Kiss Your Elbow (13 page)

It took us thirty-five minutes to get to Sutton Place. The Saturday-night traffic didn't seem to care about our rehearsal. Frobisher gave us a very annoyed look as we crept in and sat down in a corner. They had come to the third act and because we weren't there, had skipped the beginning of it and gone on with the rest. He was very highty-tighty as he stopped the rehearsal and said they would take the act from the beginning. I apologized as best I could and told him about the traffic and he thawed out a little and finally, when the rehearsal ended at eleven, he was quite friendly again. Although it was going to take some time for Greg, the stage manager, to forgive me. They take those things very seriously. I wasn't taking it any too lightly, either, because our five days weren't up yet and we could be fired without a cent if Frobisher felt like it.

When we were leaving, I managed to be the last one out. Mr. Frobisher had come to the door to say goodbye. I wasn't sure how he was going to feel about his less glamorous past being mentioned in front of the rest of the cast so had waited till I was more or less alone with him.

“Mr. Frobisher, you were stage manager for one of the shows Thayer was in, weren't you?” He looked at me quizzically.

“So you've found out my humble beginnings? Yes, I was.
Front Page Stuff,
as a matter of fact. Why?”

“Did you ever know anybody connected with that show with a name like Bobby LeB.?” He thought a
moment…his forehead wrinkled. “No, I'm sorry, but I don't. It was a long time ago, you must remember, and there are a lot of people in musicals. Stage hands, musicians…there might well have been a Bobby LeB., but I'm afraid I don't remember offhand. Why? Is it very important? Was he a friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. I have a message for him, and, unfortunately, that's all the name I know. You wouldn't have any idea how I could find him, would you?”

“No, I'm afraid not. So much happens to the people in a show in twelve or thirteen years. They give up the profession, the war…all sorts of things. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.”

We said good-night.

Rehearsal wasn't till one o'clock on Sunday so Maggie and I decided to have a nightcap or two before going home. We dropped in at “21” first, since we both now had jobs, and had a drink at the bar. The place was crowded and, as usual, it depressed me. Everyone seemed so damned successful. You could practically see the money ooze.

Old light-of-my-life Ted Kent was there, to add to my depression, with Margo. She must have more money than I had thought. Otherwise I knew Ted wouldn't be sniffing around—plus that mink coat she had thrown around her tonight looked just as expensive as Maggie's, a fact of which I am quite sure Maggie was not unconscious. Ted got Lord of the Manor and called us over to his table, and for once I was almost glad to see him. I had a job and he didn't. Maybe it wasn't so much of a
job but in the theater a job is a job is a job is a job. There was, of course, the pause while Ted kissed and
darlinged
Maggie and I gritted my teeth and, out of spite, I almost had a go at Margo but couldn't quite bring myself to it, though I must say she seemed all primed.

We all sat down and Ted couldn't wait for the drinks to finish being ordered before he launched into the newest juicy morsel of gossip he'd unearthed.

“Darlings, have you heard about Harry Bruno…you know the one that owns that dreadful theater on Seventh Avenue.” This little darling hadn't heard but this little darling knew that theater quite well having served a very short time in two flops there. “Well, you know he simply can't afford to have a hit in that house, he owes so much money and he makes more out of flops. Believe me, he even goes to the out-of-town openings just to make sure they're bad enough…. Of course, with the theater shortage he can get away with it.”

“But, Ted, I don't understand,” said Margo. “What do you mean he can't afford to have a hit?” Yes, she was doing all right…she'd learned how to set up Ted. Yes, it wouldn't be long before Ted would be sending out little notes to the columnists saying, “Well-known stage and screen star Ted Kent is blazing with what recently renovated eyeful?” and signing someone else's name. He's done it before and he can do it again. “I should think every theater owner would want a hit.” Lay it out for him sister. Give him the topper.

“But don't you see, darling. Every show has to pay for the theater two weeks in advance and if it's a flop and doesn't run two weeks then Harry can keep the
money and get another show in right away and that show has to pay two weeks in advance, too.”

“Why, I think that's awful,” said Margo. “Don't you, Tim?” But Ted wasn't going to let me get into his act.

“Well, anyway, Ed Dell—you know, the critic—hates Harry's guts and thought he'd fix him but good. He knew Harry needed twelve thousand bucks right away or he'd lose the theater, and the only way he could get that much money in the time he had was to have three quick flops. Well, he got two all right and the third one was a stinker, too, but Ed gave it a rave notice in his paper, thinking that would make it run long enough to put Harry out of business—and it would have, too. Only guess what Harry did?”

“What, Ted?” said Margo breathlessly. “I can't imagine.” Here was my chance.

“So Harry took the rave notice,” I said before Ted could stop me. “And went to a loan shark and borrowed the twelve thousand dollars on the strength of Ed's rave notices and lived happily ever after.” Ted, I am glad to say, was livid.

“I think after that, Tim,” said Maggie, “the least we can do is leave.” She got up and I helped her on with her coat.

“Libby told me about their offering you that part in the Equity Library show, Margo,” I said. Ted was still sulking. “I think you'd have gotten more experience from that than understudying.”

“Oh, that was just Libby's idea, and even if I did want to act I'm certainly not ready for Ibsen yet. Can you imagine me as Nora in
A Doll's House?”

“Libby said it was Rosalind in
As You Like It.
I should think you'd be a good type for that.”

“Oh, you know Libby, how vague she is. It was
A Doll's House
and I'm certainly not up to that.”

“How's your walk-on in the new Frobisher thing?” said Ted. That was a feeble effort to get back at me. He knew it was more than a walk-on.

“It's shaping up.” He wasn't going to get any change out of me.

“When do you open?”

“Wilmington, Friday.”

“I might run up and catch it if I can. I've always liked Randall's work, but I'm surprised in her position she couldn't make Frobie get someone better to play opposite her than Paul Showers.” Someone like Ted Kent, no doubt. I knew what the next line would be. It always is. “They offered it to me, but I couldn't let Terry and Lawrence down. What's Showers doing back here, anyway? Didn't they pick up his option?”

“Just slumming like the rest of us.”

“Well, good luck. Carry your spear pretty. I'll try and remember, but if I forget, consider yourself sent a wire opening night.”

“Thanks, I'll do that little thing.” I bought back my coat and hat from the checkroom and we hit Fifty-second Street, but not soon enough. The fair Diana was just getting out of a taxi. I toyed with the idea of ducking back into the bar but it was too late. She had seen me. The look and nod I got were reserved exclusively for brass monkeys. Well, that's done it. You've had it, chum.
It's going to take a great deal of explaining to get back on her Christmas list. But what do you know? Suddenly I realized I didn't care. To hell with that. I'd jumped through Diana's rather peculiar hoops for the last time.

“What are you laughing about?” asked Maggie while we were waiting for a cab.

“I hadn't realized I was laughing.”

“Well, you were. It sounded nice. You should do it more often.”

I kissed Maggie and meant it. “Well,” said Maggie breathlessly. “You should do
that
more often, too.”

A
S
I
STARTED TO CLIMB
the Casbah stairs, I remembered that I wanted to ask Helga to let me in Kendall's room to see if he had anything there that might suggest why he got the acid facial—there was just a chance, not much of one, but I didn't want to overlook any bets. I knocked at Helga's door and waited. Nothing happened so this time I pounded. After a moment she asked who was there and I told her and said it was important that I see her. I had to wait a couple of more minutes until she finally unlocked and opened the door just wide enough for her to slip out into the hall and closed it quickly after her. I didn't have to wonder why. She had a silk kimono clutched around her and as far as I could see nothing else.

“What you want, Tim? Come back tomorrow.”

“Sorry to bother you, Helga, but it's important. I want to look through Kendall's room.”

“It's empty. All cleaned up. Everything.” So that was no good.

“But, Helga, didn't you find anything when you were cleaning it up? Something that might give an idea about
what he was doing that night. A magazine he was reading…or a paper?”

“Why you want to know?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because I want to find out how he was killed.”

“Policeman said it was accident.”

“I know he did, but I just want to find out how the accident happened. He was my friend, Helga.” She looked at me for a moment then did a quick flick around the door and almost immediately reappeared, still without letting me get a glimpse into her room. She handed me a piece of notepaper with some writing on it.

“This was on the floor. Must have fallen off table. I was going to send it to his brother.” I recognized Kendall's florid handwriting. It was the beginning of a letter:
Friday Dear Bobby,

“Can such things be and overcome us like a summer's cloud without our special wonder?” My wants are few and it will unquestionably be to your advantage to revive old memories. “Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightaway?” Say, three o'clock Monday. I was amused to see—

—and it stopped there. I tried to keep my voice calm.

“Let me have this for a couple of days, Helga. I'll give it back.”

“What you want it for? You won't get me in trouble?”

“No. I promise.” Then I thought of something. “Helga, listen, this is important. Was there an envelope with this? Think carefully.”

“No, that was all, and I ought to send it to his brother.”

“But, Helga, you know as well as I do Kendall's brother doesn't care a damn about him. You heard him.”

“He shouldn't have said that about his own brother. He was no bum like he said.”

“Of course he wasn't. Thanks, Helga.” Before she could say anything else I ran up the stairs.

I went into my room, locked the door and sat down on the bed. Three more readings of the letter didn't tell me anything new, but it was written to Bobby, and in my little world there was only one Bobby I was interested in and I was positive this was written to that one—Bobby LeB. I didn't recognize the quotations, but then I wouldn't. There didn't seem to be much doubt that Ninny's tomb referred to either Nellie's office or the funeral parlor. Maybe Maggie would know. I phoned her and she'd just gotten in. I told her about the letter. For some reason I almost whispered it over the phone.

“Kendall was quite the Shakespearean scholar, wasn't he? Ninny's tomb is from
Midsummer Night's Dream,”
she said rather superciliously, I thought. “The Pyramus and Thisbe scene.”

“How in the world did you know that?”

“We did it at college and, I might add, I was ravishing as Titania, but I don't know the other quote. What do you suppose it means?”

“I hoped you'd know.”

“But are you sure this Bobby is the one we want? There are lots of Bobbys in the world, you know.”

“Only one I'm interested in.”

“Well, take care of yourself, my darling. Sweet Shakespearean dreams.”

“Maggie, have breakfast with me tomorrow morning?”

“But it's Sunday.”

“The Brevoort, then. Ten o'clock. That'll give us time to go by the library before rehearsal.”

“The library?”

“Don't you remember? To look up the
Front Page Stuff
notices?”

“Oh my God.”

“Ten o'clock, Brevoort.”

“Okay. Well, good night.”

“Good night.” I started to hang up.

“Oh, say, Timmy…”

“Yes?”

“If I were you, I'd lock my window and put a chair under my door.”

“Don't worry about me.” I laughed. “I can take care of myself. Good night.”

But, feeling like a damn fool, I did lock my window and I did put the chair under my door.