I’d never wanted something more than I wanted that role.
Playing the Emcee in Cabaret on Broadway—that was supposed to be my breakout. My audition was flawless: tight vocals, daring choreography, raw charisma. I was the Emcee. But the callback never came. Instead, the headlines screamed: "Orville Peck to Star in Edgy New Production of Cabaret!"
A country singer in a leather mask. Stunt casting. I was crushed.
That night, I tossed and turned, seething with frustration, imagining what could’ve been. I must’ve passed out somewhere between plotting revenge and humming “Money, Money.”
When I woke up… I wasn’t in my apartment.
It took a second to register the ornate vanity mirror in front of me, framed by bulb lights and covered in makeup palettes and half-drunk iced coffees. Flowers lined the walls. Costumes hung from racks. I blinked against the overhead lights. Someone had already done my eyes in heavy black liner. My lips were painted. And the reflection in the mirror…
It wasn’t mine.
My jaw dropped. The face staring back at me was Orville Peck’s—but unmasked. I was shirtless, broad-chested, with tattoos I’d only seen on magazine covers. A thick thigh rested lazily across one leg of the green velvet chair. I was mid-pose, hat pushed back slightly, as if I’d been interrupted while getting into character.
I stood up quickly, heart pounding. The room spun slightly, like I’d just come out of a nap after a long night. But it wasn’t exhaustion—it was disorientation. On the counter, a playbill sat with tonight’s date. Curtain: 7:30 PM.
I looked at the time: 6:42.
“What the hell…”
Someone knocked. “Five minutes, Orville. Need help getting into the harness?”
I froze. My voice caught in my throat.
Five minutes until curtain.
I didn’t know how I’d become Orville Peck—but I was about to walk onstage in his place, in front of a sold-out crowd, as the Emcee.
My dream had come true. I was the Emcee.
Shall we begin? Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome…
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