The Naked Man — Chapter 18

Katerina called Mr. Reynolds with her report to date.

He made a slight clucking sound that rang with gravity and surprise. “An interest in the arts. I had no idea,” he said. “What’s the name of the theater?”

She gave him the details. “I’m trying to wrap this up as quickly as possible for you.”

Kat was met with silence on the other end. Oh shit, she thought. He wants to cancel now.

“Take all the time you need, Katerina,” he said. “I want to get it right.”

With a sigh of relief, Kat decided to see if Mrs. Reynolds was a creature of habit. She parked outside the spa and after two hours, Kat was rewarded for her patience. She should have been pleased but preoccupation with an impending theft that was going nowhere and her part-time occupation as a mule for Philip’s less than legal doings prevented her from enjoying her stroke of good fortune.

She allowed herself a tiny smirk of satisfaction as the Town Car pulled up. Mrs. Reynolds emerged, dressed head to toe in beige, and disappeared into the spa. By the time she came out an hour later, Kat had finished formulating a plan.

•••

Katerina waited until Mrs. Reynolds entered the theater. Checking the side view mirror to ensure her open door wouldn’t be clipped, Kat scrambled out of the driver’s side and hurried across the street and inside.

She was greeted with gloom and silence. Posters from past performances lined the walls. Kat scanned the posters looking for any sign that the wealthy, bored, socialite enjoyed a wild fling as an actress, but Mrs. Reynolds’ face was nowhere to be seen.

“Can I help you?”

Kat whirled. She found herself face to face with a tall, muscular man with broad shoulders and a head of long, straight black hair brushing his collar. He stood looking down at her, waiting.

“You startled me,” she said with a gasp. She took a deep breath, playing for time. “I’m interested in acting lessons. Do you give acting lessons?”

He broke into a wide smile as he came to Katerina’s side.

“Absolutely. Have you studied previously?” he asked, taking her hand.

He had a laser-like focus; Kat found the eye contact disconcerting.

Oh shit. The Wife is in here somewhere but Laurence Olivier isn’t going to let me out of his sight.

He continued to study her with expectation.

“I did, but . . . uh . . . it was a while ago. I was in a performance of Oliver in high school.”

“You were Oliver?”

“It was a progressive school. The director wanted to reimagine the work.”

“Fantastic!” he exclaimed. “Whoever that man was, he was a genius. That’s what it’s all about, pushing boundaries. And now you’re here to push your own boundaries, aren’t you?”

Katerina nodded, focusing on the fourteen thousand dollars that was going to keep her from being without the boundaries of apartment walls and doors.

“But I am a bit nervous about this. Could I have a tour?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

He chattered as he ushered her through the empty studio rooms, waxing poetic about method and process, Lee Strasberg, Uta Hagen, and Al Pacino.

“Do you have patrons who support the theater?”

“Oh yes, we have several.”

“I’d love to meet them, if they’re here.”

“We’ll see who we run into in our travels.”

This isn’t working, Kat thought. I’m running out of ideas.

As they came out of Studio B, Kat spied a dark-haired woman stepping into the elevator, her shoulder length hair and heavy bangs casting deep shadows over her features. She wore a black shirt and slacks and had a black tote slung over her shoulder. As the elevator door closed, Katerina turned away but out of the corner of her eye she caught a sliver of beige.

“Now, when did you want to begin?”

Katerina opened her mouth but didn’t respond. Something clicked into place: beige shoes.

“Oh,” she said, backing up, “this is all so overwhelming for me. I’m sorry but I’ll need to call you. I need to process . . . such a big decision.”

Her guide stared at her like he had lost his best friend.

Spinning away, Kat headed for the door. Sorry Laurence, I have to track a pair of beige shoes.