by C F White
But he was here now. The deed was done.
A clap to his back jolted him. Eleanor, the director, gave him a smile of encouragement as she gathered her mound of black curls to twist on the top of her head and fastened it with a bandana. “Better get out there,” she said. “Introduce it.”
Seb rolled his shoulders. Then, putting his front man confidence on, he strode to centre stage with the backdrop of a graffiti laden brick wall ready to be elevated and start the show. Many of the audience quietened down for his entrance, but there was always those who needed the reminder, so Seb grabbed a microphone handed to him from the front row and tapped it to check it was working.
“Ladies, gentlemen and other distinguished guests,” he spoke into the mic and waited a moment for the crowd to hush before continuing, “Welcome to the Art House Theatre, home for the next ten-weeks to Ruttman Records Productions.”
There were a few whistles and rumbles of applause that Seb knew came from the front row consisting of Martin, Noah, Ann, and the other members of the production crew.
“We’re all excited for you to be here. This production has been years in the making and months of hard work, so may I be the first to say how exceptionally proud I am of the entire cast and crew. They all took a huge leap of faith to work with me on this and, it might seem to some, as gratuitous on my behalf. But everyone in front and behind this stage believed in me, my vision and my message to you—the audience. I cannot thank them enough for that. But, without further ado, I present to you, Rock‘n’Goals, the Drops’ Musical.” He held out his arms to applause as the backdrop behind him lifted and lights shone down on the set—an east end concrete playground with jumpers for goalposts on one end.
Seb rushed off to the side and down the steps to land in the vacant seat held down by Ann in the front row. He jiggled his knee as a young Jay—sorry, Max— made his way onto the stage, ball thrown in the air and landing at his feet to perform keepy-uppies. He was good. He’d been practicing that for months. Seb smiled, then relaxed back as the drum and bass from the elevated band above the scene thumped in synch with each ball kick. The guitar joined in, creating a melody over the bass. Then Max opened his mouth to sing. His trained and honed voice resonated around the packed-out theatre and hit Seb right in the heart. The hairs on his arms stood on end and his eyes pooled in the corners at listening to his own lyrics about confusion and fear sung so heartfelt from a boy who was pretending to be a seventeen-year-old Jay Ruttman.
This is going to be a long show.
He leaned to Ann beside him and, careful not to disturb the first solo intro, he whispered, “I wish Jay was here.”
Ann took his hand and clutched it in hers. “He kinda is.”
Seb met her gaze. She smiled and glanced up to Max performing a mixture of ballet and football on the stage as he pelted out the words to the song that fit him—fit Jay, who he had been—perfectly. She then placed Seb’s hand on her stomach.
Tears fell freely then.
He’d blame Ann’s hormones on that one though.
Chapter Ten
Well Played
Jay wasn’t helping himself.
But he hadn’t been the better half of Sebastian Saunders for six years without learning a trick or two about rebelling for a cause. So as the train shunted into Euston, he checked his watch and bolted off the carriage without worrying that he was committing player treason. Again. At least he could consider his run through the station as fitness training.
Rushing out the side exit, he hailed the first taxi that came his way and on bundling into the back of the black cab, he knew he’d been rumbled.
“Would you Adam and Eve it!” The old fellas’ eyes found his in the rear-view mirror. “Ain’t you meant to be at trainin’ camp?”
“Yeah, so use your loaf an’ keep your trap shut. I’ll give ya double bubble if you get me to the Art House before ten.”
“Done, mate.”
Jay held onto the oh shit handle as the cab launched him sideways against the window and they sped into the usual traffic cluttering Euston road. They then squeezed through the pile up and chucked a left down a narrow street. Jay nodded to the driver through the mirror in approval. It had been why he’d chosen the black cab option rather than call his private hire company. They’d rely on sat nav. This bloke had The Knowledge and knew every back street avoiding busy roads.
And he earnt his kilkennies by screeching to a holt outside the Art House in a record fifteen minutes. Jay zapped his card on the reader, then bundled a bunch of notes into the man’s fingerless gloved hands and clambered out on to the pavement. He glanced up. The front of the theatre was decorated with the banner of Rock‘n’Goals: A Drops’ Musical and there was Seb’s face alongside those playing their parts—playing him. And Seb. Well, a version of them. A fictionalised version.
It was still surreal though.
Zipping up his jacket, he shunted through the door into the reception-slash bar area and nodded to the theatre staff all milling around waiting for the play to end. There was a variant of shocked faces and welcoming smiles, until Jay took his first step toward the stalls.
“It’s no admittance once curtain up,” one of the ushers called to him.
“Really?” Jay widened his eyes. “You’re sticking with that, are ya?”
The usher shrugged. “It’s Art House policy.”
“You tell the Art House I’ll give them a signed England shirt to auction off at their next fundraising drive. I’ll throw in one for you, an’ all.”
The usher backed off. “Enjoy the show.” He checked the clock above the wall. “You got all of five minutes.”
“Made it then.” Jay crept with minimal disruption to the back row of seats. Another usher stood by the door, leaning against the wall, and she opened her mouth to speak, probably to tell him the same as the other one, but Jay held a finger to his lips. She stepped back, allowing him to squeeze fully into the back row.
He glanced out to the sea of heads in the audience and found that familiar dark hair that had been styled more elegantly than usual. He inhaled. There was no way he could alert Seb to his presence. So he settled back next to the usher and watched the end of the show.
Two actors were centre stage facing one another, hands clasped together between their chests, and the blond one, the one Jay assumed was playing him, uttered his final words,
“Let’s be us. You and me. Our team, our band, dancing to our tune. If no one passes us the ball or sings with us, then fuck ‘em.”
Jay’s spine tingled as the deep thump from the bass drum kicked in to start the final track. The two men sang. They sang loud. They sang proud. And Jay noticed a few audience members reaching into their pockets to dig out tissues and dab under their eyes. Even he had tears welling and he’d only seen two seconds of it. But he knew it. He knew the story. He knew what was being sung and why.
It was amazing, fantastic, beautiful…it was somethin’ else.
Jay hung his head, chuckling to himself as the song reached its climax. The audience shot to their feet and the thunderous applause was deafening. Jay joined in, slapping his hands together and sniffing back the cathartic reaction that was in danger of tumbling out in front of a sixteen-year-old usher and confirming that he wasn’t the macho man he’d mere hours ago claimed he was.
“Shut up,” he whispered to her, bumping her shoulder.
She chuckled. “Secrets safe with me.”
The actors took their bows. The applause heightened along with whistles of approval. The actors fell back and that all-familiar figure scrambled out from the first row and leapt onto the stage. Seb held up his hands, gesturing for the crowd to quieten. They didn’t. They only cheered louder, holding outstretched applause directly at him. Seb laughed, then spun, slicing his hand along the cast all lined up behind him. Typical Seb. Taking the praise but offering it to the others so he didn’t come across as arrogant. Jay smiled, his body warming at how easily Seb took to the limelight. At ho
w he belonged up there. And how he deserved every continued praise.
Eventually Seb was handed a microphone from the wings.
“Thank you,” he spoke into it, his voice drowning out the audience. “Thank you.” He paused, waiting for everyone to take their seats, before clutching the mic with both hands, head bowed. “This…ah,” his breath blew like a gale out of each speaker with his heady exhalation, “…this has been an emotional journey.” He lifted his head, squinting out to the audience. The spotlights were pointed directly at him, so Jay wouldn’t be seen stood in the shadows at the back.
“Every person on this stage, every single one of the crew, the band,” he waved up to the musicians elevated above, “have put their heart and soul into it. And I’m so proud. So humbled that they wanted to be a part of this. Because this is my heart and soul.” He paced the stage, owning the moment as only he could do. “This production wasn’t just a flippant idea to make our songs fit into a narrative and tackle the stage musical. There already was a story behind the music. My story. A story about falling in love. About choosing to accept that love. About knowing what’s right.”
He glanced to the actors behind him who, in a line, linked their arms in with each other as they watched Seb with gradients of smiles.
“I hope you can see the sacrifices that were made to complete a real love story. About how acceptance and tolerance and equality can change a person’s life. We need more tales like this one. We need more brave role models like Jay Ruttman. We need those who think there isn’t a place for them to come forward, be counted, and show that, no matter how hard it is, love is love. And it conquers all in the end.” He paused.
Jay realised then what this had all been about. And what he had to do. Why he had to have been here. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he sauntered down the aisle toward the stage. His heart thumped in anticipation. In realisation. In excitation. Although he was shrouded in darkness with all lights focused on the stage, a few people perched on the end seats noticed his descent. He ignored their gasps and whispers to reach the front steps.
“Thank you for being here tonight,” Seb continued, unaware of the commotion in the stalls. Now who’s in the dark? “I’d love for you to join us for drinks in the bar, where they’ll be the opportunity for you all to take press photographs and write this up as the show not to be missed!”
The audience launched to their feet, slapping hands together and cat calling. Seb waved them off and ushered the actors forward to take their last bows. Jay took his moment and ran up the steps, grabbing Seb’s arm.
Seb twisted to face him, brow furrowed. “Champ—”
Jay cut him off with a kiss that erupted the audience into a frenzy. They’d been here before too, kissing in front of an applauding audience. Except that time had meant to be their last. This time, it was one of many that would make up the rest of their lives.
“Jay?” Seb backed off. “What the—?”
“That was…somethin’ else.” He then lowered down onto bended knee, grabbed the microphone from Seb and spoke into it. His eyes were only for him though. His words were for everyone else. “Sebastian Michael Saunders.”
Seb narrowed his eyes.
“As it’s now legal, I kinda wanted to know if you still fancied gettin’ hitched?” He smiled, then held the microphone to his lips. “Will you marry me in other words?”
Seb dragged Jay to stand. “Yes,” he said into the microphone. “Yes, I’ll bloody marry you!” He then kissed him to thunderous applause and sharp whistles. When they drew apart, Seb switched the microphone off to speak only to Jay. “You seriously have to stop this public declaration thing you’ve got a hard on for.”
“Just for you,” Jay whispered back, his lips soft against Seb’s. “Only ever for you.”
* * * *
After Seb had done the formalities, which consisted of schmoozing in the bar area with the press along with a few PR photographs and interviews, he bundled out to the street. Jay was waiting there, gazing up at the lights of Leicester Square illuminating him against the cool night. Seb smiled. Knowing what Jay had done to get here warmed him enough that he didn’t need his jacket.
“Hey, Champ,” he said and bumped his shoulder.
Jay smiled in greeting, but there was a melancholy in those blue eyes that Seb had hoped never to see again. It was like a goodbye.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jay breathed out, steam billowing from his lips. “I just gotta chip.” He met Seb’s gaze. “And I don’t really wanna.”
“You’re going back now?” Seb widened his eyes and looked at his watch. “It’s hitting midnight. There won’t be a train until morning.”
“I’ve called a car.”
“That’ll cost you a fortune. You’re okay with splashing your cash now, are you?”
Jay twisted, wrapping his arms around Seb’s waist to draw him closer and kissed the tip of his nose. “You’re worth it.”
“That I am.” Seb reached up to kiss his lips. “Thank you. For coming. I don’t doubt you’re in a whole heap of trouble for it.”
Jay shrugged. “I don’t care. If they chuck me out, so be it. I couldn’t not be here, babe. Not for this.” He peered up to the banner stretching along the front of the theatre, on which held the two actors playing him and Seb. Their life. “It’s too important. You did this for us.”
“I did it because I’m too conceited for my own good.”
“Nah. You did it because you wanted to show the world it ain’t been easy for us. That had it been easy, had it been accepted, we wouldn’t have gone through so much crap. That’s quite somethin’.”
“Something else.”
Jay laughed. “Yeah.”
Seb rested his head against Jay’s chest, breathing in the moment of self-indulgence to be held by the man he loved. The car pulling up against the curb caused Seb to slump against him. That Audi would take Jay away again. Not forever. But long enough. It didn’t seem to matter how much time they spent apart when following their dreams, it didn’t make it any easier. Especially now. This moment. When the proposal was legal, and their family was growing.
Ann tapped her pumps onto the pavement then, wrapping a pashmina around her shoulders. “Hey, Squirt.”
Jay held out an arm to bring her into the mix. “How you feeling?” he asked. “All okay?”
“Yes,” she sighed in exasperation. “As fine as when you asked this morning and he asked earlier.”
“We’re invested in your wellbeing,” Seb said, holding onto Jay.
“Your investment is noted,” Ann replied.
The driver side window of the car wound down and a suited man stuck his head out. “Ruttman?”
“Yeah,” Jay called over. “Just a sec.” He let go of Seb to kiss Ann’s cheek. She waved him off and clambered back inside, finding Noah’s outstretched arm at the door. Jay took Seb’s hands, linked their fingers and kissed him.
Seb could almost hear the violins raging as they kissed, instead of the real heckles, foot stamps and car horns akin to Leicester Square nightlife. It was romance at its finest. A perfect moment enveloped in each other’s arms with twinkling lights from the nearby bars and moonlight shining down on the scene.
Until they were shoved out of the way, a fierce spit landing in the gutter from a pair of drunks passing by. “Faggots,” one of them grunted as they bundled past.
Jay stepped back, glaring over Seb’s shoulder at the culprit.
“Eyes on me, Champ,” Seb said, voice soothing and he pressed a palm to Jay’s cheek. “Let’s keep this night ours, eh? You don’t need to be getting in any more trouble. There’s a bunch of journalists in that bar right now.”
Jay peered through the window of the theatre, then back to Seb. He nodded. Then kissed him. “Catch ya laters,” he said, then let go of his hands to clamber over to the car and into the back seat.
Seb watched him leave as the car joined the bumper to bumper Charing Cross Roa
d. Once they were out of view, the door to the theatre opened and out stumbled a woman who had press scrawled on her forehead. It was on the lanyard around her neck too, but Seb could read it on her scheming face.
“Isn’t he supposed to be under lock and key at the England training camp?” she said, metaphorical pen poised.
Seb twisted to face her. “You print it, you’ll lose any exclusivity to future Drops material.”
The woman mimed zipping her mouth shut.
chapter eleven
Match Fit
The next morning, Jay emerged from his hotel room, training kit on, and rubbing his tired dry eyes through a yawn. He bumped into Bruno at the lifts and got one of those old disapproving looks that Jay hadn’t been on the receiving end for a good long while.
“Not you, an’ all?” Bruno declared, folding his arms as the elevator doors opened and they both stepped in. “I already had to slap the others for their unscheduled excursion.”
“I went for a bit,” Jay said, leaning against one side of the lift in the hope it would keep him upright. He was dog tired. He’d had about four hours sleep, two of those having been in the back of the car that had taken him from London to Safford, when the scheduled rest had meant to be more in the realms of twelve hours. He was in for it this morning. At least he wasn’t the only one if Bruno had already seen the state of the casino lot.
“What time did you get in?” Bruno asked, allowing Jay to alight the lift first and into the dining area for the full-on breakfast spread.
“About two.” Jay winced.
“Two?” Bruno baulked. “The others all got in by midnight. Where did you end up?” He held up a hand as he approached the serving hatch and picked up a bowl ready to load with the various options of cereal. “Don’t tell me. Best I don’t know. I can claim ignorance then.”