Final curtain call

  Sally watched her mother die. She was just 60.

   Over coffee in the deceased relatives’ room Sally asked her Aunt Angie ‘Did you know my father?’

   ‘He was a baddie who let your mother down. She always wanted to act and in 1969 when she was 20 a certain Justin D’arth invited her to play opposite him. His theatre group are based in Hastings. He was five years older than her. They became lovers, she got pregnant for you and he promptly dropped her for another 20s something.’

   ‘Is he still around?

   ‘Yes. Apparently he’s a hoot with audiences but the cast say he’s a self-seeking arrogant whisky-soaked lecher interested only in women and his latest newspaper reviews. So when you going back to the States?’ said Angie changing the subject.

   ‘Immediately after the funeral but I might visit Hastings first.’

   ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Why?’

   ‘Woman’s curiosity.’

   Angie knew better than to argue. Like her late sister she was proud of Sally who was a leading chemist in the USA. She never mentioned her work but at rising 40 she appeared to have it all: the features of a 30s something career girl, good job, long-term partner and two children.

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   One phone call was all it took to locate Justin. He was performing in Hastings’ White Rock Pavilion.

   She bought a ticket for an evening’s performance and from her midway seat had a clear view of the cast and Justin in particular. So this was her father. The audience loved him. But the more he played for laughs the greater her distaste. She might have left matters but for a nasty incident when Justin went for a cheap laugh by openly abusing a female member of the cast.

   That was it – redemption time.

   Before leaving the theatre Sally checked the group’s summer schedule. She saw Justin would be at the Pavilion during August. Time enough for planning.

   Several weeks’ later Sally flew into Gatwick. Her itinerary was routine: meet with Ministry of Defence representatives, give a presentation on chemical warfare and the remaining time was hers.

   Justin was rehearsing when someone from The Stage wanted him on the phone.

   He recalled the last time the show biz weekly mentioned him was after an audition for Hamlet.

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   ‘Justin speaking.’

   ‘Hi Sharon Leski here’ said Sally. I freelance for the Stage. Could we meet after tomorrow’s show for an interview?’

   ‘Sure’ was the oily response. ‘I’ll leave a ticket for you at the box office. It’ll have a pass for backstage and I’ll see you after the show.

   Justin was waiting as she swept in.

   Sally sounded businesslike. ‘Where’s a good place that’s quiet?’

   Her deliberate cue was too good to miss.

   ‘How about my apartment? We can walk it in 20 minutes or a cab will get us there in five.’

   ‘Taxi it’ll give us more time to talk’ said Sally.

   The thought of this journalist from the Stage writing him up and, if he was in luck, entertain him was too much.

   ‘I’ve only got Scotch,’ leered Justin as they entered his apartment.

   ‘Water’ll be fine for me’ said Sally.

   “Slowly, Justin slowly. Remember business first and with luck you’ll probably have all night” he heard a little internal voice say.

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   ‘What are those books on the shelf Justin?’

   ‘Reviews – like to have a look?’

   ‘Good idea. How about’ Sally paused for effect, ‘1969?’

   Justin reached for the book marked 1969.

    ‘Any idea how many leading ladies you’ve had, Justin?’

   He finished the contents of the glass and began to reach for the bottle.

   ‘Let me’ said Sally taking the glass.

   His eye caught the picture on the page Sally had left open. “God wasn’t that?” thought Justin as he mechanically took the nearly full glass. As he was thinking of leading ladies he failed to see Sally dropping a capsule into the glass which dissolved on touching the neat Scotch.

   ‘Cheers Sharon. Can’t really say how many leading ladies I’ve had.’ A humming began in his head, but this often happened when he drank especially in the presence of someone who was female and attractive.

   ‘Take this one for example’ replied Sally pointing to a young-looking girl alongside him in a group. ‘What can you tell me about her?’

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   Justin experienced déjà vu and a vivid 40 year flashback. It was as though she was back and about to be seduced. Now he could hear Sally talking but something was wrong. Her face came close to his. She spoke as though in an echo chamber.

   ‘This is my mother, who you seduced in 1969 then discarded. She died a premature death. You took her life Justin. How many other women have you violated in your own miserable life? No matter. If you know your Old Testament you will know about the “triumph of justice.” That’s what you’re getting. I’ve slipped you a DACE tablet, specially developed for chemical warfare. Its definition doesn’t matter. Let’s just say DACE is an acronym for dissolve assimilate circulate ethayeele. The beauty is that it’s COT, which stands for colourless odourless and tasteless. It’s so advanced police toxicologists will never determine the cause of your death.’

   As she spoke Sally cleaned both glasses of her fingerprints and made sure anything else she’d touched was cleaned. With two tissues she placed the opened newspaper review book on his lap.

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   Justin’s final conscious recall was seeing the door closing, hearing it lock then seeing the key coming through the letterbox and swinging freely from a piece of cotton attached to the handle.

   As the humming in his head became unbearable and his heart beat for the last time Justin’s eye lids began to close. His whole life flashed by and he knew this was his final curtain call but there was no audience.

   He was alone – except for his newspaper press cuttings book for 1969 and staring out at him was the face of the woman whose daughter had just murdered him.

 

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