too?”
Helen nodded.
“I’ve seen Chauncey like this before. In a day or so, he’ll come back apologetic and hungover with some clever way to fix the play. It’s how he works.”
“Why did Kiki’s death upset him?” Helen said. “I saw that woman publicly humiliate him. Besides, she left him lots of money.”
“Humiliation is no big deal for anyone in the theater,” Donna Sue said. “Some of us even like it. I know a few cast members who are into S and M. Chauncey depended on Kiki. She was his patroness. She brought big donors to his shows. She was a good critic. She could watch the rehearsals and tell him where the weak spots were. She spotted Luke’s talent and made him a leading man. Of course, she didn’t expect him to audition for son-in- law.”
“Was she upset when he got the role?” Helen said.
“I don’t think she liked it. But Desiree could do a lot worse than Luke, and Kiki was smart enough to know that. I was there the night Desiree met him. Her mother had dragged her to a production of
“Did Luke see her?”
“Oh, yeah. He saw her all right—as his meal ticket.” Donna Sue took another drag.
“Kiki may have helped Chauncey in the past, but she was withholding money lately,” Helen said. “Chauncey said the theater would fold unless she gave him five thousand dollars. She refused. I heard her.”
Donna Sue shrugged. “It was a game they played. At the last minute, after he begged her hard enough, she’d give him the money. She always did.”
But what if this time she didn’t? Helen wondered. What if the game went too far? Masochists died when their games went wrong.
“What happened to Chauncey’s neck?”
“Cut himself working on the set. It’s just a scratch.” Donna Sue blew out a long curl of smoke like a forties movie actress. Helen thought she’d smoke if it made her look as romantically world-weary.
“How’d he do that?” Helen asked.
“I didn’t see it, but I think it happened late Friday night. Chauncey is obsessive. He’ll come back to the theater at two a.m. and rearrange the set. Makes the set designer crazy, not to mention the actors. We’ll get our parts blocked and he’ll move all the furniture and we’ll have to reblock. But he’s not bad, as directors go. I’ve seen some throw chairs or scream at actors until they cried.”
“Does Chauncey have a temper?”
Donna Sue ground out her cigarette on the stucco wall, careful to keep from breaking the half-smoked butt.
“I hope you’re not measuring Chauncey for a frame,” she said. It sounded like a line from a play. “Because Kiki was worth more to him alive than dead.”
She turned her back on Helen and walked inside, like the queen she was.
Donna Sue would not talk to Helen during the intermission after the first act. But the actress didn’t hold a grudge. After the second act, Helen found an excuse to make conversation with her backstage.
“What’s in that locked cabinet?” Helen asked.
“That’s where we keep the stage knives, sword canes, and guns,” Donna Sue said. “The stage manager has the key. Actors love them, especially the sword canes, but they can get killed playing with those things. The actors can use them only if they sign a release and take special training. I need a smoke. Want to join me outside?”
The actors’ parking lot was a desert of broken asphalt with a rusty chain-link fence. Helen thought she saw something interesting. She wanted to examine it alone.
Three actors were huddled at the far end of the lot, puffing on their cigarettes. Donna Sue waved at them, then lit her half-smoked butt.
“I should quit,” she said. “Funny, I don’t smoke at the office. But get me onstage and I crave nicotine.”
All the cars on the lot were clunkers, except one. A black Eclipse was parked beside the battered Civics, Neons and rusting Toyotas.
“Who owns the hot new Eclipse?” Helen asked.
“Jason.” Donna Sue spat out the word.
“He must have a good day job.”
“I don’t think he has any job at all,” she said.
“Really? Where’s he get his money? It can’t be from acting.” Helen hoped she wasn’t pushing too hard again.
But Donna Sue had no protective instincts toward Jason. “Don’t know. I stay away from him. I don’t like touchy-feely creeps. His hands are all over the younger actresses, and they’re too dumb to see past Jason’s good looks. I call him the Green-Eyed Monster.”
“Those green eyes are compelling.”
“He doesn’t bother flashing them at me. He likes younger women. Real young. Some of his dates have lollipops.”
Jason liked younger women? Then why was he hanging all over the much older Kiki?
The outside light flicked three times, the signal to return. “Gotta go,” Donna Sue said. “Are you coming in?”
“No, thanks,” Helen said. “Think I’ll enjoy the night air.”
Donna Sue tossed the butt into the pile by the door, then went inside. The other actors followed. Helen waited a few minutes, then examined the cast’s cars. Young actors lived in their cars, sometimes for real when they couldn’t make the rent. Looking in their cars was like peeking into their homes.
Helen saw piles of scripts, demo tapes, photos, and resumes. There were college textbooks, old carry-out bags, and whole wardrobes, from skirts and jeans to high heels and running shoes.
Jason’s Eclipse stood out from this sorry pack. The sleek outside was polished. The interior was pristine. There were two odd touches: dozens of stuffed animals were in the backseat—bears, elephants, kittens, even a fuzzy fish. A bouquet of lollipops was stuck in the drink holder.
Jason was not in touch with his inner child. He was selling Ecstasy. Helen knew the drug left people extremely sensitive to touch, especially soft, plush surfaces. The suckers relieved the clenched teeth it could cause. Jason must hand them out to his customers. Dr. Feel Good gave a little extra relief.
“Some of his dates have lollipops,” Donna Sue had said. Not because they were young. They used X.
She remembered Lisa’s taunt at the rehearsal when another bridesmaid mentioned a newly thin friend: “It’s the South Beach Diet—Ecstasy and Corona. Right, Jason?”
Helen slipped back inside as the actors were taking their final bows. She stayed to clean up. “You are the greatest,” the stage manager said when she found Helen vacuuming the lobby rug. “I wish all our volunteers were like you.”
No, you don’t, Helen thought, and gave a traitor’s smile. She wasn’t there to help. She was planning a little drama of her own tonight, as soon as Jason showed up. The elements were worthy of Shakespeare: Money, murder, sex, and blackmail. If she succeeded, it would be curtains for the struggling playhouse.
Helen was out to prove their new leading man murdered their major benefactor—then blackmailed her only daughter.
Chapter 20
Jason materialized in the backstage blackness, green eyes glowing like a cat’s. He was wearing the softest sweater. Helen wanted to pet it. Once again, she was startled by his good looks. His face had a perfection Luke’s lacked. But his beauty seemed without animation. Jason wanted to be admired.
