Shrew turned out to be a resounding success even if Amanda only had a minor part. Lily Langford had a death grip on the role of Katherine, the leading lady and star of the show. A remarkably healthy woman, who hadn’t missed a performance in eighteen months, Lily was said to be type cast for the role of the pampered man hating bitch who lived to make other people’s lives miserable. If you could believe the tabloids, she remained in character both on and off stage.
Amanda was Lily’s understudy. She knew all the lines and had to be ready to step in for Lily at a moment’s notice. Yet, after a year and a half on the London stage, Amanda had yet to step off the chorus line and into the spotlight.
The only reason Mrs. B let me pursue my request was that it put several of my newly acquired skills to the test. Using a different disguise every day, I followed Lily for a week, getting a feel for her patterns … where and what she ate … what she did on show days and off days … when she slept … and with whom.
I picked the lock on her apartment door when she was on stage one Saturday night to discover a completely white motif. White couch, chairs, carpet, bedspread and cat. The hidden cameras I left behind later established that she was a vegetarian, a true blonde, and infatuated with an eight-inch battery powered sex toy which lived in the nightstand next to her bed.
Just like the character she played on stage; Lily was not into domestic chores. A daily maid service took care of the mundane household tasks of cleaning, bed making and laundry. Her meals were delivered to the theatre on show days, and on her two days off, she frequented the Pampered Princess … the lone vegetarian restaurant she found suitable for her rather particular taste buds.
Neither Mrs. B nor I found the Pampered Princess’ menu appealing, but we ate there anyway. It was all part of my plan.
“Blimey, I could get a good steak for the price of these sauteed brussel sprouts,” Mrs. B said, “and I wouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy the steak.”
We weren’t there for the food. This was to be my first of many interdictions … a fancy term for eliminating a person who stood in our way. It was a Thursday night. We arrived a half hour before Lily Langford normally arrived and spent the time sampling their questionable menu while we made our final plans.
“That’s Jennifer,” I said, pointing to a dark-haired waitress who did an excellent job of filling out her blouse. “Lily always sits at the corner table and Jennifer is usually her server.”
“Does she eat alone?”
“Rarely. She’s often joined by two or three others. Theatre people, I think. They spend most of their time complaining about the producer and making fun of the people they work with.”
“You know this because …?” Mrs. B asked.
“Standard audio bug stuck to the bottom of her table. I know they’re expensive, as are the cameras in her apartment. I promise to retrieve them when this is all over.”
“Only if you can do it without getting caught. We want to make this look like she succumbed to natural causes. Finding a bug or camera in the target’s apartment might raise suspicions with the local authorities but catching you in her apartment with a video camera in your hands will place the blame directly on your head.”
After a plate of some disgusting fake meat, I decided to satisfy my hunger with grains and hops while Mrs. B chose fermented grapes for her nightly intake of calories. I was two pints into dinner when Lily Langford made her entrance.
The maître de immediately escorted Lily and her three friends to their table, showing a deference no other customer received. Her companions, two women and a man who walked and talked like a switch hitter, patiently stood while Lily signed an autograph for the couple at the next table and then took their seats … but only after the restaurant manager personally seated Lily.
It took a full sixty seconds before the bitching began.
“Where the hell is that waitress?” Lily asked loud enough so that half the restaurant heard. “If I don’t get something to drink in the next two minutes, my tonsils will shrivel up and I won’t be able to perform tomorrow night.”
“It is damn near impossible to get good wait staff,” one of her companions said.
“The girl obviously doesn’t know who you are,” another Lily groupie chimed in.
Jennifer, who’s only sin was delivering another table’s meal before fawning over Lily Langford and her entourage, rushed over as soon as she heard the ruckus. Lily took several minutes to explain to the hapless waitress how her job depended on keeping “the important customers” happy. Once properly shamed, Jennifer took their drink orders and left as quickly as she could for the bar.
This was the tricky part. Mrs. B rose from our table carrying her glass of Merlot and took a position at the bar. I waited until the busty waitress passed and then followed a short distance behind her. There was a partial wall between the bar and dining area and, if you weren’t careful, you might not see a person coming around it … especially if that person was in a hurry to get to the bar so she could get an obnoxious customer her drink.
Jennifer rounded the corner at almost a dead run and started to shout out her order to the bartender when she came face to face with an attractive woman carrying a glass of Merlot. Jennifer might have been able to stop before running into the woman if not for the tall young man who picked that instant to also round the corner and accidently slam into Jennifer’s back, pushing her into the lady carrying the wine, which ended up on what used to be Jennifer’s spotless white blouse. And if that didn’t completely ruin Jennifer’s day, the young man who rear ended her instinctively reached out to help and accidently got a hand full of blouse.
Now normally a slight tug on a high-quality item of clothing won’t do any structural damage. But in this case, the blouse was already stretched to its limits by Jennifer’s more than ample chest and the extra strain of the young man’s strong hands separated eight of the nine buttons from the shirt which previously kept Jennifer’s boobs hidden from sight.
I felt like a prime-time asshole when Jennifer looked down at her wine stained, dysfunctional blouse and broke into tears.
“Oh my dear, I am so sorry,” Mrs. B said. “But there’s no need for tears. It’s only a blouse. I’ll be glad to purchase you a new one.”
“No, it’s my fault,” Jennifer said between sobs. “I was in too much of a hurry and now I’m going to lose my job.”
“For getting wine spilled on your blouse? I certainly hope not. If anybody should pay, it’s my young friend behind you.”
“She’s right,” I said. “I was distracted and wasn’t looking. I should be the one who pays.”
“It’s not about the blouse,” Jennifer sobbed. “I’ve got another one in the back. But I don’t have time to change my blouse and get Miss Langford her wine. She’ll eviscerate me if I make her wait any longer.”
“Listen, let’s agree it’s nobody’s fault,” I said. “Give the barkeep your order, tell him to put a rush on it and while you change blouses, I’ll take the loud-mouthed woman her wine.”
“Are you sure? Miss Langford can be a real bitch at times.”
“Don’t worry,” Mrs. B said. “My associate is extremely adept at handling both wine and women.”
I gave Jennifer my coat to cover herself, she gave the barkeep her order, told me which wine was destined for Lily’s lips and ran off to change.
Two minutes later, I placed a slightly altered glass of Pinot Grigio in front of Lily, gave her friends their drinks and start to withdraw when Lily stops me by saying …
“What have you done to my wine?”
“Nothing,” I answered. “It’s straight from the bottle to the glass to your table.”
“Well, it tastes different. Slightly sweeter than usual. Are you sure this is Collio?”
“Yes ma’am. From the hillside vineyards of northeast Italy. This is a ninety-three vintage. You’re probably used to the ninety or ninety-one. They had a wetter than normal spring in ninety-three which might account for the added sweetness. It’s preferred by our more discerning customers, but I’d be glad to take it back if you’re not satisfied.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I was just commenting on the difference. Here, give it a try Mable. Tell me what you think.”
Lily passed her glass of poisoned wine to a table mate who took a sip, made an inane comment and then passed it to the next person. Once the entire table had a taste, Lily pronounced it acceptable, and I was dismissed.
“They all drank the wine?” Mrs. B asked as we walked to the tube station.
“Lily drank most of it, but the others had a sip or two.”
“How many drops of the poison did you use?”
“Doctor Bob recommended three to six per glass. I used seven, just in case.”
“Next time stick to the lower end of his recommendation. He always overdoses and, despite what he says, too much of the stuff can change the taste.”
“Should I have stopped them? I mean the other three didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, my young prince. In our line of work, we must think of the greater good. There will always be an element of collateral damage. No matter how hard we try, we can’t always protect the people who willingly socialize with our targets. Call it guilt by association or just plain bad luck. They put themselves in the line of fire. The mission always takes priority. You either pull the trigger or find another profession.”
“Yes ma’am. I understand.”
***
The following night, I escorted Mrs. B to the evening performance of “Shrew”. We purposely got seats in the balcony where it was impossible to be seen from the stage. An announcement was made just before the curtains parted.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that Miss Lily Langford will not be with us this evening. The part of Katherine will be played by Amanda Zimmerman.”