After Midnight by Kathy Clark

stronger. The great thing about performing live was that the audience had an energy that the actors onstage would feed off of, which energized them.
    The spotlights made it impossible to see out past the first few rows, so she had no idea if there was anyone—okay, to be more specific—if Sam was out there. It had been such a shock to see him last night, but the evening had been surprisingly comfortable after the initial awkwardness. She had kept glancing at her phone all day to see if she had missed his call. She even tried to pretend she wasn’t disappointed when he hadn’t called. But then, it was Saturday, and he probably hadn’t been able to talk to anyone at the station about her situation. If he hadn’t found out anything, then he wouldn’t really have a reason to call her. Damn.
    One of the groups J.R. had welcomed was from a large senior center in Lakewood. Carrie had told Kate that the seniors usually really let loose and got into the shows. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and when Carrie went into the crowd and lavishly flirted with several older gentlemen, the crowd went wild. She left her trademark bright red lipstick kiss on their bald heads, then joined the rest of the cast onstage for the finale of the musical part of the show.
    He wasn’t waiting in the wings. Kate took off her stage makeup and changed into street clothes. She joined the other cast members, and the auditorium was cleaned and ready for the next show in less than a half hour.
    He wasn’t waiting outside, either. Kate walked with Andy and J.R. to the parking lot, where they all split up and got into their own cars. “Silly girl,” Kate chided herself as she unlocked her Escape’s doors and slid inside. “Did you really think he would be here again?”
    She snapped her seat belt in place and turned the key. It was ridiculous that she was disappointed. It wasn’t like she’d ever had anyone wait for her after one of her shows. Except for Jameel.
    The first week she’d been in Denver, she’d lucked out and gotten a part at a small theater downtown. It was a minor role, but there were a few lines and several important interactions with the leads, and Kate had been thrilled to do it. As the famous acting coach Constantin Stanislavski said, “There are no small parts, just small actors.” She definitely didn’t want to be a small actor. Besides, it paid for her gas so she could get to other auditions.
    Jameel also had a small supporting role, and they had had plenty of time hanging out backstage to get to know each other. Or at least she thought they had. They’d played endless hands of gin rummy and Texas hold ’em in between helping to set up the stage and helping with wardrobe. There were no prima donnas in small productions. The play had a planned run of a month, but ticket sales were small and they closed after only two weeks.
    She, Jameel, and the rest of the cast commiserated over cheap wine and crackers and cheese in a makeshift picnic on the stage after the last performance. They all promised to keep in touch, but other than bumping into one another at auditions, no one did. No one except Jameel.
    Maybe he had had a little bit of a crush on her, but she wasn’t sure. He’d never made a move. He was several years younger than her, and she certainly hadn’t encouraged him. She thought of him more as a little brother. They had shared information on casting calls and consoled each other after disappointing auditions with four-for-a-dollar tacos or shared pizzas. He had been the closest thing to a friend that she had had since she arrived.
    She hadn’t hesitated when he called her and told her about the hooker role. They had both been excited at the possibility of being “discovered” by someone in the business who could actually help their careers. She had run her outfits by him, and he had told her to go with the blond wig because that would sell the role. They had met at her apartment and gone over the game plan,