And Then She Died

And then she died. It was a particularly dramatic death with wailing and writhing. Finally she dropped to the floor and lay still. I looked down at her. "A fitting death for one such as you. You died as you lived. By the knife." I dropped the knife I held in my hand at her feet as the curtain fell.

She opened her eyes and looked up at me when the curtain clunked softly on the floor. "Did you have to be so forceful?" she demanded as she sat up.

I reached down and helped her to her feet. "I didn't stab you that hard." I scooped up the knife and checked the trigger that allowed the blade to slide in when it was pressed against something. "You didn't have to carry on so much."

She smiled maliciously. "I am a diva. I will carry on as much as I wish."

I sighed as the rest of the cast ran on to stage for our curtain calls. As the lead actor who spent the most on stage time with Miss Bethany Roberts, divine diva pain in my ass, I was well used to her complaints. She normally waited until we were off-stage to voice them though. I allowed myself to be pushed forward with her as the curtain rose again and we took our bows.

I was in my dressing room later, cleaning off my stage make-up, when she banged the door open. "I wasn't done discussing the last scene with you," she declared as she stomped into the room. I jumped as she slammed the door behind her. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, James."

I turned to face her, my make-up half off. "Bethany, I can't change the last scene. You knew what would be happening when you signed your contract. If you want to break it, go ahead. Talk to the director. I didn't write the damn script so I have no control over it. But stop complaining to me!"

"Fine. Be that way." She left in a huff and a swirl of skirts.

I realized after she left that she had still been in costume. Her blond hair had still been pulled into the upsweep that she wore on stage and her costume was still clinging to her body. I knew that her once firm body had begun to sag and the costume had been quietly redesigned to support it within days of her appearing for rehearsals. She really was getting too old for this type of roles; in this case the role of the young murderess who kills her whole family with a knife and was then killed herself. Not one of my lover's best scripts, but it had been playing to a full house since it had opened a week ago and I had been treated to at least one of Bethany's tirades each night. First the lights were too hot, then too bright, then too cold. Now she was complaining about how hard I stabbed her with the prop knife. I sighed one last time and turned back to my mirror to finish removing my make-up.

I was zipping up my jeans when my door opened again. I turned, expecting Bethany with another complaint and was pleasantly surprised to come face to face with my lover. He enfolded me in his arms and gave me a long lingering kiss. "I know that doesn't make up for dealing with Miss Diva," he said with a grin. "But it sure cheered me up."

"Explain to me again why you cast her as the young killer," I said as I pulled on my t-shirt and ushered him out of the dressing room.

He snugged his arm around my waist and leaned against my shoulder. "Dare I use the cliché, 'it seemed like a good idea at the time'?" he asked.

I laughed softly. "Ah, Michael. It's a cliché, but a good comment in this situation. How many more nights of this?"

I was glad that the theater had a habit of only doing short runs of shows. The owners liked to get a wide variety of people in the seats during the summer so we generally ran four shows for two weeks each. Since Michael and I, in addition to our other duties, owned stock in the theater, I was normally given first choice of the offered roles and the theater often picked Michael's plays to open the summer season. So I only had one more week with Miss Bethany; nine more shows.

* * * * * *

And then she died. The writhing and wailing of the night before was repeated and I had a hard time not rolling my eyes at her dramatics. I looked down at her as she dropped to the floor. "A fitting death for one such as you. You died as you lived. By the knife." I dropped the knife held in my hand at her feet as the curtain fell. "Better?" I asked as she sat up again.

"Fine. But you started your ending line too early. Please allow me to finish my scene before you begin saying your line."

"If I waited for you to finish your scene as you call it, I would be waiting half the night. We need to take our bows." The other cast members had surrounded us and were pointedly ignoring our conversation.

I escaped off stage as soon as I could and changed out of my costume. I quickly wiped my make-up off and was leaving the room when Michael entered. He slammed the door behind him and almost ripped the handle off locking it. "Don't go out there," he warned, collapsing in my chair.

I frowned and looked at the door, I hadn't heard any yelling but that didn't mean anything. "What's wrong?"

"Miss Devine Diva is on the warpath again. Something about you saying your lines too fast?"

I groaned. "She started in on me when the curtain fell tonight."

Michael sighed. "I know you don't encourage her, but please just try to stay away from her except when you’re onstage. I don't need any more trouble. I'm having enough trouble with this script, I don't need to deal with more."

"I don't egg her on, lover. She does it all on her own."

He laughed softly. "I know that."

* * * * * *

And then she died. The writhing and wailing of the past eight shows were not repeated as she dropped almost silently to the floor. The knife, the real knife, that I had stabbed her with fell to the stage as I stared at her in horror. I hadn't meant to actually kill her. I had been playing with the knife before the show and considering really stabbing her, but I hadn't meant to. I had been berated by her for the past two weeks, after every show every night and twice on Saturday and Sunday. I had wanted her dead, finished, the show over with. But this was the last show. I wouldn't have to work with her again and in my hurry to get on-stage for the final act...I had grabbed the wrong knife.

I dropped to my knees beside her and tried to staunch the blood. Sensing something was wrong, the stage manager had already called for the curtain to be lowered and people were rushing on stage to help.

I looked up into the anguished eyes of my lover. "I didn't mean to kill her," I whispered. “I’d just had enough of her complaining. I grabbed the wrong knife. I didn’t mean to actually kill her.”