Chapel of Ease by Alex Bledsoe Page B

the tragedy. Neil, as were most great directors, was a master manipulator, and knew how to get people to do what he wanted. And right now he wanted us to focus on the future, not the past.
    â€œThis is a major loss, not just to theater in general, not just to the show, but to each of us personally. And that includes me, I assure you. I’d been working with Ray for a year on this, and in that time I’d gotten to know him very well. He was a man who loved the theater and its music with a passion that reminded me of why I’d chosen this career in the first place. His eyes would light up as he talked about his favorite plays or numbers. And…”
    He paused, and seemed to legitimately choke up. That was one of the problems with theater people: you could never really be sure they weren’t acting. But I’d known Neil long enough that I was pretty sure this was genuine. And to share this moment with us was especially powerful.
    After a deep breath, he continued. “Some of you were lucky enough to hear Ray sing. But most of you had no idea he could dance as well. A lot of the choreography came from steps and moves he showed me and Stella, from his hometown. If the people in the show seem like a community, it’s because Ray showed me how a community dances and sings.”
    That brought the dark-haired woman back to the front of my brain. I discreetly glanced behind me, pretending to look at the other mourners but actually checking to see if the woman was there. I didn’t spot her.
    Neil then opened the floor to the rest of us. We told stories about how we’d met Ray, what we felt about his work, and how much his enthusiasm had rubbed off on us. Emily took it all in, only once letting a single tear escape when someone mentioned the way Ray would listen as if the other person were the entire world.
    The most surprising testimonial came from Lance Abercrombie, whom I hadn’t even seen arrive. He walked down to the orchestra pit and stood, with his leather jacket and perfect hair, looking up at all of us.
    â€œYou probably know who I am,” he said. “I only heard about Ray an hour ago, and I came here out of … respect, or homage, or something. I had no idea you were having this service. But I’m glad you are, because there’s things about Ray you may not know, and you should.
    â€œRay Parrish was the best musician I ever met. Certainly better than me. If he’d gone into performance instead of composing, he would’ve been the biggest star in the world by now. You may think I’m exaggerating, but I promise you, I’m not.”
    His eyes filled with tears, but his voice remained strong.
    â€œThe thing is, he never tried to show up me, or anyone else. When he played with us, he supported whatever we were doing. If he was adding rhythm guitar, he didn’t try to convince us he should play lead. If he harmonized on a vocal track, he blended in perfectly. In a world filled with fucking egos, he only cared about the song at hand.”
    He wiped his eyes. “Thank you for letting me crash your party today. I’m looking forward to seeing this show when it opens.”
    And with that, one of the biggest rock stars in the world walked out alone.
    More people from the company spoke, all reiterating sweet or funny things Ray had done. The mood grew lighter. But then Mark said something we all were thinking, but only someone as egotistical and clueless as him would ever utter aloud:
    â€œWell, I guess we’ll never find out what’s buried in the chapel of ease, will we? Unless he told somebody here—?”
    â€œOh, come on, Mark,” someone said.
    â€œHey, I’m just saying what I know we’re all thinking,” he said. “Is there anyone here who isn’t dying to know?”
    Whether his word choice was deliberate or not, a wave of groans went through us. He sighed and crossed his arms petulantly. “All right,