It wasn't the first time I'd been to a play, but it might as well have been. As I sat, three rows from the stage, peering behind a woman with curling dark hair tumbling to her narrow, bared, shoulders, at the actor upon the stage, I felt as if everything around me had dissipated until everything began and ended with his voice and the part he was so skillfully playing. When I'd first heard that my favorite actor, Alan Rickman, was coming to my hometown to do a benefit show for one of the charities he sponsored, I'd done all I could to obtain tickets.

I'd tried to get my best friend, Corrie, to come as well, but she took sick on the exact night of the play. Which, I thought, in retrospect, was a pity. She was missing a treat. Three hours later the cast emerged upon the stage for a final bow and the audience stood and cheered. I stood as well and clapped enthusiastically. I heard someone mention that the actors were signing autographs backstage.

I followed the crowd backstage. I wanted to go and ask Mr. Rickman if he would sign something for me, but as usual, my shyness prevented me from approaching him. I took a seat on a folding chair instead and smoothing the wrinkles from my black skirt, was content to watch him from across the room, as he stood, talked, laughed and mingled with the common folk of the town.

Slowly, the crowd began to thin out and the actors wandered off into small groups, signing autographs and talking about the charity the proceeds of the play would go to. I saw several people draw out checkbooks from their purses and wallets. I'd given as much as I could earlier, most of my money spent on the actual tickets. One un-used and un-refunded.

It was for charity, so I didn't think it was right to ask for my money back. I knew I should go and call for my ride home. It was getting late. Before I could stand up, though, a shadow crossed over me and I glanced up in time to see a very familiar face smiling down at me, one thick brow raised slightly, "Are you waiting for an autograph?" he asked, with that silky, sexy voice of his.

I could only blink and stare. He looked so handsome dressed in a white silk shirt and black slacks. He hadn't changed out of his costume yet. I thought that the cape, draped seductively over one shoulder, particularly appealing. "Hey, what's the matter?" he teased, and touched my shoulder lightly, "Cat got your tongue?"

No, you have! I thought, feeling my face blossom into what I was sure looked like livid crimson blotches. Damn my fair complexion! "Um, no... I mean...sure...thank you!" Sure? Thank you? What the fuck, Ami? You sound...deranged! Ugh...

"I'm sorry," I said, as I handed him my playbook, and watched as he held it to a nearby wall to scrawl his name across the front in black ink before handing it back to me, "I didn't mean to sound all...fan-girly..." I rolled my eyes at this and to my surprise, he laughed.

"Don't worry," he said, turning gracefully to wave at a group of people who were just leaving, "It happens more often than I'd like, actually." I'll bet! I thought, and he took a seat next to me in another of