Shelley guided them through the large seating area. Jane admired the balconies, but was surprised that there was nobody on the stage. They heard voices and followed them to a room well behind the stage where there was a long table and chairs crammed close together. The backstage part of the theater wasn't nearly as grand as the public spaces. There had apparently been renovations several times. Some of the walls weren't even painted.

Three people were already there, pouring over scripts that looked fairly well worn. The young man at the head of the table stood up and said, "You must be Mrs. Nowack and Mrs. Jeffry. I'm Steven Imry. I'm the playwright and the Director." Jane could hear the capital D in his voice.

He continued, "I'm a graduate of the theater school at the college. I'm more than halfway through my master 's degree, and this is the second full-length play I've directed. Like the students among us who are on the Fast Track program, so are we. That's why we're rehearsing at night from six to ten. You're the ladies who are feeding us, right?",

Jane instinctively didn't like the look of him. He had deep frown lines on his forehead. His sandy hair was thinning. He wore old clothes thatwere all a little bit too big for him. And worst of all, he was one of those men with a tiny lump of beard just under his lower lip. She always thought this sort of mini-goatee looked like the man had chewed up a dead mouse and left a piece of the fur under his lip. She couldn't imagine why somebody would make himself look disgusting on purpose.

"So to speak," Shelley said with a hint of hauteur in her voice. "I've arranged for the catering and want to keep an eye on the people I've chosen to do it."

"And you?" he asked, turning to Jane.

"I'm just a taster and observer," she admitted.

She was still considering him. It was more than his appearance that bothered her, though. His voice was too loud. His clothing was shabby and he didn't smell quite clean. It seemed to her that it was a deliberate fashion statement.