WONG: I’ve never seen it.
MARCUS: Oh.
WONG: I don’t see a lot of theater.
MARCUS: That’s a shame.
WONG: I saw The Lion King.
MARCUS: Oh! Wasn’t it so gorgeous? Wasn’t it just amazing?
WONG: Eh. Lions? Singing? I didn’t buy it. So, who was present at rehearsal yesterday?
MARCUS: Right, right, right, right. Okay. Me, obviously, plus Lewis Cannon, he’s playing Sidney. You’ve heard of him.
WONG: No.
MARCUS: Okay, well, he’s an actor. And then Patrick Wolfish, of course, he’s the stage manager. And Elsie, the director, and Mr. Klein. The producer obviously doesn’t have to be at every rehearsal, but he is always around. Like, always. But now he’s dead-I just can’t believe that he’s dead-it’s just so, so-
WONG: Sad, yes, you said. Marcus, did you get a message like this one last night?
(She holds up the phone, as before.)
MARCUS: (Reading, puzzled first and then horrified.) No. Wait-wait. Oh, my God. Patrick killed Klein! Patrick killed him! This is insane! He murdered him? The stage manager did it? Why would he do that?
WONG: Good question. Any idea why Mr. Wolfish would have wanted Mr. Klein dead?
MARCUS: No! Klein was terrific. He was a marvelous man! He was marvelous! Everybody loved him. Everybody.
(The lights dim on weepy MARCUS, and, downstage left, we find ELSIE WOODRUFF.)
ELSIE: He was a monster. A total monster. If I were making a list of the worst people in the world, I would go, first Klein, and then the guy from the church that pickets soldier’s funerals because God hates gay people. Or maybe Bashar Al-Assad would be second. And then the funeral guy, third. But definitely Klein is first.
WONG: So you’re glad he’s dead, Ms. Woodruff?
ELSIE: I didn’t say that. Death sucks. But I’m not rending my garments about it, is all I’m saying. He was a bad producer and a bad human being.
WONG: Why, then, did you choose to work with him?
ELSIE: Well, Detective, have you ever heard of money? It’s thin and green and you need it to pay for things. I live in a Williamsburg walk-up that costs me two grand a month. I need to work. Besides, I love this play. Klein was a moron, but an Off-Broadway revival of Deathtrap was a solid idea. Some other people disagreed.
WONG: Oh? And which people were those?
(Lights down on ELSIE and up on PATRICK, who huffs.)
PATRICK: I made no secret of that opinion. Reviving Deathtrap was a bad decision. It was a sentimental favorite of Klein’s, but it has zero chance of connecting with a contemporary audience.
WONG: And why is that?
PATRICK: It’s dated, for one thing. Carbon copies? Electric typewriters? Home phones?
WONG: You don’t think a modern audience knows what a home phone is?
PATRICK: Well, of course they do. But it marks the piece. It makes it feel stuffy and small. I told Klein, let’s do something that matters. I told him, you want to do a thriller, let’s do Martin McDonagh. Or let’s do a Belber. Let’s do a Sarah Ruhl. Let’s do Hamlet, for God’s sake!
(Lights switch back to ELSIE.)
ELSIE: (rolling her eyes) Does he think there’s no outdated references in Hamlet? When was the last time you ate funeral meats, Detective? When was the last time you were hoisted by a petard?
WONG: What?
ELSIE: Exactly. Just for the record, I’m not surprised that Patrick killed him.
WONG: I didn’t say that he did.
ELSIE: What?
WONG: Do you think that artistic differences constitute sufficient cause for murder, Ms. Woodruff?
ELSIE: No. (suddenly feeling cornered) Why?
WONG: (turning a page in her notebook) How was your working relationship?
ELSIE: With Klein? Why? What have you heard?
(Lights down on ELSIE and up on LEWIS CANNON. He peeks over the top of his sunglasses, as if relating a great secret.)
LEWIS: Did they get along? No, ma’am, they did not get along. They certainly did not. And listen, I’ve seen a lot of friction on a lot of sets over the years, and this was bad. This was very bad.
WONG: Sorry, wait just a moment. Your name is Mr. Cannon, is that correct?
LEWIS: (incredulous) Uh, yes? That’s a joke, right? (Off WONG’S look.) No? God, that’s embarrassing. For you, I mean. Embarrassing for you. But okay. That’s fine. Yes, my name is Lewis Carlin Cannon. I have won Obies. I have won Drama Desk Awards. (Off her look, again.) You do not know what those things are, and I am horrified. Listen, darling, I was Nicely Nicely last year.
WONG: What is that?
LEWIS: Guys and Dolls? Roundabout revival? (sings a little) “I got the horse right here…” No?
WONG: I don’t like theater.
LEWIS: Oh, no?
WONG: Whenever I watch a play, I think that if these people were really good, they’d be on television.
LEWIS: You better be careful, sweetheart. Someone around here might kill you.
WONG: So. You said that Mr. Klein’s relationship with the director, Ms. Woodruff, was a bit tense.
LEWIS: Tense? Tense is not the word. This was brutal. This was like-well, I’ll tell you, one time I was working at the Public, with Tony-that’s Tony Kushner-and we’re rehearsing, and I’m giving him some little suggestions-
WONG: Excuse me. (WONG takes out her phone.) Hello?
LEWIS: And George-George C. Wolfe, that is-he gets very agitated by this side conversation, and things are getting very hot-
WONG: Sorry, Mr. Cannon, just a moment-
LEWIS: And then Stritchie comes in-that’s Elaine Stritch, I called her Stritchie-
WONG: Please, stop talking now.
(WONG listens to her phone for a moment while the lights dim on LEWIS and find PATRICK.)
WONG: My officers are having some trouble locating your husband. Can you give us more of a description?
PATRICK: He’s a six-foot-tall man with a beard, singing “Poor Little Buttercup” on the A train. I think you’ll find him.
WONG: We’re doing our best, sir.
(Lights down on PATRICK as WONG turns to ELSIE.)
ELSIE: We didn’t have a bad relationship. He just had a bad presence, okay? That’s all.
WONG: What do you mean by a “bad presence”?
ELSIE: I mean, when he was present, everything was bad. He would stand behind me while I was trying to direct, making these small agitated noises. Actors are tiny people. They are fragile. They need to be brought along gently, like ponies. I would say, “You’re doing great, you’re almost there…” And there would be Klein, standing behind me, huffing on an unlit cigar, making everybody palpitate. He was ruining the show, and when a show tanks, the producer goes on to another show. But the director? The director is the captain. The director goes down with the ship.