The Final Act (19 page)

“The drama never ends.”

Elena smiled and cuddled against him. “Well, that’s life. People are happy, sad or bored. There’s nothing interesting about happy or bored so we discuss the drama. Would you rather hear about my exciting day of sorting socks or how I fought with Renée about who should clean the bathroom?”

He laughed. “How’s living with Renée going? It was nice of you to take her on.”

“I figure I can deal with her shit better than Gretchen could, and at least she’s not a slob like Cara. I’ve learned to tune her out.”

The taxi pulled up in front of their apartment building.

Standing on the sidewalk, Michael looked at the entrance and then at Elena. After they went to his room, there’d be no pretending the incident in the prop room had been a fluke. If she spent the night, they’d be a couple because there was no possibility of a one-nighter where Elena was concerned. The sex would mean something and he couldn’t pretend that it didn’t.

Michael had never had a relationship that lasted longer than a couple of months, never been seriously emotionally involved with anyone. He was entering uncharted territory here, and it made his heart pound with a kind of fear he never experienced before going onstage.

“So, you ready for this?” Was he asking her or himself?

Elena nodded. “I’m ready.” She took his hand, and together they entered the building.

Scene Seven: Washington D.C.

In Washington the troupe waited impatiently in the hotel lobby while Bob Plotz, the company manager, argued with the hotel manager about their rooms. Evidently someone had screwed up their reservation and now the hotel was booked solid.

Denny was lucky. He’d been one of the first into the hotel and had claimed a comfortable seat by a potted plant. Others stood in little groups, shifting from foot to foot, or leaned against walls, chatting together and waiting for the issue to be resolved.

Denny flipped through a brochure about Capitol tours, but didn’t look at it. Instead he watched Michael grab Elena’s hand and pull her out of the lobby, probably for a quickie in the nearest restroom. The couple was insatiable. These days one was likely to come across them dry-humping in any dark, secluded corner backstage, and when they weren’t kissing or groping, they eye-fucked from across the room. It was annoying, especially for someone as starved for sex and romance as Denny.

“No room at the inn,” Plotz announced, returning from haggling with management. “They’re calling other hotels to find rooms. We’ll have to take what we can get.”

The group gave a collective groan. Everyone was exhausted from hours on the road and ready for a hot shower and bed. The screw-up might not be Plotz’s fault, but he still received plenty of killing glances, as if he should always have the answers and be able to make things right. Denny felt for the CM. Sometimes things just spun out of your control.

It was almost two in the morning before the situation was resolved and all the actors and crew finally had rooms in various hotels throughout the city. It was a management nightmare.

Lying in another foreign bed in yet another city, Denny stared at the ceiling. It was six months since he’d left New York. Twelve weeks of rehearsals and performances in Chicago followed by grueling travel from city to city. He felt like he’d aged several years in that time. It seemed like he’d always been on the road and always would be. Maybe if he could count off the days until the tour was over he’d feel differently, but at this point he didn’t know if he had anyone to go home to at the end of the road.

Things were bad between him and Tom. Really bad. They’d never fought like this before.

After cancelling his plans to visit in Philadelphia, Tom had called back to apologize, but would still offer no good reason for his refusal to come. Their conversation ended with harsh words. Tom’s calmness only served to fuel Denny’s anger.

They hadn’t spoken for days after that, and when Denny finally took his turn at calling to apologize, the conversation was short, polite and stilted. Tom thought he might have a lead on a new job. No, he didn’t need anything, and he loved and missed him. Denny reminded him he could come visit any time, no matter where the show was. He’d pay for a ticket. Tom said he couldn’t right now, and Denny hung up on him.

That was the last conversation they’d had. Now, lonely in the middle of the night, Denny couldn’t figure out any way to repair the rift between them. Maybe he should go to New York, forcing Tom to tell him to his face it was over between them. But he didn’t really want to give him the opportunity to end it for real.

Sick of running a maze of what ifs, Denny closed his eyes and finally surrendered to sleep and a night of anxious dreams. He woke exhausted and rolled out of bed to get ready for another day of work. Funny, acting had never seemed like work until this never-ending trip.

Onstage that night, Denny dove into Richard, attempting to feel the man’s emotions as if they were brand new and he hadn’t played them night after night. He begged Kathleen to choose him, even knowing she loved Aaron best, but Denny had never really bought into Richard accepting second place in Kathleen’s heart. For Denny, love must be all-encompassing.

After the show, Elena caught up with him before he went to change. She threw her arm around his back and hugged him. “Hey, buddy, what’s up? You’ve been quiet lately.”

Denny gestured at the dark theater around them, the backside of the set and the catwalk above. “This is what’s up. That’s all there is. Get up. Come here. Do this. Kill time and sleep, and do it all again the next day.”

Elena grinned. “Better than frying burgers at McDonald’s, though.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders. “How about you? Enjoying your new ‘boyfriend’?” He stressed the word in a sing-song voice.

She attempted a glare but her smile grew wider. “He’s not my—”

“Ri-ight.” Denny felt a pang of jealousy. He remembered what it was like, the excitement of a new romance when the page was blank, when anything was possible and you couldn’t stop smiling.

Elena shrugged. “We’re…good. Happy. Enjoying each other. That’s all you can hope for, isn’t it?” She looked up at Denny, her eyes glinting. “He still drives me nuts though.”

“That’s what keeps it hot.” They’d reached the dressing rooms, and Denny removed his arm from her shoulders. “I’m happy for you. And jealous.”

“You and Tom still haven’t talked?” Elena frowned. “Don’t let it go on. Even if you think he’s wrong, one of you has to be man enough to break the silence. You’ve got to call him and have it out.”

He stared at the scarred wood of the changing room door. “Maybe. But not tonight.”

“It will only get harder if you keep waiting.”

“Yes, Mom.” Denny saluted her and escaped into the men’s dressing room.

Despite his intention of making it an early night, Denny allowed Logan to drag him to a bar along with Chris and some of the other men from the chorus. It was good to be part of a guys’ night out, certainly better than sitting alone in his room, watching TV. But being around Logan and Chris with their sophomoric banter made him feel old, although they were actually only a few years younger than he. Logan’s manic babbling and Chris’s lame jokes got old fast.

After a bit, Denny and his understudy, Tanner, left the table and went to play darts. Denny found the repetitive motion soothing. He concentrated and tossed over and over, hitting close to the center of the target every time.

“Dude, look,” Tanner muttered. “That guy is checking you out.”

“What?” Denny lost focus and tossed wildly, the dart barely sticking in the outer ring of the dartboard.

“The guy in the sharp jacket at the end of the bar, right next to the guy in the ugly green shirt.”

Denny glanced sideways. An extremely good-looking, dark-haired man in a leather jacket was watching them.

“How do you know he’s not looking at you?” Denny asked.

“Because I’m not gay, and it’s so obvious his eyes are on you. Go talk to him.” Tanner nudged his arm.

Denny lifted another dart and stared at the board before he threw. “Why? You know I’m involved.”

Tanner made a scoffing sound. “Please! Don’t give me that committed relationship bullshit. You need to get laid, like yesterday, man. At least a fucking hand job. That guy is seriously hot, and your boy back home never needs to know.”

“I’d know.” Denny walked to the board and pulled his darts.

Tanner waited until he returned then continued, “It wouldn’t mean anything. At least talk to him and see how things go.”

Denny shook his head, but he cut another glance at the hot guy with his sharp, even features and dark eyes. He was very attractive in a fine-boned Keanu Reeves kind of way.

The decision of whether to talk to him or not was taken out of his hands when the man rose from the bar and walked over to them.

“Hi. I’m Paul.”

“I’m Tanner. This is Denny. We’re actors. You know the musical
Transitions
? It’s playing at the National Theater. Yeah, well, Denny here’s a lead.”

“Really?” Paul raised an eyebrow. “I have tickets for next weekend. What role do you play?”

“Richard.” Denny shifted the fistful of darts into his left hand and extended his right to shake hands. Paul’s grip was firm, his palm dry and smooth. Excitement shimmered through Denny at the brief touch.

“Don’t let the romance in the play fool you. He’s gay.” Tanner clapped a hand on Denny’s shoulder. “I’m not. We’re just hanging out together, so we’re not, like,
together
or anything. He’s a free agent.”

“Tanner!” Denny said sharply. “Stop now.”

Paul smiled. “Can I buy you guys a drink?”

“Uh,” Denny said.

Tanner interrupted. “You know what? I’m going to go see what the rest of the gang is up to, so you two go ahead. Find a table. Get acquainted.” He turned and wove his way through the crowded bar.

“He’s not at all subtle, is he?” Paul asked.

“And not at all straight, although he thinks he is,” Denny added. “No straight guy would notice you watching us and call you hot.”

Paul’s smile widened, showing even, white teeth. “He said I’m hot? What did you say?”

“Well, I agreed with him, of course”—Denny set the darts down—“then reminded him I have a boyfriend back home who I’m very committed to.”

Paul nodded. “Must be tough being on the road.”

“Yes. Very.”

“How about that drink? You can tell me what it’s like. It has to be thrilling being onstage, singing those great songs and getting all that applause.”

Denny nodded. “But as my mom used to say, ‘Shiny new pennies grow tarnished’. Translated: everything gets old.”

“I can imagine.”

They sat at a small table with a wobbly leg, the only one free in the place. Paul raised his hand to summon a waitress and ordered a couple of local micro-brews. “Hope you’ll like O’Days. It’s dark and kind of heavy for some people’s taste, but I like it.”

Paul’s soft Southern accent was pleasant on the ear. It wasn’t broad, just a subtle hint of drawn out Rs and soft As.

“Are you local?” Denny asked.

Paul shook his head. “Virginia. I moved here about seven years ago with my partner, Will.” He paused. “We broke up last year.”

“So it was a pretty long-term relationship.”

“Yes. Nine years in all.”

“And then it ended.” Denny felt a stab of pain in his chest just from saying the words. “Do you mind… Can I ask if either of you was…?”

Paul smiled again, a pretty flash of white against his tan skin. “No. Nobody was cheating. We just grew apart, I guess.”

The waitress dropped off a pair of longnecks, and Paul paid. Denny nodded his thanks and took a swig from the bottle. “While you were together did you ever? Cheat?”

Paul wiped his finger through the condensation on the bottle. “I’d like to be able to say ‘no’.”

“How often? Were they affairs or just one time… Jesus, I’m sorry. I’ve got no business asking you that. I don’t even know you.” Denny’s gaze dropped to study the label on the beer, an old-fashioned ink etching of a barmaid with a foaming mug in each hand.

“You sound worried,” Paul said. “Are you afraid to trust your man back home…or yourself?”

“Me? No. I’d never cheat on Tom. Ever!” Denny frowned and looked up at the other man, noting the obvious interest in his eyes, denying it and trying to quash it with his words.

“Of course not, but you’re lonely and maybe you think about it sometimes in a strange city like this. A random encounter. Maybe just a blow job. He’d never know.” Paul’s mouth slipped over then off the end of the bottle.

Denny’s gaze riveted on Paul’s mouth and the tongue that darted out to lick his soft lips. Was this guy some dark angel sent by the devil to tempt him?

“I’d know,” he said faintly, echoing what he’d told Tanner.

“Is it really cheating, though?” Paul leaned closer over the tipsy tabletop. “What if you just kissed someone a little? Does that count?”

Denny was drawn into those gleaming, black eyes. He couldn’t remember the appropriate answer. “No. I mean, yes it counts, and no, I wouldn’t do it.”

“Mm.” Paul sucked in his bottom lip and let it go. “Too bad.” He leaned back in his chair, releasing Denny’s eyes, and took another sip of beer. “So, tell me about being on a national tour. How is that? What do you do when you’re not onstage?”

Denny lifted his beer. “This. There’s not a lot else to do. Although, I
have
seen the Taj Mahal made completely from chocolate at a food fair, and the world’s largest baseball bat in Louisville. It’s an interesting country we live in.”

Paul laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want to get out of here, go back to my place and hang for a while? You must get sick of hotel rooms.” He held his hands up. “I promise not to assault your virtue. We’ll just talk.”

Denny weighed his options. He feared what talking might lead to and didn’t know if he had the fortitude tonight to be a good boy. He’d passed too many long, lonely nights. On the other hand, surely he had the self-control to choose how far he went, and it would be a pleasure to escape the smoky bar and sit in someone’s living room like a real guest.