Through the glass doors spanning the fa?ade, Nick could see that only the light in the ticket taker’s booth was lit, but he could also see someone walking about, rather aimlessly. And then the someone slipped through an inner door, allowing a brief burst of light to escape.
Nick waited for a few minutes; the someone did not emerge. From left to right, he tried the doors. The last one, opposite the ticket window, opened. Inside the dim lobby of the theater, he was alone. No alarms went off, no one yelled. His footsteps silenced by thick carpet, he approached the line of inner doors, these paneled in a velvety fabric, which he knew would lead him into the maw of the theater itself. He pulled at one near the center, expecting it to be locked. It seemed to fly open, much lighter on its hinges than the glass door through which he had entered the building.
The seats in the theater were empty, but there stood Sheba, in the center of the stage, all lights on her. She wore a flowing gray dress, or perhaps it was silver. It shone like polished steel in the spotlights. She was speaking, her words clear as birdsong all the way to the very back. She continued for a sentence or two, then slowed to silence.
She shaded her eyes, peering out over the sea of velvet chairs. “Hello there,” she called out, neither friendly nor irritated. “Who’s joining us this evening?” She walked forward to the edge of the stage, and then her voice became anxious. “James. Is that you, James?”
He noticed then that she wasn’t alone. Half a dozen heads rose and turned from seats quite near the stage. A man in jeans and a loose tartan shirt stood and said, “Come on down, whoever you are.” He walked up the aisle directly toward Nick.
Should he run? Not like he’d broken into a bank.
Slowly, Nick started down the aisle. The man, who waited for him, looked puzzled, not cross. “What can we do for you, lad?”
“Watch?” came out of Nick’s mouth. “May I watch?”
The man frowned briefly, then laughed. He turned away from Nick and spoke to Sheba. “Lad wants to watch you, Em. Your youngest fan yet, I reckon.”
“Come up here,” she called out, beckoning.
Though his legs might as well have been fashioned from wood, Nick found his way to the stage; it helped that the way sloped down. He paused a few rows from the stage, but she continued to beckon. “I’m not a vampire,” she said. “No fangs or claws.” She bared her teeth and held up her hands.
She waited till he stood with his chest against the stage. He found himself looking up at her from a curious angle (he had always seen her, before, from slightly above). “What are you called?” she said.
“Nicholas Greene,” he said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Well, intrude you did,” she said. “But now that you’re here, take a seat.” Her arms were joined across her lovely chest.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he said, his grandfather’s edicts writ large on his determination not to panic.
“All I ask is that you not leave again till we’re through with a scene. No slinking out the way you slunk in.” She added cheerfully, “That would be discourteous.” They stared at each other for a moment before she said, “Go on. Choose a seat. Not front row, if you don’t mind. Not my best angle, for one thing.”
Nick went back up the aisle, and as he passed the men who were obviously directing the play, he saw them laughing quietly amongst themselves. He wanted to flee, but he knew he would never forgive himself if he did. And to leave would mean confronting the problem of how to find his way home. So he took a seat in the middle of a row halfway back toward the exit.
Other actors came and went across the stage, and the lines were a blur to him at times: not because he couldn’t understand them but because he couldn’t stop staring at Sheba—at Emmelina, as it turned out; or Em, as the directors called her whenever they interrupted to make their comments.
He stayed till the end, which might have been one or four hours later. There were no clocks within sight, and he didn’t like wearing the old-fashioned watch his grandfather had given him. The few times he’d worn it, his schoolmates had called it “the timepiece” in mock codger tones. Their watches had digital faces.
Finally, when it was clear that everyone was packing up and someone began to switch off the stage lights, he stood. But where was he to go, other than out? Then, to his mortified relief, she was standing at the end of his row.
“You planning to pitch a tent here?”
He stayed where he was, staring at her, barely able to utter “No.”
“What brought you in, Nicholas Greene? Boys don’t randomly sneak into my rehearsals. At least, not boys your age. What is your age? Shouldn’t you be at home swotting up on literature and computation?” She tapped her slim gold wristwatch.
That she had remembered his entire name shocked him speechless. “Pardon me,” she said, “I did not introduce myself. You may call me Ms. Godine.” She held out her blue coat. At first he had no idea what this gesture meant. Then, nearly stumbling, he made his way out of the row and held it open for her. As she backed into the coat, he could see the infinitesimal blond hairs on the back of her neck. She was shorter than she had looked onstage—in heels, only half a head taller than he was.
She turned around and said, while buttoning the coat, “You’re intrigued by the theater, is that it? I can’t imagine you want to be an actor; seems you don’t much like speaking.”
The three men were heading up the aisle. “Need a ride, Em?” asked one.
“No, I’ll catch a little fresh air,” she said. “See our young friend out.”
The man hesitated, looking from her to Nick and back again.
“I think I’m safe with this fellow,” she said. And, to Nick, “Shall we?”
He realized he had nearly forgotten his satchel and went back into the row.
“Mustn’t leave that,” she said.
He walked out behind her. They stood together on the pavement; he watched her kiss the men goodbye. Two of the actors he had seen onstage with her came around from the alley and kissed her as well. One of them gave Nick a small wave.
When just the two of them remained, she said, “So. Did you like what you saw? Curtain’s up on Friday. Previews, but all the same. Word travels before the critics get their hooks in. An old chestnut like this, you’ve got to nail it to the wall.”
He had no idea what she meant.
“You do talk,” she said. “I believe I heard you speak your name, unless I dreamed it.”
“Yes,” he said. “I did like it, your play. I’m just…”
“Surprised at yourself? Don’t I know that feeling.” She laughed. She took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. “So listen, Nicholas Greene. I have a hunch you’re too young to be out on your own at this hour. I hope you live nearby.”