Chet Williamson - Reign

The vast auditorium was empty and quiet, dimly lit by recessed lights at the sides of the ceiling. Robin thought she could hear music playing, but the sound was so elusive that she could not determine its origin. From the mezzanine, she walked up toward the top row of the balcony, a trip she took several times a day, often in exercise clothes. There was nothing better for the legs, she had been told, than to climb long flights of stairs at a brisk clip. Now, however, she wanted to ascend to have a place to think, an aerie from which she could theoretically look down, godlike, on the world below. She did not like what she saw.

Rather, she did not like the drama her imagination constructed, the impending romance played out upon the screen of her mind.

It was romance and imagination that had drawn Robin McKenzie to the theatre. It was the closest she could come to living in the fantasies she imagined. And finally, one of those fantasies had come true – that elegant, exciting fantasy of the chorus girl marrying the star. But now, a fantasy far more pure was coming to light.

A lost love had returned.

It was absurd, she told herself. It was like being jealous of her own mother. For God's sake, the woman had to be in her forties. What could she offer Dennis?

And the answer came. While Robin could offer him only the pale substitute of her own youth, Ann Deems could offer him the emotions he had felt when he himself was young. She could restore the feelings of his youth, of the times when he was innocent and truly happy. Robin found no reassurance in the fact that what she had to offer was truth, and what Ann Deems had was illusion, for from the first time she had met him, Dennis Hamilton had always chosen illusion.

It was not until the second week of rehearsals for the 1981 revival of A Private Empire that she had even set eyes on Dennis Hamilton. The chorus had, by that time, set all their work in the production numbers, and the time had finally come to fit the principals into the mob scenes. That morning, Quentin Margolis had entered the Broadway Arts rehearsal studio with Dennis and Naomi Weiss, the Austrian film actress who was playing Lise, the female lead, and several of the principal players. Robin had never seen Dennis in person before, although she watched the film version of the musical every chance she got. To her, at nineteen, Dennis Hamilton was a man dreams were made of, and, from the age of twelve on, she had watched all his other movies as well, whenever they appeared on television. So now she looked on him with the eyes of impressed youth, and he was well worth looking at. At 34, he was trim, muscular, and handsome, and there was no gray in his red hair. The frown lines on his forehead were deep for his years, and, noticing that, Robin fell into the attitude of worshipful solicitude that would permanently mark her relationship with Dennis.

But he did not notice her. Not once did she find him looking her way. Rather, his interest was divided between the mechanics of the rehearsal and Tanya Pearson, another dancer whose face and form were abetted by what Robin considered to be a severe overuse of makeup and a blatant underuse of rehearsal togs. She looked, one of the gay singers remarked, like a Republican's wet dream.

If that was the case, Dennis Hamilton was a Republican. Tanya Pearson was the most artificial looking woman in the studio that day. Even Naomi Weiss (who left the show two months after the opening, unable to deal with what she felt to be Dennis's turbulent ego) couldn't hope to compete with Tanya's studied theatricality. During the breaks, it was Tanya to whom Dennis spoke, and, by the end of the day, touched, with a gallant arm thrown comradely around her shoulder. Robin assumed they became lovers, but was never sure. In any case, Dennis tired of her quickly, and Tanya followed in Naomi Weiss's footsteps several months later.

Despite Dennis's apparent predilection for bimbos, Robin was still very happy to be working in his company. He was not one of those irritating actors who she had already come across in her brief career who began to get into character a long time before they ever step on stage, becoming withdrawn and frequently obnoxious. In contrast, Dennis could go from an animated conversation about films, politics, or baseball directly on stage and be completely in character in an instant.

Of course, in a way Dennis was never out of character. In public and in rehearsal, he acted like an emperor, and it was being able to see behind that fa c ade that finally endeared him to Robin. She was perceptive enough to know that what she and the rest of the world was seeing was not the real Dennis Hamilton, that beneath the guise of imperiousness was just another frightened human being who needed love like anyone else.

It was not, however, until the show went on the road that she began to actually get close to Dennis. Until that time, she wasn't even certain that he knew her name, although everyone else did. Robin was funny and thoughtful, and helped keep the company at ease. It was she who remembered everyone's birthday, who posted photos of celebrities with humorous typed captions or word balloons on the cast bulletin board, who was always the first to welcome a new chorus member into the dressing room. She was, in short, everyone's friend, and it was only a matter of time before she became Dennis's as well.

The first time he talked to her at length was on Robin's twenty-first birthday, when they had already been on the road for a year. They were playing Seattle, and Robin had brought in several boxes of doughnuts and placed them on a table outside the chorus dressing rooms. It was a half hour before curtain and Robin, having come early, was already in costume and makeup. She was just placing the napkins when Dennis came up to her, also ready for the performance, and asked what was the occasion.

"My birthday," she replied, somewhat embarrassed.

"Your birthday?" Dennis said in the patronizing voice he used with the dancers. "And how old is our little girl today?"

"Twenty-one."

He looked surprised. "Really? I don't mean to offend, but I thought you were older. You've been in the show since the beginning, haven't you?"

"Yes, but I was only nineteen then."

"A lucky lady to get such an early start."

She thought about it before she said it. "And lucky to get in this show too."

He cocked his head. "Lucky? Why?"

"I've always admired your work."

"Ah! Not only is she pretty, she has good taste as well." He chuckled self-deprecatingly. When he stopped, the soft smile remained. "Robin, isn't it." She nodded. "You're the one who puts the funny pictures on the board?" She nodded again. "You've got a wonderful sense of humor. Where were you when we needed more jokes in the script back in '66?"

Now it was her turn to smile. "In nursery school."

"Ooo." He winced. "Did I say sense of humor or acerbic wit? You make me feel old."

"You're not."

"I know," he said, and surveyed the doughnuts. "Nor am I fat, but perhaps I can remedy that shortcoming. Are there any cream filled ones here?"

She pointed. "Those."

"My weakness," he said, taking one and extending his neck so that no powdered sugar would fall on his costume. "Delicious," he said after swallowing a bite. "Now. Come with me."

He led her across the backstage area toward his dressing room, and she went reluctantly, unsure of what to expect. If he had taken a fancy to her, and expected a squeeze and a tickle in private, or even more, he would get an unpleasant surprise, even if he was Dennis Hamilton. Nevertheless, she followed him inside, where they found Sid Harper sitting in a corner reading a copy of Downbeat. "Sid, give Robin here fifty dollars, please."

"What?" she said, surprised.

"For doughnuts," Dennis said. "Every night I want you to buy several dozen for the cast and crew, and when you're out of money see Sid and he'll give you more. That was a nice deed, and nice deeds are not often enough rewarded in this world. Besides," he grinned, and for the first time Robin saw the man behind the mask, "I like doughnuts. And if you buy them, then I don't have to feel guilty about eating them."