Murder on a Hot Tin Roof Read Online Free PDF Page A

the one who had shtupped my soon-to-explode best friend.

    “Ladies and gentlemen,” the loudspeaker voice continued, “the Morosco Theatre is proud to present the most talked-about new play of the season, Tennessee Williams’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof .”

    A hush fell over the audience and the theater went dark. Abby gasped and squeezed my hand even tighter. Then the footlights clicked on and the heavy red-and-gold-trimmed curtain began its smooth, otherworldly ascent. I sat back in my chair, slipped off my shoes, and exhaled a grateful sigh. It was showtime.

     
     
    I WISH I COULD RELATE THE WHOLE play to you—describe every detail of the lush, dramatically lit stage set and repeat every word of the emotion-charged dialogue—but I can’t. It would take way too long. And I’d be infringing on every copyright law in the book.

    So, in the interest of brevity and legality, just let me say that the play was excellent, the acting was terrific, and Gray Gordon was probably the most gorgeous, glowing, well-built man I’d ever seen in my life. With his golden-brown hair, clear blue eyes, and tall, lean, muscular physique, he looked like a Greek god (or a Hollywood cowboy hero, take your pick). And his stage presence was dynamic. His voice was strong yet mellifluent, and his fake Southern accent (the play was set in Tennessee, but Abby said Gray was born and raised in Brooklyn) was thoroughly convincing.

    Actually, his whole performance was convincing. Assured and utterly believable. The way I saw it, Gray Gordon had been born to play the role of Brick Pollitt—an alcoholic ex-football player who may be more in love with his dead team-mate, Skipper, than he is with his beautiful, sensual, and very much alive wife, Maggie.

    When the curtain came down on the final scene, there were a few breathless moments of silence, followed by a thunderous standing ovation. Everybody in the audience (myself and Abby included) jumped to their feet and shouted “bravo” at the top of their lungs. We applauded and shouted until the curtain was raised again and the cast returned to the stage to take their bows. Lots of bows. And most were taken by Gray, who was showered with so much applause and so many bravos I thought he would break in two from the bending.

    “This is so fab!” Abby whooped, grinning and clapping like there was no tomorrow. “I think I’m going to die. Gray’s such a good actor! He’s on his way to the top!”

    “That could be true,” I said. “All the columnists will be singing his praises in the papers tomorrow. I wonder if Brooks Atkinson is here. He’s the most influential theater critic in the city. If he caught tonight’s performance, Gray’s career will be made in the shade.”

    “Critics schmitics!” Abby scoffed. “Gray doesn’t need any help from those clowns. Just look around at the people in the audience. They’re enraptured. They’re madly in love with him. They’re going to make him a star.”

    She was right. Every face I looked at was euphoric. The entire audience was caught up in some kind of weird religious ecstasy. Billy Graham couldn’t hold a candle to our boy Gray.

    “Let’s go backstage,” Abby said, after Gray had taken his final curtain call. “I want to thank him for the tickets and give him my up-close and personal congratulations.” (I knew what that meant: she wanted to give him a tongue kiss so deep it would shock his socks off.)

    “Will they let us in?” I asked.

    “We won’t know till we try,” she said, “so let’s go find out!” She turned and began inching her way toward the aisle, sticking so close to the line of people slowly exiting our row that she seemed to be attached.

    I stuffed my feet back into my shoes and followed along behind her, hoping that we would be admitted backstage. I was curious to meet Abby’s gorgeous and gifted loverboy, of course, but I was even more curious to see how long we’d be allowed to remain in the blissful