SUNIL FELT HIS FIRST performance as Sousa warranted a repeat of his opening night ritual, but going out to the alley seemed like bad karma, even though the crime scene tape had been removed. He briefly considered going upstairs to look for an empty rehearsal room like Isobel did, but he didn’t relish the idea of wandering around the building where he couldn’t hear the monitor. He let the wardrobe mistress fuss with his costume a bit longer—Chris had a huskier frame—but as soon as Kelly called five, he grabbed his script, now dog-eared, and left his dressing room in search of solitude. He ran into Hugh, who was coming up the stairs from the pit.
“You okay?” Hugh asked.
“A little nervous,” Sunil admitted. “I want to grab a few moments for myself. I think I’ll go downstairs.”
“You’re going to be great. Remember to watch me coming out of the ritard at the end of ‘The Washington Post.’”
Sunil continued down to the vom. That was the perfect spot. No actors or stagehands, just the comforting cacophony of the musicians warming up on the other side of the wall.
“Like spirits beyond the veil,” Sunil muttered to himself. As soon as he said it, he felt his skin crawl. Jewish superstition. It was inbred, the flame fanned further by his mother, whose lengthy rites to keep away the evil eye had first spawned the idea of an opening night ritual.
“Get a grip,” he told himself. “This is no time to freak yourself out for no reason.”
Chairs and a few old set pieces were stacked against the wall. He stood next to them and closed his eyes, praying silently. His standard message combined English, Hindi, and Hebrew, and the familiar words flowed through his head, calming him. His stomach unclenched, his shoulders lowered, and his jaw released. Even if he didn’t turn in the kind of slick performance Isobel gave her first time out, he was at least confident that he wouldn’t embarrass himself. Maybe he would even be good. Despite his misgivings about the piece, his actor’s ego started to kick in, and he felt a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of being the star.
As he opened his eyes, he saw a flash of gold shimmer and then disappear around the far side of the vom. Even though he was stage left, where he needed to be for his first entrance, he crept around to the other side and peered up the stairs. A figure in a black and gold cape was sweeping up the last two steps. Curious, he followed, but when he emerged, there was nobody there. He wondered who it was. Nobody wore a costume like that. Mark, the props guy, strode into the wings from the stage and took his place by the long table, where each prop sat in its labeled spot.
“Who was that guy who just came through?”
Mark looked blank. “What guy?”
“He looked like he was wearing a cape.”
“Nah, didn’t see anyone.”
Sunil looked past him onto the stage, where the ensemble members were taking their places for the opening number, chattering among themselves. There was always a buzz of excitement when an understudy went on, and normally Sunil would have allowed himself to enjoy the attention, but given the recent murders, somebody lurking around backstage who shouldn’t be there took precedence.
“Places!” Kelly’s voice echoed over the monitor.
He crossed the stage, barely hearing the well wishes from his colleagues. Delphi was waiting for him on the other side. She clasped him in a bear hug, which he was also too distracted to appreciate. She pulled back and held him at arm’s length.
“Are you so nervous you won’t even hug me back?”
“I saw someone wandering around backstage who shouldn’t be here.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t see his face. A guy in a black and gold cape was going up the stairs from the vom stage right.”
“Nobody wears anything like that.”
“I know.”
They heard a burst of applause, which died down a moment later as Felicity stepped in front of the curtain. Sunil heard his name over the monitors as she informed the audience that he would be playing the title role and Matt Hurd would be taking on the roles of Benjamin Swallow and the Pawnee chief. Felicity’s exit was accompanied by whispers and scattered applause, but Hugh cut them off with the overture.
The resounding brass brought Sunil back to himself, and he determined to forget the figure in the cape. This was his chance to show them all what he could do. He caught sight of Isobel pacing in the wings stage right. He tried to catch her attention, but the moment she looked up, the curtain rose and the ensemble began to sing.
ISOBEL TRIED TO CATCH Sunil’s eye, but he became distracted as soon as the curtain went up. She had hoped to spend a few moments with him before the show to wish him luck and relish the surprising reward of going on opposite one another in the leading roles. When they’d accepted their contracts, neither of them expected it to happen, yet that slim hope was what made them both sign on the dotted line (that and the fact that, no matter how you sliced it, it was a bona fide regional theater job). And now here they were. With Delphi and Hugh, no less. Isobel knew enough about show business to realize that the likelihood of a confluence like this ever happening again was small. But she’d been too preoccupied by the argument she’d overheard between Jethro and Ezra to make Sunil a priority.
Ezra. She’d dismissed him earlier, but something there didn’t add up. Mostly he was genial and warm, but he had a short fuse. Sometimes he seemed to enjoy his job, and sometimes he seemed like he was there under duress. Putting in understudies didn’t strike her as enough of a reason for him to stay. That kind of thing happened all the time, and it was the stage manager’s job to oversee the transition. Once a show was open, it belonged to the stage manager, not the director, and Kelly had proven herself more than competent. So what was Ezra still doing in Albany? Of course, there was the continuing tussle over “Song of the Sea.” Could Ezra have stuck around just to make sure Jethro didn’t sneak the duet version back in, or to finish the job and cut it entirely? Or was it more sinister, like maybe he wanted to make absolutely certain the show sank without a trace, so nobody would ever connect his name to the flotsam. Even if it meant weighting it down with a body or two.
Suddenly, Isobel was on. Hearing her entrance cue brought her immediately back to herself. And there was Sunil as Sousa, gazing at her as if he really were falling in love with her. They sailed through their first scene, then their second. Before she knew it, “The Washington Post” duet was upon them. She saw him hesitate for a millisecond before pulling her onto his lap, but the move passed without incident. They finished the number to an enthusiastic ovation. But while they were holding for applause, Isobel saw the color drain from Sunil’s face.
It was all she could do not to break character and ask what was wrong. He turned back to her and continued with the dialogue that led into the first-act finale, but the lines came out detached and robotic, devoid of the warmth and charm he usually radiated. Overcompensating, Isobel’s voice soared into singsong territory, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was as if she and Sunil were having an entirely different conversation underneath Jennie’s and Sousa’s lines. This, she realized, was what acting teachers were getting at when they talked about subtext.
The first-act curtain came down at last. She turned to Sunil, the question poised on her lips, but he answered before she could voice it.
“The theater ghost. I saw him,” he said throatily. “Wearing a black and gold cape. He was there, and then he wasn’t.”