by Jerry Cole
He looked Clay in the eye, gaze intense.
"Don't tell Walter about this," he said. "He doesn't know and I don't want him to, all right?"
"All right," Clay agreed, looking puzzled. "What did he do?"
"He attacked one of the other actors." Nicholas said looking away. "After rehearsal one night he lured them into a back room and tried to...force himself on them."
Clay's eyes widened in shock.
"Seriously?" he stammered, baffled.
"They got away," Nick reassured him. "And as soon as I realized what happened I very forcibly ejected him from the building and the troupe."
"That son of a bitch," Clay looked outraged. "Now I wish I had the chance to punch him in the face. And then he has the audacity to keep harassing all of you like that. It isn't right."
"It isn't right at all," Nick agreed, "but his dad is rich and powerful, so he does what he wants. All we can do is try to stay out of his way."
"We didn't do so well at that tonight, did we?" Clay said with a nervous chuckle.
"No, we didn't," Nick agreed, running his hands through his hair with a sigh. "I royally fucked up."
They didn't have to wait much longer before Walter and Charlotte found them. They both looked tired and annoyed, and Nick slid over to give them both room on the bench.
"The foundation representatives said they need more time to decide if we are a stable investment," Walter reported. "Which means no. This play, and most likely the Carnation with it, are sunk."
"I'm sorry, Walter," Nick put his face in his hands. "If I'd had a little more self-control—"
"It likely would have been the same result," Walter shrugged. "And we would not have had the satisfaction of getting to see that smug face finally given the punch it so righteously deserved."
Nick knew Walter was just being kind. They still might have won the night and convinced Margret and Patricia they were worth funding if Nick hadn't blown up. He'd doomed them.
"It's no matter now," Walter patted Nick's back. "It's already done. Pull yourself together. I thought you lived with no regrets?"
"I am regretting a great deal lately," Nicholas muttered into his hands.
"We will find another way to fund the play," Walter stood, straightening his clothes. "If I have to knock on every door in Brooklyn asking for donations I will. We will not go down this way."
"What about his threat to take the Guignol?" Charlotte looked pale with worry. "If we lose our venue at this late stage and after how much work and money we've put into it..."
"I will contact the owner tomorrow," Walter promised. "And find out one way or another if he intends to sell it out from under us. If so, we will begin looking for another venue. We may have to delay the opening, but we will not allow that greedy little weasel to defeat us. I guarantee it."
***
Rehearsals the next day consisted more of frantic debate than of actual acting. Ideas and fears filled the air instead of lines as the group discussed what they would do if the Guignol was taken and how they would earn the money to put on the play at all when Eric Matthers was determined to put himself between them and any potential source of funds. Nothing much got done or decided with so many people arguing against one another, many in favor of abandoning the Green Carnation all together. Nick left feeling anxious and frustrated. Walter was determined to figure this out somehow but, looking at the situation, Nick just couldn't imagine how.
His phone buzzed as he was halfway through the lobby, and he paused to check it, smiling as he saw a message from ManhattanProspero.
"We're still on for tonight, right?" the message said. "I'm looking forward to it."
They had been trading messages since the other night, and Nick had begun to think he could really like this guy. He was kind and funny and intelligent and he loved theater. Nicholas couldn't think of a better guy to have his first experimental gay fling with. He still recoiled from the word gay a little, reluctant to believe that could really be him. But he'd find out tonight, one way or the other.
"Hey, Nick."
Nicholas looked up from texting back as Clay called out to him.
"You want to get dinner?" Clay asked. "After that mess in there I could use some good sushi."
"Sorry, I can't," Nick said with a smile, pocketing his phone. "I have a date."
"You're dating someone?" Clay's eyes widened, surprised.
"I might be," Nick confirmed. "Depending on how tonight goes. So wish me luck."
He laughed, but Clay's expression was strange. Nicholas ignored it. Clay could go cry into the ample bosom of Renee Sutherland. Nick had a date!
He fussed over his appearance for a while, wondering if the way you dressed for a gay date was different from a straight one. Should he be putting more effort in? Eyeliner maybe? Did he need a bowtie? Or a handkerchief in his back pocket? He had a ton of probably grossly inaccurate stereotypes and depressingly little in the way of actual information. You'd think a man who spent as much time in the theater as he did would know more about this kind of thing! He knew there were plenty of gay men and women in the troupe. But he never asked about their love lives. They weren't going to date him and it didn't affect their acting, so why bother about it? In the end he went with more or less what he wore on dates with women, hoping it would do.
They met in Prospect Park. The man, just as tall and young and handsome as his photos, was waiting by the stone arch when Nick arrived.
"Prospero?" Nick asked as he approached.
The man looked him over, smiled, and then offered a hand.
"Yes," he confirmed, "But you can call me Damien."
"Nice to meet you Damien," Nick shook his hand, relieved the guy seemed to be all he had been in his profile. "I'm Nick. So what do you have planned for us?"
"I thought we might visit the Brooklyn Gardens, since we're in the park anyway," Damien suggested, beginning to walk. "They're only open for another hour. So I thought we might get dinner after that. I went ahead and got reservations at a place nearby, if you're interested."
"That sounds great," Nick smiled, following. "I love the hothouses in winter. One of my favorite places in the city."
"Mine too," Damien agreed.
For an hour they toured the gardens, talking idly as they observed the rare flowers and exotic fruits that filled the garden's glass green houses. Nick found it difficult to get comfortable. He kept worrying people might be watching, or he might be doing the wrong thing. Despite this, Damien was unfailingly wonderful. Courteous and thoughtful and patient, indulging Nick's little tangents of conversation without complaint. And he was beautiful. Nick would have to be blind not to notice it. The humid air of the hothouse seemed to shimmer on his skin. The lights caught the angles of his handsome, regal face like they were made for him. Among all the rare pale orchids and tender green stems, he looked like a young tree, dark branches proud as antlers, elegant and powerful and unmoving. But when Nick looked at him, all he could think about was Clay.
He had to stop himself from saying the other man's name a dozen times during the course of the date. It was an effort not to babble continuously about Clay's opinion on this or the time he had done that. Everything made him think of the other man, and concentrating on Damien, even as wonderful as Damien was, became almost impossible.
It was after dinner when Damien finally mentioned it. The restaurant he'd chosen was nice, but not so expensive Nick would have felt awkward. The food was fantastic, and as they shared a cheesecake for dessert, Nick's attention wandered again, eyeing the other people in the restaurant and wondering if they guessed what he and Damien were there for. If there was judgment there...
"This is the first time you've gone out with a man, isn't it?"
Nick's focus snapped back to Damien at the other man's words and he blushed.
"Is it that obvious?" he asked.
"I've been there," Damien smiled, putting down his fork. "Besides, your profile still says you're only interested in women."
Nick felt like an idiot.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I should have told you. I just didn't want to make things weird."
"There's nothing to apologize for," Damien reassured him, reaching across the table to take his hand. "I've had a wonderful evening. You're a very attractive man and excellent company. I am curious what made you decide to message me, however."
Nick looked down at their hands, where Damien's thumb was running soothingly across the back of his fingers.
"There's a guy I work with," he confessed. "I thought I was straight and bad at relationships until I met him. I thought it was just a crush I could get over, but it just kept getting bigger."
"Have you tried approaching him about it?" Damien asked. "Or did he turn you down?"
"I haven't told him," Nick shook his head. "He's straight, and head over heels for this critic from the New York Theater Magazine—"
Damien raised an eyebrow and Nick, in brief, explained his involvement with the Green Carnation acting company and their recent troubles. He avoided talking about work so far during this date, not wanting to scare the other man off with drama, but Damien listened patiently, judging nothing.
"So you can see why I can't just confess," he sighed. "So I thought, maybe I should try going out with a guy, see if this is really what I want. And if it is, maybe I could fall for someone else and forget him."
"And what are your findings so far?" Damien asked.
"I'm not sure," Nick confessed, turning over their joined hands to trace the lines of Damien's palm. "I think I've confirmed to myself that I'm not exactly straight at least. I like you. It's been a wonderful night. But I keep thinking about him."
"Perhaps I can help you forget," Damien suggested in a low, suggestive purr, squeezing Nick's hand. Nick's heart skipped a beat, and once Damien paid the check he allowed himself to be taken back to the other man's apartment. He realized with some shock as they got into the elevator that this was one of the nicest buildings in the city, and Damien hit the button for the penthouse. He had no opportunity to think anything else as Damien caught him by the waist and pulled him close. His kiss was mesmerizing. Nick had never been kissed that way in his life. He hadn't hated kissing women, but it seemed like a dull shadow of this by comparison. The heat of Damien's lips and tongue made him feel like he would melt. He felt hyper aware of every touch, his skin lighting up everywhere Damien touched him. The other man's hands were sliding up the back of his shirt, tangling in his hair. He had never felt this turned on in his life. And yet...
The elevator dinged and Damien broke the kiss. Nick, breathless, stared into the other man's eyes and fought the impulse to shove him against the elevator wall and kiss him again. But as he looked at Damien, undeniably sexy, his eyes hot with desire, his hands still around Nick's waist, he realized Damien wasn't who he wanted against that wall. Reluctantly, he pulled back.
"I shouldn't," he said, looking away shamefully. "I'd be thinking about him. It wouldn't be fair to you."
Damien's hand touched his cheek, turning Nick's gaze back to him.
"It's all right," Damien said gently. "I'm under no illusions, and I expect nothing from you. If you want to be with me tonight, then I can show you all you care to learn about being with a man. And in the morning if you're not interested in continuing the relationship, I'll understand. If you would rather go home now, I won't hold it against you. It's your decision. I won't force anything on you."
He stepped back and gestured through the elevator doors to his apartment beyond. Nick wavered for a moment, unsure, then stepped forward and took Damien's hand.
"Just for tonight," he murmured, blushing. "I want to be sure this is what I want."
"Then I am honored to teach you," Damien smiled and led Nick into the apartment.
The night that followed was one Nick would remember the rest of his life. Damien was perfect. As patient as he was passionate, guiding Nick with no shame or greed or for his own pleasure. He discussed penetration with as much frankness and care as he did everything else, and when Nick displayed reluctance to go that far he respected it without question.
"There are a thousand ways for two men to love one another," he said, pulling Nick on top of him to straddle his hips, rocking against him slowly, his hands firm but gentle as he guided the other man. "Penetration is only one. It is not the goal or the only way."
And he proceeded to spend the evening teaching Nick a dozen other, possibly better ways to enjoy each other. Nick felt almost in a daze, captivated by the man beneath him, and when they finally collapsed together into Damien's bed, for a moment he thought he could be happy with this. But his dreams were filled with nothing but Clay. Everything Damien showed him he lived again in his dreams with Clay under his hands and between his thighs. Damien was wonderful, but when he woke the next morning to the light coming through the huge windows with their glorious view of the Manhattan skyline, tangled in silk sheets, he felt the same emptiness.
Damien was still sleeping beside him, so he moved quietly to sit up, finding his pants on the floor and digging out his phone. It was late morning. He was lucky he didn't have work today. But he did have rehearsal this evening he needed to be ready for. Though if it was anything like yesterday's rehearsal there was hardly a point in going. He had a text from Clay.
"Took Renee out for coffee last night!" it read. "Thinking about you while we talked really helped! Thanks!"
He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the stab of pain that went through him. It really was hopeless, wasn't it? Even after a night like that, he was still in love.
He heard the sheets shift behind him, and Damien pressed a sleepy kiss to the back of his neck.
"How are you feeling?" he asked in a low, sleepy murmur. "Any regrets?"
"No," Nicholas said quickly, shaking his head. "Never. It was wonderful."
He turned to look at the other man, regret in his eyes.
"But I don't think I can keep doing it. I'm sorry."
Damien touched his cheek and kissed his forehead.
"I told you I wouldn't be upset," he said. "And I'm not. A little disappointed, but I had an amazing night. I don't regret it."
Nick smiled, and wished he could feel about Damien the way he did about Clay. Life was unfair.
"I need to get going," he said. "I've got rehearsals tonight. We still have a lot to figure out."
"Then I will see you another time," Damien said. "If you ever change your mind, you can feel free to call me."
"I will," Nick smiled, and leaned in to kiss the other man one last time. Then he dressed quickly and left, his head still full of thoughts of what they'd done last night.
I'm gay, he realized as he rode the elevator down. Without a doubt now. How am I going to tell people? Should I tell people? My parents probably won't be surprised. I did run off to New York to become a stage actor after all...
Chapter Thirteen
The worries stayed with him as he headed home to shower, change, and eat before rehearsal. He was so preoccupied thinking about his newly discovered orientation, wondering what it meant for his life that he left late and arrived at rehearsals nearly twenty minutes past when they were scheduled to begin.
"I'm so sorry I'm late, I lost track of the time and—"
He came in apologizing and stopped as he realized something was up. The group was clustered together near the front of the stage, talking in excited voices. Walter spotted Nick and broke away to hurry to him, face shining with delight.
"Nicholas! You won't believe it," he said delightedly. "This gentleman has just agreed to fund the play! He bought the theater in one payment and is going to maintain it exclusively for our performances! Matthers won't be able to touch us!"
"Who?" Nick asked, stunned, but before Walter could answer, the crowd parted to reveal Damien, dressed in a fine suit and smiling.
"I don't think I ever gave you my last name the other night," he said, leaving the crowd to come to Nick's side. "It's Damien Price, of
Price Enterprises."
Price Enterprises ran half the city, and Damien Price was one of the wealthiest men in it. Nick's head spun.
"Please don't look so concerned," he said with surprising gentleness. "I am not attempting to buy you or anything so tactless. I told you I was a fan of the theater. I simply wish to see the Green Carnation and this historical stage restored to its former glory. And, in confidence—"
He leaned forward a little with a smile.
"Ferdinand Matthers is something of a rival of mine," he said. "The chance to deprive his loathsome son of his toys is one I couldn't pass up."
He was soon pulled away again by Walter to talk business, and Clay made it through the crowd, waving when he saw Nick.
"Isn't that incredible?" he asked, jerking a thumb back at Damien Price. "Guy just came out of nowhere! It's incredible!"
"Definitely," Nick chuckled as Clay repeated himself, feeling his heart lift as soon as he saw the other man. At least until he remembered the text from this morning. "So how did the date with Renee go?"
"Oh, it was great!" Clay said, excited. "I mean, it was just dinner. More like coffee, actually. But I talked to her, and I didn't spend the whole time tripping over myself, and it's all thanks to you!"
"I'm glad I could help," Nick said, looking away. Then, after a beat, he continued. "What is it you like about her so much?"
Clay looked surprised for a moment.
"Have you seen her?" he laughed. "She's beautiful!"
"So, it's just her looks?" Nick asked, frowning.
"No," Clay tried to protest. "I mean, that's part of it. But there's also—she's also—"
Clay fumbled for an answer, pursing his lips as he tried to put his feelings into words.
"It's fine," Nick stopped him. "As long as you're happy."
He turned away to go find Walter and begin the rehearsals, still working on his decision. He didn't love her, not really. Clay was infatuated with her looks. So maybe if Nick picked the right time, maybe he could make this work. It had to be worth a shot at least. He'd try confessing to Clay, and if it didn't work...He glanced at Damien, who was staying to watch the rehearsal. Now that he knew what he wanted, there were all kinds of new fish in the sea, weren't there?