by J. C. Long
This could get dangerous.
I forced my mind to think of things other than Mike Chang against me, his strong arm around my waist, hand on the small of my back, the smell of him—the clean smell of whatever bodywash he used mixed with the slight tang of sweat from the day’s work. I counted the beats of the music in my head to keep my body firmly under control. The last thing I needed was to respond to him in that way.
We danced that way for a few moments, working through the steps, and I felt dazed, as if I were in a dream. Butterflies fluttered violently in my stomach, and my heart beat so fast that I was surprised I could hear the music over it.
“It’s much easier to do this with you than with Annabelle,” Mike said, his voice pitched low.
His words made me look up into his eyes. There was something I couldn’t quite name burning behind those beautiful irises. Whatever it was, it made my breath catch. The beating that had been so loud moments ago was now silent as my heart seemed to stop.
“Annabelle is a great dancer,” I said, praying he did not hear the unsteadiness in my voice.
“She definitely is,” Mike agreed, dipping me so suddenly I let out a little gasp before I remembered it was part of the routine.
Doing this with him was too damn distracting; a few minutes in his arms and my professionalism was crumbling fast.
“But she’s so small. Even when she’s in heels, it’s hard for me to get my arms around her. Sometimes I worry I’ll break her.
“Not you, though,” he went on, pulling me out of the dip and bringing my body flush against his.
Despite my best efforts, I felt my body slipping free of the tight control I had over it, the first inkling of a response below the belt. I felt like a teenager again, praying I didn’t get an erection at the wrong time.
“You’re strong. I don’t think I need to worry about you breaking.”
“Nope, I won’t break,” I said, barely aware I was speaking.
The music, which I had ceased noticing about the time Mike dropped me into the dip, changed suddenly, shifting into a more frenetic beat. The two of us just stood there, still in that tango position, eyes meeting.
Seconds took an eternity in that one moment.
“The tango’s done,” Mike said, releasing me.
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I caught a note of regret in his voice.
“You don’t have any problem with that part,” I managed to say, though I don’t know how. My throat felt dry as a bone. It was easier to control my body and redirect my mind now that we weren’t in physical contact, and I was feeling foolish for the train of thought I had while we danced. It was the height of unprofessionalism. “You ready to move on to the next segment?”
AN HOUR and a half later, I was confident we’d fixed all the mistakes Mike had been making in the number, and he seemed more confident too. Neither of us mentioned the strangeness that went on during the tango part. Then again, maybe it wasn’t strange for Mike. Maybe I was making it weird.
As we wrapped up our rehearsal, gathering our things from where they were placed on the chairs along the room, Mike turned to me as if he’d just remembered something.
“Oh, Tate, Annabelle and I are going out to Rager tonight around nine thirty if you wanted to join us.”
I’d just gotten my mind under control, and now it once again kicked into overdrive. Was he inviting me out to a bar with him? Well—with him and Annabelle. I needed to get it together before I put my foot in my mouth with this guy. But even if it was just a group invite, the chance to be outside of this studio with Mike Chang? It was almost impossible to resist.
“I have brunch plans tomorrow,” I started, flinching inwardly at what was without a doubt the lamest reason for not going out known to man. What was I, a forty-year-old woman? There was no way I’d be able to redeem myself in my own eyes if I missed a chance to go out with Mike because of brunch. I remembered what Lucy said about this being a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She was right, of course, and I’d be stupid to let it pass. “But I can go out for a while.”
Mike seemed happy I’d said yes, I noted with no small amount of pleasure.
“Do you know how to get to Rager?”
I shook my head. “Not really. It’s popular, though, so a taxi driver should be able to get me there, right?”
“No doubt. But just in case.” Mike grabbed my phone from atop the piano and entered his contact information. “Give me a call if you have trouble finding it.”
“I definitely will,” I said, staring at his number. “If I can’t find it, I mean.”
Ugh. Smooth, O’Connor, smooth.
SCENE VII
I DIDN’T have much free time in my normal life, so getting to go out was a rarity for me. I was much more a stay-in kind of guy, though not exactly by choice. When I did have time, I was usually low on money or else in a dead sleep from exhaustion. That was the price I paid to pursue my dreams. When I wasn’t going to rehearsals I was working at Aunt Georgina’s diner to make money to live in a city as expensive as New York City. Thankfully I didn’t have to worry too much about rent. Lucy and I worked out a lovely arrangement with Aunt Georgina.
I had some trepidation about going out this time as well, but there was no way I would pass up an opportunity to be with Mike Chang, no matter who else was going to be there or how tired I would be the next day.
My mind was in a cluttered mess as soon as I arrived back at Aunt Georgina’s apartment. She was sitting on the couch watching a foreign television drama that she loved on her laptop when I came in, a hefty glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her. The diner was closed on Saturdays, the one day out of the week that Georgina took for herself, and she usually lived it up by doing nothing except what she was doing at that very moment. I said a quick hello to her before taking a shower, mind so disorganized at the moment that I used bodywash in my hair and shampoo on my body without thinking about it.
After the shower came the hard part. What clothes did I own that were fit to wear to a bar bearing the name Rager? I had a complicated relationship with my body. I knew that as a dancer I was quite fit, however my body was nothing compared to, say, Mike’s, someone with muscles that came from weight lifting without a doubt. I had a hard time feeling comfortable with the way my body appeared in the clothing I wore. It didn’t help that I wasn’t much of a nightlife person and didn’t think that anything I wore would really look like it belonged there.
I changed clothes six times before settling on a pair of low-slung dark jeans that fit me well and a navy blue V-neck shirt that showed off my all-right physique to a degree I liked. Simplicity was sometimes best, they said. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was dressing up for him.
Even if, you know, I was.
Almost satisfied with the outfit, I went out into the living room and held my arms up in an invitation for Aunt Georgina to appraise me. “How does this look? Does it look barworthy?”
Georgina looked me over and gave me a satisfied nod. “Looks nice. You’re going to a bar tonight?”
She did not bother to hide the surprise in her voice, nor was I offended by it. I considered Georgina a surrogate mother, as I know Lucy did. She had helped me achieve my dream more than just about anyone else, offering me a job and a place to stay for basically no money.
“Yeah, a few of my cast members invited me out,” I said casually, not wanting to give her too much to latch on to in the statement. Unfortunately Aunt Georgina was smarter than me, as she’d demonstrated time and again.
“One of those cast members wouldn’t happen to be this Mike Chang guy, would it?”
I fought a blush. Georgina was damn good at reading people, and she’d quickly picked up on my doomed crush. “He might be there,” I said, playing cool.
“For someone in theatre, you can’t lie worth a damn.” Georgina chuckled, taking a sip out of her wineglass. “That boy probably sees right through you.”
The thoug
ht bordered on terrifying for me, which must have shown on my face, because she chuckled harder.
“Well, maybe not. He is a man, after all. Men can be pretty dense.”
She was only saying it to make me feel better, I could tell, but I appreciated the effort.
“Okay, I’m off. I don’t know how long it will take me to get there.”
“I won’t wait up,” Georgina called after me.
RAGER WAS a strange name for a bar, more suited for a heavy metal club. If that was one’s expectations when they went there, then they would be sorely disappointed. The interior atmosphere was chill. There was music playing and it was loud, but it didn’t qualify as “raging.”
When I entered it took me a few minutes to spot the others. I walked—though sometimes ducking and dancing seemed more the appropriate words—through the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of Mike or Annabelle.
I was nearly on the other side of the bar when I spotted them in a booth in the far back corner. It was the sound of Annabelle’s laugh that first caught my attention. It was such a melodious sound I could recognize it anywhere. Relieved, I made my way there.
Annabelle squealed when she saw me, bouncing up to give me a hug.
“Oh my God! I didn’t know you were coming! I’m so happy you’re here! You need a drink, you definitely need a drink. I’ll get you one. What do you want?”
“Uh….” I blinked, caught off guard by the immediate onslaught of peppy questions. “A gin and tonic, I guess?”
“On it!” She squealed one more time, squeezed my hands happily, and then scurried off toward the large bar.
“She pregamed a lot before coming,” Mike explained.
He gestured for me to take Annabelle’s empty seat, and I did, smiling across at him. He wore a seafoam-green polo shirt and a pair of dark brown corduroy pants. His hair was styled up in a way that almost echoed of anime. A glimmer at his left ear caught my eye; he had a small diamond stud piercing.
“You look really nice,” I said shyly. “That’s a good color on you.”
He smiled, smoothing a hand down the shirt. “Thanks. It would probably look better on you, though.”
“Huh?” I felt my cheeks turn pink just imagining him removing the shirt so I could wear it, the scent of his body right there for me to just tilt my head down and take a whiff…. I had to tear my thoughts from that road.
“Your eyes, I mean. It would probably make them stand out.”
Of course he meant my eyes. I really needed to get a handle on my mind when I was around him or else he was going to end up thinking I was not only weird and lame but dumb as well. I am a smart, perfectly normal, reasonably cool guy, I reminded myself, quite aware that this was probably not something a smart, perfectly normal, reasonably cool person had to tell themselves.
After that doozy of a starting conversation, we sat there in awkward silence. I strained myself trying to come up with something to talk about with him, something to break the silence that now hung between us, wide as the Grand Canyon.
Why, I wondered, was I able to talk to him so easily before, but in this setting found myself incapable of stringing a sentence together? What was it about being in a bar that made me clam up? This was reaching the point of ridiculous. Thankfully, just as the awkwardness neared critical levels, I spotted Annabelle returning from the bar.
“I bring deliciousness!” Annabelle sang as she reached the table.
“This is a Long Island,” I said, pointing at the drink she sat in front of me.
“I know that. I’m the one that ordered it.” She even had one for herself.
“I asked for a gin and tonic.”
“Those are boring,” she said dismissively.
I wanted to tell her that I didn’t think gin and tonics were boring at all, but I knew there was no use arguing with her, and the drink was already here so I shut up and drank. Goddamn, it was strong—and Long Islands were strong to begin with! She caught the expression on my face, laughed, and clinked her glass against mine.
“I hear you helped Mike here with the tango,” Annabelle said, smacking her lips in satisfaction after another sip of her drink. “I’m glad someone did. He’s hopeless.”
“Fuck you,” Mike laughed, running a finger around the rim of his nearly empty whiskey glass. “I’m not that bad.”
Annabelle just batted her lashes prettily at him and went right on drinking her Long Island.
“He picked it up easily,” I said, enjoying the laid-back and friendly banter between the two of them. I wondered if they knew each other before joining the show or if this friendship had come once they met. If it was the latter, then it was destiny. Their demeanor together reminded me of myself and Lucy, utterly comfortable with each other, something that usually only came after a lengthy friendship.
“I wish I’d been there,” Annabelle sighed wistfully. “Two cute guys pressed together, doing the tango, staring into each other’s eyes. Must have been hot.”
The comment caught me so off guard I almost choked on my drink, the heady mix of alcohols burning their way down my throat. I was surprised by how closely her words echoed Tishara’s earlier musings.
Mike, unperturbed, rolled his eyes. “I bet you read a lot of gay erotica, don’t you? I’ll be right back.”
He pointed in the direction of the restroom and departed. I forced myself not to watch him go. It took a lot of effort.
Annabelle rounded on me as soon as he was out of earshot. “It was hot, wasn’t it?”
I scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You are gay, aren’t you?”
I eyed her carefully over the rim of my glass. “You’re very blunt.”
“I’m drunk, so I’m allowed to be. But you are, right?”
I let out a put-upon sigh. There was no use. She would just keep pestering me until I told her, and it wasn’t something I went around keeping a secret, anyway. “Yes, I’m gay.”
“Then how could you not want to immediately fall to your knees in front of Mike and—”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve had one too many,” I said, cutting her off before I could start blushing and really get her started. “Besides, Mike Chang is way out of my league.”
Somewhere in Greece, Lucy was probably cringing.
“If you say so.”
Annabelle sipped more of her drink through her straw in what was clearly faux nonchalance. Before I could question her on the point of her nonchalance, Mike returned to the table, so I decided to act like nothing was being said.
With Annabelle there, things weren’t quite as awkward, and we were able to at least get some semblance of a conversation going.
“When did you start doing theatre?” I asked them, curious.
Annabelle thought for a moment. “Hm, I was in The Sound of Music when I was six, so that was the first, and I’ve done it pretty consistently since then.”
“I started in high school,” Mike said. “I’d always loved singing but never really thought I could do theatre, until I took it as an elective and was forced to audition for the school musical. Since then it’s been a passion of mine. What about you and dance?”
“When I was seven, two of my classmates were taking dance lessons. They were always talking about how much fun they were having, sharing this little secret that the two of them had together. After hearing about it enough, I went home and told my parents I wanted to go to the same dance classes as my friends.” I smiled slightly at the memory. “My dad was against it at first, but my mom convinced him. ‘At least he’ll be exercising.’ That seemed to seal the deal. After that I went to dance classes two times a week right through high school, went to a conservatory instead of normal university.”
“Well, it definitely paid off,” Annabelle commented. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”
“Thanks.” I blushed, sure my ears were reddening.
Several more times Mike and Annabelle interacted in a way r
eminiscent of me and Lucy, so I finally had to ask. “How long have you two known each other?”
“About three years,” Annabelle replied.
“We auditioned for the same show, actually,” Mike said with a grin. “Neither of us ended up getting in, but that’s how we met. And we just went from there. I helped her practice for her Glinda audition, and she helped me prepare for The Second Romeo.”
The conversation continued pleasantly for another half hour before a suddenly ugly look came over Mike’s face.
“Who invited Donnie?”
Annabelle and I looked to the door, where Donnie was coming in with several of his flock. Annabelle groaned.
“I invited Maureen before I realized she was one of his. When they didn’t turn up right away, I was hoping she wasn’t going to come.”
Mike grabbed his whiskey and finished it off. “That’s not going to be enough.”
“I would offer you some of my Long Island, but I’m going to need it.” Annabelle punctuated that by drinking deeply from it.
As Donnie and his entourage approached, he saw me sitting there and wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something putrid. When he and his flunkies finally reached us—they took a very circuitous route so they could be seen by as many people as possible—he didn’t even deign to acknowledge my presence.
Thank God for small favors.
As was just like him, the first words out of Donnie’s mouth were mostly all about himself.
“Can you believe that prick Artillo wants to cut ‘The Last Thing’ from the show?” He turned to one of the girls hanging about him—the one Annabelle mentioned, Maureen. “Why don’t you go to the bar and get me a Jack and Coke.”
The girl scampered off to do his bidding like some sort of servant. She even looked grateful to be selected to be at the man’s beck and call. It was pathetic, really.