The Dressing Room – Part 2: The Second Act

The first run-through was in the empty theatre, after the crew had gone home. The stage lights were dimmed to a single warm glow, and the auditorium stretched away into darkness, row after row of velvet seats.

Theo stood in the wings in the midnight-blue gown, his heart beating so fast he could hear it. Margot knelt on the floor behind him, adjusting the hem with pins held between her lips.

"Breathe," she said, around the pins.

"I am breathing."

"You're holding it. I can see your shoulders."

He let out a long breath, and she smiled and rose to her feet, brushing dust from her skirt.

"Go on," she said. "I'll be here."

He walked onto the stage. The boards were cool under his bare feet. The silk moved around him like water. He stopped in the centre of the light, and for a moment he could see nothing but the dark shape of the empty seats.

Then he began to speak.

His voice wavered at first, then steadied. The lines came back to him, one by one, and with them came the character: a woman who had buried a husband, closed a house, and decided at last to step out into the world. Theo let her anger and her grief and her quiet, stubborn hope move through him, and when he reached the final speech, he was not afraid anymore.

When the last word left his mouth, silence filled the theatre.

Then, from the back row, came a single, slow clap.

Theo blinked into the dark. "Who's there?"

"Only me," said Margot's voice, warm and amused. She came down the aisle with her hands in her pockets, her face lit by the stage glow. "Honestly, Theo. Did you think I'd miss this?"

He stepped to the edge of the stage. Margot stopped at the foot of the steps and looked up at him, her expression open and wondering.

"You were extraordinary," she said.

"I was terrified."

"That's what extraordinary looks like, from the outside."

He laughed shakily and came down the steps, careful not to trip on the hem. When he reached the bottom, they stood face to face, close enough that he could see the faint freckles across her nose.

"Margot," he said quietly. "Why did you ask me to try it? The gown. Not the director. You."

She was silent for a moment.

"Because I've been sewing for other people's bodies for twelve years," she said softly. "And every time I measured someone who was hiding, I wished I could give them something that let them stop hiding for a few minutes. Something that felt like permission." She swallowed. "You looked like you needed it more than anyone I'd ever fitted."

Theo's throat tightened.

"And now?" he asked.

"Now I think you deserve to wear it every night," said Margot, "and to be looked at by people who see exactly what you are."

He reached out, slowly, and she did not step back. His fingers brushed her wrist, then slid up to cradle her face. Her skin was warm, and she leaned into his touch with a small, shaky breath.

"May I?" he whispered.

"Please," said Margot.

The kiss was soft and tentative, a question asked with care. Theo felt her lean closer, her hands coming up to rest on the silk at his waist, and something in him loosened, bright and fierce. He kissed her again, deeper, and she made a low, delighted sound against his mouth and pulled him closer by the gown.

When they finally broke apart, Theo was laughing softly, and Margot was flushed and smiling.

"You'll ruin the hem," she said breathlessly.

"Then you'll have to fix it."

"Every night," said Margot, and kissed him once more, in the warm, empty dark of the theatre, where the light was only for them.

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