Stage Fright (17 page)

“Almost.”

A couple of hours later, when he got up to use the bathroom, Jesse realized he was…not fall-down drunk, but pretty close. “Be right back,” he muttered.
He made his way to the bathroom and back and lowered himself carefully onto the couch.

“Whoa, Jesse. You okay?”

 

“I’m good.” The room wasn’t spinning, but things seemed to be bouncing up and down whenever he tried to focus on them.

He tried to count the empty beer cans on the coffee table but gave up on an exact number. There were way more than six, though. He and Mike had been talking about restaurants and bars, brainstorming places where he could apply, and he hadn’t kept count of how many beers he’d drunk. It looked like he’d been matching Mike beer for beer, even though Mike probably weighed a good forty pounds more.

“You want some water?”
That sounded like a great idea. “Yeah, thanks.”
Mike got up and came back with a big glass. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t drink

much.”
“Too many carbs in beer.” Jesse drank half the water in a couple of enormous
gulps.
“You need to eat something.”
“I’m okay. I just need to stop drinking.”

“Want me to order a pizza?”

 

“Well…” He couldn’t turn down pizza. “Can we have pepperoni and mushroom?”

Mike smiled. “Extra cheese too, if you want.”
“Hell, yeah.”
It seemed like the pizza came in minutes. Jesse downed the first piece almost

without chewing.

Mm, so good.
He was on his third piece when Mike spoke. “How’s Val with all this?” Jesse chewed carefully, buying time. “He doesn’t know yet.”

“What? Why not? He’s gotta be happy. You get to keep your clothes on, and your schedules will gel better. You’ll probably have a lot more time together.”
Jesse put down his half-eaten slice and wiped his hands on a paper towel. “We had our first fight. We haven’t spoken since.” Though he’d sneaked a peak at Val from backstage before the show. Val looked tired, like he’d slept as poorly as Jesse.

Mike’s face scrunched up with concern. “Shit, Jesse. You’re still together, though, right?”
“I think so.” He was almost afraid to see Val in case he was wrong.

Mike’s eyebrows rose. “You think so?”

 

“We said some things to each other, and I walked out.” Jesse bit his lip. “We fought about me working as a stripper. And some other stuff too.”

Mike set his pizza down and sat back. “Stripping can be hard on a relationship. That’s why most dancers are single.”
Jesse reached blindly for a beer. He fumbled for the pull tab, his vision blurring.

Mike took it out of his hands. “You don’t want that. Here.” He handed him the glass of water.

Jesse blinked. His throat felt tight. “I love him, Mike.” Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He’d always been a sappy drunk.
“Aw, kid. I bet he feels pretty strongly about you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t care what you do, would he? He wouldn’t want to close down the petting zoo.”
Jesse smiled reluctantly. “No.”
“So when are you gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

 

“Don’t wait. Tell him right after you tell Chaz.”

“Yeah.” Jesse leaned back against the couch. He was drunk, tired, and feeling blue. “Can I stay here? Chris is working tonight, and I don’t want to be by myself.”
“Sure. You can bed down on the couch. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket. I shouldn’t give you a ride home anyway. I’m probably over the limit.” Mike stood.

“Thanks, Mike.” Jesse closed his eyes.

 

He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, Mike was sliding him sideways and lifting his legs onto the couch.

 

“Here you go.”

His head sank into a soft pillow, and a light weight settled over his body. “Don’t wanna sleep in my jeans,” he complained, eyes still closed. He fumbled with his button and zipper and wriggled halfheartedly.

Mike cursed under his breath, and the blanket disappeared.

He felt a tug at the legs of his jeans. Then the blanket was back, and cool fingers combed through his hair, gently pushing it off his face.
“Sorry ’bout this,” Jesse mumbled.

“It’s okay. Get some sleep.” The fingers stroked his hair once more.

Jesse sighed and turned into the touch. “Think it’ll be okay with me and Val if I say I’m sorry?”
Mike didn’t answer right away, and Jesse was on the edge of sleep when he did.
“’Course it will. If I was Val and you wanted to make up, I’d be on you like white on rice.”
“That’s good, then.” Jesse smiled and dropped into oblivion.

Chapter Thirteen

When Jesse woke just after dawn, his head throbbed, and it felt like someone had wallpapered his tongue. He staggered to the bathroom and back to the couch. He woke a few hours later to the rich smell of fresh coffee. Somewhere to his right a newspaper rustled. He opened gummy eyes.

Mike was sitting in the chair beside the dead fig tree. “Good morning, sunshine.” “Morning,” Jesse croaked.
“What’s a six-letter word for
bothersome task
?”

Jesse sat up and winced. “Ugh, headache.”
Mike’s lips curved. “That’s eight.” He tapped the pencil against his teeth. It sounded like a spoon banging against the side of a pot. Jesse groaned.

“I left painkillers and a glass on the bathroom counter. Go take a shower, and I’ll fix you some breakfast if you think you can keep it down.”
Jesse stood up slowly. His headache flared, then settled down to a steady throbbing behind his eyes. “I don’t want to be a hassle.”
“That’s it.” Mike bent his head and scribbled something on the newspaper. “Thanks.”
“What?”
“The crossword answer. Any ideas about a four-letter word for
nurse’s offering
?”

“Sorry, no.” Jesse shuffled off to the bathroom, leaving Mike laughing. It wasn’t right for someone to be so chipper this early.

An hour later he was pretty much back to normal. The painkillers and shower dealt with his headache. Coffee and toast had helped too. Jesse sat at the bus stop. Mike had offered him a ride home, but he’d imposed enough already.

Jesse checked his watch, then the street. No sign of the bus yet. He could use a few more hours of shut-eye, but he was too uptight to sleep. It made more sense to go in early and catch Chaz before rehearsal. Better to get this over and done with before the other dancers showed up. Chaz usually arrived at the theater before anyone else.

He’d go home, kill some time, and then head in. He stood as the bus turned the corner and lumbered to a stop. If he was lucky, Chaz would be glad to see him gone.

When Jesse got home, Chris was awake and eating dry cereal straight from the box while he watched a cooking show.
“Well, well. Looks like someone was up way past their bedtime.”

Jesse pushed Chris’s feet off the sofa and sat down. Chris promptly dumped his feet in Jesse’s lap, missing his groin by less than six inches.
“Shouldn’t you still be in bed?” Jesse shoved irritably at Chris’s legs.

“Nah. I couldn’t sleep. By the way”—Chris tossed a piece of cereal at him—“we’re out of milk.”

 

“So? It’s not my turn to pick up groceries.”

 

“What’s the matter, grumpy? Did you and Val stay up too late trading secrets and reading ghost stories under the covers?”

Jesse was too cranky to deal with Chris’s brand of humor. “Let me bring you up to speed. I fought with Val, stomped off all mad, quit my job, got drunk, and passed out on Mike’s couch.”

Chris sat up. “Holy shit. You okay?”

 

Jesse propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his palms. “Yeah. I’m just dehydrated and sleep deprived.”

“I’m no doctor, but dude, my diagnosis is you’ve got a hangover.” Chris put the cereal box on the floor. “You didn’t quit because you and Val broke up, did you?”
Jesse shook his head. “I quit for lots of reasons. My parents’ visit was one. And we didn’t break up. We just argued. It’ll be okay,” he said, more to reassure himself than Chris.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.” Actually not at all. He was more than a little freaked out that he might have unintentionally broken up with Val. The lack of any kind of contact was worrying. If they were still together, shouldn’t Val have tried to talk to him by now?

“Okay.” Chris flopped back and dropped his feet onto the coffee table.

Jesse winced at the loud thump. Maybe he should send a text. Be the first to break their radio silence. He pulled out his phone and texted,
If you’re still willing to listen, I’d like to tell you some things
, before he could change his mind.

“Guess you covered getting shitfaced with a friend last night, but if you need to talk or whatever, let me know.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

His phone vibrated. He checked the screen and read,
I’ll always listen to you
.

He sighed with relief and texted back,
See you tonight?
The response was immediate.
Sure.
“That’s from Val?”

“Yeah.” Jesse leaned back. “I think things are going to be okay.”

 

“I’ve never seen you angry. You must have a hell of a long fuse. But if you did blow up and he hasn’t kicked you to the curb, you guys must be getting serious.”

 

“A long fuse but a powder-keg temper, I guess.” Jesse squirmed, embarrassed at his loss of control and reluctant to discuss his feelings with Chris.

Chris turned his attention back to his show, but he kept flicking sideways glances at Jesse. “I’m guessing you don’t want to dance for anyone else. Want me to ask around at work, see if anyone’s hiring?”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

“You’ll need work cards.”
“I know. I’ll get them.”
“Good.” Chris stuck his hand in the cereal box and ate a handful as they watched

a celebrity TV chef chop onions as if trying to set a world record.

 

“I’d like to be able to cut vegetables up that fast,” Chris said.

“You can’t cook.”
“Maybe if I could chop vegetables like that, I’d try.”
Jesse rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna get ready and go in early. I still have to tell Chaz

I’ve quit.”
“Oh, man.” Chris gave him a sympathetic look. “Is he that asshole dance
commander?”

Jesse snorted with amusement. “Dance captain.”

 

“Whatever. He’s still an asshole, right?”

“Yeah.” Jesse got to his feet. Now he had a mental image of Chaz in a military dress uniform, except a stripper version, shirtless with maybe a riding crop and shiny boots. He smirked.

Chris saw his expression but misinterpreted its cause. “Here I am feeling all sorry for you, and you’re busy thinking about makeup sex.”
Jesse smacked him in the back of the head.

* * * *

Jesse was the first to arrive at the theater. He sat in the empty dressing room, the steady drip from a leaky showerhead marking the slow passage of time. After twenty minutes or so Chaz showed up, his gym bag slung over one shoulder. They stared at each other warily.

Chaz broke the silence. “You’re here early.”

 

“I came to talk to you.”

Chaz glanced around, making sure they were alone. He dropped his bag on a nearby bench. “I asked you to be friendly and turn on the charm. That’s all. If you thought it was more than that, you misunderstood.” His gaze met Jesse’s and slid away evasively.

“So you just wanted me to be friendly?”

Chaz relaxed, completely missing the skepticism in Jesse’s voice. “Yeah, just have a drink with him or something.”
Right. And pigs might fly, but that wasn’t why he was here. “That’s not what I want to talk to you about.”
Chaz blinked. “What, then?”
“Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.” Jesse strode to the dressing room door, which opened just before he reached it.
“Whoa, Jesse. I almost knocked you over.” Eric, their MC, stood smiling. He looked from one to the other, and his smile faded. “What’s up, guys?”
“I was just going to talk to Chaz,” Jesse said. Inspiration struck. Having Eric along as a witness might defuse some of Chaz’s wrath. “Actually I should tell you too.”

“Really? Okay.”

Jesse led the way to the theater. Other than a small light over the bar and the redlit exit signs, the theater was dark. He found the switches for the house lights and flicked on a few.

He’d never been on this side of the curtain before when the theater was empty. From the stage the theater seemed bigger, but in actuality the room was small, with tables and uncomfortable-looking seats crowded together.

He sat at one of the tables. Eric sat across from him, but Chaz stood in front of the stage, his jacket open and pushed back out of the way, hands on his hips and feet planted firmly. He looked like a gunslinger ready for a showdown, only less cool.

“So what did you want to talk to us about?” Eric asked.

“Well…” Jesse had planned what he’d say, but now, with Eric looking at him expectantly and Chaz scowling, the words weren’t there.
“I don’t have all day,” Chaz complained.

No matter how he said it, Chaz would be seriously choked. Jesse was only delaying the inevitable. He took a deep breath and looked Chaz in the eye. “I quit yesterday. I’m not going to strip anymore.”

Chaz flicked invisible lint off his sleeve, then folded his arms. He leaned back against the stage. “I knew it,” he said flatly. “Did your boyfriend put you up to this?”

“No. This was my decision.” Jesse shot a quick look at Eric, who was turning his head back and forth as he followed their conversation.
“You picked a fine time to grow a pair. How much time do I have for damage control?”
Jesse rubbed at a gouge on the table. “I’ll be gone in two weeks.”

Chaz shook his head. “That’s fucking great. How am I supposed to find a replacement for you that fast?”
Jesse pressed his lips together as he fought the urge to apologize.

“There’s Tyson. He already knows most of the numbers,” Eric said.

Chaz sneered. “Tyson’s barely keeping up, and what am I supposed to do for a solo? He can’t handle Jesse’s routine, and there’s no way we can get a brand-new one ready in that time.” He turned to Jesse. “You’re lucky I need you, or I’d boot you out on your ass right now.”

Jesse stiffened with indignation. “I have two weeks left, but if you want rid of me, go for it. Otherwise just stop riding me, and let me do my job.”

Chaz’s nostrils flared. He took two steps forward and stopped, breathing hard. Jesse was glad the table and a couple of chairs were between them. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You lost your artistic integrity the minute you decided to quit your goddamn job, so don’t try acting the indignant professional now.” His face was a reddish purple. “You’re just an amateur with some good moves. They’re not even that great.”