On the night of the twentieth, Harris sat in the dark behind the curtains at Alterman’s Theater. He had expected five weirdoes to show up. The theater sat two hundred and fifty, and they had to turn people away once they filled up.
“This is amazeballs!” Tucker told Harris.
All Harris heard were the whispered conversations of hundreds of strangers on the other side of the velveteen curtain.
“I should have had a drink first,” Harris said. Mr. Winters had done his best to get Harris buzzed, but Mr. Summers prevailed.
“There’s water for you.” Tucker pointed out the round table with six water bottles on it.
“Not what I meant.”
Mitchell appeared backstage. “Hey, came to tell you to break a leg.”
“You don’t have to be snarky,” Harris said.
“I mean good luck,” Mitchell said. “Just because
