Writing Assignment 6 Draft 1

“Officer, welcome. I’ve been waiting for you.” I say as I open my door to Officer Beaumont. He walks in and looks uncomfortable. Against the lushness of my furnishings—the rich colored wallpaper and velvety carpets imported from Paris, he looks rough and out of place.
“Hello Miss Velonsky.” He says, half raising his hand as if to shake mine, but then seeming to think better of the motion dropping his hand to his side. I manage to hide a smile by turning my back to lead him into the parlor…I was used to this flustered appearance upon meeting me.
“As you know I have a few questions Miss Velonsky.” He says as he takes a seat on the silk armchair.
“Natasha, please.” I smile graciously, perching on the chaise lounge. He repositions himself, taking out a pad of paper and pen, tapping the pen against the paper. Hopefully we could get this interrogation over with quickly.
“That is a very fancy dress.” Officer Beaumont points out rather simple-mindedly. I look down innocently at the silk ball gown that I had slipped on moments before he arrived and shrugged my shoulders. In truth my wardrobe choice had been rather specifically chosen. Elegant ladies weren’t murderers, everyone knew that.
“Tell me the events of last Friday evening.” He said into my silence.
“I had a show at the Carlton Theater as you know, Officer.”
“Perhaps you could be more specific.”
“I took a cab to the theater at around 5 O’clock, arrived in my dressing room and had my dinner served to me there. I ate alone that night because I was going out to a party with the friends anyways after my performance. I did my usual pre-show rituals—costuming, putting on makeup, hair, warming up my voice,. Then the curtain went up at 7:00. I sang until the show ended at around 9:00, then, well you know what happened next.”
“Yes, I do. You left the stage and found…” He looked down at his paper to read a name—“ Fred Kinsley, stabbed to death in your dressing room.” My heart skipped a beat at Kinsley’s name, but I remained calm.
“Yes.”
“Did you have relations with the Kinsley before?”
“We had been acquainted at a few various and sundry society galas, but that was the extent of it.
“Really? I find that very interesting. It seems that Mr. Kinsley’s sister was under the impression that you had known him quite well.”
“Oh?” I say raising one eyebrow in an attempt to seem coy, but the question coming out more faintly then I had planned. Officer Beaumont now seemed to be in his element.
“Mr. Kinsley and I were…old friends.” I manage.
“Friends?”
“Yes.”
“Purely platonic?”
“Yes.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that?”
“Isn’t one’s first love platonic enough?” I soon as I said it I knew it was the wrong thing to say. I hurried to recover. “I knew Fred Kinsley when I was very young, before I began my life on the stage. We had grown up together. But when I left home to come to the city we lost touch. You can imagine my surprise at seeing him dead in my dressing room after all these years. I’m still recovering from the trauma of it.” I bring a tear to my eye and let it sit there. I knew that I looked the epitome of stifled misery.
“And your fiancé, Mr. Duke Harvington of Harvington Banking, he knew of this Fred Kinsley?” The question took me by surprise. I thought nothing surprised me.
“Of course not. Why would he? They’re from two separate worlds.”
“Yes, two separate worlds. The world of being in love with Mary Winsted and the world of being in love with Natasha Velonsky.” The Officer says calmly. I cock my head to one side.
“I’m sorry…Mary Winstead?”
“You’re not familiar with the name?” I don’t answer, calculating in my head. “Are you familiar with that name, Miss Velonsky?” The Officer repeated the question in earnest. I open my mouth to speak, but no answer came out. “I would have thought that you wouldn’t have forgotten your original name, ma’am.” The officer says quietly.
“Mary Winsted doesn’t make a very good stage name.” I finally say. I can feel my walls of calm breaking down around me and I know it is time for drastic measures. “Would you like a glass of wine, Officer Beaumont? All this chatting has gotten me simply parched.” I don’t wait for his reply and instead I get up and pour two glasses. He stands also, taking a glass from me and we both sip. I place my hand gently on his chest.
“I can’t help but admire you, Officer. I’ve never been so intimidated in my life.” I smile slightly.
“Call it a gift.” His soft voice mimics mine and I know I am winning. Men are so predictable. I lean closer to him so that I can feel the heat of his breath on my face. And suddenly we are kissing, kissing passionately as my head does a victory dance until suddenly I feel something cold and metal on my wrist. I look down and see a handcuff covering it and for a moment am confused at how it got there. But then I see that Officer Beaumont has pulled out a piece of wrinkled paper from his coat pocket.
“I have here a marriage license for Fred Kinsley and Mary Winsted.” I stare at it in amazement. “It’s quite curious to me, Miss Winsted that you would agree to marry Duke Harvington when you’re already married. Though I supposed if Mr. Kinsley were to suddenly die, you would be a widow and free to do as you please and go marry your millionaire, nice and tidy with no scandal of divorce.” Our faces are still inches apart.
“I’ve never been afraid of scandal. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
“So perhaps Mr. Kinsley showed up in your dressing room during intermission last Friday to remind you of your union, and things got a bit heated?”
“Mary Winsted and Natasha Velonsky are two different people.”
“Not in the eye of the law. You over pampered starlets are all the same. You commit a crime, and expect seduction is going to get you what you want, just like everywhere else in your over privileged lives? You make me…” But he is cut off suddenly as he gasps and falls to the ground, blood trickling down his back. He looks at me in shock as he lay there, dying on the ground.
“You should really make sure your knife is more neatly stowed away before embracing a woman, Beaumont. The outer pocket? Really? And now I’ll have to get the carpet cleaned.” As I spoke those last words I saw the life flicker from him and he was dead. I pick up the marriage document, now dripping with blood and threw it into the fire, before commencing theatrical screams, “Help! Murder! Murder in my Apartment! Help!”