Chapter 18: Opening Night

I didn't tell him.

I stood on the roof in his arms and said, "Good," and he thought I meant the arrest.

The next night, at seven twenty-five, I stood in the wings of the Sterling in Mara's blue dress with no sleeves.

The house was full. Eight hundred people.

Goldie was in the front row, center, on my comp ticket, in a green velvet jacket she'd made herself.

Briggs and Birdie were beside her.

"Host," said the System. "Four hours and thirty-five minutes."

"I know."

"Break a leg," it said.

I almost walked into a sandbag.

"Where did you learn that?"

"I have been listening for ten years, Host."

The stage manager whispered, "Places," and the house went dark.

I don't remember all of the show.

I remember the first time I turned my left side to the house, and eight hundred people went quiet at once.

I remember tearing the necklace, and the prop chain breaking clean, and a woman somewhere in the dark saying "Oh," out loud.

I remember Mara's last line.

"I'm not sorry I lived."

Then the lights went out, and for two full seconds there was nothing.

Then the house came up off its seats.

At the curtain call the company came down in pairs. Delphine and I came last, holding hands, because the director had blocked it that way.

We stepped forward.

The noise doubled.

Delphine let go of my hand to blow kisses.

The applause changed only when I stepped forward alone.

I looked down at the front row.

Goldie was crying with her glasses in her fist.

Birdie was holding up a sign that said ROMY in silver glitter.

Briggs was just standing there, clapping slowly, with wet eyes he didn't bother to hide.

The gala was in the lobby.

By the bar was a long table stacked with copies of Ash, Delphine's memoir. Her face was on every one.

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