Broadway Babe

by J. C. Long

“Georgina told me you got into a play. That right?”

  The reminder of the play and Mike attempted to play hell with my mood, but I kept the smile on my face. It wasn’t Dorothea’s fault. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, good on you! You working hard, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right, you hear? Now, I haven’t been to see a show in something like twenty years. But you let Miss Dorothea know when this show of yours is and I’ll be there, straightaway.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at her support. “Thanks a lot, Miss Dorothea.”

  Despite my current emotional state when it came to the show, I could not deny that all the encouragement and motivation I received from the regular customers really touched me. They didn’t have to offer kind words, didn’t have to be supportive. They didn’t even know me, beyond our interactions in the diner. These people were the true representations of New York. Donnie and people like him were in the minority.

  As the afternoon took a turn toward evening, the crowd died down a bit. It would be pretty quiet until the dinnertime rush, around six. The diner was empty except for Georgina and myself around four, and I took a seat at the counter, glad for the chance to rest.

  Without my asking, Georgina provided me with a nice tall glass of sweet tea. Georgina was a Southerner by birth, though she’d lived in New York for as long as I’d known Lucy. She knew exactly how to make sweet tea. It was something that kept people coming back to her diner. The food was pretty great too, but the tea was a deep swig of the South. Drinking it always made me feel a little homesick, but it was also extremely comforting to have one familiar element when everything else around me, right down to the food, was so radically different.

  “You can go on back home now,” Georgina told me as I chugged half the glass in one long drink. “It’s not like we’ll be busy before five.”

  “I’ll stay a bit longer,” I said, draining the glass of tea and holding it up to her hopefully.

  “More tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The second glass was followed by a third. As five o’clock slowly approached, the small bell over the door chimed as someone came in. I turned around, surprised to see Sean in the doorway.

  “Sean! What are you doing here?”

  He walked up to the bar and sat down next to me. “I was in the area after work and was hungry, so I thought I might as well come by.”

  I didn’t believe him for a moment, but Georgina smiled indulgently at Sean. Of all the “Broadway boys,” she liked Sean the most. He had a trustworthy face, or so she said.

  “What can I get for you, then?”

  “Can I get a patty melt and some fries? Oh, and a big glass of sweet tea.”

  “You might have been born a Yankee, but you’re a Southerner at heart,” Georgina told him before entering the kitchen to prep his patty melt. We soon heard the sizzle of the grill and the broiler.

  “How are you doing?” Sean asked me, leaning on his elbows on the counter as he looked at me.

  “I knew you weren’t just stopping by,” I said accusingly.

  Sean shrugged unapologetically. “Well, you seemed pretty beat up yesterday at brunch. I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

  “I’m fine.” He didn’t believe me, I know, but he was gracious enough to let it drop. That was one of the things I liked most about Sean. He was the newest addition to the circle of friends, but in some ways, he understood me better than the others. He always knew when not to push something, when to give space. He was a damn insightful guy, this quiet, unassuming young man.

  “Can I ask you a question, though?”

  It was tentative. He would respect a no if I gave one, unlike most people when they start with that usually rhetorical question. I gave a nod, sipping from the third glass of sweet tea.

  “From what you told us, you’ve gotten to know Mike, at least a little bit, right?”

  Again I nodded, unsure where he was going with this.

  “Well, based on what you’ve gotten to know about him, does it seem likely that he would be the kind of person that acted the way Donnie implied? Or the way Wes’s rumors say?”

  “I can’t say that I know him that well,” I argued.

  “Your impression, then,” said Sean impatiently.

  I thought for a moment. The Mike Chang I’d met was kind and friendly and seemed to be a very genuine person. “I guess not.” Unbidden, the memory of his interaction with the two guys at the table at Rager came to mind. It had definitely been flirtatious. How was I supposed to judge someone that I met only a few weeks prior, someone I didn’t spend a lot of time talking to? It was silly of me to think I had any idea what sort of person he was.

  “People can fool us,” I said after a moment. I’m pretty sure Sean sighed, but I was right and I knew it. “Just because someone seems a certain way on the outside doesn’t mean that it’s their true self. We all wear masks at times—actors more than most, I think. This is all just an exercise in futility, anyway. It’s not like Mike has shown even the slightest interest in me. It’s stupid for me to dwell on something that’s never going to happen anyway.”

  Sean disagreed with me, judging by the shake of his head, but he let the conversation end as Georgina returned with a plate heaped with fries and a delicious thin grilled burger on Texas toast, dripping with melted cheese.

  “That looks amazing, as always, Miss Georgina.”

  Sean drooled, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. That plate was swiftly followed by a second identical plate that she put down in front of me.

  “I figured you should eat before you go,” she said, ruffling my hair a bit.

  I wanted to protest, but my stomach chose that moment to growl forcefully. “Thanks.” It was such a Georgina thing to do. I don’t think I’d ever left the diner without getting something to eat. She always seemed to think I wasn’t getting enough. I definitely didn’t want to tell her that lately she was right. She’d be forcing food down my throat so fast I’d balloon out. I appreciated it, though. It was one of the most telling ways she showed her affection. In her family, I’d noticed a long time ago with her sister, Lucy’s mother, food and love were highly interconnected.

  Aunt Georgina leaned on the counter, studying Sean. “So Sean, what is it you do again?”

  Sean was caught off guard by the question. He quickly finished chewing his food and swallowed before answering. “I’m a vet tech—a veterinary technician. Kind of like a nurse for animals.”

  Georgina nodded sagely. “Nice career choice. You did the smart thing and chose to stay out of the madness that is theatre.”

  “The theatre isn’t ‘madness,’” I protested.

  “Of course, of course.” Georgina leaned closer to Sean. “Of course he says that. He’s crazy enough to be in it in the first place.”

  SCENE X

  THE NEXT week we moved into the theater. It was the first time any of us were going to be working on the stage, and we spent the beginning of the first rehearsal adjusting our staging somewhat. It was a busy week, and it was easier for me to avoid Mike, as I’d resolved to do after that awkward brunch. The few times I needed to work with him as dance captain, I was able to get through it and get on to something else without much interaction.

  Unfortunately the rehearsals were becoming longer too. We began running the show in full, which was time-consuming since the directors gave us notes about things they wanted to change or work on afterward. I took a little solace in the fact that every note Donnie received from Glinnis was negative.

  Everything that was going on was affecting my mood too, and others were quick to notice. I was irritable and found myself snapping quite easily over little things.

  Tuesday evening I was working with one of the act one finale small groups, which both Tishara and Cally were in. Glinnis had told me she wanted the number tightened a little, asking me specifically to work on timing.

 
“You’re off beat,” I called for the third time as we worked through a complex syncopated rhythm section. “The music is on the up, but you need to move on the downbeat. Pay attention to your steps, not the music. Do it again.”

  I restarted the music for the segment. It went mostly okay as I studied each of them making their moves, and then I came to Cally, who was not quite as smooth as the people around her. “Cally, you’re being sloppy,” I snapped. “Are you an eleven-year-old girl getting ready for her first dance recital?”

  Cally’s face flushed angrily. “No.”

  “Then stop dancing like one! Let’s try it one more time.”

  When the dance was finally in good condition and I called a stop to the rehearsal, Cally and Tishara both stormed right up to me. It was all I could do not to groan. I wanted to turn and run, but part of me knew that whatever it was they wanted to say to me I deserved, so I was going to stand there and take it like a man.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Tishara demanded, hands on her hips. She looked angrier than Cally, even though she hadn’t really been on the receiving end of my moodiness.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I said, keeping my attention on packing up my gear.

  “Then why do you sound more like Glinnis Junior than Tate O’Connor today?”

  “I was snappy, I know, and I’m sorry.”

  “You were more than snappy; you were bitchy.”

  She was right, and I did not bother trying to argue. “I know. I just have had a rough few days. I haven’t been sleeping so well, and I’m under a lot of stress at the moment.”

  “You do have a lot on your plate,” Tishara relented, though I could tell she was still annoyed with me. “Just don’t forget who your friends are. And no more of this Glinnis Junior stuff either. It’s scary. You reminded me of the choreographer in A Chorus Line. ‘Again! Again!’”

  We laughed as we walked out of the studio into the balmy evening. “Oh, and Cally, I’m sorry for the eleven-year-old thing.”

  Cally nodded her head indignantly. “You should be. I definitely look at least fourteen.”

  THURSDAY, ANNABELLE approached me during a break to ask if I would help her with a sequence for one of her numbers. As dance captain I didn’t have much of a choice, so she and I went toward the back of the auditorium to walk through what I thought was a simple sixteen count. I was really surprised that Annabelle would have difficulty with these simple steps. Even Donnie could probably get through them without messing up.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as we moved through the dance steps. Annabelle had no problem.

  “Nothing.” I was getting tired of people asking me that question repeatedly. I was getting it from Cally and Tishara. I was getting it from Aunt Georgina. Now I was getting it from Annabelle too.

  Annabelle shook her blonde head firmly. “Don’t lie. You’ve been weird since Saturday night. You left in such a hurry, and you haven’t said anything to me or Mike this week.”

  Damn, but the girl was sharp. Never believe what they say about dumb blondes, because I’ve yet to meet one who fit the stereotype.

  “It’s been a busy week,” I said defensively. “Everything’s been crazy, moving into the theater, and Glinnis is going nuts with the choreography.”

  Annabelle stared hard into my eyes, her pale icy blues catching and holding mine. She was looking for something. Whether or not she found it, I’m not sure.

  “I saw Donnie talking to you before you left the bar, Tate. What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing I didn’t already know,” I replied tersely. I released Annabelle and stepped away from her, hoping she would get the hint and drop it. “You seem to get the sequence pretty well, so I’m going to go see if anyone else needs my help.”

  The stage manager called places for the opening of act two, a number with four featured dancers and Annabelle’s character. While Annabelle took her place on the bed in the apartment stage, I waited in the wings for my cue. This was one of the show’s more risqué numbers, set in a scene where Annabelle’s character takes ecstasy for the first time. The dance would come as part of a drug-induced hallucination, and that wasn’t until about two minutes into Annabelle’s song.

  There was a rustling behind me, and I turned to see Mike approaching. Shit. I had to wait for my cue; there was nowhere I could run to. Had he planned to pin me down like that? I shook the thought away immediately. He wouldn’t go to all that effort just to talk to me.

  “Hey, is everything all right?”

  I cringed at the question. Goddamn, why were people constantly asking that? I was grateful for the darkness of the wing, though, so that Mike couldn’t see the heat that rose to my face.

  When I answered I kept my voice as neutral as I possibly could. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

  For a moment Mike almost looked sheepish. “Well, you left the bar so fast the other night, and then you’ve been kind of distant this whole week, so I thought maybe something was up.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Annabelle said she saw Donnie talking to you right before you left.”

  Damn it, Annabelle, can’t keep your sharp observations to yourself, can you?

  “Nothing is up,” I said, trying not to sound short—a difficult task for me lately. I just reminded myself that Mike wasn’t to blame for my own mind running amok on me. The situation was entirely my responsibility, not his. There was no point in being angry with him. “This week has been crazy, you know?”

  Mike nodded slowly. I could not tell if he believed me or not.

  “Well, I’m glad nothing is wrong. Listen, I didn’t have a chance to eat lunch today, so after rehearsal I was going to go grab a late dinner. Would you like to join me?”

  My heart skipped a beat. Had he just asked me out to dinner? Goddamn it, there I went again. Don’t be stupid, I chided myself. It’s probably going to be just like Rager the other night. He’s asking me along with others. But what if he wasn’t? What if he was just asking me to dinner? This might be a chance to have a private dinner with Mike Chang, a chance that I would kill for… a chance a lot of other people would too. But then I thought about brunch and what the guys said. I couldn’t help wondering if he was pursuing me—which I highly doubted—if it was just to have something going on during the show. A showmance was easy access, someone on the same schedule as you. I took a breath and shook my head even though I was dying to say yes.

  “I’m sorry, but I have some things going on tonight.”

  “Oh, okay. Maybe next time, then.”

  To my surprise he looked genuinely disappointed. That look on his face stirred this crazy urge in me to just shout Yes! Yes, I will go to dinner with you! Yes, I will do whatever you want! I had more dignity than that, though. I had no desire to be anyone’s quick fling, most certainly not Mike Chang’s. Moses might have been willing and capable of an exciting one-night stand with his dream celebrity, but not me. It wasn’t my style, no matter how much that didn’t jibe with the overall perception of gay men.

  “I gotta go,” I said, gesturing over my shoulder toward the stage. “My cue is coming up.” I turned back toward the stage, watching as Annabelle moved closer and closer to my cue, much more interested in this scene than I normally was so I did not have to watch Mike walk away.

  When rehearsal was over, my intention was to depart as quickly as possible to avoid Mike asking me to go again if he decided to. (I wasn’t sure I would be able to say no a second time, if I were being honest.) But Glinnis called me back to give some notes for the second act opener that she wanted me to work on with the other dancers the next day, so I ended up being among the last to leave the theater.

  As I reached the lobby, I realized it was raining out, and not just a tiny drizzle but a real downpour. That was just great. The subway entrance I was going for was about a block away, and I didn’t have an umbrella. Stupid unpredictable summer weather.

  Stepping outside, I saw Mike starting away from the theater with his umbrella open.
Of course, that was just my luck. I started to hurry by, hoping he wouldn’t notice me, but I had barely gone three steps past him before he called out to me.

  “Hey, Tate!”

  I had no choice but to stop. I could pretend like I didn’t notice him easily enough, since it was New York City and everyone was a master of not really seeing the people they walked past, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear him. The rain and traffic weren’t that loud.

  “Want to walk with me? My umbrella is big enough.”

  “I’m just going to the subway,” I said, pointing the direction I was heading. “It’s not too far.”

  “I’m heading that way too. We can share. Come on.”

  There was no way I could argue with him without making it look weirder than it already did, so I stopped to let him catch up with me and ducked in close beneath his umbrella. We walked in an awkward silence for a moment before Mike attempted to make conversation.

  “Are your parents going to be able to come into town to see the show? They are still in Memphis, right?”

  I nodded, pleased he remembered where I was from. I squelched that happiness as quickly as I could, relegating it to a small corner of my mind. This was nothing more than two castmates making casual conversation as they walked from rehearsal. That’s it.

  “They’re still there. As for the show, I don’t know. They say they want to. I’m not holding my breath, though. They said the same thing when I was in shows back home and somehow missed most of them anyway. Even the one that was in a theater about two blocks from my house.”

  Mike made a sympathetic noise. “I know what you mean. My father didn’t think that pursuing theatre was the right path for me, so he was never very supportive. He point-blank refused to go to my first high school show. He said he refused to see me ‘waste time better spent studying.’ He’s getting better about it, but it is still a hassle getting him to my shows, even though he lives in Manhattan.”

  I understood his situation, being in a similar one. I couldn’t understand parents that did not support the dreams of their children. Wasn’t parenting about ensuring your kids had everything they needed to reach their own goals? That’s become warped and twisted, I think, with parents demanding kids live up to their dreams for them instead of supporting them in the pursuit of their own desires. They write it off as parents “knowing best,” but it’s really parents not knowing how to let go of the control.