“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“You think I did it?” Morgenstern said, and burst out laughing.
“Did you?”
“I’m sixty-seven years old,” he said, his laughter subsiding. “I had a triple bypass three years ago, my knee from when I had the cartilage removed twenty years ago is finally beginning to tell me when it’s going to rain, and you think I stabbed my own star in an alley? Have a heart, willya? Ah, here’s Ellie,” he said. “Fresh coffee, too, terrific. Just set it down, Ellie. Thank you.”
The maid put down a tray bearing a teaspoon, a fork, a knife, a napkin, a glass of orange juice, an empty cup and saucer, a rack of toast, and a fresh pot of coffee. Carella guessed she was no older than twenty-three, a pretty woman with sloe eyes and a cafe au lait complexion. He guessed Haitian only because so many of the new black immigrants were Haitian. Without uttering a word, she left the room again.
Morgenstern poured coffee, passed the cream pitcher and the sugar bowl. Carella drank his orange juice, and then reached for a piece of toast. He buttered it and put strawberry jam on it, and then bit into it. The bread was fresh and the toast was crunchy and still warm. The coffee was good and strong, too. He made himself at home.
“So tell me about the theater business,” he said.
“You want to know if it was worth my while stabbing her, right?” Morgenstern said.
He still seemed secretly amused by all this.
“Something like that,” Carella said.
“Like what do I stand to gain now that my star has been stabbed and everybody in town knows the name of my play,” he said, and this time he smiled openly, never mind any secrets.
“And the date it’s going to open,” Carella said.
“Right, the sixteenth,” Morgenstern said. “A Thursday night. The day before Passover and Good Friday. That should bring us luck, don’t you think? A double whammy? So let me tell you just what I’ll earn if this play is a hit, okay? Which, I’ll admit, seems a good possibility. We’re getting the cover of Time next week, you know. It’ll be on the stands Monday.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. But this has become a continuing television drama, anyway. You can’t tune in a news broadcast without seeing and hearing some mention of Michelle Cassidy, Michelle Cassidy, Michelle Cassidy. Nothing television likes better, right? Beautiful girl with big tits gets stabbed, they eat it up. Wring their hands in public, but in private they’re licking their chops. I won’t be surprised if they make the story a miniseries. Not that I’m any different. In fact, if you want to do me a big favor, you’ll arrest somebody before we open. Keep the story going, you know?”
“You were about to tell me…”
“Right, my finances. What do I stand to gain? Why did I stab Michelle, right?”
“I didn’t say you’d stabbed her.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just kidding. I didn’t say I stabbed her, either. Because I didn’t.”
“I’m relieved to hear that,” Carella said, and sipped at his coffee, and then buttered and jammed another piece of toast.
“Although my piece of the show would seem to justify it,” Morgenstern said.
“Justify what?”
“Murder.”
“Uh-huh. What exactly is your piece of the show?”
“Which is what you asked in the first place.”
“And which you still haven’t answered.”
“In a nutshell, I get two percent of the gross, fifty percent of the profits, and office expenses.”
“What’s the gross expected to be?”
“At capacity?”
“Yes.”
“If we move it downtown, you mean. Which is what we’d do with a hit. So let’s say we move it to a five-hundred-seat theater on the Stem. Your top ticket would go for fifty bucks on a straight play, which this is. As opposed to a musical. The top on a musical is sixty-five, seventy, it depends. So let’s say a top of fifty, an average of… listen I’ve got this all broken down, what’s the sense of doing it in my head?”
“Got what all broken down?”
“My business manager made an estimate for me. In case we move to the Stem.”
“I guess you’re anticipating that.”
“Well, now I am, yes.”
“When did he make this estimate for you?”
“Yesterday. Right after Michelle got stabbed.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. If you want a copy of it, I’ll give it to you before you leave.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“My pleasure,” Morgenstern said.
“So what does your business manager estimate the profits will be if you move to the Stem?”
“In a five-hundred-seat house? At capacity? Seventy grand a week.”
“In other words, Mr. Morgenstern, if this show is a hit, you’ll be taking home quite a bit of money.”
“Quite a bit, yes.”
“How long do you figure it’ll take to recoup?”
“At capacity? Thirteen weeks.”
“After which you start getting your fifty-percent share of the profits.”
“Yes.”
“Who gets the other fifty percent?”
“My investors.”
“How many of those are there?”
“Twenty. I’ll give you a list of them, too, if you like.”
“How much does your playwright get?”
“Freddie? Six points.”
“Before or after recoupment?”
“Pre and post, all the way through. A straight six percent of the gross.”
“Nice business,” Carella said.
“Except that for every play that makes it, you’ve got a dozen that flop. Frankly, you’re better off putting your money in mutual funds.”
“I’ll remember that,” Carella said.
“Have another piece of toast.”
“Thanks. Few more questions and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Here comes the rubber hose,” Morgenstern said, and smiled again.
“As I understand this,” Carella said, “last night…”
“See? What’d I tell you?
Carella smiled. He picked up another piece of toast, buttered it, put jam on it, bit into it. Chewing, he said, “Last night, Michelle was delayed at the theater some fifteen, twenty minutes. The others all broke for dinner, but she…”
“Yes, that’s my understanding, too.”
“You weren’t there?”
“No. Who says I was there?”
“I thought…”
“Earlier maybe. But not when they…”
“I thought you were there during the rehearsal.”
“I got there at five and left around six, six-fifteen. Right after the fight.”
“Oh? What fight?” Carella asked.
“The usual bullshit.”
“What usual bullshit is that?”
“The actress wanting to know why she’s. doing this or that, the director telling her to just do it.”
“Then this fight was between Michelle and Kendall, is that it?”
“Yes. Anyway, it wasn’t a fight, it was just the usual bullshit. You know the famous story about the phone ringing, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“There’s this scene in a play where the phone is ringing, and the actor is supposed to answer it and have a conversation with the person on the other end. So this Method actor wants to know what his motivation is, why does he answer the phone? The director tells him, `Because it’s ringing, goddamn it!’ This goes on all the time, the bullshit between the actors and the director. It doesn’t mean a thing.”