Anonymous.

There was nothing special about that night. Marie followed all of the right protocols and watched the actors take their nightly bows. Marie’s team of eight ushers were in place, ready to pull back the curtain, unlock the doors, and direct the weary patrons around the vast lobby of Ann’s Theater. Marie stood by the curtain that separated the theater from the lobby and watched. Bow one, applause. Bow two, applause. Bow three, the lead held her hand to her heart, tears streaming down her cheeks, and mouthed a ‘thank you’. The cast, visibly relieved, filed into a single line and shuffled off the stage.

Marie watched the house lights come on and positioned herself by the now pulled back curtain and listened to the rustle of coats, bags, cellphone drops, and the occasional, “Did you call a cab?” This was Marie’s favorite part of the night; she enjoyed watching people’s faces as their eyes adjusted to brighter lighting and their minds wandered back to their reality: What’s for dinner? Did I feed the cat? Did I send that email? What time is my meeting tomorrow?

On occasion, Marie’s black uniform and purple Ann’s Theater badge would invite a patron to stop and ask a question about the production, a cast member, perhaps a director’s choice to leave something in, or to Marie’s chagrin, out. On this particular night, a woman with honey-colored eyes and platinum hair, dressed in a bright red peacoat stopped next to Marie, carefully eyeing her badge, and asked, “Do you work here?”

“Yes, I do,” Marie responded, carefully adjusting the radio sitting awkwardly on her hip, adding, “I’m the manager.”

“The manager--what a lucky find,” the woman said before pausing to rummage through her bag and fish out a pen and black notebook. “I’d like to leave a note for the woman who played Hamlet, what’s her name?” she asked.

“Kiara,” Marie responded.

“Kiara” the woman repeated, adding “Would you deliver the note to her?”

Marie looked around the lobby and met the woman’s eyes, “Sure, no problem.”

It wasn’t the first time Marie had been asked to take a note backstage. In her three years at Ann’s Theater, she’d greeted celebrities, accepted flowers, chocolates, and depending on who was in the cast, the occasional love letter or homemade, yes, cake in the shape of Chewbacca (note to all celebrities, don’t ever reveal what you like unless you want twenty-thousand versions of it from your fans). While the woman scribbled in her notebook, Marie radioed her house staff and asked them to begin cleaning up.

The woman paused again and looked at Marie, “Is this your full-time job?”

“Yes, I’ve been with this theater for about three years.”

“Do you enjoy what you do?”

Marie took a minute to think about it, “Yes, not a single day is ever the same.”

“I can imagine,” she smiled. “I’m Rebecca, by the way.”

“I’m Marie.”

Rebecca finished her note, carefully tore it out, and handed it to Marie. As the note passed between the two women, Rebecca cupped her hand over Marie’s and pulled her so close that Marie could pick up the scent of rose water on Rebecca’s her face as she quietly whispered in her ear, “I want you to read this note to Kiara without reading it beforehand, can you do that for me?”

Marie felt a chill roll through her body and wondered for a split second if she should call security. “Yes,” she stuttered, “I will.”

Rebecca let go of Marie’s hand, “Thank you, Marie. It was nice to meet you”

“It was nice to meet you, too,” Marie replied politely and shoved the note in her pocket.

After the lobby was cleared and the theater was emptied of cans, residue snacks, and remnants of human warmth, Marie said goodnight to her staff and put away her radio. In the house report for that evening, she chose not to include any writing about her strange encounter with Rebecca. She submitted the report, completed her other nightly responsibilities, then gingerly made her way toward Kiara’s dressing room. The door was open and Kiara was inside. Marie knocked lightly and made her way in.

“What a night!” Kiara said with a dramatic flair while putting on her coat. “Have you been reading about this Coronavirus stuff in the news? I hope it doesn’t come here! We’ve got thirteen more shows to go!”

“Yeah, I’m sure we won’t get canceled” Marie hesitated, then thought to herself, Should I have read the note before reading it out loud? What if it said, ‘I’m going to murder you at midnight’ or something like that?

“Kiara, I had a patron request that I read a note to you, is that ok?”

“Well ok then, lay it on me.”

Marie dug out the now crumpled note from her pocket mixed with lint and old ticket stubs, and began reading:

I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but I attended this performance of Hamlet tonight and was blown away. I asked Marie to read this out loud to you without reading it first, undoubtedly scaring her, of course. I’ve recently come into some money and would like to leave you with a little something for a job well done. The only requirement is that you split it evenly between your fellow cast members, the crew, and anyone involved in this production. I slid a check under the cushion of my seat, D115. Enjoy.

Much gratitude, Anonymous.

Marie and Kiara looked at each other.

“Are you serious? Is someone pranking me?” Kiara asked.

Marie shook her head, hands shaking, “Should we look under the seat?”

“What if it’s a bomb or something?”

Marie shrugged, “Then she would've said she hated the show…?”

Kiara chuckled, “Ok, this is so bizarre, let’s go check it out!”

The two women locked arms and made their way to D115, fourth row, middle seat. They both took a deep breath.

Kiara kicked at the cushion. “How do you even get this thing off?” she asked.

“They’re velcroed on,” replied Marie, “…don’t even ask.”

Marie slowly peeled back the cushion and there it was, a thin paper check that quietly fluttered to the floor. She grabbed it up quickly, then shuddered when she saw the numbers. Lo and behold, it was a check for $200,000! Without hesitation, she took out her phone and did the math. “After taxes, that’s $20,000 per person….”

Marie and Kiara looked at each other, “$20,000?!”

“$20,000,” Marie repeated, “…Each!”

Marie and Kiara thought about how to break this incredible news to the cast and crew. A cake? A pizza party? After some discussion, they settled on having a post-show round of drinks the following night where they would make the big announcement.

Marie went home that night dreaming about how much her life was going to change, innocently unaware, along with everyone else, of the raging pandemic about to take over everything in its path. It would cause the theater to shut down within the next two weeks, just a few shows shy of closing night. Marie also had no idea that she and her crew would be among the luckiest people in the world. The upcoming year would be peppered with devastating loss and infinite time, but they were each entering it with an unexpected gift in hand to help them pull through thanks to the generosity of an anonymous benefactor with honey-colored eyes.