Chapter 7

“Well, well,” a guy said behind me. “If isn’t Nicolai Lund himself.”

I glanced over and recognized Larry. Witty and elegant, he was an older guy with a thin mustache he wore like John Waters. Head of the costume department, the boys called Larry their “hen house master”. He watched over them and had taught David everything he knew about tailoring and sewing. David was one of his favorite people, I suspected.

“Hey, Larry.” I turned to face him, my chest constricting under my jean jacket. I didn’t know what to expect anymore. Didn’t even know if I wanted to hear what he had to say to me. If anything. “I was just wondering if—”

“How long have you been back?” he asked, cutting me off. There was an edge to his voice. He crossed his arms over his snazzy blue jacket. “And no, David isn’t here. Hasn’t been in months.”