“So tell me, what have you been doing with yourself since you ran away?”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“I call things what they are. Where did you go?”
Erik gave him the short version, a resume of Geneseo and Brockport.
“Are you married? Any little fishies of your own?”
“Just divorced. No guppies.”
“No wonder you look terrible.”
“Do I?”
“Well you’re beautiful to me but yeah, you look a little beat up, my friend.”
“I feel beat up.”
Kees clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Let me buy you a beer. And a sandwich. Good Lord, you look gaunt.”
“I won’t say no.”
“Come on. Just stop by my office, let me get my coat.”
They headed up the aisle. He hadn’t intended to, but as they reached row M, Erik paused, looked down at the carpet, moving his feet around, looking for long-gone bloodstains. The carpet had been navy blue in 1992. They’d pulled all of it out and replaced it with this gold.
“Right here,” he said.
“Right here,” Kees said.
“I heard the radio piece. From the ten-year anniversary. I was touched by what you said.”
Kees’s eyebrows came together.
“You said when I came out of the booth and called James’s name, it was the most courageous thing you’d ever seen.”
“It was,” Kees said. He cleared his throat. “Stupid and insane. But courageous. And genuine. I knew you didn’t plan it. You just did it. Because of who you are. If anyone could have pulled James back from the edge, you could, Fish.”
Hands in pockets, Erik moved up the aisle toward the lighting booth. He put a foot up on the step, looked back at Kees, who nodded.
He stepped in, flicking the light.
It was a mistake.
He’d come in looking for his own memories of work, of shows and tech weeks and his stagehand friends. Instead, she was here. Hanging around, sewing her shoes. Nestled beside him while he was running a show, keeping him company. Straddling his legs the day of the shooting, burning with impatient desire.
He looked out through the glass but she was there too, on the stage. Running to Will, up on his shoulder, a bloody burst and Will jerked up fast and threw her off him…
He turned the light off and the images faded away. He ran a hand along the console table. Caressed it as he had once caressed his lover. He stepped out of the booth. “It’s all I can do.”
“It’s enough. Come on.”
They walked through the lobby and down the stairs to Kees’s office. “Is Leo here?”
“Unfortunately you’ll miss him. He already left for Thanksgiving.”
“Michael Kantz?”
“He retired two years ago.”
“So you’re head of the whole dance department now?”
“I am. And having a hell of a time wearing all these hats. Marie left a cursed pair of shoes, my friend. It’s just been a bitch finding a good fit. If it keeps up this way we may end up being entirely contemporary.”
“I really was here during the Golden Age, wasn’t I?”
“You were indeed.”
“You’re well though? Holding up?”
“Holding up.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
Kees vigorously wind-milled his arm a few times. “Happy?”
“I’d be ecstatic except it’s the wrong shoulder.”
“Well dig your steel trap,” Kees muttered, and made circles with his other arm, much more slowly and without as much range. “Hurts like a bitch on rainy days.”
“Doesn’t everything?”
“I tell you, Erik, much as I’m shocked to see you wander into my theater like a stray dog, I’m not shocked.”
“Why’s that?”
“The older I get, the more I’m convinced there are no coincidences.” Kees shuffled through papers on his desk and finally extricated a copy of Dance Magazine. He licked a finger and went through the pages. “Here. If you can step into the lighting booth, you should be able to look at this.”
As if it were a sword, he reversed the mag over his forearm. Erik took it carefully.