"Curtain," Linda said, and the soft sound of scripts closing ran around the table. No one spoke. Scott and Eileen met each other's eyes, nodded slightly, slowly. Derek, frowning in thought.
Julia, stunned, almost fearful. Ivy blinking back tears. Simon, composed, watchful. Sam, apprehensive and a little dazed. Ana, Jessica, exchanging glances, Jimmy, lost.
Someone had to speak. Tom, at the piano, "Well -" Derek, as if on cue,
"Right. Well done, everyone. No notes for now. Go home, work on your music, we've got a show."
The universal sigh of relief snipped the last thread of tension, whispering giggles replaced the silence.
"Off with you, then." Kissing his wife lightly. The cast dispersed, the production team gathered. They had a show.
Two years, almost, since "Hit List's" Broadway run had ended.
"Bombshell" was still packing in audiences, its third Marilyn Monroe getting better reviews than the second, who had had the misfortune to follow Ivy Lynn.
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