by Alex Bledsoe
“I’ll leave a ticket for you at on-call for opening night. You deserve to see it as much as anybody.”
She looked like she might cry. “Are you serious?”
I smiled with irony she would never understand. “As serious as a ghost in church.”
* * *
Neil made some changes in the show to streamline things and clarify some plot points. He tried very hard to do this in the spirit of what Ray had written, and none of us felt the changes jarred too much. Only Stanley, who played the nameless ghost, put up a fight when his character received the name Arliss. I wondered how he’d take it if he knew the real name he’d avoided.
But, like everything else, I told the cast nothing. The chapel mystery, as far as they were concerned, was closed. The official press release would now say that the story was totally fictional. The ghosts of Byrda, Shad, and Dobber would be safe from prying eyes, as would their treasure.
I broke up with Joaquim right after I returned from Tennessee. It hadn’t been terribly traumatic for either of us, which I suppose said something about the relationship right there. He wished me well, I did the same for him, and we went our separate ways.
So now I had no one in the audience who was there specifically for me on opening night. (I didn’t count dreadlocked Jamie.) That made me a little sad, but not so much that it affected my mood. I’d spoken to C.C. just before I left for the theater, and he’d said just the right thing to make sure I was at my best for the show: “Whatever happens, wherever he is, Rayford will be proud of y’all.”
And “we all,” of course, were equally as proud of him and what he’d given us.
* * *
The bulletin board that formerly held our speculations about the mystery practically sagged with the weight of the rave reviews pinned to it. A major newspaper said, “The conservative word for Chapel of Ease might be ‘astounding,’ or ‘amazing.’ You can feel the mountains around you, and even though you know they’re merely actors, the ghosts leave you with the chills that real spirits would.”
Someone had circled “merely actors” in red, and then added multiple exclamation points on top of it.
“I can’t think of a way it could have been done better,” another newspaper critic wrote. “Every role is perfectly cast, and every song is magnificently sung.”
A blog printout said, “It moved me to tears, both from its heartbreaking modern story, and the ancient tragedy behind it.”
Many of the notices mentioned Ray’s tragic demise. It was still a terrible thing, but if there was any bright side to it, it was that Ray’s death made Chapel of Ease the hottest ticket in town.
A sharp pain shot up from my butt. I turned around to see Jason standing smugly behind me. “What was that for?” I snapped, rubbing the spot where he’d pinched me.
“I knew what you were thinking,” he said with an insufferable grin.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“‘Am I dreaming?’ Now you know you’re not.”
He was exactly right. We both laughed.
“Hey, you hyenas,” Ellie said. “Get your stuff on. You have a call in fifteen minutes.”
We adjourned to the dressing room. The men all shared one big area, which in the good old days would’ve housed the diva of the week and all her entourage. We each had our own makeup tables, and were responsible for our own looks. Luckily none of us had anything really complicated, certainly not me. Some basic Pan-Cake, eyeliner, and lipstick were all I needed to transform into Crawford. I did have to add a little extra to cover the scabs from those splinters.
There was an envelope on my dressing table. There was no address, just my name. The card inside had a black-and-white photograph of a barn on it. Across the roof, in huge letters, were the words, SEE ROCK CITY. I opened it and read the message:
You’re a great Crawford. You make me wish the story didn’t have to turn out the way it does. We should hand out cups to catch the audience’s tears. It was signed, Love, Ray.
He must’ve written these up before he died. I tucked the card into the edge of the mirror, the way actors have done since time immemorial. I checked, and the other two actors had similar cards.
I found Neil standing backstage, peeking out at the audience. The crowd was fairly low-key. They’d seen the reviews, knew Ray’s tragic story, and understood that there was a lot riding on this. This would be, in a sense, even more make-or-break than a usual opening night: many were no doubt here out of that misplaced communal sympathy that drove people into the streets after tragedies that didn’t touch them at all. We had their goodwill for the moment, but only if we convinced them that the show at the heart of all this was solid and magical.
“Thanks for handing out Ray’s cards,” I said to Neil.
“He wrote them up right before he passed away. I found them and knew he’d want you guys to have them, no matter what.”
“I appreciate it, and I’m sure everyone else does, too.”
“Look at ’em,” he said, nodding at the crowd. “None of them really cares about what they’re about to see. Well, maybe a few.”
“That’s kind of harsh, isn’t it?”
He chuckled at his own sarcasm. “Ah, you’re probably right. I’ve been at this so long, I forget sometimes, people’s motives are really pure. And speaking of, whatever you did while you were gone, it worked. Your accent is great.”
“Thanks.”
“Glad you got that squared away before we hit Broadway.”
It took a moment for that to register. “Wait … what?”
He gave me a sly gotcha smile. “We’re moving to the Longacre Theatre at the end of this run. You know, on West Forty-eighth?”
I looked around. No one stood near us. I asked softly, “Does anyone else know?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell them tonight at the party. But you—” He put a hand on my shoulder. “—you went above and beyond, Matt. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. So I thought you should be the first to know. Oh—and we’ll be recording the cast album in two weeks at the end of this run, so protect your voice.” He patted my cheek, then faded back into the wings. I heard him trip over something in the dark, then curse. It almost made me laugh.
An original cast album. Since I was a kid and first saw the term on old CDs, I’d wanted to be on an original cast album. And now that dream would come true, all thanks to Ray. I sure hoped he knew it, wherever he was.
The houselights dimmed, and conversation dropped off. The orchestra—well, the band—began the overture, and the energy from the rustic tunes soon had the audience clapping along, something I’d never encountered before. The applause as the music ended was not merely polite, either.
The rest of those in the opening act were now in position around me. I closed my eyes for a moment. “This is for you, Ray,” I said softly, then strode onstage as the curtain rose.
* * *
The show went great. I could describe it in more detail, but that’s the important part. We had no flubs, no one forgot his or her lines, and everyone was on. We nailed the motherfucker.
We could feel that the audience was with us all the way, but it still didn’t prepare us for the ovation they gave us. Everyone was on their feet, and stayed there. Eventually we all clapped along with them, delighted not only to be in the show, but also to be part of this moment.
If I thought the madness after the press preview was intense, it was nothing compared to this. I swear some people were still clapping as I took off my makeup and changed to street clothes. Ryan, our Shad, kept his character’s distinctive hat on as he went outside to meet-and-greet, making sure everyone would recognize him. I hoped he kept track of it; if he lost it, Ellie the stage manager would have his soul for breakfast.
Cassandra, who played Jennifer, caught me as I came out. She tossed her hair, threw her arms around me, and kissed me. “I loved your last number!”
“And I didn’t want to strangle you when you tossed your hair!” I said back, in
the exact same tone. We both laughed like maniacs.
“Can you believe that?” she said, gesturing toward the stage.
“I know,” I said.
“We broke their fucking hearts, and they loved it!” Tears and sweat left tracks of eyeliner down her cheeks. “I’ve never been in a show like this.”
“Me, neither,” I assured her.
“They’ll have to extend the run. They can’t just close after two weeks! Can they?”
“I don’t see how,” I agreed, keeping the news about the show’s relocation to myself. I wondered how many of the actors would burst into tears when Neil told them. I was pretty sure I would.
I found a water bottle in the back of the green room’s little fridge, drank it in one swallow and went out front to meet the fans. Unlike the preview, I knew very few of these. But they were just as excited, just as enthusiastic, just as seriously pumped up as that earlier audience. Many of them took selfies with me, and I shuddered at the thought of all those bad photos ending up online. I looked around for Jamie, but if she came, I didn’t see her.
The best response came from a friend who was a musician in another Off-Broadway show that had just closed. He exclaimed, “That was amazing! You made me want to line dance with straight people!”
We were having the after-show party in a back room at Stack’s, but I was pretty sure we’d end up taking over the entire bar, particularly their karaoke machine. I knew Julie and Mark would probably get falling-down drunk, as they tended to do when they celebrated; luckily we didn’t have a matinee tomorrow.
Neil and one of our producers, Monty Madison, started urging people toward the theater’s doors. “The party’s not here, people. The booze is down the street.” Gradually the crowds of both audience and performers thinned out. I was about to follow, when I remembered I’d left my cell phone on my dressing table. I went back to retrieve it.
“Where are you going?” Ellie asked. She had a big ring of keys in her hand.
“To get my phone. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m locking the doors, so be sure you’ve got everything when you leave, and make sure it closes behind you.”
“Will do.”
In the dressing room, which still reeked of our sweat and excitement, I found a text from C.C.: How did it go?
I texted back, Spectacular. Off to the cast party. I’ll call you in the morning.
Glad to hear it, he texted back, along with a picture of himself, shirtless, giving me a thumbs-up sign.
I got a rush of real happiness from that. He wasn’t clinging, he wasn’t demanding my time or trying to make this in any way about him. He was just there.
Someday soon, I’d have to get him here.
I stopped as I was about to open the backstage door onto the alley, and strode alone onto the stage. I looked out at all the empty seats, remembering the packed faces that watched, laughed, clapped, and cheered. The air still seemed to vibrate with the show’s energy, the way I knew it would for the next two weeks, and possibly longer.
“So … how do you feel?”
I almost shrieked. Ray stood beside me, as solid as if he’d been alive. He had his hands in his denim jacket pockets, and grinned with delight.
“Do you ever plan to just die?” I snapped.
“Yeah, don’t worry, this is the last time you’ll see me. I just had to check in after the show, you know?”
“Did you see it?”
“Of course I saw it.”
“So what did you think?”
“Pretty good.”
“‘Pretty good’?”
“Hey, what do you want? The perfect version is in my head. But you guys got awful close.”
“We’re moving to Broadway after this,” I said proudly. “Did you know that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if you know everything, smart-ass, why are you here?”
“Two reasons. One is to tell you that Thorn is a handful, and you need to make sure you set up some very clear rules before she moves in. Give her an inch, she’ll take I-40.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“Second … thank you.”
“For what?”
“For keeping the secret. About what was buried in the chapel of ease. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you even write that story? What about it spoke to you?”
He paused for a moment, and evidently the effort of thinking made him less substantial, because he began to fade. Then he grew solid again and said, “It was universal. It was a love story.”
“But it didn’t happen the way your play tells it.”
He shrugged. “I’m not a historian, dude. The play was inspired by it, not based on it. Hell, I couldn’t really name a character ‘Dobber,’ could I?”
That actually made sense. “So this is good-bye for real, then?”
“Yeah. Except I got one more thing to tell you.”
“What?”
“A gift. Just for you. I know I can trust you to keep it.”
He leaned close and whispered in my ear. I felt no breath, and no warmth of a presence, but I heard him quite clearly. When he finished, I knew he was gone for good, forever. I stood all alone on the Armpit’s stage.
But he’d told me what was buried in the chapel of ease.
And he was right: it didn’t matter at all.
SONG LIST
Please note that some of the links referenced in this work are no longer active.
All song lyrics are original, except for those listed below.
CHAPTER 12
“The Unclouded Day”
composed by Joseph K. Atwood in 1885
http://library.timelesstruths.org/music/The_Unclouded_Day/
CHAPTER 15
“The Wife of Usher’s Well”
#79 in a collection of 305 ballads collected in the nineteenth century by Francis James Child and originally published in ten volumes between 1882 and 1898
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_the_Child_Ballads
CHAPTER 23
“Ain’t Gonna Grieve My Lord No More”
1865, according to the Public Domain Info Project
http://www.pdinfo.com/pd-song-list/search-pd-songs.php
BOOKS BY ALEX BLEDSOE
MEMPHIS VAMPIRES SERIES
Blood Groove
The Girls with Games of Blood
EDDIE LACROSSE SERIES
The Sword-Edged Blonde
Burn Me Deadly
Dark Jenny
Wake of the Bloody Angel
He Drank, and Saw the Spider
TUFA SERIES
The Hum and the Shiver
Wisp of a Thing
Long Black Curl
Chapel of Ease
“Shall We Gather” (a Tor.com Original)
“The Two Weddings of Bronwyn Hyatt” (a Tor.com Original)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALEX BLEDSOE grew up in West Tennessee, but now lives in Wisconsin. He is the acclaimed author of the Eddie LaCrosse novels (The Sword-Edged Blonde; Burn Me Deadly; Dark Jenny; Wake of the Bloody Angel; He Drank, and Saw the Spider), the Tufa series (The Hum and the Shiver; Wisp of a Thing; Long Dark Curl), and the Memphis Vampires (Blood Groove; The Girls with Games of Blood). You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Special Thanks
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter
4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Song List
Books by Alex Bledsoe
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
CHAPEL OF EASE
Copyright © 2016 by Alex Bledsoe
All rights reserved.
Cover photographs by Tim Daniels/Arcangel Images (chapel) and Joel Carillet/Getty Images (man)
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-7656-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-5142-9 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466851429
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First Edition: September 2016