On stage he possessed an uncanny quality of truth that massaged people’s ability to suspend disbelief.  He faded masterfully into the fabric of a play, his refined banality upstaged easily by more ambitious thespians.  But one skill made him famous: he could cry on cue.  How his tears touched those faces in the darkness!  He cried, too, in life to get his way and almost always succeeded.  Almost.  Tonight he shouldn’t have checked his text messages backstage.  She had seen through his act, shrewd girl, and now more than anything he wished he knew how to stop crying on cue.