Chet Williamson - Reign

But this visit was the dark side of their first one. They revisited many of the old haunts, but Robin found no joy in them. The happy memories they brought up made the present situation that much more intolerable to her. To her credit, she tried to enjoy herself, tried to act as though nothing were wrong, told herself that she still loved Dennis, and that he had brought her here because he loved her as well. If he had not, wouldn't he have wanted to remain in Kirkland, where he could have continued his clandestine meetings with Ann Deems? Of course he loved her.

And every time she almost convinced herself of it, the image came into her mind of the rumpled bed, and she heard the mocking sound of a woman's laughter, caught the scent of a hated perfume.

She and Dennis slept in a double bed at the Hotel Russell, as always, but little went on in it other than sleep. Throughout their marriage, making love had nearly always been initiated by Robin, though Dennis always delightedly complied with her wishes. The few times she wondered why he was seldom the instigator, she assumed that it was in order to balance the reputation he had earned for being a Don Juan, to present an image to his wife of a man interested but little in sex, and therefore a potential model of fidelity.

But now, when she would have welcomed ardent overtures on Dennis's part, they were not forthcoming, and she felt in no mood to start them herself. Why should she be put in the position of begging for what was rightfully hers? Better, far better to do without than to have to ask, although she knew that Dennis sensed her anger, and that might have a great deal to do with his hesitation to approach her.

So the week passed, with London far more chilly than usual for December. They celebrated Christmas Day at their favorite restaurant. Robin gave Dennis a new Rolex, and he gave her a pair of diamond pendant earrings. When they kissed, it seemed to Robin that Dennis wanted to extend the contact, but Robin pulled quickly away, robbing the exchange of any warmth.

It was with relief that she boarded the plane back to the United States. The one thing to be said for the trip was that Dennis had no more dreams, neither nightmares nor visions more pleasurable. No names were blurted out in sleep. In a way, she wished he would confess, tell her the truth about himself and Ann Deems. Then together they could work something out, and she could find a way to banish the woman from both their lives.

It became an obsession with her. Every time Dennis opened his mouth, she stiffened, as if expecting to hear his words of self-condemnation. But he never mentioned it. He only became more patronizing toward her, agreeing with her most irrational remarks, giving in to her most casual whims without comment.

Damn, she thought, over and over again. Damn, Dennis, talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking, what you're feeling. It doesn't matter, as long as you can tell me. If you can tell me, then there's hope. Just tell me. Please. Tell me.

~* ~

(The scene is the following week in the living room of Dennis and Robin Hamilton's suite in the Venetian Theatre Building. The furnishings are white, black, and sumptuous. On a bookcase, displayed very prominently, are two Tony Awards. Next to the bookcase is a large portrait of Dennis Hamilton as the Emperor Frederick. On the couch, his head buried in his hands, sits THE EMPEROR. He is dressed in a sweater and slacks. His body shakes as if with sobs. ROBIN enters stage left.)

ROBIN

I thought you were out. (Notices him crying) Dennis? Dennis, what is it?

THE EMPEROR

(He looks up at her, shakes, then cries out, as if in torment.) Oh Robin, oh God, Robin! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…

ROBIN

What is it? Tell me what's wrong!

THE EMPEROR

Robin, have you ever… thought about something… had something so strong on your mind that you couldn't get it out… you wanted to, but you couldn't? (He shakes his head) Have you ever had… an obsession like that?

ROBIN

(A sad look of resignation comes over her) Do you mean… (A pause) Ann Deems.

THE EMPEROR

(A brief nod) You knew, you knew all along. I can't get her out of my head, no matter how hard I try. It's as though she forces her way in whether I want her to or not.

ROBIN

(Firmly) Let her go, Dennis. Just let her go and forget about her.

THE EMPEROR

I can't. I can't, darling, don't you think I've tried? But it's impossible. Knowing that she's… that she's alive, that she'd be somewhere not far away – I can't live with that. I couldn't forget her, not for (He seems to oddly stress the next words) as long as she lives.

ROBIN

(Takes his hand) Dennis…

THE EMPEROR

(Lost in thought) If something happened to her… if it did, I would grieve, but it would pass. Like when I lost her once before, years ago, I grieved then. But life went on. I found other people. I found… (He looks into her eyes)… you. (He shakes his head savagely) Oh God, just forget I ever said anything about this. I'm not thinking straight. What's done is done, I can't change it, I'm sorry for it. We'll just… go along, take it from day to day. If you're willing to stay with me.

ROBIN

Of course. But Ann… why can't you just fire her?

THE EMPEROR

I told you. Firing her isn't the answer. Robin, I don't know how I expect you to understand this, but she's got… a part of me. I can't do anything to hurt her. I can't do it by myself. I'm yours, but a part of me is hers. And it will be. (A pause) For as long as she lives.

ROBIN

(She stands for a moment, thinking) I think maybe we both could use a drink.

THE EMPEROR

Yes. That would be good. Let's have a drink and talk about something else. (ROBIN starts to exit stage left) Robin? (She stops ) Will you do something for me? (She looks at him) Will you not mention this to me again? I've said all I need to. More than I should have. Please. I don't want to hear her name on your lips. I don't want to think about her. All I want is to be free of her. (A pause) Will you help me? Help me with that?

ROBIN

(A pause) I'll get the drinks.

(She exits stage left. THE EMPEROR watches her go. Then he sits, leans backs, and, very slowly, smiles.)

Scene 17

Robin did as she was asked. She did not mention Ann Deems to Dennis. And Robin proceeded with something else that had been only suggested, Ann Deems's death.

Dennis had said, hadn't he, that he wanted to be free of her? Had said that he was bound by her for as long as she lived? Well then, the only way to free him was to end that life, end it in a way that would appear to be an accident.

Robin had never before harmed anyone, nor intended harm to anyone, and the realization that she now planned to kill a fellow human being strangely enough did not shock or dismay her. The deaths of Tommy Werton and Harry Ruhl had inured her to blood, and the thought of losing Dennis had inured her to the shedding of it. She had long heard that anyone is capable of murder, but had not really believed it. But now she knew that there was a limit, and she had been pushed to hers. Ann Deems had pushed her to it. Therefore, it followed that Ann Deems had to die, and die in a way so that Robin would not be suspected, and, even if suspected, would not be convicted. It was a situation more easily fancied than conceived, and several days passed before the plan began to formulate itself in Robin's laboring brain.

It was created by Ann Deems herself, born of an overheard comment of hers made to Donna Franklin. "The star ceiling is just incredible," Ann said. "I'd love to see how it works. How do you get up there?"

"There are catwalks," Donna answered. "Ask Sid or Curt sometime. I'm sure they wouldn't mind taking you up."

The catwalks. Robin had been up there only once. Two feet wide, they crisscrossed the area above the ceiling like a checkerboard made of wood. There were no handrails, nothing to stop the unwary from falling off onto the plaster two feet below. But once someone fell, they would not simply stop at the plaster, no. They would go through that fragile coating, break through the ceiling, and plummet to the floor of the theatre. There was a layer of chicken wire on top of the plaster, but Curt had told her that it was only wishful thinking that it could catch and hold the weight of a falling stagehand.