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The first thing I did was change into the wardrobe for the opening scene: an orange summer dress with flowers all over it. Then the makeup artist began her work: tying down my hair, putting my long blonde wig on, then the foundation and all the makeup.
“Has Braden shown up?” I asked while she clipped on extra-long eyelashes.
“Who?”
“The actor playing Hector.”
“Oh. I don’t think so. I saw the other makeup girl working on the understudy, Charlie.”
I knew it was probably too late since he wasn’t in the program, but I still felt disappointed. Part of me had hoped he would appear and take over and tell me everything was okay. That all was forgiven and we could be friends—and more—again.
I guess real life doesn’t work the way it does on stage.
When the makeup artist left, I admired myself in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself—now I was Jane, the character who was about to take the stage and sing about her tragic love triangle. It was really happening.
I glanced at my phone: 15 minutes to curtain. It felt too diva-like to sit in my dressing room until the show, so I went out where everyone else was waiting backstage. The rest of the cast was dressed or in the process of dressing, and between them and the stage hands it was like someone had kicked an anthill. There was an excited hum in the air, like large machinery just out of sight. People grinned and waved at me as I passed, and told me to break a leg. Dorian saw me and came rushing over.
“Darling Nadia! You look more stunning than a cast mate could ever have hoped.” He punctuated it with a formal bow at the waist.
“As do you.” As Jane’s husband Marshall, an aspiring country music star, Dorian’s character spent most of the night wearing jeans, a black button-down shirt, and a silly cowboy hat. After I complimented him, he stuck out his cowboy boots to show them off.
“You ready?” I asked.
“I think so.” He jerked his head. “Have you looked yet?”
“At what?”
He led me over to the side of the curtain and pulled it back a crack. “Take a peek.”
I was greeted with the most amazing sight I’d ever seen: a packed house. The excited hum I’d heard in the air backstage was actually the constant hum of conversation from the thousand-or-so patrons filling the theater. Only a few seats were empty, which were quickly being filled by people climbing the steps up in the balcony.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
Dorian put a hand on my back. “Right?”
A few other backup dancers came rushing over to look themselves. “Holy moly! They sold out!”
“I’ve never seen so many people…”
One of them leaned in close to me. “I’m so glad it’s you and not Tatiana. With you, I know the show is going to be a great success!”
“Thank you.”
“Did you see John Vandercant? The billionaire producer?” She pointed across the theater to one of the boxes on the side, elevated above the orchestra. “He’s the one in the white suit.”
I squinted up at him. The people were all facing away from us, mingling and drinking inside the box. Only one man wore a white suit. He was gesturing with a glass of wine to the people around him.
“Is Tatiana up there?” I asked.
Dorian snorted. “I didn’t see her. And I doubt she would want to come watch the show. That’s like rubbing lemon juice on a wound.”
“I saw Vandercant speaking with some young man,” the dancer said. “Maybe he’s a writer for the Times.”
“I did hear that the same writer as before is back,” Dorian added.
Before I could get a better look, someone shouted behind us, “Braden’s here!”
Dorian and I whirled around.
