| Subject: Chapter 243 - Part 1 |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, July 03, 03:38:55pm
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
Dreams in the Dark (243/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It was the day after the hideously-fated premiere, the day after the horror of the night before--all of it still difficult to take in. As experienced as most of the gathered friends were in the ways of this town, it had still been quite a shock. No matter how jaded you were, murder dressed as playacting, for a very large crowd, was bound to be a bit of a surprise.
It was mostly the old set of allies who were discovering this, as they sat around Helmut's home, trying to overcome the memories of the terrible sight they had recently been subjected to. Still, there were a few changes here--Nikita absent, lying down upstairs, trying to rest--and there was a new face, as well. Michael had planned this day originally as an opportunity to introduce Andrew to the banker, to fulfill his part in their bargain. None of them had ever suspected how this would turn out.
Nikita's horrified defection left six people in their host's living room: the two couples--acknowledged or not--who made up the man's house, as well as Andrew and Michael. While the latter actor almost wished to be gone, to be either upstairs or--preferably--home with his ailing wife, he felt the need to stay, for now. Nikita was safe here, at least, had various of Helmut's loyal attendants at call, should she need any help. And she was far better off not having to be with the rest of them--their minds and discussion in only one place. The poor woman had enough visions of death to try to forget without everyone around her reminding her of them all.
All of these were rationalizations, were what the poor man was forced to tell himself. It had been Nikita herself who had asked him to stay with the party, knowing that Andrew, as their new ally, needed to be better introduced to them--not just announced and abandoned. But, even if there were things he needed to discuss with the banker, not being beside his wife was hard on Michael now--every day bringing his departure that much closer. And, given what they had all been witness to last night . . .
He couldn't allow his thoughts to linger here, not if he hoped to remain sane--all of Madeline's threats far too apparent. He might not know the whole of the situation, but it was clear that the wretched Formitz had destroyed yet another life; it was difficult to repress the shudder, the thoughts moving on. But what Bauer might have done to her beforehand was far too revolting to contemplate.
He refused to now, feeling ill at the very thought. But he was helped none at all when his gaze landed on the paper on the coffee table before him--left open to the column he so dreaded. This one held with the usual party line--couldn't help but do so. But every word of it was yet another stab to each of their hearts.
He felt his eyes moving over it, unpleasantly compelled--in the group's silence--to examine it once more. It read:
Such news, my darlings! You won't believe it! If you think that Hedda's going to give you a typical report of a glamorous Hollywood premiere, think again. This one has everything beat.
Now, no time to waste! To begin at the beginning, you all know that I went to the opening of the new film by Premier's darling couple, Michael and Kitty Samuelle: *Shadows in the Night*. But that tells you nothing. Oh, yes, there were beautiful gowns. That gorgeous millionaire, Helmut Volker's, wife, Kate--the former Kate Quinn, I know you remember her--looked particularly stunning in another of her own, daring creations. And, as always, the great Samuelle was heart-stopping to every girl in sight, while his darling wife looked absolutely beautiful. You *do* know what they say about that certain glow that women in her condition take on. But none of this was the highlight of the evening--oh, no. That one was a surprise to us all.
What do I mean? I'm sure you're asking it. Well, it wasn't the fact that I'm *certain* I saw that handsome newcomer, Andrew Shears, flirting with the youthful and oh-so-lovely Susan Sash. (Do I detect wedding bells after all that blushing of our youthful star? Fast work, Mr. Shears!) But, no, the real show happened outside--and not on the red carpet! But I have to warn you, what Hedda saw there is *not* for the faint of heart.
Are all the kiddies in their rooms? Good, now let me explain. It seems that just premiering their new detective movie wasn't good enough for Premier. Instead, we got the actual show outside in the alley! Complete with a fake dead body and an examination by our favorite new detective, the crowd was entertained with a real mystery. Sadly, we didn't get to hear any real conclusions, as this was all just an advertisement for *Shadows* (A little cheap, if Hedda does say so herself, since we were all already there to see it). But all the actors in the Premier stable definitely played their parts.
Now, all of this was quite a shock to Hedda, as well as to many of the guests, I'm sure. And I have a few things to say about both this stunt and the movie. Mr. Wolfe, this show *was* a little dark--and not just the story itself (I mean, was I *supposed* to be able to see something in many of those frames? We could certainly have used a little more light!). First, we're entertained with blood and gore on the very sidewalk--a bit theatrical, really--and then we sit through an hour and a half of very unlikable characters. Now, detective films are . . . what they are, but this was all a bit maudlin. Really, with all the sorrow in the world these days, couldn't we all use a little cheering up? Not to see our lovely heroine . . . well, I won't give away the ending. But I have to say, I hope that, when Mr. Samuelle returns from the duty he feels he has to perform, we're treated to something far happier than this.
Michael sighed, having read the article more than once already, uncertain what to think. While Hedda had helped circulate the lie they had all taken part in--the one the police were undoubtedly helping out with right now--she could actually have been far harsher on the whole experience than she had been. And, while wishing fervently that someone would come down on Madeline for her deadly tricks, Michael was well aware of where the blame would go for a bad film--or the morbid display before it. If Hedda had found nothing worse to insinuate than a--truthful--lack of happiness to the evening and the fact that poor Susan had been flushed and looking for comfort as she could find it, he guessed he shouldn't complain. They were probably lucky that they had gotten off as lightly as they had.
This wasn't the only thought to circle through his mind, however, the horror of the evening only heightened by its careful orchestration. He didn't really know whether Madeline had calculatedly plotted the girl's death or simply used it, once it had occurred--any woman unfortunate enough to associate with Bauer doomed to an obvious end--but the event couldn't have been better planned had she worked out every detail in advance. The poor girl had been stiff, slightly blue, by the time they had seen her--had probably been dead awhile. Still, she hadn't been disposed of long enough to make those in the crowd believe anything but the display they had been presented, wasn't in bad enough shape to make them question. God help them, but they were even lucky that there hadn't been much of a smell yet--the one his poor Nikita had complained of detecting later probably more the result of her shocked mind playing tricks on her, bringing back the past. Had the demented pair who had ended the girl's life acted any earlier, the crowd might have caught on, the illusion the tutor had so carefully stage-managed damaged; he felt the shudder creep slowly up along his spine. But her powers of pretense weren't any greater a comfort to him now.
"Is there nothing we can do for her?"
Michael was broken from his discomforting thoughts--if they could even be called that, as nightmarish and unreal as everything had been for the last day or so--by the newcomer's question. They had already been discussing the general situation, had told him a little about those he had to watch out for, before they had fallen into their temporary silence; he didn't blame the man for his obvious shock. Undoubtedly, Shears had thought that Hollywood would be different than Broadway--but it was unlikely that he had ever imagined the murderous scene he would actually be wandering into.
This was certainly true, Andrew's sad, desperate gaze meeting the people around him--looking for answers, all of it unsettling. This would have been an odd enough day had there been nothing but this introduction to the banker and his friends. Meeting a millionaire--probably a millionaire several times over, he was polite enough not to ask--was strange enough on its own, and he had never expected the living arrangements he had discovered in the man's home, either, or to be trusted with the knowledge of them. True, there had been a few whispers on the grapevine about Volker, about the fact that his marriage to Miss Quinn was a lie, but that wasn't anything unusual. What he had expected to find was that the woman was simply looking after herself financially; his gaze moved over the people around him. To discover that both members of the marriage had decidedly atypical partners of their own . . .
This would have been an odd enough fact for one day, Kate's choice--or, rather, the open acknowledgment of her choice among her friends--especially amazing. He smiled at Terry's quizzical look, before his own, sad one drifted away. It wasn't that any of it was a real shock, as far as human relations in general went, but, given Michael's attitude toward the newcomer's own sexuality, when the older actor had first discovered it, it wasn't what he had expected at all.
Andrew shook his head, as these issues flitted through his mind--serving as a vague, chaotic background to his other thoughts--but he was mostly far too overwhelmed by other issues to ponder them deeply. To know that Michael and Nikita chose their friends for who they were, rather than for the usual, societally-mandated criteria, was rather heart-warming. Or it would have been, if . . .
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