Page 100 of Specters & Spotlights

Graham adjusted the strap of his bag and stepped beside her. “You ready?”

Elise paused, closing her eyes just for a second. She sent out a silent thank-you—and a cautious goodbye—to the spirits who had shared this space with her. Then she opened her eyes and smiled. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As they started down the hallway, Graham slipped his arm gently around her shoulders. It wasn’t bold or possessive—just… intentional. It felt new, and she let herself lean into it with a grin.

The hall buzzed with fluorescent hum as they stepped through the stage door and into the darkened alley, city lights blooming around them.

Onward. To the cast party.

Chapter Nineteen

Elise

They spotted it from a block away—The Croon Room—announced in glowing, neon pink cursive above the door, framed by twinkling bulbs that blinked in time with an invisible beat. Graham reached forward to pull the door open for Elise, and a wave of music and bass met them like a welcome.

Inside, the space felt more club than karaoke bar—dim lighting, velvet walls, and the gentle thump of distant pop ballads pulsing through the floors. The check-in area was tucked beneath a glittering chandelier, with a front desk staffed by a woman in a vintage bellhop uniform complete with cap and crisp red jacket. She smiled politely, but Elise and Graham didn’t need directions.

The unmistakable sound of Broadway-level belting was pouring from a hallway upstairs.

They followed the music, winding up a narrow staircase lit with LED strips that shifted color with each step. As soon as they turned the corner at the top, a burst of cheers greeted them.

“Elise! Graham! Get in here!”

At the end of the hall, two open doors faced each other—rooms 11 and 12—each packed with cast members clutching microphones, harmonizing, or dramatically lip-syncing. It felt like a Broadway battle of the bands, except with more sequins and worse choreography.

Between the rooms, a pop-up bar was cranking out drinks at breakneck speed. The bartenders wore neon suspenders and moved with the flair of theatre kids who never quite made it to the stage. Everything glowed under the ultraviolet light—drinks, shirts, bracelets, laughter. The air smelled like citrus and sweat and sugar. Someone was already performing a rousing rendition of “Defying Gravity.”

The party had clearly been going strong for a while—and no one here was on their first round.

Nick burst into the hallway like he’d been lying in wait for a dramatic entrance. Arms wide, voice raised: “Finally! I was starting to think you’d ghosted us. And just in time—I require libations. This round’s on me!”

Marco followed, mid-eye roll, but smiling like a man well-acquainted with this level of drama.

Elise laughed as she and Graham eased into the flow of the crowd, which was somewhere between a stage door crush and a conga line. They dodged an overly enthusiastic jazz square from a chorus member, accepted two glitter-smeared cheek kisses, and sidestepped a juggler (was that Steve? Of course it was).

Drinks in hand—Jack and Cokes across the board, plus neon-colored jello shots that would probably destroy their vocal cords—they made their way into one of the party rooms.

Inside, Romy was holding court like Patti LuPone reincarnated, belting a Broadway showstopper into a karaoke mic like the Tony voters were secretly watching.

The room had a low ceiling and was lit mostly by the projector, which was doing its best to keep up with Romy’s energy—flashing lyrics across the screen while a bizarre mashup of stock footage played in the background. On three sides of the room, cushioned benches hugged the walls. The fourth was the stage, complete with mic stands, slightly sticky hardwood flooring, and an energy that said, “We paid for four hours and we will use every minute.”

Elise, Graham, Nick, and Marco claimed a section of bench together, squeezing in shoulder to shoulder with their drinks. Elise took a sip and leaned back, the energy around her buzzing and joyful. The music, the laughter, the beat of the night—it was all perfectly, gloriously alive.

Nick scooted forward, nearly knocking over a jello shot in his urgency to spill tea. “Okay. First of all, you missed chaos.”

Elise tilted her head. “Good chaos or bad chaos?”

“Cast party chaos,” he replied, which obviously meant both. “The feuding Bennet sisters? Nearly went full WWE. Jen had to literally drag them outside like a guidance counselor at a middle school dance.”

“Oof,” Graham said, sipping his drink.

“But wait—Marcie.” Nick pointed dramatically across the room. “Marcie walked in wearing what I can only describe as a leotard and six-inch pumps. I have no idea who she’s trying to impress but she looks like she’s ready to star in Cabaret and fight crime.”

Elise spotted Marcie mid-laugh, surrounded by admirers and radiating unstoppable energy. “She is killing it.”

“Right?” Nick said. “If someone doesn’t kiss her before midnight, we have failed her.”

“And,” Nick said with mock gravity, “I’ve signed up for karaoke. My moment of glory approaches.”