“You don’t know me, but I’m—”
“You’re Margaret, Alexis’s dresser.”
“I was, Miss Casey.” The smile faded and returned. “For the length of the engagement, you know. Well, I’m at liberty now, so I thought I might give you my card. You’ll find me loyal and efficient. Hardworking, Miss Casey, and clean. An expert seamstress and laundress, and a discreet companion.” She was offering a somewhat battered business card.
Cassie accepted it.
“When I was with Miss Sinclair . . . You must know of her work? Miss Easter Sinclair, Miss Casey—”
Margaret had been interrupted by India’s rapping the door frame with hard, directorial knuckles. “Can I see you for a minute, Cassie?”
Cassie nodded and pointed to Margaret. “How much?”
“Only nine-fifty a week, Miss Casey, and—”
“That’s too much.” Cassie looked around for her purse, found it, and opened it. Neither cop, it appeared, had taken her money. “Here’s twenty. I want a sandwich with lots of meat in it. Hot pastrami, understand? On rye with thousand island. A big coffee to go, sweetener but no creamer. Go get them, and we’ll talk about your pay when you get back.”
India shut the door behind Margaret. “I see you know,” she said.
Cassie, who had not the least idea what she was talking about, nodded.
“If you’d played Mildred like that from the beginning, we’d still be running. Hell’s belles! By this time you’d be Jane Simmons.”
“Something was different tonight,” Cassie said; mostly to herself she added, “I don’t know . . .”
“It sure as shit was.”
“And now I’m about to hire a dresser who’ll cost me—do you happen to know what Alexis was paying her?”
“Eight twenty-five? I think I heard that.” India dropped into the dressing room’s one tattered chair, leaving Cassie the stool.
“A man owes me a hundred thousand.” Cassie sighed. “I guess I’ve started spending it already. I’d better collect.”
“Good luck. Can I tell you what I wanted to talk to you about?”
“The cast party? If you’d rather I didn’t go, I won’t.”
“Screw the cast party. No, I take that back. You’ve got to go. It’ll look bad if you don’t.”
“Bad for you?”
“Hell, yes.” For a moment, India seemed worried and a trifle angry. “Bad for me and bad for you, too. Bad for everybody in the show.”
“Alexis has decided she hates my guts.”
“So what? She won’t be there.”
“How do you know that?” Cassie wondered whether she looked as surprised as she felt.
“It stands to reason. All the bees will be buzzing around you. She can join the buzz or stand in the corner and pout. Or not go. Which one would you pick?”
For a moment, Cassie could only stare.
“You think I’m kidding? I’m not.”
“All right, I’ll go. Now tell me why you want me to.”
“See here, Cassie . . .” India’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “I’ve got this angel. Heavy, heavy guy. Wants to back a big musical. You sing, right?”
She nodded. “Not so you’d notice. I try.”
“And dance?”
“Last time I looked.”
“Well, you’ll wow him. Give him the smile, give him the voice, and we’re in.”
“I’ve got a question, India. Don’t string me on this. I want an honest answer, and I want it now.”
“How much? We’re not talking hard numbers yet, but it’ll be big.”
“How long have you known this guy?”
Someone knocked. It was neither Margaret’s soft tap nor Mickey’s rapid pounding. Cassie motioned India to silence and opened the door.
Jimmy stood there holding his watchman’s cap, looking resolute and a trifle embarrassed. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Casey, but I have to deliver a message. There’s a man in the alley, and he’s got a nice present for you. That’s what he said. I . . . Well, I promised I’d tell you right away.”
India said, “Okay, you’ve told her. Disappear.”
It seemed to Cassie that Jimmy’s normally ruddy
“You’re Margaret, Alexis’s dresser.”
“I was, Miss Casey.” The smile faded and returned. “For the length of the engagement, you know. Well, I’m at liberty now, so I thought I might give you my card. You’ll find me loyal and efficient. Hardworking, Miss Casey, and clean. An expert seamstress and laundress, and a discreet companion.” She was offering a somewhat battered business card.
Cassie accepted it.
“When I was with Miss Sinclair . . . You must know of her work? Miss Easter Sinclair, Miss Casey—”
Margaret had been interrupted by India’s rapping the door frame with hard, directorial knuckles. “Can I see you for a minute, Cassie?”
Cassie nodded and pointed to Margaret. “How much?”
“Only nine-fifty a week, Miss Casey, and—”
“That’s too much.” Cassie looked around for her purse, found it, and opened it. Neither cop, it appeared, had taken her money. “Here’s twenty. I want a sandwich with lots of meat in it. Hot pastrami, understand? On rye with thousand island. A big coffee to go, sweetener but no creamer. Go get them, and we’ll talk about your pay when you get back.”
India shut the door behind Margaret. “I see you know,” she said.
Cassie, who had not the least idea what she was talking about, nodded.
“If you’d played Mildred like that from the beginning, we’d still be running. Hell’s belles! By this time you’d be Jane Simmons.”
“Something was different tonight,” Cassie said; mostly to herself she added, “I don’t know . . .”
“It sure as shit was.”
“And now I’m about to hire a dresser who’ll cost me—do you happen to know what Alexis was paying her?”
“Eight twenty-five? I think I heard that.” India dropped into the dressing room’s one tattered chair, leaving Cassie the stool.
“A man owes me a hundred thousand.” Cassie sighed. “I guess I’ve started spending it already. I’d better collect.”
“Good luck. Can I tell you what I wanted to talk to you about?”
“The cast party? If you’d rather I didn’t go, I won’t.”
“Screw the cast party. No, I take that back. You’ve got to go. It’ll look bad if you don’t.”
“Bad for you?”
“Hell, yes.” For a moment, India seemed worried and a trifle angry. “Bad for me and bad for you, too. Bad for everybody in the show.”
“Alexis has decided she hates my guts.”
“So what? She won’t be there.”
“How do you know that?” Cassie wondered whether she looked as surprised as she felt.
“It stands to reason. All the bees will be buzzing around you. She can join the buzz or stand in the corner and pout. Or not go. Which one would you pick?”
For a moment, Cassie could only stare.
“You think I’m kidding? I’m not.”
“All right, I’ll go. Now tell me why you want me to.”
“See here, Cassie . . .” India’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “I’ve got this angel. Heavy, heavy guy. Wants to back a big musical. You sing, right?”
She nodded. “Not so you’d notice. I try.”
“And dance?”
“Last time I looked.”
“Well, you’ll wow him. Give him the smile, give him the voice, and we’re in.”
“I’ve got a question, India. Don’t string me on this. I want an honest answer, and I want it now.”
“How much? We’re not talking hard numbers yet, but it’ll be big.”
“How long have you known this guy?”
Someone knocked. It was neither Margaret’s soft tap nor Mickey’s rapid pounding. Cassie motioned India to silence and opened the door.
Jimmy stood there holding his watchman’s cap, looking resolute and a trifle embarrassed. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Casey, but I have to deliver a message. There’s a man in the alley, and he’s got a nice present for you. That’s what he said. I . . . Well, I promised I’d tell you right away.”
India said, “Okay, you’ve told her. Disappear.”
It seemed to Cassie that Jimmy’s normally ruddy
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