Act Cool

by Tobly McSmith

  My target was Elijah, which was easy. Got him the next day. After rehearsal, I waited outside Starbucks and soaked his rusty orange shirt. We made a big, loud scene of it. People standing around were not amused by our antics. I haven’t been hit yet. Whoever drew me hasn’t made their move.

  We pile into Old John’s and crowd around the small hostess stand. The smell of bacon and burnt coffee hits my nose immediately. The diner is old-school retro with neon lights wrapping around the walls. The kind of place you might find off a highway in Pennsylvania. But with New York prices. “How many?” Connie, the hostess, asks.

  I turn around and count. “Seven,” I say proudly.

  “Mr. Popularity over here,” Connie says. After rehearsal, it’s usually just me, Elijah, and Jamaal. Sometimes we have a special guest like Anna or Kelsey. But never seven.

  “Actually,” Jamaal says, “there’s eight.”

  Yazmin weaves through the crowd and stands next to him.

  “Eight it is,” Connie sings, pulling a handful of menus from the rack. We follow her to our table. “What’s the special occasion?”

  “It’s the night before tech week.”

  “Oh, hell week. I remember those times fondly, and not so fondly.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  “Yes, dear boy,” she says, maneuvering around a table of elderly people. “I used to be an actress. Turns out, I make more money at this gig.”

  I hate when people give up on their dream. I get scared I will someday, too. “You could still act,” I suggest.

  She lets out a guttural laugh. “I’ve retired. And this is your table, monsieur.”

  I take the seat at the head of the table. “Tonight, we will feast on the most expensive wines and meats,” I say to everyone as they find a seat, pretending to be the king. Everyone laughs—they love the Infamous AG—and sits down. Anna and Elijah take the chairs by me.

  Anna puts her napkin in her lap. “Did you hear about Justin and Tess?”

  “Yes, actually,” I answer. “You’re failing me.”

  She acts offended. “As the director, it would be uncouth for me to gossip with the actors.”

  “You’re the assistant director,” I remind her.

  “Watch this,” she says, and turns to the table. “So, I heard there’s going to be a workshop of a play at SPA before it goes to Broadway.”

  “Yeah,” Kelsey says. “There’s an article on Broadway World about it.”

  Anna looks at me. “Maybe I am losing my touch.”

  “Why SPA?” Tess asks.

  Anna shrugs. “It’s bigger than most Off-Broadway theaters.”

  “Didn’t Julie Taymor workshop a Shakespeare play at SPA?” Kelsey asks.

  “Did I hear-eth my name?” Jamaal sings.

  “Yes, Jamaal,” Anna says with a verbal eye roll. “They did one of your best works, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, like five years ago, before it went to Broadway.”

  “My dad worked with Julie Taymor on a short film,” Justin adds. He’s got his famous dad’s IMDb memorized and is ready to drop names whenever he can.

  “Anyways,” Anna continues, not liking to share the gossip spotlight, “the play is called Conversion. It’s apparently a dark comedy about LGBT conversion therapy.”

  The back of my neck gets hot. I think about that envelope from Brand New Day. If I had stayed in Pennsylvania, I might be in conversion therapy now. Instead, I’m here. I’m safe.

  “Joshua Downs is directing,” Yaz says.

  “Isn’t that the hotshot director out of California?” Kelsey asks.

  “Hot is right,” Elijah confirms.

  “Don’t believe the hype,” Anna says. “His last two shows have been total flops.”

  Justin laughs. “He’s probably not happy about doing a workshop at a high school. My dad would have quit.”

  Yaz jumps in. “I heard the cast is top notch. Imagine that, Broadway stars just walking around our school. I’m flipping out.”

  I can’t imagine it—I’m already starstruck by my classmates and their beginnings of fame.

  “They aren’t all from Broadway,” Anna says, grabbing the attention back. “There’s a star from some Nickelodeon show. Chris Caesar?”

  “Holy shit,” Tess says. “From Caesar’s World? He was my first crush.”

  Anna continues, “And he’s playing the . . .” She pauses, looking at me. “He’s playing the part of a transgender boy.”

  “But he’s cis?” Elijah protests, also looking at me.

  Turns out, everyone else is looking at me, too. They want to clock the reaction from the official trans person in the room. Tess smiles at me. “August shouldn’t have a problem. He believes the best person should get the part regardless of gender.”

  “This is different,” Justin says, earning him a look of death from Tess.

  Anna jumps in, ever coming to my defense. “August can play any role he wants, but cis people shouldn’t play the roles of trans people. It doesn’t go both ways.”

  “That’s a double standard,” Tess says, acting like the star of Legally Blonde.

  “There are very few transgender characters on Broadway, right, August?” Anna asks, giving her best Elle Woods.

  Everyone looks at me. Do I hold all trans knowledge? “Yes,” I confirm.

  “So why should some little Nickelodeon shit get to play the part? A transgender actor should play the transgender part.”

  “I’m fine with it,” I say, not knowing how I really feel about it. But the Infamous August Greene is laid-back and doesn’t like to cause a stir. “Chris Caesar was probably the best person for the role for some reason.”

  “August, seriously?” Anna asks. I shrug. I don’t know if I should be mad or sad or what. More than anything, I’m not surprised.

  My favorite waitress, Jane, comes by to take our order. “The usual, hon?” she asks me, pen in hand.

  “You know it,” I say. My usual is a bacon and egg sandwich with a cup of coffee—helps with the late-night homework. Also, I love that I have a usual order.

  “Where’d you find all these people?” she asks.

  “This,” Elijah says with an arm flare, “is the rest of the cast. We usually don’t invite them.”

  “We usually wouldn’t come,” Anna jokes.

  “Well, if your new friends aren’t good tippers, they can’t come back,” Jane says with a wink, then moves on down the table.

  “Guys,” Anna says to me and Elijah. “I have some news for you.”

  Elijah puts down his spoon. “I’m ready.”

  If the news is about Duncan, I’m not ready. They are both still secretly dating him. I was torn on what to do—tell Elijah, or Anna, or tell them together (then run out of the room). Aunt Lil told me to mind my business. So that’s what I did.

  “August has known for a while, but I wanted to keep it quiet . . . ,” she begins. I start to panic and stand up, accidentally pushing the table and nearly spilling the water glasses.

  “Elijah, can you come outside with me?” I ask.

  The entire table is looking at me. I smile at them. “Dude, what’s up?” Elijah whispers.

  “I’ll explain outside,” I say, then walk toward the door. Once outside, I start shivering. Should have grabbed my hoodie, but everything was moving too fast.

  Elijah exits Old John’s, laughing. “What’s going on?”

  “Look,” I say. “I should have told you this before, but Anna has been seeing Duncan.”

  His mouth falls open. “My Duncan?”

  “Your Duncan,” I confirm. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.”

  Elijah leans against the trunk of a car, hugging himself. I watch as he processes what I told him. He claimed the Duncan thing was casual, but it’s clear he caught feelings. “Duncan has been distant. I guess that’s why.” I’m relieved that he’s not mad at me for not telling him sooner. “I thought it was the cello. I guess it was Anna.”

  “I didn’t
want you to hear it from her first.”

  “Thanks, man. I might have thrown up.”

  If that’s true, I’m glad I pulled him out here. “You ready to head back?” I ask, hoping he says yes because it’s cold out.

  “No,” he says, and buries his face in his hands. “I really like that guy. And now I have to hear Anna gush about him? How will I do that, August?”

  I lean on the car beside him. “I understand,” I say, trying to think of what to say. “You’re an actor, so act.”

  He looks at me, slightly shocked. “You can do that?”

  “Sure,” I say, wondering why he’s surprised. “Just like onstage, I can be whoever I need to be for the scene. It’s working out for me.”

  “I can’t do that, but you do you,” he says.

  Thirteen

  Saturday, October 12

  7:45 P.M.

  It’s the night before the long tech day, and I should be home. Doing homework. Running my lines. Practicing songs and choreography. Instead, I’m standing on Broadway and Fiftieth Street, waiting for Elijah. I did homework all day—minus a small nap—and feel only a little behind. There’s always downtime during tech week. I can knock some algebra out then.

  But tonight, I need to show my friend a good time. He took the Anna-and-Duncan thing hard. I watched his face while Anna regaled us with the blow-by-blow of her and Duncan’s budding romance. They aren’t serious, but serious enough for Anna to brag. Elijah stayed strong, didn’t tell Anna about him and Duncan, and shed no tears into his western omelet. That’s a success in my book.

  I texted Elijah this morning and told him I had a surprise for tonight. I went to TodayTix in search of a show cheap enough to not make my aunt’s head explode when she gets her credit card bill. Broadway was out of the question—even the cheapest tickets were sixty bucks each. While scrolling through the Off-Broadway listings, I found a long-running show that sounded like the perfect night out to cheer up Elijah. And the price was right.

  “Hey, bro,” Elijah says, coming around the corner with a large coffee in hand.

  “How you doing?” I ask.

  He shrugs with his whole body. “I’ve been better. I really liked that guy. Oh, August, hold me,” he says, throwing his arms around me. I’ve never seen Elijah down. Usually he’s the brightest person in the room.

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  “I’ll never recover.”

  “Too bad you’re in a city with no hot guys,” I joke.

  He pushes me. “But I liked that one.”

  I put my arm around him and head north. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  “Wherever are we going?” he asks.

  “Just trust me,” I say, almost giddy for the surprise. We walk three blocks talking about the big tech day coming up tomorrow. Elijah has been through it at SPA, and he’s not stressed. Good for him.

  “Watch out for Mrs. Templeton,” he warns. “She’s in charge of costumes. Stay on her good side or you might have a costume malfunction, like a rip in the back of your pants.”

  “That didn’t happen.”

  “Did so,” Elijah says. “To this kid named Trip Fischer my freshman year. Also, get in good with the sound guy. He controls your levels, and you want to be heard. His name is Kenny and he collects what people think is too many Pokémon.”

  “I knew that,” I say.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah,” I lie. “Someone told me.”

  “Oh, I guess you don’t need me.” Elijah pretends to be hurt.

  “No, I need you. I’m freaked out about this week.”

  “It’s no big deal,” he assures me. “Just too many hours and someone gets sick. Someone gets hurt. An actor has a breakdown. Typical tech-week stuff. Also, did you see Tess and Justin last night? God, get a room.”

  “I hope she’s in love,” I say. “Maybe she’ll be nicer to me.”

  “Don’t waste a minute on the haters.” Elijah tosses his coffee cup into an overflowing trash can.

  “Here we are,” I say, pointing to the marquee.

  He looks up. “Naked Boys Singing?”

  “Thought this could take your mind off Duncan.”

  “Oh boy, will it,” he says, hopping up and down and clapping. “Naked dudes are exactly what I need to see.” He stops jumping and looks at me seriously. “Is this real?”

  I looked up reviews that confirmed the show is, in fact, guys singing in their birthday suits. Couldn’t find any videos online—probably due to the nudity. Hope Aunt Lil doesn’t go through my internet searches. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  “Oh yes we will, thank you,” he says, then kisses my forehead. It feels good to help a friend. We go inside an old church that’s now an Off-Broadway theater. I guess church-to-theater is a real thing in New York. The lobby is cramped with men and a couple of bachelorette parties wearing plastic penises all over their bodies. While Elijah runs to the bathroom, I pick up the tickets at the will-call window.

  The grumpy old man behind the window looks at me. “You over eighteen?” he asks.

  “I’m nineteen,” I lie with a smile.

  “Sure thing,” he says, then winks. He hands me the tickets and tries to hold on too long. I back away and dash off looking for Elijah, trying to not spill drinks out of people’s hands. This is not your typical Broadway crowd. They are younger, livelier, and wearing more plastic penises.

  I find Elijah by the makeshift bar trying to make eyes with a group of guys nearby. “August, man, this is exactly what I needed,” he says, then returns his attention to smiling at the guys. Having the cool senior as a friend is thrilling—it never gets old. I take a selfie of us under the Naked Boys Singing sign and post it. I hope Elijah shares it.

  “Doors are now open,” someone announces, and the mob starts funneling into the theater. I look around. It’s a small and beat-up theater, probably fits a hundred people. We find our seats—the only seats I could afford—in the last row. The upholstery is ripped, with stuffing coming out. The fabric on the armrests is barely holding on. When we sit, our butts sink down to the floor.

  Elijah smiles at me and says, “Ah, the charm of Off-Broadway.”

  “This is very far from Broadway,” I say, pretending like I’ve seen more than one Broadway show.

  “You know it’s called Off-Broadway because of seating capacity?” Elijah asks. “Any theater under five hundred seats is Off-Broadway, and anything above is Broadway.”

  “I knew that,” I say, even though I didn’t, in fact, know that.

  “You did?” he questions.

  When it comes to theater, I feel behind, but too embarrassed to admit it. “Yes.” I confirm my lie.

  He tilts his head. “Are you doing that thing where you act in real life right now?”

  He’s referring our conversation last night. “No,” I say.

  “You sure?” he asks, flipping through his Playbill—which is two pages long.

  I get frustrated that he doesn’t believe me. I don’t know how to respond.

  “August,” he says, “what’s wrong with being the new guy at school? People appreciate fresh eyes. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  I don’t like fresh eyes. The newbie isn’t cool. I’m not interested in that role. “I don’t want to be known as that.”

  “But you are like that. You are literally the new guy,” he says.

  “I still know tons about theater.”

  He gives me side-eye. “I can tell when you’re acting. Don’t get me wrong: you’re a good actor. You should just keep it on the stage.”

  I look down at my Playbill. Does he hate me? I’m self-conscious and there’s no pages to flip on this damn Playbill.

  The lights go down and Elijah starts clapping. The whole crowd is rowdy, ready to see some skin. Eight men come onstage in various bathing suit and underwear combos. Elijah sits up straight, his hands gripping the torn-up armrests, with a smile as big as Broadway. The crowd gets on their feet, hollering
at the men. Begging them to get naked. It’s all in good fun. Like the title promises, the eight men onstage get completely naked by the end of the first song. Halfway through the third song, “The Bliss of Bris,” Elijah leans over to me and whisper-yells in my ear, “I am living my best life. But if I ever think about auditioning for this show, please lock me in a basement.”

  “Will do,” I say, laughing, as the men dance onstage with their dicks flapping around comically. I watch the oddly shaped things bounce around, all different sizes, some hairy and some not. Some circumcised and some not. When the guys do a kick line, I see too much.

  I look down at my pants. Nothing in there. I feel like I was assembled wrong. Born missing a part. I’m afraid I’ll never feel complete. Cis guys grab them so proudly. Talk about them. Send pics of them. Have sex with them. And I’ll never know how any of that feels. I could never join Naked Boys Singing. I had no idea this show would bring me here. Theater always has a way of moving me, but this time it’s in the wrong direction. I spend the rest of the show in my head, thinking about my missing part.

  The final song brings everyone to their feet. Standing ovation. How could we not after the actors have revealed so much? Elijah is whistling loudly.

  As the crowd finds their way to the exit, Elijah says, “Let’s wait for the actors.”

  I look at my phone. Curfew is an hour and five minutes away. I’m already cutting it close. “Please,” he begs. “Pretty pretty please?”

  “I’m going to be late,” I say.

  He stops. “You have a curfew? Don’t you live with your aunt?”

  “It’s the only rule.”

  “It’ll take ten minutes,” he promises. “I want an actor to sign my Playbill.”

  “Are you sure that’s all you want from him?”

  “A boy can dream,” Elijah says, and we head outside to wait at the stage door—which for this Off-Broadway theater/soup kitchen is just the exit. Elijah stretches his back as we wait near a fire hydrant that’s been spray-painted gold. He stops. Looks at me. “You’re being weird. What’s up?”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “August, if we are going to be friends, you need to open up. I’ll wear you down. You won’t have a choice. So start talking.” He pinches my cheek to show his commitment.