Behind the Curtain

by Jerry Cole

  The stranger gave him a baffled look, blinking those big brown eyes and scrunching his eyebrows like a confused Labrador.

  "Um. I've never really thought about it," he confessed. "Why?"

  Nick reached into his bag without looking to pull out one of the casting flyers Walter handed out at the meeting.

  "You're perfect," Nicholas replied, no patience for beating around the bush as he pushed the flyer into the stranger’s hands. "I need to scoop you up before somebody else does. You have to try out for this play."

  "But—what? I…" the man stammered as he tried awkwardly to give the flyer back. Nicholas waved him off.

  "No, no, I insist!" he said. "Even if you've never acted before, give it a shot. Just come to the auditions. That's all I ask."

  "This isn't going to…You're not going to expect money from me are you?" the man asked, clearly confused. "Or like, make me join a cult or something?"

  Now it was Nick's turn to be confused, tilting his head.

  "What? No. It's community theater, not a mega church," he shook his head and pressed harder. "We're doing Cyrano de Bergerac. Auditions are at the end of the month."

  "I'm really not sure I should..." the man said, turning the flyer over anxiously, "I mean, I've never really..."

  "Just try it," Nicholas insisted. "If you don't get cast, what did you lose? But you will get cast."

  The man hummed warily, and Nick looked up as the train began pulling in to his stop and people began filing off.

  "Oh, wait!" the stranger caught Nick's shoulder, and Nicholas turned back curiously as he held up the map.

  "I'm trying to get to Kensington?" he said, "Is this where I should get off?"

  Nicholas pursed his lips in sympathy and suppressed humor, patting the other man on the shoulder in consolation.

  "You're on the wrong train," he replied, and then hurried to get out before the doors shut and he missed his stop, leaving the baffled young man behind to work out his transportation woes. Getting lost on the trains was practically a rite of passage. He would be fine, that—

  Nicholas stopped on the platform and slapped a hand to his forehead. He had forgotten to get the man's name.

  He shouldered his bag, sour-tongued and headed up the stairs.

  Brighton Beach was a cluttered, eclectic place, densely crowded. There was hardly a building that didn't have Cyrillic letters for the high Russian population. Off the main roads, the buildings were tangled with lanes and avenues too small for cars to pass down, most of them packed with someone trying to sell you something. Nicholas took the long way home for the sake of getting to go by the boardwalk. The ocean was winter bleak, the surf choppy and brown and the sun, now truly setting, scattered gold and rubies over all of it regardless. The sun was a patient patron in any season.

  He bought the ingredients for his dinner on the way home, taking advantage of the produce in the immigrant run stalls that lined the streets, still fresh compared to what he could get in a chain store, and cheaper since the vendors were closing up for the day and eager to unload the last skinny fish and spotty vegetables. Nicholas was not picky about the color of his tomatoes, so it worked out well for him.

  He climbed the stairs to his tiny one bedroom, the reek of the fish market in the air and dropped his bag inside the door and the groceries in the kitchen before collapsing on the couch to have a few minutes of stillness. Then he called Walter.

  "Nicholas?" the man answered, confused, "Is something wrong? We just saw each other."

  "Yes, but I have important news," Nick told him as he pulled off his shoes, "I've found our Christian. All I have to do is convince him to audition."

  Chapter Two

  He spent the next week finding any excuse to ride the subway, especially those trains going in the vicinity of Kensington or the college. By Thursday he never wanted to see another train again in his life. But on Friday, he spotted those golden curls again and it was all, at once, worth it. He pushed his way through the crowded train to reach the other man.

  "You!"

  He saw the man jump, lovely eyes wide and startled, as Nicholas called out to him. The man gave him a wary look, as though afraid he was about to be accosted with another flyer.

  "I was hoping I'd see you again," he said with a smile. "I didn't get your name last time. I'm Nick. Nicholas Bellerose."

  He offered his hand and the stranger eyed it like it might be a snake for a moment before he took it.

  "That's a name and a half," he said. "I'm Clayton Allan. You can just call me Clay."

  "A pleasure." Nick shook his hand firmly. "Did you figure out the trains?"

  "I think so," Clay was still holding his rumpled map and he gave it a miserable look. "At least enough to get back and forth from work anyway. I'm not sure I'll ever have it figured out completely."

  "Anyone who claims to understand how the trains work completely is lying to you," Nicholas reassured the man. "Judging by how often they're late, even the conductors don't completely understand."

  Nicholas caught a handle as the train went around a corner, laughing as Clay stumbled against him again. The man actually blushed, the pink shade surprisingly bright and charming, as he gathered himself. Nick decided not to comment on it and spare the man's dignity.

  "Have you decided to audition yet?" he asked, changing the subject. "I told the director about you. He's very excited to meet you."

  "What? Why?" Clay asked, flustered. "It's not like I'm some big name actor or something."

  "You don't need to be." Nick waved his free hand dismissively, almost hitting a stranger in the face. He shifted closer to Clay, giving the other person he nearly smacked an apologetic smile. "You're handsome and tall, and you look the part. The rest we can teach you."

  "Well gosh, thanks." Clay looked like he wasn't sure whether to be pleased or not to hear that coming from Nicholas. "But I'm worried I'd just disappoint you. It'd probably be better if you find someone else."

  "A solid plan. Unfortunately, I am set on you," Nicholas said with a grin and a shrug, as though it were hopeless. They were merely pawns at the behest of fate who could only resign themselves to the inevitable.

  Clay sighed, looked like he was ready to argue, and then realized the train was slowing.

  "This is my stop," he said, "Nice to talk to you, Nicholas."

  "It was nice to talk to you, too." Nick waved. "I'll see you at the auditions?"

  Clay's answer was a noncommittal hum as he left the train. Nicholas screwed his mouth to the side and bit his cheek. He'd get the guy. He just needed time.

  ***

  Nicholas' schedule was, thankfully, flexible. He arranged to be on that train every morning the next week to see Clay. The man was as skittish as a deer to begin with. Nick figured he must have come on too strong and made the guy think he was some sort of whacko. But as Clay got accustomed to seeing him, the other man's reactions gradually became friendlier. Nick remembered the first time Clay smiled when he saw Nick shouldering his way through the crowd to stand next to him. Perfect! he thought. That smile is made to be admired. With a little polishing, he's going to be amazing!

  "I was wondering," Clay spoke haltingly one day as they stood together, swaying with the motion of the train. "Would you like to get lunch together sometime? I mean, we only ever get like five minutes on this train, and I could use someone to show me around. I only just moved to the city."

  Nicholas lit up with delight. He'd hooked him! Soon, they'd have their Christian.

  "I'd love to," he agreed, "I know a great lunch place near Prospect Park."

  "Tomorrow at eleven?" Clay suggested, looking pleased.

  "Sounds great."

  Clay's stop arrived, and Nick was certain the man went away whistling. He couldn't wait to see what Clay was going to look like in costume.

  ***

  The next day, after some train finagling, they sat outside a tiny sushi restaurant above the park, sharing a salmon roll and enjoying the brisk day. They had
a view of the park from the restaurant’s patio, where the bare black trees stood like stark shadows against the recent snow. It should have been a grim image but with the midday sky shining sapphire blue above and the people in their colorful coats and scarves wandering down the winding paths, it could only look cheerful. They’d strung Christmas lights in some of the trees and had plans for a full light show before Christmas. Nicholas wondered if he would have anyone to go and see it with. He'd been in more than a little bit of a dry spell lately. He'd dated extensively right after moving here and burned through a frankly embarrassing number of women all too quickly. He kept expecting to feel that spark, that rush of emotion that told him all at once he was in love! Instead he just decided to go after a woman because she was beautiful and then quickly found himself bored. Lying in bed next to them, he felt nothing but dissatisfaction and worried there was something wrong with him.

  So he told Walter, very dramatically, he was surrendering himself to celibacy. He loved nothing but the theater, and so he refused to waste his time on petty women! It hadn't been long after that he started feeling lonely however. He stuck through it, because he was nothing if not committed to his theatrics, but going home alone had become increasingly unpleasant. That was, until he started finding Clay on the trains. The other man's company was something to look forward to.

  "I grew up down around Georgia way," Clay was saying as he picked at his sushi, "but I moved up here just recently following a scholarship."

  "So far away!" Nicholas leaned forward, curious, and snatched a piece of pickled ginger with his chopsticks. "Weren't there any scholarships somewhere closer?"

  "There were," Clay admitted, and Nick was delighted to see him turning pink again, scratching his head bashfully. "There were plenty. I did really well in school. But the truth is I wanted to go somewhere far away. I'm meant to be studying veterinary science so I can go back and help with my parent's dairy farm. I'm meant to take it over one day. But, I don't know..."

  He shrugged, and Nick felt a rush of sympathy.

  "You wanted to see what else was out there first," he guessed. "Make sure you weren't missing out on anything before you resigned yourself to the life your parents planned out for you."

  "Pretty much," Clay sighed. "I guess it's not exactly an unusual story. I don't hate the farm. I wouldn't be miserable if I had to take over. It just...Didn't feel right. I couldn't settle with it. I thought, if I could at least see a little bit of the world first and try some things, that restless feeling would go away. Or maybe I'd find something that really made me happy, instead of just not miserable."

  "Well," Nicholas added more soy sauce to his sushi before taking a bite. "Have you tried acting yet? It would certainly be something different!"

  "You have a one-track mind," Clay chuckled, taking a bite of his sushi and watching in dismay as the other half fell apart in his hand. "How are you supposed to eat this stuff?"

  "I see what I want and I go after it," Nicholas replied proudly. "I live with no regrets. And you're supposed to eat it in one bite. Dip it in the soy sauce first."

  "You really want me in your play that much?" Clay asked, putting his chopsticks down and trying again with his fingers. "My looks might be good, but I promise you'll be disappointed."

  "Impossible," Nick declared, pushing the soy sauce toward him. "Just getting you to try would be enough to satisfy me."

  "The thing is..." Clay dipped his sushi, then hesitated, taking a deep breath. "I can't. I can't act. I did try. High school production of Oklahoma. But as soon as I get on stage in front of people I just lock up. I start mumbling and forget everything I was supposed to say. It's a mess."

  "It can't possibly be that bad," Nicholas laughed. "Besides. High school was a long time ago, and a professional acting troupe is a world of difference from a high school drama club. You should give it a try. Maybe you'll surprise yourself!"

  Clay hummed doubtfully as he put the sushi in his mouth, eating it in one bite this time.

  "That's actually pretty good when you figure out how it works," he said after a moment, eyebrows raised. "But I'm not sure if I like my food that complicated."

  "It's easy once you get the hang of it," Nicholas said, taking another piece for himself. "Sushi and acting. Promise me you'll try."

  "I don't know..." Clay looked away, still unsure.

  "You said you came here to experience things, didn't you?" Nick set down his chopsticks and leaned forward to fix Clay with a serious look. "You can't let fear keep you from doing what you came here to do. You can't run from the very experiences you came here to have!"

  Clay mumbled something, looking away.

  "So, uh, where do you come from?" he asked, changing the subject. "Are you a native?"

  "No, no. I came here about five years ago," Nicholas answered, letting change happen. "My father was military. So we moved around a lot when I was growing up. When I was twenty-one, I decided I wanted to be an actor so I moved to the city. I actually spent the first four years attending Brooklyn College as a theater major, which is how I found Walter and the Green Carnation."

  "So you're twenty-six?" Clay gathered.

  "As of this August," Nick confirmed. "And you?"

  "Twenty-four. Kind of a slow start, I know. I did two years at a community college before I decided to come out here."

  "Hey, everybody goes at their own pace." Nicholas shrugged, unbothered. "I'm just glad you made it out here when you did. Otherwise I might not have met you."

  Clay smiled, pleased, and picked at the scattered rice on his plate from the broken sushi roll.

  "Did you always know you wanted to act?" he asked, changing the subject again.

  "Oh, absolutely," Nick confirmed. "I got lucky. One of those things where you just feel your calling from day one. I had some doubts when I was young and toyed with other things. Music, painting, even a brief flirtation with anthropology, God forbid. But deep down I always knew theater was going to be a part of my life. Even if I didn't become an actor, I wasn't going to be able to get away from it."

  "I wish I had anything like that," Clay pushed his ginger around the plate. "The only thing I knew would always be part of my life was cows."

  Nicholas couldn't help laughing a little at that.

  "Well, it might have helped that my family was fairly well off when I was young," he said. "They had the money to send me to a lot of different summer camps and private lessons and such so I was able to try a little of everything. I took ballroom dancing and archery, and I have trophies for fencing and horseback riding. I play several different instruments and speak four languages."

  Nicholas counted idly on his fingers as he listed off his achievements.

  "Damn," Clay's eyes were wide with frank awe. "I can't even imagine knowing all of that."

  "I'm not good enough at any of it to do it professionally, obviously." Nick waved a hand to dismiss Clay's admiration, embarrassed. "They're mostly useless skills these days. Although knowing Russian does come in handy for arguing with the vendors on the boardwalk. And anyway, the recession hit when I was in high school and my family's finances went more or less out the window."

  "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Clay frowned, looking so genuinely apologetic that Nick was almost amused.

  "It's nothing to be sorry for," Nick laughed. "Things were difficult for a minute there while we figured out how to live with the new budget after money hadn't been a concern for so long. But my parents have a nice little house in Florida now and aren't too worried about their retirement as long as nothing too awful and unexpected happens. And I can manage myself just fine."

  "What do you do?" Clay asked, "When you aren't acting I mean?"

  "Temp work, mostly," Nick shrugged. "Paperwork and transcription and such. Supplemented by writing. I publish poems and articles in a variety of periodicals through the city. Nothing major, but it keeps me fed."

  "Of course you're a poet on top of everything else," Clay shook his head. "It's too much."


  "It really isn't." Nick shifted, uncomfortable. "It's not as though I'm particularly good at any of it, and none of it is really useful. I have the basics of a lot of pointless skills, that’s all. It sounds impressive, but that's it."

  "I think it's amazing," Clay insisted. "There's no reason to be shy about it. You should be proud."

  "I usually don't talk about it to be honest," Nick confessed. "People tend to think I think I'm better than they are because I can...I don't know, speak Spanish and juggle. It doesn't serve a purpose, so I don't see the point in bragging about it."

  "I can see how some people would be jealous," Clay nodded. "It is a pretty ridiculous list. They probably just wish they had those kinds of opportunities."

  "I was lucky," Nicholas shrugged. "I know that. It doesn't make me special. I didn't do anything to earn it. It's better since I learned to not tell anyone."

  "So why did you tell me?" Clay asked.

  Nicholas looked briefly startled, realizing what he'd done. He hadn't meant to be so open with the other man. It just sort of happened.

  "I don't know," he confessed. "I guess you just have a trustworthy face."

  "I think you're a bit stuck on how I look," Clay chuckled, a little embarrassed, and sat back from the table.

  "Who wouldn't be?" Nicholas shrugged. "You're gorgeous. And don't tell me you didn't know. I won't believe you."

  "You're plenty good looking yourself," Clay pointed out. "I don't see why my looks should be any kind of a shock."

  Nicholas shook his head, laughing.

  "I'm all right," he said. "I can pass for handsome with enough makeup and lighting when I'm on stage. You, sir, are a natural ten, and I'm frankly shocked no one has informed you of this yet."

  "I think you're giving yourself too little credit," Clay argued. "But fine. Maybe I'm nice to look at. It serves about as much purpose as your ballroom dancing. It doesn't do me any good."

  "It would if you were an actor," Nick pointed out.

  "Not if I can't act," Clay replied. "If you had my looks or I had your skill, maybe we'd get somewhere. As it is..."