Break A Leg - Part 3 - Sex and Knives

I arrived at the theater at around 2PM (cast has call at 4pm, so I had plenty of time). I was wearing a disguise – nothing more than some facial hair, glasses, and a few rubber prosthetics to keep anyone from recognizing me from the other day. I had obtained a press pass from a friend who works at the Daily News, and while D.N. credentials are generally considered to be the fecal output of the NY Post (which is shit in itself), it was a good enough cover to answer questions anyone might have. I was told that several reporters had come on set to do behind-the-scenes stories, and the actors were used to it by now.

I gave Steven The Stagehand a call on his cell phone, and he quickly opened the rear door for me. That puppy-dog excitement returned to his eyes the moment he saw I was in disguise. He told me that he’d kept his eyes open and that so far, everything seemed normal. He led me back to the dressing rooms and gave me a master key he had nicked from the janitor.

I made sure that no one was coming, then moved from room to room. The first dressing room was Jefferson’s (the lead actor), and I was amused to see that the wall was plastered with various headshots and photos of himself. Jefferson showing his muscular physique; Jefferson offering a pearly-white smile (few women would guess a lisp existed behind those teeth); etc. Otherwise, nothing other than make-up and costumes to be found. Nothing in the trash either.

I continued moving from dressing room to dressing room. I began hitting dressing rooms that were shared by several lesser members of the cast – a black, handsome actor named Morgan; an elderly woman named Joanna; and a pair of very attractive twins named Flora and Fauna. There are of course numerous actors in the show other than the three or four I’ve mentioned, and I’ve decided that rather than confuse everyone with name after name, I will try to only introduce those who I think might be involved in some way, or at the very least, only when I encounter them. At this point, anyway, I’d found nothing.

I turned to the next door – my client, Charlotte’s. I had been in there yesterday, and everything seemed in place. A large new double-mirror (which had no doubt replaced the “vandalized” mirrors); several newspaper reviews on the wall with positive remarks about her acting (“Charlotte Steals Show!” stood out in one NY paper); a make-up table in front of the mirror; and like all the other rooms, nothing out of the ordinary.

I stood up, turned around, and ran smack in Nora.

For a moment, we stood there. Would she recognize me from the other day? Nora, from my single encounter, didn’t make much eye contact and definitely seemed to be as self-involved as they come. Still, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have an eye for detail.

After a moment, she spoke in a harsh voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Ronald Carson. I'm with Daily News,” I said, flashing my badge and talking as deep as my throat would allow. “I’m working on a story for tomorrow’s edition, but it looks like I’m a bit early. You’re Nora Jacobs, aren’t you? Can I ask you a few questions?”

“I didn’t hear about this from Marco [the director]. How did you get in here?” she said, unmoved. “These doors are all locked.”

“This one was the only open one,” I said, trying to sound embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

She continued to stare at me with that evil look, then finally backed down.

“All right,” she said. “I never talk to anyone before a show. Come back after, and I’ll give you five minutes.”

I thanked her, then left. I quickly went down the hall and around the corner, and arrived at the vent shaft Steven had shown me. I pulled the vent cover off and walked inside, then replaced it behind me. I hurried down to Charlotte’s dressing room, hoping that Nora hadn’t left.

I peered through the vent and Nora was there. She was engrossed in reading one of the reviews on the wall. Time seemed to tick on endlessly. Then, suddenly, she reached out and ripped the newspaper down.

Was it going to be this easy? Was it just Nora, mad about getting upstaged in her lead role by Charlotte, wanting to throw her off her mark?

Nora reached into her purse, then pulled out an envelope addressed to Charlotte in fancy handwriting. She set it down on the table.

Suddenly, in the doorway, Paul – Charlotte’s boyfriend – appeared. Shit, I thought, he’s going to figure this all out in two seconds. No bonus payment for Dick.

“Nora, what are you doing here?” he asked accusingly, in much the same tone she had used on me.

“I was just leaving…” she said, ignoring his anger.

“I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t come near here. It’s too fucking obvious, and why should you bother if I can do it without drawing attention?”

“Because I enjoy it. Besides, Paul, no one’s around. No one shows up on Monday until late.”

Paul swung the door shut, then walked up to her and wrapped an arm around her. A hand settled firmly on her ass.

“If that’s true, then we have time for a little fun.”

The icy look I was so accustomed to seeing on her face disappeared as she leaned in, and tongues met in a very rabid kiss. A grope fest began, the two of them working fast – in a few moments, Paul had gotten both of Nora’s tits out and was tonguing them as she unbuttoned his pants. Then, Nora disappeared from my vantage point, and while I can’t be 100% sure, the manner in which Paul suddenly leaned his head back in pleasure suggests she was taking a quick vacation somewhere below the equator. A few minutes later, Paul stood up, bent Nora over the make-up table, hiked up her skirt, and began plowing her from behind.

Sometimes, my job pays for itself.

I got some great footage on a small mini-DV camera I carry for just such occasions. If I ever quit this profession, maybe I’ll take up work as a porno director – I’m getting quite good at it.

So a little more complicated, but case still closed, right? Nora and Paul are having an affair; Paul is helping Nora to get at his girlfriend Charlotte with inside info and special access.

That’s what was running through my head till about halfway through the first act of the show Monday night. I’d spent the past few hours hanging around the set in the background, and no one had noticed me. I have to admit that I wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on – I was too busy trying to work out the details on how Nora and Paul had pulled off their previous stunts.

As the show began, I wandered into a dark spot in the wings and began watching from there. The show was going smoothly, and everything seemed to be in order. Charlotte hesitated ever so slightly before taking a drink from her glass of wine, but the expression that followed indicated that all was as it should be.

It was then that I noticed a sudden flash of light reflecting on the stage floor. A very small spot, it appeared, then disappeared, then appeared and disappeared again, always moving around frantically. Nora and Charlotte were having a pivotal conversation on stage, and the audience was completely engrossed in their acting abilities. I looked up, and saw the source of the light.

Up in the lighting grid, a figure was leaning over the catwalk. The light made it almost impossible to see anything more than a silhouette, but I could make out where the flash was coming from – a very large knife blade. The person was dangling it just above Charlotte, and it looked as if he or she was planning on throwing the knife down at her.

Not sure what to do, I whistled. I’ve been honing my whistle for many years, and it’s grown to that shrill, piercing level I can always count on to catch a cab with. The figure looked up, and the knife tumbled from his or her hand, getting caught in the barndoors of a light a few feet below. It stayed there. Nora and Charlotte didn’t flinch in their acting. The audience murmered a bit, but chose to ignore it.

The person in the lighting grid looked directly at me, and I squinted as hard as I could to see their face to no avail. The person quickly stood up and ran along the catwalk till they were out of my sight. Steven later told me that whoever it was probably went to the roof through an exit in the rafters.

I looked at Nora on stage, then to Paul, who was sitting in the audience (“Hasn’t missed a show,” Charlotte had said to me earlier with love in her eyes). Neither looked as if they had any clue that anything was going on.

Meaning someone else is involved.

Break A Leg - Part 2 - Water Into Wine

Two points before I relate the events of Friday:

1) I see that Edvard Munch’s Scream painting has been stolen. While I would love to pack some bags and head to Norway to search for the culprits, I currently have too much on my plate – in case anyone was wondering.

2) Unrelated to my current case, a woman called on me on Friday to say that she thinks her life is in danger (apparently, this is the popular crime of the week). She gave me some information about herself, as well as contact information, and said she will get in touch with me sometime in the future to go over the specifics. More on that as it develops.

Back to my case:

On Friday evening, I went to a certain theater off of Broadway to see a very charming rendition of a play many of you are probably very familiar with. Maybe sometime in the future, I’ll give you a title, as the performances were superb and it really deserves your attention. Charlotte was exceptional on stage, and though she wasn’t the lead, she still got a very loud round of applause on her bow – moreso, perhaps, than the lead actress.

For the duration of the show, I sat with Paul, her boyfriend. Paul is a theatrical actor, and in the world of stereotypes, that makes him gay. However, despite his mannerisms, excellent fashion sense, well-manicured nails, and perfectly styled hair, Paul isn’t gay – at least, according to Charlotte (who I suspect would be able to get a standing ovation out of any man, gay or straight, if she put her mind to it). “He’s a little flighty and quite the metrosexual,” she whispered right before we first shook hands. “But he’s all man.” Sure thing, honey.

We talked briefly about the recent occurrences at the theater, and Paul seemed distraught about it all, dramatically so (did I mention I hate dealing with actors?). He didn’t think anyone was trying to hurt her, but perhaps throw her off her mark and make her acting suffer.

This was confirmed when we went backstage immediately after the show and found Charlotte crying in her dressing room while being consoled by her understudy, Jenny. The mystery prankster had done it again, she told us, and during the show! Paul and I looked at each other in surprise – as far as we could tell, the whole thing had gone off without a hitch. What could have gone wrong?

“There was wine,” she said, “in my glass.”

Wine in her glass. While this strikes me as a benefit to being on stage, it was totally out of place in this production. Water with food coloring has been used for several weeks on set in lieu of the actual substance. Charlotte demanded to know from the stagehands exactly how this happened, but they had no answers – it had been water when they poured it, and unless Jesus himself were around somewhere, it was hard to understand how the water had turned into wine.

See, this is exactly the type of thing that has been happening since the police investigation. The occurrences were toned down significantly but still were happening, as if someone were trying to say: “I’m still here.” (Or perhaps, “this might not be water OR wine next time you drink it.”) Charlotte only gave a small twitch on stage, but she said it totally threw her off in her acting, and it’s something that will plague her for all future performances. If someone is trying to slowly and underhandedly disrupt her confidence, it’s working.

At this time, I got to meet Jenny, the understudy. I managed to take her aside, and she instantly started bawling (can I reiterate how much I hate actors?). Whenever something out of the ordinary happens to a star, she cried, the understudy always gets blamed. Apparently, the police had taken her aside and really grilled her over the recent mischief. Jenny is definitely not as talented as Charlotte, but she would have gotten the position had Charlotte not been available, and it could have made a huge difference in her career. Jenny admitted this bluntly to me, but pleaded with me to believe that she bore no hard feelings toward Charlotte.

Marco The Director entered at this point and began consoling Charlotte for the wine incident, which again, should not be ignored, but let’s not go overboard on this one. Regardless, soon everyone was distraught all over again save for me, and I left to go search for the wine bottle. At best, I’d find a clue AND a drink.

However, after an hour of walking around backstage, I had turned up nothing. None of the stagehands had seen anything out of the ordinary, and claimed that the only person that could have done such a thing without their knowing would be an actor waiting in the wings – which means just about any of them. It wasn’t a totally futile search, however.

I met the lead actress, Nora. She was very much the snobby celebrity when I entered her dressing room, though that might have something to do with the fact that she was in the middle of changing her shirt. Nora only gave me a few minutes of her time, in which she quickly assured me that 1) she felt very bad for poor Charlotte but 2) it’s all part of acting, hinting that 3) she tended to believe the police findings over Charlotte’s opinion and 4) that she’s too important to devote mental power to all this anyway.

I also ran into Jefferson, who plays the lead. Jefferson is essentially Paul The Boyfriend out of the closet. No judgment from me, though I still have a problem with the flakiness. Jefferson, who played a very convincing testosterone-oozing beau on stage, was quite the opposite off stage. Nevertheless, he too said that he “desperately feared for Miss Charlotte’s safety,” and that if he could help in any way, he would gladly do so. His boyfriend Michael, also his understudy, showed up about this time, and I decided to give them some room.

As you all know, I like to have “ins” on the inside when I work a case, be they doormen, busboys, secretaries, or the like. Lowly workers who get paid shit and are willing to take a financial boost where they can get it. In this case, I found Steve The Stagehand. Steve is actually classified as an “intern,” and is receiving college credit at NYU for his work. However, what he does is more or less the glamorous work of an unpaid stagehand. I talked to Steve, who is a kid of about 18 or 19, and he thought it was “sooo cool” that a “real-life private detective” was working a case on the set. Steve seemed very anxious to help me out in that puppy-dog sort of way, and said he’d show me something secret that might come in useful so long as I kept it a secret.

He took me to a dark part of the backstage area and removed a large vent cover from the wall. Apparently, the vent has long gone unused, and the large shaft behind it runs right past the actors’ dressing rooms providing complete visual access at any time. Methinks Steve The Stagehand has been doing a bit of one-handed peeping in this shaft, and I made a mental note not to touch the floor. Regardless, it was something that would come in useful, and I don't mean seeing if Charlotte looks as good without her shirt as I imagine she does (though let's not rule this possibility out).

In other words, it’s a start. We have an initial list of potential suspects – Marco The Director, Paul The Boyfriend, Jenny The Understudy, Nora The Lead Actress, Jefferson The Lead Actor, and Steve The Stagehand. I’ll do my best to remind you of their identities as the case progresses. There are more to meet, of course, but that will come in the future.

I have arranged with Steve to be present backstage on Monday evening to keep an eye on what occurs (even Charlotte doesn’t know I’ll be there). With any luck, I’ll catch the troublemaker in the act and make a quick buck. And no, I’m not ruling Steve out of the suspect list just because he’s helping me – what do you think I am, an amateur?