Backstage Romance Ch. 07

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Things went as well as or better than expected at Wednesday's rehearsal, but you could still feel the tension among the cast and crew. Even Scott, who had been our unfailing cheerleader throughout hell week, was a little brusque. We would all be coming back from our food comas into one final day of rehearsal and a Saturday preview before opening night.

Ironically, the problematic scene seven was working like a dream now; it was the opening and closing scenes—the only ones that involved the entire cast onstage at once—that had everyone nervous. Scott's clever, complicated blocking still had the potential to turn into a traffic jam if someone got their timing wrong. Christina—who despite her heritage ordinarily spoke without a trace of an accent—broke into an impressive round of cursing in fluent Spanish when she flubbed a line and had to start her entrance over.

At the end of the day I was huddled in conversation with Mark when I spotted Jeff hanging back, I assumed to give me one last goodbye before he left. His overnight things were already stowed in the back of his car, I knew, so he would be leaving town directly from the theater. I excused myself as soon as I could and walked over to him.

My handsome man. The way he was looking at me told me he wanted to do more, but he confined himself to a quick hug, nothing out of the ordinary for colleagues in the touchy-feely theater crowd. This charade of ours, hiding what everybody already knew, all for the benefit of some administrator who wasn't even there to see it, was getting old. "Happy Thanksgiving, Danny Boy. Take care of yourself. I'll miss you," he whispered.

"Happy Thanksgiving. Drive safe," I answered. He ruffled my hair and walked away, tall and golden. I watched him go with a fond smile, feeling the tug within my body urging me to follow him out the door and to the ends of the earth.

Mark was scowling when I returned to wrap up our discussion. He tended to scowl anyway, that was practically his default expression, but I knew him well enough to sense something was up. "What?" I asked.

"Be careful with him," he said, gruffly.

I couldn't believe my ears. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Be careful."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's an actor. They're a flighty bunch. Getting involved with one of them's a bad idea."

I struggled for a moment between the desire to defend Jeff and the stupid impulse to deny any involvement with him. I could tell Mark knew better than to fall for that. Instead I settled for a lame, "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's my business when he takes off for his next gig and breaks your heart," he snapped. "I'm not looking forward to taking on the next production with you all depressed and pining for the pretty boy who ran away."

I was furious and speechless. Another goddamn Cowardly Lion moment. I'm terrible at defending myself verbally; I freeze up. What was worse, what Mark was saying had raised a terrible doubt in my mind, one I had been successfully ignoring all this time.

"I told you, it's none of your business," I finally gritted out between clenched teeth. I should have told him to fuck off, that I was a grown man, I could take responsibility for my own affairs and still do my job well. Instead I sounded like a sulky boy, even to myself.

"Then don't come to me for sympathy when he's had his fun and moves on. Just remember I warned you."

I turned and left the theater. If I could have slammed the door, I would have, but the heavy stage doors were equipped with those hydraulic arms that close in their own sweet time. I had to find Jeff; I needed the comfort and reassurance that only he could provide. But he was already gone.

I paced outside in the loading dock, wondering what had just happened and trying to calm myself down. For the first time in years, since quitting after college, I missed smoking. Mark never commented on my relationships. Back when we first started working together, and I would let drop comments about Brian, or the couple of other guys before him, I would sometimes catch a look of discomfort or disapproval on his face. But this was Jeff, the best thing to happen to me in years, in another league from Brian, fuck that, in another universe from Brian, and this was the relationship Mark chose to voice his reservations about?

"You okay?" I started, taken by surprise. I had been so wrapped up in my anger and distress, I hadn't heard the door open. It was Heather. I opened my mouth to answer, couldn't think what to say, and settled on a shrug.

She looked sympathetic. "I overheard what Mark said. I hope I'm not butting in. I just thought maybe you could use someone to talk to."

I didn't want to talk. I wanted Jeff. But it was nice of Heather to offer. She had been pretty quiet and withdrawn all week; I was beginning to think she didn't like me. "Thanks, I just... that came out of freaking nowhere, and... I don't know what to think or say."

"He cares about you, you know."

"Who does, Jeff?"

"No, Mark. Not that Jeff doesn't, but... Look, I know he could have been a lot more tactful, but he just doesn't want to see you get hurt."

I scoffed. "Too late for that." I felt a prickle in my eyes and turned away quickly. I was not going to get weepy, damn it!

She put a tentative hand on my arm. "Daniel... Mark doesn't know Jeff that well, and he's worried that you might get taken advantage of. Doesn't let him off the hook for being a jerk about it, but his heart's in the right place. And if you're worrying about what he said, he's wrong about Jeff. I've seen the way he looks at you. You both light up whenever you're together. It's really something special."

If she kept going, there wouldn't be any holding the faucets back.

"Well, maybe it wouldn't be so special if he knew... some of the stuff I haven't told him." Did I really just say that? Where the hell did that come from?

Heather stood very still for a moment, then smiled. "Well, I do know what it's like to keep secrets from the people you love. You don't have to tell me what it is, just think to yourself, what are you really afraid will happen if you do tell him the truth about it? And if he really loves you, how realistic is that fear?"

She patted me on the back. "You know, I think I owe someone a phone call right now," she said. "But if you need to talk any time during the holiday, let me know. My number's on the cast list."

"Thanks, Heather." I watched her go, then turned to look back over the vacant loading dock. A few snowflakes drifted down from the gray sky.

Did I mention I really missed smoking?