Page 9 of Specters & Spotlights

Navigating the backstage maze was easier now that her mental map was forming. She followed the quiet bustle of the crew, ducked past a wardrobe rack and a half-dismantled rolling flat, and rounded a corner toward stage right.

The quick-change station was tucked behind a stretch of black drape, hidden but efficient. The costume was already there—pressed and waiting—hanging beside a small set of shelves and a mirror. Everything looked the way it should.

Elise glanced around for her tiny, ghostly troublemaker. Nothing yet. Maybe he only came out during showtime.

She let her eyes drift toward the stage. The light crew had begun their first pre-show checks, throwing golden washes across the floorboards. From here, she could barely make out one of the show’s signature pieces: the bridge.

It loomed in the wings, half in shadow, waiting for its cue. Painted wrought iron and faux stone arches framed its silhouette—a romantic illusion that came apart in two enormous rolling segments. Up close, the seams were visible. But from the house? It looked like magic.

It was exactly like the world she’d known with the First National… but refracted, somehow. Same bridge. Same cues. Same show. And yet…

Even as she lingered at the edge of the wings, she felt it. A rhythm stirring beneath it all. A quiet hum, a sense of something about to shift.

She adjusted her grip on the wig in her hand and stepped back into motion.

The hour before curtain was always its own kind of theatre. A symphony of pins clicking, hairspray misting, nerves tightening like drawstrings. Once the curtain rose, Elise’s job became more maintenance than miracle—unless someone ripped out a hairpiece or lost a wig mid-spin.

But this part—the hustle before curtain, the careful preparation, the quiet magic of turning foam heads into Regency aristocrats—this was where Elise came alive. Her hands knew every curl by instinct, every part line like muscle memory. She could coax a wig into perfection faster than most people finish their vocal warmups, and there was something sacred in that ritual. In a world that often felt like it demanded too much, this was the one place where she gave freely, completely, and always knew exactly what to do.

When she stepped back into the wig closet, someone was already there, unloading a small basket of wig caps. She had smooth, dark skin, fabulous knotless braids pulled into a low bun, and a presence that immediately calmed the room—except for Kevin, who was very obviously sizing her up with his usual ghostly scrutiny.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the woman said, with a tired kind of cheer. Her voice had a soft southern lilt and a smile to match. “After last night, I was terrified I’d have to do a repeat. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Name’s Marcelle, but everyone calls me Marcie.”

“Elise,” she replied with a small smile. “I appreciate you stepping in. I don’t think I’d be much help on the makeup side if the roles were reversed.”

Marcie waved her off. “Please. I was trying to keep the ship afloat. I just started last month, but this gig’s a dream for me. Pay’s light, but they keep us housed and fed, and I get to live in musical theatre land all day. Beats slinging foundation at Sephora while grown adults cry about their undertones.”

Elise smirked—and then caught movement at the doorway. Someone new was waiting right outside, hands folded, posture careful. She already had pin curls tucked neatly under a hair wrap—definitely a cast member, early to her call time.

Marcie noticed too. “Oh! This is Ellen,” she said, waving her over. “She’s our Lizzy understudy.”

Ellen offered a shy, warm smile. Elise returned it, her internal clock ticking down. The pre-show tide was rising, and this room was about to fill with faces, hairpins, and half-finished stories.

As Ellen stepped fully into the room, Elise blinked at the mirror of her own silhouette. A few inches over five feet, slender, but not slight. A presence that didn’t need height to command attention. Her skin was pale as porcelain, and Elise didn’t have to squint to imagine her in the chestnut Elizabeth wig. With the stage lights behind her and a line like “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire you” drifting across the proscenium—she’d look like a painting come to life.

“I just wanted to get here early,” Ellen said as she moved toward the chair in front of the mirror. “After last night, I wasn’t sure what the plan was. I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Same,” Elise replied with a warm smile.

Marcie gave a nod to both of them. “See you in makeup, Ellen.” She grabbed her kit and slipped out the door.

Ellen sat without needing to be asked, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her movements were smooth, but Elise caught the glance she tossed toward the hallway—a half-second too long to be casual.

Elise moved automatically, years of repetition making each step feel like muscle memory. First, the wig cap: a stretch and a secure fit over Ellen’s tight pin curls. Her natural hair was a pale sandy blonde, neatly tucked away.

Then, the wig. Elise scanned the labeled heads Nick had lined up, spotting the one tagged with Ellen’s ensemble role. She gently lifted the wig—a glossy blonde piece—and positioned it carefully over the cap. Fingers nimble, she anchored it with hairpins, pushing through the wefts to grip the pin curls below. Last came the spirit gum, tacked gently along the lace front to make it vanish seamlessly into Ellen’s skin.

“I’m glad you come pre-loaded with all the original company’s experience,” Ellen said with a smile as Elise finished. “I can already tell this is going to be an easy fit for you.”

Elise gave a quiet chuckle. “Let’s hope.”

She stepped back, hands brushing lightly against her apron as she studied the finished look. But the warmth that usually followed a job well done didn’t quite settle.

Easy fit, Ellen had said. That’s what Elise wanted to believe—that she could step into this new company like it was just another show, another dressing room, another set of curls to tame.

A new silhouette filled the doorway. Elise glanced up.

And paused.