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He glanced down and then forced his eyes to meet mine. “I feel it’s important you know I recognize your accomplishments. And to that end, we’ll have something for you at the party. A little bit of a surprise.”
My mother’s face wore a strange look, and she nudged my father with a nervous laugh. “Let’s not ruin it now or make her nervous.”
“Yes, quite,” my father said. “After the show. Break a leg.”
They hustled into the theater before I could tell them I wanted no surprises. The party was too much already. The only reason I’d agreed to it was because my cast mates deserved a better sendoff than burgers and fries from The Scoop.
I went backstage to prepare for the show—makeup, hair, and costume. The cast assembled onstage for warm-ups, led by Martin, who was playing Krogstad. On the other side of the closed curtain, we could hear the crowd beginning to file in.
“Standing room only,” Marty said to me. “Break a leg tonight.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He started to walk away, then stopped and looked at me closer. “Everything okay?”
“Sure, fine,” I said forcing a smile.
“Closing night jitters?”
“This party my parents insists on having is kind of throwing me, I guess. Or… I don’t know what. The energy feels strange tonight. You know how the air feels right before lightning strikes? Kind of tight and humming?” I gave my head a shake. “I’ll get over it. It’s been a wonderful experience, Marty. Thank you so much. I won’t let you down.”
“Thank you for your incredible Nora, my dear,” he said. “And for seeking me out when you came back. For being such an amazing part of this theater.”
“Marty,” I said warily. “That sounded ominous. Did you get more news from the city council? Bad news?”
He chuckled. “As if I’d tell you something like that twenty minutes to curtain. No, I merely—”
Frank, the stage manager ran up to Marty looking pale. He whispered something in his ear, his eyes on me.
Martin’s eyes widened and then darted to me as well.
“What?” I said. “What is it?’
Marty’s face smoothed out and he said to Frank in a calm tone, “I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks, Frank.” He turned to me and patted my shoulder. “A theater manager’s job is never done, even on opening night. I’ll be right back.”
“Marty,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Tell me.”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about. I promise.”
I would’ve believed him. He was a fantastic actor. But Frank was not, and Frank looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
Isaac
Frank let me into Marty’s office, then ran out to tell him I was here. I settled in to wait, feeling like a student sent to the principal’s office: about to get my ass handed to me. These consequences would be far worse than detention. Marty was probably pissed mad as all hell. Who was I kidding—he was hurt.
I leaned against the desk in my expensive jeans and black jacket and tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. Like I had some kind of upper hand. Then Marty burst in, red faced and breathing fire. Anger crackled around him; I’d never seen him so pissed off in my life. And though I’d expected it, seeing so much outrage in Martin Ford was unsettling.
“Three years,” he said without preamble, slamming the door behind him. “Three years without a word. Not one. You showing up for your father’s funeral doesn’t count. You said nothing to me then. You’ve said nothing to me since.”
“Marty,” I said. “I’m sorry—”
He took a step closer, his finger stabbing the air at me. “And don’t get me started on Brenda or Benny or Willow.”
I gritted my teeth. “I know, I’ve been—”
“And now you just show up in my office fifteen minutes before I go onstage? What the hell, Isaac? Want me to hold the curtain so we can get a cup of fucking coffee?”
He stared at me, his jaw clenching. For a moment, I thought he’d have me hauled out of the building. Hell, maybe call the police. Or simply plant a
