from the Desert Inn met us at the airport for the brief drive to the hotel. Karen took the costumes and wig boxes directly to the dressing room while I checked us into our hotel rooms. Phyllis and Warde had already been escorted to their room by the hotel manager and, once again, my checking in was only a matter of form. I was pleased to find that Karen and I were in an entirely different wing from Phyllis and Warde.
I left our bags in our respective rooms and found my way backstage. Karen already had laid out Phyllis’s makeup on one end of the dressing table and hung the costumes in the closet. Although we still had over an hour before the first show, we decided to wait for dinner until afterward. Between shows, Phyllis and Warde decided to have something in the dressing room, while Karen and I adjourned to the coffee shop. Service was slow, so by the time we were finished, we went straight backstage once again and got there just as the stage manager was calling “half hour.”
We found Phyllis looking through the pages of submitted gags; she had circled several. She had also autographed cards that people sent and they were ready to be mailed. Phyllis was conscientious about that. Serious autograph collectors would send a pair of index cards and a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Some celebrities had their secretaries or someone else sign the cards, but Phyllis never did.
The dressing room felt claustrophobic with four people in it. I picked up the mail. “I’m going to drop these off,” I told them as I left.
I dawdled through the beautiful casino, admiring the chandeliers and watching the elegant patrons playing at the gaming tables. When I returned, Phyllis had gone onstage, and Karen was absolutely livid, her face red and her voice shaking. She was one cool customer and I’d never seen her like this. Obviously something had gone very wrong.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“You just won’t believe it.”
“What?”
“There was a call for Phyllis, and Warde actually put her on the line.”
“And?”
“It was a threat.”
“Oh, no.” I felt sick. The call to the radio station in Pittsburgh leapt to mind.
“It was someone saying they’ve kidnapped Stephanie.”
“Her daughter Stephanie?” I was horrified.
Karen nodded.
“What did they want? What did Phyllis say?”
“It was just before she went on. She almost fainted.” Karen glanced at her watch for the tenth time. “C’mon, we need to be there when she comes off.”
“Did you call the police?” I asked as we headed for the wings. Luckily the audience was laughing so much I could talk without being heard out front.
“Police?” Karen almost shouted at me. “No, I didn’t call the police. I called Stephanie.”
“And?”
“She was asleep.”
“She’s okay?”
“Of course she’s okay. It was a hoax.”
By that time Phyllis was saying “good night, I love you” to the laughing, shrieking audience as the orchestra struck up her jaunty play-off music. I couldn’t hear what Karen said.
As soon as Phyllis got out of sight of the audience, she shouted over the noise of the orchestra. “Stephanie?”
“She’s fine,” Karen shouted back.
Even with her makeup on, I could see that the color had drained from Phyllis’s face. “I want to talk to her,” Phyllis said and began running toward the dressing room. In spite of the zany costume and red circus-pony feather sticking out of her hair, there was nothing comical about her at that moment.
I dialed the number while Karen undid Phyllis’s costume. As soon as Stephanie answered, I handed the phone over.
“Stephy?” The relief in Phyllis’s voice went right to my heart. “Honey, are you okay?”
I heard Warde outside and as the door opened, Karen picked up her purse. “Let’s get out of here,” she growled as she brushed past me. I was right on her heels.
I couldn’t believe someone would intentionally do something so horrible. I wondered if the
I left our bags in our respective rooms and found my way backstage. Karen already had laid out Phyllis’s makeup on one end of the dressing table and hung the costumes in the closet. Although we still had over an hour before the first show, we decided to wait for dinner until afterward. Between shows, Phyllis and Warde decided to have something in the dressing room, while Karen and I adjourned to the coffee shop. Service was slow, so by the time we were finished, we went straight backstage once again and got there just as the stage manager was calling “half hour.”
We found Phyllis looking through the pages of submitted gags; she had circled several. She had also autographed cards that people sent and they were ready to be mailed. Phyllis was conscientious about that. Serious autograph collectors would send a pair of index cards and a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Some celebrities had their secretaries or someone else sign the cards, but Phyllis never did.
The dressing room felt claustrophobic with four people in it. I picked up the mail. “I’m going to drop these off,” I told them as I left.
I dawdled through the beautiful casino, admiring the chandeliers and watching the elegant patrons playing at the gaming tables. When I returned, Phyllis had gone onstage, and Karen was absolutely livid, her face red and her voice shaking. She was one cool customer and I’d never seen her like this. Obviously something had gone very wrong.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“You just won’t believe it.”
“What?”
“There was a call for Phyllis, and Warde actually put her on the line.”
“And?”
“It was a threat.”
“Oh, no.” I felt sick. The call to the radio station in Pittsburgh leapt to mind.
“It was someone saying they’ve kidnapped Stephanie.”
“Her daughter Stephanie?” I was horrified.
Karen nodded.
“What did they want? What did Phyllis say?”
“It was just before she went on. She almost fainted.” Karen glanced at her watch for the tenth time. “C’mon, we need to be there when she comes off.”
“Did you call the police?” I asked as we headed for the wings. Luckily the audience was laughing so much I could talk without being heard out front.
“Police?” Karen almost shouted at me. “No, I didn’t call the police. I called Stephanie.”
“And?”
“She was asleep.”
“She’s okay?”
“Of course she’s okay. It was a hoax.”
By that time Phyllis was saying “good night, I love you” to the laughing, shrieking audience as the orchestra struck up her jaunty play-off music. I couldn’t hear what Karen said.
As soon as Phyllis got out of sight of the audience, she shouted over the noise of the orchestra. “Stephanie?”
“She’s fine,” Karen shouted back.
Even with her makeup on, I could see that the color had drained from Phyllis’s face. “I want to talk to her,” Phyllis said and began running toward the dressing room. In spite of the zany costume and red circus-pony feather sticking out of her hair, there was nothing comical about her at that moment.
I dialed the number while Karen undid Phyllis’s costume. As soon as Stephanie answered, I handed the phone over.
“Stephy?” The relief in Phyllis’s voice went right to my heart. “Honey, are you okay?”
I heard Warde outside and as the door opened, Karen picked up her purse. “Let’s get out of here,” she growled as she brushed past me. I was right on her heels.
I couldn’t believe someone would intentionally do something so horrible. I wondered if the
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