Backstage Beginnings

by Erin McRae

  Backstage Beginnings

  Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese

  Published by Avian30, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BACKSTAGE BEGINNINGS

  First edition. August 6, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese.

  Written by Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese.

  Also by Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese

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  Also By Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese

  Backstage Beginnings

  Also By Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese

  Jack stood in front of his open closet, wearing only his boxers and frozen in his dismay. Why had Andrew asked him to be his date to Christian’s gig? Why had he said yes? And what was he going to wear?

  Jack liked Andrew, liked him a great deal. Maybe even more than liked, though that was a question he had avoided considering in the last few weeks. Jack had considered himself polyamorous for most of his dating life. It was just easier. He was more focused on career than relationships, and being non-monogamous meant he could date people and enjoy their company without feeling guilty about not fulfilling anyone’s needs as a primary partner. Until very recently he had enjoyed dating as background noise. But now, whatever was going on with Andrew, was good and easy and he wanted to put more of his time and energy into it.

  And now here he was, having actual feelings. Which was how romantic relationships were supposed to work, he knew. But his life—living in LA, working in the movies, navigating the headaches and delights of being a C-list actor—was complex enough as it was.

  Being seriously, romantically into someone meant being present in a way Jack wasn’t sure he knew how to do. Which meant his having hopes and fears for the future wasn’t good for anyone. Least of all Andrew, Christian, and anyone else either of them were dating.

  And then there was the entirely non-minor industry wrinkle. Andrew was a director anyone in Hollywood would kill to work with, and Christian was Andrew’s partner both creatively and otherwise. He wrote, Andrew directed, and the two of them had been as good as married for longer than Jack had been in LA. They also both had a good deal of life experience on him. Andrew was almost ten years older than him, and Christian was at least ten years older than Andrew.

  Up until now, Jack had done his best not to think too much about those details. Compartmentalization was key in the entertainment industry where it was all too easy to ruin a personal relationship by asking for a professional favor or turn your professional life into a nightmare by fucking where you worked. Dating Andrew meant never, ever working with Andrew, which was something Jack had all sorts of mixed feelings about.

  “At least we met fighting over a parking space in front of a donut shop,” he muttered to his unhelpful clothes. “This is still such a bad idea.” Jack gave up and grabbed a shirt at random. Dates were hard. Dates that involved seeing his boyfriend’s other boyfriend... totally more hard. Not because of jealousy, but because he’d be under double the scrutiny while definitely not having double the fun.

  Jack liked Christian as far as he knew him, which wasn’t much. He’d met him in passing a few times at parties. The longest they’d ever talked had been once at Christian and Andrew’s house. It had only been for a few minutes—Jack had swung by on his motorcycle to pick Andrew up for a date—but Christian had been charming enough. Any awkwardness has been all Jack’s.

  Jack hadn’t been sure, then or since, if he was supposed to notice that Christian was handsome, magnetic, and had a great sense of fashion too. And then there were the tattoos, old-school, stunning, and everywhere. That day, sitting on his bike, Jack had wanted to comment on them but worried it would have been rude. All of which was a long way of getting around to the fact that he had absolutely nothing to say against Andrew’s taste, but also had no idea how to behave around Christian.

  Regardless of the visual appeal, and a few perfectly pleasant conversations, Jack hardly knew the man, and Andrew asking him to attend his gig tonight felt like way too much—not in a complicated polyamory way, just in a complicated L.A. way.

  Lots of people in this town were wildly talented, but it meant they had money to burn on all sorts of artistic hobbies they weren’t wildly talented at. The invites to the plays, concerts, and stand-up comedy gigs of friends and friends-of-friends were endless. And usually amounted to hoping you could provide your own convincing performance afterwards about how great someone was when they really, really weren’t.

  But Jack had agreed to go and now he was stuck. He sighed at himself as he ran some product through his hair and hoped that his appearance—a tawny, lanky frame half-randomly dressed, hair haphazardly done—wasn’t going to offend Christian on principle. Andrew, at least, was used to his inability to put himself together when not working. And now Jack was going to have to be nice and supportive because, Hollywood or not, he really did try not to be a jerk. It was just going to be so very awkward.

  At least I’ll be able to dine out on this disaster when the whole thing goes to hell.

  THE GIG WAS AT ONE of those legendary L.A. music venues Jack didn’t understand. The first time he’d been here had been about five years ago, when he’d first come out to the West Coast for pilot season. It—both the venue and that pilot season—had been an utter let down. He hadn’t scored any work, and this place had been small, nondescript, and not remotely the stuff of legend. Sure, this was a venue where all sorts of names had made it big. But that had been in the 70s and, at most, represented a few dozen nights in a sea of thousands involving local bands of dubious quality.

  “Hey.” Andrew sidled up to him and bumped their shoulders in greeting.

  He was about the same height as Jack but more solidly built, which Jack just didn’t think was fair. He spent more time at the gym, but Andrew, with his preppy all-American fashion sense and desi good looks, would have made a much more likely onscreen heartthrob.

  Great. We’ve both discovered this is totally awkward, Jack thought when Andrew didn’t say anything else.

  “Oh. Hey...” Jack gestured aimlessly, trying to figure out if they should kiss or hug or what.

  Andrew rolled his eyes affectionately. “You’re ridiculous.” He reeled Jack in for a quick kiss.

  “I was just trying to establish the ground rules,” Jack said in his own defense. But he was laughing and so was Andrew, so maybe it would be all right.

  “You look like a deer in the headlights,” Andrew said.

  “It’s just—” Jack started but then couldn’t find words that were bot
h true and kind.

  Andrew smiled understandingly. “No worries. I get it. A friend invited you to another friend’s show, you’d kind of rather be home, and you’re wondering ‘Just how bad is this going to be?’”

  Jack’s eyes went wide, and he tried to stammer out a response.

  “Come on, no guilt.” Andrew bumped his shoulder against Jack’s again. “This is L.A. We’ve all been there.”

  “It’s good to see you,” Jack said. because even with the awkwardness, that much was true.

  “And it’s good to see you too.” Andrew kissed him again. “And I promise, if Christian sucked, I wouldn’t be inflicting this on you.”

  “How do I know you’re an objective party?” Andrew was saying all the right words, but Jack remained unsure. Both of Christian’s talent—not to mention that of the rest of his band—and of how tonight was going to go.

  “Ah, see! That’s the beauty of polyamory right there.” A tech in all black came out on stage to adjust one of the microphones, and Andrew slid an arm around Jack’s waist. “If I thought his band were terrible, he could get his moral support for his horrible project that’s taken over our garage from someone else.”

  DESPITE ANDREW’S ASSURANCES, Jack was genuinely, pleasantly, surprised that Christian’s band was actually good. Their covers had flair, their originals had personality, and everyone’s musicianship was more than competent. Jack could almost forget he was at his boyfriend’s partner’s gig and just relax and enjoy the music.

  And somehow, Andrew was almost as fun to watch as Christian was. He spent half the night with his hand in the back pocket of Jack’s jeans, which was distracting. But he also spent the whole night—except for glances over at Jack to check to make sure he was doing all right—staring at Christian with the enraptured face of someone watching their favorite big-name rock star. It was a lot to witness and a lot to be a part of. It was also adorable.

  “Okay, your turn.” Andrew turned his head to say into Jack’s ear over the crowd’s applause for the encore.

  “My turn for what?” Jack had to almost yell to be heard, and his throat felt scratchy from the heat of the room.

  Andrew gave Jack a little shove in the direction of backstage. “To go be his adoring fan. Or nerd out with him about some dead filmmaker. Just, something.”

  “This was not in the plan!” Jack yelped before he could stop himself. Andrew’s suggestion made sense in the most pragmatic of ways. If he and Christian both liked the same man, and if both those relationships were going to be serious, being socially comfortable in each other’s orbits would benefit everyone.

  But Jack was awkward when other people weren’t writing words for him. And the situation now had shades of other complications to it that it hadn’t just a few hours ago. Because he couldn’t lie, the idea of being alone with Christian was also appealing in a new way. A stuff-of-fantasies-he-shouldn’t-be-having way, to be specific. To actually stand in a room with him—and without Andrew.... Jack tried to swallow, his throat going from scratchy to parched in an instant.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Andrew smiled and gave Jack another nudge. “I just wanted to give you a head start. You two can gossip or something.”

  JACK LEANED IN THE doorway of the dressing room, watched Christian towel the sweat from his face, and tried to figure out what to do next. The walk from the audience to the dressing room area had not brought him any stroke of inspiration. Alas.

  He was somewhat tempted to play the groupie, as Andrew had halfway suggested. It would at least be a script to follow, but one that came too close to the mix of business and pleasure he was determined to avoid. He suspected that would do equally little for his ability to have an actual conversation with Christian in a manner that would be useful considering their shared affections.

  So Jack decided, as he often had in the series of snap decisions that had somehow turned into a relationship with Andrew, to do the straightforward thing and tell the truth.

  “Andrew was right, you are good,” he said.

  Christian shrugged in reply and pulled off his shirt, revealing twenty-five years of tattoos dancing across his back and arms, looping script and Sailor Jerry-style women Jack is fairly sure none of them will ever fuck. His skin, tanned and a little weatherbeaten on his face and hands, was paler and pinker under his clothes. “Not really your scene, is it?” Christian said.

  “I didn’t come out here to be a musician, no. And making small talk with you... it’s welcome, but I don’t know what I’m doing.” Honesty, Jack hoped, would eventually get him somewhere. Or at least keep him afloat until Andrew came to his presumable rescue.

  “I do wish this shithole of a club dressing room actually had a shower,” Christian said, wrapped up in his own problems in a way that inadvertently put Jack at ease. “Nobody else cares; they’re out mingling with whatever hot piece of ass half their age they can find.”

  “While you’ve got a hot piece of ass half your age in here?” Jack said before he could think better of it. This, Jack he in full panic, is why I shouldn’t be allowed to speak without a script!

  Christian’s lip quirked. He clearly thought the same thing. “Ego,” he tutted, and then let it go. “I can’t really begrudge them their version of the rock ’n’ roll dream. But what I want is to go home, get clean, and save the hedonism for the California king.” He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, making the silver strands stand up in spikes. “Was Andrew at least good company?”

  “The best,” Jack finally answered, because it was true and because he had learned something from him tonight both about how nice it was to be cared for and how nice it was to watch someone be in love. “No offense to present company; he’s quite smitten with you, I promise.”

  “None taken.”

  From the amused look Christian gave him, Jack suspected he was coming off even more awkwardly than he feared. Oh well. As ever, the only way out is through.

  “You know the heart eyes he gives you when you’re up there are absolutely ridiculous,” Jack blurted.

  Christian chuckled. “Damn right I do. Why do you think I like having him at my shows? Talk about inspiration to get every single person in that room to look at me the way he does.”

  “Then it worked,” Jack said. His face heated, and he had to work very hard not to drop his gaze to his feet.

  Christian, however, did not look embarrassed on Jack’s behalf, which had to count for something. He perhaps even looked smug.

  “I notice you got sent in here alone,” he said. “Where is Andrew, anyway? Picking up new friends?” His tone was casual, but Jack suspected the question was anything but.

  “No,” Jack said. He took a breath and made another decision, glancing out in the hallway and then closing the door. “Just talking with people. I think? He wanted to give us a minute.”

  “He wanted or you wanted?” Christian asked as he dug around in his bag.

  “Well, he shoved me in this direction, but, I’m here, so...I guess we both did?”

  Christian looked up. “Have you two been plotting?” he asked, sounding a little wary but much more amused.

  “Wait,” Jack said. “Have we? I mean, beyond you and I having a chance to gossip about him.”

  Christian gave a hearty laugh at a joke Jack hadn’t been told but he could deduce.

  “Andrew’s goal wasn’t just small talk and a more kitchen-table angle to our polyamory, was it?” he asked.

  Christian, still chuckling, shrugged. “I do my best not to speak for my partner. Text him and find out.”

  Jack fumbled for his phone. As bizarre as the situation had become, there was a certain relief in clear communication and even clearer instructions.

  Hey. Christian wants to know where you are. I want to know if you sent me in here to flirt, Jack thumbed.

  I want you two to do what you would enjoy. Whether that’s chatting or something else. Christian likes being a little helpless, likes when people take
charge. P.S. show him this text, if you want.

  Jack swallowed hard as his dick—in spite of the rest of his nerves—took a sudden interest in this turn of events. He crossed the room. It only took him a handful of steps, and he leaned back out of Christian’s space as he held the phone with its text message up to his face.

  Christian’s eyes flicked from Jack’s face to the phone and back again. “And how do you feel about that?” he asked.

  Jack considered that. He felt absurd, standing there and thinking, but Christian had been kind so far and there was no reason to be less honest about anything now. “Blindsided. Interested. Wary.”

  “Tell me about wary,” Christian said.

  Jack was grateful that the runaway train of this odd evening was willing to slow down as abruptly has it had sped up, but he hoped it wouldn’t have to stop entirely. “I like Andrew. Like, a lot. And I don’t want to do anything that’s going to screw that up. Very much including getting absorbed into your relationship.”

  Christian pursed his lips. “Smart boy.”

  “I try.” Jack felt his cheeks heat again, this time in pleasure.

  Christian regarded him intently. His eyes, from this close, were the sharp blue-gray of the city at twilight. A world of endless possibility. “What if I said this was just a fluke thing, unconnected to anything else, and if you want to do it you shouldn’t view it as anything more emotionally complex than brunch?”

  Christian was making this absurd situation so tempting. “You don’t know how I feel about brunch,” Jack said with a half-strangled laugh.

  “That’s very nice. You want to untangle these cables while you think about it?” Christian shoved the mess of effects boxes and audio cables in Jack’s general direction. “Because either way, I’m going to eventually need to find a shirt.”

  Something in Jack snapped and he made a decision, as foolish and impulsive as it might have been. He felt the smile on his face turn sly as he bent for the cords, untangling them but not bundling them up.