“What? No, you can’t leave! We need to celebrate!”
“I can’t think of anything more celebratory than being unconscious right now,” I say. “You should go to the reception, though. Have some champagne for me.”
She plants her hands on her hips like a defiant six-year-old. “Absolutely not. You wrote a brilliant short play, and I am not letting you leave until you’ve celebrated.”
“Zoe, I really can’t deal with all those people—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I’m too tired to fight with her, so I sit down in the wings, lean against the wall, and wait. My eyelids feel very heavy, so I decide to rest them for a few seconds, but I’ve barely had time to blink before Zoe’s shaking my shoulder.
“Brooklyn,” she whispers. “Wake up. I got us dessert.”
I open my eyes and see her holding up a napkin-wrapped bundle. Everyone’s gone, and the theater around us is completely silent. The ghost light sits in the center of the stage, casting its eerie blue-white glow onto the side of Zoe’s face. “Did I fall asleep?” I ask. “How long have I been sitting here?”
“I don’t know, fifteen minutes? You looked so peaceful, I almost didn’t wake you.” She sits down next to me, her shoulder pressed to mine, and I feel her shiver. “It’s cold in here. I wish they wouldn’t crank up the AC so high.”
“I know somewhere warmer,” I say. It’s a Herculean effort to struggle to my feet, but if we’re going to celebrate, we might as well do it right. “Follow me.”
I lead her to the back of the stage and up the metal spiral staircase to the catwalks. The air is filled with that burning dust smell I’ve come to associate with stage lights, but it’s toasty-warm, and I love being up here alone with Zoe. We settle down directly above the first row of seats, and she unwraps her napkin bundle, which is full of fancy little chocolate brownies and lemon squares and pecan rolls. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything besides Doritos, and I stuff one into my mouth. “Oh my God, this is so freaking delicious,” I say.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been up here before.” Zoe grabs the plug of the light above her head and looks at the piece of gaffer’s tape holding it together. “J5,” she reads. “What does that mean? What do you think would happen if I unplugged it?”
“Nothing would happen, except this light wouldn’t turn on during the show tomorrow. J5 is the circuit number.” I grab her hand. “Leave it alone.”
“Oooh, the circuit number. Look at you, Little Miss Technical.” Zoe pokes me in the side, and I giggle, but I’m kind of proud that I knew something she didn’t.
We’re both quiet for a minute, and I nibble on a tiny brownie and listen to the soft, comforting hum of the dimmer rack. “I love theaters when they’re dark and empty like this,” I say.
“I love theaters more when they’re full of people cheering for us,” Zoe says.
“I love theaters even more when they’re full of you and me eating tiny delicious brownies after people cheered for us.”
“I love theaters most when they’re full of you and me eating brownies and making out,” Zoe says, and she leans over and kisses me softly. There’s more I love you than I want you in it, and it feels perfect.
I’m reaching out to pull her closer when I notice that the acrid smell of burning dust seems to be getting stronger. “Do you smell something weird?” I ask.
Zoe laughs. “Are you trying to tell me I need a shower?”
“No, I’m serious. It kind of smells like something’s burning. But maybe it’s—”
I don’t even get to finish my sentence before the fire alarm goes off.
“Oh shit,” Zoe shouts over the deafening buzzer, and we both leap to our feet and run for the spiral staircase. The smell gets worse as we near the ground, and as we dash down the center aisle toward the lobby, I notice smoke pouring out from under the black velour curtain at the back of the stage. I cover my mouth with my shirt and try to get a better look at where it’s coming from, but Zoe pulls me forward.
“Should we call 911?” I yell.
“We need to get out!”
We burst into the cool night air and run for the tent full of patrons, looking for Bob or Marcus, but everyone has heard the alarm and is already stampeding in our direction. Barb stalks toward us like an angry bull, and Bob scurries behind her, shouting into his phone.
“Were you two inside?” Barb bellows when she spots us.
Zoe looks terrified. “Yes, but we didn’t do anything, I swear!”
“Is there anyone else in the building?”
I shake my head. “Not that we saw, but we were only in the auditorium.”
“Did you see smoke or flames?”
“There was a lot of smoke. It was coming from upstage left.”