Backstage in Prague – Part 2: Opening Night

The curtain rose at seven-thirty on the dot. The drawing room glowed in soft amber light, a little brighter on the left, and the pistol lay on the table exactly where it should be. In the wings, Klára stood with her headset on and her heart in her mouth.

"Cue forty-two," she whispered.

"Standing by," said Tomáš, in her ear, from the lighting box. "And... go."

The light on the actress shifted, warm and perfect. The audience gasped, a soft collective breath. Klára felt her shoulders drop an inch.

"It works," she murmured.

"I told you," said Tomáš.

"Do not gloat."

"I am gloating very quietly."

The play ran smoothly. The leading man forgot a line in act two and improvised so beautifully that nobody noticed. The pistol went off on cue, a loud, satisfying bang, and a woman in the third row dropped her programme. At the final bow, the audience rose, clapping and stamping, and the cast reached out into the dark to take Klára's hand and pull her on stage.

Afterwards, the theatre emptied slowly. Klára swept the stage, collecting the last scattered props, and found Tomáš sitting on the edge of the stage with his legs dangling over the orchestra pit, a bottle of beer in each hand.

"For the stage manager," he said, offering one.

She sat beside him. The auditorium was dark and enormous, with rows of empty red seats and the old gilded boxes glittering faintly in the glow of the ghost light.

"Can I ask you something?" said Klára.

"Yes."

"Did you really move the cue to annoy me?"

"No," said Tomáš. "I moved it because it was wrong. I argued because I wanted you to argue back."

She laughed, a short breath. "That is very strange."

"I am a very strange man. Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Would you have a drink with me, properly, tomorrow? Somewhere without a ladder?"

"Yes," said Klára. "But only if you promise not to touch my cues."

"I promise nothing," said Tomáš. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," said Klára. "And if I say stop, you have to light the whole building green."

"That is an expensive punishment," said Tomáš, and leaned in.

He kissed her gently, one hand coming up to cup her cheek, the taste of beer and dust sweet between them. In the dark theatre, the ghost light glowed softly on the empty stage, and neither of them moved.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Tomáš.

"Green," said Klára. "Very green. Now turn off the lights, Tomáš, and walk me home."

"The lights are off," said Tomáš. "I did it at eleven."

"You are impossible," said Klára, and took his hand.

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