Backstage Romance Ch. 11

"He got that part right, at least," I muttered. "So you spied on me for him. How much did you tell him?"

"Not as much as you might think. When rehearsals first started, any idiot could have seen you were going to be amazing in the role." I acknowledged the compliment with a polite tip of my head. "And as far as anyone knew," she continued, "you didn't have any commitments or a relationship that would keep you from accepting a job in California. I told him all that in my first report.

"Then, a few weeks into rehearsals, you started dating Daniel," she sighed. "I worried about it, but I figured your personal life wasn't any of my business, and it certainly wasn't any of Timothy Spencer's. Like I told you back before the play opened, I wasn't going to say anything to anybody about it."

"He wasn't too pleased to find out I was attached last night," I commented.

"Oh, he was pissed! Chewed me out for not doing my job. I told him you didn't share anything about your love life with the rest of us, so how was I supposed to know? Good thing Scott made us all observe 'don't ask, don't tell,' huh? I didn't even have to lie. You and Danny have been perfect pros the entire time."

No one calls my boy "Danny" but me. My eyes narrowed. "So you told Timothy I might be a live prospect for this movie of his, and I assume it was you who helped him sneak backstage last night."

"Actually, he sweet-talked Kelly into letting him backstage. Like she would dare say no to a director with his reputation! I just ran interference to keep you two from being interrupted. The dating story was a cover to get him out of the building without Daniel catching on. Remember, Timothy was trying to keep anyone from knowing what he was up to."

"And that included not telling you he was making a play to win back his ex-boyfriend."

"I had no idea. I'm so sorry about that." She hung her head. "Did he... are you...?"

I took pity on her. "We're definitely not getting back together, if that's what you're asking. And I'll discuss the job offer with Daniel before I give Timothy my answer, but right now he's not exactly making a compelling case for returning to Hollywood."

"Jeff," she said, "be careful. He's a super director, but the man's ruthless. He won't just take no for an answer."

"He's taken it from me before, and he can do it again," I replied coolly, "but I do appreciate your concern. I just wish you'd levelled with me from the start."

"Me too." She fidgeted. "I hope we can be friends after this."

"I'd like that. But you're going to have to earn that friendship. Starting with forgetting this conversation ever happened."

"Oh, don't worry about that," she exclaimed, "as far as Timothy's concerned, my job is done now. I don't owe him any more information."

"Then we'll just have to see where he takes things from here," I answered. "Truce?"

She smiled gratefully and held out her hand for me to shake. "Truce."

—————

* Daniel *

Monday. Dark day at the theater. The weather had turned cold again, with snow in the forecast for later in the day. I had hoped we could spend one of our long lazy mornings in bed together, but it turned out Jeff had a doctor's appointment. So I was hanging out alone in his living room sipping my coffee and thumbing through back issues of Vanity Fair when the doorbell rang. I cracked the front door open and peeked out. A blast of chilly winter air numbed my cheeks and hands. A young man in a heavy jacket was standing there with a large manila envelope in his mittened hands.

"Jeffrey Williams?" he asked.

"He's not here right now. Can I help you?" I asked.

"I have a delivery from Professor Ryan at the university. Some plays he asked me to bring over."

"I can take that for him. Do you need me to sign anything?"

"No, sir. Have a nice day."

Sir? There were, what, maybe six years between us?

"Thank you, you too."

I gratefully returned to the warmth of the living room, studying the packet. To my surprise, it was addressed to both me and Jeff in Professor Ryan's bold, florid handwriting. A little presumptuous of him, I thought. But my curiosity was piqued. Slitting open the envelope, I slid a stack of six or seven bound manuscripts out onto the coffee table. Paper-clipped to the top was a note in the same script.

"Dear Jeffrey and Daniel: Per Jeff's request, I am sending you copies of Ron's plays. They have sat undisturbed in my cabinet for many years. Perhaps now it is time for them to make their way back into the world. I can't say why, but I have the feeling I am entrusting his work to the best possible hands. Wishing you both the happiest of holidays. I look forward to seeing you again soon. Yours, 'Professor' Lawrence Ryan."

Who was Ron? I opened the first document and scanned the title page. Lamps by Day, by Ronald Gordon. I had never heard the name. The play was dedicated to the Professor, and dated 1975. Intrigued, I turned the page and started reading.

Jeff walked in hours later, holding another envelope in his hands and looking very pleased with himself, and found me still reading, tears running down my face. When he saw me, the blood drained from his face. "Baby, what's wrong? What happened?" he exclaimed.

I looked up, sniffling and waving aside his concern. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. I've just been reading Ronald Gordon's plays. The Professor sent them over. I hope you don't mind me opening them. He addressed the package to both of us."

"Did he?" Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Here, just a sec, let me put this away and I'll come take a look." He disappeared into his study, returning with a box of tissues, which he offered to me. "Here." I dabbed my eyes. "Are they really that good?"

"Jeff..." Words failed me momentarily. "They're amazing. Well, not all of them. The first few are good, not great. But the last three... Oh my God. Why have I never heard of this writer before? Who is he?"

Jeff picked up one of the scripts from the pile reverently. "Ron Gordon was the Professor's lover. He died almost thirty years ago. As far as I know, his work has been gathering dust in the Professor's office ever since."

"The Professor's gay?" I asked, incredulous.

Jeff smiled. "I had the same reaction. Apparently so. Who knew? And Ron was the man he loved and lost. I can see why he held onto them all these years. If it were something of yours..." He trailed off. I looked up, startled by what he was implying.

He shook his head, recovering his train of thought. No, please, Jeff, that was important. Don't leave it hanging like that. But he was already back to the mystery at hand. "What I don't understand," he said, "is why the Professor didn't try to get them produced. If they're as good as you say, wouldn't he have wanted them to find an audience?"

"After what you just told me, I think I might know why," I said, giving up the moment as lost. "You'll want to read this one." I handed Jeff the play I had just finished reading, titled A Grave Man. "It's dated 1978. He must have already known he was dying when he wrote this. When you put it in that context, it's even more heartbreaking. This is his goodbye letter to the Professor. Can you imagine putting something that personal, that painful out there for people to view?"

Jeff swallowed. "And I just casually asked him for these."

"He trusted you with them. He trusted us with them. You'll want to read the note he sent, too."

Jeff did so. "Wow. Okay, no pressure there," he commented lightly. But his face was troubled.

The early-setting winter sun was disappearing behind the storm clouds outside when Jeff finished the play. One of his hands was gripping mine tightly. He closed the script, shut his eyes for a moment. He inhaled, and let out a shaky breath. "Oh my God," he whispered. One tear crept down his cheek. I watched it fall, mesmerized.

He turned and looked at me. His blue eyes were misted with more unshed tears. "That deathbed scene... and his lover's speech at the end. All that rage and grief and love."

I nodded my agreement. "I know." I was already imagining those ringing, devastating words delivered in Jeff's strong baritone.

His eyes narrowed in thought. "Scott," he declared.

I looked askance at him.

"Scott needs to read this," he explained. "He'll be an advocate for Ron Gordon's work. With his persistence and enthusiasm, we can get these plays in front of the audience they deserve."

"Scott's coming back for the cast party next weekend," I reminded him.

"Let's get copies made and make sure we bring them to the theater for him."

"I'll put a reminder note on the fridge," I answered, getting ready to stand up. "But right now, we'd better start thinking about dinner. It's getting late."

"No, wait. One more thing," he said, laying his hand on mine and preventing me from rising. The mist was back in his eyes.

"Daniel Lewis, I love you." My heart stopped. "I've been meaning to tell you for days now, but after this, reading that story, I don't want to let another moment pass without saying it. I love you. I don't ever want you to leave. I want you in my life, in my home, in my heart, and in my bed, always."

I was having a stroke, I knew it. A blood vessel in my brain had burst and I was dying, that was why I felt like my soul was floating away from my body. Any moment now I'd be seeing that white light people talk about. Jeff's face swam in front of me.

"Daniel? Babe, are you all right?"

No, I was paralyzed. That was it. That was why I couldn't speak. I couldn't stop smiling, either. I would go through the rest of my life like a statue with an ecstatic frozen grin on my face.

"Baby, you're scaring me. Can you hear me?"

Jeff reached out and stroked my cheek. His touch against my skin pulled me back into my body, released me from the shock that had bound me. I breathed in, a huge, shuddering gasp, and blurted out, "God, I love you too, Jeff!" and tackled him. We fell back together on the sofa. Scripts scattered across the floor.

"You do? You really love me?" The worry line between his eyebrows eased, and his arms tightened around me.

"Of course I do. I've been in love with you since our first night together."

"And you waited all this time to make me say it first?" He pulled me in for a savage kiss. "I see how this goes." Another kiss. "I'm the one who gets to take all the risks here, right?" A third kiss. His words were angry, but his tone was joking. And his dick, pressed firmly against mine through his jeans, was telling me how he really felt.

I pulled back from his fourth attempt, avoiding his eyes. "Sorry. I, uh, I just couldn't bear it if you'd said... if you weren't interested in anything more."

"Anything more?" he echoed in disbelief. "Daniel, when does the lease on your apartment run out?"

I wished I could have answered "tomorrow." I think I almost did. "February."

"Then move in with me. Move in with me February first. I want to make Valentine's Day with you last the entire month." This time I initiated the kiss. It got long, complicated, and very steamy before we broke apart again.

"Hey, get off me for just a second, babe. I have something for you." I reluctantly scooted back to let him off the couch. He disappeared into his study, and came back with the envelope he had been carrying when he first entered the house.

"This is for you. Something I promised you our first night together." I couldn't remember him promising anything to me. I had him; that was more than I had dared hope for. I opened the envelope and looked over the contents.

His test results. Jeff had gone and gotten tested for me. Clean bill of health.

He was very pale when I looked up from the paper. "I have to tell you, babe, I've never not used protection before. It... it scares me just to think about it. But if you would prefer going without... I just wanted you to know. I'm yours, any way you want me."

Truth be told, I had never really thought about it that much. Condoms had always seemed like just a mundane fact of life, something you used routinely unless by some fluke you happened to stumble upon the mythical realm of the committed relationship.

But somehow I had miraculously blundered into that realm, and Apollo had just offered me the keys to his temple. Who was this poor mortal to refuse?

The mere fact that Jeff would offer—and he was clearly anxious at the prospect of barebacking—meant more to me than any kind of sex. Not that I had any objection to that as well... at which point my hormones kicked in and started doing the thinking for me.

"Come with me," I told him. He followed me like a puppy dog, eyes eager and pleading, as I walked to the bathroom. "I haven't showered yet today," I told him. "Care to join me?"

The warm spray cascaded over both our bodies; billows of steam rose up around us. I positioned myself behind him and rubbed his tense shoulders until I felt him began to relax a little. Then I grabbed the soap and lathered us both up, trying to go as slowly and sensually as I could manage. Jeff's dick began to respond to my touch, gradually swelling in small, tight jerks until it reached its full, proud length.

Rinsing away the soap suds, I hiked one leg up on the edge of the tub and bent forward, exposing my hole to him. "Open me up, Jeff," I urged him. "Get me ready for you. I can't wait to feel you inside me." He obediently knelt behind me and got to work with his skilled tongue and practiced fingers, making my eyes roll back in my head from the stimulation.

When I couldn't wait any longer, my legs trembling with anticipation, I turned off the shower, toweled us both dry, and led Jeff by the hand to the bed. Spreading the towel on top of the bedspread, I retrieved the lube and slathered a generous amount over that perfect phallus, twisting my hand over the head the way I knew he liked. Lying back, I applied another handful of the slick liquid to my waiting bud, and looked at him invitingly. Jeff hesitated.

"You don't have to do this, babe," I told him seriously. "We can use condoms forever if you're more comfortable that way. I don't mind. It's your choice."

Jeff gulped and shook his head. "I want to know," he admitted. "I want to feel you, just you. Even if it's only this once."

"Once or always. I'm yours, any way you want me," I repeated his words from earlier.

Jeff was shaking as he prepared to breach me, his eyes screwed tight shut, breathing fast and shallow. I reached up and caressed his chest. "It's all right, baby," I reassured him. "No barriers, no fears. Just us. Okay?" He opened his eyes and looked into mine.

"Ready?" he whispered.

"Take me," I answered.

And he pressed forward, and I opened, and accepted my lover into my body, welcoming him home, where he belonged. He whimpered, but even as I adjusted to the glorious invasion his hips were already finding their rhythm, gliding back and forth against my hidden gland, making me shudder and sigh.

Our lovemaking was slow, sweet and tender. Our eyes never left one another as we shared the mounting sensation. From time to time one of us would whisper words of endearment and encouragement, but for the most part we shared a silent communion of bodies and souls, moving together as one, until Jeff finally breathed a surprised "oh!" and stiffened. I held my breath, welcoming the swelling of his rod, the sudden hot gush of my lover's seed inside me, mirrored only seconds later by my own ejaculation. We stared wonderingly at each other, bodies still locked together, shy and overwhelmed by the experience we had just shared.

We were both hungry, but neither of us was ready to leave the bedroom just yet. Snow had begun to fall outside at some point while we were engrossed in each other and oblivious to the world. We sat together in the window seat, wrapped in a blanket, and watched it fall, muffling the sound from the streets and cocooning us in our own private white refuge.