An Evil Guest (9 page)

Donny returned bearing a tall and narrow glass thick with frost. Solemnly he passed it to Cassie, who sipped, shuddered, and sipped again.

“Would anyone care for ugly news?” Donny inquired. “Perhaps everyone has already heard? Am I to know shame because
I
had not?”

Cassie wet her lips from the glass and licked them. “It depends on what bad news you have in mind. My God! I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this stuff.”

“You weren’t planning on two?”

“Lord no!”

“Are you going to be displeased because I bribed the man to mix it to my own specifications?”

Palma touched Cassie’s elbow. “I had supposed you celebrating, Cassiopeia darling. I see how mistaken I was. Rest assured, I beg you, that your friends—and everyone at this table is your friend—will stand by you through thick and thin.”

Norma had taken out her compact and was studying herself in its mirror. “The cavalry’s not coming, Vince. You’ve made westerns. I know you have. The Apaches are closing in, and back at the fort nobody knows. You’ve got to learn to listen.”

Donny raised an eyebrow. “Listen to . . . ?”

“You weren’t here.” Norma snapped her compact shut. “To Alexis’s dresser. Cassie sent her to the colonel, but she couldn’t find him.”

“This is my personal thing.” Firmly, Cassie set the frosted glass down. “Whatever you’ve heard, Donny, wasn’t. Or I don’t think it was. So tell us.”

Margaret returned with a glass, sat, and sipped primly.

“Well, I um . . . ?” The scarlet dots of Donny’s pimples stood out like bloodstains on a sheet. “Was the security guard back at the theater a, er, special friend of anyone here? I believe his name was Jeremy? I, ah, perhaps you thought I knew him?”

“I consider him a friend,” Cassie said. “I did and still do. Has he been fired? He always seemed like such an honest, cheerful sort of man.”

Margaret spoke more loudly than usual. “He was, Miss Casey. I knew him about as well as I know anybody. James K. Warshawsky was his name, and he’s passed away.”

In the silence that followed, she added, “Or that’s what they say. I think that’s probably what Mr. Duke heard at the bar.”

Donny nodded.

“Let me guess.” Cassie closed her eyes. “They found him in the alley outside the stage door, and he’d been shot. Maybe stabbed. Is that right?”

“Oh, shit!” Norma spoke under her breath, adding, “I’m back in the show.”

“I didn’t hear about shooting or stabbing,” Donny said, “did you, Margaret?”

She shook her head.

“Quiet, everybody! Quiet!”
The voice was India’s; she was standing in the middle of the room, speaking into a mike.

It had the desired effect.

“Thanks! We call this the cast party, but it’s not all cast. Some of us were never onstage, but we’re all in showbiz and that’s what this’s really about. Now I’d like to introduce you to a gentleman you really ought to know. He’s in showbiz, too, or he soon will be.”

There was a subdued buzz of talk. Cassie gulped her drink.

“It always seems like big stage musicals are few and far between,” India
continued, “but the legitimate stage is coming back. Maybe it’s just a cyclic thing. That’s what some people say. Maybe it’s all these hoppers, and people vacationing on barren worlds. Honeymoons on the moon, when grandpa was happy just to do it on his honey. All that shit. I don’t pretend to know, but I do know that lots and lots of the old movie theaters are reopening as legitimate playhouses, where people can sit and watch talented people like you onstage doing a show.” She fell silent, looking toward the door.

“Some of you may have heard rumors about a big new musical called
Dating the Volcano God
. Okay, if you want to know more we’ve got the man right here.” She motioned urgently to a big man in a pin-striped teal suit. “Let’s have a real standing ‘O’ for a real angel—Mr. Wallace Rosenquist!”

The applause was loud and prolonged. Cassie took advantage of the cover it afforded her to open her purse and glance at two photographs she took from it. Nodding to herself, she crumpled them and let them fall to the floor.

The man Gideon Chase had called Bill Reis took the mike from India, coughed once, and smiled. “First of all, I want to say that our show’s still in the planning stages, very much so. India and I hardly know each other at this point. We haven’t even started looking for a set designer and a choreographer.”

From his left, India put in, “Tomorrow, Wally.”

“I have the book, however, and some ideas about the music. Plans already made and plans I’m still shaping. What’s more, I have the money and the determination. This afternoon I found my director.”

Raising her arms, India shook her own hands like a prizefighter.

“I talked to her over lunch, and she was good enough to give me a ticket so I could watch a fine example of her work. I did, and want to say how much I enjoyed it. You are artists, and I mean that sincerely. There won’t be parts for everybody here in our new show, and I realize that some of you will already have commitments elsewhere. That will be our loss. We’ll be talking about commitments and contracts, roles and all the rest of it in the days to come. Right now, tonight, I just want to say that I wish I could have all of you.”

There was a burst of spontaneous applause and some scattered cheering.

“Having said that, there’s one member of your cast I’d like to pay particular tribute to. You’re well ahead of me now, I feel sure. I’m told Miss Cassie Casey is at this party.”

Palma hissed, “Stand up, Cassie!”

She did not.

“I have a gift for her,” Rosenquist continued. “I want to give her this little keepsake, whether she will consent to be our leading lady or not.”

India said, “Come on, Cassie! Who the hell ever heard of a shy actress?”

Rising, Cassie handed her purse to Margaret, pushed back her chair, and came forward smiling. “You want a Dumb Dora, don’t you, Mr. Rosenquist? If that’s what it is, I’ll be perfect.”

“Has anyone told you, Miss Casey, that you’re even more stunning in person than onstage?”

She dropped him a mock curtsy. “Make that stunned.”

Rosenquist was reaching into his coat pocket. “I had this designed and fabricated months ago. At that time, I didn’t know to whom I would give it. When I saw
The Red Spot
tonight, I knew I had found her.”

The leather-covered box he handed Cassie was eight inches long, two and a half inches wide, and remarkably heavy.

“I should have had it wrapped,” he told her, “but I’m afraid the ribbon will have to do.”

“Open it,” India directed.

Ebony seconded her from the audience:
“Show us, Cassie!”

She slipped the gold ribbon off, and found that her hands were trembling. “I don’t think I can. I feel like I’ve just won something I don’t deserve.”

“You deserve much more,” the man who had given it to her said.

Bill Reis
, Cassie told herself.
Bill Reis said that
. India had given him another name, but she had forgotten it.

Her fingers found and released the catch. Reis took a step backward and urged India forward.

“Show me!” India sounded eager. “I want to see it.”

From the table Cassie had left, Donny called, “What is it?”

“It’s . . . a bracelet. A great big gold bracelet.” She pulled it from the box and dangled it above her head. “It’s—well—massive.”

“Solid gold,” Reis told her. “Eighteen karat, which means it’s pretty soft. Be careful with the clasp.”

“Put it on,” India said. “Here, hold out your arm. I’ll do it.”

She did, adjusting the catch and wrapping the heavy bracelet around Cassie’s wrist. Cassie, who already hated it, said, “It’s very pretty.”

“Lovely,” India muttered. “Simply lovely.”

A large hand took the box from Cassie.
“I need to speak to you privately. I’ll meet you at the front desk downstairs in twenty minutes.”
Reis’s whisper was a trifle hoarse, deep yet sibilant.

India was using the mike to field questions about
Dating the Volcano God
. No, she had not seen the songs yet, but she knew they would be good. As the show now stood, there would be seven major parts, a dozen minor ones, and perhaps forty parts for dancers and singers who would play male and female natives, missionaries, and seamen. There was no hard casting date yet, but it would begin soon.

That question had been from Palma; as Cassie returned to his table, India asked him to stand. “I want Wally to see you. I know he’s seen you already onstage, Vince; but I’d like him to see you again without makeup. Think you might be loose?”

Palma licked his lips. “You’ll direct, India?”

Reis rumbled, “Absolutely. Tomorrow I’ll have her under contract.”

“In which case,” Palma declared, “I shall cancel my commitments.”

“Reading the synopsis,” India told him, “I kept seeing you as the Volcano God.” She turned to Reis. “How about it, Wally? What do you think?”

“I’d certainly like to see you try out for it. How tall are you, sir?”

“Six feet four, and . . .”

Cassie did not hear the rest. She had the bracelet off and was handing it to Margaret. “Keep this for me. I’m leaving now, but I want you to stay right here. Stay here for at least another hour. Understand?”

Margaret nodded. She was looking at the bracelet.

“You can go to the restroom or change tables, but that’s it. Have you got a pen?”

Margaret did, taking the pen from her purse and putting the bracelet into it.

“Here.” Cassie scribbled her cell phone number on a napkin. “Call me tomorrow afternoon.”

She was gone before Margaret could reply.

Ebony stopped her on the way out. “You look like death warmed over.”

“I had a scare, that’s all. Well, no, it isn’t. Not really. Have you heard about Jimmy?”

“Sure. Heart attack or something. It’s a damned shame.”

Cassie nodded. “I liked him, and two people sprung it on me fast. I was shaky already, and now—well, I’m going home.”

“You’re going down to the bar with me,” Ebony said firmly. “You need a drink and some quiet talk.”

“I’ve had two drinks, and the second one would peel paint. I think I drank about half, and my head’s swimming. So no.”

“So yes.” Ebony followed her. “You can have a Coke or something. I need to talk to you.”

Cassie stopped abruptly. “God knows I need to talk to somebody. Listen, Ebony. I promised someone—a man I like a lot—that I’d do him a little favor. It—well, it was easy to promise then. Now I’m . . .”

“Afraid.”

Mutely, Cassie nodded.

“You need to talk it out, that’s all. You need—”

A deep, hoarse voice interrupted. “What she needs,” Bill Reis said firmly, “is a strong friend, an intelligent and resourceful friend. She has one. Come with me, Miss Casey. I’ve a limousine outside.”

The night had turned cool. Rusterman’s white and gold canopy sheltered them from the light rain, but not from the wind. “Fall soon,” Cassie muttered.

“Our show won’t be ready for this season,” Reis told her. “We’ll need scenery.”

A uniformed chauffeur opened the limousine’s wide rear door.

“And rehearsals.” Thinking of things she had heard the night before, Cassie shuddered.

“You’re cold. Have you a fur coat? Mink? Ermine, perhaps?”

“Wool. But it’s real wool and looks nice on me. I like it.”

“Get in, please. I’ll go around.”

She did, and the chauffeur closed the door with the merest whisper of sound.

At once, or so it seemed, Reis was sitting beside her. “Blue mink, I would say. I hopped here today to meet you. You cannot have known that, Cassie, but I did. One hour from Berlin in a friend’s hopper. Have you been into space yet?”

She shuddered again and shook her head.

“I should be getting you a drink.” Reis gestured. “This little cabinet opens into a bar. You must’ve seen that from the glasses. Brandy?”

“Nothing, please.”

“This will be a very ordinary cognac, I’m afraid. Our Earth’s a small place, Cassie. You see that clearly from out in space. I could have hopped from Berlin to Beijing just as easily. We weren’t ready for space travel when science gave it to us.” He poured three fingers of amber fluid into a pony glass and handed it to her.

“I’ve heard people say that.”

“It’s true. A hundred years ago, men dreamed of it. They thought there’d be a world government long before it came, that ignorance and poverty would’ve been eliminated.”

“It’ll never happen,” Cassie whispered. She pretended to sip.

“No world government?”

She shook her head. “I was thinking of poverty and ignorance.”

Reis poured for himself. “When I show you Earth from space, when you see how beautiful it is, you’ll realize how easily it might be put right.” Reis appeared to hesitate. “Poverty and ignorance . . . they’re relative terms. Let’s see that everybody has enough to eat and a place to sleep. That everyone can read well enough to enjoy reading.”

“That would satisfy me. May I ask why you wanted to meet me? Wanted to so much that you hopped from Berlin?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Reis seemed oddly embarrassed.

“Not to me.”

“I want you for Mariah. You haven’t read the script, I realize. Mariah Brownlea’s our star, the woman who dates the Volcano God. A year from now, Cassie, you’ll be ready to open on Broadway. There’ll be a film, a year or two after that. You’ll star in the film, too. I won’t have to insist on you because everybody will insist on you.”

Cassie’s purse played the first three bars of “Pigs in Paradise.” She opened it, found her cell phone, and said, “Hello?”

“Cassie?” The voice (a pleasant voice that she found she remembered very well) sounded concerned. “It’s me. I just learned that Reis is in town. Are you someplace where you can use my name?”

She glanced at her watch. “No,” she said, “and you’re about six hours late.”

As she spoke, she felt the limousine glide away from the curb.