038 The Final Scene

B
ESS, WILL YOU STOP
messing with your hair? You look great! And what’s more important, Brady will think you look gorgeous.”

Nancy Drew struggled to make her voice heard above the screams of hundreds of teenagers crowded outside River Heights’s Century Cinema Theater. Her blue eyes were twinkling with amusement as she watched her friend Bess Marvin toy with her long blond curls.

Bess’s cousin, George Fayne, was gently lifting and dropping one of Bess’s curls. “You
must have a whole can of mousse on your head,” George said, running a hand through her own short dark hair. “A hurricane couldn’t budge your hairdo.”

Bess fiddled with the clip-on rhinestone earring that kept slipping off her right ear.

“Come on, guys,” she said. “The last time I saw Brady Armstrong I was just a chubby little freshman and he was a handsome, sophisticated senior. Now that he’s a famous movie star, I want to look really good for him.”

“I can’t believe you’re still in love with him after all these years,” George teased.

“Ninety percent of the female population is in love with Brady Armstrong,” Nancy said as the three friends headed for the front of the theater.

“And the other ten percent is blind,” Bess observed, staring at the life-size movie poster at the side of the main entrance.

Nancy watched Bess take in the photo of Brady, dressed as the space knight, Jonathan Ryder. He was wearing the white space suit and holding the glistening laser sword that he had become famous for.
Night of the Venus Moon
was his latest movie, the third in a series of sci-fi adventures starring Brady and a beautiful
redheaded actress named Deirdre McCullough.

“Don’t you wish you were Deirdre, just for ten minutes?” Bess continued to gaze enraptured at the poster.

George laughed and nudged Nancy. “Bess has it bad.”

Nancy nodded. “She does, but can you blame her? He
is
gorgeous. Just look at his green eyes and all that wonderful black hair. Still, he isn’t as cute as Ned.”

“Now, that’s loyalty,” George teased.

Bess and George laughed, but Nancy found herself missing her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, terribly. He was the only guy she had ever truly loved, but she didn’t get to see him too often because he was a student at Emerson College. She could hardly wait for his next break.

“Ned’s cute, but Brady’s what I’d call a hunk!” Bess said, her eyes still riveted to the photograph.

“Apparently you’re not the only one who thinks so,” George added, eyeing the crowd of girls behind the police barrier that let out a single scream as a van and two cars slowed down in front of the theater. One of them was carrying a sign that read, Marry Me, Brady!

The three girls turned to see what had
caused the latest commotion. The local news was arriving.

“But—” Bess fingered her curls again and straightened the scoop neck of her teal blue sweater dress. She looked perplexed and sad.

Nancy guessed what was bothering Bess. She linked her arm through her friend’s. “It looks like everyone else read the same issue of
Teen World
that you did.”

“And I thought I was being so smart.” Bess looked as if she were about to cry.

“Don’t worry, Bess,” George said, trying to reassure her cousin. “Just because everyone else read that Brady always arrives early for a personal appearance doesn’t mean they’ve got you beat.”

“Sure,” Nancy added. “I’d guess we’ve still got a little time before Brady gets here. It should be enough.”

“For what?” Bess asked.

“To find a way in!” Nancy said with a laugh. “After all, I am a detective. Right?”

Bess gave her a wan smile. And before Nancy could turn her attention to finding an entrance that wasn’t blocked by fans or police, George elbowed her in the side.

“What’s that all about?” George asked, nodding toward a dozen or more people carrying large pieces of cardboard mounted on sticks—picket
signs. But the signs were down, and the girls couldn’t read them.

The group was gathering in a circle off to the side of the ticket office. One good-looking, dark-haired young man seemed to be in charge. He was giving directions and pointing to a clear stretch of street in front of the theater.

“They don’t look like your run-of-the-mill Brady Armstrong groupies to me,” Bess said with a note of concern in her voice.

“Quick,” Nancy said. “We can use the diversion to sneak around to the back of the theater. We’ll try a side door.”

She led Bess and George past the pickets. As the girls rounded the theater, they saw a large, dignified-looking private guard standing in front of the old stage door. Luckily he didn’t see them.

“Well, maybe not,” Nancy said, sizing him up. “Let’s check out the back door.”

That door was unguarded but locked tight.

Nancy cast a sympathetic look at her friend. “Sorry, Bess. I don’t see how we’re going to get inside.”

Bess was determined. “I
have
to get in there,” she said. Suddenly her eyes lit up. “Wait a minute. I just remembered something!”

She led them to the parking lot and then behind a row of thorny bushes.

“Why are you taking us through these weeds?” George glanced around to see if anyone was watching their suspicious behavior, but there was no one in sight.

“I just remembered something from when I worked here as an usher two summers ago.” Bess stooped down to gingerly brush away some dry twigs, soda cans, and candy wrappers from a rusty metal door buried in the ground.

“Working here did have its advantages. This is our way in,” she said proudly.

“Here, let me do that,” Nancy offered. “We wouldn’t want you to meet Brady looking like you’ve been playing in the dirt.” She smiled as she took over the job of pulling at the door.

“Have you been sneaking into movies for free?” George teased Bess with a quick grin.

“No, of course not,” Bess replied indignantly. “But I could have. And I think my honesty is about to be rewarded.”

The old, rusted lock came free in Nancy’s hand. With a final grunt, Nancy lifted the heavy steel door and revealed a dark staircase below.

Nancy smiled and shook her head. “Love is
funny,” she said. “You wouldn’t break into the theater to save the price of a ticket, but you’d do it to get a look at a guy you think you love.”

“Does that make this a crime of passion?” George asked innocently as Nancy led them down the dark stairs.

“Oh, stop it, you guys,” Bess said, carefully choosing her footing. She was wearing high-heeled, sling-back pumps for the occasion, and with all the excitement, she wasn’t too steady on her feet. “I just want a chance to see him alone for two minutes. I have to know if he remembers me after all this time.”

Nancy reached into her purse and pulled out a small but powerful penlight. They were in the basement of the theater, a dark, damp, musty place that smelled of mold and decay.

Nancy cut a path with her flashlight through the maze of boxes, old trunks, and stage props that had collected over the years from community theater productions. On the far side of the room was a staircase.

“Oh, Nancy,” Bess said as she looked up the stairs. “I’m so excited, I think I’m going to faint. Just think—a chance to see Brady Armstrong again!”

George glanced at Nancy and slowly rolled her eyes as they trailed Bess up the stairs. Bess
nudged the door open and peered up and down the hallway. “The coast is clear,” she said. “Let’s go!”

With Bess in the lead, they sneaked down the hall to the dressing rooms. Two doors were marked with gold stars.

“Well, this must be the place,” Nancy said, pointing to the letters that spelled out Brady’s name. She glanced over at Bess and saw that her friend’s face was pale beneath her pink blush. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Sure,” Bess said and forced her breath out in one long stream. “Just a little nervous, I guess. Do you think he’ll remember me? Do you suppose he’ll get mad at me for barging in on him like this?”

“I don’t think he’ll get mad,” Nancy said. “Brady was always a nice guy. Besides, you look great.”

Bess smiled at the encouragement. Then she lifted her chin, her eyes bright with determination. “I came this far. I’m not going to chicken out now. Besides, I blew half my fall wardrobe budget on this dress. I want him to at least see it.”

“We’d offer to come in with you,” Nancy said, “but I’m sure you’d like to be—alone.”

Bess grinned and waved her hand to motion
them away. “Thanks, anyway. But I’ll sink or swim on my own. Will you wait for me? I’ll come find you when I’m finished. Wish me luck.”

George looked her cousin up and down, appreciating Bess’s teal blue sweater dress with its silver sequin and gold bugle bead trim. “You don’t need luck. You look great. Knock on his door, and knock him dead.”

Nancy and George walked farther down the hall toward the women’s dressing room, giving their friend a chance to be alone with her nervousness and her heartthrob.

Halfway down the hall, Nancy and George turned to watch as Bess knocked once, then again. No one answered. As she was raising her hand to knock once more, they all heard voices floating down the hall from the stage.

The shuffling of feet and droning of voices sounded like eight or ten people moving toward them. Nancy knew Brady and Dierdre had to be at the center of the group.

“Bess is ducking into his room,” George said, shaking her head. “Boy, she’s really got nerve when it comes to guys.”

Nancy looked on in disbelief. “She actually went inside.”

“Well, I don’t want to get caught hanging out
here, either,” George said as the voices moved closer. “I’m just an admirer, not the president of his fan club.”

“Come on.” Nancy and George slipped into a room marked Women’s Dressing Room. She flipped on the wall switch, and the room was instantly bathed in bright light. Makeup mirrors lined the far wall. To their right costumes hung on a long rack: flapper dresses, Victorian gowns, Roman togas, and cowgirl outfits with leather fringe.

The girls listened at the door to hear if the group had moved closer toward them, but there was no more movement. Nancy eased the door open, and they peered out through the narrow slit. Brady was at the center of the stationary group, and there was the mayor, and . . . Nancy closed the door, not wanting to get caught.

“He’s even more gorgeous in real life,” George said, and moved over to investigate the costumes. “What do you suppose that protest outside was all about?” she asked as she fingered the fringe on a cowgirl outfit.

“That was Nicholas Falcone in charge,” Nancy said. “I recognized him from pictures in the paper. He leads campaigns to save old buildings from demolition.”

“That’s right! And Bart Anderson’s going to
tear down this beautiful old theater to build one of those impersonal movie complexes.”

“So Brady’s premiere is the last big event to happen here,” Nancy said sadly. “No more movies, no more community theater productions.”

The girls waited and listened, and in a few minutes they heard the group start their goodbyes and begin to move off. Then the sound of screaming teenagers filing into the auditorium masked all other sounds. The chants of “Brady! Brady! Brady!” that had started outside the theater were now louder and more impatient. Finally a voice over the PA system began the introduction for Brady Armstrong’s new movie, and everything became quiet except for a couple of goodbyes in the hall.