“As soon as everyone’s here, we’re going to run through act three, scene one,” he announced, doing his best commander-in-chief imitation. “No one leaves until we get it right.”

The announcement was met by a chorus of groans. The only good thing about that night’s rehearsal was that all the cast members didn’t have to subject themselves to Lance’s edicts. This meant that of the cast, only Claudia, Lance, Bernie Mason, and I needed to be present, in addition to a crew that included Monica, Rita, Bill, and his ever-present shadow, Gus. The remainder of the cast, Gloria, Megan, and Eric Olsen, a nice young man and a member of the Brookdale police force, had the night off. Lucky them. What a shame I wasn’t a tad younger; I would have tried out for Megan’s part-the role of ingénue.

All of us trooped up the steps to the stage.

Bill approached Lance, who was inspecting an array of props spread out on a table. “Ah, Lance, do you have a minute?”

Lance looked up with a scowl. If one didn’t know better, one would have thought he’d never laid eyes on Bill before. “Bill, isn’t it?”

For crying out loud, Bill was an easy name. Nothing complicated about it. How hard was it to remember the man who’d stepped up to the plate and graciously offered to build whatever set he wanted?

“Now?” Lance’s scowl darkened even more.

“Yes, now.”

I had to give Bill credit. He didn’t cave beneath Lance’s attempt at intimidation. Here was Lance all decked out in Ralph Lauren and Rolex. And then there was Bill in Levi’s and Timex. Do I have to come right out and say who won my vote?

“There’s a matter we need to discuss,” Bill said, all business.

“Can’t it wait?”

“Not if you want a set for opening night.”

Lance assumed a put-upon look. “Very well.”