He checked his pocket. Thirty cents left. They were going to be in real trouble if Pearson didn’t come through the next day. He had to wash his and Jack’s shirts, and he’d have to feed the kid tomorrow. He’d only had coffee and a cheese sandwich all day. Nick still felt guilty about getting the hamburger. That had been another fifteen cents they could have saved, but Jack had insisted.
“You have to do all of the heavy stuff at the theatre. You need to eat something good.”
I could always dip into the Hollywood money. There’s close to fifty dollars in there.
Nick winced. It was so tempting when his belly was grumbling and their clothes smelt like an old hobo in Central Park, but they had to stay strong. Once they got to Hollywood they would be okay. Things would be different.
“Hey, Nicky, whaddya think?” Oscar yelled from the front of the stage. “I think it looks great and that we should get the fuck outta here.”
Nick went around the curtains that were pulled open to the side of the stage and hopped off the front into the orchestra pit. He surveyed the backdrop and the other sliding set pieces that had been arranged for Act One. Jack came down the aisle and stopped next to him.
“I think it’s okay. Whaddya say, Nick?”
Nick looked down at Jack’s innocent smiling face. Nick was about a half a foot taller than the blond-haired, blue-eyed kid, and sometimes he felt so protective of him that he thought it would crush his heart. No one should ever be abused the way Jack had been. He was such a sweet guy, and he didn’t even have any family. No one to care for him. No one except Nick.
At times it felt like a burden—like Nick had taken on a responsibility that wasn’t his. But they had always looked out for each other, and it was great not to have to be alone in the city, to have someone he could rely on.
And there was the other thing. At first, Nick had thought it was just sympathy that made him feel so soft about Jack. Like the same way he might feel if a little puppy was lost and left in the cold. He’d want to take it in and feed it and hold it close. But lately he’d been wrestling with the idea that it might be something more than that.
I ain’t no queer. I’m engaged and everything.
He and Penelope had only ever kissed and done a little petting. It hadn’t particularly excited him, so he thought maybe he was just one of those guys who wasn’t that much into sex. Or maybe when he was a little older he’d like it more.
So maybe it’s just that I’m older now and Penelope’s not here, but Jack is. Maybe that’s all it is.
He wasn’t so sure that was it either. Because when he thought about Penelope he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that seemed more like feeling trapped that he had to marry her. But when he thought about Jack, his dick got hard.
I ain’t no queer. That’s all I have to remind myself of.
But it was getting more and more difficult every single day.
Chapter Two
It was the beginning of May and the worst of the cold weather had passed. Nick had promised himself that they weren’t going to be anywhere near New York City by the time the next frost came around. They were going to be safely tucked away in California—or Hollywood to be more exact.
He was sitting on the edge of the single bed in the efficiency apartment they stayed in. They had moved there about six months before to support their plan to stockpile cash. Any previous concessions to comfort had been sacrificed to finance their goal. They were on the fifth floor, and sometimes it was a struggle to make it up the steps after a fourteen-hour workday, but it had its perks. In the winter, he was pretty sure their place stayed heated better since his dad had always told him that the heat rose. It was a good thing, since half the time the radiator was off—either broken, or the landlord was trying to save on the fuel.
Jack’s spot in the room was on the floor. He had a makeshift bed that was a thin mattress left behind by the last tenants, and a ratty wool blanket with a few holes that they’d got at one of the church charity drives. Jack hadn’t been too thrilled when they’d lost some of their things in the move, but it was fine most of the time. On really bad nights when they hadn’t had the heat on, Nick had invited Jack to huddle with him in the small bed. This past winter, he had told Jack he should just stay with him every night—that they could save money faster to get to Hollywood.
Jack was in the small bathroom washing up for the day. He’d soaked their extra pair of socks overnight in hot water, along with their spare undergarments. Nick didn’t dare buy any soap until he knew for sure what was going to happen with Mr Pearson, so he told Jack just to use the hottest water he could.
He kept counting the Hollywood money over and over. It was usually tucked away in a Prince Albert tobacco can that he hid in the bottom drawer of the one dresser in the room. He piled Jack’s blanket over it during the day, just to be extra safe.
Just a few cents shy of fifty dollars.
He’d checked it so often that he was starting to get worried that he would wear it away into nothing. They needed at least two hundred dollars by Nick’s estimation. That would pay for their way to Los Angeles, plus food and about two weeks’ rent. Maybe even a few dollars left over in case they didn’t get jobs right away.
It’s taking too damn long. We’re never going to get out of this rat hole.
They had been saving relentlessly and going without since the previous fall. He’d tried to speed things up with the move, but it wasn’t going fast enough.
Too many movies and gin joints.
Nick did some calculations in his head. At this rate, it would be another two years before they had the two hundred. Nick checked his watch. They couldn’t be late for the theatre. He needed to have a heart-to-heart with Mr Pearson.
“Come on, Jacky boy, we gotta get movin’!”
The door to the bathroom burst open, and Jack came out of it, still pulling his shirt over his head. His chest was bare, and Nick swallowed hard.
“Why ain’t you got your undershirt on? It’s not that warm yet.”
“It’s still dryin’. The other one has a big hole. I was going to just use it as a rag or somethin’.”
The frustration that was always just beneath Nick’s surface bubbled to the top. The only thing that seemed to help even a little bit was when he could take care of himself with his hand in the shower. But lately, even that didn’t help all that much.
“Dammit, kid! We can’t afford no new shirts. You’ll have to use that one until we get out west.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s okay. You said we’d be headed out there before the end of summer, so I won’t need one until we get out there. Then we’ll have plenty of money just like everyone else, and can buy brand new ones. Maybe even have three apiece—right?”
Nick looked at Jack’s sweet, boyish face. He was so trusting, seemed to see the whole world through Nick’s eyes. He would have to figure something out fast to get them out of New York. There would be no getting through another harsh winter.
“Sure, kid. Even four if ya want.” Nick sighed. “Let’s get movin’. I’m gonna talk to old man Pearson today. Don’t worry, we’ll get our wages.
* * * *
“I’m sorry, Nick, but the last show didn’t do as well as I thought it would.”
Nick held in his rage the best he could. If they’d just worked at a regular painting or fixing job, they wouldn’t be dealing with this crap. They’d probably have the two hundred easy by now. But the theatre had been a very seductive place. And now, flattening Pearson against a wall wouldn’t do him and Jack any good. He took a deep breath before he spoke.
“But we all did what you wanted. We worked our asses off. There weren’t no problems with us. And now we need our money, we got rent due.”
“I’ll get you your money next week. You know we always do well the first week a show opens.”
Yeah, before everyone finds out it’s a piece of shit.
“And that’ll be for two weeks’ pay, right?”
M
r Pearson cleared his throat. “We’ll see how it goes.”
“No, we won’t see. Jack and I need that money for rent!”
Nick’s voice was rising, and he knew he should back off, but Pearson had been doing this to them for too long. Mr Pearson got an odd look on his face, and he moved closer to Nick in the already cramped backstage office.
“Look, you cocky little asshole, I know all about the Hollywood money you’ve got stashed away. You can pay your rent with that. Then you and Mrs Gerard don’t have to worry about the roof over your head.”
“What the hell do you mean—Mrs Gerard? I ain’t married yet. Besides, who told you about my savings?”
Mr Pearson smiled at him sarcastically. “Oscar told me you two goofballs were planning on making it big in Hollywood. Ha! And as for Mrs Gerard, she’s right out there now working on some touch-ups for the scenery I requested.”
“Huh? Penelope ain’t…”
Then it dawned on him.
“Why, you fuckin’ prick! What are you tryin’ to say? Huh? Just go ahead and see what happens…”
“I wouldn’t, if you plan on ever getting another dime out of me again.”
Nick slowly uncurled his fists, never talking his eyes off Mr Pearson’s self-satisfied face.
Without another word, Nick turned and stormed out, allowing the door to bang the wall as he left. It was a puny statement of his anger, but it was all that he dared. If he let even a small amount of his rage out, Mr Pearson would be laid out on the floor, there’d be no more Hollywood money, and Jacky would be left alone. He had to think of him.
Fuck. That’s all I do anymore. Think of him. I wonder if he has any idea?
There were loud voices, and the sounds of a slamming door coming from the rear of the theatre. Jack knew that it had to do with Nick asking for their pay, and it seemed as though things weren’t going so well. It appeared that Nick had been right all along—going out west was looking like a better idea all the time. A job wasn’t really that good if you didn’t get your money for it. Especially when everyone else around them seemed to be rolling in cash.
I feel bad that he has to do the dirty work all the time. I wish I could be more like him, more sure of myself.
Just then, Nick stomped out from the wings.
“You seen that worm, Oscar?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Jack was flustered.
What does Oscar have to do with our pay?
“Not for maybe ten, fifteen minutes or somethin’. I think he went to grab some smokes before the show.”
“Oh, he did now, did he? Did he ask if he could borrow from our riches that we have tucked away? You know, the ones that he somehow mysteriously knew about, then blabbed to Mr Pearson about? Huh?”
Oh no.
“Aw, Nick, I didn’t mean nothin’. I was just so proud of you, how you were takin’ care of everything. I was braggin’ to him.”
Nick hung his head down. When he looked back up at Jack, his face had softened a bit, but his jaw was still twitching like it did when he was really upset. He had his hands on his hips.
I wish I could just hold him, tell him I love him and that everything will be all right. Wouldn’t that be a picture for Pearson to walk in on?
“I know, Jack, I know. But it’s going to be real important from now on that you don’t tell anybody about our money, okay? That’s between you and me. Got it?”
“I’m sorry, Nick, I really am.”
“I know, kid.”
“So, does that mean Mr Pearson isn’t going to pay us?”
“Oh, he’ll pay, Jacky boy, he just doesn’t know it yet.”
* * * *
It was after midnight, and the first show had been a sell-out at The Atlantic. But instead of going back home right away like he’d thought—especially as they hadn’t received their pay—Nick told him to be quiet and hide behind some garbage pails in the alley of the theatre. Jack peeked out from where he was crouched to try to see what Nick was doing. It was dark, it didn’t smell too good and the spring night chill was starting to get to him.
There was only one small yellow light just over the back door to the theatre—the same one through which Mr Pearson always left. At first Jack had assumed that Nick was going to strong-arm their boss into giving them their money when he left through that exit, but that had been at least a half-hour before. The door creaked open, and Jack ducked back down. He could hear some low angry voices.
I don’t want anything bad to happen to Nick. This is all my fault!
Shuffling steps went hurriedly past him, and he chanced a peek at the retreating figure.
Oscar.
Then he heard a noise behind him, and a hand clamped down on Jack’s shoulder. He yelled out.
“Quiet! Come on. Let’s go.”
Jack stood up and hurried after Nick who was already heading out of the alleyway at a fast clip. Jack rushed to keep up.
“What happened Nick? What’s going on? Why was Oscar still in the theatre?”
“Jesus, kid, slow down with the questions. I’ll tell you everythin’ in a minute. We just gotta get back to the apartment quick like.”
Jack stayed silent the whole way back to their place. It usually only took about fifteen minutes to get there, but at the rate Nick was moving, Jack figured it would be even sooner. His cheeks were freezing from the cold winds that were tunnelled between the buildings as they scurried down the street. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and tried to figure out what the whole scene at the theatre had been all about. He knew what had happened earlier, Nick had told him everything—so he said—but it still seemed as though there was something more that Nick was seething about. Or planning. Or something. Jack was a little worried. He’d seen Nick upset before—he had a temper—but this was different somehow. Like he had some vendetta he was on.
They reached the front of the building, and the only light on was the small one outside the front entrance. There were also a few dim ones that illuminated the steps, but that was it. Nick still hadn’t said a word since they’d left the alley, and Jack didn’t dare question him until they were safely inside their place. After huffing it up five floors, they reached their apartment and Nick unlocked the door. He pulled the chain on the one light bulb that hung from the middle of the ceiling and grabbed a duffle bag that he kept stowed under the bed.
“Go get the stuff you washed earlier from the bathroom.”
Jack was genuinely puzzled.
“Why?”
“Just do it, Jack. I’ll explain later!”
Oh God. Not the streets again.
Were things that bad? Had Mr Pearson actually fired them? It was taking every ounce of willpower Jack had ever or might ever have not to grill Nick on what exactly was going on. He trusted him completely—he knew Nick would always do the best he could by him—but it was scary not to know what was happening.
“That’s it. Now get anythin’ else you want that can fit in this bag. We won’t be comin’ back.”
“We won’t…”
“Jack. I told you—just do what I say right now.”
Jack threw his meagre belongings into the duffle, alongside Nick’s two changes of clothes. He watched as Nick took a small photo book that held some pictures of back home in Philly, the Prince Albert can and his comb, and put that in the bag as well. The very last thing he did was take the good wool blanket from his bed, roll it up, and place it between the handles of the duffle.
“Okay, kid. Say goodbye to this dump. We’re off to greater things now.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Maintaining his silence, he followed Nick out the door and back down the five flights of steps. It was terrifying being on the streets at night in New York. Nick usually stayed awake to make sure that no one rolled them for money or their belongings. It was especially scary now that they had so much cash saved up. Jack didn’t want to think what Nick would do if someone took their Hollywood money.
Trying t
o keep up with Nick, who tore down the streets as if the hounds of hell were after him, Jack ran through his mind all of the possible scenarios of why they were leaving their place. Obviously, there was no rent money to be paid, so Jack’s best guess was that Nick was going to have them stay on the streets until they got new jobs, thereby not sacrificing any of the California money.
It’s not so bad. The nights are cold still, but not freezing, and the days are starting to warm up.
Suddenly, Jack found himself right back where they’d started from—the theatre. He couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Why are we back here, Nick? You’re not gonna do anythin’ bad, are you?”
“Depends on how you define bad, Jacky boy. We’re just gonna get our pay by trade rather than cash.”
“Huh?”
“Come on. Let’s get inside and you can ask me your million questions then.”
Now Jack was thoroughly confused. They went down the alleyway to the back entrance of the theatre, and bizarrely, Nick pulled a key from his pocket. After checking to make sure no one was around, he unlocked the door.
“Get in quick before anyone sees us!”
Jack ducked under Nick’s arm with which he was holding open the door and stepped into the utter blackness of the backstage. Nick followed behind him and practically ran him over in the darkness. Jack pitched forward, but Nick grabbed him by the waist, holding him fast. For mere moments Jack leant back a little into Nick’s embrace, the only sounds he could hear being the pounding of his heart and Nick’s elevated breathing. He felt cloaked in secrecy by the lack of light, and it suddenly seemed okay to just be close to Nick. No pretence of the cold being the reason, just the desire for one another’s warmth.
Jack turned within Nick’s hold, and put his arms around Nick’s shoulders. He pressed his cheek to Nick’s chest and breathed him in. Nick tensed a little, but didn’t let go. It seemed as if this one moment would forever change them. Tentatively, testing to see how far he could go, Jack ran his hands down Nick’s muscled back. He stopped when he reached his waist, waiting to see if Nick would push him away. Even though he remained tense, he didn’t grab Jack’s hands to stop them, and he didn’t let go of Jack’s waist.
Hollywood Bound Page 2