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Isabella, cloaked in a knee-length black and white houndstooth coat, walked up the few steps from the stage door into the lobby. Most of the remaining theatregoers didn’t recognize her, but Freddie, Lucy, and Alex snapped to attention.

The playwright strolled to the bar where she greeted a cluster of people, friends most likely, with hugs and kisses.

Alex looked for an escape route, her lungs begging for air. “Shit! You guys…” She hid behind Lucy.

“I know. I know. But you have to say hi,” said Lucy, over a shoulder.

“I can’t. Can we go now?” Alex tightened her coat’s belt.

Freddie fluffed up his hair. “I’ll do it.” He strode towards the bar, and pretended to mull over the cocktail menu, waiting for a break in Isabella’s conversation before pouncing.

“Excuse me, Isabella?”

She turned, surprised that someone recognized her. “Yes?”

“Hi. My friends and I saw your play this evening. We loved it. Would you be so kind as to sign our programs?”

“Absolutely, what’s your name?”

She took Freddie’s pen and program and began signing. Alex was still impersonating a statue—albeit a quivering one—so Lucy tugged her along.

“Isabella, meet my friends Lucy and Alex. Alex is a playwright, too.”

Alex’s heart threatened to run away. Why did Freddie have to mention the P word? It was like painting a target on her forehead.

“Lovely to meet you both.” Isabella stopped mid-signature on Lucy’s program and gave Alex a double take. “Actually…you look familiar. Have we met before?”

Alex gulped. Time to ‘fess up. “Uh, yes…briefly. In late spring?”

Isabella took Alex’s program from her sweaty hands and began signing the cover. “Well, it’s great to see you again and thanks for coming. I’m flattered you hung back to say hello. I’m not here for most performances, so it’s a treat to meet theatre lovers afterwards.”

Alex quietly exhaled. All that worry…for what? Isabella didn’t remember her. Sure, her face seemed familiar, but that was it. All that nonsense from Olivia about bumping into Isabella at work and her remembering the horrific meltdown at the fundraiser? Total fiction. Her mind clicked into gear with question after question; it was like a starter pistol had gone off, and she was first out of the blocks.

“Isabella, I’m working on two plays at the moment. What advice would you offer to someone like me who’s starting out and has zero connections?”

Lucy and Freddie exchanged glances.

“Well…don’t shy away from writers’ workshops. I’m currently holding one for five up-and-comers. New ideas and the people who create them fascinate me—plus it helps me keep my own inspiration topped up.”

She paused to look directly into Alex’s eyes, smiling warmly.

“I’ll tell you what…” She began to write on the back page of Alex’s program. “Here’s my office email address. I can’t offer you a place in the current sessions, but why don’t you send me a sample of your latest work? I could have a quick look, give you a few brief pointers.”

Alex’s eyes couldn’t open any wider. “That would be awesome.”

“My pleasure. We have to support each other. God knows there are enough people out there trying to squash the arts.” She handed the program back. “But most importantly, keep writing. The more you explore your stories, the better you’ll tell them. And don’t be afraid to be emotionally honest or raw. Audiences respond to what’s real. Grab them by their hearts, and their heads will usually follow.”

“I will…thanks. I’ll send you something on Monday.” Alex hugged her program.

Isabella nodded. “Thanks again for coming.”

Outside, the collective wattage from the smiles of Freddie, Lucy, and Alex rivaled the brightness of the Christmas decorations strung along Upper Street.

“She’s lovely,” said Lucy. “I wasn’t going to let you sneak away without saying hi. You do amaze me sometimes. We opened the door for you, and then—surprise—you walked right through it, chattering away.”

She poked Alex in the ribs. “See, it’s okay to accept help. If you were here on your own, you’d still be hiding in the corner. Admit it. You needed us.”

Alex adopted a hard smile, hesitant to admit the truth. “Maybe.”