Cue the Dead Guy. H. Mel Malton
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waiting for her boyfriend to come out of the Quick-Mart next door. She was pretty hot, and made me feel frumpy and old. I’m only in my mid-thirties, but still. She was dark-haired, about twenty-four, with large flashing eyes and a red mouth, sulky-looking but very sexy. I remember thinking that she wasn’t from around here—that she must be from the city. She wore black jeans, red Doc Martens and a tight red sweater. She was, as they say, stacked. A black leather biker jacket was draped casually over her shoulders. I looked around for the Harley. When she waltzed over to the truck and got in, I almost screamed aloud.
“Er . . . can I help you?” I said.
“Boy, is it ever cold for May,” Rico said. I waited until my heart had stopped doing push-ups in my throat.
“Jesus, Rico. That you?” Duhh.
He giggled. “Fooled ya, huh?” Fooled was not the word. Bowled me over was more like it.
“Rico, you are amazing,” I said. Even his voice was different. Sort of Demi Moore-ish. It was going to be an interesting evening.
When we got to the theatre, the place was ablaze with light and we could hear the music from the parking lot. I’d taken the back roads, not because it was faster, but because George’s truck, born a year before I was, didn’t like modern speed limits.
We were a little late.
Most of the cast had arrived that day from the city. (After all, very few professional actors live in cottage-country.) They were all staying in hotels or B&Bs in Sikwan, prior to the road-tour, where they would all be staying together in whatever accommodation presented itself. Juliet had made Kim Lee, Steamboat’s general manager, include an invitation to the party when she sent their contracts. The invitation said something like “We’re glad you’re coming aboard Steamboat, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll come to the party and provide your own costume as well!”
An actor-friend from way back, Simon Wolfe, once told me that he would never, ever wear a costume unless he was being paid to wear it, and I wondered how many cast members might share his views. It was pretty unusual, and not, I dare say, a terribly professional request. Typical Juliet. People who act for a living, even those poor souls who have to take badly-paid, under-rehearsed gigs in the boonies, have some pride.
Juliet met us at the door dressed as Snow White. She was carrying a martini glass in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Her Snow White outfit was close to the Disney original in colour and design, but the cut was tweaked high and low to show off her ample physical features. The effect was startlingly soft-porn, as if old Walt had overdosed on Viagra before dreaming up the character.
“Darlings!” Juliet said, transferring her smoke to the martini hand and pulling each of us towards her with an iron grip to deliver a couple of air-kisses. Her raven hair was helmeted to her head with spray, and the makeup was laid on with a trowel.
“Ricki, you look divine,” Juliet said. “Absolutely delicious. A triumph.” Rico glowed.
“Polly, dear, are you dressed as a cow?” she said to me. She was referring, I think, to the coy pink udder that was part of my costume. Nothing outrageous, but it was there because I’m a stickler for detail.
“A goat, Juliet.”
“Oh. A goat. That would make Ricki . . . I know, Heidi!” She howled with laughter, and Rico joined in. I chuckled to be polite, but my heart wasn’t in it.
“Oh, lighten up, Polly. You look sweet. Go in and get a drink,” Juliet said.
I hate costume parties, and I hate being told to lighten up.
We waded into the crowd.
“I haven’t met the cast yet, but I’ve seen their head-shots,” I said. “I think that’s Amber Thackeray over there. She’s playing the Princess and the Serpent.”
“Didn’t I see her in that new McDonald’s commercial?” Rico said.
“That’s her. Juliet said she’s fresh out of theatre school. She’s done some commercial and modelling work, but I don’t know if she can act.”
“She probably doesn’t have to,” Rico said. Amber was cover-girl gorgeous. She had a long, luxurious mane of real, honest-to-God red hair, her teeth were white and even, her skin was flawless, sprinkled with cinnamon freckles, and her body positively vibrated with sexual energy. She was dressed in a Greek-goddess toga, but she could have been wearing sackcloth and ashes and she still would have had every eye in the room. I just hoped that her beauty hadn’t made her mean. It can do that sometimes.
She bounced over to us.
“Well, hello there,” she chirped. Her voice was lightweight, and I knew instantly that she was going to have trouble projecting through the black hood she would have to wear in The Glass Flute. I wondered if she had been told that she would have to be masked from the audience, swathed in black velvet.
“I’m Amber Thackeray. Are you in the cast, too?”
“Polly Deacon,” I said and held out my hand. “I’m the puppet designer.” She shook hands by clasping mine in both of hers and squeezing. A large diamond ring glittered on her left hand.
“Oh, I just saw your stuff upstairs. All those cool props. Pleased to meet you, Polly.” She smiled with a warmth which was almost tactile. People would be falling in love with Amber all over the place. Maybe the ring on her finger was a talisman to ward off unwelcome suitors.
“This is my friend, Ricki,” I said, putting my hand on Rico’s shoulder. “She’s not in the show, just came for the party.”
Amber shook his hand, too. “How come you didn’t wear a costume?” she said.
Rico smiled a secret smile. “Short notice,” he said. “I loved your McDonald’s commercial.”
“Oh, thanks. I’m trying to avoid that stuff now, though,” Amber said. “I want to work at Stratford one day.”
A Steamboat Theatre children’s puppet show was a long way from doing Shakespeare, I thought. Amber read my mind and grinned bashfully. The effect was adorable.
“Yeah, I know. But you gotta start somewhere. I’m taking voice with Bob Green in Toronto, and he told me to audition for this to build up my stamina. I almost died when I got it. You’re teaching us puppetry, right?”
“Yep,” I said.
“Who’s doing voice?”
“Well, I don’t think anyone’s actually hired to coach in that department, Amber. Ruth Glass is the music director, and she’ll be working with all of you on the singing numbers, but I don’t know if she’ll have time for individual coaching. I guess you’re on your own.”
Amber squealed and hopped up and down, in a cute way. “Ruth Glass? You mean, the Ruth Glass? Of Shepherd’s Pie?”
“Uh huh,” I said. “She lives around here. Taking a break from touring.”
“Oh my God,” Amber breathed. “Like, oh, my God.” She was in full Valley-girl mode, but it was still cute. I began to find her annoying. “Oh, God. I hope I can do it. I’m so nervous,” Amber said and rushed away to greet someone else who was just arriving.
“She’s a bit eager, isn’t she?” Rico said.
“Positively puppyish,” I said. “I hope she survives. Touring kids’ theatre is the worst kind of trial by ordeal. If you haven’t got the chops for it, you sink real quick.”
“You’ve done it?”
“In spades. I was a touring stage-manager and performer with a company out east for years. Even kept my Equity standing, although I haven’t been on stage for a long time. Touring is murder, Rico. There’s no way I’d ever do it again.”
“Never say never,” Rico said, shaking a manicured finger in my face. “Anyway, good