Chapter 15: Row C

The Gramercy opened its new play on Wednesday night, and I was in the wings with a mouthful of pins.

The lead actress had split a seam in her second-act gown, and I fixed it in two minutes.

That was all the work the night asked of me.

Nobody mentioned the video.

Nobody said a single word about my sister.

Instead, the dresser pressed a cup of tea into my hand.

The stage manager walked past and tapped the shoulder of my cardigan twice, which is how she says things she can't say.

The foreman stood by the prop table with his arms folded.

"There are four photographers at the front doors," he said. "There are two more at the alley."

"I know."

"Do you want us to do anything?"

"I want you to put on the play."

"We're doing that anyway." He shrugged. "I meant about the rest."

At the half-hour call, the stage door buzzed.

The youngest stagehand looked through the peephole, and his whole face changed.

"It's your husband, Jo," he said. "He's got roses."

I felt every person in the wings stop moving.

Preston stood on the step under the one bulb, in the navy suit from the luncheon, with a bunch of red roses held out in front of him.

He hadn't shaved.

"Jo," he said. "Please. Five minutes."

"No."

"I just need to explain what Lacey is, I didn't know what she was, I never decided any of it."

"I know," I said. "That was always the problem."

He tried to step past the foreman, and the foreman didn't move.

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