"Cert'ny looks like it," Ivo was forced to concede. "But watcha gonna do? Y'can't prove it. 'Sides, the curtain's gonna gwup in a li'l over a nour--" Paul gripped Ivo's sinewy wrist. "Ivo, you've got to go on for me!" "Y'got rocks in y'head or somepin?" Ivo demanded, trying not to look pleased. "I ain't gotta Nequity card, and even if I did, _he's_ y'unnastudy." "No, you don't understand. I don't want you to go on as Ivo Darcy playing Eric Everard. I want you to go on as Paul Lambrequin playing Eric Everard. _You can do it, Ivo!_" "Good Lord, so I can!" Ivo whispered, temporarily neglecting to mumble. "I'd almost forgotten." "You know my lines, too. You've cued me in my part often enough." Ivo rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Yeah, I guess I do." "Ivo," Paul beseeched him, "I thought we were--pals. I don't want to ask any favors, but I helped you out when you were in trouble. I always figured I could rely on you. I never thought you'd let me down." "An' I won't." Ivo gripped Paul's hand. "I'll go on t'night 'n play 'at part like it ain't never been played before! I'll--" "No! No! Play it the way I played it. You're supposed to be _me_, Ivo! Forget Strasberg; go back to Stanislavsky." "Okay, pal," Ivo said. "Will do." "And promise me one thing, Ivo. Promise me _you won't mumble_." Ivo winced. "Okay, but you're the on'y one I'd do 'at for." Slowly, he began to shimmer. Paul held his breath. Maybe Ivo had forgotten how to transmute himself. But technique triumphed over method. Ivo Darcy gradually coalesced into the semblance of Paul Lambrequin. The show would go on! * * * * * "Well, how was everything?" Paul asked anxiously when Ivo came into his room shortly after midnight. "Pretty good," Ivo said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Gregory was extremely surprised to see me--asked me half a dozen times how I was feeling." Ivo was not only articulating, Paul was gratified to notice; he was enunciating. "But the show--how did that go? Did anyone suspect you were a ringer?" "No," Ivo said slowly. "No, I don't think so. I got twelve curtain calls," he added, staring straight ahead of him with a dreamy smile. "Twelve." "Friday nights, the audience is always enthusiastic." Then Paul swallowed hard and said, "Besides, I'm sure you were great in the role." But Ivo didn't seem to hear him. Ivo was still wrapped in his golden daze. "Just before the curtain went up, I didn't think I was going to be able to do it. I began to feel all quivery inside, the way I do before I--I change." "Butterflies in the stomach is the professional term." Paul nodded wisely. "A really good actor gets them before every performance. No matter how many times I play a role, there's that minute when the house lights start to dim when I'm in an absolute panic--" "--And then the curtain went up and I was all right. I was fine. I was Paul Lambrequin. I was Eric Everard. I was--everything."