CHAPTER FOUR

FOUR
I took a cab to the Belasco Theatre to check
on the progress of Pretty Lady. Rehearsal was just
breaking up. I was the recipient of smiles, kisses,
quick hugs, hellos and goodbyes as the cast and
chorus left the theater. Everyone seemed upbeat and
optimistic.
Normally, that would concern me with a show
this close to opening. I like my people to worry.
There’s nothing like worrying a show into existence to
give it a certain edge.

However, I had yet to talk to Danny, my
director. I knew Danny could be counted on for a
downbeat assessment of the show’s progress.
“I should fire all the girls in the chorus and use
drag queens,” were the first words out of his mouth
when he saw me coming down the aisle. His assistant,
David, rolled his bug eyes behind his round black
frame glasses, and shrugged.
“Don’t fire anyone and certainly don’t hire
anyone without my approval,” I said.
“Your approval? Your approval?!? What do you
want – a successful show or artistic control?! Because
nobody but me, and I mean NOBODY has artistic
control on a show I’m directing. Nobody but me,”
Danny repeated, “and don’t you forget it, Gus.”
“You can be very rude, Daniel. It’s not at all becoming.”
I was baiting him.
“Oh really? You’re rude. Ben Cody is rude. Page Six is rude. That’s who’s rude. Rude and crude. Julian Marsh? Julian Marsh is dead sixty years and he gets his name mentioned. I’m probably one of the few people anymore who even knows who Julian Marsh is.”
He paused for breath.
“It’s an insult is what it is. And what are you doing dating company members? I thought you were smarter than that, Gus. Have you ever heard of sexual harassment? You could end up in the middle of a lawsuit, young man.”
David, the assistant, eased his lanky frame up from his third row center orchestra aisle seat and excused himself.
“If there’s nothing more for today, Danny, I’ll be on my way.”
“Sure. Go ahead. Get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow, and be on time.”
Danny is gay but not fey. He can and will stand up to anyone, which can be an attribute and a shortcoming in a director. Danny is of Asian extraction, Korean-American to be precise. He wears his black hair short and spiky. He is small of stature and keeps himself trim but not buff.
Danny likes drama, obviously. Sometimes it seems he prefers backstage drama to the onstage version. But then again, that could be said of many who work in theater. Danny is also a first time Broadway director.
“Goodnight, Gus.”
“Goodnight, David.”
The young red-haired assistant brushed past me going up the aisle. Then I turned my attention back to Danny, waiting until David was out of earshot as Danny was easier to converse with when he did not have an audience.
“I’ll speak to you as I wish, Danny, when I wish. It goes with the territory. I’m the producer. I’m your boss, in case you forgot.”
“Well, Mr. Producer, you should save your authoritarian speeches for the chorus girls. They’re the ones who need it. Pathetic. Every last one of them. Pa-thet- tic! They should be home resting, not out ‘til all hours sucking down Veuve Clicquot champagne, and God knows what else.”
“Do you want me to speak to the chorus tomorrow? I can’t be here until just before rehearsal breaks up.”
“It’s much too late for that. You’re never around when I need you. You’re never around when the real work is being done. You drop in at the end of rehearsals. You make it to dress rehearsal, opening night, and any and all parties and awards ceremonies. But the long hard slog? Mr. Producer is busy. Mr. Producer is unavailable. Mr. Producer. . .”
I cut him off.
“Oh stop it or I’ll fire you again. And this close to opening night, David could and probably would finish the job.”
I had already fired Danny twice on this show.
“You wouldn’t dare! I’ll go to SSDC and you’ll never produce another show as long as you live!”
“Hah! The lavender mafia -- I’m trembling in my loafers,” I replied, thinking how absurd this entire conversation was becoming, on various levels.
The assistant company manager interrupted us from center stage. “Mr. Windham, stage hands and carpenters go on overtime in five minutes. Are we done for today?”
“Send everyone home, Jack,” Danny answered before I could.
Jack must have been eavesdropping on our conversation, as he appeared unsure whether to listen to the director or not and waited for my assent.
“We’re one full day closer to opening, Jack. Send them all home, please. And thank you,” I said.
I turned back to my erstwhile director.
“Want to go next door for a drink?”
“I can’t. Tom’s taking me out to dinner. First I have to go all the way back to Queens to change and walk the landlady’s Shih Tzu. Queens. By subway. And then return to three blocks from here to hook up with him. It’s insane. My entire life is insane. I have a show opening on Broadway and I live in Queens.”
I took out my cell phone, scrolled through the contact list, and pressed send when I got “Hollywood” on the screen. Oddly enough, it’s the only H on my contact list. Or maybe it’s not so odd.
Anyway, I told the dispatcher when she answered, “Gus Windham here, Monica. Please send a Town Car to the front of the Belasco Theater, 111 West 44th between Sixth and Seventh. Make it a rush, please, and put it on my account. . . . About two hours should be enough, I would imagine. Maybe three.”
I arched my eyebrows above my shades questioningly and Danny actually stuck his tongue out at me in response.
“Okay. That’s perfect.”
I ended the call.
“You’re in luck, Danny. There’s a car in the neighborhood that’s available. It will be outside in five minutes.”
“You’re so cheap, Gus, you know that?”
My director really is becoming too much. Someday Danny boy might find himself on the receiving end of my best and his last suck job.
“I just ordered a limo for you. How does that make me cheap? It’s coming to take you to Queens, of all places.”
I spoke the name of the borough with every bit of contempt I could muster. I actually have nothing at all against Queens but sometimes Danny has a way of bringing out the vindictive side of me.
“You could have let me have a car for the entire evening. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
“This is the theater, Danny. We don’t do that sort of thing.”
Danny directed an Off Broadway show I produced three years ago. He was impossible then, too. He is talented and, in his own way, as an artist, has more than I do riding on the success of the Pretty Lady. I walked him out through the lobby.
Once the limo whisked him away, I decided to do a quick haunt and revive my reputation as a ghost. There were bound to be some crew members lingering backstage.