Just Murdered

Shakespeare Playhouse, Chauncey Burnham.”

“Kiki, darling, so glad to see you.” Chauncey had a sycophant’s smile. His lips were unpleasantly red and flexible. Helen wondered if that was from smooching patrons’ posteriors.

“Really, Chauncey, can’t I have any peace?” Kiki said.

“I saw your car and I had to come over and say hello.” Chauncey’s smile slipped slightly.

“You’ve said it. Now go.” Kiki started to turn away.

“Er, could we have a moment alone?”

“Anything you have to say, Chauncey, you can say right here.” Kiki was daring him.

The director took a deep breath, rubbed his goatee, and pursed his rubbery red lips. “All right, I will. Kiki, you promised my company five thousand dollars so we could get through December. Now you say you can’t give us any money until January first.”

“I can’t, Chauncey. The wedding has been expensive.”

“The landlord says he’ll close us down next week in the middle of the run. We haven’t been reviewed yet, Kiki. The critic for the Herald can’t come until next Thursday. I know we’ll get a big crowd when we get a favorable review.” Chauncey was pleading now, like a mother begging for the life of her child.

“If you get a favorable review. He called your last production ‘uninspired and derivative.’ ” Kiki’s face was a frozen mask of meanness.

Chauncey showed a brief flash of anger. Then he puckered properly. “Kiki, please. You know Luke is marvelous in this production. I beg of you, help us. We won’t make it to January without your support. We’ll die.”

Kiki’s smile was cruel. “Don’t beg, Chauncey. It’s weak.”

Chauncey hung his head. Millicent moved away. Humiliation might be catching.

Desiree appeared in her frumpy wedding dress and veil, an expensive specter. “Poor Chauncey,” she said softly. “You’re much too nice. If you were only more like your Shakespeare characters, you could save your theater. The bard knew what to do with inconvenient women.” Her smile was honeyed malice.

Chauncey looked stricken. “Please, dear lady, that’s not funny.”

“Screw your courage to the sticking point,” Desiree said, a demure Lady Macbeth.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. “Please, it’s bad luck to quote the Scottish play.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “But my mother’s death would be good luck for you.”

There was a shocked silence. Chauncey turned white, down to those mobile lips. “I’d better go,” he said. “You look lovely, Desiree.” He backed out of the shop.

“Money is so important in the theater,” Desiree said. “Everyone thinks Luke is marrying me for mine, but that’s not true. I won’t have any money until I’m thirty and Luke is thirty-five. That’s old for a leading man, you know. He’s getting a little thin on top now, but I think balding men are attractive, don’t you?”

She patted the groom on his head. Helen thought she saw his hair eroding like a Florida beach.

“Luke is giving up his big break for me, aren’t you? He has a chance to be in a Michael Mann movie—you know, the Miami Vice producer. It’s a big part for an unknown.

“Mother hates the part. Hates it. That’s why she said no. She doesn’t want Luke to be this drooling, brain- damaged coke addict. She says her friends and her committees may not understand that he’s acting.

“Luke can do Shakespeare, though. Everyone understands Shakespeare, even at Chauncey’s little theater. Luke can do that forever. Oh, and he has that dog food commercial. It’s still running on cable. Do your dog bark, sweetheart. You’re so clever.”

Helen was dazed by this display. Desiree had gutted her husband-to-be with knife-edged praise. How could he stand her?

But Luke took Desiree in his arms and gave her a smoldering kiss. “Darling, don’t do this to yourself,” he said. “Take off that dress. Let’s go out for an early dinner before the show.”

Luke’s performance of a man in love was flawless, but that’s what it seemed, a performance. It convinced Desiree, though. She wrapped her arms around Luke’s neck and kissed him as if he were going off to war.

“You’re right, Luke,” she said, becoming a heroine in her own romance. “Let’s leave here. I’ll get ready.”

“I’ll help you.” Millicent wanted this emotion-charged scene out of her salon. She herded the bride and her mother back to the fitting room. “Helen, stay with Luke, will you?”

“You’re in the current production?” Helen said, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

“I have the lead in Richard the Third. But I’m leaving the production after next Thursday. I’ve got a part in a movie.”

“I thought your mother-in-law wouldn’t allow it,” Helen said.

“I’ll bring her around,” he said. Luke’s long lashes had to be natural. They didn’t have eyelash transplants, did they? Helen thought his eyes were brown, but now they looked green. She couldn’t stop staring. Maybe they would turn blue, or gray, or start spinning stars.

“I bet you will,” Helen said. Had she really said that out loud?

Luke didn’t seem offended. He hesitated, then said, “Look, Desiree has the bridal version of stage fright. She didn’t mean what she said. Here are two tickets to next Thursday’s show. A critic from the Herald is coming. Will you help us pack the house? You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

How could a muscular man look so winsome? “Why, thanks.” Helen hadn’t been to a theater since she had money in St. Louis. She smiled back.

Desiree came out of the fitting room, saw Helen’s smile, and frowned. She almost ran across the room to grab Luke’s arm.

The couple was gone before Kiki tip tapped out in her spike heels, talking on her cell phone. “Friday night then,” she cooed. “After the rehearsal dinner.” Kiki looked sly as a cream-fed cat. Helen wondered if she was arranging a horizontal interview with a new chauffeur.

“I’ll take that crown and the long veil,” Kiki said. “You’ll be at the rehearsal tomorrow night. I’ll also need you at the church Saturday morning.”

“Helen will be there,” Millicent said.

“I will?” This was the first Helen had heard of it. She didn’t want to spend her weekend with the wedding horror show. “I don’t have a car.”

“Take the shop van,” Millicent said. “I’ll pay you overtime.”

Overtime? Kiki would pay through the nose for this personal service. Well, Helen could use the money.

“Good,” Kiki said. “We’ll see her at six.”

“My name is Helen.”

Kiki didn’t acknowledge her. “Oops. I forgot my checkbook. I’ll give your check to what’s-her-name at the rehearsal.”

“My name is Helen.” Kiki still ignored her.

“Can’t you send your chauffeur with it this afternoon?” Millicent said.

“He’ll be busy with me.”

Busy how? Helen wondered. But Kiki was heading for the door. Helen could see Rod the chauffeur standing next to the car, mopping sweat off his brow with a handkerchief.

Helen and Millicent simultaneously plopped into the pink chairs.

“How long do you think that marriage will last?” Helen asked.

“Here’s the Millicent Marriage Rule: The length of the marriage is in inverse proportion to the amount spent on the wedding. The more you spend, the sooner it’s over. I give this marriage a year, tops.”

“A year? The bride is worth millions.”

“Not for another ten years. Luke will have to spend a decade with the mother-in-law from hell to see that money.”

Millicent studied the bloodred nails that had clawed their way to the top of the bridal business. “Luke has big plans for that handsome face. It will take lots of money to get it on movie posters. There’s been no mention of a prenup for the groom. Desiree’s parents are too busy fighting with each other to worry about their daughter.

“If Luke’s smart—and he is—he’ll stay with the bride a year or so, then file for divorce. He’ll ask for big bucks, settle for a million, and spend it on his career. Desiree’s father will still be paying off the wedding when the groom calls it quits.”

“I guess a year is a long time with those two,” Helen said. “How you can stand Bridezilla and her