Mike laughed, but it wasn't an altogether mirthful laugh. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "But I am also sorry to say that I'm not surprised. I've worked for the City Opera House in one way or another since I was 17." He paused as he opened the door to Box 5 then stood back for Ms. Lane to enter.
"Up until recently, few have noticed our hard work. The last time a great amount of people attended the Opera House, it wasn't for a production at all, but for a City-held gala -- a masquerade. All manners attended. It was great publicity."
And the managers had squandered it. He didn't say it. He was very careful not to disparage his former employers. Following Ms. Lane into the box, he drew away the dark red curtains to gain her access to the seats inside. Some had been cleared away to make room for a small tea table. A beautifully wrought antique Russian samovar sat along with a complimentary enamel and china tea cup, saucer, and a selection of tiny tea cookies. It was clearly placed for one person only.
"Please," Mike said, pulling out one of the two seats drawn up beside the table to seat the reporter.