Act V Read online

  Act V

  Ansley Adams

  Act V

  by Ansley Adams

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2013

  Ansley Adams

  Cover art copyright 2013

  K. Keigley

  Professional editing

  L. Keigley

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Act I

  The point!—envenom'd too!

  Then, venom, to thy work.

  ~~Hamlet, Act V, Scene II~~

  William Shakespeare.

  Chapter 1

  "So, Claude, how are the wife and kids? Doing well I hope.”

  The man addressed as Claude said nothing. He was clad in a gray, pin-striped, business suit, accented by a red power tie. His hair, black and tending toward silver at the temples, sported a fresh trim, obviously not done for $15 at Budget Cuts. He sat slumped in the leather, wingback chair, his colorless face showing only enough lines around the eyes and mouth to give him what had once been an air of distinction. “What’s wrong? Isn’t the wine up to your standards?”

  No response.

  “I’m so sorry. I did the best I could on short notice. But it’s one of the wines your wife keeps in her wine cellar. I picked it up from downstairs. I suppose anyone could make a mistake and buy a poor label, bad year, that kind of thing. But isn’t your wife something of a wine connoisseur?” He lifted the wine glass that sat on the claw-footed end table studying it carefully and sniffing the blood-colored fluid with leisure. “Oh, wait, now I remember. It’s not your wife that’s the connoisseur, it’s her first husband, the late Mr. Danning. My mistake.” He held the wine goblet to the lips of the silent man in the leather chair. “More? No…well it might help ease the pain from that little nick you’ve got there in your belly.” As if unaware of Claude’s unwillingness to drink more, he tipped the glass upward watching as rivulets of wine poured from the corners of the man’s mouth.

  Claude let his eyes drift slowly to the middle of his torso where the hilt of a sixteenth century long sword protruded from his muscled abdomen, blood flowering out from the wound, mingling with the spilled wine, forming a scarlet sunburst on his starched white button-down. Still he said nothing. He couldn’t. A low groan escaped his lips before his shoulders slumped further down, his head dangling to one side, his eye-lids giving up the battle to remain open.

  “Well, then, I guess you’ll be joining your brother now, won’t you. I hope you’ll give him my best.”

  Glynnis jerked upward in bed doing everything in her power to catch her breath! The covers were smothering her and she tossed them off with a single fierce kick. Outside, the wind knocked around branches on the old magnolia, occasionally causing one to pound the side of the house like an angry neighbor demanding entrance. The storm was approaching and any normal person would have crawled back under the covers. Glynnis, grasping for a breath that didn’t make her feel like a baby hippo was riding her chest, swung her legs around to sit on the side of the bed. Her digital alarm clock glowed 3:00 a.m.

  Her dog, Carl, curled up further under the blanket giving Glynnis a sleepy glare meant to remind her that it was time to rest, not walk. She breathed, or tried to. Sitting wasn’t helping at all. “Sorry Carl, back in a minute,” she whispered. She stumbled into the bathroom without turning on a light. Her feet felt numb and heavy, like lead. They always did after sleeping for a few hours. It was as if someone had latched steel cuffs onto her ankles and started twisting. Holding onto her dresser, she managed to get to the sink without falling and grabbed the plastic cup she kept there for nights like this. Glynnis turned on the tap and half-filled the cup, gulping down the water in seconds. She felt her air passages begin to moisten but it wasn’t enough; she still couldn’t get a clear breath. Fumbling for the light switch, she made her way into the hallway and then the back door, the stiffness in her legs beginning to loosen a bit.

  The door opened after only minor fumbling. Glynnis stepped her feet, one bare and one covered in a sleeping sock, onto the back porch. Cool air flooded her grateful lungs, and she felt as if she’d just gotten a second chance at life after almost drowning. Though the air was heavy with humidity, it was cooler than in the bedroom and she could breathe again. It was miraculous. She stood there watching the starless night for a few seconds more wondering what had awakened her to such a feeling of smothering. Waking in this panicked state was a problem that occurred only once in a while. It happened more frequently when she fell asleep on her back, causing her mouth to drop open and her air passages to dry out. But claustrophobia was something Glynnis dealt with in its milder form on an ongoing basis. She could manage elevators, but she hated them and tended to get flustered if the doors hesitated at all before opening to allow her to exit. Escalators were not a great option for other reasons. Worse for her was when too many people crowded into a tightly confined area. Air travel on small planes was a horror she avoided usually with success. All in all it was a manageable phobia. But what had brought on this sudden anxiety?

  She rewound her night. She’d gone to bed, fallen asleep reading, then…the dream. This was the second night Glynnis had woken from the same dream this week. There was a man, a dead man who had a familiar face but Glynnis couldn’t place him, and there was a disembodied voice. Well, it wasn’t exactly disembodied. She could see the man, but only in shadow, not clearly enough to make out features. There was also a sword, a lot of blood, and wine. None of it really made sense, especially since she could never remember all of it. She rarely recalled any of her dreams in their entirety, but that didn’t make them any less frightening.

  Working her way back to the bedroom, Glynnis decided to leave the lights on and try to sleep again. She wouldn’t be worth a tomato in January the next morning if she couldn’t. Her left foot was frozen despite the warmth of the night. She searched under the covers to find her lost sleeping sock, with the small, round grips on the sole. They were needed but made her feel a lot older than she was. It had worked its way down between the footboard and the mattress. She snatched it up and forced her now chilly foot inside. Then pulling up the sheet only, she turned on her side and tried to slow her heart beat to a manageable pace for sleeping. “Good night Carl,” she mumbled, feeling the dog snuggle into his favorite spot behind the crook of her knees. “Let’s hope the third time won’t be the charm.”

  Carl yawned.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said with apprehension and regret, “It always is.”

  *****

  “Excuse me sir,” the boy managed to eek out of a mouth that looked like it had just been released from braces. There was almost invisible fuzz growing down from his chin as if he wanted to grow a soul patch and just hadn’t gotten very far. “Your wife is on the phone, sir.” How old was this kid anyway? The temp agency had sent him to cover for Darcy, who was out with a nasty case of the pukes. Hopefully, it would only be a 24 hour version because this wet behind the ears mutt was really getting on Dan’s last nerve. Darcy knew everything about the business down to who Dan did and didn’t want to talk to on the phone. Darcy wouldn’t have asked about a call from Dan’s wife. She would have sent her straight through. Gloria’s was the one voice he always wanted to hear.

  “Sir?” the kid asked hopefully, waiting for instructions. “Would you like for me to transfer the call in here?” Dan was sure he could see pimples on the kid’s
homely cheeks and if there wasn’t a pocket protector in his shirt, there ought to be. “Mr. Danning…what would you like for me to…”

  “I’ll take it in here, um…” Dan searched his mind for a name but it wouldn’t come.

  “Bob.” He filled in.

  “Right, Bob. Just transfer it to me in here."

  “Yes sir.” Bob backed out the door as if he were afraid to turn his back on the almighty Claude Danning and eased the door shut behind him. Moments later the phone on Dan’s desk rang.

  Dan picked up the receiver and leaned back propping both feet on top of his desk. “Hello, is this the lovely Mrs. Danning?”

  “Hey Dan,” Gloria’s sweet Southern voice almost dripped over the phone lines. She used her drawl like only women born of Old South money could. “I was wonderin’ if you were going to make it home in time to go to the club tonight. They’re havin’ a shower for Roe Anne’s girl, Sissy. She’s getting married next month.”

  Dan groaned and rolled his eyes. “Um, isn’t a wedding shower sort of a girl thing?”

  “Well, usually it is, but…”

  Here it comes.

  “Well they wanted this to be a Jack and Jill shower so the boys could join in.”

  “That was considerate. Does that mean if you’re single, you’re not allowed?”

  Gloria groaned and worked up a little whine on the other end. “Baby, I told you about this last week. Don’t you remember?”

  Gloria had told him any number of things last week but he wasn’t likely to remember them without Darcy here to remind him. She was his right hand and his left and this little piss-ant boy, Ron…Rob…Don…whatever his name was, wasn’t coming close to filling her shoes.

  “I’ll try to make it, honey. What time does it start?”

  “Dinner at seven at High Top and the shower afterward at the Club around 8p.m.”

  “What if I meet you at the Club? I don’t think I’m gonna make dinner.”

  “Oh, alright Dan,” Gloria huffed with exasperation. “We’ll be in the Magnolia Room at the Fairfield Country Club, not the Clearview Club. Please don’t be late.”

  “I won’t.” He thought about what kind of work he could use to beg off, but Gloria was so excited about the two of them getting out together. This would be only the third or fourth time they’d been together in public since their wedding two months ago. It was hard to believe he’d managed to finally marry his high school sweetheart after all these years. But here they were, sweethearts again, and the talk of the town…even if some of the talk was more than nasty. “Gloria,” he added before hanging up. “I love you.”

  A few minutes later Bob popped his head back into the door. “Sir, if it’s alright with you, I’m going home now…Unless you need something…it’s six o’clock and I promised my…”

  “It’s okay. Go ahead and I’ll see you tomorrow if Darcy’s still out.”

  “Thanks a lot! I mean, I hope she’s still out.” He faltered for a moment, realizing what he’d just said. “What I really meant was….I hope Miss Raynor is okay, but I like working here and…well…I’ll see you later.” He almost fell out the door.

  Dan tried not to laugh as he looked over the stack of files on his desk. If he planned to make it out of here before eight, he’d have to really tackle some of this paperwork in a hurry. He picked up a file and got started.

  *****

  “Okay, Act I, Scene 1 again from the top.” Glynnis wiped a layer of perspiration from her forehead and the back of her neck with a towel that had been tossed across the front row of seats. She grimaced at the paint and oil stains on the rag. Even with the indoor rehearsal space it was hot in the theatre…too hot. She wasn’t sure how she was going to handle the heat once they took the whole thing to the outdoor stage. But she’d managed before; she’d do it again.

  Three witches took the stage dressed in jeans and t-shirts. It was still too early in the rehearsal process to worry about costumes, even rehearsal costumes. “Alright,” Glynnis called. “we’re in blackout, well, as much blackout as you can get outside in the summer, lights and fog comes up…and,” She pointed to the witches.

  “When shall we three meet again…”

  This was Glynnis’ favorite part of Macbeth: the witches, the prophecy, the cauldron, and yet she couldn’t focus. I should be calling the police, she reasoned. But what would I tell them? Somebody’s going to be killed by a sword and force-fed a glass of wine? And by the way, I don’t know who it is or when it will happen. How do I know this officer? Well, I dreamed it of course, twice actually, and if I dream it again, it will be too late to change it. I’m a three times you’re out kind of dreamer. Yup, they’ll jump right on that one.

  “Fair is foul and foul is fair,” the witches cackled. “Hover through fog and filthy air.” Evil laughter filled the stage as the three danced and gyrated in evil glee, almost convincing even Glynnis of their witchiness. They were all three great character actors.

  “More writhing on this part, ladies,” Glynnis called out. “You’re actors, act like you like each other. Uhm…not that much, Robyn, this isn’t the Roman Polanski version. Go more Disney. People bring their kids to this show.” That brought on a round of giggles.

  Their celebration was interrupted by the tinny ring of a cell phone playing Brown-eyed Girl. “Oops, sorry, Glynn.” Celeste, witch number two, grabbed for her purse. “I forgot to turn it off.”

  Glynnis rolled her eyes, but said, “No problem, Celeste. Five minute water break guys. Go pee if you gotta…but I do mean five minutes, not fifteen.”

  Glynnis climbed the stairs to the backstage area, holding tightly to the handrail. She wanted to check the scenery being constructed by her tech guy, Aaron, and his assistants. “Looking good, Aaron!” She said, checking out the castle turret, which rose easily twenty feet, nearly touching the teaser curtains. The height wouldn’t make any difference outside. Out in the open the general rule was, the bigger, the better. After all, it had to be seen. Once outside, the turret would have stairs behind it to allow for a second level of interaction, and especially for the entrance of Lady Macbeth in the "Out damned spot!" scene. “Will you be able to move this through the outside door and onto the stage in the park? It looks enormous!”

  Aaron stopped hammering and glowered up at Glynnis. “Alright there, Miss Director. If you think you can do any better, there’s another toolbox right up here and…”

  Glynnis smiled. To hear Aaron speak, you’d think he was raised by cows and chickens underneath the farm. But she knew for a fact that it was all show. Yes, he had been raised right here in South Carolina by mill worker parents, but he could sound as refined as a CEO from Manhattan when he wanted to. Aaron had a bachelor’s degree in theatre from Winthrop and a master’s in technical theater from NYU. He could have stayed in New York and made a pretty good living in theatre, but he had come home after graduation, taking a job in the small, professional theatre here. He was proud of his good old boy heritage and wore it like a military uniform. “Take it easy there, Aaron.” She patted his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to question your judgment.”

  Aaron grinned back and spit out a wad of gum into the plastic trash can beside him. Glynnis knew it was gum but it might have been a wad of tobacco the way he’d pressed his tongue to his teeth when he did it. “Well, I suppose I could let it slide just this once. Here,” he grabbed one side of the turret with both hands. “Let me show you how it works.” With deft, experienced hands, he folded the roughly ten by twenty foot piece of carved plywood into four neat sections connected by hidden hinges.

  Glynnis was honestly impressed. “Aaron, you are brilliant.”

  The praise caused Aaron’s handsome, if somewhat sunburned, face to light up like her grandma’s front porch on Halloween. “Thank you, ma’am. I do my best.”

  Glynnis could hear the actors returning behind her. “Thanks Aaron, keep it up.” She walked gingerly toward the short case of four stair steps and made her way down, holding ont
o the rail with caution. She hoped nobody was watching. Stairs always gave her away.

  “Glynnis, honey…” Aaron’s voice stopped just short of pity. “You feelin’ okay? Tell the truth, are you getting worse?”

  She reached the bottom and turned with all the grace she could muster. She aimed a beaming smile to Aaron. “My dear, I didn’t know you cared.”

  His eyes narrowed and his mouth straightened into a flat line. “Don’t try to brush me off, Glynn. You know we all worry about you.”

  “I’m fine, Aaron. I was a klutz long before the MS. I’m just being careful so that you don’t have to take me to have my leg put into a cast while you’re wearing those hideous overalls. It might be embarrassing.”

  “Glynn…”

  “Oh please don’t give me that puppy-dog look. I’m really doing great. The meds are excellent and I work out every night. My doctor seems happy and you don’t see a cane in my hand yet, do you?” She didn’t tell him that she kept one in the hatchback of her SUV in case of emergencies or that she suffered from bouts of “MS banding” around her chest area at least once every couple of months. Some fool online had dubbed it the “MS hug”. If that was a hug, a bear trap was a kiss. Glynnis kept it to herself. Nobody wanted to hear that stuff anyway.

  Aaron shrugged. “Okay, sorry. I know I’m not your mama.” He thought about that for a second and one side of his full mouth crept upward. “Course, if you need a keeper, somebody to watch out for you, maybe give you the occasional spanking…”

  Glynnis rolled her eyes dramatically and sat down in the center of the first row. “Hey everybody, come sit down so we can talk for a sec.” The cast and crew plopped down on the stage, folding long legs beneath themselves or hanging them over the front. “You’ve put in a really good rehearsal today and I’ve got to leave a little early so we’ll stop here, but I…”