This Enemy Town by Marcia Talley Page B

liked to have more kids, Hannah, but it wasn’t in the cards.”
    I tried to draw her out about that, but she squirmed a bit uncomfortably and changed the subject. We ended up in safer territory, chatting about the latest installment of Harry Potter until the food went away and Act Two began.
    â€œFingers crossed,” said Dorothy as we returned to our seats. I knew she was referring to Sweeney’s chair. Would it work as we had planned?
    The opening number, “God, That’s Good,” went off without a hitch, and I began to relax and enjoy the show. Several scenes later, while Mrs. Lovett distracted Tobias with one of her delectable pies, Perelli, upstairs, confronted Sweeney. Perelli swaggered to the washstand and picked up one of Sweeney’s razors. “But I remember these … and you, Benjamin Barker,” he sneered, blowing Sweeney’s cover. In a carefully rehearsed move, Sweeney knocked the razor from his rival’s hand.
    â€œOoooh, well done,” said Dorothy.
    The two men struggled. Advantage to Sweeney as he grabbed Pirelli by the throat and began to squeeze.
    Suddenly, Tobias appeared on the stairs. Afraid of discovery, Sweeney dragged Pirelli—foot-dragging, arm-flopping limp—across the shop, tumbled him into the trunk and slammed the lid.
    I held my breath. The next bit of shtick was my favorite.
    Tobias rushed upstairs, adjusting his wig, looking for his boss. He’s supposed to say, “Ow, he ain’t here!” and sit down on the trunk with Pirelli’s hand still dangling from it, but before Tobias could move, the trunk lid flew open, Perelli crawled out and sprawled on the floor.
    I gasped, and looked at Dorothy. “That’s not part of the script!”
    â€œMaybe Sweeney got a little carried away with the strangling?”
    On stage, the actor playing Perelli rose unsteadily to his feet and backed away from the trunk, wiping the palms of his hands on the trousers of his costume. We watched in silence as the lid of the trunk bounced back against the wall—once, twice—teetered, then slammed shut.
    Perelli was wearing a body mike, so everyone heard what he said next. “Oh, Jesus. Jesus. Shit!”
    â€œWhat’s gotten into him?” I wondered aloud.
    The music, which had been building steadily from allegretto to poco accelerando suddenly quit— fermata —as Professor Tracey cut the orchestra off with an impatient wave of his hand. He slapped both hands flat on top of the piano; the first violinist started, fumbled, and nearly dropped her bow. “What’s going on, folks?” Professor Tracey yelled. “Have we got a train wreck up there?”
    Mrs. Lovett, too, was aghast. She stood in her pie shop, hands on hips, gazing up.
    Tobias and Sweeney exchanged glances and shrugged.
    Medwin Black shot out of his seat, clapping his hands and bellowing, the glasses on his forehead like a secondpair of eyes. “You’re half dead, Perelli! You’re supposed to stay in the trunk, not leap out of it like some demented jack-in-the-box!”
    The midshipman playing Perelli didn’t appear to be listening. He bowed, resting his hands on his knees, as exhausted as if he had just run a marathon. His panting came to us in ragged gasps, amplified a thousand times by the speakers.
    Tobias stood to one side, whipped off his wig. He approached Perelli and laid a hand on his back. “You all right, man?”
    Perelli waved at the trunk with a long index finger. “There’s something in there! Jesus Christ, there’s something already in there!”
    Sweeney crossed to the trunk and threw back the lid. He bent, bobbled, then staggered backward. “Tim!” he shouted. “Give me a hand here!”
    Tim/Tobias hurried over, his ridiculous wig forgotten. Together they reached into the trunk and pulled something out—it looked like a bundle of laundry—and laid it on the