Chapter 18

He dressed in record time, slicking back his hair and straightening his tie for the spit polish look he was notorious for. “You never know who might come for a show,” he said to anyone who gave him a hard time. He even had a couple of his headshots stashed in the box office, just in case. When his chance came, he wanted to be ready.

The problem was, he was stuck sitting on his hands after that, nothing to do, nobody to talk to until the crew started filtering in for light and sound checks. He wandered backstage, fingertips drifting along the back of the flats, wistful longing replacing his earlier tension. Someday, he’d be the one standing in the wings, running through lines in his head while waiting for his cue. It was all he’d ever wanted, and whether it took months or years, he’d get it. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—give up.

“Carlo!”