by Alicia McGrady

Our feet are planted in the real world, but we dance with angels and ghosts. – John Cameron Mitchel

There was a reason why it was called The Grand Theatre – it was grand in every way. From its very foundation, to the decorative, Edwardian details on the orchestra and balcony levels, and to its exquisite, ceiling mural of aristocratic life, the theatre exuded this grand invitation to experience performance at its very best. No matter how many times he had been there, Brian admitted he was always dazzled. He had only been inside the theatre a handful of times; but now that he was standing in its history, not as a guest, but as an actor, he couldn’t quite define the thrill of it.

Brian’s production was not as complicated as the others in the season, but it still felt more than a small budgeted project. The night before opening strained his sleep, but he tried to relax, ate breakfast that morning, and headed to the theatre to join the company. He liked to arrive early and imagine he could feel eyes on him, as he stepped further into the lobby. He looked around, but no one else was there yet. Standing amidst its glorious history, his nerves took hold, until it was difficult focusing. It was only a support role – not a principal part. Still, the scale of this production was overwhelming, and he was beginning to feel unhinged.

“Brian! There you are.” Sandy, the assistant to the director, rushed over to him.

Quickly he spun around. “Nice to see you, Sandy.”

“This way. You’re up for make-up and costumes.” With a gentle, but firm push, Sandy directed Brian backstage and into a room. Costume designers were already there, checking the tags of costumes on racks and leaving with the ones they needed first. “Make sure yours is all set,” Sandy told him before she rushed out of the room.

As background actors arrived and those with minor roles as well, Brian warmed to the buzz of the opening night hustle. Actors walked or sat with eyes closed, rehearsing their blocking and lines.

As time ticked down; Brian’s nerves activated a flight response to take him far away from the madness of the entertainer’s world, but instead he hurried to a quiet area backstage to rehearse. He paced back and forth in his small corner, the wrinkled papers he clutched in his hands becoming damp with sweat. His face needed blotting too. He quickly pulled a tissue out of his pocket, about to wipe, but remembered to dab and not smear his make-up.

“What am I even doing?” he whispered to himself, turning around and punching a door in regret. He cringed a bit, realizing how loud that was, though no one came to investigate.

With a sigh, he started rehearsing and pacing again. He was so focused that he accidentally bumped into something he didn’t see. Quickly snapping his head up from his script, he came face to face with a man just a bit shorter than himself.

“Oh…oh, I’m so sorry.” Brian took a step back to give him space. “I was so deep into character, I didn’t see you there.”

Both men looked at each other, assessing and judging. Brian wondered if the man were in costume – his suit was very old. His hair was well-kept, along with his moustache, but Brian couldn’t recollect him being in the production.

“That is alright, son,” the man finally said. “You’re obviously an actor.”

“I guess you could say that.” Brian felt awkward. “This is my first large production.”

“Well, you picked a fine place to start your journey.” The man folded his arms behind his back, “Many a great actor walked these halls and started their journeys here as well.”

“So I have heard.” Brian smiled nervously.

“Are you nervous?” The man asked, sounding amused by Brain’s words. “You are here for that compass too, I suppose – that compass that will get you to your destination.”

“Well, it would be nice to get direction,” Brian admitted. He felt like a child in this man’s presence. I don’t want to mess up. My friend wrote the play and was nice enough to give me this role.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but I have this feeling that you’ve gone through some things.” Brian was shocked by the words, but the man only chuckled, shaking his head, “You do not need to tell me your story, son. It is merely a feeling I get, as though I am looking into a reflection of myself.”

“What?” Brian asked.

“Hear me out. The man who built this place fought against the current of small-minded thinkers who didn’t believe in theatre. The man was a gambler, a womanizer, but a shrewd businessman. He kept his life story to himself, though. Not many knew the real man. He laughed, “And there were many who hated him.”

“… Gambling?” Brian asked quietly, all too familiar with how seductive it was.

“Yes, horse racing. From a young age, he got involved in fixing the races in his favour.”

While Brian was never a history buff, and couldn’t say he really knew who built the Grand Theatre, he was smart enough to know that not all rich people were innocent. He wondered why the founder’s habits weren’t common knowledge, why there were secrets.

“Let me tell you something. This theatre has seen all the colours of human nature – the proud, the heartless, the obnoxious, doubters, lovers, killers. Young and old, men and women, have walked these halls. From the wealthy to beggars and everyone in between. Even, in the beginning I had my fair share of troubles, and yet, look at this place now. This old gem is immortal.”

“What?” Brian asked. “The beginning,” Brian repeated the words, confused by the man’s time frame.

“Oh, the names and stories that stepped into this place, but I would keep you far too long, and you’d miss curtain up.” The man chuckled. “Listen, Brian, take it from an old fool. You can change your life. Nothing is set in stone, but you need to forgive yourself. So get on that stage, and look forward – not backward.”

Perplexed, Brian didn’t know how to respond, but was strangely grateful for the man’s wisdom.

The man reached over, fixed the lapel on Brian’s costume and turned to leave.

“Wait, what is your name?”

“Call me Amby. Everyone around here does.” He turned to leave.

“Well, thank you, Amby.”

“Brian!” Sandy called out. Her head poked around a screen. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing back here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Well, we need you. We’re doing a read-through.” Sandy waved her hand for him to follow.

“Wait!” he called to the man. “You said my name. How did you know it?”

“I can’t wait,” said Sandy. “And, of course, I know your name. Are you okay?

“No, not you. I was speaking to a man.” But Amby was gone. A cool breeze blew through the space. Brian felt chilled.

Sandy waited until he followed – his questions unanswered.

The show went on and won a standing ovation. For the first time, Brian felt the impact of the art collective on an audience of theatre lovers. When everyone had gone, and Brian was walking out with Delila, another actor, they stopped at a gallery of historic photos.

Brian paled when he stared at one.

Delila said, “I wonder what he would think about the Grand today.”

“What?” Brian turned his head to look at her.

“Ambrose Small,” Delila nodded her head towards the photo, “You know, the man who made this place what it is, then vanished. He was never found.

Apparently, this was his favourite building, and there have been stories.”

“About what?”

“Hauntings – what else? Let’s catch up with the others.”

Brain looked back. He felt the air stir once more. Amby…Amby, Brian thought, are you still here?