The Living Dead

They were hours away from a Final Dress Rehearsal and Viola was in an ambulance, being taken into Intensive Care.

* * *

'The sooner they knock this place down, the better,' said Hammersmith. He'd been drinking during office hours, something Calloway had never seen him do before. The whisky bottle stood on his desk beside a half-full glass. There were glass-marks ringing his accounts, and his hand had a bad dose of the shakes.

'What's the news from the hospital?'

'She's a beautiful woman,' he said, staring at the glass. Calloway could have sworn he was on the verge of tears.

'Hammersmith? How is she?'

'She's in a coma. But her condition is stable.'

'That's something, I suppose.'

Hammersmith stared up at Calloway, his erupting brows knitted in anger.

'You runt,' he said, 'you were screwing her, weren't you? Fancy yourself like that, don't you? Well, let me tell you something, Diane Duvall is worth a dozen of you. A dozen!'

'Is that why you let this last production go on, Hammersmith? Because you'd seen her, and you wanted to get your hot little hands on her?'

'You wouldn't understand. You've got your brain in your pants.' He seemed genuinely offended by the interpretation Calloway had put on his admiration for Miss Duvall.

'All right, have it your way. We still have no Viola.'

'That's why I'm canceling,' said Hammersmith, slowing down to savor the moment.

It had to come. Without Diane Duvall, there would be no Twelfth Night; and maybe it was better that way.

A knock on the door.

'Who the fuck's that?' said Hammersmith softly. 'Come.'

It was Lichfield. Calloway was almost glad to see that strange, scarred face. Though he had a lot of questions to ask of Lichfield, about the state he'd left Diane in, about their conversation together, it wasn't an interview he was willing to conduct in front of Hammersmith. Besides, any half-formed accusations he might have had were countered by the man's presence here. If Lichfield had attempted violence on Diane, for whatever reason, was it likely that he would come back so soon, so smilingly?

'Who are you?' Hammersmith demanded.

'Richard Walden Lichfield.'

'I'm none the wiser.'

'I used to be a trustee of the Elysium.'

'Oh.'

'I make it my business—'

'What do you want?' Hammersmith broke in, irritated by Lichfield's poise.

'I hear the production is in jeopardy,' Lichfield replied, unruffled.

'No jeopardy,' said Hammersmith, allowing himself a twitch at the corner of his mouth. 'No jeopardy at all, because there's no show. It's been cancelled.'

'Oh?' Lichfield looked at Calloway.

'Is this with your consent?' he asked.

'He has no say in the matter; I have sole right of cancellation if circumstances dictate it; it's in his contract. The theatre is closed as of today: it will not reopen.'

'Yes it will,' said Lichfield.

'What?' Hammersmith stood up behind his desk, and Calloway realized he'd never seen the man standing before. He was very short.

'We will play Twelfth Night as advertised,' Lichfield purred. 'My wife has kindly agreed to understudy the part of Viola in place of Miss Duvall.'

Hammersmith laughed, a coarse, butcher's laugh. It died on his lips however, as the office was suffused with lavender, and Constantia Lichfield made her entrance, shimmering in silk and fur. She looked as perfect as the day she died: even Hammersmith held his breath and his silence at the sight of her.

'Our new Viola,' Lichfield announced.

After a moment Hammersmith found his voice. 'This woman can't step in at half a day's notice.'

'Why not?' said Calloway, not taking his eyes off the woman. Lichfield was a lucky man; Constantia was an extraordinary beauty. He scarcely dared draw breath in her presence for fear she'd vanish.

Then she spoke. The lines were from Act V, Scene I:

'If nothing lets to make us happy both

But this my masculine usurp'd attire,

Do not embrace me till each circumstance

Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump

That I am Viola.'

The voice was light and musical, but it seemed to resound in her body, filling each phrase with an undercurrent of suppressed passion.

And that face. It was wonderfully alive, the features playing the story of her speech with delicate economy.

She was enchanting.

'I'm sorry,' said Hammersmith, 'but there are rules and regulations about this sort of thing. Is she Equity?'

'No,' said Lichfield.

'Well you see, it's impossible. The union strictly precludes this kind of thing. They'd flay us alive.'

'What's it to you, Hammersmith?' said Calloway. 'What the fuck do you care? You'll never need set foot in a theatre again once this place is demolished.'

'My wife has watched the rehearsals. She is word perfect.'

'It could be magic,' said Calloway, his enthusiasm firing up with every moment he looked at Constantia.

'You're risking the Union, Calloway,' Hammersmith chided.

'I'll take that risk.'

'As you say, it's nothing to me. But if a little bird was to tell them, you'd have egg on your face.'

'Hammersmith: give her a chance. Give all of us a chance. If Equity blacks me, that's my look-out.' Hammersmith sat down again.

'Nobody'll come, you know that, don't you? Diane Duvall was a star; they would have sat through your turgid production to see her, Calloway. But an unknown . . .? Well, it's your funeral. Go ahead and do it, I wash my hands of the whole thing. It's on your head, Calloway, remember that. I hope they flay you for it.'

'Thank you,' said Lichfield. 'Most kind.'

Hammersmith began to rearrange his desk, to give more prominence to the bottle and the glass. The interview was over: he wasn't interested in these butterflies any longer.

'Go away,' he said. 'Just go away.'

'I have one or two requests to make,' Lichfield told Calloway as they left the office. 'Alterations to the production which would enhance my wife's performance.'

'What are they?'

'For Constantia's comfort, I would ask that the lighting levels be taken down substantially. She's simply not accustomed to performing under such hot, bright lights.'

'Very well.'

'I'd also request that we install a row of footlights.'

'Footlights?'

'An odd requirement, I realize, but she feels much happier with footlights.'

'They tend to dazzle the actors,' said Calloway. 'It becomes difficult to see the audience.'

'Nevertheless . . . I have to stipulate their installation.'