Page 30 of Specters & Spotlights

Midway through a quiet moment between wig changes, she reached into her tote and pulled out a pair of little lace-up shoes, scuffed and soft with time. She snuck to a low-traffic alcove near stage right—tucked right behind a column of unused flats—and nestled them where they wouldn’t be seen, but where a certain ghost with busy fingers might find them.

“There,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Happy practicing.”

She didn’t expect a thank you. But she imagined a flicker of warmth brushing her ankle as she turned away.

At intermission, Jen popped her head in like a benevolent sprite. “Still breathing?”

“Mostly. Want to trade wig spray for gossip?”

Jen leaned dramatically in the doorway, conspiratorial. “Two late entrances. One dropped prop. And rumor has it, the props master is now engaged in a torrid affair with the second trumpet.”

Elise snorted. “The drama behind the drama.”

Kevin, meanwhile, was mysteriously absent for most of Act One.

He drifted back just as the audience was returning to their seats post-intermission, looking mildly offended and profoundly judgmental. “Do you know,” he began with the gravity of a man about to impart eternal truth, “that they added a bowl of prop grapes to the Longbourn family dinner table set? Grapes, Elise. Do you have any idea when seedless grapes were even cultivated?”

Elise didn’t look up from the wig she was combing. “I’m guessing… not 1813?”

“Criminal,” Kevin said darkly. “It’s not even the year that offends me. It’s the utter lack of respect for internal dramaturgical logic. If you’re going to invent nonsense, at least commit to a throughline.”

“Oh no,” Elise said, laughing. “You’ve gone full dramaturg flashback.”

He ignored her. “And I’ve been biting my tongue about the word ‘okay’ in Scene Three. They didn’t say ‘okay’ in Regency England, Elise. They dueled.”

Elise laughed softly, smoothing the final flyaway on the wig destined to be rained on this show. She caught a note floating toward them: the last line of Lark’s solo, honey-sweet and clear.

“That’s my cue,” she said.

She lifted the wig with both hands, cradling it like something fragile and precious. Then she was off, her footsteps falling in rhythm with the music.

Between shows, the theatre sighed into a slower rhythm—like it, too, was catching its breath. Cast and crew scattered for an early dinner or disappeared into quiet corners. Elise stayed behind, tending to her wigs with the same gentle care one might give to a tea ceremony.

Nick reappeared in the doorway, holding a takeout container in one hand and wearing his curiosity like a badge. “So,” he said, grinning, “any chance I can meet another one of your ghosts? You made them sound like local celebrities.”

Elise tilted her head, considering. “You want the full backstage tour, ghost edition?”

“I brought you a muffin,” he said, offering the bribe.

“Well, then.” She dusted her hands off and stood to take it. “Let’s see who’s home.”

They crept together through the quiet hallways to stage right, where Elise’s secret delivery had been left. She stopped when she saw the spot—empty.

Her smile deepened. “They’re gone.”

Just then, a tiny figure peeked out from behind the blackout curtain. A small, boy-shaped shadow with wide eyes and ghostly, scuffed shoes of his own.

Elise gestured subtly. “He’s over there, a little over waist-height.”

Nick blinked. “He’s—he’s a kid?”

“He’s been trying to learn how to tie his shoes for… oh, about a hundred years.”

“Heartbreaking,” Nick whispered.

“Don’t let him near your laces,” Elise added playfully. “He’s not very good at it.”

Nick glanced down, checking instinctively. Elise tried not to laugh.