LEWIS: Oh. It’s nothing. I had … another offer. Another opportunity.
WONG: And what do you mean by “trying”?
(Lights shift to MARCUS, who gasps.)
MARCUS: Oh, my God, of course! I forgot all about that! Yes, he got a call—it was right in the middle of rehearsal. Monday, maybe? Tuesday? He got off the phone and … oh, my God, it was Lewis. Lewis Cannon killed Klein! That monster!
(Lights shift to ELSIE.)
ELSIE: Yup. Yes. I was there when he got the call. We were in the middle of the heart attack scene, end of act one. It’s high drama, big emotions, and Lewis’s phone rings and he takes it. (sighs) Actors. I’m telling you.
WONG: Go ahead, please.
ELSIE. He’s on his phone, and his eyes get wider and wider, and you just know he’s going to get off the phone and say something enormously egotistical and self-regarding. You can just tell.
(Lights shift to PATRICK.)
PATRICK: He just goes (does a very good Lewis impression), “Three words, folks. Gypsy. Broad. Way.”
WONG: And what was your reaction?
PATRICK: I told him that Broadway is one word, and then I said, “Back to work, folks.”
(Lights shift to ELSIE.)
ELSIE: After rehearsal, he went to Klein, who of course was a monster about it. He refused to let Lewis out of his contract. Absolutely refused. Stood there puffing on his disgusting cigar just going, “No, no, absolutely not.” I told Klein, just let him go play Goldstone; he’ll be terrible in this show if he feels handcuffed, pardon the pun. (Off WONG’S look.) There are handcuffs? In the play? Oy. Listen, the point is, Klein thought that Lewis’s celebrity, exceedingly minor though it is, was the only thing selling tickets.
(Lights back to LEWIS, who takes off his sunglasses and stares balefully at WONG.)
LEWIS: Fine. You got me. I wanted out. I shouted about it a little. So that means I killed the guy? What am I, Sweeney Todd all of a sudden? (Beat.) He’s a murderer. In a play. Skip it.
(Switch to MARCUS, who is back in full overwrought mode.)
MARCUS: I mean, I just can’t believe it. It’s crazy. First, it was the disgruntled stage manager, and now it’s the fading Broadway star. It’s like everybody is killing Klein!
(Switch to ELSIE.)
ELSIE: You know what it’s like? It’s like one of those old Broadway thrillers! Gaslight. Dial M. for Murder. Mousetrap. That whole genre, which Levin was totally paying tribute to with Deathtrap. Someone gets killed, the audience gets clues along the way, but the solution is always more complicated than it seems. And there’s always a policeman of some sort. Usually a dull, plodding sort of person. No offense.
WONG: That’s okay.
(Switch to LEWIS.)
LEWIS: Hey, can I make a little suggestion, here, Detective Wong? You want to know who killed the guy, maybe start with the person who literally said the words, “I could kill that guy.”
WONG: And who was that?
(Switch to MARCUS, who looks up from his crying and takes a long pause before speaking.)
MARCUS: Yes. Technically, yes. Yes, technically, I said that. But not like that. I didn’t say it like, “I am going to kill him.” I said it like, “I could kill him!” As in, like, “You’re exasperating me!” Haven’t you ever said you wanted to kill somebody!
WONG: No.
MARCUS: But surely people have said it about you.
WONG: Excuse me?
MARCUS: Nothing. Forget it! I did not kill Mr. Klein. I didn’t—I couldn’t!
WONG: Because …?
MARCUS: Because … because …
WONG: Yes?
MARCUS: (leaping from his chair) Because I loved him. And he loved me, too. He couldn’t say it, Detective, but he did. It was clear every time I looked into his eyes. He would say, “Good morning, Marcus,” but what his heart was saying was, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”
WONG: Interesting.
MARCUS: Interesting? I lay bare my soul and all you can say is “interesting”? Are you not human, Detective? Have you no soul? This man and I shared a hidden passion, smoldering in our breasts like the living coals of a fire, and all you can say is “interesting”?
WONG: Very interesting.
MARCUS: Oh, for God’s sake.
WONG: Will you sit down, please? (MARCUS complies, slowly, while WONG checks her notes.) I had understood that Mr. Klein was married.
MARCUS: Yes. Right. “Married.” To a “woman.” His “wife” is a “makeup artist” and she “travels frequently.”
WONG: May I take your quote marks as indicative of skepticism?
MARCUS: He was in the closet, is what I’m saying. He was way back in the back of the closet, with the winter hats. Which was totally infuriating. Hello? The twenty-first century has arrived, Mr. Klein! You work in show business, Mr. Klein! And not television, either. In the theater. It’s New York! It’s Chelsea! Go ahead and be gay!
WONG: So, the fact is, then, that you confessed your love to him, and he turned you down.
MARCUS: I guess so. I guess if all you care about is “facts,” then yes.