“Oh, sure,” said Benna. “I used to design for a playhouse down there. Funny little place—the managing director was always insisting I use more sequins in my designs. Well! Here I am jawing on, and we’ve got important work to do!” she said brightly, and clapped her hands together. “Celia, what can I tell you about the work we do? Costumes are intimate, detail-oriented business. Be prepared to work. We’ve got a busy summer, with three shows—Into the Woods, The Trojan Women, and then the original play, the title of which I believe is The Abomination, though it might change.”

“I believe it’s currently Abominable,” said Phoebe.

“What did I tell you? She always has the answer. Celia, how are you on a sewing machine?”

“Er—not great. But I’m a very fast learner.”

“I’m glad to hear it. By the end of the summer you’ll be an ace. In the meantime, there’s plenty of other work that you can do that may not be the most interesting but is important. Remember: Costumes are in the details, and you’re the one responsible for making sure the details shine.”

“I’m good with details,” I assured Benna.

“I couldn’t be more pleased to hear it. Phoebe, can you give Celia a tour of the theater? I’m about to get pulled into a meeting.”

“Of course,” said Phoebe. “This way.”

She was already halfway out the door as she spoke—there was a rear exit to the shop—and she turned back to me. I half expected her to tell me to hurry up, but instead she smiled.

“Sorry. I get ahead of myself. Do you need a minute? Can I get you anything?”

“Oh—nope. I’m good.”

Thus began my morning, at a million miles an hour. We whizzed through the tour of the theater so quickly I had absolutely no hope of remembering our route—the dressing rooms and the practice spaces and the various waiting areas seemed so impossibly labyrinthine that I suspected I would never get the lay of the land. Phoebe seemed to be on a first-name basis with nearly everyone we encountered: Here was Cheryl, who worked in ticket sales, and here was Dudley, one of the choreographers for the dance team. And here was a woman sobbing, loudly, on a not-so-discreet couch in one of the waiting areas, wiping her tears away with the heel of her hand.

Phoebe bustled us past. “That’s the director of Abominable, the original play. She has… a lot going on.”

“Sounds complicated,” I said.

“She’s getting divorced,” Phoebe said.

“That sounds hard.”

“From the star of her own show.”

“Oh no,” I said.

“It’s very dramatic. They both need a long drink from the spring, if you ask me.”