“Not the way you can, Lauren. No one has your cool head and skill with people. I was nervous about not having you with Ethan already, but now that Carly Daniel has been attached to the project?” He shifted and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I really need you and will buy you eighteen piña coladas when this is said and done.”

She glanced at the clock apologetically. “I need to get this performance going.”

“Of course. I’ll scoot-scat out of your way.” He did a little dance to lighten things up, which Lauren appreciated. Wilks, who had to be in his late sixties, could be cute despite his otherwise distinguished persona. She wanted to pat him on his head while still carrying great respect for him. “Think about it? You’d be the hero of this place.” He backed away. More scoot-scatting. “And you’ll be compensated appropriately.”

“You should have led with that.”

He pointed at her. “I will next time. And Lauren?”

“Sir?”

“You’re the best goddamned stage manager in the business.”

“I will remind you of that someday when you forget.” He nodded and snuck away so she could do her job for the next three hours and give this show a proper closing. The compensation part of his offer didn’t sound half bad. As a stage manager, she was a member of Actors’ Equity, and there was a minimum pay scale in place. Hearing Wilks say he’d go above and beyond did carry some weight. Maybe if she put off her vacation a bit, she could take a few extra perks for herself. Fly first class. Upgrade her reservation to one of those upscale all-inclusive places with private cabanas and butlers that brought the fruity drinks. She closed her eyes and imagined herself in a bikini, the sun caressing her skin. God, could she really give that up?

“Lauren, we’re at fifteen,” Trip informed her.

“Right, right, right. My fault entirely.” She made the fifteen-minute call to everyone backstage and checked in via headset with her house manager, who reported everything out front was on schedule for an on-time curtain.

Twenty minutes later, they were wandering their way through a Sondheim journey, the audience on the edge of their seats. From the booth that overlooked the house, where she called each and every show, Lauren could occasionally catch a glimpse of an audience member’s face as they went along for the ride, gasping and glancing at their seatmate for each plot twist or turn. She loved that about theater. Back when she used to be an actress herself, she’d taken great pride in affecting those who took in her shows. When an audience member cried or laughed loudly, she carried that energy with her and brought it back out again in appreciation of that relationship. That actor-audience connection was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Those kinds of thoughts always made Lauren’s heart squeeze.