Fare Play (20 page)

He came up to stand behind her but didn't touch her. “I did take the state licensing exam.”

And probably aced it
, she thought. “You have too much money. You've always had too much money.” She turned to face him. “Look at this place,” gesturing vaguely to the posh apartment. “Your offices … they scream money, money, money. Where does it come from, Holland? Where do you get
all this money
?”

“I earn it,” he said shortly.

She just looked at him. “That's the kind of answer you always give me. Abrupt, unresponsive. You're the most secretive man I've ever known. I don't know anything about you, I don't even know where you were born—I don't know what kind of life you lived before I met you.”

“London.”

“What?”

“I was born in London.”

That surprised her. “You're British?”

“I'm an American citizen.”

Hm. “Your parents are American?”

“I don't know who my parents were.”

Oh, good heavens. “Have you tried to find them?”

“No.”

The way he said it made it clear the matter held no interest for him, speaking of them in the past tense as if they were dead. Whoever they were who gave him life—they weren't part of that life. Subject closed.

He turned away and started pacing. “If I'm secretive, it's because certain things are best kept secret. For my own self-protection. I admit I have done things that you would say I should not have done. I've skirted the law more than once. But that was a different life. I'm not living that life now.” He stopped and faced her. “Can't that be enough, Marian? Can't you accept me for my present life alone? For what I
am?
”

“Holland—”

“I'm not hurting anyone. I'm not robbing any banks or running any frauds. I've opened a business, my first ever. I've assumed responsibility for nine employees now, with more to come later. For all of my life, I've never called any place in the world home—but now I'm trying to anchor myself to one spot. Here. Can't that be enough?”

Could it? He was angry, proud. He was telling her there were things about his life he'd not reveal to her or anyone, that some part of him would always remain private. She'd never know the total man. The question then became: Would the part of him he was willing to share suffice for her? Could she live knowing she would never know?

She looked at that tense face waiting for her reply. “Then I guess it will have to be enough,” she said quietly.

Holland moved swiftly toward her and wrapped both arms around her, holding her close. They stood like that a long time, until the tension had drained out of him and was replaced by something very like joy. He said, “You know, I'd stopped looking for you.”

“For me?”

“For a partner. For someone I belonged with.”

In the bedroom they set about celebrating their new understanding. For the truth was, Marian was happy when she was with Holland. Maybe she too had stopped looking for a partner, and he was as big a surprise to her as she was to him. She felt a grudging admiration for his refusal to spill his guts for her. This was a private man she had here; his air of reserve was not a challenge, but something to be respected. She knew she already had that same respect from him. In spite of all the baggage he brought with him, Holland was the one she belonged with.

They lazed the afternoon away, making slow, quiet love and reveling in their new freedom from tension. It was something like being let out of prison. They talked a little and laughed a little, at peace with each other.

On the table on Marian's side of the bed, her beeper sounded.

“I knew it was too good to last,” Holland said. He picked up the phone receiver from the table on his side and pulled up the antenna. “I don't suppose you could be persuaded to tell them you're in the hospital having your appendix removed?”

“Gimme.” She took the receiver and punched in the number of Midtown South.

The police dispatcher told her there was an intruder at the Broadhurst Theatre, a young woman who'd been lying in wait for Kelly Ingram. When Ms Ingram tried to throw her out, the intruder escaped—and was hiding in the theater right now. The stage manager didn't want police tramping all over the place looking for her during the matinée performance, so she was still there. Since the lieutenant was a friend of Ms Ingram's, the dispatcher thought she'd want to know.

Marian thanked the dispatcher for informing her and broke the connection. She told Holland what was going on and asked if he'd like to go to the Broadhurst with her. “I'm not on duty. We'd be dropping in as Kelly's friends.”

“Of course I'll go,” he said. “Kelly's being stalked?”

“Technically, no. This woman has never menaced Kelly or interfered with what she was doing. She's just always hanging around. A nuisance, not a threat. This is the first time she's ever invaded the theater. I wonder if she broke into Kelly's dressing room? If she did, then we've got something to charge her with.”

It was dark outside; they'd lingered longer than they thought. By the time they were showered and dressed and had taken a cab to the Broadhurst, the rest period between the matinee and evening performances was over; Kelly was onstage performing again. Two uniformed officers were stationed backstage, looking very much out of place.

Marian didn't know either of them. She went up to the nearest and identified herself and led him to the dressing rooms section where they could talk. Holland wandered off in search of the stage manager.

The officer, whose name was Franzino, said he and his partner had searched for the intruder between performances as well as they could. “Sure is a lot of places to hide in a theater,” he said ruefully. “We couldn't cover everything. The stage manager, he don't want us moving around during the performance. So we have to wait 'til they're done.”

“Are there just the two of you?”

“Yeah. Well, this intruder ain't armed or dangerous. We catch her, it's just a trespassing charge. It's no big deal, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe. Was she hiding in Kelly Ingram's dressing room?”

“Nope. Kelly Ingram, she said she unlocked the door to her dressing room and before she could get it closed again, this Banner woman had slipped inside. No breaking and entering.”

“Hm. And you're going to resume your search after the performance? What if Banner just walks out with the audience?”

“We got a good description, Lieutenant. Me and my partner'll be out front watching the audience when they leave. The doorkeeper's gonna watch the backstage exit.”

Marian nodded; it was as good an arrangement as possible with only two bluesuits on duty. She warned Officer Franzino that Banner was kind of nondescript and easy to overlook.

Back near the stage area, she caught sight of Holland standing in the wings watching the play.

When she went up to him, he put his mouth close to her ear and said, low, “Leo Gunn knows this Carla Banner. She once worked for him, as an assistant stage manager.”

That was interesting. So Carla the Mouse had once tried for a theatrical career herself … and failed? And was now trying to live her life vicariously through Kelly?

The first act of
The Apostrophe Thief
drew to an end. Kelly came storming off the stage, spotted Marian, and marched right up to her. “I want you to explain to me,” she said heatedly, “exactly what is considered justifiable homicide in this state!”

Marian smiled. “You won't have to kill her. We'll get her.”

“I hope so,” Kelly retorted. “Because if you don't … I will.”

29

Carla Banner had stayed in the theater all night, she'd told Kelly. She'd bought a ticket for Friday night, watched the play, and then hidden while the rest of the audience filed out after the performance. It was the only way she could think of to get to Kelly alone.

And why? She wanted to be Kelly's right hand, she'd said. She wanted to persuade the star to let her take care of her. She'd make Kelly's appointments, answer her fan mail, arrange her transportation, fetch and carry … whatever Kelly needed to be done, she'd do it. She wanted to take care of all those troublesome little details that clutter up a life, leaving Kelly free to concentrate on her career.

“She wants me to grow dependent on her, that's what she wants,” Kelly grumbled. “She kept saying, ‘You
need
me—I wish I could make you understand how much you
need
me.'” Kelly snorted. “I need Carla Banner in my life the way I need a hole in the head.”

“Obviously she's the one with the need,” Holland remarked dryly. “This one isn't going to go away just because you tell her to.”

“So what do I do? How do I get rid of her?”

“Your mistake,” Ian Cavanaugh said, “was in being too nice to her in the first place. You must never let a fan start thinking of you as a personal friend.”

They were in the big brownstone that Ian shared with Abigail James. The playwright was still in Hollywood, still submitting to that particular brand of California torture called the story conference. Ian hadn't wanted to go out to eat because he was expecting a call from Abby, so they were all sitting in the dining room around a munificent deli spread. Ian brought a phone in from another room and plugged it in.

Marian swallowed a bite of her food and said, “Carla Banner must have family. Maybe they could make her see the error of her ways. Worth a try.”

“Do you know,” Ian said, “that name sounds so familiar to me. I know I've heard it before. Carla Banner.”

Holland said, “She was once Leo Gunn's assistant.”

“Oh, is that right?” Ian closed his eyes to concentrate, opened them again. “No, I can't place her.”

Holland was doing all his eating with his right hand. He'd pulled his chair closer to Marian's and was resting his left hand lightly on the back of her chair. Not really possessive, not really warning Ian Cavanaugh off—but some sort of gesture was being made. Marian smiled to herself; Holland still had a few old bugaboos to get rid of himself.

Kelly poured herself another drink; she'd barely touched her food. “How could she get out of the theater without being seen? Two cops watching out front, and she slipped by right under their noses.”

Carla Banner wasn't in the theater, so that's what must have happened. Marian regarded her friend closely; Kelly was truly worried. “Kel,” she said, “they had only a description to go on. But think what happened there tonight. Carla was being
hunted by the police
. Do you have any idea how terrifying that can be? Knowing that the cops are after
you?
She sees herself as a complete innocent, I'm sure, which would make it all the more frightening when men in uniform carrying guns come looking for her.”

Kelly slowly put down her drink. “You mean she may have been scared off?”

“I think it's quite likely. Here's a young woman who so desperately wants to belong that she loses all sense of judgement. She's fixated on you, and that makes her do things that wouldn't even occur to people who live normal lives. But Carla doesn't have any life except you.”

“Oh, god.”

“But that's
her
doing, not yours. It's her responsibility. And maybe being chased by the police just might force her to face up to what she's doing. She's bound to be shaken by what happened.”

Kelly was visibly perking up. “Then tonight might be a
good
thing.”

“Wouldn't surprise me in the least.”

Kelly turned to her co-star. “Hear that, Ian? I might just be rid of the pest!”

“A toast,” Ian responded. “To freedom from importunate fans everywhere!” They clicked glasses.

“Very nicely done,” Holland murmured into Marian's ear.

“Is ‘importunate' a real word,” Kelly asked Ian, “or did you just make that up?”

Marian had simply wanted to relieve her friend's mind; but she could only hope that Carla Banner would be scared off. She hadn't mentioned the other possibility, that tonight's police hunt would turn Banner against Kelly—and change her from nuisance to threat. It didn't seem likely, but it could happen.

“Of course it's a real word,” said Ian, pretending huffiness. “I never make up words. That's Abby's job.” On cue, the telephone rang. “And there she is!”

Ian answered, and told Abby who else was there and that he was putting her on the speakerphone. But before anyone else could even say hello, he demanded, “Just exactly
when
are you coming home?”

They could hear her sigh all the way from California. “I was hoping to leave tomorrow, but I'd better stay on a few more days. End of next week, I think, Ian.”

He grumbled. “You said that last week.”

“I know. It can't be helped.”

Kelly spoke up. “Abby,
wait
'til you hear what happened tonight!” She went on to tell her all about Carla Banner and how the police had come to the theater but hadn't been able to find her. When she finished, the phone remained silent. “Abby?”

“I'm here. My god. Carla Banner.”

“Aha!” said Ian. “You know the name too! Who is she?”

“We've both worked with her, Ian,” Abby said. “She was Leo's assistant stage manager on
Foxfire
.”

His face changed. “
Foxfire
. I remember her now. She quit right before a performance.”

“She didn't have much choice,” Abby's voice said dryly. “Her father came and dragged her out. Kelly, do you mean that that mousy little girl is the one who's been dogging you?”

“That's the one.”

“Carla Banner. I haven't thought about her in years.”

Ian said, “Well, she's not exactly memorable, is she? And that seems to be her problem.”