'He can finish.'
'Should I go back? Talk to him?'
'No. He just needs to be left alone right now. To get into character.'
Steinberg patted his brow with an immaculately pressed and pristinely white handkerchief. 'He never had to get into character before, Quentin.'
'Well, he does tonight. He's got to work it out.'
'Let's hope he does so in ten minutes or less. I hate giving refunds on five thousand dollar tickets.'
Quentin looked around the crowded lobby and thought that he had never seen such a lively crowd. 'I think they're getting their money's worth,' he said bitterly. 'The only thing better would be if we sacrificed a few Christians.' Then he pressed a smile from his tight lips. 'But don't worry, John. Dennis will be all right.'
High up in the production booth, Curtis Wynn had little time to worry. He was too busy preparing for the second act. Still, he could not escape the memory of that terrible moment when Dennis had not only gone up, but totally stepped out of character and pretty much stayed there until the curtain. No one could blame Curt, of course, but he wanted, as always, a show that was perfect, nothing less, and he had been getting it right up to the point that Dennis had floated away into Cloud-Cuckooland. What the hell had happened? Had he seen something? Maybe this purported stalker flitting around in the wings like some latterday Phantom of the Opera?
He tried to shake away the thoughts and doubts, warned the crew to prepare for the early cues of Act II, Scene 1, gave the cue for the two minute bell to signal the dawdlers to return to their seats, and looked down at the huge red curtain that covered the stage, at the orchestra members all sitting in the pit, ready to begin the entr'acte, which would start in exactly 120 seconds. Despite everything, the show would go on.
~* ~
Quentin Margolis stood at the back of the rear orchestra section and watched the first scene with tension in his stomach. He thought it would go well, and it did. Kelly Sears as Lise, Dan Marks as Kruger, and Wallace Drummond as Kronstein all played the scene to near perfection. Quentin detected slight nervousness on Drummond's part, though nothing that was noticeable by the audience.
The scene between Dennis and Steven Peters as the peasant spy followed. It was weak, if not pitiful, and Quentin ached inside for Dennis. He had no doubt his friend would get through the rest of the performance, but he would be ending his acting career on the lowest note possible.
He could watch no more. He turned and quietly walked through the inner foyer, thinking that he might sit in the lobby. But through the curtained glass he saw the dim, hulking shapes of security guards there, and went down the curving staircase instead to the lower lounge. The large room, filled with easy chairs and couches less opulent and far more comfortable than those of the lobby or the mezzanine lobby, was unoccupied, and Quentin eased himself onto a couch, put his head back, and closed his eyes to try and quell the headache that had begun to throb at his temples. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked around the room.
A door across the room and to his right went to the ladies' lounge and rest rooms, that on his left to the men's. Directly ahead of him was a closed cloakroom, and to the left a false fireplace with a black marble fireback and mantel. The mantel was beautifully carved with entwining vines and the figure of a faun in the center, its curled beard roiling downward into its triangular torso, which became lost in the vines at its navel. Looking at the erotic figure, Quentin wished he could get his own waist that slim.
When he put his head back again and looked up he saw the bas-reliefs on the ceiling. Though they, like the furniture, were not as grand as those of the more open areas off the main lobby, they were nicely rendered – white, cherubic faces ringing the baroque molding, with larger heads puffing plaster clouds at each of the room's four corners. The four winds, Quentin thought, and he smiled. Blow me out of here.
He closed his eyes again and entered a state of semi-consciousness that was not quite sleep, for he remained aware of where he was and what was happening on the stage. From far away he heard the Prime Minister Basil's solo, 'Only for the Crown,' in which Basil regrets the machinations he is forced to use to bring about the betrothal of Frederick and Maria, and knew that Scene 4, in which Frederick learns of Lise's death, would follow.
Quentin did not want to see it. He kept his eyes closed, remaining in his self-induced trance, until he heard a sound he did not recognize. It was a grinding noise, as if stone teeth were gnashing. At first he thought it was part of his dream, which he would be glad to leave anyway, for he was remembering the faces that had come after him in that other dream, those AIDS-inspired faces, the white, hideous faces of the virus that had no other wish than to…
'Eat me.' He jerked his head forward, opened his eyes, and saw that the marble carving of the face of the faun was moving.
It grinned.
'Eat me,' it said again, and began to pull itself from the marble vines that imprisoned it. Its arms came out first, and it reached up, grasped the edge of the mantel, and, like an athlete chinning himself, dragged the lower part of its body from the marble foliage, revealing its erect phallus, small in reality but obscenely large in proportion to the carving's body.
The faun hung now, a black and shining figure nearly two feet tall, from the mantel. Then it dropped to the floor with a clatter of marble hooves, grinned its grin that showed teeth like little black razor blades, and walked with sharp clicks toward Quentin.
And then the faces of the cherubs and the winds began to move, and fell from the ceiling like ripe, white fruits.
''She is… dead?'' Dennis asked Linda Bartholomew as Gretl, Lise's friend. He had been gradually feeling his strength and the strength of his performance return. He had been weak at the beginning of Scene 2, but had improved by the end, and now felt as if he had captured the character once again. When he heard that Lise has been murdered, he felt the Emperor's grief, felt it as deeply as he had when he stood over Robin's body.
He stood for a long moment, letting the emotion wash over him even as he was aware of the sympathetic response of the audience. He could feel them feeling his own emotion, and knew that if it would continue, he would triumph.
''I thank you,'' he said, ''for bringing me word.'' He slowly raised his hand and gently gestured her out, then turned to Bill Miley as Rolf. ''Tell Basil I wish him to come to me immediately.’” Rolf bowed and exited, and Dennis walked slowly to the throne and sat down.
At this point he was to reach into his uniform tunic and take from it a pressed flower that Lise had given to him at their first meeting. He started the move, but as he slid his hand into the tunic, something shook his soul with the power of a stroke. He gasped for air once, twice, three times, and his hand fell to his side on the throne.
He sat there like a machine that had stopped, and the audience stirred. Was this part of the show, an unexpected emotional response to show how much Lise's death had devastated Frederick? Or were they witnessing the further collapse of Dennis Hamilton, the actor?
Alan Singleton, who played Basil, entered, and his poorly concealed discomfort was all the hint the audience needed. Something else had gone wrong. Dennis Hamilton was falling apart before them.
''Majesty,'' Singleton declaimed in a voice that shook with more than practiced emotion, '`How may I be of service?''
Dennis looked at him slowly, knowing the move with the flower was irretrievably lost, and wondering what else was lost as well.
You feel me now, Dennis. You feel me coming, and growing strong, taking your strength. One final performance, Dennis. Just what I needed. Just what we both needed.
I will see you soon. Very soon. I'm practicing now. Honing my skills. Like you, I've been in retirement for far too long.
Can you imagine that I even have to audition in order to appear with you?
Even now I am in the midst of my final audition.
For your director.
Some of the cherub heads broke when they struck the lounge floor, but reformed immediately. Several of them landed on the sofa next to Quentin, and either flopped end over end toward him, or rolled on edge. He jumped
