Final Act Dianne Yetman (popular ebook readers txt) 📖

deep breath.  She couldn’t afford to push him any further.  It was time to take control before things got out of hand.

She swung her gym bang onto her opposite shoulder, moved her body sideways, and stepped around him.  She was reaching into her bag for the car keys when she felt his hand slam down on her right shoulder and his fingers squeeze her muscles.  Her inhibitions melted.

She grabbed his hand, pushed upwards, and slammed his palm into the bottom of his nose.  Maintaining her grip, she twirled out from underneath him, drops of blood dripping through his hand onto her face, and spun him out on the sidewalk with the speed of the dentist’s drill. The slam of his body hitting sidewalk was loud.  She knelt down to determine the extent of his injuries - a bruised body, a bruised ego, but no broken bones.

She whispered into his ear.

“Don’t ever come near me again.  Hear? Now, I’m going forget I ever saw you.  I recommend you do the same.”  She started to get up then leaned down again. “And you might want to think about changing your gym membership because I’m not changing mine.”

She pushed her way through the small knot of gathered people, got in the car and drove off.  Moments later she hit her brakes hard, narrowly missing the car in front of her.  The feel good moment of flipping the bastard like a pancake had dissipated.

How could she have been so stupid, jeopardizing her career over the jerk. Throwing civilians to the sidewalk wasn’t a career maker especially after yesterday’s conversation with Gordon. She shuddered at the thought of this getting back to the precinct.  If it did, she’d be toast.  Reaching into the console, she grabbed the bag of jelly beans and began a serious munch.”

7:30pm

Any of the cast and crew watching Andrew, the Stage Manager, barrelling through the brightly lit, twisted backstage hallway, ignoring everything and anything in his path, knew something had gone seriously wrong.  And that is exactly what he wanted them to think.

He had planned it all out very carefully.  Five minutes earlier, he stood eyeballing the props table, a frown on his face.  Then he bellowed for Ed, who ran errands, cleaned the stage and dressing rooms, and anything no one else wanted to do.  His most important job, however, was looking after the props.

Knowing where Ed was.  Duties finished until the curtain went down, he’d be in his small back room drinking tea and reading one of the westerns he loved.  Andrew walked over to the group of actors standing nearby and asked if they had seen the silverware for the second act.  None had.  Andrew risked a quick look to his left.  Yes, the Board members were still standing outside the main dressing room.

He knew it was his only opportunity to make his mark.  Board members did not attend the plays, even on the last night.  They were here for the farewell toast that the Director of the Company, Jeffrey Stone, was giving to the cast and crew on stage before flying to New York to take over the reins of the Hamlet production from an ailing Director.  He wasn’t expected to return.  Andrew wanted Jeffrey’s job. Rehearsals for the Christmas run of Death of a Salesman would have to start up soon.  Director of the small company of actors and crew of the Strand Theatre was high on his list of acquisitions.

He wasn’t alone in his ambition.  The Strand’s Producer, Henry Ward was a strong contender.  Descended from a long line of distinguished Halifax actors, he had spent his free hours as a child backstage; none was more familiar with the inner workings of the theatre.  But he didn’t have it in him to make a good Director.  Now, if only the Board members agree.

Time to strike.  Andrew bellowed at the group of actors standing in the hallway.  They shook their heads.  Had no idea what had happened to the silverware.  It worked. He had the attention of two of the Board members.  They walked towards him, looks of concern on both of their faces.

Andrew, stressed but polite, filled them in on the missing props.  They asked if they could help.  He smiled and invited them to tag along.  The three headed for Ed’s office.  He looked at his watch, picked up his pace, hoping to ratch up the urgency as the two Board Members struggled to keep up.

“The curtain was due to go up on the final performance in fifteen minutes”, he said.  “Ed better be in his cubbyhole, or there will be hell to pay”, he said.

They bought into his panic as he steamed rolled his way towards the backstage exit. He gave them a weak, thankful smile, talking all the while, as he made his way towards the very back of the theatre.

“It’s nothing that would attract a thief.  Its silver plated Wal-Mart, for Christ’s sake.”  He picked up his pace and then, without warning, braked to a full stop in front of a door adjacent to the exit sign. He pushed it open so hard it banged up against the wall.

A startled Ed looked up from his book.  He didn’t know what was up but by the look on the men’s faces, he knew it wasn’t good.  Just my shit lady luck, he thought, never, never would she dance with me.  For Ed was a hard working with a sick wife and three sons who weren’t worth the dole they lived on.  Ed pasted a sickly smile on his face and waited for life’s blow.  And there was no doubt in his mind, a blow was coming.

“Damn you to hell Ed” Andrew said.  “If I had any sense at all I would fire you this instant.  And I’ll tell you what, if you don’t find the silverware missing from the prop table before the opening of the second act, I will fire you.  Now get off