“No,” he said, tapping the baton against his palm. “Places is the moment before you become someone else. It’s the hinge. And ‘zip’—that’s not a zipper. That’s the sound of a closing door. The final seam. Tonight, you’re not playing Rachel Berry. You’re not playing Fanny Brice. You’re playing the one role you’ve never attempted.”
“Probably a script,” her assistant, Chloe, said, peering over Lea’s shoulder. “Or a very aggressive fan letter.”
Chloe tapped her phone. “Uh… that’s the back lot. Stage 14. The old New York street set. It’s been decommissioned for months.” Lea Michele Places zip
She walked off the stage, back through the empty lot, past the envelope that now lay crumpled on the ground. Inside, the index card had changed. The coordinates were gone. The time was gone.
The lot was eerily quiet. Most productions had wrapped for the day, and the California sun was beginning to bleed into a honey-colored dusk. Stage 14’s door was ajar. Lea pushed it open. “No,” he said, tapping the baton against his palm
“Cancel my 4:30,” Lea said, grabbing her jacket.
She spoke.
He was holding a conductor’s baton. Behind him, a full orchestra sat in the shadows—musicians she recognized from every cast album she’d ever made. Their sheet music glowed faintly under small reading lights.