by Laura Stone
There was that deep ache again.
“That’s a tall order,” Oliver sighed. “I don’t know that he’d want to see me, let alone talk to me. And that’s sort of important for forging a friendship, right? Being able to talk to each other?”
“Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”
They fell silent. Oliver turned up the music to hear some melancholy number playing. “Come on, Gus! Seriously. You’ve had nothing on but songs about breaking up and regret for the past fifty miles.”
Gus bit his lip to hold in his smile. “Don’t worry, the gangsta rap cycle is about to start after this song.”
Oliver laughed as he rubbed his face with both hands. “As long as there’s no more emo, I’m good.”
Gus checked the rearview mirror and changed lanes. “Just be glad I didn’t put any country on the list. Far less subtle.”
“Less subtle? That’s like saying a lake is less wet than the ocean.”
“Technically, that’s true. If you’re talking about mean volume.”
“Oh my God.”
As Tupac blasted from the speakers, Oliver drifted off, thinking about whether it could ever be possible for him to have Seth in his life again, but only as a friend. Maybe Oliver just wasn’t ready to be that grown-up about things, not when they involved Seth Larsen. And not when he was quite possibly still desperately in love with him.
* * *
The two checked into their respective rooms at the hotel with the intention of meeting up in the bar for a drink before the show. Oliver dropped his bag on the extra chair in his room and fell onto the bed with a groan. He didn’t know what he was doing; he could barely keep a handle on his thoughts and his feelings, which vacillated between excitement and abject terror.
He lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to think of a way to get out of going to the show. It was cowardly, he knew. Well, maybe he wanted to be a coward. He groaned and threw an arm over his face. He’d already done the scared routine, when he kept his college plans a secret back then. It was time to face the music. In a dark room where Seth would never know that he’d been there. Like a man.
With a shaky breath, he sat up and got to the task of unpacking his suitcase. They’d be here for a few days; he could at least get some museum visits and good food out of the trip. As he pulled his sport coat out to be hung up, he spied the tie-wrapped package of letters. Was he really going to just sit in a hotel room and read old letters like some pathetic sad sack?
Yep. He unwrapped the tie and laid it flat on the bed. Off went the blue ribbon, and he flipped past the first letter; he’d memorized that back home all those years ago. He saw the mailing address on the second letter and laughed out loud. How had he forgotten that Seth made up names and businesses on some of them?
Cary Grants In Training Institute
c/o Oliver Andrews, President (and also a client!)
134 Nutmeg Ct
Atchison, KS 43081
And a later one:
Preppy Boys Inc. Clothing Warehouse
c/o Oliver Andrews (I can only assume it’s in your closet)
134 Nutmeg Ct
Atchison, KS 43081
Oliver looked at the blue and green-striped tie, the shawl-collared sweater and dark gabardine trousers that he’d brought to wear. Well, at least he’d be predictably preppy tonight.
“I think a head start at the bar is in order for the evening,” he muttered.
He wrapped the letters back up, grabbed his toiletry bag and headed to the shower.
* * *
When the trio rounded the corner onto Forty-fourth Street it hit him: this was real. Seth was actually performing on Broadway in one of the most beloved theaters in the district. A thrill of happiness ran through him as they walked under the large awning lit up with lights. He was just so damn proud of Seth for sticking to his goals and making it through sheer determination. Well, and a broken leg on the original star’s part, but hey, that was how the business worked.
Oliver whistled at the poster out front. It featured Seth looking back over his shoulder with the chorus filling in the background. Oliver asked Gus, “So this play is modernized Shakespeare, homosexual, and has original rock music? Um… isn’t that sort of what Jesus Christ Superstar was going for?”
Gus turned his head sharply as he guided his girlfriend, Emily Ishimoto, through the theater doors. “Don’t you dare mention Andrew Lloyd Webber to me, Oliver. The man wrote a musical with people on roller skates, for God’s sake.”
Oliver held up his hands in an apology, laughing a bit. “Sorry, sorry. But really. People are into this? I never would have guessed.”
“It’s sold out for the next six months, with every celebrity imaginable showing up for prime seats, so you tell me. We never would have gotten in without the comped tickets.”
Oliver eyed the scalpers a few yards off selling tickets at ridiculously high prices and noticed the energy and excitement in the people standing in line. He guessed the theater-going crowd had decided jukebox musicals were gauche and wanted a little culture after all. He’d listened to bits of the soundtrack to get an idea of what the show would be like, and it was very Baz Lurhman-esque.
The buzz and excitement of the theater patrons seeped into Oliver, ramping up his already-heightened nerves. Emily led the way to their seats, followed by Gus, with Oliver bringing up the rear. They had excellent seats, courtesy of Seth, four rows from the front on the right aisle. Emily didn’t want to sit at the end of the row, so that seat went to Oliver.
So much for being hidden in the back of the theater.
The loud noise of the crowd prevented him from being able to engage properly in conversation with Gus and Emily, so he left them alone and indulged in a little people-watching. The crowd ran from older Broadway patrons to middle-aged couples—both gay and straight, he was happy to see—to young people about his age and even younger, all thrumming with the excitement that only comes with the theater.
Oliver settled into his seat and flipped through the pages of his playbill, seeing mostly ads and kudos to various investors. He came to the page where Seth’s bio was listed and his breath hitched just a bit. He traced the border of the photo with his fingertip. Seth wasn’t really smiling; it was a hint of a smile, as if a wonderful thought was just coming to him. Oliver had seen that look more times than he could remember. Seth’s eyes looked almost sleepy; his hair was perfect. He looked older, obviously, but he still looked like the boy Oliver had fallen in love with all those years ago.
Seth Larsen (The Fair Youth/Willie Hughes) is in equal measures shocked and overjoyed to find himself playing the role of Mr. W.H., making this his Broadway debut. (Get well soon, David! Hmm, not too soon, please?) From humble beginnings in Small Town, USA, a.k.a. Atchison, Kansas, he got his first stage experience while performing with his high school’s choir. (Support the arts in schools!) Seth, a graduate of the prestigious Juilliard School, has performed in multiple off-off-off-Broadway productions (read: back alleys and the subway); as an understudy and swing for Book of Mormon: The Musical; and in the chorus of Hairspray, both on Broadway and in the national touring company. He would like to give the most heartfelt thank you to his loving and supportive father, Michael “Big Mike” Larsen; to the Steel Horse Riders, for sticking up for kids in need; to Bakerfield Prep’s Choir for letting a contralto have a solo or five; to Professor Poynter, who always pushed him to hit High F in everything in life; and to his first duet partner, who made him believe he could finally get here.
Oliver’s stomach looped a few times before dropping into nothingness, and his heart began to race as he reread the last phrase again and again, almost bubbling over from hope. He shook his head and told himself that Seth must be referring to someone else in choir back in high school. Then he forced himself to take a deep breath. He was being ridiculous. Why on earth would Seth mention him? There was no reason at all. Clearly it was someone else.
Except… Oliver was the only duet part
ner Seth had in choir, right? He couldn’t remember. And Seth had mentioned everyone from his old life. Oliver ticked the names off one by one, trying to see who was left out. He didn’t mean Oliver, couldn’t. It would be incredibly self-centered of Oliver to think that Seth was talking about him. But he couldn’t help the tiny thrum of want and hope vibrating in him as the lights dimmed, even though the thought gave him a queer little pang of homesickness.
Oliver murmured, “Here we go,” under his breath as the audience quietened and the show began. Smiling, he thought about how Seth-like the bio had been. He loved that Seth hadn’t let an assistant or an agent write it for him.
He’s still funny. Oh my God… and still unbelievably attractive.
A single spotlight cut through the dark theater, highlighting where Seth sat on a wooden stool, the only decoration on the empty stage. He was dressed simply in period leather breeches and a linen shirt, open at the neck.
After the applause died down, Seth acknowledged the audience. “I just needed work. And Will–pardon—William. He just needed… me.”
The crowd, the tiny vibration in Oliver’s chair as Gus bounced his leg up and down in the seat next to him, hell, the entire room disappeared as he watched Seth bring his character to life. Oliver knew the story was based on the person to whom William Shakespeare had dedicated all of his sonnets, and that some people hypothesized that the mysterious “Mr. W.H.” was actually Willie Hughes, a slight and delicate-featured actor from Shakespeare’s theater company, The King’s Men, and that the two were often lovers. According to this play, W.H., or The Fair Youth, served as Shakespeare’s muse.
Oliver watched Seth take full command of the audience, his melodious voice setting the stage for them, briefly explaining how it was common for boys with fair complexions to take on female roles in the theater. He moved lightly across the stage, drawing the back of his hand down his cheek as he said, “A woman’s face that nature’s own hand painted is the, ahem, mistress of your passion.”
Oliver sat transfixed as the Bard fell in love with Willie, who inspired him to write the great plays of his career. The more Shakespeare poured his adoration into Willie, the younger and more ethereal Willie became. One number involved a complicated tango as the two sang a modernized retelling of Sonnet 40 after Shakespeare found Willie flirting with another man. Oliver made a tight fist in his lap when the other man, a dough-faced actor, leered and made a pass at Seth, who was idly playing on a stringed instrument.
“Give the strings your fingers, and me your lips.”
Oliver looked away as the two actors kissed passionately, feeling a little sick. He had no right to feel jealousy, and Seth was an actor; it wasn’t the same, he reminded himself. Regardless, he felt for William as the actor stormed about, enraged and heartbroken at The Fair Youth’s deceit.
“It hurts more to be injured by a lover than an enemy,” William cried. “And even if you destroy me with these hurts, don’t let us become enemies.”
Oliver thought of the term Shakespeare had used only moments before, “lascivious grace,” and how perfectly it defined Seth in this role. His linen shirt hung loosely off his shoulders, opened at the neck even farther than it had been at the beginning of the play, giving Oliver a glimpse of Seth’s collarbone and the smooth expanse of skin on his torso, barely stippled with faint brown hair. His eyes shone brightly under the stage lights, making their hazel color even more prominent. He simply took Oliver’s breath away.
The first act was drawing to its close with Shakespeare stalking about, quoting Sonnet 34, but in plain English. “Why did you make me a promise, like a ray of hope that could dry the tears from my aggrieved face… and what matters that when nothing can remove this disgrace? You say you’re sorry, but that doesn’t take away my pain!”
Seth stood still, his character taking the abuse hurled at him. Oliver couldn’t watch the other actor; he only had eyes for Seth and the grief on his face. Oliver felt like he was reliving that horrible moment in his bedroom all over again. Seth’s character was finally spurred to action when he realized that his lover was leaving him. “You gave me your heart!” Seth cried. “You… you cannot take it back again!” He collapsed to his knees, and the stage went black.
Oliver was breathing shallowly and keeping a tight grip on the arms of his seat, when he was shaken from his thoughts by Gus.
“You okay? Emily needs to freshen up.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry.” Oliver stood and stepped into the aisle to allow Gus and Emily to use the intermission time as they needed. He sat back in his seat and thumbed through the playbill again, wanting to look at Seth. Not the actor onstage who was ripping his heart out—and God, he was so proud of him; it hurt, the sheer amount of awe building up inside him—but Seth. His Seth. Well, used to be his.
“He’s very good, isn’t he?”
Oliver looked up to see that Emily was back. She swept her long, shiny black hair over one shoulder and smiled at him.
“I’m blown away,” Oliver said. “I’ve never really seen him act in a dramatic role. But this… wow.” He shook his head and stood up, moving aside and allowing Emily and Gus to get back to their places.
The lights overhead flashed and the rest of the audience took their seats quickly. Gus used the moment to lean in and ask Oliver quietly, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Oliver let out a long exhalation. “He’s amazing. I’m glad we came.” He turned to give Gus a small smile. “Really. I’m honestly happy for him.”
Gus smiled back and gently punched Oliver’s shoulder as the music began to crescendo and the curtains pulled open for the second and final act.
William was at a writing desk, looking far older than he had in the first act. Seth looked impossibly younger by comparison as he bounded into the room, filled with life and energy and love. He promised fidelity, but William refused to leave his work and grew angry about the distraction that Seth brought.
Oliver squirmed uncomfortably in his seat at the flash of anger and sadness on Seth’s face. Seth—as Willie—continued to press the issue until William pushed back from his writing desk in frustration. He held Seth to him and stroked his back. Seth melted into the embrace until William forced him back, keeping him at arm’s length.
William said, “Darling. We two must part, even though our undivided loves are one. Circumstances are forcing us apart, but they cannot destroy what we have together—”
“I love you, Oliver. I always will,” Oliver thought with a twinge of misery.
“I may not evermore acknowledge you,” William continued. “It would hurt too much to see you and remember the sweet hours we’ve shared knowing they can’t be repeated. But know that my love for you is such that I will always be thinking of you.”
A complicated but seemingly effortless transition on stage left it bare again, with Seth standing alone. The more William loved him and poured his love into words that would be remembered for centuries, the more ageless Willie seemed to become. Seth practically glowed with youth and beauty as the lights shone on him, leaving William in darkness. And now he was left alone, trapped by his youthful immortality and denied the person he loved.
Oliver was barely breathing. Every ache that Seth’s character felt, he also felt; every high, every low. His eyes began to sting a bit when Willie was given the news of William’s death “by fever.” The Fair Youth scoffed at that, knowing William better than anyone. He’d drunk himself to death. Seth was handed a bound copy of all 154 sonnets inspired by and dedicated to him.
Not a sound could be heard in the theater but Seth’s calm, soft voice as he read the dedication page. “To the only begetter of these ensuing sonnets, Mr. W. H. All happiness and that eternity promised by your ever-living poet.”
Seth stood immobile, frozen as he turned the pages, tears freely running down his face. The lights dimmed and a thin fog rolled across the stage. William stepped out of the wings, but he was young once again. He began to recite the most famous of his
sonnets, the one every romantic lover since has borrowed to express himself to the person he loves—it would have been sacrilege to modernize it.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:”
Seth smiled off into the distance; Oliver couldn’t decide if this was a memory or a fantasy.
“Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;”
Seth turned at this, acknowledging the apparition—or ghost of a memory, it wasn’t yet clear. “But,” William said, running the back of his hand down Seth’s cheek. Seth sighed and melted into the touch; something in Oliver’s heart fractured a little deeper at the sight.
“Thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:”
William ran his fingers down Seth’s arm and laced their fingers together.
“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,” he held Seth’s hand to his own chest, over his heart. Seth, smiling through his tears, reached out to cup William’s cheek.
William continued, softly and with a bit of ferocity: “So long lives this,” he kissed their joined hands, “and this gives life to thee.”
* * *
They fell into one another’s arms for one last passionate kiss as the curtain fell. Oliver sat back; he hadn’t realized that he’d been leaning forward, hanging on every word. The crowd erupted into applause as the sweeping music from the final moments gained momentum for the curtain call. The bit players came out en masse, including the dough-faced letch who had tried to steal Seth. Oliver didn’t really care to clap for him.