A Motive For Murder Part 23

"Shut up, Lane," a voice suggested from the back of the room. Other voices murmured their a.s.sent. It was not the first time that day that board members had called for the chairman to b.u.t.ton her lip. Mutiny hung in the air.

"I'm not going to turn my back on a sixteen-year-old girl just because it may be embarra.s.sing to the board," Ruth declared. "Good grief, what in the world is there left to be embarra.s.sed about? We're already the laughingstock of Manhattan."

"I vote we appoint Ruth Beretsky the official board representative to Andrew Perkins's funeral," Auntie Lil suggested quickly. "And that we appropriate a modest sum for flowers." She paused. "But make the card out to his daughter."

"I'll go with you," Lilah said quietly, patting Ruth's hand. "My driver can take us. That is, if you'd like the company."

Ruth nodded mutely and the subsequent vote was swift and overwhelming. For the first time in her quiet life, Ruth Beretsky had been chosen by her peers to represent them.

"Are you sure you're not nervous?" Herbert asked again, one eye on the nearly empty martini gla.s.s by T.S.'s elbow. It was his third martini. Or was it his fourth? Herbert wondered uneasily.

"Absolutely not," T.S. declared. "My toes are positively twinkling." He caught Herbert's glance. "But don't worry. I have no intention of having another drink."

A groan went up from the crowd at the far end of the bar as the bartender resolutely changed the channel on the television set, switching off a basketball game in favor of a local cable station. "Sorry, guys," he announced. "This is my favorite talk show. Is this dame hot or what?" He turned up the sound and the canned applause of a prerecorded intro rolled down the bar. Dozens of images of a blond woman's face merged and moved on the screen. Her smile was so wide T.S. could count the cavities in her molars.

"I can't stand this woman," T.S. announced loudly as the opening credits segued into a shot of the talk-show host bouncing perkily onto the set. "She's had more parts replaced than my Aunt Minnie's Audi and her taste in guests deserves excoriation." He slurred the final word a bit, but thought it unlikely that anyone had noticed. Who ever used "excoriation" anyway?

Herbert checked his watch, wondering what in G.o.d's name T.S. was talking about. He had no Aunt Minnie, to his knowledge. But then Herbert had observed that the drunker an American, the odder their expressions. "How much before the meeting is over, do you think?" he asked T.S. anxiously.

T.S. shrugged. "I'd give it another half an hour. Bottoms up." He drained the rest of his martini.

The televised studio audience was obediently applauding as the hyperkinetic hostess introduced her first two guests. To the utter disbelief of both T.S. and Herbert, Paulette Puccinni and Jerry Vanderbilt bounded onto stage, holding hands like the coziest of couples.

"Today," the talk-show hostess announced breathlessly into her microphone, "we have two very special guests from right here in Manhattan. Two very talented artists who endured a conspiracy of murder and mayhem at the Metropolitan Ballet, facing death each day yet bolstered by the deep and enduring friendship that exists between them."

"If not for Jerry, I would never have survived that wretched experience," Paulette gushed as she settled her ample caftan-clad rear into the guest chair. "I would have gone mad with fear. But we had each other, and while we faced unknown danger daily, at least with one another we knew we were safe."

Paulette beamed at Jerry, who held his hands up in the air then clasped them together like a boxing champion while the audience broke into thunderous applause.

"Bartender!" T.S. bellowed. "Bring us another round!"

"Why not?" Auntie Lil asked Lane. "It's time for the Metro to make a change. If we offer Ben Hampton a seat on the board, we can only win. He will never attend the meetings. Believe me, he's far too busy and has more important items on his agenda. But we will look serious about our desire to right past wrongs, and most important of all, we will have found a way to differenttiate ourselves from the City Ballet and ABT."

"She has a point," one of the socialites on the board said, although her sentiment was rather more self-centered than Auntie Lil's. "I'm tired of having to apologize for the Metro to my friends. We're always not quite good enough. Why do we keep chasing the other ballet companies? Let's take a chance and do something different."

"Exactly," Auntie Lil said, warming up to a topic that had been percolating in her mind for a week now. "Let the Metro Ballet become the real ballet of New York City, open to people of all shapes and colors. Let our ranks reflect the true nature and glory of this great international city of ours. Let people years from now look back and say-"

"I quite agree," Lilah interrupted smoothly before Auntie Lil launched into some fractured version of Shakespeare's St. Crispin's Day speech. "There's no point in trying to be ABT or the City. Let's just be ourselves."

"If you elect that man to this board, I will resign!" Lane Rogers declared. She stood and glared around the room. "He will make a mockery of us. I tell you-I will resign!"

The room fell silent. A board member in the back coughed nervously and a handful of chairs sc.r.a.ped against the wooden floor. Raoul Martinez studied the clock on the wall intently, ignoring Lane's gaze. Auntie Lil sat with her chin cupped in her hand, content to let others do the dirty work on this one.

Lane waited, standing alone at the top of the long conference table, for her usual coterie of supporters to come to her rescue. She waited in vain.

"Well, Lane," one of them finally said with an apologetic smile. "You have been chairman for three years now. Perhaps it is time to take a rest."

"Yes," another agreed eagerly. "We can't possibly ask you to do more."

"Ruth?" Lane said, turning to her faithful friend. Lane opened her mouth to speak, but shut it when she couldn't find the right words.

Ruth shrugged. "They're right, you know," she said. "Everyone's tired of you. I nominate Lilah Cheswick to be the new chairman of the Metropolitan Ballet. She was smart enough to find out what Glick is doing and she knows everybody in the entire world."

"Oh, no. I'm far too busy," Lilah protested as dozens of heads nodded agreement and turned expectantly to her.

Ignored, Lane sat abruptly at her end of the table, staring in shock at the faces around her.

"Quit some of those other boards," someone suggested. "We need you more."

"Perhaps you should," Auntie Lil agreed. "Being chairman of the Metro would allow you to focus your energies. You might have more time for fun." She nodded ever so slightly toward the clock to remind Lilah that fun awaited them that very evening if only they could wrap up all their business and move on.

"Yes, Lilah-do it," other voices echoed, eager for the board to be ruled with grace and tact after years of dissension and spite.

"I suppose I could..." Lilah began doubtfully, and before the words were out of her mouth, a vote had been called.

Five minutes later Lilah Cheswick was duly installed as the new chairman of the board of the Metropolitan Ballet. Her first action was to call for a vote on the issue of the Reverend Ben Hampton. Auntie Lil's bid to offer him a seat on the board was narrowly defeated, but she took the matter philosophically. By now, she knew, the Reverend had probably forgotten all about the Metro and was moving on to more important things. Besides, Lane Rogers was in no danger of being suddenly re-elected and that was a most cheering thought.

"Before we adjourn," Lilah announced with admirable aplomb given her short tenure, "I would like to announce that it is my intention to divert any attempt to mount a production of The Nutcracker next holiday season. This city is awash in Nutcrackers and I for one have had enough. I don't see our city's orchestras mounting dueling versions of the 1812 Overture year after year." The room burst into spontaneous applause. When it had died down, she continued, "I propose we vote to commission Emili Vladimir to create a new ballet for next holiday season. If we act now, we will have months and months to perfect it."

"How do you know she'll agree?" someone asked.

"She will agree," Lilah explained, "because this ballet will star her son Rudy."

"Yes," Auntie Lil agreed emphatically. "Right now, Fatima Jones and Rudy Vladimir are our biggest weapons in establishing a new ident.i.ty for the Metro."

"Beautiful!" thundered Raoul Martinez without warning, causing his entire row of board members to jump in terrified unison. "We'll do something Russian. Something cold, with sweeping tundra vistas and gales of snow and sleighs being drawn across the stage."

"No!" a small bald man interrupted hastily in a pipsqueak voice. He seldom spoke at meetings. As the Metro's orchestra conductor, he was far more comfortable communicating through music than words. "No more fake snow. I must insist. You are giving my horn players pleurisy."

"He's right," a socialite agreed. "I'm sick of your fake snow. It's bad enough we have the real stuff. Let's do something romantic and Russian, something that Fatima and Rudy can really get into. Like Romeo and Juliet."

"Your geography is off, but the idea is sound," Auntie Lil agreed.

"Romanoff and Juliet!" Raoul Martinez cried.

"Let's leave it to Emili," Lilah countered calmly. Before anything more could be said, she banged the gavel and announced that the meeting was adjourned.

Board members scrambled for the door, eager to be the first to phone their friends with the inside news on Bobby Morgan's death. They burst into the hallway, only to find a tipsy T.S. blocking the door with help from a marginally more sober Herbert Wong.

"Sorry," T.S. said, stepping back with the flair of Gene Kelly in his prime. "We are here to escort the two loveliest ladies in New York City to the Rainbow Room for a bit of dancing."

He demonstrated his intentions by holding an imaginary partner in front of him and fox trotting down the hall a few feet.

"This is easy," he thought to himself. "It just takes a little practice." And what better way to practice than by grabbing a partner, he decided, taking a surprised board member in his arms and leading her back to the doorway just as Auntie Lil and Lilah appeared in it to see what was causing all the excitement.

"Theodore," Auntie Lil said in amazement as her nephew swept past in a cloud of gin and vermouth.

T.S. thrust his current partner at Herbert then highstepped it nimbly back toward Auntie Lil. He bowed low as he pa.s.sed her then grabbed Lilah around her waist. "Let's switch to the Latin dances, cla.s.s!" T.S. cried as he executed a few mamba steps, swayed to a samba, and followed with a lively rumba shake.

Herbert Wong was never one to leave his friends to suffer singular embarra.s.sment. He collected Auntie Lil and followed T.S. down the hall, his firm grip on her elbow making it plain that she was not to attempt to lead.

"Theodore," Lilah exclaimed, admiring his tuxedo, "I love to dance. But I haven't danced in years. Whenever did you find the time to learn?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, my sweet," T.S. said, dipping her over his knee to the admiring gasps of the crowd. "Now everybody cha-cha!"

Visit http://www.katymunger.com for more information on the author and her books.

Books by Katy Munger, writing as Gallagher Gray.

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A MOTIVE FOR MURDER.

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BAD TO THE BONE.

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