Mirvish Caa Link

Ed reached for the switch. The room went pitch black.

Arthur gasped, inhaling the scent of lemon polish and damp wool. He was back in the lobby. The mop was at his feet. The digital clock on the wall read 12:05 AM. mirvish caa

Blinding, brilliant light.

From the back of the house, a spotlight clicked on. Sitting in the center of the illuminated section was Ed Mirvish, beaming, holding a bouquet of roses. He stood up and projected his voice to the rafters. Ed reached for the switch

Suddenly, the stage erupted. It wasn't a play; it was a montage of life. Lovers meeting in the aisles, arguments in the lobby, tears of joy, the thrill of a standing ovation. The energy of a hundred years of human emotion crashed over Arthur like a wave. He felt the theatre’s heartbeat synchronize with his own. He felt the dust in the rafters vibrate with applause. He was back in the lobby

Arthur shuffled toward the heavy velvet curtains leading to the Orchestra level. He pushed them aside. The stage was empty, the set for the current production—a lavish production of The Phantom of the Opera —standing dark and sentinel in the shadows.

The room was not empty. Standing before the great rectangular window that looked down upon the stage was a silhouette. A portly man in a long coat, his hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his heels.