Read Online Scene Stealer by Elise Warner - Free Book Online Page B

taking any job, I have at times, Kevin, demeaned my talent. Lived in the squalor of a cold-water flat where I suffered chilblains and heat rash while fighting a constant and losing battle with vermin. Now, one call to Norman Bottoms and my years of deprivation will end. I have paid my dues.”
    Dunn glanced at his pocket-watch; Kevin watched him lovingly trace the name imprinted on its back. Mr. Dunn showed him the engraving: O’Neill.
    â€œThe watch once belonged to that great American playwright, Eugene O’Neill. A fortunate purchase at a pawnshop, I’m sure the magnificent master of words wanted me to have his treasure. But I digress.”
    Dunn picked up the sheet of paper and scanned the lines. “Friends, Bottoms, countrymen, lend me your ears.”
    Gee, Kevin didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Dunn but in Julius Caesar, Marc Antony doesn’t say “Bottoms,” he says “Romans.” when he delivers his speech.
    â€œI come to bury Cowboy Bob’s Big, Bad Burgers not to praise them.” Dunn paused, and Kevin tilted his head, confused. Why was Mr. Dunn talking about Cowboy Bob?
    â€œThe evil that men do lives after them…” Dunn skipped several lines. “Take heed—here I am to speak what I do know—” Lawrence Dunn reluctantly stopped reciting Shakespeare’s words. “The baneful burger will be death in the pot. Robert Barton, the sponsor of Cowboy Bob’s, is a cheat, a mountebank, an ass in lion’s skin. He hath stolen the recipe for Cousin Cora’s Cakewalks and will cheapen this dainty viand with inferior ingredients.”
    That was a terrible thing to say about Mr. Barton, Kevin thought. Now Mr. Dunn was massaging his throat.
    â€œThe flesh of an actor’s throat, my dear Kevin, should feel as soft as butter, then you must run through a series of vocal exercises designed to warm up the vocal cords. Who, ho, ha, how, hunt, hum, him, hem.”
    Kevin watched as Dunn addressed his reflection in the three-way mirror standing in the far corner of the storage room. “Heavy, heavy hangs the head.”
    Boy, Kevin thought, Mr. Dunn’s training was sure different from PT’s.
    â€œYour tongue is nimble tonight.” Dunn addressed his image in the mirror. “Ringing and swinging. Ringing and swinging. O wind, a blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song.” Lawrence Dunn drew a deep breath, held it until his face threatened to turn purple, then expelled the air with a long, drawn-out hiss. He glanced at his pocket-watch again and turned toward the door of the storage room.
    â€œI will see you in the morning, Kevin,” he said, bowed slightly, pulled out the keys to the door and left.
    He was locked in the room again.

CHAPTER NINE
    The basement storage room turned cold at night; Kevin burrowed into the thin mattress and pulled the black, velour drape he was using as a cover, over the bottom half of his face. Dust, caught in the folds of the musty drape, tickled his nose and made him sneeze. The sneeze woke him up and he couldn’t fall back to sleep. He kept thinking about how mad Mr. Dunn looked when he came back into the room and told him his television show was cancelled and then he blamed him, Mr. Dunn scared him so much; he thought he was going to hit him or even kill him but all they did was rehearse Julius Caesar for hours before Mr. Dunn left.
    His Cowboy Bob watch lit up when he pressed a button; it read eight o’clock. Cowboy Bob’s lariat had lassoed the eight. There were no windows in the basement storage room and no way he could see whether it was day or night but it had to be 8:00 p.m. not 8:00 a.m. because he didn’t have to use the empty, potato-chip can that served as his toilet. Mr. Dunn said he used wood shutters and burlap drapes to cover his windows in a railroad flat; Kevin wasn’t sure what a railroad flat was but it must be awful the way Mr. Dunn talked