Owen Betrays My Trust on Opening Night novel · Chapter 2 of 3

Chapter 2: The Feed

Owen admits he gave the feed to four people; the house manager hands Romy a printed page of her own heart rates, and the board is already circulating it.

I did the second act with the page folded in my sleeve.

I don't remember most of it.

I remember the bench. I remember the line about the river.

I remember the light on my hands and thinking, they've all got a page.

The curtain came down and the house came up and I stayed in the wings until the last of them were out.

Then I went to the lobby doors and stood at the glass and watched.

Four hundred programs on four hundred seats.

The ushers were stacking them into bins at the exits.

I walked out and took one off the top of the bin.

I opened it.

Nothing.

I took another one. Nothing.

The third one had the page taped inside the cover.

A column of numbers down the left side, times beside them.

8:41 p.m. 118.

8:44 p.m. 132.

8:47 p.m. 146.

The name at the top was mine in a font that wasn't the theater's.

I checked the bin. Six programs in, one more page.

Then twelve in, another.

One in every ten.

Enough that every row had one.

Enough that you'd hear it passed down a row in a whisper.

I stood in the empty lobby with three programs in my hands and the doors still swinging.

Owen was outside on the sidewalk.

He had Birdie's hand and he was waiting by the glass like he'd been there the whole second act.

I pushed the door open with my shoulder.

"Where is she?"

"Marigold's got her in the car." He looked at my hands. "Romy."

"Who else has the feed."

"Not out here."

"Then in there."

I turned around and walked back into the lobby and he followed me.

The bar was closed. The bartender was racking glasses and watching us.

I sat down on the edge of the lobby bench.

Owen stood in front of me with his arms at his sides.

He didn't sit.

"Four people," he said.

"Names."

"My captain at the house. He's got the same band on his phone."

"Why."

"Because he schedules me. If I'm on a call and you spike, he knows to pull me off it."

"You didn't ask me."

"No."

"Who else."

"A peer counselor at the department. He runs the group I go to."

"The group you go to."

"For the fire. For the Sterling." He said it flat. "You knew about the group."

"I knew about the group. I didn't know about the readings."

"Third one is your understudy."

I stood up off the bench.

Owen didn't move.

"She's a wreck, Romy. She's twenty-four and she's never gone on and she's terrified of stepping in for you. She wanted to know what your numbers look like so she'd know what normal was."

"She wanted my numbers."

"She wanted to know if she could do it."

"That's not what she wanted."

"Maybe not. That's what she told me."

I sat back down.

The bartender put the last glass on the rack and went through the back.

"Fourth," I said.

Owen looked at the floor and then at me.

"Hollis Vane."

I didn't say anything for a while.

"Say it again."

"Hollis Vane."

"You gave my heart rate to the man who voted against me."

"He's the one who asked."

The lobby lights were on their half setting and the street was wet through the glass.

"Start at the beginning."

"August fourteenth." He said it like he'd had it ready. "He came to the house. He sat at my kitchen table and he said the board was worried."

"About what."

"About you. About a woman with a condition taking a lead in the first production in the new building." Owen's hands were still at his sides. "He said the insurer was asking questions. He said if the board had data, they could answer them."

"And you gave him data."

"I gave him thirty days of it."

"Thirty days."

"He said it would stay with the board."

I looked at the programs in my lap.

"Did you sign something."

"I signed the disclosure form. It's a department form. It says who's allowed to see the wearer's band."

"You signed a form that says who's allowed to see my band."

"I signed it in August."

"And you told me in August that you'd wear the band so you'd know if I was in trouble."

"I did."

"So what did you think the form was."

He was quiet for a second.

"I thought it was paperwork. I thought I was the one wearing it."

"Owen."

"I'm not going to stand here and tell you I didn't know what I was doing." He looked up. "I knew. I did it anyway."

That was the first true thing he'd said all night and it didn't help at all.

"Why."

"Because Delphine was still out on the street in August."

"She was in custody in August."

"She was in custody and her lawyer was filing things and Desmond was filing things and I had a man in a gray suit at my table telling me the board could pull you off that stage with one vote." He stopped. "I've watched you burn once. I'm not doing it twice."

"So you handed my body to the board."

"I handed them numbers."

"You handed them my body."

He didn't answer that.

The house manager came through the lobby doors with his keys out.

He stopped when he saw us.

"Miss Tilney. I'm locking up."

"One thing first."

I held up the program.

"Who taped these."

His eyes went to Owen and then to the floor.

"Mr. Vane's office brought them down this morning in a box. I was told to put them in with the programs."

"By who."

"By the board office. I've got the email."

"Print it."

He went and did it and came back with two pages and handed them to me.

It was from Vane's assistant, sent at 7:10 this morning.

Distribute one per ten programs, house left and house right.

Do not discuss.

"Do you have a key to the usher closet," I said.

"I do."

"Open it."

He opened it.

There were eleven boxes of programs left in the closet, stacked against the wall.

Unopened. Still taped at the flaps.

I took the top box down and cut it open with my thumbnail.

I pulled out the first program.

The page was inside.

I pulled out the second.

Inside.

The third. Inside.

I stood there with three programs in my hands and eleven boxes behind me.

"Miss Tilney," the house manager said. "Those are for tomorrow night."

I opened the second box.

Same thing. Every one.

Somebody had taped my heart rates inside every program in the building.

All of them. Every seat. Every night of the run.

Owen was standing behind me and I heard him breathe out.

I turned around and held one up so he could see it.

"This is what you gave him," I said. "This is what he does with it."

Owen looked at the page in my hand for a long moment.

Then he looked past me at the boxes.

"Romy," he said. "There's a second page."

"What."

He took one of the programs out of my hands and turned it over.

Taped to the back cover was a smaller strip of paper.

A single line, printed in the same font.

She has thirty days.

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