The Understudy's Night

Two hours before curtain, Greer opened her mouth in the dressing room and nothing came out except a dry whisper.

Alder was eating a sandwich in the corridor, with a script open on her knee that she hadn't looked at in weeks. Understudies, she had always told herself, were insurance that nobody ever claimed.

Then the director came running, and the school nurse peered into Greer's throat and said the word "rest." By the time Alder had finished chewing, the decision had been made.

"You're on tonight," the director said. "You know every line. You have been mouthing them from the back row since September."

"That's not the same as saying them out loud," Alder said. Her voice sounded smaller than she wanted it to.

Greer found her ten minutes later. She sat on the floor beside her, tore a page from a notebook and began writing in thick black marker. When she had finished, she held up the first card. It read: I'LL BE IN THE WINGS. LOOK AT ME IF YOU GET LOST.

She taught Alder a code with her hands. A flat palm lowered slowly meant slow down. A hand cupped behind her ear meant listen to your scene partner, not to your own panic.

The curtain went up at seven. In the first scene Alder spoke too fast, and her hands shook so hard that the prop teacup rattled against its saucer. From the wings, a flat palm sank toward the floor.

Alder slowed down. The audience laughed at the line that was supposed to be funny. It was the first time all evening that she could hear her own breathing.

In the second act, her mind went completely white. Somewhere in the dark, a card appeared at the edge of the curtain with one word on it: WHENEVER. It was exactly the word she needed, and the rest of the sentence followed it out of her mouth.

At the interval, Greer pressed another card into her hand. It said: YOU ARE NOT ME. GOOD.

By the final scene, Alder had stopped looking toward the wings at all. She had been so busy living inside the story that she had almost forgotten anyone was watching.

When the lights came up for the bows, the audience got to its feet. The rest of the cast pulled Alder into the center of the line. She saw that the hem of her costume was still held together with a safety pin that Greer had fastened in a hurry.

She glanced toward the wings one last time. Greer was standing there with a card she must have written earlier and not used. It read BOW LOW, and the words had been underlined twice in green.

Alder bowed so low that her hair touched her knees.