by Jerry Cole
He shrugged and Nicholas, in quiet agreement, took the last piece of sushi. He'd often worried whether it was his looks or his acting abilities that kept him from getting any further in his career. He was happy where he was of course. He loved working with the Green Carnation, and he didn't need much more. But it would have been nice to be recognized, wanted.
"The good news is," he said, finishing off the sushi and taking a piece of ginger, "I can teach you how to act. You can't teach me how to be gorgeous."
"I'm not so sure you can teach me how to act," Clay laughed. "I'm pretty hopeless."
"I've seen hopeless," Nick reassured him. "And it isn't you, trust me."
"I guess I must trust you already," he said, "considering I met you on a train less than two weeks ago, and here we are trading life stories."
"I guess so," Nicholas agreed with a laugh. "I figured it was just me being too persistent for you to resist."
"Or maybe you just have a trustworthy face," Clay winked and Nick felt an unexpected blush on his cheeks. He shook it off, embarrassed, and glanced at his watch, realizing it was time to leave.
"Damn, I have to get to a temp job," he said, standing. "But thank you for having lunch with me. It was fun."
"I enjoyed it too," Clay agreed, standing as well. Their food was already paid for, so there were only the goodbyes now. "We should get together again soon. You could show me around."
"I'd love to," Nick agreed, holding out his hand to shake. "I'm free this weekend."
Clay took his hand and Nick pulled him closer.
"If," he added, "you promise to try out for the play."
Clay scoffed, rolled his eyes and shook Nick's hand.
"All right, all right," he agreed, "I promise I'll try out. I probably won't even get cast."
"All I ask is that you try," Nicholas said with a dazzling smile, squeezing his hand.
They traded phone numbers and separated, Nick feeling almost delirious with delight at how well it had gone. He couldn't wait to see the other man again, and there was a feeling in his stomach like a swarm of butterflies. Migrating monarchs in a group, rolling through the air like a wave. He felt so giddy. It was just because he succeeded in convincing the guy to audition, he told himself. The satisfaction of a job well done, that's all it was. And he made a new friend in the process. A new friend he would see again soon. In the meantime, he had work to get to. It wasn't a temp job like he told Clay however. Rather, he was going about securing the Grand Guignol.
Chapter Three
"Nicholas, what are you doing to yourself?"
Nick sank deeply into Walter's plush old sofa, looking pale and exhausted.
"You've been worn to the bone every time I see you lately." Walter, carrying a tray of tea and cookies, crossed his elegant study to place them on the coffee table beside Nick's feet. "What have you been up to?"
The sunlight was golden through the drapes, bars of illumination that dappled the old-fashioned room. Walter favored antique decor in the Georgian fashion with heavy furniture and shelves packed with decadent clutter. Old books and strange trinkets jockeyed for space. A beautiful antique bust bordered on either side by decaying volumes of classical literature and a series of overgrown terrariums starting at softball size and growing to one the size of a globe, the ferns and moss within it crowding the ruins of a tiny fairy castle which sat at the heart. Nicholas loved it there. It felt like stepping onto the set of some strange period drama almost certainly populated with sorcerers and vampires.
"Only the two things you've asked of me," Nicholas replied. "And both are nearly completed."
"Both things?" Walter frowned, his waxed and curled mustache twitching as he sat. "What exactly have I asked you for?"
"First of all, to recruit people to the troupe," Nicholas answered, sitting up to take a cookie. They were the kind with jam in the center, and he could never resist those. "I told you I found the perfect Christian. Well, I have convinced him to audition."
"That was weeks ago." Walter frowned in concern, "Don't tell me you've been hounding the poor boy all this time?"
"Of course not," Nick replied primly, although truth be told he would have kept going if Clay hadn't given in yet. "I actually secured his promise two weeks ago. But I'm keeping up with him to make sure he doesn't change his mind. He's new in town so I've been showing him around the city. Actually, yesterday I took him around the Prospect Park Zoo. You know they have that barnyard area? He started talking about the animals and how well they were being taken care of, and before we knew it there were a bunch of people gathered around listening, thinking he was some kind of guide. Oh and this bird landed on his head in the aviary and wouldn't leave. He was so worried it was going to poop on him."
Nicholas laughed, remembering what Clay looked like with the huge, colorful bird sitting on his head, panicking and trying not to move at the same time. As he reached to take another cookie he noticed how Walter was looking at him, his eyes wide with surprise.
"You really like this one, don't you?" Walter observed.
"You will too," Nick assured him. "He's very likable. He's going to fit in great with the rest of the troupe."
Walter hummed thoughtfully.
"It's just I don't think I've ever seen you this excited about something that wasn't a play or poem," Walter pointed out. "This man must have quite the effect on you."
"Well it is about the play," Nicholas corrected him, collecting a third cookie. "It's about getting him for the play. We'll put his face on the posters, and it'll be sure to draw in a crowd. He's going to be perfect, Walter."
Walter hummed again and sipped his tea.
"Have you considered which part you will try out for?" Walter asked.
"I was thinking La Bret," Nicholas admitted. "Or maybe the Comte de Guiche or Valvert. Playing the villain is always fun."
"You hadn't thought about trying for Cyrano?" Walter waved Nick's hand away as he reached for another cookie and poured him a cup of tea instead. "You haven't had a proper leading role since you've joined us."
"I don't want to be accused of getting it because we're friends," Nicholas said, avoiding the tea as it was offered and snatching another cookie while Walter's hands were busy instead. "And besides, we both know I don't really have the looks for a hero."
"I think after five years it's safe to say they will not suspect favoritism," Walter stood, taking the plate of cookies with him. "I would like to believe I've always cast the best person for the part with as little bias as possible. I mean, aside from Eric Matthers, but that couldn't be helped."
Nicholas followed Walter toward the kitchen.
"Some people will still claim it," he said on Walter's right, then ducked to his left to grab another cookie from the plate and pop it into his mouth. "Some people always do."
He spoke through crumbs shamelessly.
"That kind of person will find something to be bothered by no matter what we do," Walter replied, dancing away as Nicholas went for another cookie, scurrying down the hall to the kitchen with Nick in hot pursuit. "I think you should try anyway. If it's your looks you're worried about, Cyrano is hardly meant to be a handsome hero. You'll be wearing a six-inch prosthetic nose after all."
Nicholas swiped for the cookies and missed as Walter ducked and pirouetted dexterously to escape.
"Walter!" he gasped in exasperation. "Why did you put the cookies out if you didn't want me to eat them?"
"Because it's polite!" Walter, breathless, set the cookies down hard on the kitchen counter and began quickly shoveling them back into a cookie jar.
"And is it polite to then not allow your guest to eat the cookies you put out for them?" Nicholas complained.
"No," Walter confessed, turning to face the other man with half the cookies still on the plate. "But I want them, and you always eat them all! Shameless youth with your high metabolisms and your yoga. If only I could inhale cookies like that right before an audition!"
He threw his hands in the
air, then turned back to start putting the cookies away again, slower now.
"At any rate," Nicholas rolled his eyes, letting the cookies go, and leaned against the island counter. "I won't audition for Cyrano."
"Why ever not, boy?" Walter questioned, perplexed. "I am hardly being biased at all when I say you would be perfect for the role. I want you for my lead, Nicholas. I would have had you for a lead before, but you never audition! Why?"
Nicholas looked away, the question requiring an uncomfortable amount of introspection.
"Do you really think I have the skill for it?" he asked. "I'd rather not try than fail and ruin the whole production for you."
Walter looked at him like the question was ridiculous, but Nick's expression was set with genuine anxiety.
"Nicholas, you have been with this troupe five years," Walter put a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye seriously. "You are one of the most talented actors in it. I would not ask you to audition for this part if I did not have every confidence in your ability to play it."
"I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I let you down," Nicholas confessed. Walter only patted his cheek.
"So don't," he said. "Work as hard at this as you have worked at all your other roles, and I know without a doubt that you will be brilliant."
Nicholas smiled, gratitude warm in his chest.
"All right," he said. "I'll try for it. But I promise nothing."
"Good, I hate promises." Walter moved away, smiling, back toward the kitchen door. "As soon as one promises not to do something, it becomes the one thing above all others that one most wishes to do."
"That's a quote," Nicholas said, idling by the counter. "Wilde?"
"Georgette Heyer," Walter corrected. "Bit of an obscure one. Famous author, practically invented historical romance. A very astute woman."
"I'll take your word for it." Nicholas followed Walter as the other man moved into the hall.
"Oh, that reminds me," Walter looked back at him, his raised eyebrows like two red caterpillars. "You said you had done two things I asked of you. What was the second?"
Nicholas smiled and swept past Walter toward the front door, a cookie in his mouth and several more in his pockets.
"I got you the Guignol."
Chapter Four
Nicholas was finishing the last of the cookies from his pockets by the time they arrived, having left just as quickly as Walter could grab his coat. They stood in Carroll Gardens, a quiet and charming neighborhood of brownstones and local shops, many of which had French names and proprietors, the area having, in recent years, come to be regarded as Little France.
"Well," Walter huffed, "it's not Paris."
"But it is the Guignol," Nick replied with a grin.
The theater they stood in front of was everything you could hope for, from its old-fashioned marquee to its art deco style. It was a touch small, but everything else was perfect. And the name on the sign was most certainly the Grand Guignol. The only problem was the boards over the windows. The place was clearly not operational.
"I stumbled onto it rather by accident," Nick explained. "I saw the name and couldn't resist going in and checking it out. Most recently it was a movie theater, but it's just a screen set up over the stage. Apparently, they were set up as a traditional theater—the lights and sound set up are all there—but they couldn't get enough business, so they converted. But the franchise theaters still drove them out. It's just been sitting here all this time!"
"It's certainly...something," Walter said, "But we can't just buy a theater! Is it even for sale?"
"It wasn't," Nicholas confessed, "until I tracked down the owner week before last. He's been letting it sit hoping to sell it to someone who wants the location. He didn't want to sell, but I kept at it. Now I'm giving his daughter ballroom dancing lessons on the weekends."
"But the money…" Walter sputtered.
"I already have half." Nick stopped him. "My savings, plus a loan. If you can do the other half, it'll be ours. Think about it Walter! A real, permanent location for the Green Carnation! We could finally get back to how things were in the glory days! People still remember your name."
"You'll put yourself in debt for me!" Walter protested. "I couldn't possibly allow it!"
"I'd rather be in debt with a chance to really see this group go somewhere than be solvent and stagnate," Nicholas insisted. "Please Walter. Give this a chance."
Walter looked at him doubtfully, then sighed.
"All right," he agreed, "I give in. Show me your Guignol."
"Fantastic," Nick laughed with relief, pulling Walter toward the door. "Because I've already started cleaning and renovating. I've been spending practically every spare moment here. I wanted to be sure it would be ready in time to begin auditions before I asked you."
He unlocked the door and led Walter into the lobby. It was a gorgeous, soaring space. A heavy crystal chandelier lay in the center of the room, lowered down from its place in the domed and frescoed ceiling. Though dark and dusty, it was easy to see the potential of such a place to be stunning. Nicholas moved out the debris and swept the floors here. It looked nearly ready to be opened.
"You see concessions over there, and tickets here," Nick said excitedly, practically dancing across the lobby in his eagerness to show Walter everything. "Back here is the stage. Come on!"
Walter hurried to catch up as Nicholas led him into the building's single auditorium, up the stairs to the highest seats.
"Oh, my..." Walter murmured.
There was a lot of work to be done. Debris on the stage, decaying seats, peeling paint. But there was the stage, perfect and waiting for them. Nicholas hurried down the center aisle and helped Walter up onto the stage himself.
"It's marvelous, isn't it?" he said, looking back out over the audience. "There's prop storage and rehearsal rooms back there. The sound and light stuff is in the projector room. And the best part is, since we'll own it ourselves, Eric Matthers and his awful father won't be able to get in our way."
"It's going to be an absurd amount of work," he groaned. "And money."
"It'll be worth it though," Nick grinned, excited. Walter, catching his excitement, smiled back.
"As they say, only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go," he said.
"Who is that?" he asked. "Wordsworth?"
"T.S. Eliot."
"Damn it. I'm going to get it one of these days."
"Nicholas Bellerose, you are a wonder," Walter stared around them, shaking his head. "And I owe you a week of dinners."
***
Work on cleaning and repairing the old theater began as soon as ownership changed hands. They had less than a week before auditions were held, after which they would need to begin rehearsing and working here. Walter called in the rest of the Green Carnation troupe as well, and they all dedicated any spare time their schedules allowed to get the theater into shape.
"Money is going to be a difficulty with this production," Walter confided in Nicholas as, the end of the month there at last, they gathered again in the elementary school classroom to hold the auditions. "I've applied for several grants. Renovating a historical location like that may actually win us a few points with the patrons. But things will be tight regardless. We may have to do some fundraising of our own."
"I'll throw a bake sale," Nicholas said with a laugh, setting out chairs. "Whatever it takes. This play is not just going to be great. It's going to revitalize this company. You'll see."
A few minutes later people began filtering in. All of the regular troupe was there, in addition to about thirty new people. It was more than the little classroom could really hold, and Walter was visibly delighted by the turnout. They'd be able to have extras and proper understudies for once. All Nicholas cared about was a familiar curly blond head standing among the new people.
"There he is," he said, elbowing Walter and pointing. "The tall blond one. Isn't he perfect?"
"Oh, my, well," W
alter stammered, "he certainly is attractive."
"He's beautiful," Nicholas said without a hint of self-consciousness. "He's Christian to a tee. He's worried he might have a little stage fright problem, but I'm certain we can get him through that."
"We'll see." Walter was still looking at Nicholas a bit strangely, but Nick was preoccupied by his excitement, waving eagerly to Clay.
They began the auditions, each prospective actor doing a cold reading of their chosen character's dialogue or a prepared monologue if they had one. For a few actors, Walter would call someone else up to read with them, to see how well they could play off of one another.
Nicholas, feeling like he was being too presumptuous, prepared a monologue of Cyrano's from the play to give, and he fidgeted with it now, knowing he had it memorized but still wary of trying out for the lead to begin with. He just wasn't certain he had it in him. And if he didn't and he failed...He shuddered and shook the doubt off. If Eric Matthers’ monotone preaching hadn't killed this troupe, he certainly wouldn't.
"All right Nicholas, let's hear from you next," Walter said, waving Nick toward the front. "Your name and who you're auditioning for first."
"Nicholas Bellerose," Nick replied. "I'm auditioning for the part of Cyrano."
A surprised murmur ran through the other regulars, who all knew Nicholas never tried out for the lead. Nicholas gripped the paper with his monologue on it tightly, took a deep breath, and began to recite.
"What would you have me do?" he began, his voice firm, projecting his indignation like a blow that made those sitting closest to the front flinch. "Seek for the patronage of some great man and like a creeping vine on a tall tree crawl upward, where I cannot stand alone? No thank you!"
He picked Walter as his Raganeau, delivered to him as the target of his ire, though the subject of it was everything wrong with artists and how the world consumed art. He threw his wrathful sermon in the other man's face, then turned away as though too disgusted by the concept to look at Walter any longer.
"Dedicate, as others do, Poems to pawnbrokers?" he asked, gesturing to the audience as though they might agree and support him, or else were the pawnbrokers he entertained. "Be a buffoon in the vile hope of teasing out a smile on some cold face? No thank you! Scratch the back of any swine that roots up gold for me? Tickle the horns of Mammon with my left hand, while my right, too proud to know his partner's business, takes in the fee? No thank you!"
