CHAPTER FIFTY

FIFTY
I love the excitement of opening nights – my
own and those of others – even if does take place
after a month or more of preview performances. I
wanted this one to be especially fun, as it could be my
last New York premier. More and more the London
vampire’s offer is sounding attractive. Pretty Lady may
be my swan song on Broadway. So I took every step
possible to make the evening a success, something for
New York to remember Gus Windham by.

Patti solicited all the usual suspects from the
entertainment community, and where her calls failed I
telephoned people myself. Elaine and I came to terms
for me to have the entire restaurant kept private from
ten o’clock on opening night until the party ended.
There will be a menu including salad or
appetizer, choice of three entrées and tiramisu as
dessert. Every table is to have a bottle of red and white
wines on it when the guests arrive.
The bar will be open for the entire party.
Of course, there will be unlimited Veuve Clicquot.
That is the Gus Windham style, and it will not be
soon forgotten. It is a Thursday night and it is not
an inexpensive proposition. But then again, it is
only money, and what is money when you have a
Broadway hit and you are going to live forever?
I decided not to watch any part of the opening night performance of the show. Instead, I arrived well after intermission ended and waited outside the theater, just as Julian Marsh would have. The mainstream press and prime time TV news critics all saw the show in the last two previews these last two nights leading up to the opening. I paced. I stood under the marquis and looked up at the incandescent light bulbs spelling out Pretty Lady.
I fed before arriving at the theater so as not to look wan. Every couple of years I allow myself a freebie, and tonight was a freebie night. I snatched a woman jogger in Riverside Park above the boat basin. I drained her every drop and thrilled at the death rattle as she faded in my arms. Then I slashed her throat with a knife which I dropped in the river afterward, tore her clothes, and rolled the body in the soil under some bushes. Following all this, I leapt into a huge oak tree and perched the corpse among the branches there.
With complete exsanguinations, I like to make it look as though the murder occurred elsewhere and the body was moved. This throws off investigators and helps cover my tracks, as it were. It is only a game, of course, but I enjoy playing it well.
Everyone else can celebrate with the best champagne but I prefer those last precious drops of blood and the unmistakable presence of the tenacious life force as I suck it dry.
The entire process of feeding and arranging the body took less than ten minutes. I leaped skyward from the tree, cleaned the blood traces off my face at home, changed quickly from my all black ninja look to black tie, and took a cab to the Belasco. The taxi ride from the Upper East Side to the theater district was the longest part of the process.
Pretty Lady is a sweet tale of love in a bygone era of New York. Surrounded as it now is by stories of murder and curses, the response of the opening night crowd of tastemakers and trend setters is important. At some point the charm of the story and the endearing quality of the melodies have to be what people talk about or else this show will be nothing but an oddity, and likely a short-lived one.
Ten minutes before the final curtain a fleet of automobiles began to arrive and soon West Forty Fourth Street was clogged with Town Cars and stretch limousines. Ten of the Town Cars were being charged to my account. Some of these were to surprise people who mean something to me or to New York – the playwright Edward Albee, and others who do not get the grand treatment as often as they should, like the original media icon Joe Franklin -- while cars also were being supplied to older women of star power, like Elaine Stritch, who would otherwise not have attended the party, and told Patti as much when she extended the invitation on my behalf.
The drivers in my employ each got out of their car a few minutes beforehand with a cardboard sign with the passenger’s name. I walked along and checked the signs to make sure that all the names were spelled correctly and that everyone on my list was represented in the line. When I came to my driver, I introduced myself and told him to be patient; I would be the last to leave in this first wave.
The absence of investors creates something of a vacuum when assembling an opening night crowd on Broadway. Of course, I knew this when taking on the production eight months ago. The flip side of this is that there are more seats available for paying customers.
The crowd began to exit the theater. I watched while leaning against the dark polished granite corner of the building next to the theater. There’s a pine tree there that blocks the view of the marquis from Sixth Avenue and I mused upon showing up with a chain saw and carrying out a tree massacre. Then again, this show already has enough weird publicity surrounding it.
I listened to the comments from the crowd. Everything being said was positive to a degree that exceeded my expectations. Not one cringe-inducing slam or sarcasm was uttered. One could even say that the people leaving the theater were bubbling with joy. If the critics are in agreement with the opening night crowd, this show may be the megahit that I crave.
Of course, the crowd was nothing like the first opening night crowd for this show. Back then, going to the theater meant dressing up – not only for opening night but for any night. Now at least half the men in the crowd did not even bother to don a blazer. At least the classic little black dress was in plenty of evidence among the women, even most of those on the arms of sartorially slipshod males. There were enough sequined star turns by my claque of invited grand dames to provoke camera flashes and crowd murmurs. Not one top hat or white tie to be seen, though.
Patti spotted me and waved, then walked quickly towards me.
“The crowd seems enthusiastic,” I said.
“Enthusiastic is putting it mildly – four curtain calls to a standing ovation. Gus, it’s a hit.”
“Four curtain calls? Really?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t watch.”
“The truth is, I overslept a little and then decided not to hurry. I’ve seen the show so many times already  . ..”
“Well, you missed it. They loved the show. I mean, they really loved it. You should have been there for the curtain, Gus. You should have gone up on stage. The crowd would have gone wild.”
“Bows are for actors. Producers make sure that there’s toilet paper in the rest rooms.”
“It’s your opening night. Like, it’s the one night you can forget about the rest rooms and totally revel in your brilliant work.”
“Thank you, Patti. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Can I ride with you to the party?”
“Of course you can. Do you have a date?”
“Tonight? Of course not. I’m going to be your escort.”
“How kind of you.” I linked arms with Patti and drew her close.