Reign (32 page)

But in the last year of the Emperor's reign on the stage, it had been as though the suit was wearing the tailor, and after some performances, Dennis, instead of feeling triumphant as he always had before, felt drained, as though more than energy had been taken from him, and something other than the audience was receiving the strength of his performance.

It was just as the Emperor had said — drawing life, and drawing sustenance. Did that explain, he wondered, why he had felt this tremendously diminishing change in his personality? Or was this Emperor-thing merely a "creation" of his weary mind to try and rationalize (if however irrational) the unexplained change in his temperament?

He didn't know. The only thing he was sure of was that he had seen what he had seen, and that if he did not talk to someone about it, and soon, he might damn well go mad, if he wasn't already.

Sid was still awake, and answered the door quickly at Dennis's knock. He was watching an old Bogart movie on video with Donna Franklin. Dennis suspected that he had interrupted more than just the movie, but Sid graciously assured him that he would be glad to talk to him, gave Donna a kiss, and accompanied Dennis to his suite, where Dennis told him, in as much detail as he could recall, to whom he had spoken and what was said.

When he finished, Sid got up, went to the bar, poured two cognacs, and brought them back to the couch where they sat. "Go ahead, drink it." He did as Sid said. The warmth of the liquor and his friend's presence were reassuring.

"So what do you think?" he asked Sid.

Sid took a deep breath and another sip of his drink before he spoke. "I think it's a projection."

Dennis didn't understand. "What, you mean a trick?"

"No. A psychic projection maybe. A projection of guilt."

"Guilt. For what?"

"For Robin. And maybe even for Tommy and Harry
Ruhl
, I don't know. We've all been through a helluva lot, Dennis."

"Then you don't believe me."

"I
do
. I believe that you saw what you say you saw."

"But you don't believe it was real. You think I imagined it."

"I think . . . it was real to you."

Dennis shot to his feet and started to pace. "Oh, that's bullshit, Sid, and you know it. If you think I'm imagining things, tell me, for God's sake. Don't patronize me.”

Sid nodded. "All right then. I think you're imagining things. But I can understand why. And I think it'll pass. You may never see this . . . this guy again.”

“He wasn't a guy, Sid. He was the Emperor."

"Aw, Dennis —"

"Aw, hell! So what do you think I ought to do, Sid? See a shrink?”

“I don't think it would hurt."

"I've been that route, and that was as much bullshit as your psychic projections. I saw this thing. I saw it right there in front of me."

"But you didn't touch it."

"I
couldn't
! It wasn't . . . solid."

"It wasn't real then."

"Christ, Sid, you can't touch love or hate, but that doesn't mean they're not real, does it?"

Sid sat looking down into his drink as though there were an answer there. "No. I guess it doesn't." He looked up and sighed. "Dennis, maybe it is real, I don't know. But whatever it is, it'll go away if you want it to. It'll go away in time."

But do I want it to?
Dennis was surprised at the thought. The gravity of it made him calm again. "All right. All right, I'm sorry I lost my temper. Look, you go back to Donna, huh? I'll be okay. I just had to talk about it to someone. Maybe you're right, maybe it's just . . . things. It's been hard."

"I know. You know how I felt about Robin."

Dennis nodded and showed Sid to the door, where he gave him a hug, smiled, and said goodnight.

Alone, Dennis walked back into the bedroom, took off his robe, and got into bed. It seemed terribly large, terribly empty, and he wondered about what Sid had said. He didn't want to believe it, but maybe his friend was right. Maybe, he thought as he lay in the darkness, it was a projection, all in his mind, a phantom born of the guilt he felt about Robin's death. True, he had done nothing specific to cause it, but he couldn't stop thinking that if he had loved her more, paid more attention to her and her concerns and her not altogether unfounded jealousy, she would still be alive.

And as drowsiness overtook him, he thought again that he should have loved her more. If there was a next time, he would love completely and unselfishly. No next time with Robin, no, it was too late now, but with someone else . . .

With Ann . . .

"Ann . . .” On the edge of sleep he breathed her name, and knew, in an instant of realization that shocked him into full wakefulness, that someone else was there to hear that softest whisper.

He sat up in the darkness, listening for a breath not his own, listening, but hearing nothing. He put his head back on the pillow, and in a few minutes was asleep.

~ * ~

(
The scene is the living room. THE EMPEROR stands by his portrait, smiling, his head cocked as if listening to the deep breathing of DENNIS coming from the bedroom. He crosses to the bar, grasps the bottle of cognac with his right hand, a glass with his left, and pours. There is an audible sound as he replaces the bottle. Then he raises the glass to his lips and drinks from it. The cognac disappears. And, in another moment, so does THE EMPEROR
.)

It had been, Ann Deems thought, a hell of a day so far. She was now on the phone for a third time with a representative of Actors' Equity, discussing accommodation arrangements that had already been settled, or at least so she thought. Apparently the Equity rep didn't.

"According to the producers' agreement, to which you people
are
a signatory," the man droned on, "there are to be toilet facilities in every room."

"But we got a concession for that," Ann repeated, "as long as the performers agree. There are sinks, but no showers or toilets. Those are in common bathrooms that serve every six rooms."

"I have no record of that concession."

"Well, I've got a copy right here. I can read it to you if you like."

"Read it or not, I've got to have it on paper. Hearing it over the phone doesn't do a thing."

"But you were sent two copies."

"Well, they're not
here
."

"Well then you must have
lost
them. Now the best I can do is to fax you copies.”

“Oh, we don't need them
that
quickly."

Jesus
, Ann thought.
Then what was all this goddamned fuss about?
Just as she was about to lose her temper and unleash an anti-bureaucratic tirade upon this clown who was frittering away her morning, Dennis Hamilton walked in.

She had not seen him since the funeral, when he had said nothing to her, only nodded and looked away. She had expected no more. He had gone off to Florida immediately afterward, and, although she had heard John Steinberg tell Donna that he had returned the previous night, had not expected to see him so quickly.

She had also not expected to see him looking as apparently robust as he did. The weeks in Florida seemed to have done him good. His face was tanned, and he appeared to have gained some weight. He was smiling, although the longer she studied him the more she felt that there was something cautious about him. No, she thought. Cautious wasn't the word. Haunted. And hunted.

"Look," she said into the phone, paying no attention to the officious jabbering on the other end, "I'll send you those copies and we can go from there. Goodbye." She hung up without waiting for a response.

"Don't tell me," Dennis said. "Equity."

She nodded. "Even the arts have their share of bureaucracy."

"It'll all get sorted out in the end." His face sobered. "I wanted to thank you," he said.

She looked at him, puzzled.

"For trying to . . . save Robin," he explained. "It was very dangerous. You were very brave. You could have fallen yourself."

"I just . . . tried to reach her, that's all. I'm only sorry I couldn't."

"Well, I just want you to know that I appreciated the attempt." Dennis sighed and sat down in the metal folding chair next to Ann's desk. "I know there's been a terrible amount of tragedy here. And I know that it must have some effect on everyone. Now I don't know if you've had any thoughts about leaving — because of everything that's happened, I mean . . .”

She felt chilled. What was he saying? Was he about to let her go? Ask her to leave?

". . . but I hope you won't." The words were like a caress. "I need you here, Ann. More than ever now, I need everyone here. It's going to be harder than ever without Robin. She did so much — for me and for the project. She'll be difficult to replace." He looked up guiltily. "She worked so hard on the project."

"I know," Ann said. "I know what you mean."

He smiled again. "You're a bright spot around here, Ann. And if there's anything we need right now, it's bright spots. Will you stay?"

"Sure." She wondered if she should say the words, then cast discretion away and did. "You'll have a tough time getting rid of me."

She thought he read into them what she wanted him to. He looked at her for a long time, then nodded. "I hope so."

~ * ~

Another three weeks went by before Dennis came into her office again. During that time they only talked on the phone or said hello to each other as they passed in the hall. The time was filled with work, and everyone from Dennis to Abe
Kipp
immersed themselves in it, working hard and keeping late hours, as if the business would keep tragic memories and thoughts at bay. Dennis and John Steinberg spent one of those weeks in New York, auditioning performers for
Craddock
, and on the first day he returned, he came into Ann's office just before lunch time. They chatted for a while about the auditions, he told her that they had cast the entire show except for the male lead, Frank Craddock, and then walked over to her window and looked out of it.

"Ann, I don't want this to sound unfeeling or insensitive," he said slowly, as if feeling his way, "but I think you know how I feel about you. You know that it was only because of Robin that I didn't say more than I did." He sighed and turned to face her. "This is all by way of asking you to have dinner with me tonight. Dinner. Nothing more, except for talk. Despite all the hustle and bustle that's been going on around here, I feel very lonely right now. I'd like your company."

She began to speak, but he held up a hand. "Again, if you don't want to, just say no. It'll make no difference in your work here."

She laughed. "When have I ever been able to say no to you?"

"You did once," he said without a smile.

"Yes. I know. And that was a mistake."

"Then don't make it twice."

They looked at each other for a long time. Then Ann said, "I'll have to go home and change."

"You look fine."

"No I don't. I look like a production assistant."

He laughed. "All right, go home and change if you want to. But this time I'll pick you up at your house."

Immediately the thought of Terri leapt into her mind. "Oh no, Dennis, you don't have to —"

"I'm quite capable of driving myself, and I asked you, not the other way around. I'll pick you up and take you home and not another word about it, please."

It was stupid to be concerned about it, she thought. Terri would have to know anyway. There was no way to keep it a secret. And why would she have to? There was nothing wrong with having dinner with Dennis. They had done so before, and the evening had ended innocently enough.

When she told Terri over lunch that she was having dinner with Dennis that evening, the girl made a face that was half a sneer, half a grimace of anger. "Not wasting any time, are you?"

"That's a crude thing to say."

"It's a crude thing to do, in my opinion."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion."

They finished their respective lunches in silence.

~ * ~

"What do you think of Terri Deems?"

"I try not to think of her at all." Curtis Wynn put his shoulder to a flat and shoved it into its bin, then turned to accept the mid-afternoon Coke that Evan Hamilton handed him. In the few weeks they had been working together, Evan felt that he had developed a certain camaraderie with Curt. The older man was still taciturn, but talked more than he had when Evan had started. He thought that was due in part to Curt's pleasant surprise over Evan's expertise at backstage work.

"What, you don't think she's cute?" Evan asked.

"Sure, she's cute. I just don't want to get involved with her."

"Why not?"

Curtis gave Evan a sidelong look. "First of all, I'm indifferent to that girl. In fact, I think she could be kind of a pain in the ass, given half a chance. The second reason is that I have no idea of what's cooking between her mother and Dennis."