Jeff Lindsay - Dexter's Final Cut

“You look fine,” I said, although in truth, when I compared her ensemble to what Jackie was wearing, she was brutally overdressed.

Rita ran both hands down the front of her dress, smoothing out wrinkles that weren’t there. “Yes, well, fine ,” she said, and she shook her head dubiously. “I mean that’s- You should have told me that this was- What is everybody else wearing?”

I know a great deal about many things, but I will cheerfully admit that couture is not one of them, and I did not think the lobby of the Gusman was the place to learn. So I mustered my most commanding attitude and put a hand on her arm and pulled gently. “Let’s go inside,” I said. “You can see for yourself.”

Rita dug both feet into the carpet and did not budge, and a look of alarm spread across her face. “Everybody? My God, I don’t think I can-”

I tugged a little harder. “Come on,” I said. “I’ll introduce you to Robert Chase.”

If I had thought Astor overreacted to Robert, it was only because I hadn’t seen her mother’s response yet. Rita turned bright red, and she began to tremble, and for the first time ever, she had trouble getting out even one word. “Ro, Ro, I real,” she stammered. “Is- You-Rob … Robert Chase is here? And you …?”

I watched her performance with annoyance. In all the time I had known Robert, he had revealed nothing to indicate he deserved to be shown even the mildest kind of respect-and here was Rita falling into a weak-kneed reverent trance at the mere thought of being in his presence. And I was pretty sure I had told her Robert would be here, so there was really no excuse at all for her collapsing into a drooling coma that threatened to ruin the Gusman’s carpet. Would she be less nervous if I told her Robert was gay?

On the plus side, in her weakened state she was in no condition to resist; I tugged once more on her arm, and she stumbled forward. “Come,” I said. “Miracles await within.” And I led her through the lobby and inside the theater.

I had been given a pair of seats only two rows back from the stage, in the center section and on the aisle. Whether it had been the network’s idea or Captain Matthews’s, I was supposed to be seated right next to Robert. I suppose it had been set up that way so the cameras would find the stars sitting happily next to Real Police People. Whatever the reason, it made introducing Rita to Robert almost unavoidable, but as we came down the aisle toward the stage, Robert was nowhere in sight. But as we approached our row, he came out of the door where Jackie and Debs had disappeared, and strode toward us, smiling and waving at the crowd.

It had been my naive thought to perform a simple intro as we slid into our seats, and then get on with life. But once again, I had reckoned without the abject reverence of Rita’s Robert worship. The moment she saw him she stopped dead, went pale, and started to tremble again. “Oh, no,” she said, which seemed an odd thing to say if she really wanted to meet him. “Oh, my God, it’s him, it’s him .…” She started to bounce up and down on the balls of her feet as she said, “Oh, my God, oh, God, oh, God!” and similar evocations of a deity that, as far as I could tell from brief acquaintance, had absolutely nothing to do with Robert.

Around me in the theater I could see heads turning toward us, some amused and some curious. It is true that I had liked the reflected attention of the crowd as they adored Jackie, but this was very different; I smelled amusement, condescension, even scorn in the many looks that came our way, and this I did not like. I pushed Rita forward once more and she went, with short and jerky steps. I finally got her to our seats, although she refused to sit. Instead, she just stood there jiggling and staring at Robert, until I realized that if I didn’t do something we would be standing in the aisle all night.

So I stepped into the aisle and waved to him, and he came at us, smiling. “Robert,” I said. “This is my wife, Rita.”

Robert held out a hand. “Hey, terrific!” he said. “Really great to meet you!” Rita just stood there with her face frozen into a numb and staring mask. I hoped she wouldn’t actually drool.

After an awkward pause, Robert reached over and took her hand. “Wow, I can see where Astor gets her looks,” he said, shaking Rita’s limp hand. “Terrific kids you’ve got, Rita.”

Rita spoke at last. “Oh, I ahaha,” she said. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe- I am such a big fan of- Oh, God, it’s really you !”

“Well, I think it is,” Robert said with an easy grin. He tried to drop her hand-but now, even though she hadn’t been able to reach forward to shake hands with him, Rita clamped onto Robert’s hand in a desperate, sweaty death grip. “Um,” he said, and he looked at me.

“Rita,” I said, “I think Robert would like his hand back.”

“Oh, my God,” she said, and she flung his hand away and jumped back, landing firmly on my toes. “I’m so sorry, so sorry; I just-”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Robert said. “Great to meet you, Rita.” And he smiled at her and then pushed past us and sank gratefully into his seat.

Rita stared for a moment longer, in spite of the way I prodded her in the back, and I finally said, “Shall we sit down now?”

“Oh!” she said, and she jumped like she had been shocked. “But I can’t possibly- You sit next to him; it’s only- My God, I couldn’t possibly!”

“All right,” I said, and I slid into the seat right next to Robert. A moment later, Rita remembered how to sit, too, and she sank bonelessly into the seat beside me.

I sat there and watched Rita fidget for several minutes; she would start to settle down and then glance at Robert and begin to blush and twitch again. I tried to ignore it, but her spasms of adoration shook my seat, too. I looked to my left, where Jackie and Deborah would be sitting. They weren’t back yet; probably still sipping beer and mingling with other celebrities in Renny’s dressing room. I hoped he would keep his shirt on.

My seat quivered and I glanced back at Rita. Her left leg was jumping up and down in a nervous and probably unconscious twitch. I wondered whether she would turn normal again when the show started. Renny would probably have to be very funny to take her mind off sitting so close to Robert the God. I hoped Renny was hilarious. But what had he said to Robert-that he didn’t do comedy; he did social commentary? Could that possibly be funny enough to stop Rita’s convulsions? Could someone with a Passenger really be funny at all? I mean, I am well known for a dry wit-but I couldn’t keep a full theater in stitches.

Still, a real TV network believed in Renny enough to give him this special. Of course, that same network had cast Robert in a starring role-but they had cast Jackie, too, so I guess that made it a fifty-fifty chance. And who knows? Anything could happen. Maybe he would even make me laugh. I didn’t think so, but stranger things have happened-many of them to me. After all, I was married, had children, and everyone thought I was wonderful.

There was a burst of gaudy music from the sound system; a cheerful-looking young man came out onstage and plucked the microphone from the stand. “Heeeeeyyyyy- Miami !” he called out in a happy foghorn voice, and for some reason the audience cheered enthusiastically.

He went on to tell us all that we were filming tonight, which I already knew, and he told us to turn off our cell phones, don’t take flash pictures, and remember to laugh a lot. He said one or two other things that I think were supposed to be funny, and then called out, “Oooo-kay! Enjoy the show!” And he stuck the microphone back on the stand and strode offstage to wild applause.