Blood Will Have Blood (3 page)

“Delighted!” Greg leaned gracefully over and shook Spraggue's hand with a light, cool grip. “How lovely to have
actors
to work with a week before opening! Not that the stage manager hasn't done a bang-up job reading your lines, but she is
female
—and definitely not an
actress
. So hard to establish
rapport
with a nonentity. Gregory Hudson is the full name. I play Jonathan Harker, stalwart husband to Mina, our leading lady.”

“Caroline Ambrose,” Georgina filled in helpfully.

Greg laughed, a high tenor squeal. “She makes me feel so
inadequate
—so inexperienced. After all, she's had
five
husbands in real life, while
I
—”

“Still bad-mouthing my fellow star?” Spraggue hadn't seen the redheaded woman approach. Now that she stood next to him, he wished she'd go back up to the top of the aisle and start again. She deserved to be watched. Alone or in a Miss America pageant, here was a knockout. Spraggue decided on a career as a connoisseur of suntan-oil commercials.

The redhead smiled and touched his hand. “I'm Emma Healey,” she said. “Arthur told me where to find you, Michael. But I think I would have recognized you even if he hadn't warned me. From your film, the British one—”

“I thought no one saw that.” Spraggue answered her smile.

“I did. Very good.”

“Thanks. It was a long time ago.”

Emma's voice was terrific, low and warm. She turned away but Greg held her, a possessive arm firmly around her waist. Spraggue stared. Maybe he had summed up the lanky pretty-boy too quickly.

“What was that you said about
fellow
star, Emma dear?” Greg said. “Caroline Ambrose,
your
equal? Come off it, darling. Who has the private dressing room? The coach? The suite at the Ritz-Carlton? The orchids delivered daily?”

“Those have nothing to do with the show,” protested Emma.

“But they have a lot to do with the Caroline Ambrose mystique.”

Georgina dropped into the seat next to Spraggue. “Do you really think she sends them to herself?” she asked slyly.

Spraggue shrugged. “I thought they emanated from some former husband or other.”

“Divorced or the one they say she killed?”

“If he's dead, Georgie, I doubt they'd even let him in the flower shop.” Greg leaned over and patted Georgina on the head.

Emma laughed. “Oh, Georgina, have you been reading the fan mags again?”

Georgina blushed. “Well, they
do
say terrible things about her. And she
has
been married five times. How old is she, anyway?”

“Old enough to play Dracula,” said Greg.

“Then how did she get the part?”

Greg winked at Spraggue. “Listen to our ingénue prattle!” He spoke to Georgina as if she were a slow two-year-old. “
Old friends
, darling. She and Darien are
old friends. Close
friends, too.”

“I know the story of the orchids,” Emma said quietly.

“Tell all, darling, instantly!”

Emma peered cautiously left and right. The stagehands rushed about, shepherded by the stage manager. No other actors were within earshot. Ambrose was on call, but probably still lazed in her dressing room. She preferred isolation and special treatment to the instant camaraderie of her colleagues.

With a wicked gleam in her eye, Emma stepped to the center of the aisle and performed her story à la Shirley Temple.

“Once upon a time,” she lisped, “Princess Caroline was married to a gorgeous South American millionaire. This was after her first two marriages, you understand, and before her last two. He was tall and dark and very handsome, although he was much older than our Caroline. He owned all the coffee beans and all the pineapples and all the orchids in Colombia.”

Emma struck a tragic pose, one hand flattened against her brow, and continued. “They met when he visited New York and adored Caroline in
Strange Interlude
. He went backstage. Our Caroline, bored with her second husband and sniffing endless cash, bedazzled him.”

“I don't know how she does it,” said Georgina. “I haven't even been married once!”

Emma turned. “Don't interrupt! He whisked Princess Caroline off to his homeland and, somewhat belatedly, wed her. Rumors began to issue from the jungle. She was pregnant. She wasn't pregnant. She'd lost a child, perhaps deliberately. Her husband beat her. She beat him. You know the stuff. After a year, Caroline reappeared in New York, alone. She filed for divorce on grounds of extreme mental cruelty.” Emma's voice rose to a crescendo. “And now, every day, she gets a memento of that happy year: orchids from the Colombian's equatorial plantation. If she's acting, they arrive at the theater; between shows, at her domicile—”

“Sort of like DiMaggio and the red roses on Marilyn's grave,” sighed Georgina.

Greg snorted. “At least
he
had the decency to wait until she was dead!”

Georgina ignored him. “You'd think he'd have given it up after she remarried.…”

“Caroline got two dozen white orchids the day she married Harvey What's-his-name,” Emma said. “That little affair only lasted six months or so and the flowers kept on arriving. Caroline didn't protest. There's a certain amount of notoriety, press coverage, et cetera, in being the Orchid Lady.”

“Maybe,” said Georgina dreamily, “he does it to make her feel guilty for leaving him. You know, one day the orchids won't arrive and she'll wonder why and then she'll pick up a newspaper and read his obituary and—”

Greg giggled. “Georgie, you're wasted here. Really. Why don't you write for the soaps?”

“Well, it
is
a good story.” Georgina looked questioningly at Emma. “
If
it's true.”

Emma smiled down at the earnest blonde. “As far as I know, honey, it's true.”

“We'll just have to get Lady Caroline to come up and play Truth with the peons one of these days,” said Greg.

“Truth?” asked Georgina.

“It's a game, darling. A lovely game.”

“What are you up to now, Greg?” Emma's eyes narrowed. They were an incredibly intense emerald. Spraggue couldn't remember ever seeing eyes that exact shade. They made him wonder about contact lenses.

“I just thought we might have a game of Truth to pass the time,” said Greg with a great show of injured innocence.

“Darien only called a ten-minute break—” began Spraggue.

“Rewrite breaks
take forever
,” Greg interrupted.

“Darien might remember,” Georgina said hopefully. “He might realize we're all waiting and send someone to give us the okay. Then we could go out for a drink or—”

“Darien? Remember the peasants?” Greg gave his curious squealing laugh. “
If
, by chance, he should notice the time, he will send a messenger straight down to the dressing rooms where that
great
British actor, John Langford, holds court with Caroline, Our Lady of the Flowers—”

“Gus Grayling's down there, too,” said Georgina. “Have you met him, Michael?”

“No.”

“If Grayling
is
down there,” continued Greg, “it is only on sufferance. He'd certainly be a third wheel, what with Caroline bent on making Langford husband No. 6. Remember, as Van Helsing, Gus may have the most lines in the play, but Count Dracula is the
lead
. And”—Greg turned to Emma—“
if
we were to tempt Lady Caroline to play Truth with us, she would certainly tell you that she is the
star
.”

“I'll play,” said Georgina. “If you'll teach me.”

Greg winked at Emma. “We'll need more victims, don't you think?”

“Let's see. Me and you and Georgie and Michael.” She grinned at Spraggue and he decided he might not mind being a victim. “We'll get Eddie! He'd love to play.”

“With you, dear Emma, I doubt it. With our lovely stage manager, now.…”

“Have you seen him, Greg?” Emma cut the blond man off.

“Really burns you, doesn't it, darling? So young, so insensible to your overwhelming charms.… Good for him. Some men ought to be able to resist you. Right, Spraggue?”

Spraggue looked at Greg curiously. His tone said clearly: keep away from Emma. Spraggue shrugged. It was a little difficult to keep his eyes off the tight, low-cut blue leotard Emma had chosen as rehearsal wear. It gave rise to some speculation. She hardly bounced, but her nipples were clearly outlined against the tight-stretched cloth. Excellent musculature or a very thin bra. Her jeans boasted a designer's name scrawled across the molded ass.

“Eddie!” Emma called toward backstage. “Come on! We're playing a game and you're it!”

As soon as Eddie lumbered on stage, Spraggue knew he must play the madman, Renfield. Mostly, it was the eyes. Large, wide, far-apart eyes. If they'd been brown, they'd have been fine—warm, dark, puppy-dog eyes. But they were cold, staring blue, slightly watery. Discomforting eyes. A pair of hornrimmed glasses stuck out of his breast pocket.

“Is it that sensitivity shit?” he asked good-naturedly, vaulting down from the stage to join the group in the front row. “My acting teacher doesn't hold with that junk. Said I should learn to speak.”

“Ah, yes, enunciation!” Emma sucked in her breath and stood up tall, an inspiring sight.

“The arts and English literature!” echoed Georgina.

“Shakespeare!” Greg trumpeted. He bowed his head.” When will we see his like again?”

“Shut up,” said Eddie calmly. “What's going on?”

“Truth!” answered Greg in a whisper.

Georgina raised a hand prettily. “Doesn't this game have any rules?”

“Of course! Eyes on a level,” commanded Emma. “Everyone sit on the floor, cross-legged.”

“Unless modesty forbids,” Georgina said. She was wearing a skirt.

“Emma has no modesty,” said Greg. “The first truth!”

“How do you play?” asked Georgina.

“It's like this,” Greg began. “We go around the circle. Everyone has to tell one truth—”

“Something you've never told anyone before!” added Emma.

“Does it have to be about yourself?” asked Georgina uncertainly.

“Unless you've got the dirt on someone else here!”

“Who starts?”

“Emma!” Greg said positively. “She has the most lurid past, tells the most fascinating tales, and takes forever. Then we run out of time and no one else has to give.”

Emma shook her head. “Let's start with someone new,” she said coyly. “Fresh blood. How about it, Michael?”

“No!” said Georgina. She blushed and looked around the circle. “It's not fair. I mean, this is his first day and—”

Spraggue smiled at the little blonde gratefully. He had a few truths he'd just as soon keep to himself.

Greg laughed. “Then
you
, Georgie. You'll have to take Michael's place.”

“Come on,” Emma said softly. “Just tell us one teeny truth and we'll let you alone.”

Georgina breathed deeply and looked at no one. “Since everybody seems to know,” she said finally, “I'll make it official. I have a crush on Arthur Darien. I like older men.”

Emma raised a perfect eyebrow. “Why not Grayling then? He's older than hell—and he's always panting after you!”

“Is
that
why you've got the picture of that old coot in your dressing room?” asked Greg simultaneously. “Boyfriend, Georgie?”

“My grandfather!” The blush spread over Georgina's cheeks and down her throat. “And while we're on truths, I wish you'd all call me Gina, not Georgie. Gina's my professional name.”

“That's just it,” answered Greg. “Gina
sounds
like a professional name. Some women are Ginas; some are Georgies. To me, you're a Georgie.”

“You're next, Greg,” said Emma. Georgina shot her a relieved smile.

“Let's go the other way 'round the circle,” said Greg.

“Let's not,” said Spraggue.

“Come on!”

“Okay, okay! How's this one? Short and sweet.” Greg held up both hands for silence.” When I was twelve years old I slept with my first cousin.”

“And was your cousin a him or a her?” asked Emma sweetly.

“Now, now, darling. No explanations. A simple truth, that's all. And I assure you, it is the truth and I've
never
told anyone before.” He nodded at Eddie, next in the circle. “Over to you.”

Eddie's wide blue eyes focused on a spot in the group's center. “Arthur Darien's drinking again,” he said quietly. “The pressure must be getting to him.”

The circle was silent. Then everyone spoke at once.

“How do you know?”

“Bullshit!”

“Have you seen him?”

“That's not truth, that's opinion.”

“Next!”

“Don't you even want to talk about it?” Eddie asked. “One week before opening? A new Dr. Seward. All those strange little happenings.…”

“Shut up!” They were all startled by the venom in Emma's tone. “It's my turn and I've got a truth for all of you. This is the first show I've ever had a lead in that I felt was going someplace! I want it to work!
And I am not the company ghost
. I think it's a good truth and I'd like you all to repeat it. We'll just go right around the circle and see if everybody else can say the same.”

“Wait a minute,” wailed Greg. “Emma, this is just a
game
. I didn't mean it to get so serious.…”

“I'm willing to play,” Georgina said calmly.

“Anybody want out?” Emma asked.

Complete silence.

“Places!” came a strong female voice from onstage. “Let's go! Places: Act One, scene three!”