Somewhere in the city, a curtain is rising even now.
Lights
have been dimmed; ushers have done their
ushing; intermission drinks have been ordered; Playbills
have been leafed through, and understudies announced,
and now it's
happening – the orchestra is striking up
the overture, and the stage manager is motioning
to the
lighting techs. The actors are haunting the wings,
mouthing
their opening lines, picturing the tears or
gasps or guffaws they'll coax from a grateful crowd
tonight. Then the curtain rises; the lights come up; the
audience,
as one, leans ever so slightly forward, and
just for a moment holds its breath: and then it's
on.
