Every night I painted the word Godspeed in the stars for him. Every night he tossed and turned, never catching a wink of sleep, because even though I didn’t mean it, he knew it still held some truth. He didn’t, however, know what that truth was, nor how to find it. I did. But if I told, he might leave and stop the show. And, oh, would that be a tragedy, because we are performers, and the show m u s t go on.
