hear?”
“It didn’t mean anything,” said Ulrike Innes, looking uncomfortable.
“Then it won’t matter if you tell us,” said Sigrid. “His words weren’t clear, but Ginger went out on the landing and left the door ajar so I could tell that Eric was yelling about something. In just a minute or so, Emmy came upstairs to change and I heard Eric call Ginger a couple of ugly names.”
“Was Miss Mion angry or upset when she came in?”
“Not the way you’d think,” Innes said slowly, as if trying to choose the exact words to describe her dead colleague. “She didn’t get mad because Eric was trying to pick a fight with her, but she did tell him to bug off when she thought he was being unfair to Ginger.”
“Was he being unfair?”
Ulrike Innes folded her arms across her chest and studied the tips of her slippers. “Maybe, maybe not. The point is that Emmy was almost neurotic about playing fair and doing the right thing-all that truth, justice, and American way of life they try to teach you in Girl Scouts. She actually believed in it. I know that probably sounds unreal because she didn’t care what you did to yourself- for yourself-drugs, sex, stuff like that. That was your own private business as far as she was concerned. But the bedrock stuff that hurt somebody else-cheating, stealing, or hurting someone on purpose-she positively, absolutely wouldn’t stand for it.”
Her blue eyes filled with tears and she fumbled fruitlessly in her pocket for a handkerchief. “I don’t know if we can hold together without Emmy.”
There was a box of tissues on a nearby shelf and Bernie Peters handed it to Innes, who took one and blew her nose with a firmness that tried to deny the grief which threatened to overwhelm her. “We all help Helen paint flats and stitch costumes; we all help Nate hoist lights and string extension cords; and we all take turns at housekeeping chores, secretarial duties, or teaching the dance classes. That’s the whole point of being in a repertory-slant-improv company-just like we all take turns dancing the lead.
“Emmy had the solo today, but she wasn’t what you’d call the star- of 8th-AV-8.” Fresh tears glittered on her long mascaraed eyelashes and her voice trembled. “I think she was its heart, though.”
Emotion and sentiment always made Sigrid awkward. She pushed back in her chair, mentally distancing herself from the unhappy dancer, and her voice became brusque as she inquired about the last hour of Emmy Mion’s life.
According to Innes, she and Ginger Judson had finished dressing and, as they went downstairs to join the men, Emmy had followed them onto the landing and told them to break a leg. That was the last time Ulrike Innes heard her speak.
Their dance had lasted eight minutes and she saw Emmy standing at stage right, ready to slip into her place as soon as Nate killed all the stage lights and everyone exited stage left.
“Where did you go?”
“Up the spiral staircase and along the hall to the women’s dressing room.”
“Did you see any of the others?”
Innes sat up straight in the chair. “Ever since it happened, I’ve been trying to remember as clearly as possible; but it’s weird. Things we did at rehearsal keep getting mixed in with what we did this afternoon.” She looked at them anxiously. “I don’t want to give any wrong impressions.”
“We understand,” Sigrid said in a neutral tone.
With her feet flat on the floor and her hands folded in her lap, almost as if she were testifying from a witness stand, Ulrike Innes said, “To the best of my knowledge, then, Eric and Win went up the stairs ahead of me. I don’t know what Cliff did. Win went into the men’s dressing room at the head of the stairs and Eric went on down to the bathroom.”
“How did you know who was which?” Sigrid asked. “Weren’t they still wearing those pumpkin heads?”
“Win took his off as he opened the dressing room door and-I don’t know-there was
“It didn’t mean anything,” said Ulrike Innes, looking uncomfortable.
“Then it won’t matter if you tell us,” said Sigrid. “His words weren’t clear, but Ginger went out on the landing and left the door ajar so I could tell that Eric was yelling about something. In just a minute or so, Emmy came upstairs to change and I heard Eric call Ginger a couple of ugly names.”
“Was Miss Mion angry or upset when she came in?”
“Not the way you’d think,” Innes said slowly, as if trying to choose the exact words to describe her dead colleague. “She didn’t get mad because Eric was trying to pick a fight with her, but she did tell him to bug off when she thought he was being unfair to Ginger.”
“Was he being unfair?”
Ulrike Innes folded her arms across her chest and studied the tips of her slippers. “Maybe, maybe not. The point is that Emmy was almost neurotic about playing fair and doing the right thing-all that truth, justice, and American way of life they try to teach you in Girl Scouts. She actually believed in it. I know that probably sounds unreal because she didn’t care what you did to yourself- for yourself-drugs, sex, stuff like that. That was your own private business as far as she was concerned. But the bedrock stuff that hurt somebody else-cheating, stealing, or hurting someone on purpose-she positively, absolutely wouldn’t stand for it.”
Her blue eyes filled with tears and she fumbled fruitlessly in her pocket for a handkerchief. “I don’t know if we can hold together without Emmy.”
There was a box of tissues on a nearby shelf and Bernie Peters handed it to Innes, who took one and blew her nose with a firmness that tried to deny the grief which threatened to overwhelm her. “We all help Helen paint flats and stitch costumes; we all help Nate hoist lights and string extension cords; and we all take turns at housekeeping chores, secretarial duties, or teaching the dance classes. That’s the whole point of being in a repertory-slant-improv company-just like we all take turns dancing the lead.
“Emmy had the solo today, but she wasn’t what you’d call the star- of 8th-AV-8.” Fresh tears glittered on her long mascaraed eyelashes and her voice trembled. “I think she was its heart, though.”
Emotion and sentiment always made Sigrid awkward. She pushed back in her chair, mentally distancing herself from the unhappy dancer, and her voice became brusque as she inquired about the last hour of Emmy Mion’s life.
According to Innes, she and Ginger Judson had finished dressing and, as they went downstairs to join the men, Emmy had followed them onto the landing and told them to break a leg. That was the last time Ulrike Innes heard her speak.
Their dance had lasted eight minutes and she saw Emmy standing at stage right, ready to slip into her place as soon as Nate killed all the stage lights and everyone exited stage left.
“Where did you go?”
“Up the spiral staircase and along the hall to the women’s dressing room.”
“Did you see any of the others?”
Innes sat up straight in the chair. “Ever since it happened, I’ve been trying to remember as clearly as possible; but it’s weird. Things we did at rehearsal keep getting mixed in with what we did this afternoon.” She looked at them anxiously. “I don’t want to give any wrong impressions.”
“We understand,” Sigrid said in a neutral tone.
With her feet flat on the floor and her hands folded in her lap, almost as if she were testifying from a witness stand, Ulrike Innes said, “To the best of my knowledge, then, Eric and Win went up the stairs ahead of me. I don’t know what Cliff did. Win went into the men’s dressing room at the head of the stairs and Eric went on down to the bathroom.”
“How did you know who was which?” Sigrid asked. “Weren’t they still wearing those pumpkin heads?”
“Win took his off as he opened the dressing room door and-I don’t know-there was
Similar Books
