“I think it was close to a hundred bucks,” Billy says. “But that actually wasn’t the worst part. She also took a pricey necklace, which the chick said was a gift from her parents.”
“Who was this other actress, anyway?”
“Cary something. She was in the same play as me. Curly brown hair, overacted as if the fate of Western civilization depended on it.”
I know exactly who he’s talking about. One evening she and I had gotten to talking and realized we both loved the playSkylightby David Hare, how our dream would be to star in it. We’d even gone out for coffee after an early rehearsal and had promised to stay in touch, but as often happens, neither of us ever reached out.
“And she was sure Hannah did it?”
“Well, Hannah wasn’t required to open her purse or consent to a strip search if that’s what you mean. But CaryWhatever-Her-Last-Name-Is said that they’d changed clothes at the same time in that pit of a dressing room, and she caught Hannah watching her during the process. If I remember correctly—and I’m trying not to tax too many brain cells doing so—Cary said she’d forgotten she’d worn the necklace that day, and stuck it into the toe of her boot because she couldn’t wear it during dress rehearsal. She’s clearly one of those actors who believe in total authenticity.... Don’t tell me none of this is ringing a bell?”
I’ve combed through my memories as we’ve been speaking, pulling up a few images from the run of the showcase: the overcrowded coed dressing room that reeked of someone’s BO; a director going nuclear on one actress who wasn’t off book by dress rehearsal; Gabe applauding wildly as I took my bow on opening night. But I finally realize why I missed the showdown Billy’s talking about.
“I needed to meet Gabe at an event that night, and I had to leave the second my own dress rehearsal was over,” I tell him.
“Too bad, because the drama in the dressing room was better than anything those playwrights had written. I almost thought Cary wouldn’t show for the play the next night, but someone apparently talked the poor thing off the ledge.”
“And Cary’s only evidence was that she’d noticed Hannah watching her undress?”
“No, there was also some maintenance guy who was dragged into the mess. He claimed he’d seen Hannah alone in the room at one point, in the corner by Cary’s stuff.”
A bed creaks on the floor directly above me, and I pause for a sec, wondering if I’ve woken Gabe, but the cottage goes quiet again.
“Do you think Hannah really stole the stuff?” I ask.
“Probably. She denied it and claimed the maintenance guy was pissed because she’d given him the deep freeze after he’d tried to flirt with her. But there was something off about her whole demeanor that night. She seemed almost bemused by the accusation, not at all embarrassed.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. I’d thought about asking her out for a drink but changed my mind. You know I like edgy, Summer, but I draw the line at sociopaths.”
“Glad to hear you were looking out for yourself. Anyway, I appreciate the info. And I better let us both turn in now.”
We sign off, and I tiptoe back upstairs, crawling into bed in the pitch-darkness. I flip onto my back and lie there with my eyes wide open and my curiosity on fire.
Did Hannah really steal the cash and the necklace? I’ve only got Billy’s version of events, but the fact that she lied to me about being in the showcase suggests she has something to hide.
It’s hard to draw a bigger conclusion from it, though. Maybe stealing’s something she did once out of total financial desperation. I certainly felt a little desperate for cash myself in the years before I began landing regular voice-over work and married Gabe. True, I neverstoleanything, but when I was waiting tables for extra income, eager for the biggest tips possible, I regularly upsold my customers desserts like Anjou pear crisps and pumpkin mousses theysodidn’t need.
It’s kind of a moot point, anyway, I think as I finally drift off to sleep. If Nick’s recent history is anything to go on, hisrelationship with Hannah is hardly likely to progress beyond a sex-fueled fling.
When I wake the next morning, Gabe’s side of the bed is empty, and I find a note from him on the dresser explaining he’s at the tennis court hitting balls with Henry. I’m shocked to discover that my watch says it’s eight o’clock. Peering out the window, I see that it’s another drop-dead gorgeous day, the kind of weather that reminds me I should be relishing the week ahead, but I still feel oddly unsettled—about yesterday’s recording session, and about Hannah.
After a quick shower, I start up the path to the house, where I know Claire and Bonnie will have set the sideboard on the patio with a continental breakfast. Fortunately for me, late sleepers are never penalized here. Off in the distance, I hear friendly shouts from the tennis court and theplock, plockof a ball in play.
Nearing the house, I pass one of Claire’s larger gardens and a favorite of mine. It’s an extraordinary mix of not only colors but textures, too, and abuts a grove of boxwood clouds, bushes that have been pruned into massive balls of green with a small glade in the middle, like something from the pages ofAlice in Wonderland.
There’s a wrought-iron table at the edge of the garden, and this morning a mug is resting there along with a floral plate hosting a half-eaten piece of dry toast. Thinking they’ve been left behind, I start to grab both to take indoors, but then notice that the mug is filled with what looks like tea.
A moment later, I hear murmuring and the snap of abranch as Wendy steps out from behind one of the boxwoods, talking quietly on her cell phone. She’s dressed in a filmy, pale orange tunic and white capris, with a thick gold bangle on her wrist. I view the loose top—along with the dry toast—as an additional hint that she might be pregnant.
It takes her a second to notice me, and when I see that she’s about to jump off the call, I shake my head to convey that I’ll catch her later. But she quickly murmurs a farewell, disconnects, and moves toward me.
“Sorry,” she says. “Work.Clients don’t consider Saturday an off-duty day.”
“Blake said you’ve been on the road a lot lately, too.”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’ve got a client in Palm Beach I see several times a month. And two in Texas. One’s a friend from Yale who’s already made a fortune in oil and gas.”
