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The Thespians: Volume Two

Our Private World

Kit Saxon adjusted the emerald green tie he wore- a pop of color on an otherwise monochromatic black suit. He turned from the mirror to face his wife Lara. “How do I look, honey? Do I look ready to celebrate the 1000th performance of Beautiful?”

“You look like…some kind of wonderful!” laughed Lara, who herself was donning a zebra-striped cocktail dress. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, reminiscent of her days as a ballerina.

“Well then, we should get going! The car’s waiting.” Kit and Lara descended the stairs of their Midtown apartment (with a few bouquets of roses) and hopped into their taxi. It drove several blocks along before coming to a halt at the Stephen Sondheim Theatre, where a red carpet had been laid out and a nice crowd stood. Kit wanted to meet some friends in the cast, so Lara went inside the theatre while he left his name at the stage door.

After being admitted, however, he noticed something odd. One of the dressing rooms was dark, save for its large mirror. Despite the lights being off, that mirror was glowing; it seemed to have a magnetic effect on Kit. “I wonder what’s going on in there,” he mused as he entered the room.

Kit sensed a mysterious energy emitting from the other side of the shimmering mirror, which was built like a medicine cabinet. And so he opened it up: inside was a tome.

Suddenly, he heard someone behind him call his name. He hastily shut the mirror and turned. “Autumn!”

“What are you doing in here?” she asked. Autumn Smyth was a former student of Kit’s, back when he taught musical theatre master classes. Now she was in the company of Beautiful on Broadway after finishing a run in Mamma Mia! When not onstage, she was never seen without her trademark red pumps.

“Nothing much,” Kit replied. “I came backstage to say hi, but I…got a little misplaced.” He opened the mirror cabinet again and gestured to the thick book. “Have you ever seen this, Autumn?”

“Not here. But I once found something that looked just like it, backstage at the Winter Garden.” There was an awkward pause. “I dared not read it. Chances are, if people are keeping books hidden in dressing rooms, there is a reason for it.” She shrugged.

But it was in this moment that Kit, an avid reader of Agatha Christie, silently vowed to discover the connection between these discoveries. Surely they were not coincidences. Once Autumn left to finish her makeup before the show, Kit secretly tore a blank page from the book and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

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