Free Death Dance by Linda Fairstein Page A

while." He disconnected
the call. "Gentlemen?"
    "Who told you about Ms. Galinova?" Mike asked.
    "Told me what?"
    "That she's dead."
    "It's some kind of secret?"
    "It was until—"
    "Yeah, I heard you. Half an hour ago. You know how many people
call Joe Berk every thirty minutes?" he said, sweeping his hand over
the blinking dials on the console.
    "Nathan Lane comes down with a sore throat, my phone rings.
Bernadette Peters gets indigestion, somebody rings me. The Lion King
has diarrhea, I'm the first to know."
    "Miss Galinova didn't work for you, did she?" Mike asked.
    Berk dragged on the cigarette. "Footlights and fantasy, Mr.
Chapman. That's what I'm about. Anybody who ever walked the boards
wants to work for me."
    The intercom buzzed again. Berk gave Mike a full palm now.
"Yeah, babe?"
    He listened while the secretary told him who was on the line.
"Gotta take this call, guys."
    Berk rested the cigarette holder in an ashtray and pressed his
fingers against his temple. "Bottom line, that's all I wanna know.
Yesterday you told me thirty-five. We going over that yet?" He waited
for an answer. "You kidding me? It's grossed over three billion
worldwide. Soup it up, Joey. Hands down, it's the most popular
entertainment property ever. Don't screw with me—I got a lady
here, Joey, or I'd tell you how I really feel."
    "Can you hold these calls till we're done?" Mike asked.
    "Hey, for thirty-five million, I'd suggest you hold your
questions till
I'm
done, buddy," Berk said,
turning his attention to me. "We're taking
Phantom of the
Opera
to Vegas. Custom-made theater at the Venetian, a
flying chandelier bigger than a boat, and very few people with Joe
Berk-size pockets who can make it happen. Broadway goes Vegas. Get a
hundred bucks a seat without even blinking."
    "We were talking about Ms. Galinova," Mike said. "Look, Mr.
Berk, we understand you were at the Met last night."
    "Absolutely."
    "But missed the show."
    "Not my thing, ballet. The music puts me to sleep, the broads
are too skinny for my taste, the boys run around with pairs of socks
wadded in their crotches to make themselves look like they're well
hung. Give me Shakespeare or give me schmaltz and I can pack you a full
house. Not the ballet."
    "But you were going there specifically to see Ms. Galinova,
weren't you?" Mike asked.
    "Talya invited me to the gala. Look, I tried very hard to make
it. She's a classy dame, but I got a schedule of my own. We had an
understudy going on in one of our shows last night and I had to see the
first act for myself to figure out whether she's got the stuff to take
over the lead. I was late for Talya's scene. So sue me."
    "What happened when you arrived at the Met?"
    "Nothing happened. Meaning what?"
    "Meaning what did you do when you found out they wouldn't seat
you?"
    "I thanked my lucky stars for my brilliant timing and went
back to the dressing room to wait for her."
    "The ushers just let you inside? No problem?"
    "Why? Some jerk didn't know me, I had to spend a few minutes
educating him? Next time he will."
    "You knew where the dressing room was?"
    "Yeah, sure I did. I've been there before."
    "Recently?"
    "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talya wanted to talk to me, I went. She tad
time off during the rehearsals, I went."
    "To talk about ballet?"
    "Don't be funny, detective. I told you that doesn't interest
me. Talya needed Joe Berk, Mr. Chapman, not the other way around," he
said, poking his forefinger into his broad chest. "She wants to
be—wanted to be—in a production of mine. She wanted
me to make her a Broadway baby."
    "Any show in particular?"
    "That would make a difference to you? You want to put up ten
percent, be a backer?"
    Mike was as annoyed as if Berk were scratching a fingernail
along a blackboard. "The only difference it would make is whether I
believe you."
    "Like I have to worry if you do or you don't." Berk laughed.
"You know the story of the girl on the red velvet swing? Evelyn Nesbit."
    I recognized the Nesbit name and knew she'd