The Cutthroat (Isaac Bell 10)

Expecting to have to talk his way into the star’s dressing room, Isaac Bell found himself greeted like royalty. News traveled fast in the theater, and angels backing new musicals were not turned away from stage doors.

“May I see Mr. Vietor?”

The door tender snapped his fingers. “Quinn!” he called to a sceneshifter, slouching nearby. “Take Mr. Bell to Mr. Vietor’s dressing room.”

Harry Warren tugged his forelock. “Right this way, Mr. Bell.”

Bell tipped him a dollar. “Here you go, pal.”

“Mighty generous, sir.” Quinn pocketed the dollar and banged on Vietor’s door. “Mr. Isaac Bell to see you, Mr. Vietor.”

The curly-haired Vietor flung his door open with a handsome smile. He was nearly as tall as Bell, and as tight and slim. He had a big voice. “Mr. Bell, I’ve heard so much about you. Do come in.”

Bell said, “I bring regards from a mutual acquaintance, James Mapes.”

“Mapes. Oh, cheery Mapes. What a happy soul. Did you see him in London?”

“We had drinks at the Garrick.”

“How did my name come up?”

“Mapes indicated an empty space on the portrait wall that was waiting for you.”

“Cheery Mapes. What a sweet thought. Come in, come in. Would you have a drink?”

“Thank you, no. I’ve got a long day ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

“I’m the same way. Can’t touch a drop until the show is over. Sit, Bell. Sit.”

Bell took the armchair. Vietor perched on a stool at his makeup table. Turning half away from Bell, he studied the mirror. Bell wondered, why did he put on stage paint so early? Finally, Vietor glanced away from the glass, opened a drawer, and took out a silk jewelry sack.

“Have you seen the show?”

“In New York. I told Mapes I truly believed that your Jimmy Valentine was going straight.”

Vietor untied the drawstrings, fished out a gold ring, and began fiddling with it.

“Did Mapes tell you he coached me?”

“He sounded very proud of your success,” said Bell. “He believes it’s your Jimmy Valentine that will put you on the wall at the Garrick.”

Vietor watched the ring fly between his fingers. “I’ll bet he said I was a dark soul.”

The actor’s manic excitement had bounced unexpectedly from exhilaration to contemplation, and Bell saw an opportunity to draw him out. “Mapes said, ‘Subduing the dark side of Vietor’s character was like pulling teeth.’”

“Ha! He loves that silly phrase— How old do you think I am?”

Bell studied him closely. “Forty-six.”

“My Lord! Where did you get that idea?”

“You’re not thirty-six.”

“Sad but true. See this?” Vietor held up the ring. “My grandmother’s wedding ring. She must have been a huge woman, big as a house. See?” He worked it onto his left ring finger. “And my hands are not that small.”

Bell recalled that Anna Waterbury had told Lucy Balant that the “old” B

roadway producer who coached her wore a wedding ring. “Do you wear it?” he asked.