tedwords

If poor Louise thought I was insufferable the morning after I didn’t get the lead in Sweeney, she certainly found me doubly detestable the morning after the first rehearsal. Hung over and humiliated, I slunk into the office practically at noontime, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses to hide my bloodshot eyes.

Louise sat behind her pristine desk, a model of technical efficiency (I wouldn’t have it any other way), her
wavy red hair neatly coiffed and her perky Irish face (in an Ann B. Davis kind of way) a positive beacon of cheerfulness. “Why, hello, Dante! How are you—!”

I cut the bitch off at the pass. “Coffee, dear girl. Coffee!” I screamed out and rushed past her, trying to make a beeline to my office.

The poor cow had the nerve to actually rise from her desk and try to follow me into my office. “The thing is, Dante—“

“Louise!” I spun around to face her, angrily. “How many times have I told you NEVER to call me by my first name when I have a hangover?”

Her ever-perky smile dropped just a notch. “Oh, it’s a...a hangover morning...”

Dramatically (is there any other way?), I whipped off my glasses to show her the reds of my eyes. “Yes. Clearly. So, if you could simply cancel my appointments and fetch my coffee...”

“That’s the thing. You see...” Louise was clearly growing more agitated by the moment. She stood there ringing her pale pasty Irish hands together, making me even more irritated with every passing second. “You already HAD an appointment this morning, Dan—um, that is, Mr. D’Agrande. With Sal Rosenthal.”

Oh. “I did?”

“Yes. He’s the president of the Spangler Organization.”

Like a shot of morphine, I felt realization creep in. “I know who Sal Rosenthal is, you ninny.”

Louise looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but close to me. “The winter fundraiser. Remember?”

Oh, fuck, the winter fundraiser. Of course, I did remember. And the fact I had bungled a priority meeting with the president of Spangler only propelled me into greater fits of apoplexy. “Louise,” I said, my voice getting low and flat. Louise looked as if she were about to faint. “Do you mean to tell me YOU allowed me to miss a meeting with Sal Rosenthal and didn’t call ME an hour in advance? What have I told you about that, Louise?”

Her hand wringing only increased in its frequency, like someone with OCD at a manure factory. At the same time, her Irish potato face had grown beet red. “I tried calling you on your cell phone, but—“

“You did not!” I screamed. “That phone was next to me all morning long and it didn’t bother to ring once! Now get out of here and get me some god-damned coffee, or I’ll hand you your blessed ginger head on a platter!”

Furiously, I turned my back to her and strode over to my desk. I heard the door shut behind me. In a stupor, I sat down and stared incoherently at the meaningless piles of papers neatly stacked into three piles at my desk. Marketing plans...print ads...none of it meant anything to me this morning. I was a man cast adrift. I just sat there and covered my eyes with hands, to protect them from the sunlight...and, the pain of being me.

A few seconds, my phone rang. I picked up. “Louise?”

“Mr. D’Agrande.” It was obvious she had been crying. Shit, that meant I would be the one buying a dozen roses, this time around. “I have a Vern Slater on the phone for you.”

Well, didn’t that just make my day go from sucky to sucky suck suck? Of course, there was no way to avoid taking it, after what had transpired the night before. “I’ll take it.”

“Dante.” It was Vern, sounding ever so earnest and serious. That wasn’t a good combination, in my hung-over state. In any state.

“Vern.” I was aiming for relaxed and amiable, but the scratchy voice I had this morning from drinking so much the night before didn’t make me sound relaxed and amiable, at all.

“So, listen, ummm...we need to talk about, um, um, last night.”

Oh, dear. He was stumbling over his words. That couldn’t be a good sign. “So talk, Vern.”

“I hope you don’t mind me calling you at work. I tried calling your cell, but it went straight to voicemail.”

“Oh?” I fished my phone out of my pocket. Damn! Dead. I must have forgotten to charge it in all the excitement last night. I stared guiltily in the direction of the closed door that led to Louise’s desk.

“Anyway. I was, um, speaking to Danita. She called me at six in the morning, Dante. Six in the morning! She’s really upset, threatening to, um, pull out of the play.”

I thought about this for a moment. “I fail to see the problem.”

“She was practically in tears! She’s says she couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about what you did to her and RJ.”

“What I did to—“ Of all the nerve! What I did to her? “In the first place, Vern, RJ is NOT the one who ended up stinking of a distillery last night. In the last, I did absolutely nothing to Danita. Nothing!”

“Well, well...she thinks that you were the one that...you know...placed that cheesecake on her—“

Gasp! “I swear I didn’t! And by the way, did anyone actually see me place that cheesecake on her chair? Riddle me that, Vern. Did anyone? Did Danita?”

The pregnant pause spoke volumes. Then, weakly, “Well, clearly Danita didn’t. Dante, are you honestly telling me you had nothing to do with it?”

“I’m telling you no one saw me do anything. So I must be innocent!”

That did it. Vern had summoned up my righteous anger. To be accused of something no one had actually seen me do...it was insulting! I didn’t deserve to be j’accused in this manner.

I bit my lip. I closed my eyes. I knew what had to be done. Like the Frank Wilder classic as memorialized by the likes of Sammy Davis, Jr., I knew this was the moment. “Vern, I have to be honest with you. I don’t think I can perform to the best of my abilities in an environment where I am not trusted. Danita’s accusations are just too upsetting.”

A heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Dante...”

“I’ve been an important player in this troupe of yours for years, Vern. The fact that you didn’t come to my defense—“

“Dante! It’s not that I didn’t come to your—“

“I’m sorry, Vern. I’m afraid that as fond as I am of you, as much as I’ve treasured your guidance through the years, I...I simply must back out of Sweeney Todd. I think it’s best for the sake of the show. Don’t you?”

The anguish in Vern’s voice was palpable. “But, Dante—“

“ENOUGH! Let’s not prolong this agony. Let’s just agree to go our separate ways. It has been a pleasure working with you all these years, and I’m sure our paths will cross again. And of course, you can rest assured I will be there, front and center on opening night, cheering the gang on.”

Like hell! Even if I had to arrange a trip to Arruba for homeless orphans, if I had to give myself an emergency appendectomy, there was no way on God’s green Earth I was ever going to sit through a minute of that wretched production. Even better, maybe I could find another production of Sweeney to get involved with...to play the lead in...that would show them all!

“Okay, Dante. If that’s the way you want it. I accept your resignation.”

I could tell it was breaking him apart. It was time to end this quickly. “How gracious of you, Vern. Thank you.”
I hung up the phone. There, I had done it. Managed to pluck out the thorn that had so hobbled my Androchlean talent for weeks on end. Now was the time to turn another page, start another chapter. Open a new window.

“The bastard!”

A plaintiff sob broke me from my reverie. Even with the closed door separating us, I could hear Louise, apparently still quite upset.

Hmmm. It might be a good idea to order those roses.

###

“A phone call for you, Mr. D’Angrande.”

The ice in her voice was unmistakable. Even the roses had done little to set things straight.

I had no choice, I was going to have to actually apologize. I contemplated how best to play the scene. Perhaps quiet sincerity would play well.

“Who is it, Louise?”

“He didn’t say, sir, but I think Vern Slater is calling you again.”

Hmmm. That was odd. Odd enough to tear me away from the apology email I was putting together for Sal Rosenthal, in fact. Why in the world would Vern Slater be calling back? What more was there to discuss?

“By all means, transfer the call.”

“Yes, Mr. D’Agrande. Sir.” She spat out those last words as if it were my epitaph and transferred the call.

“Vern?”

“Dante?” His voice sounded anxious, even more so than usual. Had he forgotten to take his medication this morning?

“What can I do for you?” I leaned back in my plush leather chair and squeezed my eyes shut. Ah, if only the pounding in my head would go away.

“Dante, look. This isn’t easy to say. I’ve been thinking about our conversation, and...well, the fact is, you have been an important part of this troupe for many years. Just like you said. So, the thing is...well, this is going to sound strange...”

Strange? “Yes, yes?”

“Look, I’ve reconsidered. Rather than dropping out, I was wondering...well, in light of what’s taken place, would you do me the honor of taking over the role of Sweeney Todd? Your...um, audition was really fantastic, and I think you would really do a phenomenal job.”

“WHAT?” Well, this was unexpected! My eyes popped open, wider than Louis Armstrong playing a high C on his trumpet. I rose from my desk. I started to pace around the room in my bare feet. (I hated being bound in my office by leather and cotton. It was an odd habit, and one I only indulged in when I was all alone.)

I stumbled across the room like a drunken zombie. “You...want me...to take over the lead?”

A pause. “Yes...yes, I do.”

“Well, I...that is, I’d be delighted to. And...and thank you for reconsidering and offering it to me!”

“Re-? Oh, yes, yes. Of course.” His voice sounded strangely muffled, as if he were having trouble choking back tears. For the life of me, I was genuinely touched that he was so moved by my acceptance. “Thank you for saying yes, Dante.”

Like magic, my hangover had completely vanished. I looked outside and suddenly saw the sweet possibilities of a brand new day. “It’s going to be a great show. I can’t wait to work with you on this to really bring Sweeney to life!”

Another long pause. “It will...be great, Dante. Really great. See you Tuesday.”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

I hung up the phone, stunned. In just five minutes, my entire life had been turned around, once again. Instead of turning a chapter, I was instead enhancing my existing chapter with the Bull Moose Theater Guild! Life’s little roller coaster ride has certainly thrown me for a loop this time.

Vern Slater had offered me the role of Sweeney. Of Sweeney! It hardly seemed possible.

I just had to call someone and spread the news. Kevin. Yes, of course, Kevin! He had been my staunchest supporter during this entire crisis. Not only that, he had been an animal in the sack last night. My balls were still aching. He alone deserved to hear the good news before anyone else.

I scurried back to my desk and hit the intercom. “Louise?”

“Mr. D’Agrande?”

“Please dial Kevin up for me, would you?” I paused for a moment, far more artfully than Vern Slater had. “And what are you doing for lunch, dear girl? I was an absolute beast this morning. I want to take you to Scampo’s as my way of saying sorry. My treat, anything you want.”

Voila! Instant attitude adjustment. Just add yummies. “Gee, thanks, Dante!” The lift in her voice was obvious.

“Um, Louise?”

“Yes, Dante?”

“Kevin, dear girl! Kevin!”

Kevin answered his cell phone on the second ring. What kind of job DOES he have, I wondered once again, that he always seems available, no matter what the time of day? I really had to make it a point to ask him, one of these days. “Hello?”

“Kevin! Me. Guess what? I just heard the most delicious news from Vern Slater, and had to share it with you.”

“You’re playing the lead role in Sweeney Todd.” His voice sounded strangely subdued, in exactly the same way Vern’s had. This wasn’t exactly the enthusiastic reception I had been expecting.

And also, how in heaven’s name had he guessed? “Yes, actually. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Of course. Congratulations, Dante. You’ll be brilliant.” And yet, despite his well-deserved words of praise, his voice still sounded dead, once-removed, one dimensional, static. What on earth was going on?

“Kevin, this is hardly the response I was expecting.” I leaned back in my chair, picked at one of my toenails, weighed the possibilities. Then, a realization. “And what did Vern mean by ‘under the circumstances’?”

“Dante, haven’t you heard?” He sounded surprised, his voice went on the rise. Then, more to himself: “No, of course. You’ve been in your office all day, working off your hangover. It’s been on all the stations, all morning long, Dante.”

“What was?”

A deep intake of breath. “RJ was found dead at around nine this morning. They say he fell down a flight of stairs at his office. Broke his neck. They--” Kevin drew in another breath, as if he were having trouble continuing. “They say it looks like he’d been pushed. They’re calling it murder, Dante.”

“Murder?” I gasped. “What terrible news!”

Kevin let out a little sob. “Isn’t it awful?”

For once, I was at a genuine loss for words. “Yes, yes. Terrible. Poor RJ.” What could I do or say? I played with the pile of documents at my desk, nervously. Murdered! “So, I suppose, given the circumstances, you wouldn’t want to go to Scampos to celebrate?”

For some reason, our phone call was disconnected.

(Honestly, I didn’t realize until hours later what a poor word selection that had been. Of course, I was talking about the role!)

I sat there in my chair, aghast for the third time that day.

RJ, murdered. Pushed down a flight of stairs!

It hardly seemed possible. There he had been last night, so vibrant, so angry for what I had done to Danita, so eager to throw a glass of beer in my face, and now...

Hmmm, Danita.

Would she still be playing Lovett? That would be SO tacky, given the circumstances. Especially if she did it in loving tribute.