Tonight We Stay Open

Blue painter's tape held the west frame open. Ugly fix. It would do until the glue took, which was the sort of bargain the hall preferred.

The room had been built for elbows and spilled beer, plus one very stubborn kind of damage, and Tessa liked that it kept its scars where anyone could point at them. Scuffed pine floor. Radiator on the left that clicked when it warmed. A stage curtain hemmed in tan thread. Honest damage cost less than pretending.

She pressed her thumb along the seam. The tape bit skin. Good. Pressure meant the joint still had enough fight left in it.

The sash clamp on the bench carried a split in the beech handle, a thin dark line running from the screw seat to the end. Thursday, maybe Wednesday. She had not marked it. She had not marked a lot of things lately.

The side door gave one hard knock against its frame, just enough to wake the spoons in the chipped enamel mug she used for screws.

Imogen Hart came in with a crate of bulbs against her hip, one shoulder lower than the other, hair pinned with a carpenter's pencil stained green at the tip. She paused on the mat, wiped the soles of her boots on the rubber ribs, and stepped over the sawdust line as if the room had earned that small courtesy.

'You're early,' Tessa said.
'You're late,' Imogen said.
'The frame is here.'
'So am I.'

Tessa took the crate from her before Imogen crossed the tape line. She set it by the ladder and slid the bench stool farther back.
Useful. Safe. Out of the way.

Imogen set a hand on the ladder rung to steady herself and brushed the back of Tessa's wrist by mistake. A small contact. Nothing useful. Tessa moved the square under her elbow and did not give the room another chance at it.

Imogen set the bulbs on the floor and rolled her right shoulder once, the lower side making itself plain under the cotton of her shirt.

'You brought the soft white ones,' Tessa said.
'You said the room eats blue.'
'It does.'
'Like a pensioner with teeth.'

That got the smallest twist at Imogen's mouth, the one that used to arrive before a laugh and now came and went before anybody could pin it down. Tessa kept her hands on the square. Safer that way.

'How bad?' Imogen said.
'Not bad.'
She set the square to the sill, slid the blade along the timber, and marked the line again. The pencil squeaked once. 'Good enough.'

'That's your answer for everything.'
'It works.'
'For whom?'

Tessa turned the clamp screw another half turn. The handle gave a soft creak through the split wood. Still holding. Still not enough to relax about it.

No one got to wander into her work zone unless she had already shifted the hazards and covered the spills. The room took the wrong shape when she got lazy.

Imogen crouched beside the crate, opened the lid, and lined the bulbs on the floorboards. One for the stage wash, two for the back corners, another in reserve. She worked with the tidy care of someone who had packed and unpacked cities for a living, though she had not once said where that living had happened.

Tessa handed her the measuring tape without looking up. Their fingers met on the metal case, brief and dry. Imogen's thumb had a nick at the edge, a pale crescent where the skin had already closed over. Tessa pulled back first.

'Anything else?' Imogen said.
'Keep clear of the west side.'
'Because?'
'Because I said so.'

'Useful.'

Tessa set the pencil behind her ear. She would rather crawl under the stage than ask a second pair of hands for anything that mattered.