The Importance of Being Kevin

by Steven Harper

“Your brother?” Joe said. “Geez.”

  “We’re twins,” Wayne grunted, and I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.

  “Tonight I thought we’d start with an acting exercise,” Iris said, “and then start blocking act two.”

  At this Wayne said, “Take a moment and get into character. When I say go, I want you to turn to whoever is closest to you and mime a conversation, using gestures and expressions your character would use.”

  Les glanced at me. I kept my eyes on Wayne but sensed Les looking at me with eyes of hardened glass. I started to edge closer to Peter, then stopped myself. I couldn’t drape myself over him all the time, much as I wanted to. People would wonder. Besides, I needed to get to know the other cast members. And it would be nice to have some other friends. I made myself sort of stroll over to Melissa. Lady Bracknell. She was still keeping her back to Les.

  “Remember, your character isn’t you,” Wayne rumbled. “No one here acts or moves like an English aristocrat or servant from a hundred and fifty years ago. So you’ll have to think every moment how your character moves and avoid moving like an American teenager instead.”

  Peter seemed to realize I wasn’t standing near him anymore. He looked a little surprised, then shrugged and turned to Joe. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I mean, he should have been a little disappointed, right?

  Wayne said, “Get into character and… go.”

  Melissa caught my eye and drew herself up, becoming stiff and stern. She huffed at me, her slacker nephew, and mouthed several things. I realized I had no idea what to do. A big part of Algy was his words, but Wayne had said we couldn’t speak. It felt like something had been stolen from me. I made myself slouch a little, and I called up the Algy shell, but it was thin and pasty. I turned away from “Aunt Augusta” and rolled my eyes. No, that wasn’t right. Algy was too afraid of his aunt to show disrespect, but he wouldn’t show any fear either. On impulse I took her hand, kissed the back, and pretended to say something charming. Charmed but refusing to fall for it, Aunt Augusta took her hand back and waved it distractedly.

  “Algy and Lady Bracknell—good!” Wayne called. “Lane—Thad—remember you’re a decorous butler, not a street sweeper. Look at your partner, not at Les.”

  I was getting into it now. I fished a bit of paper out of my pocket and showed it to Aunt Augusta while I made puppy-dog eyes. I had no idea what was on it, but Aunt Augusta accepted it and made a questioning gesture. I clasped my hands under my chin. With a sigh of exasperation, she mimed signing it and handed it back to me. Of course—it was a check. I kissed her hand again with an outrageous flourish, then turned my back on her with a look of glee.

  Everyone was staring at us. They burst into applause, Peter the loudest. I was caught completely off guard, and the Algy shell shattered. Melissa grinned and curtseyed. I flushed.

  “There, you see?” Iris said. “You can tell a lovely character story without a word. Great opening, folks. Let’s get to work. Les, who do we need?”

  Les shot a glance at me. My insides turned black and rotten. I wanted to shrivel up. I wanted to hide among the curtains. I wanted to shoot him with a spear gun.

  He’s not going to do anything with everyone here. Maybe I could just avoid him. Then he wouldn’t have the chance to touch me.

  “Miss Prism and Cecily are onstage,” he said. “Dr. Chasuble, Merriman, Jack, and Algy need to be ready to enter. Everyone else take five.”

  “No fives. Work on lines,” Wayne rumbled.

  Melissa headed offstage, away from Les. In the interest of staying with people, I came with her. Only the two of us were on that side of the stage. Impulsively, I said in a low voice, “You don’t like Les very much.”

  She gave me a hard look, a lot like Aunt Augusta might give Algy. “What makes you say that?”

  “I can see it. I don’t… I don’t think I like him either. What’d he do?”

  “He’s a fuck,” she said, also low. “He sold some shit to my younger sister, and when she was on it, he tried to…. Anyway, he’s a fuck.”

  My eyes widened. “No shit?”

  “No shit. Stay away from him. Seriously.”

  “Did he…?” I found I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question. Instead I asked, “Did you call the cops?”

  “And get my sister in trouble?” She shook her head. “Course, that’s how he gets away with it.”

  “How come he’s working here, if he’s doing… you know.”

  Melissa blew out a puff of air. “You heard Iris—adult volunteers are hard to find. And anyway, there’s no proof unless my sister wants to report him. And she won’t.” She pointedly changed the subject. “I’m getting a pop from the machine before I get called up. You want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She trotted away, leaving me alone in the wings and feeling tense. Now what should I do? The judge had said associating with known criminals was a violation of my probation, so being in the play with Les as a stage manager could get me into trouble. On the other hand, dropping out would leave me without a summer program, and that would get me into trouble too. Plus I didn’t want to screw over the rest of the cast. Les was fucking with me no matter what I did.

  Peter slipped around the rear of the stage and sidled up next to me. I elaborately pretended he wasn’t there but couldn’t help a little smile. His presence made me feel better, lighter. It was the fact that he made a special effort to sneak over to see me.

  “Miss Prism, you’re sitting at the table, ready to teach German grammar,” Iris called from the darkness. “Cecily, you’re upstage, watering plants. Les, can you get a watering can from the prop room?”

  “Know what?” Peter said out of the side of his mouth.

  “What?”

  “I really want number seven.”

  I looked down to keep from smiling, but it didn’t work. No one had ever made me feel this way before. I still didn’t completely trust it. Peter kept his eyes straight ahead and pretended to be absorbed in the action on the stage, but then he flicked his green eyes my way. He was also keeping something from me, something he had started to tell me, then stopped. Was it something bad?

  Onstage, Meg as Cecily said, “He has many troubles in his life. Idle merriment and triviality would be out of place in his conversation. You must remember his constant anxiety about that unfortunate young man.”

  The rehearsal continued. Sometime later, Joe was onstage as Dr. Chasuble, with Charlene Feverfew as Miss Prism. The two of them played older people who had been half in love with each for years but were too shy to say anything about it. The watering can was supposed to symbolize the fountain of their love or something. I had already gone through a scene and was watching from the sidelines again with my knees under my chin.

  Iris, who was still out in the house with Wayne, called out, “Jack, you enter upstage at Dr. Chasuble’s line, ‘Perhaps she followed us to the schools.’ You’re pretending to be sad that your fake brother Earnest is dead, so you have two layers of acting going on.”

  “Got it,” Peter said from underneath the half-built staircase. Eventually we’d have a door underneath it, but for now we had to ootch around the boards and pretend.

  Out of nowhere, Les plunked down beside me. “Hey.”

  My entire body turned to ice. For half a second, I was back in the park—

  “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the summer.”

  —and I couldn’t think what to do.

  “This is indeed a surprise,” said Miss Prism onstage.

  “What do you want?” I whispered.

  Peter as Jack replied, “I have returned sooner than I expected.”

  “To see you,” Les whispered back. “I missed you, little pervert.”

  “Leave me alone,” I managed.

  “Nah. I have a deal for you.”

  “Deal? What do you mean?”

  Les pulled his smartphone from his pocket, the one I had seen glowing that night. “I got a c
ell phone video of you and Peter making out. An adult man kissing a male minor. Peter would get in big trouble. You would too, probation boy.”

  Little black spots swam in front of my eyes. A flash flood was thundering down the canyon straight at me. “What… what do you want?”

  “Let’s go where we can talk about it some more.” Les got up. “Now.”

  I didn’t know what else to do. My insides filled with acid, but I followed him out a side door into one of the hallways that ran around outside the theater. Les looked casual, as though we were two friends about to share music lists. The door clicked shut like a safe.

  “Here’s the deal,” he said. “You’re gonna come over to my apartment after rehearsal tonight and every night and make me happy like the little pervert you are. My address is on the cast list. Once I get tired of you, I’ll delete the video. Don’t show up even once, and the cops find out about those stolen moments in the park. Your dad will too. A minor kissing a legal adult. They’ll love that.”

  Oh god. My legs weakened, and I leaned against the cold cinder-block wall. He would tell my probation officer. I would to go juvie. Peter would go to jail. Dad would find out about everything.

  “Why are you doing this?” I burst out. “What’s it to you?”

  “Psh. I already told you.” He put his hands on the wall on either side of my head and trapped me there so he could lean in and kiss me on the mouth. My stomach roiled, and I wanted to throw up. “You’re going to give me the same thing you gave Peter. It’s only fair. And that’s four. I’m looking forward to five.” He backed away a little bit. “Speaking of five, you’re on in that many minutes. Break a leg.”

  When he opened the door back into the stage area, Miss Prism said, “And now, I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow. I would merely beg you not to be too much bowed down by grief.”

  I hid inside Algy for the rest of rehearsal. He made a safe place for me. I didn’t notice Les or Peter or Melissa. Iris and Wayne were ghost voices telling me where to walk and when to pause. And when it all ended, Algy evaporated, and I found myself in the parking lot, staring at a POS bike chained to a streetlight. I was supposed to ride it over to Les’s apartment so he could… do more stuff. I felt worthless as a broken bone. My whole body dragged at me. What would I be doing half an hour from now? How much pain would I be in?

  A pair of hands grabbed me from behind. I yelped and spun and fought them. They let go, though I was clutching one of the arms in as cruel a grip as I could muster. The arm belonged to Peter.

  “Oh geez—I didn’t think,” Peter said. “You’re nervous because of what happened. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.” I was panting. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry. I am.”

  “Okay, we’re both pretty sorry.” I was aiming for flip but got flat.

  “Sure. Uh, want to go for a walk through our favorite shortcut? I don’t have class tomorrow.”

  I still held Peter’s arm. Of course he wanted to go through the park. He wanted number seven. Just like Les wanted number five. I couldn’t stay, but what was I supposed to say to Peter? “I… can’t,” I said lamely. “I have to…. I can’t.”

  And then it was just too much. I flung myself forward, intending to push past Peter and run away, forget my bike, let the dark swallow me whole. But somehow I ended up tangled in his arms with my face pressed against his shoulder. Peter stroked my hair, and it felt so good. I wasn’t even aware I was crying at first.

  “What’s wrong, Kev?” he asked softly. “Jesus, I hate seeing you like this. It cuts me to pieces.”

  I tried to stop crying. It felt stupid, bawling in a guy’s arms, but once I got started, I couldn’t seem to stop. An image of Miss Prism’s dumbass watering can popped into my head.

  Peter guided me to the curb at the edge of the parking lot, and we sat down together, his arm around my shoulders. I leaned on him, shameless as a rag doll. A streetlight threw silver light to the sidewalk several feet away, but where we sat, the darkness made us invisible.

  “Just tell me,” he soothed. “You’ll feel better if you tell someone. Is it the attack?”

  I nodded into his shirt. “Sort of.”

  “What, then?”

  The words were building up again. “I… I lied before.”

  “About what?”

  “I told Iris I didn’t know the guy who attacked m-me. But that’s not t-true.” I swallowed. “I know who it was.”

  “Who?”

  I still couldn’t quite say it. “It didn’t stop there. He saw you and me in the park beforehand. He got a phone video of us k-kissing. He said he’ll use it or tell my dad unless I go to his apartment and… and let him do it to me all over again.”

  Peter’s expression remained neutral. Lamplight pooled around us, and the summer crickets peeped everywhere, caught up in dramas of their own. A car drove quietly up the street, pulled by its headlights.

  “Who?” he asked again.

  I didn’t want to say it, but I did. “It was Les.”

  Peter’s body stiffened, and every muscle went tight against mine. He didn’t move. Shadows hung over his face.

  Fear slid down my spine. “Peter?”

  He got slowly to his feet, and his face twisted under the shadows into an angry mask. I didn’t even recognize him and pushed myself backward.

  “Oh my god,” I said. “Please don’t be mad at me, Peter. Please don’t.”

  His fists clenched white as ice, and his voice was soft as death. “I’m going to kill him.”

  He took six measured steps across the lot to his car, climbed in, and screeched away, leaving me alone on the pavement.

  LES

  LES MADIGAN sat on the crappy-ass, lopsided couch he had scammed from the Fuck You Too section of the Goodwill store. A board laid across two milk crates made a rough coffee table, piled with dirty dishes. In the kitchen corner of his apartment, the microwave door stood open, and the smell of burned popcorn hung in the air. In the opposite corner sat his rumpled bed. The summer night pressed against his window screens, open to let in any semblance of a breeze.

  A smartphone occupied a tiny corner of the milk-crate coffee table, and Les tapped at it. An old text message—M. Flackworthy, UR dead asshole—flicked across the screen for a moment, and then a video ballooned open. A shaky version of Peter reached for an equally shaky Kevin, and their lips met. Les remembered catching every detail in the park. He had seen the two of them in the parking lot behind the theater and suspected the little fuck might put out. The memory of Kevin shoving him away still pissed him off. Les tapped a cigarette on the wood and lit it. Little pervert.

  At least it hadn’t taken long for Les to get what he wanted. What he needed. Hell, deserved. All the work he put in around that theater, and for free. The shit he sold to snooty-ass west-siders and their bored MILFs barely kept the lights on. Volunteering at the theater program kept him in touch with the local teenagers, but that was business. He deserved some fun too.

  “Ooh, Kevvie, you kiss like an angel,” Les said in a high-pitched voice as the video continued to play. “Aw, just keep your tongue in your mouth, Pete. I’m way too butch for that. Besides, I have a date with Les in—” Les checked his watch. “—two minutes.”

  Three sharp knocks rattled his door. A little wave of anticipation thrilled through Les, and he shut off the video. The little fuck was early. This was going to be fun. He could take his time, not worry about being seen or heard. His crotch grew tight, and he opened the door.

  “You’re early,” he said. “Good. I like it when—”

  What felt like a steam shovel smashed Les flat. He stared upward, dazed. His ribs and back ached, and the room swam. Standing over him like an angry freight train was Peter Finn. Les’s balls shriveled up. Peter kicked the door shut.

  “You son of a bitch!” Peter roared and smashed him in the face with his fist. Pain flashed white-hot through Les’s skull. Peter hauled up on the front of Les’s
shirt with one hand and pulled back the other to punch him again. Fear flooded Les’s veins.

  “No,” he gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “You know what I’m doing!” Peter smashed him in the face again. Les heard and felt his nose break. Blood gushed. “And you know why!”

  “Please!” Les begged. “Stop!”

  Peter yanked Les half-upright. His eyes were hard emeralds. “Did you listen to Kevin when he said stop? Did you?”

  Les tried to scramble backward, escape, but his legs wouldn’t obey. His mind couldn’t keep up with what was happening. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. It wasn’t supposed to—

  “You’re dead, asshole!” Peter pulled back his fist again.

  ACT I: SCENE VII

  KEVIN

  THE IRON gate closed off the way ahead of me with an angry frown. Stone walls stretched away on either side. A long, long driveway wound into the distance past the gate. I double-checked the address. This was it. Huh.

  An intercom was set into one of the pillars that flanked the gate. A little nervous, I pushed the call button. Almost immediately a man’s voice said, “May I help you, sir?”

  Sir? How had he known I was a guy? I glanced around. Ah—cameras above the gate. That made me more nervous.

  “Uh… I wanted to see Peter Finn? My name is Kevin Devereaux. Is Peter here?”

  A long pause followed, and then the gate slid open with an oiled hum. “Please continue up the drive,” said the intercom.

  Okay, then. Me and Peter hadn’t spoken since last night. After Peter drove off, I went home instead of to Les’s apartment. Dad was working again today—yay—and I got more and more restless as the day went on. And I figured if Peter could look up my address on the cast list, I could look up his, right? And if he could drop in on me, I could drop in on him, right? Besides, I had reasons to come see him—two of them.

  My bike clattered up the curved driveway, and I wondered how many cameras were on me. A rich green lawn scattered with shady trees, bright flower gardens, and occasional fountains spread out in all directions. A herd of hedges carved into animal shapes—giraffe, lion, zebra, antelope—froze in a green stampede. Geez, the place practically dripped money. I had to remember not to let my mouth hang open. Peter had said he was kind of rich, but I didn’t know he meant Scrooge McDuck rich.