Read Online Show Business Is Murder by Stuart M. Kaminsky - Free Book Online

yesterday or the day before.
    Their first apartment. It had been in this building. A small one bedroom, third floor rear, right next to the elevator. Dark as hell.
    â€œNow look what we have,” he said.
    â€œA penthouse. Sixteen floors up. You wanted a penthouse.”
    â€œSo did you. Who’s the genius in this family? Who’s the deal maker? Who gave you the best?”
    â€œDavid . . .”
    â€œYes. David.” He liked to hear her say it. She had that throaty voice. She was so beautiful and she was his. He reached for her now and she slipped away from him.
    He went to the sink and splashed water on his face. He had to call the office. There were things to be done. He hit the direct dial button.
    â€œDavid Sharp Productions,” a strange voice said.
    â€œPut Betty on.” Betty Carbone. Not much of a looker, but a great gal. Loyal. When he began producing plays, he made her his general manager. She’d been with him for years. She was like family. He loved her like a buddy. He trusted her.
    â€œWho is calling please?”
    â€œThe man who’s fucking overpaying your salary,” he yelled.
    The girl was flustered. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Sharp.”
    Betty came on. “David?”
    â€œListen, Betty, there’s something I have to do.”
    â€œYes? Is everything okay?”
    â€œWe’re working things out. And Betty?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI love ya, pal.” He hung up the phone.
    Where was he? Oh, yes. He was sorting his papers. Ticket stubs. So many. They wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, but it made sense to him. It was their life together.
    Miranda went on the road with Dancin’ and he flew out to see her every weekend.
    â€œI loved touring,” she said. “We’d go dancing after the show. I met so many people. It was so much fun.”
    â€œI hated not seeing you every day. I hated that you were with them.”
    â€œThem, David? Who is them?” He caught the exasperation in her voice. Didn’t she know he adored her?
    â€œAnyone you were with when you were not with me.”
    He placed the stubs back in their place. All except one. The Naked Truth . His play. A review with sketches written by a dozen famous writers on erotic subjects, the performers either all or semi-nude. It had been done before, and it hadn’t been successful. But that was because he wasn’t involved. It needed someone with vision. He would do it better.
    â€œAnd you did,” Miranda said.
    â€œYes. And then I bought the theater, too. You have to own the real estate,” he said, “otherwise, you’re always paying the man.”
    â€œWhere did the money come from, David?”
    â€œWhat difference does it make? I have friends who believe in me.”
    â€œWhy the hell not? You were laundering their money.”
    â€œI didn’t hear any complaints from you. You have the best of everything. Clothes, the penthouse, everything you could ever want.”
    â€œYes.” She gave him a sad smile. “Like the hot tub.”
    â€œYou loved the hot tub.”
    â€œWith you sitting in it doing business, a phone on each ear, making your deals, raising money, negotiating with the unions. Oh, yes, I loved the hot tub.”
    â€œI was really something. Admit it.” He made another grab for her, but she eluded him. “I never understood how you could let Bobby talk you into going back. You had everything.”
    â€œThat was part of the problem. I felt as if I was just something valuable that belonged to you—”
    â€œOh, come on. I never heard anything so crazy.”
    â€œAnd I missed dancing.” She raised a long elegant leg and rested the back of her heel on the table without dislodging the lines of scrap paper. “You never—”
    â€œThere wasn’t any work for you.”
    â€œYou never let me talk. You never let anyone—”
    â€œTalk?