Sucker Punch Page 4

  It wouldn’t be long before I realized my mistake.

  Chapter 5

  A wave of heat rolled over me as I stepped down into the rehearsal hall. Someone had cranked up the thermostat, and the warmth that had been so welcome in the lobby became oppressive in the crowd.

  The rehearsal hall is a long room that runs the width of the building, front to back. It’s about a third as large as the stage, and it’s in this room that most of the preproduction work on any play being staged at the Playhouse takes place.

  Overflow props too large to fit in the storage closets teetered in precarious-looking stacks in the corners. Mirrors lining two walls allow dancers to see their moves as they practice, and posters from previous productions cover another wall. A bank of windows looks out on the alley that runs between the Playhouse and the insurance office next door.

  Dylan and Richie melted into the crowd, but Rachel bounded up to me before I could get both feet through the door. I wasn’t exactly surprised to see her in the cast. She’s been telling me for the past two years that her life’s ambition is to be a plus-sized model, and she rarely steps outside unless she’s ready for a photo shoot. Meanwhile, she runs the candle shop a few doors down from Divinity, and she’s in and out of my shop almost as much as she is her own.

  “I didn’t know you were in the play!” she said, grabbing my arm and tugging me further into the room. Her short brown hair was carefully styled, her makeup perfect. Next to her I always feel like somebody’s frumpy older sister. “You should have told me. We could have come together.”

  “I’m not in the play,” I told her. “No time. Dylan and Richie dragged me in with them tonight, but I’m only staying a minute.”

  “Oh. Well that’s too bad. It would have been fun.” She craned to see over the crowd. “Can you believe this? What a zoo!”

  That was an understatement. People had gathered in knots around the room. Some were catching up with each others’ lives, some were reciting lines, some singing—although no two seemed to be singing the same song. A couple of women made practice runs at dance steps, and I had to dodge the enthusiastic twirls of a young woman with pale blond hair.

  The creative energy swirling around the room was almost palpable. Vonetta had obviously stirred up plenty of interest in the play, so it wasn’t as if she needed me. I could safely ignore the guilt trips my conscience kept trying to send me on.

  Rachel spotted someone she needed to talk to and scooted off, leaving me to fend for myself. I felt out of place and uncomfortably conspicuous, so I hovered on the edge of the crowd where I wouldn’t have to keep explaining what I was doing there.

  I caught a glimpse of Vonetta, who looked imperial in an emerald-colored caftan embellished with a bold design in gold, talking to Geoffrey Manwaring and a short man with a stocky build on the other side of the room. Paisley hovered at her side, almost embarrassingly eager to please. A few steps behind, almost hidden from view, a plump woman wearing a bored expression watched the chaos.

  Since I wasn’t expecting to see her, it took almost a full second to recognize the bored woman as Vonetta’s daughter, Serena. Years ago, when we were both enamored of the theater, we’d spent hours in this room, but Serena’s love of the stage had clearly evaporated somewhere along the way. She didn’t look enamored of anything tonight.

  I was surprised to see her in the rehearsal hall—not only because of her antipathy for the world of the stage, but because she’d been gone from Paradise almost as long as I had. I wondered why Vonetta hadn’t told me that she was back.

  “Abby? Is that you?”

  Making a mental note to connect with Serena later, I turned to see who was calling me and found Colleen Miller—Colleen Brannigan—surging through the crowd toward me. Colleen looked exactly the same. Her short hair was the same buttery blond it had been in school, and if she’d gained an ounce, she hid it well.

  She hugged me as if we’d seen each other just yesterday. “I can’t believe you’re here. They told me you weren’t going to be in the play. Did you change your mind?”

  I shook my head, but it was getting harder and harder to say no. “I just stopped by to see if Vonetta found enough people for the cast. Apparently, I didn’t need to worry.”

  Colleen trailed her gaze around the crowded room. “We’ve had a pretty good turnout,” she agreed, “but the show isn’t completely cast yet.”

  “Really? I’d have thought that people would be fighting each other for the chance to work with Laurence and Alexander.”

  “They are,” Colleen said with a rueful smile. “Vonetta’s turned away so many people it makes my head spin. We could have had three casts already if she’d stop being so picky.”

  “She has to be discriminating, doesn’t she? She’s casting for a couple of bigwigs.”

  Colleen shrugged and tilted her head toward the men Vonetta was talking to. “Alexander knows what he’s getting into. This is semiprofessional theater, not Broadway. None of these actors are getting paid, and you’re not going to get star quality performances for nothing.”

  “Is that Alexander?” I asked, feeling a faint flutter of disappointment. Aren’t superstars supposed to be tall, well-built, and handsome?

  Colleen nodded. “And he’s on one tonight. I don’t know what’s going on over there, but he hasn’t been happy since he walked through the door.”

  Sure enough, Alexander’s face had turned a mottled shade of red, and from where I stood it looked as if he could have throttled Geoffrey Manwaring cheerfully. Get in line, buddy. Me first. I wondered what Mr. Personality had done now.

  Before I could find out, a sullen-looking man of about fifty came up behind us. His hair was more salt than pepper, and his stocky build was just starting to run to fat. He said something in Colleen’s ear and her smile faded. For a heartbeat she looked almost as unhappy as he did, but she smiled again and the shadows fled.

  She took Smiley’s arm and pulled him forward. “This is Abby Shaw, an old friend from way too many years ago. Abby, my husband Doyle.”

  Her husband? That surprised me. I would never have matched the two of them in a million years. I said I was pleased to meet him. Doyle mumbled something under his breath and pumped my hand once. Whether he’d said he was pleased to meet me or told me to go to hell was anyone’s guess.

  “Well, I wish you were going to join us,” she said, returning to our conversation. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to change your mind?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “I’ll admit it’s tempting, but I run the candy shop now, and Valentine’s Day . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. Vonetta told me. We should at least get together for lunch now and then. Doyle and I are just over in Leadville.”

  As the crow flies, Leadville is less than twenty miles from Paradise, but it takes at least forty-five minutes to drive there. I said “Yeah, we really should,” but I wondered if we ever would. “So you’ve stayed active in the theater,” I said. “Vonetta tells me you’re going to be stage manager.”

  “Yes, and it’s a terrific opportunity. I can’t believe she hired me for this production.”

  “Don’t be so modest. Vonetta’s loyal to her friends, but she wouldn’t risk this production just for friendship. You must be good at what you do.”

  “I’ve worked with Laurence a few times,” Colleen said, ducking her head as if the admission embarrassed her. “And I’ve met Alexander. I just happened to be free when they needed someone.” The gleam of triumph in her eyes gave her away. She hadn’t landed this job by luck. She’d worked hard to get here.

  Doyle spoke again, still too low for me to hear what he said, but the softness evaporated from Colleen’s expression and she rounded on her husband. “Stop it, Doyle,” she snarled. “I mean it. This is not the time or the place.”

  Doyle snorted a harsh laugh, and I wondered if he’d been drinking. “You expect me to just sit back and pretend like I don’t know what’s going on?”

  I didn�
�t have any trouble hearing him now, and neither did anyone around us. A few people fell silent, and several turned to see what was going on.

  Colleen’s face flamed and anger sparked in her eyes. “Nothing’s going on. I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

  Doyle barked another ugly laugh. “Yes. Yes, you have. So why don’t I believe you?”

  What a jerk.

  Colleen’s eyes turned to stone. “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she ground out, her voice almost too low for me to hear. “You have absolutely no reason to suspect me, and I refuse to let you destroy another job for me. If you can’t keep your suspicions to yourself, then please leave.”

  I inched away, convinced that Colleen wouldn’t want me to hear their argument any more than I wanted to listen. Suddenly, the idea of staying long enough to meet Laurence Nichols didn’t sound nearly so appealing.

  Doyle seemed oblivious to the audience he was drawing.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Kick me out. Make me look like some kind of lunatic, and you stay here with Nichols .” He spat out the name and his face contorted, as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth.

  My feet stopped moving. Colleen and Laurence Nichols? Was he serious?

  The sparks in Colleen’s eyes flashed again. “I mean it, Doyle. Either shut up, or leave. Go back to the Avalanche and polish off the gin. I’ll know where to find you when the meeting’s over.”

  The noise level in the rehearsal hall rose by another decibel or two and some kind of activity broke out near the wall of posters. Grateful for the distraction, I turned to see what was going on. Colleen moved to stand beside me, wearing a look of grim determination, and a few seconds later I saw Doyle slinking out the door. Apparently, she’d won the argument—for now anyway.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Doyle’s . . . well, he’s—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to spare both of us the discomfort. “Is everything all right now?”

  She nodded and some of the tension seemed to leave her. Frankly, I thought she was either unbelievably naive or a master at self-deception. Pouring alcohol on top of Doyle’s suspicions wasn’t likely to make things between them any better. But her marriage wasn’t any of my business, and I was in no position to offer advice.

  Just then, Vonetta clapped her hands and called out, “All right, everyone. Let’s get to work.”

  Both Colleen and I turned toward her eagerly.

  “I promised we’d be out of here by nine, and I intend to keep my word. Casting is nearly complete; I expect to fill the open roles by early next week. Those of you who have already been cast or assigned positions on the stage crew will stay in this room so Alexander and Laurence can run through a few things with you. Those of you who are here to audition will come with me into the auditorium. That should give the rest of you room to move around.”

  A few people shifted closer to the door, ready to move on. Vonetta gave a few basic instructions about rehearsal schedules and explained where the call-board would be, reminding everyone to check it frequently. “I’m not going to hold your hands,” she said. “Don’t expect individual phone calls. It’s your responsibility to check the call-board and to know when you’re needed.”

  Paisley held out a file folder, and Vonetta took it almost without looking. She spoke over her shoulder to Serena, who shrugged but stood and scowled down at her fingernails.

  Serena had always seemed like a shadow of her mother, and apparently nothing had changed. Vonetta was the strong, vibrant one who commanded attention. Next to her, Serena seemed almost invisible. She’d been out on her own for two decades, yet here she was, melting into her mother’s shadow as if she’d never left.

  “As most of you know,” Vonetta continued, “we have an impressive array of talent lined up for this play already, and our production team is top-notch. Colleen Brannigan will be our stage manager.”

  As if Vonetta had thrown a switch, Colleen beamed and waved one hand over her head. Her smile might look genuine from a distance, but I was close enough to see how fake it was. A polite spattering of applause greeted her introduction, and even the most stubborn whispers finally died away.

  Vonetta waited for the applause to fade before making her next introduction. “Alexander Pastorelli is someone I’m sure you all recognize. He’s the reason you’re here, and I’m delighted that he’s agreed to direct this play for us.”

  Her introduction spawned another round of applause and even brought on a few cheers. His expression almost grim, Alexander turned toward the crowd and nodded, accepting the applause as his due.

  “We’re so lucky to have this next man in the company,” Vonetta said when the noise quieted. “You all know and love him—the multitalented Laurence Nichols will be musical director.” For such a small crowd, the cheers that rose up were almost deafening. Vonetta held up both hands in an appeal for them to quiet down. “Please, people. Quiet, please.” When she could go on, she said, “Before I introduce him, I want to share an exciting piece of news. This morning, Laurence graciously offered to add four original pieces to the score. Some of you will have the honor of performing those pieces in public for the first time.”

  Another roar went up from the crowd. I caught a glimpse of Richie, bouncing with excitement. Even Dylan looked interested. But what caught and held my attention was the look on Serena’s round face. She wasn’t looking at her mother, but at the man of the hour, Laurence Nichols himself. And the look on her face was one of pure, unadulterated hatred.

  Chapter 6

  On the television screen, Laurence Nichols looks like he’s over six feet tall, well-built, with short dark hair and intense brown eyes. In person, he’s probably five nine and his dark hair is flecked with gray. Still, a good-looking guy, even if he is a little too thin for my taste.

  He rose to his feet and bowed to the crowd. Even from a distance, charisma radiated from him. Most of the women and half the men in the room were immediately under his spell. Colleen was one of the few who seemed unaffected, but I wondered if her reaction was genuine, or if she’d just learned how to protect herself from her husband’s jealousy. Laurence might not be a Greek god, but it was easy to see why a squat little toad like Doyle Brannigan might feel threatened.

  The crowd on the other side of the room shifted as people craned to see our resident superstar, and I caught a glimpse of Richie almost wetting his pants with excitement before he was swallowed up again. Vonetta beamed, obviously pleased by the reaction of the group. Alexander scowled, as if the rousing cheers annoyed him.

  After the applause went on for a while, Vonetta held up both hands and called out, “Quiet everyone. Please. Settle down.”

  While she waited for the applause to die away and the noise level to subside, Richie worked his way to the front of the room. At the same time, Dylan appeared at my side wearing a slight scowl on his handsome face.

  “Well, there he is,” Dylan said with shake of his head. “Almost close enough to touch. The poor fool’s going to have his heart broken.”

  “You can’t really think he’s interested in Laurence,” I said.

  Dylan smiled ruefully. “Not in that way. But since he heard the very first rumor that Laurence Nichols might be coming to Paradise, he’s been reinventing himself. He’s managed to convince himself that being on stage is his life’s calling, and that Laurence is going to discover him while he’s here.”

  “It could happen,” I said.

  “Sure. If he could act.” Dylan looked away from Richie and smiled at me. “But if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll tell him what a horrible liar you are.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” I assured him. “I’d never get in the way of Richie’s fantasies.”

  Dylan grinned. “Now that’s a friend.” He looked as if he intended to say more, but a loud bang cut him off and pulled my head around with a snap.

  Laurence had moved from Vonetta’s side to the piano in the far corner,
and his expression had gone from pleased to furious. “Where in the hell is it?” he demanded. Before anyone could answer, he whipped around and jabbed a finger at Serena. “You took it, didn’t you?”

  I exchanged a glance with Dylan and inched a little closer—not that it was easy to do. Everyone in the room was trying to get close enough to see and hear everything they were saying.

  Vonetta has always been like a mama bear when it comes to Serena, and tonight was no exception. She stepped in front of her daughter. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, but the reassuring tone of her voice didn’t match the hard glint of anger in her eyes. “Of course Serena didn’t take your music.”

  “She was in here alone earlier,” Laurence accused. “I came in and found her snooping around my things.”

  “I wasn’t snooping,” Serena snapped. “And I wasn’t alone. There was a stagehand in here with me almost the whole time.” She craned to look over the crowd and pointed toward a young man of about twenty-five. His thin blond hair was combed carefully forward in a David Beckham cut, but he seemed uncomfortable with all the sudden attention. “What’s your name?” she demanded.

  “Jason. Dahl.”

  “There you go,” Serena said, as if his name proved something. “Jason can tell you I didn’t steal your stupid music. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about it anyway. Unless you’re a complete idiot, you must have copies.”

  Laurence shoved past Vonetta and grabbed Serena by the shoulders. Serena jerked away and gave him a look that would have frozen someone less angry. “Take your hands off me.”

  A few people gasped at her audacity, but the rest of us could only stare at the drama unfolding in front of us. Why would Laurence accuse Serena, of all people, of taking his music? What possible reason could she have for doing that? For that matter, what possible reason could anyone have?

  Vonetta asked something similar, and Laurence rounded on her as if she’d suggested that he’d stolen the music himself. Geoffrey Manwaring threw himself into the fray, and whatever Laurence said in reply got lost behind his bluster.