"Ladies and gentlemen, Stag Lincoln!"
That's how the dead starlet, initials N.W., introduced me. The audience responded with deafening cheers and applause, leaping to their feet in a standing ovation.
I stood in the wings and gave it a minute to build. It was always better to let the anticipation rise before walking out at these kinds of things.
As I waited, I wondered where N.B. had gone after bailing on me in the corridor. I'd still found my way backstage and gotten to the right people who'd prepped me for my cues--but I didn't like the way he'd cut out on me. I didn't like the cryptic things he'd said.
I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to get some down time and clear my head. This revolution nonsense was the exact opposite of what I wanted to deal with.
Taking a deep b
