Eyes Like Stars (31 page)

“Shall we?”

His smile was one of the most beautiful things Bertie had ever seen. He offered her his arm. “Let your indulgence set me free.”

“Never say I didn’t give you anything.” Bertie tucked her hand under his elbow, and a great burst of wind lifted them from the stage to the red-carpeted runner. The fairies flew ahead, all pushes and shoves and exclamations of excitement.

When they reached the end of the aisle, Ariel opened the auditorium door. Bertie looked back long enough to see
Ophelia and Mrs. Edith, standing Center Stage, arm in arm. Bertie lifted her hand in farewell before the door slammed shut between them.

“This is it.” Peaseblossom’s voice quavered a bit as they crossed the lobby.

“Last chance to change your mind, Bertie,” Ariel said with a raffish smile.

“What’s past is prologue, and the world awaits.” She placed one hand over the scrimshaw and the other flat against the glass of the revolving door. It turned slowly, whispering the Théâtre’s farewell, and Bertie lifted her eyes to gaze upon the night sky.

CURTAIN

The author’s grateful thanks to everyone who rode the roller coaster from start to finish:

My agents, Ashley and Carolyn Grayson, and my publisher, Jean Feiwel, for seeing the magic in this novel’s earliest incarnation and giving the curtain at the Théâtre Illuminata the chance to go up.

My editor, Rebecca Davis, for asking the right questions until I found the right answers. The book is immeasurably better for your Mrs. Edith–like attention to detail.

My husband, Angel, for dealing with the frothing and flailing in person, laughing in all the right places, and listening to me puzzle through the plot twists while nodding like it all made sense. When I stand in the spotlight, I know the best of the warmth and brilliance is your love for me.

My daughter, Amélie, who learned so quickly to say, “Shhh! Mommy’s writing!” and “Is your chapter done yet?” for her sweet kisses after a long day at the computer, and for not unplugging my laptop more than strictly necessary.

My mother, Gladys Burton, for always having a stack of books on her nightstand, letting me sit on the floor of Mendocino Book Company and the Ukiah Library until my backside went to sleep, and providing a constant stream of child care, dessert delivery, and support.

My sister, Lori Hunt, for enduring a thousand games of make-believe in our youth in which she was bossed around and tied to trees, and for holding up a certain fantasy anthology in the middle of Barnes & Noble and yelling, “My sister has a story in this book and YOU SHOULD BUY IT.”

My family by marriage, Nick, Gisele, and Rita, for their unfailing support and love.

My father, Ronald Hunt, for the advice that I shouldn’t wait to chase my dream.

Sunil Sebastian, Sidekick Extraordinaire, for his friendship, his many hours of careful reading and thoughtful critiquing, his ninja technical skills, innumerable telephone conversations in which I was informed “it still doesn’t suck,” and the loan of his precious girls.

Michelle Joseph, who loved Ariel, and Cheryl Joseph, who thought (perhaps rightly) that he’s a very bad boy, for their fresh eyes, energy, and e-mails.

Kari Armstrong, for her uncanny ability to draw things that exist only inside my head, her swift, headlong dive into watercolors, and her boundless enthusiasm for my descriptive work.

Jenna Waterford, for introducing me to stealth clothing and reassuring me that Women Of Any Age were allowed, nay, encouraged! to wear skirts covered in buckles. I will always give thanks that I sat down at your table.

Stephanie Burgis, for trading ribbon-bound chapters, cupcakes, and dark chocolate over the virtual back fence, and loving the fairies right away.

Tiffany Trent, for reassuring me that there will indeed be a LisaCon someday aboard a cruise ship, including fruity drinks topped with paper umbrellas served by men in kilts.

Glenn Dallas, for apologizing every time he pointed out a mistake and his constant gifts of great vocabulary words.

Elissa Malcohn, for her grammar expertise and good-natured tutelage.

Stephen Segal, for knowing that first chapter was going to need some work, providing my daughter with wench clothing, and that quiet pause he takes before answering any of my questions.

Phillip Boynton, for rejoicing with me during all my proudest moments.

Dr. Douglas Scott-Goheen, for letting me play Queen of Show and Tell at the University of California, Irvine Research
Symposium, which reminded me of all the reasons I fell in love with the theater in the first place.

Heather Ortiz, for reading the funny bits over the shower curtain.

Christy Flynn, for all the cheering and applause.

Rafe Brox, for the reminders that he’s not my target audience and that fairies are actually a plague upon all our houses. Also, the line about the tarantella.

Joshua Palmatier, for dancing when he didn’t want to and being the first to offer a blurb.

Daniel Erickson and Xcentricities corsetry, for the fabulous costume changes and pin-striped inspiration.

To those who read the various incarnations of the manuscript and offered their support and feedback: Amanda Mitchell, Kate Amirault, Rebecca Way, Brian and Katie Hill, Erin Cashier, and my friends on LiveJournal. The theater thanks you for your patronage.