Gail Oust - 'Til Dice Do Us Part

I smothered a gasp at hearing the amount. So much for Lance’s pretending to love his “classic” Hugger Orange Camaro.

“Seventy-five thousand?” Lance waved his hand dismissively, but even from a distance I could see perspiration sheen his brow. “That’s a drop in the bucket, sweetheart, compared to what my Super Bowl winnings are going to be.”

I felt a sharp stab in the region of my heart. I never hear “Super Bowl” mentioned without being reminded of my late husband. Two years ago, Jim, the poor dear, landed facedown in the guacamole dip after suffering a fatal coronary during halftime. He never knew he’d won fifty bucks in the football pool.

“And if there are no Super Bowl winnings?” Claudia continued her tirade. “What then? Write another check out of my money market account to pay for it? Drain my account down to nothing? Lance, this has to stop!”

Lance adopted a new approach, his tone faintly mocking. “After watching you at the roulette table in Vegas, I never took you for such a tightwad. I’m seeing a whole new side of you, sweetheart-a very unattractive side.”

In her fury, Claudia’s face was turning as red as her hair. “I’m seeing a new side of you as well. I won’t stand for this kind of behavior, Lance. This has to end-and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to see that it does.”

“Is that a threat?” he asked, feigning outrage.

I wasn’t overly impressed with Lance’s theatrical ability. At this point if I were a casting director, I’d have yelled, Cut!

“No, Lance.” Claudia’s voice dropped so low I had to lean forward to better hear her response. “It’s not a threat; it’s a promise.”

“You’re my meal ticket, babe. It’s going to cost you a pretty penny if you want to get rid of me.” At last the kid gloves were off. Lance was showing his true colors; black with a white stripe down the center of his back.

“Over my dead body, you two-bit actor,” Claudia snarled. “I’ll find a way to get you out of my life-one way or another.”

From the hallway outside came the sound of people talking and laughing. I nearly fell into Bill’s arms when he opened the auditorium door.

“Whoa,” he said, steadying me.

Unsettled by the argument I’d overheard, I blurted, “You’re late.”

“Looks like you’re early,” he countered. This time not even Bill’s smile was able to cheer me.

I stood aside while Bill flicked the light switch next to the door. Monica and Rita entered, too engrossed in their conversation about props to give me the time of day. Gus, Bill’s brand-new buddy, gave me a friendly nod as he shuffled by. The only one who hadn’t made an appearance yet was Bernie Mason, who was to play the part of the villain in Lance’s magnificent production.

Bill matched his pace to mine as I trailed the others toward the stage. “Gus and I spent all afternoon taking measurements and making lists of materials we need before starting on the set. We didn’t realize the time and thought we’d better duck out for a quick bite before rehearsal. Besides,” he added, “I need to ask Lance a couple questions.”

“Questions?” I mumbled, trying to collect my wits after overhearing the fight between Claudia and Lance. Now, I’m no relationship guru like Dr. Phil, but I’d bet my last bag of M &M’s this marriage was in trouble-big trouble. Lance Ledeaux seemed hell-bent on sucking Claudia’s nest egg dry. And Claudia wasn’t about to take the nest egg- sucking lying down.

“Hey, everyone.” Claudia turned and greeted us with a smile-a smile as phony as the creep she married. He was nothing more than a scam artist. I almost said “cheap” scam artist, but there was nothing cheap about someone set to rob you blind.

Lance looked spiffy in his fitted black jeans and yellow oxford cloth shirt with a black cashmere cable knit sweater artfully draped over his shoulders. The sweater alone probably cost a week’s worth of groceries for a family of four. He didn’t bother with a welcome but looked pointedly at his watch. Knowing his proclivity for the expensive, I wondered if the Rolex was real or a clever knockoff.

“As soon as everyone’s here, we’re going to run through act three, scene one,” he announced, doing his best commander-in-chief imitation. “No one leaves until we get it right.”

The announcement was met by a chorus of groans. The only good thing about that night’s rehearsal was that all the cast members didn’t have to subject themselves to Lance’s edicts. This meant that of the cast, only Claudia, Lance, Bernie Mason, and I needed to be present, in addition to a crew that included Monica, Rita, Bill, and his ever-present shadow, Gus. The remainder of the cast, Gloria, Megan, and Eric Olsen, a nice young man and a member of the Brookdale police force, had the night off. Lucky them. What a shame I wasn’t a tad younger; I would have tried out for Megan’s part-the role of ingénue.

All of us trooped up the steps to the stage.

Bill approached Lance, who was inspecting an array of props spread out on a table. “Ah, Lance, do you have a minute?”

Lance looked up with a scowl. If one didn’t know better, one would have thought he’d never laid eyes on Bill before. “Bill, isn’t it?”

For crying out loud, Bill was an easy name. Nothing complicated about it. How hard was it to remember the man who’d stepped up to the plate and graciously offered to build whatever set he wanted?

“Now?” Lance’s scowl darkened even more.

“Yes, now.”

I had to give Bill credit. He didn’t cave beneath Lance’s attempt at intimidation. Here was Lance all decked out in Ralph Lauren and Rolex. And then there was Bill in Levi’s and Timex. Do I have to come right out and say who won my vote?

“There’s a matter we need to discuss,” Bill said, all business.

“Can’t it wait?”

“Not if you want a set for opening night.”

Lance assumed a put-upon look. “Very well.”

“Gus and I spent all afternoon going over the diagram you gave us for the set.”

Lance rocked back on the heels of his polished loafers. “So what’s the problem? Too complicated?”

Bill’s color deepened at the implied insult. The rest of us eavesdropped shamelessly while pretending not to. Some leafed through the script; others developed a sudden interest in the display of props.

“I can build your damn set with my eyes closed. That’s not the trouble.”

“So, Bill, suppose you tell me just what the ‘trouble’ is so we can get on with rehearsal.”

“It all boils down to the matter of money. Who’s going to pay for materials? Lowe’s isn’t about to hand them over out of the goodness of their heart.”

Now it was Lance’s turn to redden as he seemed to sense all eyes fixed on him. Everyone ceased what they were doing in order to watch and listen to the minidrama being enacted right under their noses.

It was Claudia who broke the awkward silence and came to her bridegroom’s rescue. “I’ll give you my credit card, Bill. Lance can repay me from the proceeds.”

Lance rubbed his hands together. “Good. It’s settled, then.”

At that precise moment, the auditorium door swung open and Bernie Mason sidled through. If pressed to describe the man, I’d call him a string bean with a bad comb-over. He always put me in mind of Bert, the character from Sesame Street. Kind of tall, gawky, and slow on the uptake. Like Gloria, however, Bernie showed an uncanny knack for the dramatic. He made a perfect villain in Lance’s little drama.

“Good of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Mason.” Lance’s voice dripped sarcasm.

Bernie ambled over, a hangdog expression on his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Car trouble.”