Scarlett looked down to see fifteen faces looking up at her, ready to take direction. Fifteen actors and theater people, when she herself had no real experience, no real idea what she was doing. Which meant that the only choice was just to start talking.

“It’ll be easiest to use the second floor for your changing rooms, because it’s closer. There are two good rooms there—the Metro and Sterling Suites…”

“Do not use the bathroom in the Sterling Suite,” Spencer said. “Seriously. Don’t even look at it.”

“You have two ways of getting down, either the elevator, which is really slow, or the back stairs. For your backstage, to keep your swords and stuff, the kitchen is over here.”

She led the group over and pushed open the door, revealing the cavernous space and its many antique appliances.

“We can take all of these tables to the basement, and the chairs are for the audience, obviously. So, I guess the first thing is to clear this room.”

They didn’t move.

“You heard her!” Mrs. Amberson said. “Let’s get these tables out of here.”

It took all day, even with everyone working at once.

First the carrying of all the tables—out of the dining room, through the lobby, down the steps. Then the van was unloaded, and all of the contents spread around. There was just so much. The stage was made of a dozen or so small platforms, each one only a few feet square, plus the supports that held them together. It took ten people to assemble. In the meantime, Scarlett carried all the bags and costume pieces up to the second floor and set up one room for girls, the other for guys. Scarlett kept passing Mrs. Amberson in the hall. She was ducking in and out of the various guest rooms and spiriting away objects.

By the time Scarlett got downstairs, the actors were in a full rehearsal, reblocking all their moves. She tried to watch as much as she could, but there was so much to do. She brought up the rain and snow mats that they usually put down in the winter to protect the lobby floor. These would provide a path for the unicycles to ride on. There were at least a dozen calls to answer about the where and when of the performance, fragile objects to move out of the way. The actors kept popping out needing hammers and water glasses and pieces of string…so Scarlett had barely noticed the time going by until an arrangement of flowers as big as her leg turned up. A half hour later, a truck rolled up, and two caterers stepped out, carrying crates of champagne and glasses.

“Social lubricant,” Mrs. Amberson said, waving them in. “There are few problems in this world that a case of decent bubbly can’t fix.”

Scarlett tried not to give in to her nerves as Mrs. Amberson ordered them back to the kitchen with a seemingly never-ending amount of booze and ice.