======================================================
“A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.” - Act I,
Scene 2
Hutch pulled his ancient brown Ford into the lot behind the
theatre and turned off the motor. For a
moment, he simply sat there, listening to the old car’s engine wheeze and sigh
as it settled in for the night, looking at the back of the theatre.
He wasn’t exactly looking forward to going inside.
He knew he had an hour or so before anyone else arrived, but
when they did, there would be a thousand questions. The company members would want to know why he had been arrested,
and why he was now free. Drake had
contacted everyone last night, as he, Hutch, and Starsky had agreed, but had
told them only that Ken had been released and they would be performing Friday
as scheduled. The three of them had
worked out the public version of the story, which was actually mostly true:
that Hutch had been arrested because his fingerprints had been on the weapon
and he could not account for his whereabouts at the time of the murder. However, he had been released on bail. If anyone cared to pursue it any further,
Drake had put up the bail; hopefully, this would help ease the company’s mind
about his stand on Hutch’s innocence.
Whether anyone would buy it or not, and what effect their
skepticism or belief had on the production, remained to be seen.
He was also keenly aware that the killer was still on the
loose, probably getting ready to hit again, and also probably knew that Hutch
was a cop. It was not the first time in
the past 24 hours that Hutch had missed the accouterments of his job; though he
couldn’t take the gun or the badge inside, he had had some comfort knowing they
were as close as his car. At least
Starsky would be there, so he wasn’t completely alone.
Hutch took a deep breath, and finally talked himself into
getting out of the car and starting toward the theatre, grateful that he would
have some time to himself before having to tackle the questions and stony
looks. As he was crossing the lot,
however, Roz’ tiny silver Gremlin whipped through the alley and into a
spot. Before he could react, or even
take another step, the tall redhead was out of the car and in front of him.
Her hand lashed out.
The gesture was so completely unexpected that his typically sharp
reflexes were caught gaping, and she cracked him a good one across the
cheek. As she wound up to swing again,
he stepped back and caught her wrist.
“Would you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing?” he
asked her, grabbing the other wrist as she brought that hand up to finish what
the first one had been thwarted from doing.
“Oh, you’ve got a helluva lot of nerve asking _me_ that
question!” she exclaimed angrily, her brows knit in a scowl as she tried to
free herself. “How can you even show
your face here, after you...you...” Her face crumpled then, and her shoulders
hitched as an enormous sob escaped from her chest.
Hutch was even more surprised by this turn of events than
the slap. “Roz, what is this?” he
asked, worried. Tears streaming down
her face, she was unable to answer, could only wave her imprisoned hands in a
feeble attempt at communication. He
released her wrists and pulled her close against his chest, then just held her
there until her sobs weakened and finally trailed away. “Come on,” Hutch said
gently. “Let’s go inside and talk about
this, huh?”
She nodded, and they made their way out of the parking lot,
across the alley, and into the theatre.
As they walked through the door, another car slid down the
alley, turned into the lot, and parked near the back.
In his dressing room, Hutch dampened a wash cloth with cold
water and handed it to Roz for her red and swollen eyes. This clearly was not the first time she had
been crying today; he wasn’t sure whether her tears had to do with Troy, or
Carl, or him, but he was concerned about her.
She had struck him as a strong and independent young woman, who had
helped shore up her fellow actors during the nasty turns of event and been a
bit of a cheerleader the rest of the time.
Her hearty laugh and no-nonsense attitude had been a godsend during the
rehearsal process; every tragedy needs its moments of lightheartedness, for the
sake of the actors as well as the production itself. She had to be pretty close to the edge to break down like this.
Roz took the cloth and tilted her head back, laying the cool
dampness over her eyes. From behind
this mask, she said with a rueful smile, “Thanks. I guess you’re not a total
bad guy, after all.”
Relieved to see that she had recaptured her wit, Hutch half-smiled
himself. “I’m not a bad guy at all,
Roz. The whole thing was a mistake.”
She turned her head to look at him, the cloth dropping into
her lap. She studied him closely, the
green eyes intent and inscrutable. He was glad he was telling the truth; he had
no doubt that she would be able to ferret out any soul intrepid enough to tell
her a lie.
“A mistake?” she said at last. “How can that be?”
He explained about the fingerprints, the rehearsal weapon,
and the fact that he had been alone for most of the morning. “But there weren’t any witnesses and I have
no motive,” he concluded. “Rules say they have to let me go if I’ve got the
bail.”
“What happens next?” she asked, her face puckered in a
worried frown. “I mean, will there be a
trial?”
“I have no idea,” Hutch said honestly; it was a question he
had been chewing on himself. If he and
Starsky didn’t find the real murderer, this was going to take up a lot of his
time in the next few weeks, and in a very unpleasant manner. Though he knew he was innocent, as did
Starsky and a lot of other people, Dryden held no such beliefs. He would make Hutch’s life a holy hell until
the case was solved, and would no doubt take great pleasure in the process.
Roz leaned back in the chair again, resuming her position
and laying the cloth back over her face.
Hutch glanced at his watch and felt torn. He only had a few more minutes before he needed to start his
warmup, which he felt he particularly needed today to get him back into actor
mode after the long absence. On the
other hand, he didn’t want to rush Roz out until she seemed to feel
better. He shifted restlessly in his
chair.
“Do you need to go?” Roz asked, peeking at him from
underneath the cloth.
“Pretty soon,” Hutch admitted. She got immediately to her feet, taking the cloth with her...then
stopped near the door. She looked back
at him, and her face again held that serious, shy expression from opening
night.
“Ken...” she began, with the same uncertain tone. “I...” Again, she opened her mouth, closed it,
then half-smiled in a self-deprecating way.
“Never mind.”
“You know, that’s the second time you’ve done that,” Hutch
said teasingly. “Why don’t you just
tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Oh, it sounds so ridiculous,” she said, twisting the
washcloth between her hands, oblivious to the water that was collecting on her
clothes and at her feet. Hutch went
over and took the cloth away, tossing it on the makeup table, and covered her
hands with one of his own. He smiled
down at her in gentle encouragement.
“It can’t be as bad as all that,” he coaxed. “Come on...I promise I won’t laugh.”
Roz cleared her throat and tore her gaze away from his. I
know he thinks he’s helping, but those eyes are _not_ making this easier.
“Okay,” she conceded, “but remember you promised.” She looked down at her hands; despite
Hutch’s touch, she still somehow managed to wring them together in place of the
cloth. “I...the reason why I was so
angry when I saw you wasn’t just because I’m upset about Carl and Troy, though
I adored them both,” she began. “I was
also...disappointed.”
“Disappointed?” Hutch echoed with a frown; then he realized
what she meant. “In me?”
“Right,” she said, now turning the rings on her
fingers. Hutch finally took her hands
in both of his; she was a worse fidgeter than he was. “I know it sounds silly, but as we’ve worked together,
I’ve...come to have feelings for you.”
She took a deep breath, dropped her hands, and raised her head, tossing
her hair somewhat defiantly and looking him right in the eye. “I think you’re very attractive, Ken, and
I...would like it if we could see more of each other after the show is over.”
Her disclosure was not entirely unexpected, given his
suspicions on opening night, but Hutch was still touched and flattered....and
for a moment, very, very tempted.
But then it occurred to him that she had not fallen for Ken
Hutchinson, Detective...but Ken Hyde, Actor.
There were a lot of deceptions and untold stories between those two, and
who knew how she would feel when she heard the truth?
She saw his indecision and looked away, blushing with
embarrassment. “I - - you don’t have to
say anything, Ken,” she murmured. “It’s
all right...I just thought...” She pulled her hands from his and turned away,
heading for the door.
“Aw, Roz, don’t be like that,” Hutch said, feeling terrible
as he intercepted her before she could leave.
“It’s not...look, it’s not that I’m not attracted to you...it’s
just...I...things are really, really complicated...”
“Are you married?” she asked suddenly. “Oh my god. Usually I can spot a married guy
a mile away...is that it?”
“No,” Hutch said emphatically, glad that he could at least
dispense with that issue. “Trust me, _that_ is not the problem. I just...look,
this is just not a good time.” Jesus
Christ, Hutchinson, he groaned inwardly, can’t you say _something_ that
doesn’t sound make you sound like a lying jerk?
“Right,” she said, in a tone that said she had heard all of
those lines before. She reached past
him for the door handle; Hutch gave a noise of exasperation and took her gently
by the upper arms, steered her to a chair, and sat her down. He pulled another chair opposite her and
sank down onto it, taking her hands again and looking straight into her eyes.
“Roz, look...I’m going to be as honest with you as I can, at
this point,” he began sincerely.
“There’s no one else, I’m not married, and I’m not disinterested...in
fact, just the opposite. I think you’re
incredibly talented, and a lot of fun..and not incidentally, very beautiful.”
She blushed and gave him just the ghost of a smile.
“But there are a lot of things you don’t know,” Hutch went
on, relieved to see that she was hearing the good news as well as the bad. “And I can’t tell you...not yet. But when this is all over, I swear...we’ll
get together, have a nice dinner, and I’ll explain everything.”
She examined him closely again, her expression this time so
sweet and trusting that he was even more grateful that he was telling the
truth. He inclined his head and raised
his eyebrows in silent inquiry.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“It’s a date.” She glanced at
her watch and then rose quickly from the chair, changing from shy young woman
to professional actress in that single lithe move. “I’d better let you get to your preshow,” she said briskly. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” Hutch agreed, smiling at her. She turned to go, then hesitated and turned
back. In a swift move, she stepped to
him, leaned down, and kissed him gently.
Then she turned again, and slipped quickly out of the room, leaving
Hutch sitting in his chair, able to do nothing more than blink for several
seconds.
*********************************
Roz was humming as she moved gracefully down the hallway,
past the two downstage entrances and the lighting storage closet. It wasn’t exactly a yes, she said to
herself, but not completely a no, either.
And Ken had said he found her attractive, so it seemed there was more
hope than not. Thank heavens. For a
moment, she had been sure she’d made a total idiot of herself. But now...
She dimpled to herself and pulled keys from her purse as she
reached the women’s dressing room.
Still humming, she unlocked the door and stepped inside, letting the
door close as she turned to flip on the light switches.
When she turned back, however, she gave a small scream; then
leaned back against the door with a self-conscious little laugh.
“What on earth are you doing, sitting here in the dark?” she
said, to the familiar figure who sat in a chair at the makeup table. “You scared me half to death.”
“You sound like you’re in a good mood,” the other replied
evenly. Roz reflected briefly that he
sounded odd, but she was too light-hearted about her encounter with Ken to give
it very much thought or ask him what was wrong.
“Yes, I guess I am,” she admitted, with a small, private
smile and just a hint of a blush. “Why
are you here so early? I thought your ritual began on the hour.”
“Not today.”
Roz shrugged, putting her purse and her makeup case on the
counter. She flipped open the case and
began rummaging through it, looking for the bobby pins she used to secure her
hair while she applied her makeup.
The other figure rose to his feet, his movements purposeful
and his eyes a mixture of regret and something far more dangerous.
Roz didn’t notice.
She was still thinking of Ken, and she knew this man better than anyone
else in the entire company. It wasn’t
the first time he had kept her company while she put on her makeup, or vice
versa.
She thought nothing of it as he passed her...had a moment of
surprise when he locked the dressing room door...and was completely
flabbergasted by what he did next.
Which was to wrap one hand around her waist and slap the
other over her mouth.
At first, she was too startled even to struggle. Then, as he
started to drag her toward the back of the dressing room, she attempted to
wriggle from his grasp, but it was with the half-strength exasperation one
friend has for another who has taken a silly trick too far.
He reached the shower.
Pressing her body against the wall with his own, he released her waist
and turned on the water. Then he turned
back to her, and looked her right in the face.
Now she noticed his eyes.
Now she began to fight.
Now she began to scream, but between his hand and the
running water, very little sound emerged...nothing that could penetrate the
walls or the door, which were extra stout to prevent noise from leaking through
to the stage upstairs.
In one swift move, he had her under the stream of water, her
hair gripped tightly in his hand so that her head was locked back painfully,
her mouth forced open so the water raced in.
At first she tried to swallow it, gulping, choking, gagging.
Eventually, she had to try to breathe.
And eventually, it was water and not air that filled her
lungs.