Reign Read Free

of gray stone decorated with bas-reliefs. Ann listened.
    “. . . who purchased the Venetian Theatre with the intention of making it a showcase for new American musical comedy. Though we were unable to talk to Hamilton himself, we were able to visit with his business manager, John Steinberg."
    There was a cut to an interior, and Ann saw a round-faced, balding man in his sixties smile benignly toward where the unseen correspondent stood. "There's a need for it," the man said in a voice that was deep but held effeminate tones. "I mean, just look at the musicals on Broadway — Les Miz, Cats, Phantom , that new one, Rinky-Tink — all of them British.”
    "What about Sondheim?" the woman asked.
    Steinberg shrugged. "Well, his shows are always interesting, but I haven't found the last few very . . . involving . And, it seems, neither have the critics nor the audiences. Let's face it, American musical theatre just isn't that healthy."
    "And Dennis Hamilton wants to change that," the woman said.
    "Yes he does. All of us involved with the project do. Dennis believes that there are new Rodgers and Hammersteins and Lerner and Loewes out there."
    "What about new Davis and Ensleys ?" the woman asked, referring to the long-retired writers of A Private Empire .
    Hamilton's manager smiled. "That goes without saying. He would be absolutely delighted to find a team like that. After all, he owes his fame to them."
    The camera went back to the woman in front of the building. "So, tonight will see the re-opening party of the Venetian Theatre here in Kirkland, Pennsylvania, and Entertainment Tonight wishes Dennis Hamilton well in his effort to restore the status of American musical theatre to the grand old days of Gershwin and Irving Berlin. Back to you, Bob . . ."
    Ann picked up the remote and clicked the switch. The picture and sound faded away, leaving the room darker, quieter, an incubator for her thoughts. After a minute, she got up and crossed the room to the cherry-wood shelves, ran her fiver over the black-cased rows of videocassettes, and removed one. She uncased it, put it in the machine (a Panasonic Super-VHS — one more of Eddie's toys), and turned everything on. Then she sat down and watched as the anti-copying message and the Paramount Home Video logo ran their course.
    When the overture began over the opening credits, she held her breath, releasing it when his name came up on the screen. She watched the film for fifteen minutes before Terri came into the room.
    "Mother?" the girl said, and Ann looked around guiltily. Terri's smile was a bit sad, a bit bitter. "Don't tell me. You were watching ET , right?" Ann nodded, and Terri sat down next to her. Though Ann was tall, Terri was taller still. It was daunting , Ann thought, to try and mother a person taller than you, and nearly an adult in years as well . Maybe that was just one reason she hadn't done a very good job of it lately.
    "I just thought it would be . . . fun to look at this again. I haven't seen it for a couple of years." It was a lie. One morning several months before, Ann had watched the film of A Private Empire when the house was empty. She had cried at the end, as she always did, telling herself that it wasn't because of Dennis and what might have been, but because of the sadness and the romance of the plot. "I'll turn it off," Ann said, reaching for the remote.
    "You don't have to feel guilty," Terri told her, the tone belying the words.
    "I don't feel guilty," Ann said, pressing a button and making the image vanish. "I've never done anything to feel guilty about. Not that way."
    Terri raised her eyebrows, as though such an accusation had been the farthest thing from her mind. "You don't have to be defensive about it either. I'm not one to judge. For all I care, you can go visit him at his new theatre. Kirkland's only forty miles away."
    "Don't be smart."
    "I'm not. I'm serious. Maybe you could use your . . . influence to get me a job with him."
    "I don't have any