Chapter 43

Donna's Pov.

The insistent flashing lights outside the Clarence Theatre had me squinting as I approached the entrance. There must be a Hollywood big shot passing through, I thought, adjusting my bag strap.

I had already memorized the script for the play, having done it in haste since I was the last person to be cast in the play. I didn't want to slow things down. The actress who was originally cast in the lead role had dropped out at the last minute, and I was the one replacing her.

I entered the theater, and the same lady who had ushered me in last time gave me a key and said, "This is the key to your dressing room. Follow me," she said and walked fast without checking if I was following her or not.

Finally, she stopped in front of an ornately carved door, I opened the door with the key. She told me, "The lady in charge of costume and makeup will be with you shortly," she said, her hand hovering on the knob.

"Wait," I blurted out, seizing the fleeting opportunity. "I didn't catch your name last time."

She smiled warmly. "Pamela, dear. But everyone calls me Pam." Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Ok, thank you, Pamela, for assisting me this morning. My name is Donna," I said, trying to match her energy.

"Yeah, I already know that. I forgot to mention this, but you are to assemble with your fellow castmates on the stage before the rehearsals. Mr. Clarence would like a word," Pamela said

"Ok, I will be there as soon as I am done with the costume designer,” I said

Pamela left as I took in the dressing room—the mirror, boudoir, wardrobe—and it hit me that this was actually happening. I was staring at the mirror, still processing everything, when a fine Black lady walked right in without knocking.

She had a measuring tape in hand and said, "You must be Donna Pearson, right?" She spoke with a thick British accent.

“Yes, that's me," I stammered, momentarily flustered. "You must be…"

"Yvette Rhodes, darling," she declared with a flourish. "The costume designer at your service. Now that we are acquainted, let's get those measurements taken and ensure you look absolutely ravishing on stage.”

The next hour flew by in a flurry of measurements, fabric swatches, and enthusiastic chatter about costumes.

By the time I stepped onto the grand stage, a nervous flutter danced in my stomach. The cast, a mix of veteran actors and fresh faces, turned to greet me with smiles and introductions.

Then I saw him. Taran Holden. A Hollywood heartthrob, gracing our humble play with his presence. His last movie was a box office flop, and rumor had it, he was taking a break to rediscover his passion for acting. And here he was, sharing the stage with me.

He must be the reason the paparazzi were outside.

Mr. Clarence graced us with his presence, and everybody stood still to listen to him. "Welcome, everyone,” he began. “I know you all must be thinking about how we will pull this off and give our audience a show on opening night without Lydia. Well, think no more, because when a door closes, somewhere, somehow, a window opens. The new person replacing Lydia is more talented and, might I say, more beautiful."

Everyone kept waiting to see who he was talking about, and then he said, "Donna Pearson, stand up so that everyone can see you."

I stood up, and all eyes were on me, especially Taran's, which lingered on me quite longer than the others.

"Now that is done, please help her catch up. Opening night is next week,"

Amidst the introductions and nervous energy, I couldn't help but steal a glance at Taran. Here I was, a small-town actress, thrust into the spotlight with a Hollywood star as my co-star.

With that, we started rehearsing for the play.

I felt a mixture of nerves and excitement. The script in my hand felt heavier than ever, but I was determined to prove myself. The cast welcomed me warmly, their enthusiasm contagious. As we began running through scenes, I couldn't help but steal glances at Taran. He was focused and professional, yet there was an air of mystery about him.

During a break, Taran approached me. "Hi, Donna, right? I'm Taran Holden."

I smiled, trying to hide my nervousness. "Yes, nice to meet you. I have seen some of your work. You are very good."

"Thank you," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I've heard good things about you too. Matt speaks highly of your talent, but then again it's Matt, he is easily impressed."

Sensing the condescension in his tone, I chose to ignore it. "That's kind of him," I replied, “hopefully soon you will see the talent Matt has spoken so highly of.”

"Let's make this play something special, you know nothing like your yeast infection drug commercial," he said, offering his hand for a handshake, with a smirk on his face.

It was obvious this superstar would be a thorn in my side. "Absolutely," I agreed, shaking his hand firmly, I ignored his jab one more time.

***************

Relief washed over me as I exited the Clarence Theatre, the afternoon sun warm on my face. The buzz of my upcoming role lingered in my head, a delightful mix of excitement and nervousness. But that feeling was shattered the moment I saw the throng of paparazzi camped outside the Colton Hotel across the street.

My heart stuttered. Had some A-lister checked in, causing a media frenzy? But as I drew closer, a more unsettling picture emerged. Police cars and an ambulance were parked haphazardly in the driveway, their flashing lights painting an ominous scene. My stomach lurched. Please let it not be my mother. Please let it not be my brother.

"Charlie!" I called out, my voice a hoarse whisper. He turned, his face etched with a seriousness I wasn't used to seeing. He excused himself from the other officers and met me halfway.

"What is going on? Why are the police and ambulance here? All these sirens… is someone hurt?” I asked him.

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the commotion at the front entrance. "There's been a tragic incident," he finally said. "Rupert DuPont… he fell to his death from the eleventh-floor balcony.”

Rupert DuPont? Dead? It was such an unexpected turn of events, my mind struggled to process it. "Was it a suicide?" I managed to ask, the word tasting metallic on my tongue.

Charlie's expression remained stoic. "We're still investigating," he said. "But even if we knew, I wouldn't be able to share that information."

Disappointment gnawed at me, but I understood. Police work was all about procedure, and Charlie wouldn't jeopardize an investigation for me, but my curiosity was still strong.

It was a bizarre twist of fate, leaving behind more questions than answers.

Rupert DuPont, the powerful, untouchable figure was gone. I glanced around, trying to process the chaotic scene, before going to work.