by Jerry Cole
"They'll recognize it just fine during the play," Nick waved his concern away like cobwebs in the air. "That's all that matters."
"Wouldn't you rather have a part like Christian though?" Clay tilted his head, fixing Nick with that confused puppy look that made Nick's heart melt.
"I don't have the looks for it," Nicholas explained. "I've got a face for playing villains."
"Nonsense," Clay argued. "I think you look every bit as good as I do. You're one of the most handsome men I ever met."
Nicholas, turning red, quickly looked away to shuffle the posters into a neater stack. Walter cleared his throat to break the tension as someone else came through the theater doors.
It was a woman, tall and curvy, with long red hair. She was dressed sharp enough to cut in a crisp red coat and a black skirt. Her blood red lipstick gave her a predatory air. She looked ready to kill a man at any moment. She scanned the room like she was looking for a target.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" Walter asked, stepping forwards with more bravery than Nicholas had. "This theater is not open to guests at the moment. If you come back at the end of the month—"
"Are you Walter Eliot?" she asked, cutting him off. She pulled a business card from her coat with a practiced gesture. "I'm Renee Sutherland of New York Magazine."
Walter, who had been reaching for the card, froze in his steps, and Nicholas was similarly frozen. Clay was staring at Ms. Sutherland like he'd never seen a woman before. After a beat Walter recovered and accepted the card.
"I am he," Walter confirmed. "How may I help you? We were just about to begin rehearsal."
"I'll get right to the point. The theater department is interested in running a piece on your production of Cyrano," Ms. Sutherland said, something in her voice saying she hadn't really agreed with the interest. "Something in depth following your apparent recovery from obscurity. The Green Carnation has been more or less out of the scene for several years, correct?"
"Ah yes, but we're on our way back," Walter said confidently, gesturing to the building around them. "As you can see we have acquired a beautiful new performance space which will be owned privately by the acting company. We're very excited to begin really making an impact again."
"And the magazine is very excited to see what kind of impact you make," Sutherland agreed. "Or if you crash and burn. That would be an interesting story as well of course. If you're interested, I would like to sit in on your rehearsals, really get the behind the scenes story on your struggle to claw your way back to relevance."
"Of course!" Walter said at once. "We certainly couldn't argue with the free press. Come, I will show you the stage! It's right through here..."
As Walter led the woman out, Nicholas and Clay stared after them, slack-jawed.
"Who was that?" Clay asked, his voice strangely soft.
"She said her name," Nick looked at the other man in confusion. "Weren't you listening? More important than who she is, she's with New York Magazine!"
"Is that important?" Clay looked dazed, blinking at Nick in confusion.
"Uh, it's only been running since the 1960s and won a heap of National Magazine Awards?" Nicholas laughed. "If they write about the play we'll be sure to get a ton of attention! This is exactly what we needed!"
"Do you think she'd like a poster?" he asked, fumbling for one of the ones with his face on it. "I should go and give her one. And maybe, uh..."
Nicholas frowned as he realized how red Clay's face was. He was stammering the way he did when he was on stage. A thread of anxiety wound around his heart as he watched Clay, tripping over his own feet, hurry after Walter and the woman, clutching his poster tight. Nick swallowed a growing lump in his throat and followed the other man.
Clay dropped the poster twice before he succeeded in handing it to Renee, who looked at him like he was a particularly pathetic-looking fly in her expensive latte. Nicholas watched Clay follow her around, staring at her like a man who lived in a basement all his life seeing the sun for the first time, and felt despair slowly settling onto his shoulders like a yoke. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. He only had a crush on the guy, and it wasn't like he'd been under any delusions that Clay wasn't straight. But he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointed misery.
"All right, let's begin," Walter said, clapping his hands. "Everyone do your best today, we have a journalist from New York Magazine watching. We'll start where we left off yesterday."
Nicholas hurried backstage along with everyone else and waited off to the side as everyone else got into place. Clay, who was in the scene with him, stood beside him. Nick could already see him shaking, casting anxious glances at Renee where she sat in the front row with a pen and pad.
"Hey," he said under his breath, and then louder when Clay didn't respond. "Hey. Don't look at her. When we're on stage you only look at me, remember?"
Clay looked at him with panicked eyes, and Nick caught him by the chin, staring directly into his eyes.
"She isn't there," he said. "No one is here but you and me. We went over this scene a hundred times last night. You know the lines. You know what to do. You don't have to do anything but what you've already done a hundred times. So just keep your eyes on me."
He pulled Clay's script out of his hands and tossed it backstage, and Clay's eyes didn't leave his for a second. Nicholas felt his heart rising. The redhead might have caught his attention, but on this stage no one mattered more to Clay than Nicholas. He didn't even bother worrying about these possessive thoughts. He'd freak out about them later. For now, all that mattered was that Clay's breathing was evening out. He was relaxing, and he was going to be fine.
"Now, go ahead," Walter called. "Act two, scene ten."
"Come, embrace me!" Nicholas began, no longer embarrassed by the words.
"Sir?" Clay replied, and Nick could all but see him wishing for his script. He locked his eyes on the other man's, beckoning him closer.
"Embrace me! I am her brother," he said as Clay approached.
"Whose?"
"Why, hers of course!"
"Roxanne!" Clay rushed to Nicholas and they caught each other in the kind of masculine embrace common to these kinds of plays. His skin was fever-hot under Nick's hands. “You, her brother?"
"Much the same. Fraternal cousin," Cyrano answered flippantly.
"And she's told you?" Clay's excitement, even acted, was contagious, and Nick couldn't help a smile.
"All."
"Does she love me?" Christian caught Cyrano's arm as he turned away, but Cyrano gave only a nebulous gesture and an equally unsatisfying response.
"Perhaps."
The scene progressed as Christian expressed his admiration for Cyrano, and Cyrano conceived his plan for Christian to woo Roxanne with Cyrano's poetry.
"I’ll lend you all I know. Lend me your charms that conquer every glance. We’ll make, from us both, one hero of romance!"
As the scene progressed, Nicholas forgot the woman in the audience entirely. All that mattered was Clay and the scene they played together. Clay was even better without his script getting in the way. His accent was still a problem, but he had a talent for acting Nicholas couldn't deny. He moved and emoted naturally and clearly, and when his eyes were on Nicholas there was no world beyond the stage they stood on.
They rolled from one scene to another with barely a pause. Walter, perhaps anticipating Clay's usual problem, only had them run through scenes where Cyrano and Christian were together, occasionally interrupting to correct or adjust their positions on the stage. Even these minor interruptions couldn't break Nicholas from his single-minded focus, this world where there was only Christian and Cyrano, and Cyrano was in love.
"Thus do I love thee," Clay said with deliberate woodenness.
"Idiot! There are a dozen ways to read that line!" Cyrano blustered and Clay backed away as Nicholas gestured in anger and advanced on him, smacking him in the chest with a rolled up script with each verse. "Thus do I love thee! Thus do I love t
hee! Thus do I love thee!"
He grabbed Clay by the front of his shirt and dragged him close, finding himself suddenly possessed by the urge to kiss the other man. Fighting it, he simply held him and a moment of long silence hung in the air. Clay stared back at him, wide-eyed, until Nicholas, realizing what he was doing, blushed and dropped the other man, backing away to continue the scene.
At last, after hours, rehearsals came to an end, and Nicholas' private world dissolved. Exhausted, he stumbled into a seat to recover for a moment before he got ready to leave.
"Well, from what I can see you have the beginnings of a very interesting play here," Renee was saying to Walter. "Your lead actors are both excellent. And they have some fascinating chemistry. Tell me, is the homoerotic subtext intentional?"
"Oh, I leave a lot of room for the actors to interpret their characters however they like too," Walter said with a nervous laugh.
"Well, it seems to be working," Renee laughed, bright and practiced. "Christian especially. It seems like he needs some polishing, but what a face!"
Nick scowled and looked away, wishing he could turn off his ears. Instead he stood and went to find Clay, who was getting a talking to from Roxanne's actress.
"I'm just asking for a little more engagement," Charlotte demanded. "You keep looking back to Cyrano like you need his permission to talk to me. It gives the scenes a weird feeling. If looking at him helps you focus, you can look at me too you know!"
"Hey, Charlotte, can I borrow him for a moment?" Nicholas asked, sliding in for the rescue and leading Clay off before Charlotte could protest. "You did great today by the way! I'm looking forward to hearing your monologue at the end!"
"What's up?" Clay asked as Nick propelled him away.
"Nothing," Nick admitted. "Just thought I'd rescue you from one of Charlotte's famous hour long rants. Want to get dinner together? We can run lines at my place after."
"Oh, yeah, sure!" Clay said at once. "Can we try that place you mentioned before? I've never had Native American food."
"No, Clay it's Indian food," Nicholas corrected, grinning.
"I thought they didn't like being called that?" Clay was only further puzzled by Nick's laughter.
"Excuse me."
Nick looked up, a chill running down his spine, to see Renee standing before them.
"I wonder if I could have a word with you, Mr. Allan?" she asked. "A quick interview if you will. For the article."
She smiled, white teeth flashing, and Nicholas knew she was interested in much more than an interview.
"Oh, uh, gosh, yeah," Clay said at once, stammering in immediate captivation. "But, uh, wouldn't you rather talk to Nick? He's the main character."
"Oh, I'll get to him soon enough," Renee laughed, the pale line of her throat an invitation. "It's you I'm interested in right now."
"God damn," Clay said, breathless. "I mean, shoot, pardon my language. Sorry. Uh, I'll see you later, Nick?"
He didn't wait for an answer before he tripped off after the woman. Nicholas watched him go, the pit in his stomach getting deeper and emptier all the time. He had to stop. This was fine. This was good. Clay wasn't his. He didn't even want this stupid crush to go anywhere. Maybe if Clay was involved with someone else these feelings would stop and he could go back to normal. Maybe.
Chapter Nine
He didn't wait for Clay, but headed home on his own, lost in his own unhappy thoughts, wondering if Renee wasn't showing Clay that Indian place right now. Maybe she'd take him home after. The thought made him cringe, and he collapsed face down on his couch, groaning, as soon as he got home.
He was in too deep. This had to stop! Sure Clay had a pretty face but that wasn't enough to turn him gay! And yeah he was funny and earnest and thoughtful, kind of dumb but in that endearing inexperienced way that made Nick want to teach him new things. And that fantastic look he got when he learned something he'd never heard of before, so open and amazed, with his eyes shining and—Nicholas lost his train of thought. This was so unfair! He needed to make these feelings go away. Maybe he was just pent up? It had been a while since he'd been with a woman.
Without much hope, he reached for his phone and pulled up a dating app. He could do this, he told himself with a kind of grim determination, like a game show contestant preparing to eat a bug for a thousand dollars. He didn't have to enjoy it, as long as his body remembered it was straight and stopped acting so stupid around Clay.
He was still swiping mindlessly through potential dates when there was a knock on his door. Confused, he stood to answer it, wondering who would be visiting him at this time in the evening.
Clay stood on the other side of the door, expression strained.
"I'm sorry about taking so long with Renee," he said. "Are you still up for dinner?"
Nicholas glanced at his watch and frowned.
"It's a bit late," he said. "And I've got work in the morning. Maybe tomorrow."
"Wait!" Clay called as Nick started to shut the door. "I need your help."
"You won't die from not running lines for one night, Clay—"
"Not with that," Clay interrupted. "I need you—I need you to teach me how to talk to women!"
Nicholas stared at Clay, waiting for a further explanation.
"I think I'm in love," Clay said. "Renee, Miss Sutherland, she's so beautiful, refined, and smart, and I think she likes me! When we were talking earlier she kept saying how good my acting was, and how she can't wait to see the play, and I could barely talk at all! I was so tongue-tied and turned around I couldn't hardly remember my own name! You've got to help me!"
"Why do you think I can help you?" Nick asked, baffled.
"Well, you taught me how to act, didn't you?" Clay shrugged. "Plus, you're handsome and smooth. You've probably dated dozens of women!"
Nick didn't have the heart to tell Clay he was wrong. Instead he sighed and moved back out of the way of the door.
"Come in," he said. "We can at least talk about it inside."
He made coffee as Clay fidgeted on his couch, staring off into space with a dreamy expression. Nicholas felt the pit in his stomach yawning deeper.
"So what makes you so sure you're in love with this woman?" Nick asked, handing Clay a mug. "You only met her today. And she seemed kind of stuck up to me."
"Well who wouldn't be in love with her?" Clay argued. "Did you see her? She looked like a movie star. Anyone would kill to be with a woman like that!"
He took a sip of the still scalding coffee and sputtered as it burned him.
"Yeah, whatever, she's pretty," Nick shrugged, "but that's not being in love with her. That's just infatuation, right?"
"That can still become love, can't it?" Clay put his coffee aside and leaned forward. "Please, help me figure out how to talk to her! She only likes smart stage actors like you! If I keep stammering at her she'll lose interest in me completely!"
Nick rubbed at his temples tiredly.
"I thought you didn't even want to be an actor!" he complained.
"I'll become an actor if it makes her fall in love with me!" Clay declared at once. "I'll…I'll become the best actor in the world for her!"
"You've barely even met her!" Nicholas' head ached and it felt like Clay was jumping up and down on his heart. This was so stupid. Of all the men for him to get a crush on, why did it have to be a straight guy?
Clay grabbed Nick's hands, forcing the other man to look him in the eyes.
"Please," he begged. "For the sake of my future happiness, please help me!"
Nick felt a terrible resignation settling on his shoulders. Clay was really into this woman. And it wasn't as though Nicholas could compete...Maybe it was meant to be. And maybe it would do Nicholas good to see Clay with someone else. Maybe it would help him move on.
"All right," he agreed. "All right, fine, I'll help. I don't know what you expect me to do, but I'll try. As long as you promise not to let it distract you from the play. Making this play a success it more importan
t to me than anything, and if you mess it up because you have a crush I'll never forgive you."
Clay grinned, delighted, and squeezed Nick's hands before letting them go.
"Don't worry!" he said. "She's into great actors, so it all lines up!"
Nicholas sighed.
"Fine," he said. "Then let's get started. It sounds like you have the same problem with girls that you do on stage."
"Pretty much," Clay agreed. "I freeze up and start stammering. I just don't know what to say to her! And if I messed up and she laughed at me I think I'd die."
"Well, maybe the answer is the same as when you're acting too," Nick suggested. "You've got to block everything out."
"But when I'm acting the thing that's making me nervous is the people watching," Clay said. "I can block them out and still act. If I block out Renee I can't exactly talk to her!"
"Good point." Nicholas sank back into his sofa, thinking. "Well, what about lines?"
"What?" Clay, who was trying to drink his scalding coffee again, looked up at Nick with his burned tongue sticking out of his mouth.
"When you're acting, you have your lines memorized," Nick said. "You don't really have to think about it. You just repeat what you memorized."
"Are you suggesting I need to script my conversations?" Clay asked, giving Nick a doubtful look.
"No! Kind of! I don't know." Nick threw his hands in the air. "I don't know what you expect me to do here! I'm not a magician! I can't magically make you good at talking to women!"
"Wait!" Clay grabbed Nick by the arms so suddenly he jumped, eyes wide. "Maybe that's it!"
"What's it?" Nick asked, staring at the man who was suddenly very close to him.
"I think you're on to something with the rehearsal thing!" Clay went on, "When I'm stressed out, I just focus on you and repeat what I memorized! So if I rehearse the kind of conversations I might have with her with you, then I can just pretend she's you! I mean, obviously we can't cover every possible conversation, but at least it'd give me a place to start. And if she starts going off script, I'll just change the subject to something we've practiced!"
