Run Into 't As To a Lover's Bed.

From Matthew’s little spot tucked into the set just beyond the curtains, he could see her lounging center stage, profile backlit by the glowing golden lights. She was speaking, her voice soft and low, her heavy eyes anguished. Bodies lay strewn around the outskirts of stage (presumed dead, though Brandon could see the faint movement of their chests), but all eyes were on the gilded chaise in the center, coated in golden paint, the back splattered where the costume designer got sloppy. She lay stretched there, skin shining olive against golden pillows and white cotton, her hair glossy black and bobbed, framing a stunningly haughty face and dark eyes expertly outlined in kohl.

This was Lola Cruz. Exotic and troubled, the sultry actress had starred in numerous Broadway plays-- currently in a production of Antony and Cleopatra alongside her ex-husband and sometime lover, Leo Davidson.

Antony and Cleopatra’s relationship was founded in adultery and laced with betrayal and tragic misunderstanding. Their love began in passion, spanned war, and ended in death.

Lola Cruz and Leo Davidson’s relationship made their issues look like schoolyard squabbling. Davidson had met the Peruvian beauty while still married to his first wife. In three months, Cruz was his second wife and they were disappeared into Nice, Rio, Tahiti, the wilds of Northern Africa. Months later, their marriage was broken amidst rumors of mutual infidelity. Over the next years they sporadically reunited, blowing apart but always being drawn back again, swept in and out in a whirlwind of drugs, mania, violence, and love.

The latest reports pegged them as an item, but unstable one at that, as one of them was rumored to be sleeping with an on-set colleague. As the papers and tabloids said, though, they had put this all behind them, or at least aside, in order to reunite and play these two troubled lovers. But Brandon didn’t think so, he didn’t think any of their past was put aside. Their hate and their love was present in every scene, reflected in every movement. No, their past was still their present, was still smoldering between them, creating on-stage sparks.

And there were sparks. Brandon would always think to himself that if he could bring as much passion to his entire role as they had between them in each scene then maybe he would be ready to truly take the stage. Still just a Midwestern farm boy in most people’s eyes (including his own)  he currently had a small role in the beginning but was mostly relegated to behind-the-scenes prep-- organizing props and building sets and running errands for the stars. It wasn’t what he dreamed of but it was what he was good at. And he didn’t really mind; it meant he could watch the entire run, which had been going for the past few months. Now, as June was winding down, so was the show; this was the last performance. But no, “winding down” isn’t really the right way to describe it. Day by day, the drama grew with the heat.

Now, it was the last scene of the last night. Brandon had seen it played out at least twenty times, but it never failed to mesmerize even his expert eyes. And this time, Cruz was truly spectacular. She played it more toned down, almost slurring her lines in her grief, but this only intensified the passion that seeped from her skin, and over every person watching. Cruz reached a bronze arm into a crate by her side and slowly, a snake, a common garden snake painted for effect, slid up her dark skin. The asp glided along, up around her shoulders and she gingerly took it in her hands. Her black hair fell forward to cover her face and she, almost lovingly, jerked the snake forward as if it lunged for her neck.

Usually she delivered the last pained lines just before her death, but this time, this time she was silent. Her face twisted elegantly and her eyes slid closed as the lights dimmed. She collapsed backwards onto the coach, thin limbs artfully strewn over the gilded cushions; face half covered by a sheet of sharp ebony hair. With a last, almost imperceptible shiver, she was still.

The audience sighed.

Matthew quickly hoisted himself out from between the wooden posts and grabbed the thick cords that controlled the curtain. He pulled down smoothly and the heavy velvet slid together, separating the stage from the audience.

Everyone began to stir. The extras eased themselves up and stretched out, stage hands hurried forward to dismantle parts of the set and all the actors got ready to take their bow. But something was wrong. Tense, Matthew leaned up against the set’s backdrop, watching. While everyone bustled about, one body was unmoving. Lola had not stirred. A buzzing began as people started to linger around her still form. Lola’s young assistant, Sarah, dropped to her knees at her side and stared, gingerly touching her face with a shivering hand.

Just above Lola’s collarbone were two red puncture marks. A drop of black blood rolled along the groove of her neck. 

From the midst of the crowd rose a man’s anguished wail.

The theater was emptying now. When word spread of Lola’s death, near chaos had broken out behind the curtains, made only worse by the panicked cry of but where is the snake? that rang out a few minutes after. Finally, the director managed to get the majority of the cast out in front of the curtain for a hasty bow, which only slightly appeased the audience’s mounting unease and curiosity. They reluctantly began to file out, disappointed by the absence of the play’s two star’s. Some tried to linger, but ushers swept everyone out somewhat more hastily than usual and all were left wondering what real-life drama had occurred backstage, muffled by the theaters great velvet curtains.

Matthew slipped forward through the eddies of people gossiping and making hasty cell-phone calls.  He peered through the throng and saw her lying there, still beautiful in death, though her neck was swollen and discolored. On her limp arms were traces of a green sheen, illuminated every once in a while by the sporadic bursts of lights from the cameras’s of those who couldn’t reconcile their urges with common decency. Matthew sighed and turned away, his head down, still watchful.  A familiar white object lay on the ground a little ways away from Lola’s body, unnoticed by the hurrying legs. He went over, and scooped it up: a prescription pill bottle for Quetiamine. Judging by the date stamped at the top, it was the same bottle I had picked up this morning to fill her prescription.

Matthew hesitated for a moment, thinking to slip the bottle into his pocket, but then he replaced it on its original spot on the floor, and moved silently off-stage. All around, people were talking, exclaiming feverishly over the new delicious scandal, and declaring that they had known it all along, known that Davidson would crack one of these days. A reporter who had snuck backstage was there too, hastily scribbling notes and asking anyone who wanted questions about Davidson, the affair, and the asp.

Matthew melted back through the familiar set, to the back where the prep and dressing rooms were. The police had started to arrive, but hadn’t bothered to stake off Cruz’s room yet. As he rounded a corner, he saw Sarah slip out of Lola’s room, her face pale.

“Hey, Sarah,” he called softly and walked towards her. As he did, he got a glimpse through the half-open door and saw Lola’s room, everything stark and clean and bare.

Sarah looked up, and smiled a little. “Hi, Matt,” she said, dazed, her eyes a little glassy. They started to walk back towards the stage.

Matthew had always like Sarah. They were both from rural West Virginia, which while hardly the deep south, wasn’t an easy place to come from when trying to follow the dream of the big city among the aristocracy of show business. Matt had to run occasional errands for Lola, and he and Sarah would talk, helping each other cover their slight southern twangs and proclaiming their adoration of the show and lamenting the tribulations of its work. Sarah was utterly taken with Lola, but also intimidated; She seemed always stressed, always fluttering around Cruz, fixing her makeup, complementing her hair, running endless errands, trying to preempt the actresses volatile moods, usually to no avail. Just last month, when Sarah had to return home for two weeks, Lola had exploded, threatening to fire her. Matt wasn’t sure how she was going to take Lola’s sudden death.

“You doing okay?” he asked

“Yeah. I—yeah,” she said, biting her nails that were smudged with bright make-up as usual, “I’m fine. It--” She stopped as we reached the edge of the stage. Her mouth fell open a little bit and her eyes fixed on an unresponsive Leo, flanked by questioning police. Her face fell. “I just have to go and rest, you know, collect my thoughts—I’ll see you” She turned and walked off.

Musing to himself, Matthew tried to get close to the throng of uniformed officers, who had the stoic Leo and an older man seated on two prop-chairs. The other man was Leo’s friend, Mr. Hamilton, an animal expert and the caretaker for the snakes. Thoroughly practiced in being unnoticed (not exactly a good quality in a prospective actor, as Matthew was fully aware) he crept behind the backdrop, trying to get close to Davidson and Hamilton. He didn’t really get close enough to hear, but he could make out the word “asp” repeated, and Hamilton’s, stuttering replies. Matthew left and climbed up the framework on the outside of the stage to listen in on two policemen.

“The snake guy says he didn’t see anything funny about it. Davidson isn’t talking, just sitting there.”

“Creep, that’s all I can say. We’ve called all the major reptile dealers and stores in new York, none of them have sold an asp recently, basically all of ‘em say they don’t even carry asp’s, or cerastis vi—cerastees, however that guy said it. Or any kind of really venomous snake.”

“Well, he’s always talking about how much he knows about animals and shit…spent all that time in Libya. In my eyes, he’s basically con…”

Matthew didn’t care to hear any more. He slipped quietly down and stole away once again, this time going up some stairs behind the backdrop. Yes, Matthew knew that Davidson prided himself on his knowledge of wilderness and wildlife and that he had spent a year on the Mediterranean, but Matthew just couldn’t see him killing Cruz. He had watched them act and interact for the past two months. David loved her. The trouble in their relationship came in passionate outbursts, not over long planned out periods. David’s stoniness was not a sign of his guilt; if he wanted to, Matthew knew that he could draw on his pain and in a heartbeat have everyone marveling at his anguish. The cry in the crowd had been his, unleashed when he caught sight of Cruz’s body, before he had a reign on his emotion.

Matthew walked to the end of a cluttered hall and into the little room at the end. A white sink squatted in the corner and four wire cages sat on a table to the left. He went over and peered inside. A snake, still painted an unnaturally bright green, occupied each. Mathew blinked.  The crew only used four snakes. And all were still here, apparently all harmless. It wasn’t a switch, the venomous snake had been added somewhere else, or somewhere along the way to the set. The bumbling police went for the big guys first, but Matthew knew from experience that it was the unseen workers that kept the show running and the star’s shining. He left, and moved back up the hallway, entering a different room..

A young guy, Ricky, dressed in stagehand’s black, like Matthew, stood up. “Hey, Matt!” he said, unfailingly friendly.

“Hey. Pretty crazy what happened, huh?”

“Yeah, super,” Ricky answered. “I mean, can you believe I was actually touching a poison snake like that?”

“So, you know for sure that you took the wrong snake? How?”

Ricky shifted his weight, suddenly agitated. “Well, man, I mean, I know most of them, awesome people, I couldn’t believe it of them, but…” He paused, seemingly thinking.

“Know who?”

 “Well, before the show, I was about to go get the snake like I usually do. But then a cage gets brought down from costume--apparently the little guy needed a new paint-job or something. It looked kinda strange to me, but I figured it was just the new paint. I—I mean I would never—they would never.” Ricky stopped, then shrugged. “Well, it probably doesn’t matter. I tried to tell the police to look into the costume department, but they just brushed me off. And shoot, I really don’t know where the hell they would get an asp from.”

Matthew stared at the wooden floor for a few moments, letting the silence stretch. His head snapped up, and with a quick, generic assurance to Ricky, he was off, out the door, down the stairs.

He exited stage left, back towards Lola’s dressing room. But he didn’t stop there, he moved down a few more doors where he saw a head of yellow hair almost disappear into a room he had never actually been inside of.

“Sarah, wait a moment,” he called in a loud voice, stopping himself outside the now closed door.

A few moments later, the brown wood eased open a bit and Sarah’s pale face appeared in the crack.

“Hey, Sarah,” Matthew said.

She dipped her head.

He leaned against the opposite wall. “You know Sarah, when I was seven, my uncle had an accident out beyond our family farm,” He began, his voice quiet but strong, “Me and everyone were eating on the back porch, when we hear a yell come from the marsh. Turns out Uncle Leon got himself bit by a cottonmouth. Right above the knee. It was nasty. His knee swelled up huge, almost so all the wrinkles were smoothed out. The mark turned black, and all around it bruised purple.” He stepped towards her “Actually, it was about the same color as the wound on Lola’s neck.”

Sarah’s face was blank, her eyes focused on a point somewhere behind Matthew’s shoulder.

 “You know it’s really not easy to buy a poisonous snake,” he continued, casual, “But you must know about cottonmouths, everyone who lives in the south or by the mountains does. In fact, you went back down to West Virginia not too long ago. While there, maybe on a whim, maybe by plan, you brought back a little cottonmouth. You are a make-up artist after all, so you did it up bright green like the rest of them. The smudges are still on your hands, smudges the same color as the residue on Lola Cruz’s arms.

“To get the snake onstage, you pretended to be fresh from costume and waylaid Ricky before he could get the right snake. After the bite, you were there by her side, close enough to grab it.

Matthew didn’t really know why he was telling her this or what he planned to do, but he could feel the story inside him and he had to get it out. “Everyone gravitated towards the most dramatic, the most fitting option—the snake was an asp procured by the wildlife-savvy, jealous husband. But it wasn’t Davidson. And it wasn’t an asp. One rumor was right, though. Davidson was having an affair with a colleague—with his lover’s assistant. I always saw how sad you got when you saw them together, how upset you were when you saw he was getting the blame for the murder.

            Matthew stepped forward, but his voice was still soft. “You killed Lola Cruz. You killed her to get rid of the competition for Davidson and get back at her for causing you pain.”

“But you know the kicker? I think Lola Cruz wanted to die. She always was depressed, bipolar. I hadn’t gotten her any medication for the past month, but today, I filled her anti-psychotic sedative. I found the bottle afterwards—empty. Usually her room is cluttered, filled with all her pictures and papers and clothes, but today, today it was empty and clean, like she knew.

“My uncle didn’t die from that bite. It took a while for the poison to set it. I think Lola Cruz was helped along by pills. I think on this night Lola Cruz tried to kill herself too.”

Sarah spoke for the first time, in a feverish, strange voice. “Yes, yes of course Ms. Cruz wanted to die. She wanted to die. She did…”

Something was wrong. Suddenly, Matthew was unsure, unsettled.

            Sarah’s hand slipped of the door and he pushed it all the way open. It was just a small room, a couch in the corner, and a stool in front a mirror where she kept her makeup stuff. But everywhere, everywhere was covered in photos. Magazine cutouts and Polaroid’s lined the walls, the mirror, even the ceiling. Framed pictures were crammed onto any free space of her desk.  All of them were pictures of the play’s star. But it was the wrong star. Instead of Leo Davidson, it was Lola Cruz that looked out from the hundreds of squares of paper.

            Matthew stood, mouth open, “The rumor was true. When you saw them together, you were jealous. You and Lola Cruz...”

Sarah stood by the mirror. “She was so sad. So sad.” Her eyes were still unfocused, and she seemed not to see me. “She didn’t want to live anymore. I begged her not to, begged her to  start taking her pills again. But she didn’t want to live any more. Who am I to say no? Who am I?”

            “But, why a snake? Why go through the trouble, why not just have her take the pills in her room?”

Sarah seemed confused. “Her room? But no one would see her then. No one would see her…”

Matthew felt sick. “She did it just for fa—“

“She dies by asp bite.” Sarah continued, “That’s how it happens. Yes, she died by snake bite. She died...but it’s ok. She won’t be alone.” Sarah still was unseeing, almost manic. She slumped a little on her stool, her face twisted into a strange combination of pain and contentment. “Her servants go with her. Her servants are with her...”

“Sarah, what—“ Matthew stopped. There, on her arm, was a flash of green.

Where was the snake? There was the snake.