Page 77 of Duty Unbound

“I don’t know,” I said, scanning the wings on both sides. No sign of him. “Maybe he’s sick? Did he say anything to you?”

“No! He just rushed to his place in the circle and then headed out with everyone else immediately afterward.”

I pulled out my phone and texted Ethan:

Clark’s missing. Was in preshow circle but didn’t go onstage. Nova’s upset. Can you check bathrooms? Maybe he’s sick?

Ethan’s response came almost immediately.

On it. Will check.

Onstage, Nova powered through, making adjustments to cover Clark’s absence. The average audience member probably wouldn’t notice, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the slight hesitation each time she neared what should have been Clark’s position.

“I’m going to kill him,” Dexter muttered, storming off.

The first two songs passed, the choreography adapting around the missing dancer. Then Nova rushed offstage for her first costume change.

“Where is Clark?” she demanded the moment she was in the wings. Her aides started slipping her out of one costume and into the next. “He’s throwing everything off.”

“We’re looking,” I assured her, helping unzip her costume as the wardrobe team descended. “We think he might have gotten sick.”

She rolled her eyes and rushed back out for the next number.

It just got worse from there. No one could find Clark, everyone was more thrown off with each song, tensions were getting higher.

Then Nova came backstage for her quick transformation before her ballad set. I stood over to the side, ready to help if needed.

“Okay.” Nova took a steadying breath. “At least the slow songs don’t have any dancers. No more stress.”

I smiled. “That’s right. Just focus on doing your thing.” Finally, the crisis seemed to have passed.

“Where’s my rainbow wig? I need it for these songs.”

One of the wardrobe assistants froze. “I…I thought Marina had it.”

“I gave it to you!” Marina shot back.

“No, you didn’t!”

Or maybe the crisis was just getting started.

“Oh my God.” Nova’s face flushed with fury. “How hard is it to keep track of one damned wig?”

“We’ll find it,” I promised, motioning for the assistants to search. “Just let them finish your change.”

“Two minutes to stage,” a production assistant called.

The wardrobe team worked frantically, completing Nova’s transformation without the signature rainbow wig she wore for her ballads. It completely threw off the look we’d crafted for this part of the show. Nova put on her backup black wig instead, but the effect wasn’t the same.

“This is unbelievable,” Nova hissed as she headed back to the stage. “Fix it, Mel.”

I spent the next hour coordinating search parties for both Clark and the missing wig, all while juggling the usual mid-show crises. Neither turned up. No wig, no dancer. Ethan texted that they’d checked every bathroom, dressing room, and storage closet. No sign of Clark.

By the end of the show, Nova was furious. She’d performed professionally despite everything, but the moment the final curtain dropped, she stormed off the stage.

“What a fucking disaster!” she shouted, tearing off her microphone and shoving it at a wide-eyed technician. “I’m going to my room. Don’t follow me.”

“Nova, wait—” I followed her toward her dressing room.

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