Behind the Curtain

by Jerry Cole

  "Both."

  Chapter Eleven

  Being with Clay alone was becoming a kind of sweet torture. Nick hated it as much as he looked forward to it. Being with Clay, seeing his smile, talking to him about anything and nothing…it was the best thing in the world. But then Clay would touch him casually, or mention Renee, and it was like he was suffocating. He felt like he was being water boarded. The brief moments when he could breathe easy were tainted by the knowledge that at any minute he was going to be plunged under again. Why did it have to be like this? If he was going to fall for a guy, couldn't he have at least fallen for one that wasn't straight?

  That night, after Clay had gone home, Nick lay on his couch and flipped through the dating app on his phone, contemplating calling a girl to see if they'd like a late night date, but he knew he wouldn't go through with it. He didn't want to be alone, but he didn't want the kind of date you made at this time of night either.

  He swiped left on another woman and stopped as a guy suddenly appeared on his screen. It happened sometimes with this app. It got confused and threw you options from outside your gender preference. He heard it happened more when you were using the same sex options, especially lesbians getting shown tons of guys, which sounded like a conspiracy to him, but it did happen rarely to straight people too. What surprised him was the guy was good looking. Young, just a little older than Nick probably, with dark hair and a nice smile.

  Nicholas stared at the picture, thinking. It had been long enough; he should come to terms with the fact he liked a guy. If he wasn't gay, then he was bi. Or one of those new terms maybe—Demi-sexual, or whatever. What mattered was that he was definitely, no questions about it, crushing hard on a guy. He couldn't pretend that meant nothing even if he did manage to get over Clay. And he needed to get over Clay. He couldn't stay hung up on a straight guy forever. He didn't want to become one of those gross guys who harasses lesbians thinking his dick can magically change their preference. So maybe...maybe it would be better to try it with another guy?

  Somewhat hesitant, he checked out the guy's profile, relieved when he saw the man, whose username was ManhattanProspero, was looking for men. This could be the answer, he decided. If he ended up not liking the guy, then at least he'd know it was just Clay and not that he was gay. And if he did like the guy...Well, at least the Clay problem would be solved.

  He sent ManhattanProspero a message, heart fluttering with nerves, and received a quick reply.

  "You having trouble sleeping too?" he asked.

  "Working late," the man responded. "What's bothering you?"

  "I just have too much going on," Nick replied. "It's starting to stress me out."

  "You look cute. I'm not surprised you're an actor," the guy messaged back, and Nick found himself smiling, flattered, and glad he put up the photos of himself on stage as Maximilian Morrel from last year’s production of the Count of Monte Cristo. "Have time in that busy schedule to get dinner one night this week?"

  Nicholas' fingers hovered over the keys, wondering if he dared.

  "How about the night after tomorrow?" he asked. "Where would you like to meet up?"

  They traded details and a little more small talk, and Nicholas found his heart racing as he put down his phone. He was really going to do this. He was really going to...

  He shook his head, flustered, and went to bed. He'd have a long day tomorrow. But at least now he maybe had something to look forward too.

  ***

  Walter arranged for reservations at an upscale restaurant, expensive enough to impress the foundation's representatives, but not so much so that they couldn't afford it...when all four of them pooled their resources. Charlotte complained bitterly it was costing her everything she saved to get her hair done for opening night, and Nick felt the pain of it too. Clay could barely give anything, being a poor college student who spent all his money moving here just recently. Even Walter was still short of money after the down payment and renovations for the Guignol. It was a gamble, but one they had to take. This grant would see the Green Carnation restored to its rightful place.

  "Ah, Charlotte, you look splendid," Walter said fondly, taking the actress's hands as she arrived outside the restaurant. She looked every inch a Hollywood starlet in a shimmering midnight blue evening gown, classy but backless and just slinky enough to draw attention without being unfit for the situation. Walter looked charmingly eccentric beside her in his green waistcoat and pocket watch. Nick had come with Walter and stood nearby in a slim black suit Walter leant to him, watching the time anxiously. Clay still wasn't here. If he didn't arrive before the representatives and they had to wait on him...

  "You are our crown jewel tonight," Walter was telling Charlotte. "Shine your brightest for me darling. If we don't dazzle these men, we're sunk!"

  "C'mon, Clay..." Nick muttered, scanning the street. "Where is he?"

  "There he is!" Walter pointed to where Clay, looking as dashing as something out of a spy film in his rumpled suit and wild hair, was running up the side walk toward them, dodging pedestrians.

  "I'm sorry I'm late," he gasped for breath as he reached them, and Walter immediately began fussing with his clothes, trying to get him from roguish to refined. "My bus got stuck in traffic so I decided to hoof it."

  "It's fine, it's fine," Walter assured him, tucking in his tie and straightening his jacket. "You made it here before they did, that's all that matters. Good lord man what is your hair made of that it constantly sticks up that way?"

  "Here, I have gel," Charlotte said, fishing it out of her purse and handing it to Walter.

  "You look good tonight," Clay said to Nick, smiling sheepishly. "The suit, uh, suits you."

  The compliment caught Nicholas off guard, and he found himself unsure how to respond, pleased but reluctant to let himself get caught up in Clay's charms tonight. Instead, he just gave a tight smile and nodded.

  "You too," he said. "You clean up well."

  Clay gave him a strange look, but then as Walter yanked him down to gel his hair he seemed to remember where he was and cast a smile at Charlotte as well.

  "You look radiant as ever, darlin'," he inclined his head to Charlotte like he would be tipping his hat if he had one. Charlotte laughed.

  "Thank you," she said. "I'm the leading lady. I'm selling us tonight, so I have to look good. There's no better way to get money out of rich old men than by dangling a pretty girl in front of them."

  "That's my girl," Walter said proudly, wiping his hands off on a handkerchief and handing her the hair gel back. "There. You look almost presentable."

  "Only almost?" Clay worried, touching his now stiffly swept back curls.

  "I constantly lament the day the cravat went out of fashion," Walter sighed.

  "Don't we all?"

  They all turned at the sound of a familiar voice to see two finely dressed older women standing behind them.

  "You are Walter Eliot, correct?" the older of the two, a tall strong-jawed woman with style gray bands through her dark brown hair. When he nodded she reached to shake his hand. "I am Margret Moreau. This is my associate Patricia Crane."

  She nodded to the other woman, a plump smiling redhead.

  "We represent the Chatterley Foundation for the Arts."

  "Oh," Walter's eyes widened. "Oh, a pleasure to meet you! We were just expecting you. This is my leading lady, Miss Charlotte Underwood, who will be playing Roxanne. That is her Christian beside her, played by newcomer Clayton Allan. And this is our Cyrano, Nicholas Bellerose."

  "You look a bit different from your posters, Mr. Bellerose," Margret said, taking Nick's hand. Nick bent over it elegantly rather than shaking, hoping she would approve of the romantic, theatrical touch.

  "The prosthetic nose fools everyone," he replied, touching his nose with a smile.

  It was immediately understood as they entered the restaurant that a change in plan would be needed. Charlotte could hardly seduce these two. Nick went to work at once attempting to charm
Margret, who seemed to be the more assertive of the two. With a face like that, all Clay needed to do was exist and Patricia was hanging from his arm, laughing at his every stammered word.

  They were seated quickly and began chatting idly about what they would order. Nick was doing his best to focus on Margret, but it was hard not to be distracted by Clay's sweet, flustered bumbling. Nicholas kept finding himself watching the other man, the way he stumbled over compliments, receiving them even more so than giving them. He seemed completely at odds with this setting, but rather than making him seem out of place, it only made him stand out more. Everything around him became trite and dull in the face of his shining, earnest purity. How could anyone not love him, Nick thought? It was no wonder he'd fallen. To Nick, even his flaws were charming.

  "I hear it was you who convinced our Mr. Allan to try out for Christian," Margret spoke, regaining his attention from once again staring at Clay. "A bold move, pinning a leading role on an amateur."

  "Well, I had a lot of confidence in Mr. Eliot's ability to train him," Nick said with a smile. "In some ways it's much easier to mold someone with no experience than someone who has been taught the wrong things."

  "And how was it you discovered him?" Margret pressed as Nick's attention drifted toward Clay again.

  "The subway," Nick replied with a laugh. "I saw him and I knew right away I—er, the play had to have him."

  "I imagine it was the face," Margret chuckled warmly, rolling a wineglass in her fingers. "I'm surprised no one snapped him up already."

  "Oh it was," Nick agreed, then hesitated, looking at Clay as he attempted in halting words to explain the plot of the play to Patricia. "But not really."

  Margret raised an eyebrow, and Nick found himself struggling for words, wondering if the wine had got to him already.

  "That's what caught my attention of course," he admitted, "but if it was just a pretty face I would have given him the flyer and probably forgotten about it. It was talking to him that made me certain. There's this...sweetness, to him. I kept thinking, he's like something divine. And he never stops surprising you. Every time you think you've figured him out you find another new and wondrous thing to admire, like the petals of a chrysanthemum opening a little more every day."

  He realized he'd gone on too long and trailed off, tearing his eyes away from Clay to look at his entree.

  "It certainly seems like you two are close," Margret observed, her eyes sly over the top of her glasses.

  "No, no not really," Nicholas shook his head, trying to look detached. "I just feel responsible for him, that's all. Since I'm the one who got him into this."

  "You know, for an actor," Margret said. "You're a terrible liar."

  Nick blushed.

  "He says the same thing," he admitted, and she laughed.

  "Oh, what's the joke?" Patricia asked, leaning in. "What did I miss?"

  "Nothing, nothing my dear," Margret patted the other woman's hand. "Mr. Bellerose was just telling me what high hopes he has for Mr. Allan. I think he could go very far if he makes the right decisions."

  Nicholas saw Clay open his mouth to protest with his usual explanation of only doing this play and quickly shook his head. Before Clay could do more than look at him curiously, they were interrupted.

  "And the first right decision he should make is dropping this play and leaving the Green Carnation acting company."

  The entire table looked up as a stranger approached. He was a young man, a bit soft, with a face that might have been handsome if it were not twisted so permanently in snide disdain. An older man stood behind him, the same handsome face weathered by age into something arch and distinguished. He watched his son with a kind of indulgent boredom.

  "Mr. Matthers, what an unexpected delight," Margret stood to greet the older man, ignoring the younger until she had shaken his father's hand. "This must be your son Eric? I've heard only good things."

  She shook Eric's hand then as well, while Walter, Nicholas, and Charlotte all seethed in quiet fury.

  "I'm sorry," Clay, oblivious to the discomfort of the others, stood to offer his hand as well. "I don't think we've been introduced."

  "I am Eric Matthers," Eric replied, taking Clay's hand with the kind of overly gracious warmth you only showed to someone you wanted something from. "And I'm here to keep you from making the worst mistake of your young career. The Green Carnation is washed up. No one cares about it anymore. It's been spoiled by idiots like the ones behind you. Tired has-beens trying to relive their glory days and second-rate hacks who couldn't cut it in any other company."

  "How dare—!" Charlotte started to protest, but Walter put out a hand to stop her.

  "As you can see, we are in the middle of dinner," Walter said with cold primness. "If you have something to say to us I invite you to come to the show and tell us there. Tickets are $35, but for you I'll make it $50."

  Eric gave a bark of laughter.

  "There isn't going to be a show," he said, "because you don't have a venue. I'm about to buy that rat-infested flop house and bulldoze it."

  "That theater is ours," Nick snapped. "Bought and paid for. If you're buying it from anyone, you're buying it from us!"

  "Ah, bought and paying for, actually." Eric sneered. "And I have a feeling the owners are about to get a much better offer."

  While sitting, white and shaking with anger, Nick clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms, resisting the urge to tell the man off.

  "So, if you want what's best for your career," Eric said, turning back to Clay, "you should drop them now. I'd like to extend you an open invitation to join my acting company. We accept only the best costumes, the best people—"

  "I wonder how much your dad pays them for the privilege?" Charlotte hissed.

  "More than you would get if we were ever desperate enough to take you," Eric threw back.

  "Uh, I appreciate the offer," Clay said slowly, trying to defuse the situation, "but I'm really only interested in doing this play."

  "I urge you to reconsider," Eric put a hand on Clay's shoulder that slid down toward his wrist as Eric moved uncomfortably close. "I promise I would make it worth your while."

  Nick's fist was in Eric's face before he even realized he was on his feet. Eric hit the ground and Nick stood over him, every muscle tense with rage, teeth bared, ready to hit him again before Clay got a powerful arm around his shoulders and dragged him out of the restaurant and away into the cool night.

  Chapter Twelve

  There was a small park not far down the street and it was there Clay pulled Nicholas who, though he didn't resist, was still shaking with anger when they reached it, his heart hammering in his ears, drowning out whatever Clay was trying to say to him. Until at last Clay shoved him down onto a bench and took Nick's face in his hands.

  "What the hell, Nick?" he said, forcing Nicholas to listen. "What's wrong with you?"

  Nick came back to himself suddenly and shrugged Clay's touch off, moving away from him.

  "I'm fine," he said sharply. "That little creep has been needing a punch in the face for as long as I've known him."

  "What was all that about?" Clay asked, reaching for Nick's shoulder to turn the other man back toward him. "Who was that Matthers guy? Just explain it to me."

  Nick sighed, his head throbbing as he tried to put a lid on his anger.

  "Eric Matthers is the son of Ferdinand Matthers," Nick began, sitting back. "And Ferdinand Matthers is connected to one of the most powerful families in the city. He's powerful old money. Going against him is pretty much impossible."

  The little park was beautiful at night. The stars shone like beacons beyond the bare branches of the trees, the moonlight sparkling on the diamond frosted crust of the snow. Nick's breath, still hot with anger, made dragons in the air before him that sailed off into the cold night trailing vapor shreds of their tails.

  "Years ago, before I moved to the city, the Green Carnation was one of the biggest theater troupes in the ci
ty. They were at the peak of their fame, doing shows year-round in the biggest venues. A couple of times their shows even got picked up for Broadway. Walter and the rest of the old guard had been around since the 1960s perfecting their art, and no one was better at it. But they started getting older, and it started to look like they had hit their peak. Things were already in decline when I arrived, and then Matthers showed up and 'strongly recommended' we let Eric join. And those 'strong recommendations' kept coming. Any credibility the troupe ever had was quickly spent when we had to make that witless clod the lead in every play. So we forced him out. I forced him out. With a broom. I threatened to beat him and spent a night in county lock up for it. After that he was everywhere. Any venue we tried to book would find themselves suddenly reserved for the season. Patrons we approached were indiscreetly warned away. Advertising was defaced or 'accidentally' dropped from rotation. Eric Matthers used his father's money and influence to all but murder the Green Carnation. I thought we were finally about to make a comeback but here he is again, the little pestilence, and just the sight of his smug little face makes me want to—Ugh!"

  Nick threw his hands in the air, his rage directionless.

  "Nick Bellerose," Clay said seriously, still standing over him like an impatient teacher over a rowdy student. "I may have only known you a few months, but that's long enough for me to know there's got to be more to it than that. Whatever he did to you, it was personal."

  Nicholas looked away, jaw tight. Clay knelt to get closer to him and took his hand, expression solemn.

  "Hey," he said, and the concern in his soft voice made Nick's heart ache, "I'm your friend. Whatever it is, you know you can trust me with it. I care about you, Nick. I want to help."

  Nick couldn't help the way his spirit soared at those words, wanting them to be true, wanting them to be more. Instead he took a deep breath and answered the question.

  "You're right," he said. "We could have put up with his crappy acting and demanding the lead. Even his obnoxious behavior. But then he crossed a line."