The Imitation Game ✓

THIRTY-EIGHT | THE FOOLS WHO DREAM

The acclaimed play Illicit Affairs will play its final performance at Broadway's Imperial Theater on Sunday, December 5th. The show's departure will make way for the upcoming revival of Mary Poppins, which is slated to open at the Imperial in the spring.

At the time of closing, Illicit Affairs will have played 16 preview performances and 272 regular performances.

"Can you explain to me why I just found out that I'm losing my job from fucking Instagram?"

After reading the post's caption over and over for several minutes of stunned silence, Cora and Rasmus had both gotten on the phone with their agents. Cora rubbed at her temple, realizing when Lucy didn't immediately respond to her outburst that she was lashing out at the wrong person. She tried to take a breath and try again.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice thick and her eyes stinging with tears. The snowy wind wasn't helping; she tried to pull her coat tighter around her. "But also, what the hell?"

"I'm so sorry, Cora," Lucy sighed, and it was slightly relieving to hear that she sounded like she was pissed off at the situation, too. "I swear I just found out half an hour ago, and you were supposed to find out in person when you went to work tomorrow. I don't know who in their goddamn mind went and told the press first."

"I just—I thought," she croaked, already choked up. God, this sucked even more than she ever could have imagined. "I thought we were doing well. This doesn't make any sense—the house is packed with people every night..."

"This isn't your fault," Lucy told her gently yet firmly. "I know you tried not to read reviews of the show, but I did, and I promise that you and Rasmus both got shining praise for your performances. And you're right about the fact that you've been selling the tickets you need. This is just a disgusting, worst-case scenario of a landlord choosing to boot you out in favor of what they see as a more predictable source of long-term profit. You deserve so much better than this and I really am so freaking sorry."

"Thanks, Luce," Cora whispered. It was as loud as she could speak up without bursting into tears. "I—I gotta go."

A droplet of moisture dripped down her cheek as she hung up the phone and she swiped it off with the sleeve of her jacket. She looked over at Rasmus, who was standing a short distance away while he talked with his own agent. But when he shoved his phone in his pocket and met her eyes, his lips pulled into a tight, trembling line, Cora knew he'd just been told the same thing she was.

Dozens of people laid off over social media. Not even given the dignity of learning that they were losing their jobs before the whole world got to know, too.

She didn't even process that she'd run back over to him, but suddenly she was right there weeping into his shoulder. She didn't know what else to do.

Her body was shaking and rattling with sobs; his was shocked into stillness and silence. He held her numbly, barely moving, barely seeming to even breathe. And all the while, her mind was howling with panic. What was she going to do? How was she going to tell her parents, her friends? Had they already seen it online?

How was she going to keep paying rent?

She was surely drawing attention to herself, but she barely had the headspace to even notice, much less care. It wasn't long before her lungs were aching, her throat raw, her cheeks a tapestry of tears that left their mark behind in the form of redness on her skin and a dark blotch on his jacket.

When he held her tighter, when he buried his face in her hair and she could feel his chest start to quiver from the suffocated sounds that wanted to claw their way out of his lungs, Cora knew that the panic had struck him, too. And knowing that he was hurting, that his heart was breaking over and over and over again just like hers was, only made her cry even more.