movement in the back, and high up in the darker rows of seats. He scanned the faces of the cast, afraid that they would change, grow eyes the size of cups that would displace their other features, eyes that would stare at him, place the fear in him, cut off his breath for good.
Just the thought of it made his breathing more difficult, and he clutched Terri's hand. She looked at him, knew, said goodbye to her friends, then took him back onto the stage, through the wings, and to the stairway that led to the fourth floor costume shop. It was not until they were there that his grip on her hand weakened.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I couldn't help but remember.' He shook his head. 'I want to see the show. I want to be there when he… when he does the show.'
'You will be,' she said, speaking softly so the other costumers could not hear. 'We'll all be there.'
'We'd like to have you there, frankly,' John Steinberg told Chief Dan Munro, sitting across from him in his office in the Venetian Theatre. 'We're technically sold out, but we always keep a dozen or so house seats. I'll have security people there, but they'll be standing, sitting in the lobby, backstage. I hope you'll be able to bring your wife.'
Munro nodded. 'I'm sure she'd like to see it, but hey, those tickets…' Steinberg waved his hand. 'The least we can do. And, as I say, house seats.' Munro felt uncomfortably like a charity case. A pair of these tickets equaled a third of his annual salary. 'No, listen, I just volunteered to be there, I don't really need seats. I can stand in the back.'
'Please, Chief, not another word. And please bring your wife.'
Munro nodded wearily. 'All right. All right, thanks. So. How've things been going now you're back?'
'Swimmingly. Dennis is in good spirits, the production is coming together very smoothly, and we've had no… mysterious occurrences.'
'Thank God for that.'
'Have you gotten anywhere with your investigations? Found out who our stalker is?'
Munro wondered if Steinberg had intended that to sound as sarcastic as it did. 'No. The FBI's checked their files for any offenders who might have some connection to this theatre or to Mr. Hamilton, but they came up empty. We even checked on Werton's father, with the idea the first one might have been an accident, and then after he got mad at Hamilton he might have caused the others, but he's got solid alibis. So the only real suspect we've got is still Sidney Harper, but since he was in prison there's no way he could have been responsible for the little girl's murder.' Munro rested his arms on the chair and rubbed his fingertips together. 'So how about you? Any of your people have any brainstorms while you were away? Remember someone you may have fired, somebody who went away mad?'
'No,' Steinberg said. 'No one like that. We're very nice. We don't send people away mad.'
By the end of the day Friday, Dennis Hamilton was exhausted but happy. His talent had returned to him, he was with the woman he loved, his son was nearby, and the Venetian Theatre seemed beautiful and safe and full of promise for the first time in months.
He and Ann dined together in the Kirkland Inn. A few members of the Private Empire company were at other tables, but Ann and Dennis were isolated enough so that they could talk without being overheard. When the dessert dishes were removed and sherry was served, he took Ann's hand and looked into her eyes in the candlelight. 'Do you know how much I love you?' he said.
'I think so.'
'You know, a few weeks ago, in New York, I actually thought of.. . of ending it. Of doing away with myself.'
'Dennis -'
'And I think I would've. Everything seemed so futile. I couldn't think, couldn't feel, you know I couldn't act… but still, there was you. And I couldn't bring myself to leave you. It was as though. .. as long as you were still there, there was still hope, still something to live for.'
'Even if I hadn't been there, Dennis, even if you'd been all alone, you wouldn't have done it. I know you well enough to know that. You're too strong.'
'I'm not so sure of that. But you were there. You saved me, Ann, whether you believe me or not. You did save me.'
They disengaged their hands and sipped some sherry. 'Do you think it's gone? The Emperor?'
Dennis stared into his glass for a long time before he answered. 'No. I don't feel him, but I think he's still there. Waiting.'
'For what?'
He looked up at her. 'For me. For the performance. And it makes me nervous as hell.'
'But you're so much better now, your acting's wonderful.'
'I can't help but feel that I'm being set up for a fall. I'm still enough of a pessimist to believe that.'
'Just do your best. Use what you have. It'll be enough.'
He nodded. 'I've never been religious, but I've been praying lately. Isn't that funny?'
'No. It's not funny. I think it's fine.'
'Well, I figure it can't hurt. I've been praying for their souls too – Robin, Donna, Whitney, all of them – that they'll be at peace.' He smiled self-consciously. 'There are no atheists in foxholes, huh?'
She smiled too, and repeated his words. 'It can't hurt. And it might help. I've always believed it would. Whether you're praying to God or to something inside yourself. Just as long as it's for the good.'
'Oh, I'm praying for the good, Ann. If the good is the destruction of the bad, that's what I'm praying for.' Then he added softly, 'And working for.'
Sunday was the final day off before the performance. The weather was glorious, and most of the company drove cars, rented or owned, south to Philadelphia to visit the zoo or watch the Phillies lose again to the Mets, or north to tour the Pennsylvania Dutch countryside of Lancaster County. Terri and Evan went to the baseball game, and invited Ann and Dennis to come along, but Dennis declined. The final four days before the performance would be technical run-throughs and full dress rehearsals with sound, lights, and orchestra, making Sunday the last day he could concentrate purely on his role without technical distractions, the last day he could really work on his character, make sure that everything was just as he wanted it, give it that final polish. Quentin and Dex had agreed to work with him, and the three of them and Ann drove to the theatre after a leisurely brunch at the hotel.
They were the only people in the building. Even Abe Kipp would not stay there alone any more. Still, they were in good spirits and unafraid. They began with Dennis's song in Act I, Scene 3, 'Do I Do What's Right?' Halfway through the song he stopped and questioned the motivation for several of the moves.
'This gesture on the line, 'Without a threat of regret I can close my eyes,' Dennis said, throwing his right arm in the air. 'It goes with the music, but it doesn't feel right.'
'Dennis, you've done that move for years in this song,' Quentin said. 'It's always worked. It looks fabulous.'
'Well, maybe it looks fabulous, but it doesn't feel right. It just doesn't feel like something I'd do.'
Quentin eyed him curiously. ' You'd do? Or the Emperor would do?'
Dennis smiled at him. ' I'd do,' he said.
'Good Christ, I should've seen this coming,' said Quentin, pushing his glasses down onto his nose, glaring over the top of them at Dennis, and shaking his head in mock rue. 'Our boy's gone method at last. Call back the cast. Let's reblock the whole damned show…'
They laughed, Dennis hardest of all. 'I know,' he said, 'this is a terrible thing to put you through, Quentin. I know you believe what's set is set. But I'd just like to do… something different, something more real. I'd like to make it fresh.'
'Fresh – what are we doing, a show or a salad?' He chuckled. 'All right, what would you like to do that feels fresh? Besides accosting Ann, that is?'
They worked on nearly all of Dennis's scenes, Quentin jotting down the changes in the prompt book. There would be time in the next four days to acquaint the other principals with the subtle variations Dennis had made. They all knew there would be more than enough time, while waiting for scene changes, or while lighting cues were being set, or difficulties in quick costume changes were being dealt with. The rehearsals leading up to dress
