Rudolph! (28 page)

And Ted was still missing. Erma didn't know where he'd gone, but she had been happy to tell everyone what she thought of him. He would do well to keep running in whatever direction he had gone.

Once the SPD had taken my deposition, I was clear to finish the job I had been hired to do, and the one thing I had been following up on was whether Metcalfe wanted to still be involved in the production in any meaningful way. I finally got through to the ex-cattleman himself shortly before Barb returned with the two I had sent her to find.

Metcalfe spoke slowly but clearly. I said little, and most of it was variations of "yes, sir."

Bucky Dowminster was rounder than Franklin and had a broad nose that reminded me of a hand trowel. He spoke in a breathy voice, and he had fingers that were long and spindly. Sally Hollis—the Costume Director—was Bucky's opposite, tall and lanky like a shoot of bamboo. She wore her hair back in a ponytail, and her round spectacles softened the angular shape of her face. She wore muted clothing that didn't make her stand out in a crowd, but from the cut and the fabric, I could tell it was from designer racks in Paris.

"Why is that window missing?" Bucky asked the obvious question as he and Sally stood at the table. There was only one chair in the room, and Barb sat in it possessively.

"I needed some air," I said.

"You could fall out," he said, his voice carrying a hint of a passive-aggressive whine. Like there was something on his mind other than the open window. Like the fact that there wasn't a chair for him.

"Not from over here, I can't," I said, ignoring the tone of his voice.

Barb was wearing a pea coat she had nicked from the wardrobe while she was fetching Sally, and she looked quite cozy, bundled up in it.

"Is there a reason you wanted to see us?" Sally asked.

"Yeah," I said. "We are going to open on the thirteenth, like I told everyone earlier. And that's a tall order, I know, but there's a couple of other things that we need to do too." I tapped the stack of new scripts I had run off in the hotel's business center last night. "First thing: we're cutting scenes IV and V in Act II."

Bucky screwed up his face. "The orgy? Why?"

I glanced at Barb, who kept her expression neutral. "Because it's twenty minutes of staged fornication," I said.

"It's great theater," Bucky said.

"It may be, but it isn't funny."

"It's not meant to be," Bucky countered. "It's supposed to be horrifying. I mean, metaphorically speaking. I'm not really a reindeer, and I'm not really having sex with all those women, but that's not what it is all about. You know?"

"I don't, actually," I said. "It reads like twenty minutes of Franklin getting his rocks off in front of a live audience."

"Is that what it does for you, Bucky?" Barb asked.

Bucky reddened. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have a regular, normal sex life. You can ask my wife."

"Before or after she's seen that scene?" I asked.

Bucky's face turned even redder, and he rubbed his arms vigorously, letting us know he wasn't pleased about the window. Or standing. Or the way we were all ganging up on him.

"Right," I said. "The orgy goes. A couple of lines of dialogue get folded into Scene VI—"

"Which lines?" Bucky wanted to know.

"The good ones," I said.

Barb covered her mouth with her hands to hide a smile. Bucky glared at her because he didn't want to risk me glaring back at him.

"Speaking of lines," I said. "Do you know who wrote the script? I assumed it was Franklin, but it doesn't have his name on it. The copyright is for someone named ‘Dread Caspian.'"

"I think it's probably a pseudonym," Sally offered. "It might not mean anything. Or it might be her initials. Or his. I mean, the writer's."

"But not Franklin," I said thoughtfully. Something nagged at me about that, but I couldn't quite place it.

Bucky crossed his arms and started wiggling his leg. "What are we going to do about choreography? I know you said that the dancers were either going to nail it or not, and that you didn't care. But there are still some problems with ‘The Dance of the Wretches.'"

"I know," I said, putting aside the thought that wasn't quite there. "And I've got it covered. I'm bringing someone in to do some last minute tune-ups."

"Who?"

"A specialist."

"Who?" Bucky repeated.

"A friend of mine," Barb supplied. "She's very good."

"Who?" Bucky asked again.

"Nancy Harrington," I said. "Local talent. She's perfect."

Bucky furrowed his brow. "Local? I don't think I know her."

"You wouldn't," Barb pointed out. "She did most of her work in North Carolina." A tiny smile caught at the corner of her mouth. "Back in the aughts."

"What shows?" Bucky pressed.

"It wasn't theater. She coached the Elite Allstars out of Greensboro."

Bucky's jaw dropped. "A dance team? You're bringing in a cheerleading coach to do choreography?"

"She has two qualities that make her perfect," I pointed out. "She's great at building morale, which we could use a good boost of right now."

"And the second?"

"She's available."

"But what does she know about French avant-garde?"

"Not a damn thing," Barb said. "Which is probably about as much as Henrik knew."

"This keeps getting better and better," Bucky groused. He glanced at Sally, hoping she was going to share his frustration. Sally, wisely, didn't make eye contact with Bucky.

"You'll like this then," I said, sliding over a piece of paper bearing a hasty ink sketch.

"What's this?" Bucky asked after he had stared at the picture for a minute.

"Your new costume," I said. Both Barb and Sally crowded in, but Bucky snatched it up before either of them could get a good look at what I had drawn. "I'm not a very good artist, but I'm sure Sally can figure out what I mean."

We all stared at Bucky, who didn't want to relinquish the drawing, but he finally relented, handing it over to Sally.

"Oh," was all that Sally said when she saw it.

The other reindeer in the production, the eight who pulled Santa's sleigh, had been designed with flashy costumes—the sort of thing you saw at Cirque shows. I hadn't changed them. I had changed Rudolph, and instead of a towering figure with a pointed rack of horns, the new design showed a man in a poorly fitted reindeer outfit with stuffed horns. It was a full body suit, hands and feet included—the gloves were mittens. Oversized mittens, at that. The cowling with the red nose hung over his forehead. He was going to have to keep pushing it out of the way with his floppy mittens.

"I'm going to look like an idiot," Bucky said.

"But at least you'll be in on the joke," I said. "Not the other way around."

"Oh, that's just great," Bucky snorted.

"Look, Rudolph can't be played as this demonic creature bent on world destruction," I said. "The audience won't have any sympathy for him if we play it straight. You're the hero of this story, Bucky. You want the audience rooting for you. You want them on your side."

"This is pure tragedy," Sally said, tapping the picture. "Look at this face, Bucky. Look how he is suffering. I feel sorry for him already."

Against his better judgment, Bucky sidled over to Sally and looked at the picture again. "You think so?" he asked.

"Totally," Barb said. "Mr. Rosewood is right, Bucky. This is much more . . . what's the word I'm looking for?" She glanced at me.

"Shakespearean," I said.

"Yes, that's it. Much more Shakespearean."

Bucky looked back and forth between us for a few minutes, licking his lips and trying to figure out if he were mocking him. I managed to keep a straight face, though Barb had to turn away and cough. "Okay," he said finally. "But it's got to fit me a little better than that."

Sally looked at me, and I gave her the I'm-not-the-Costume-Designer shrug.

"I've been working out," Bucky said. "For the org—for some of the scenes. Don't want to waste that effort, do we?"

"Not at all," Sally said, smoothly taking control of the situation. "How about we cut off the sleeves?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. He glanced down at his arms, visualizing how his exposed biceps would look. "That'd be great."

Sally smiled at me in a very understanding way. "I'll get started on this," she said. "Is there anything else?"

"No," I said. "That should do it."

Sally nodded at Barb and headed for the door. Bucky hung around for a second, and when I didn't say anything, he glared at the open window one last time as if to remind me that it still bothered him, and then he hurried after Sally. "You know," I heard him say as they left the room. "I've always wanted to do Shakespeare."

Barb waited until the door shut before letting out the giggle she had been fighting. "Oh dear," she said, flopping back in the chair. "Do you think she'll keep the mittens?"

"With big white fur cuffs?" I said as I wandered over to the open window. "I hope so." I leaned out and whistled sharply.

"Is there anything you want changed in the set design?" Barb was watching me, a curious expression on her face.

"Not right now, no. But there's something else I want you to see." I wandered back to the desk, and picked up the large envelope I had prepared.

"Nancy will be here—"

A
whoosh
and the clatter of reindeer hooves interrupted her.

"Oh . . . "

"Say hello, lads," I said.

All five of the reindeer crowded into the office. Ring was in front, and he came over to Barb's chair, carefully keeping his antlers out of the way. "Hello, Ms. Prescott," he said. "I like your work."

"My . . . my work?" Barb had drawn her feet up into the chair.

"Ring," I said sharply.

"Sorry," he said, ducking his head. "I know. I know. We're not supposed to be in the building, but I got curious. I wanted to see the throne room you were talking about." He danced around the chair. "It's really cool," he gushed.

"That's Ring," I said, pointing at the youngster. "He has trouble following directions." I indicated the others. "Blitzen. Donner. Cupid. And the big one in the back is Rudolph."

She looked at each of them in turn, her expression slowly changing into wide-eyed delight. "Isn't he . . ." she started when she got to Rudolph. "Isn't he supposed to have a red nose?" she asked.

"Only when he's grumpy," Cupid said.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Blitzen said. He bent his front legs as if he were curtsying, which I suppose he was. "We don't normally get to interact with real people."

"Hey," I said. "What about me?"

"What's up, boss?" Donner asked. He was the only one who appeared to notice the envelope in my hand.

I held it out, and he took it from me. "There's a truck in Toledo that has our theater seating in it. It isn't moving because the company hasn't got any drivers to spare. I've got an envelope full of cash money that says they can probably scare one up if properly motivated. The problem is that I need that truck here tomorrow."

Ring clattered around the chair, eagerly peering at the envelope. "Ooh, same day reindeer service," he said. His brow furrowed as he tried to read the address.

Blitzen backed around Ring. "Ohio," he said as he trotted toward the window. "No problem, Bernie. We'll take care of it." He dropped out of sight, and Cupid was right on his tail. Donner nodded to Barb and I before heading out the window too.

Ring was still working on the address. "Where's Ohio?" he asked.

"Other side of the Mississippi," Rudolph supplied, shaking his head.

"Hey, where's—" Ring suddenly realized the other three had already left without him. "Where'd they go?"

"Try the other side of the Mississippi," Rudolph offered.

"That's east, right?" Ring skipped towards the window. He stopped on the edge and looked back. "Right?"

"Everything is east of here," Rudolph said.

Ring snorted. "Why didn't you say so?" And he jumped out the window too. Gravity took him, and we heard him shout with glee as he swooped up and buzzed the building before headed out over Puget Sound.

"I can't believe I let him lead the team," Rudolph said, watching Ring fly in the wrong direction. "He doesn't even know his geography."

"He'll learn," I said.

"I knew my geography," Rudolph pointed out as he wandered closer to Barb and me.

"That's because we didn't have GPS tracking back then. You had to know where you were going," I pointed out. "Besides, he's just going to follow the others."

Barb was breathing very shallowly and slowly. "This is a little much," she finally managed.

Rudolph nodded. "It can be. I'm sorry if we've surprised you."

"No," she said. "No, it's not that."

Rudolph raised an eyebrow. "You aren't surprised by flying, talking reindeer?"

She managed a short laugh. "Yes. I mean, no." She held out her hand. "May I?" she asked. He nodded, and she carefully touched his smooth flank. Her fingers danced at first as if she was touching something hot and then settled, her palm finally resting against his hairless body. "You're not what I expected," she said. "The stories . . ."