, I want to know -'
' John,' she said, interrupting him, 'please. I can't tell you any more.' And she did not.
In the middle of the last week in New York, Sybil Creed dropped in to the rehearsal. By now, the chorus was working together with the principals, and Quentin was directing Act II, Scene 7, the last scene, in which the Emperor Frederick, having slain Kronstein in a duel, speaks to his people, telling them that if he is killed leading his army against Wohlstein to restore the usurped King Fritz to the throne, the people of Waldmont should be his heirs and rule through a democracy.
When the speech was over and a five was called, Sybil walked up to Dennis, who smiled and dutifully kissed her cheek. He had not seen her since the night of Tommy Werton's death, as she had been in Europe for several months running an acting seminar.
'That was shit, son,' were the first words out of her mouth. Dennis gave a small laugh. 'And that laugh,' she went on, 'should be called self-deprecating, because if I've ever seen an actor with a reason to deprecate himself, it's you today.'
'Do you want to continue to lambast me here in front of my cast,' Dennis said, 'or would you rather take me outside to the woodshed?'
'How long is your break?'
'Only five, but they're doing a scene I'm not in.'
'Fine,' said Sybil. 'Take me out for a drink. After seeing the garbage you were just spewing, I need one.'
'All right,' Dennis said, taking his jacket from the back of a chair and waving to Curt to let him know he was leaving. 'But please don't hesitate to tell me what you really think.'
Sybil's sharp line of a mouth curled. 'Very good. Was that irony? God knows there was more spark in it than in that watery speech you just gave.' She offered her arm, Dennis took it, and they walked out.
