CHAPTER FIFTEEN — THE OPENING CUE
The auditorium filled slowly with people wearing expensive coats and scarves dusted with melting snow.
The front rows held sponsors and journalists, while former theater workers took seats near the center aisle.
Nora sat beside Eli, whose boots could not touch the floor.
He held a folded program and kept asking whether the woman in the photograph would appear on the stage.
“Her songs will,” Nora said.
“But the woman herself is gone.”
Eli nodded solemnly.
He had known enough loss to understand the distinction.
Onstage, a pianist tested a chord, and the string players adjusted their instruments.
This time their microphones were connected to the live sound system.
Lena stood at the rear of the auditorium with her headset pressed to one ear.
Bernard waited by the fire-curtain release,
now clear of equipment.
The repaired speaker rig had been taken down entirely.
Claire approached the microphone as the house lights dimmed.
She thanked the audience for coming and acknowledged that the planned program had changed.
A nervous murmur moved through the seats.
“My mother performed here because she loved the people who made performances possible,” Claire said.
“Tonight we will present recordings she actually made, along with music performed by people standing in front of you.”
A few people applauded.
Claire continued before the sound grew.
“We will not present new statements in my mother’s voice.”
Martin rose from his seat at the end of the first row.
He walked toward the side entrance with his phone pressed to his ear.
Nora watched him disappear.
The first recording began with the rough sound of a concert audience from decades earlier.
Marion’s genuine voice floated through the auditorium, imperfect and warm.
She missed a note near the end of a phrase and laughed before starting it again.
The audience laughed with her.
Nora felt Eli’s hand close around hers.
When the recording ended, the orchestra began playing without a click track.
The musicians followed each other’s breathing, and the tempo shifted naturally through the melody.
Claire watched from the wings with tears shining in her eyes.
Then the stage lights flickered.
A new logo appeared on the white screen before the orchestra reached its final chord.
WHITMORE ETERNAL EXPERIENCES filled the auditorium in silver lettering.
Lena’s voice crackled over a nearby crew radio.
“That cue is not on the approved list.”
The orchestra faltered.
A woman’s projected face began forming beneath the logo.
The audience murmured as the image sharpened into a resemblance of Marion.
A recorded voice said, “My family has given me a way to return to you.”
Nora stood so abruptly that Eli gripped her sleeve.
Claire rushed from the wings toward the sound operator.
Lena called for the playback to be stopped.
The operator pressed a button, but the voice continued.
“The source is coming from the presentation laptop,” he shouted.
“It’s not in our playback system.”
The screen began displaying a price list for private remembrance packages.
People in the audience took out their phones.
Ruth rose from her seat with a look of unmistakable fury.
Nora turned toward the stage door.
“Stay with Mrs. Alvarez,” she told Eli.
Then she hurried toward the control booth.
