CHAPTER THIRTY

THIRTY
Everything is moving right along with Pretty
Lady. It is going to be an uplifting, laugh-filled evening
of musical entertainment. David staged a run through
for me tonight. There were a few hiccups but nothing
that makes me think the wheels are going to fall off
between now and opening night. Quite the contrary.
The music is tight, the singers are on key, and
everyone has a solid handle on their lines and cues.
The dance numbers will tighten up as soon as the
chorus gets in front of an audience. The curtain call
was awkward but I called David over and gave him a
few notes as well as my congratulations on a job well
done.

Tony Crakow sat and watched with me. He was
pleased.
“We’ll be open in plenty of time for Tony
eligibility.”
“Did you think we wouldn’t?”
“Gus, there was a moment when I was afraid
we might not open at all.”
“I know what you mean.”
In truth, I am thrilled that we will start
previews before Daylight Savings Time begins.
Exiting the theater a few minutes later, I felt
what may have been a pang of remorse when the
image of Danny’s smiling face flashed through my mind. There would be a memorial service for him once the show was open. I knew his body was already cremated and the ashes in the possession of his family.
Before heading to Alabama for my weekend outing with the pig farmers, I extended the offer to the family by telephone on Friday evening to pay for Danny’s body to be shipped home to California and was informed that his two sisters were already in New York making arrangements and would be present at the cremation on Saturday. There would be no service at that time. I spoke with Danny’s mother and Mrs. Limm told me the family had inquired about shipping the body.
“It would cost almost fifteen thousand dollars. The girls can bring his ashes in their carry-on luggage.”
Danny’s mother said that she knew her son would prefer it if that much money went to “something to do with helping people with AIDS” and I promised to make a substantial donation to Broadway Cares in Danny’s memory. She apparently had no problem with her son having been gay. I found that touching.
I decided to stroll through the Friday night Times Square throngs. There was still half an hour before intermissions began at the theaters. The crowds were composed of tubby families of tourists from the Midwest, and over made up groups of Jersey girls, and Germans and Asians and all manner of humans who were there so they could say they had been to Times Square. Few, if any of these people had a taste for theater. I knew that I would ignore them and focus on the light. I was not yet hunting.