“In my dreams. I don’t have Eliza’s pipes—her range. That’s just fact. I’m a better dancer.”
“Bitch. She is. And you could absolutely handle it. In fact, when I was wavering, I thought about asking you if you’d step in. Even knowing you have other commitments, which goes back to me not being as selfless as Brant. I’d have leaned on her some there. But moot, because I will do it.”
“You’ve fired assistants.”
“Yes.” She rubbed her eyes now. “I’m demanding and insist on loyalty and efficiency. But there’s been no one I’ve let go in the last three years or so. And again, no one like that would have been here. Do you really think someone wanted to poison me, and Brant…”
“We have to look at that possibility. Why did you invite Vera Harrow? You’re not especially friendly.”
“Include her, there’s talk. Exclude her, there’s talk.” With a shrug, Eliza drank more wine. “As Brant would say, take the high road. And she’s a draw. My goal was to have today’s entertainment media loaded with reports on the party, the guests, the shine, the, well, swank of it all.”
She looked down into her wine. “That was the plan,” she murmured.
“Is there anyone else who might hold hard feelings, resentments, someone you’ve had conflicts with?”
“Oh, Lieutenant! I’m in show business. It’s drama, conflict, feelings, egos, tears, and tantrums. It’s also work, respect, shared joys and sorrows. Ah, Bristol, the director, and I locked horns countless times on my last vid. There were days I hated him, and I know it was mutual. Yet we pushed each other to do our best work, and when we came out the other side of it, we had nothing but respect for each other. Even Tessa and I—whom I adore—have butted heads.
“I’ve been in the business since I was fifteen. I don’t have Brant’s temperament, the easygoing, but I honestly can’t think of anyone I’ve tangled with who’d want to kill me. Maybe I just don’t want to think of anyone.”
“I can think for you,” Sylvie put in. “And no. Now, can I think of plenty who might, at one time or another, want to give you a good shot?” She tapped her fist gently on Eliza’s chin. “I sure can, and that’s me included. But, Lieutenant, killing someone’s a long, long way from that.”
Not as far as you think, Eve mused, but left it unsaid.
“And you and Brant. Conflicts?”
“We were married almost ten years, so we had conflicts. Disagreements, annoyances. And I’ll admit I’m more easily annoyed. Things tended to roll off Brant. And he made it difficult to stay mad or annoyed. I’m sure the two of you have the occasional spat.”
“I married a bright, beaming ray of sunshine.” Roarke took Eve’s hand, kissed it. And earned a stony glare. “And one who’s often armed.”
Eliza let out a sighing laugh. “You know each other, love each other, so you understand. There are times feelings get hurt or tempers flare. It’s just part of it. We were always, always there for each other.
“We were lucky. We both loved our work and were successful with it. Successful enough we could, and did, live our lives as we chose. Beautiful homes, a lovely circle of friends. Fame, and we both enjoyed fame. We fell in love, and stayed there, and both felt the bumps we had on that road before we met were a kind of training ground, a rehearsal if you like, for the marriage we made together.”
“Both of you are in a business with considerable temptation.”
“Very true. But why take a bite out of the apple when you can come home to the whole pie? I’ve been in Sylvie’s position, and it’s humiliating and painful. Brant? He never cheated on his first wife, and she’ll tell you the same. He didn’t cheat on Vera—I might have, but that’s not who he was. When he realized he had feelings for me, he went to her, broke it off. There’s been no one for either of us since.”
A breeze kicked up, fluttered at the pink umbrella and at Eliza’s hair. She lifted her face up to it a moment, eyes closed.
“You have to ask,” she continued. “I suppose you have to wonder. It’s part of how you find out who and why. But being without Brant? I don’t know how to be without him. Who do I talk to first thing in the morning or the last thing at night? Who knows me like no one else when the curtain’s down or the camera’s off? I don’t think you get another once you find the love of your life. When someone or something takes that away from you, you’re alone. You have friends, you have work, but first thing in the morning, the last thing at night, and at odd times between, you’re alone.”
“Let me ask this. Is there anyone who didn’t want you to take this part, to do this revival? Someone who might have wanted to see the entire show go down?”
“Well, Maeve Spindal had a few choice things to say about it. She played Lily, was nominated for a Tony for it, in the original production. She was brilliant—and she didn’t particularly care for me. I was nominated, too—my first starring role. I won; she didn’t. Add I got a lot of attention, and she was the headliner, and I the understudy, as she’s fond of reminding people, who got lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Leah, Leah Rose, was cast in the part. God, what a talent. I was cast as her best friend—as Angie—and her understudy. The morning of opening night … Leah had a problem with pills, pills and alcohol. And that morning, the stage manager found her in her dressing room. She’d overdosed.”
“There was an investigation?”
“Oh yes. It was all horrible, heartbreaking, terrifying. We’d had the out-of-town shows, and a performance in New York, the VIP production, and she was just stunning.”
She looked up at the sky again. “God, it takes me right back. Leah had words with her mother—her mother was a royal pain—before curtain.”
“About?”
“I couldn’t tell you, just that it threw Leah off a bit. But the show goes on, of course. She flubbed a line or two in the first scene, nearly missed her mark, but nothing anyone who wasn’t in the company would notice. And she found her groove again quickly. But…”
She shook her head, took another sip of her wine. “After the show she had a fight with Gary, Gary Proctor. He played Charlie, her love interest. They’d been seeing each other, but they had a spat after the show. She’d been drinking in her dressing room, and she’d promised him she’d stop. Whether the thing with her mother or the fight with Gary, or both, had her reaching for the pills and the bottle, we’ll never know. Eighteen years old,” she murmured. Shook her head again.
“The rest of us went over to Act Two—that was a theater hangout in those days—to unwind, celebrate, but she stayed back. I suppose I thought she’d just gone home, nearly tagged her, as we were friends—theater family—but I didn’t. And she stayed in her dressing room, drinking Grey Goose and swallowing pills. They ruled it an accidental overdose. She couldn’t have meant to kill herself, not over a couple of missed lines and a fight with a boyfriend. She got a standing ovation that night.”
Eliza shuddered. “Jesus, the memories. I went on opening night, and Maeve reminded me I was only there because Leah was in the morgue.”