Free Boy Toy by Michael Craft

Diggins’s original script would never be staged again, but still, there was a palpable excitement—the hint of great things to come, the magic, as Thad had called it. And the room grew darker.
    But when the houselights reached half-power, they paused.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” began a disembodied but familiar voice (Denny’s, over a loudspeaker), “the Dumont Players Guild wishes to announce the following cast changes: in tonight’s performance, the role of Ryan will be played by Thad Quatrain”—Neil and I discreetly grabbed each other’s fingertips in a proud, congratulatory gesture—“and the role of Dawson will be played by Thomas Morales. Thank you.”
    Predictably, a murmur swept through the crowd as the lights continued their fade to black. Some, surely, were disappointed by the announcement—those who had come to see Jason. Others—like us—were delighted, having preferred to see Thad in the starring role all along. But most were simply surprised and curious: What had happened?
    Just before the houselights winked out, I noticed someone stand in the packed auditorium and begin walking up the aisle toward the lobby. There was no mistaking the lean figure, the sultry swagger, the black satin—it was Mica Thrush, heading out of the theater.
    The crowd again hushed itself as the room went completely dark. Then, with an audible hum, the stage lights came on, full power, and the scene was set. Teen Play had begun. After a few lines of opening dialogue from minor characters, Ryan made his entrance, and to my surprise (Thad’s too, I’m sure), the audience erupted with applause, as if cheering the hero, the understudy who was called upon to save the show. I knew, of course, that Thad was thoroughly rehearsed in the role—he would have played Ryan the next night anyway—but this distinction was lost on the crowd as they clapped their approbation and support. Without breaking character, Thad and everyone else onstage momentarily froze in a tableau, waiting for the applause to wane, then continued with their dialogue. I had never heard Thad in better voice. And I had not before seen him in the role of Ryan, which he acted with confidence and authority. If the last-minute casting change threw him at all, it was not the least bit evident.
    I quickly dismissed the real-world issues and actions and problems that had led to that moment, allowing myself to slip into the new world being created behind the proscenium. As theater folk would say, I “suspended my disbelief” and bought into the whole fabrication, forgetting that it was Thad up there. As minutes passed, the plot began to twist and thicken. I wondered, really caring, What next?
    Pierce, squirming in his seat next to me, broke my theatrical spell as he reached inside his jacket and unclipped the pager from his belt. The gizmo had apparently alerted him with a vibrating signal, and he now strained to see its readout in the dim light of the auditorium. Adding to this distraction, Glee passed her penlight down the row to him, rousing Barb’s and Neil’s curiosity. Heads in the row behind us turned as well, wondering what we were looking at. At last Pierce managed to position the pager at a legible angle under the narrow beam of light. Nudging my knee with his, he offered me a look at the readout—he was needed at the Thrush residence, the home of the missing actor. Rising from his seat, he headed for the lobby.
    Turning to give Neil’s arm a squeeze of apology, I rose, following the sheriff out of the theater.
    In the lobby, Pierce told me, “It’s police business. You stay, Mark. Thad would want you here.”
    “I know,” I conceded, nodding, “but I’ve got an uneasy feeling that whatever’s happening at the Thrushes’ might spell trouble for Thad. Please, Doug—I feel I need to be there.”
    He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts, but was too rushed to argue. “All right,” he said, exhaling. “But you won’t get in on your own. Ride