“That’s because you’re so beautiful,” he said.
“No, it’s because you’re so handsome,” she said.
“And such a good dancer,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I meant me,” he said.
“Of course, exactly what I meant,” she said.
So hold me tight and whisper
Words of
Love
Against my eyes.
And kiss me sweet and promise
Me your
Kisses won’t he lies.
“We are, you know,” she said.
“Are what?”
“Going to get arrested.”
“That’s okay, I’m a cop.”
“So am I.”
“I find it hard to think of you as a cop”
“I find it hard, too,” she said, and moved in very tight against him.
He caught his breath.
She caught hers, too.
Kiss…
And show me, tell me of
Bliss…
“I love this song,” she said.
“I love it, too.”
Because I know I
Will die
Unless
“Sharyn?” he said.
“Yes?”
“Nothing.”
This first
Caress
Is true.
The rehearsal had ended at ten-thirty and now the play’s producer, director and playwright sat in the darkened theater, whispering low, considering their chances. There was no doubt in any of their minds that the murder of Michelle Cassidy would immeasurably help the show’s prospects. They were all beginning to think they had a hit on their hands.
“Plus,” Kendall said, “Josie’s a hundred times better than Michelle ever was.”
“Or ever would have been,” Morgenstern said.
They were giving Corbin the needle, of course. He had been the only holdout in casting Josie Beaks over Michelle. As playwright, he’d had the final say. Now Michelle’s understudy had inherited the role by default, and the play was better for it. Even Corbin had to admit it.
“I admit it,” he said. “She’s better. She makes the play come alive. I admit it. Now drop it.”
“The point is,” Kendall said, “how do we capitalize on what’s happened?”
“I got a call from Wally this afternoon,” Morgenstern said. He liked to think he was either Flo Ziegfeld or David Merrick. He had worn a black homburg and a black topcoat to the theater this evening. The topcoat was draped over the seat beside him, but he was still wearing the hat. Wally Stein was the play’s press agent, as opposed to its advertising representative. “He told me Time’s still doing the cover story.”
“Great,” Corbin said.
“Be better if we could get Josie in the story someplace,” Kendall said.
“She’s already in it,” Morgenstern said.
“When did this happen?”
“They interviewed her this morning. Murdered star’s replacement, how does she feel about it, all that shit.”
“When are they running it?”
“Next week’s issue, they’ve delayed it. Big picture of Michelle on the cover.”
“Do we have any pictures of her getting stabbed?” Corbin asked.
“In the play, do you mean?” Morgenstern said.
Kendall looked at him.
No, in her fuckin apartment, he thought, but did not say because this was the play’s producer here.
“Yes,” he said, “Wally has publicity photos, and we’ve also got display photos for outside the theater.”
“Of her getting stabbed?” Corbin insisted.
“Yes, I’m sure we do.”
“We ought to get them over to Time.”
“I’m sure Wally’s already thought of that,” Morgenstern said. “But we’ve got to be careful about this, you know. We don’t want to look like vultures. In fact…”
“You’re right, we’ve got to express the proper grief,” Kendall said.
“Which is why I was thinking…”
“Wally should start feeding the media some material on the play’s content,” Corbin said. “I don’t want people coming to see it just because Michelle happened to get killed.”
“Well,” Morgenstern said, “whatever they come see it is fine with me, so long as they come see it. The thing is not to make it appear that’s what we’re looking for. Which is why I thought I might announce that we’re closing the play. ”
“Closing it!”
“Out of respect for the dead, all that shit.”
“Closing it!”
“We’re sitting on a multimillion-dollar hit here!”
“Besides, this is a good play here,” Corbin said.
“Especially now with Josie in it.”
“I’ve already admitted I made a mistake…”
“All right, all right.”
“… so stop about Josie already.”
“Anyway, the mistake’s been corrected,” Morgenstern said. “And I would never dream of actually closing it.”
The men fell silent.
Their separate breathing was the only sound in the darkened theater.
“You know…” Morgenstern said.
“Mmm?”
“They’ll be coming to us again, you know.”
“The media?”
“No. The police.”
“Mmm.”
“The one with the Chinese eyes, especially.”
“The one with the Italian name.”
“Furillo.”
“Furella.”
“Carella.”
“Whatever.”
“He’ll want to know.”
“Know what?”
“How much we’re getting out of this thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s already asked me. He’ll ask again, now that Michelle’s dead.”
“That’s what they look for.”
“Motive, do you mean?”
“Love or money. Those are the two motives.”
“But they’ve already arrested her agent.”
“I’ll bet you any amount of money he didn’t do it.”
“He’s crazy enough to have done it.”
“But he didn’t.”
“Anyway, all agents are crazy.”
“But he didn’t kill Michelle, I’ll bet my share of the gross on it.”
“That’s what he’ll keep harping on. Gross. Net. Profits. Royalties. Carella.”
“I don’t think so. He’s already made his arrest.”
“Did you see that fat one?”
“On television, do you mean?”
“Yeah. The fat one.”
“He sure as hell thinks Johnny did it.”
“But not Carella. You didn’t see Carella on camera, did you? I didn’t see Carella on camera.”
“Because he doesn’t believe it.”
“Which is why he’ll be back, believe me.”
“Why?”
“To ask about our financial arrangements again.”
“Well, my lousy six percent isn’t worth killing for.”
“Neither is my two.”
They both looked at Morgenstern.
“Hey, come on, fellas,” he said.
Looking at him over the rim of her glass, she asked him why he’d trimmed Sharyn to Shaar earlier tonight. He was still trembling inside from having held her so close. He found it difficult to remember having called her Shaar.
“When did I call you Shaar?” he asked.
Not putting his hands on the table because he was sure they were shaking.