“So what happens now?” Scarlett said, almost not wanting to know the answer.

“What happens now? Some decent direction. Vocal work, for sure. And if Polonius doesn’t stop playing with his fake beard, I will personally break all of his fingers.”

“So…this is real? You’re really backing the show? You weren’t just saying that?”

“I never just say things, O’Hara. I do things. And I do them well. All in all, it’s a good group. And your brother is every bit as good as I said to your mother. And what a physique! I thought he looked like a scarecrow when I first saw him, but once he gets his clothes off you can see he’s really just a bodybuilder who’s been stretched on a rack. The things that boy can do upside down…”

Something inside Scarlett put out a faint wheeze of alarm, and this luscious description of Spencer made her want to throw up. But overall, things had taken a turn for the miraculous and good.

“What about your book?” Scarlett ased.

“It’s a funny thing, O’Hara, I’ve been feeling stagnant about the book. You’ve probably noticed. But as soon as I saw your mother standing there, I knew exactly what I had come here to do…New York, this hotel…I came here to reconnect to my theater roots. I saw it all in one shining moment. The book can wait. For now, we’ll find them a space, and we’ll really develop this show. It won’t be one of these little productions that falls through the cracks. I am going to make something of this show and everyone in it. I have tricks up my sleeve, O’Hara. Tricks like you wouldn’t believe. Here. Have an umbeoshi plum. They taste like salt. Don’t eat the stone. Go on.”

She thrust the box of grayish things at Scarlett, who reluctantly took one. They did, in fact, taste like sour little fruits covered in salt. She winced and spit out the stone.

“They’re extremely good for you,” Mrs. Amberson said. “They’re a secret to health and vitality, and I want you vital, O’Hara. Now, let’s go down and meet our cast.”

The cast of Hamlet had not moved much. They had that haunted yet hopeful look in their eyes, like the ones you see in old photos of people crammed into steerage compartments, traveling to some new, unknown land.

Trevor, as director, stepped forward to assume some sort of control over the situation, and Mrs. Amberson met him and shook his hand.

“Amy Amberson,” she said, introducing herself. “I’ve been watching you from over there for the last two nights. I was surprised no one noticed me—but then, you were fully engaged in your task.”

She pointed to her spot in the dark vestibule.

“Well,” Spencer said, “we also kind of assumed that no one was hiding behind the hot water heater.”

“Never assume,” Mrs. Amberson said. “This city is unique. Every place you go—everything you do—you never know who’s watching. There’s always an opportunity, if you know how to spot it.”