by Jerry Cole
Chapter Nineteen
The Christmas Eve show was, unsurprisingly, not well attended. People were at home celebrating with their families. But Matthers seemed to blame the poor attendance on the cast for some unfathomable reason. He spent nearly an hour after the show ended railing at them about their inadequacy, keeping them longer from their homes and private celebrations. Nick wondered if the man was, perhaps, lonely, and just putting off having to be alone tonight. It didn’t earn him any sympathy in Nick’s books. If he didn’t want to be alone he should learn not to be such a creep. It was no one else’s responsibility to teach or coddle him, no matter how much he might think it was.
At last he let everyone go, and the cast and crew separated in undisguised relief, eager to get home. Nick gathered his own things tiredly, thinking he might actually go home tonight. It would be good to sleep in his own bed. Instead, he felt Eric’s hand close around his arm.
"Come on, you," Matthers pulled him toward the door. "We're going to dinner with my father."
Christmas dinner with the Matthers family sounded like one of the worst things Nick could imagine. He looked back toward the other cast and saw Farah watching, scrambling to find a way to separate them. Quickly he shook his head. He could handle this.
"Why do I have to go?" he hissed, pulling his arm away. “I might have to work with you, but outside this theater you don’t own me.”
"Because I told you to, and I still have those photos," Matthers replied, grabbing his arm again. "So cooperate."
Nick fell resentfully silent and let Matthers pull him along.
"Besides," Matthers went on, "my father is interested in you."
That made Nicholas look up, curious.
"He knows about my efforts to get you into my company, after all," Matthers shrugged like it wasn't that interesting. "He wants to see what kind of person you are."
"I'm the kind of person who punched you in the face in front of him the last time we met," Nick replied, disinterest palpable. "I don't see how he can think I'm that interesting."
"Well, it really doesn't matter what you think," Matthers scoffed as they left the theater the Matthers Players had been rehearsing in and headed down the busy, late afternoon sidewalk. There was already a crush of people and it would only get worse later as people scramble to complete last minute errands before Christmas. "You do what I say. And I do what my father says. That's all there is to it. Now hurry up, you need to change."
He tugged harder on Nick's arm, looking away for a moment, and collided with a woman going the other direction. They both went down in a tangle of limbs and shouting which Nick observed with humor while Matthers extricated himself as quickly as possible.
"Watch where you're going, you dumb bitch!" Matthers spat, aiming a kick at the stunned, wide-eyed woman and missing before storming on. Nick helped her to her feet and muttered an apology before hurrying after the other man.
Being forced to wear clothes Matthers picked out for him felt unexpectedly disgusting. Though it was a fine suit, it felt filthy on his skin, tainted by Matthers' attention.
His father had reservations at a fine restaurant. A trendy French establishment it occupied the entire top floor of a high-rise downtown with an impeccable view. The interior was tasteful, dark woods and brass fixtures like the office of a high-powered attorney, with warm accent lighting that left things just dim enough to be romantic. Nick couldn't even imagine how much it would cost to book a place like this on Christmas Eve. It was a beautiful restaurant and, even in the suit Matthers bought him, Nick felt underdressed. His very soul was of too low a quality for a place like this.
Ferdinand Matthers was already seated and waiting for them when they arrived, seeming as rigid and immutable as the skyline behind in a bespoke dove gray suit that brought out the piercing blue of his eyes and his dark, salt and pepper hair. Nicholas had the feeling one never really saw Ferdinand Matthers arrive somewhere. He was always already there, waiting, a step ahead of you always.
"Merry Christmas, Dad," Eric Matthers said, the words jarringly casual in this setting, and said to this man. "You just got back from Paris, right? How was it?"
The elder Matthers didn't respond. He just stared at Nicholas expectantly.
"Oh, yeah, this is Nick Bellerose," Eric introduced him casually, already sitting down, tipping his chair back carelessly. "I told you about him."
"You punched my son in the face," Ferdinand said, still having not looked once at his son. "I believe you chased him with a broom once as well?"
"He deserved it," Nicholas replied boldly, meeting the other man's eye without hesitation. "I won't apologize."
"You will if I tell you to," Eric threatened, but Ferdinand stopped him with the smallest gesture of his hand.
"I wouldn't ask you to," Ferdinand replied with the calm, emotionless smile of a shark. "Please. Sit down."
Nick took a seat beside Eric and glanced over the very pared down menu, choosing one of the two available entrees, whose descriptions read like some kind of culinary word scramble. He wasn’t positive it was in English at all. Silence hung over the table until the waiter came for their orders, and lingered after he left. Eric seemed unsurprised by his father’s lack of interest in conversation.
"So, Nicholas," Ferdinand spoke and Eric was so surprised he almost choked on his drink. "How have you been finding my son's acting company? I hope it is up to your standards."
"Of course," Nick, unsure of the man's motivations, eyed him warily. "They have the best of everything. Any actor would be lucky."
"There's no need to be polite," Ferdinand chuckled, the sound raising the hair on Nick's arms. "Tell me how you really feel. I insist."
Eric was glaring at his father sourly and Nick, not waiting for permission from the other man, took a gamble.
"Your son is a terrible actor and a worse director," Nick told him, voice as even as he could make it. "All the best resources in the world are wasted on him and the harassment he puts the actors through makes the majority of them not want to be there. They do the very minimum required to collect his generous stipends, which are the only thing that makes remaining in that company worthwhile, and for many even that is not enough. Your son is a handsy creep, sir."
Nick braced himself for possible outrage, but Ferdinand only laughed, seemingly truly amused. Eric was red as a beet and practically vibrating with fury he dared not unleash without his father's tacit permission. Nick would probably suffer for this later, but for the moment it felt good.
"You are an honest person," Ferdinand said. "Straight forward. I like that. You've never tolerated my son's behavior just because he had enough money and power to bury your entire family if he cared to. I appreciate that kind of pride, truly."
Nick heard the subtle threat there and swallowed hard, the champagne suddenly sour on his tongue.
"But you're right," Ferdinand went on. "He is an idiot who cannot keep his hands to himself. You can't imagine the money I've spent keeping his little indiscretions quiet. But in the end, it makes him obedient. Doesn't it, Eric?"
"Yes, sir," Eric spoke through clenched teeth and didn't meet his father's chilly gaze.
"I find you interesting, Nicholas Bellerose," Ferdinand said with another too friendly smile. "Perhaps I will steal you for a week or two. I have a villa in Monte Carlo. A very private place. And my son is so obedient, I'm certain he won't object."
"No, thank you," Nicholas swallowed hard, feeling his appetite wither.
"It was not a request," Ferdinand replied.
"Mr. Matthers, happy holidays!"
Nick looked up, relieved by the interruption, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw Damien Price striding toward the table.
"Mr. Price," Ferdinand's voice was cold.
"Having Christmas dinner with the family?" Damien asked, nodding to Eric. "And Nicholas Bellerose! I was wondering where you disappeared to. You haven't been to the Guignol in a while."
"Yes, I am enjoying the holiday with my son," Ferdina
nd said coolly. "So if you don't mind—"
"I'm eating alone actually," Damien cut in. "I'm afraid it's just me for the holidays this year. Mind if I join you?"
He didn't wait for a response but pulled up a seat on the other side of Nicholas. Nick stared at him in surprise and confusion.
"So, Nick! How have you been?" Damien asked, settling in and checking a menu. "The play has suffered without you. Your understudy is good, but he and Clay just don't have the same chemistry."
A waiter appeared with the appetizers, and Damien asked to have his entree brought to this table. Ferdinand boiled with quiet, cold rage.
"I joined the Matthers Players rather suddenly," Nick explained, trying to stay calm though his heart was racing. "I didn't really have time to tell everyone. I'm sorry. It was very unprofessional of me."
"I have a feeling Walter and the others would understand," Damien reassured him. "They're very understanding people. And you're all so close, I doubt they could hold it against you."
Nick glanced down at his exquisite scallops, expression worried. He wondered if he'd ever have the chance to ask for their forgiveness.
"And what exactly brings you to my table tonight?" Ferdinand cut in, taking back control of the conversation with a cold glare. "Please do not expect me to believe this was a coincidence."
"No, no you're right," Damien laughed. "It's no coincidence. The truth is I came here looking for Nicholas. Your son may have told you we had a bit of a fling."
He winked in Nick's direction, and Nick paled.
"So when I heard from Walter Eliot that he disappeared I just had to investigate," he went on, sampling his scallops with a pleased expression before reaching into his coat. "Imagine my surprise when I found him in the company of your son! And you know, in the course of looking into that, I discovered some very interesting things about Mr. Matthers Junior."
He pulled an envelope from his coat and flipped through its contents idly.
"Sexual harassment charges, restraining orders, rape accusations," Damien clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Your boy has some bad habits."
"There is no evidence to substantiate any of that," Ferdinand said calmly. "Did you really think you could come to my table and threaten me so easily? Have you forgotten who I am?"
"Not for a minute," Damien replied with a smile. "Which is why I made sure I did have something substantial first."
He laid down a set of photos on the table which showed Eric running into the woman on the street earlier. The timing of the photos and the careful posing and expressions of the woman however made it more than imply that he was assaulting her.
"We have a victim here who's ready to testify your son groped her and shoved her down in a public street," Damien raised his eyebrows like he was talking about the antics of children.
"What?" Eric squawked and yanked the pictures closer. "I didn't! I would never!"
He squinted at the photos, then shoved them away with a snarl.
"Bastard! That's Charlotte Underwood in a wig! You set me up!"
"What do you expect to accomplish with this?" Ferdinand asked, unruffled. "It's too obvious to ever be taken seriously."
"It doesn't need to be taken seriously," Damien grinned. "I can make sure it goes to court, and goes there loudly and publicly. It'll be thrown out most likely, but not before all the dirty little secrets you've been covering up for him get dragged out by the media."
"Including the testimony of every actor in the Matthers Players," Nick added. "Who have all promised to testify to Eric Matthers sexual harassment and coercion. I even got in contact with several of the actresses who quit your company before I joined, at least one of which is willing to testify you drugged her during a cast party."
Eric stared at Nick in shock, beginning to realize he'd been played.
"Did you really think I would just go along with you?" Nick's lip curled in disgust. "Without even trying to fight back? I only agreed to join your company to keep you busy while Damien’s investigators found enough evidence to stop you. And it turns out the most valuable evidence was all the people you’ve been abusing for your entertainment all this time."
"Your son's reputation will be dragged through the mud before the case is thrown," Damien finished. "And yours with it. And who knows what might get dug up during the investigation? There might even be jail time in your future."
Ferdinand's nostrils flared, and he sat back slowly from the table, folding his hands.
"So," he said, taking a deep breath, "you destroy my son, I destroy you, an eye for an eye until we are all blind? Is that how you intend this to go?"
"No," Damien replied. "I intend it to go nowhere at all. Mutually assured destruction. You release Nicholas. You cease your interference with the Green Carnation and the Guignol, which are legally a part of my holdings now. We both agree to stay out of each other's business. For good."
"Acceptable terms," Ferdinand was looking at Damien like a lion contemplating a gazelle. "For now."
Eric was purple with rage.
"We will find a way around this," he hissed. "This isn't going to be the end."
"I'm counting on it," Nick replied evenly, standing up. "Also, I'm keeping the suit. I think my appetite is pretty much gone. I'm going home."
"I'll come with you," Damien agreed. "There's a smell here that's turning my stomach."
They left the dining room calmly, but as soon as they were out of sight Nick threw his arms around Damien and hugged the other man tightly.
"I can't believe you did it!" he gasped. "I knew you were planning to approach Eric about it today but when he dragged me to dinner with him I thought we were going to have to put it off! And then his father was there and—Christ, I don't know how you could talk to him that way! I could barely look him in the eye."
"Knowing you have the ammunition to bury him helps," Damien replied. "Which I could never have got without your help."
They reached the front of the restaurant now, and Walter, Charlotte, and Clay were waiting just outside for them. The night was clear and bitingly cold. Golden lights were strung through the buildings, and the frosted air carried with it the sound of carols from every direction. Bright colors shone in all the windows and the world felt brand new. The gray that had hung over him for so long was finally lifting. And the first thing he saw was Clay, the lights glittering on his golden curls, his beautiful face set with concern. The way his eyes looked tonight was nearly enough to make Nicholas cry.
"It's done?" Clay asked as soon as he saw Nick with Damien. Damien nodded and Clay rushed forward at once, sweeping Nick into his arms and kissing him hard. Nick, caught off guard, melted into the embrace after a moment, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. Clay spun him around and set him back on his feet, but even as he broke the kiss he couldn't seem to stop touching Nick, stroking his hair and touching his face.
"I never got your answer before," he said, expression plaintive. "You and me. Do you think—Can I be—I think I—"
Nick put a hand to the other man's mouth to stop him.
"Yes," he said simply, and removed his hand to kiss Clay again, longer this time.
"Ahem," Walter cleared his throat, blushing. "I hate to interrupt this, but..."
Nick pulled away from Clay quickly, red-faced. He hadn't even thought about the fact they were in public. Judging by how embarrassed Clay looked he hadn't either. Nick shook off the flustered feeling and went to hug Walter and Charlotte instead.
"You were incredible, Charlotte," he said. "I saw the photos. If you could act that well, you must be holding back on stage."
"What can I say?" Charlotte shrugged. "Petty revenge is a huge motivation for me."
"I'll remember that," Walter chuckled. "I am so glad you're back my boy. I couldn't stand thinking about you trapped under the thumb of that monster."
He took Nick's hand reassuringly.
"It was brave of you to finally tell us what he had done," Walter said solemnly. "I know it must
have been difficult to ask for help, knowing what it would mean admitting."
"It was Cyrano that convinced me," Nick said, his cheeks pink but his eyes narrowed with sincerity. "I kept thinking about how pointless his suffering and death were. If he'd put away his pride and let people help him, he could have been with Roxanne and been happy. He chose his own miserable ending by deciding to rely on no one. I didn't want to end up that way."
"Because you live without regrets?" Clay asked, smiling, but Nick shook his head.
"I think maybe that's impossible," he said. "At least not the way I was doing it, avoiding situations I might regret by never taking a chance. But at least I want to be able to say my regrets and my happiness balanced each other out."
"Sounds like a good plan to me," Clay agreed, putting an arm around Nick's shoulder.
"Thank you again, Damien," Nick said as they prepared to leave. "You've done more for us than I can believe. Will you be all right with Matthers still having those photos?"
"I'll be fine," Damien assured them. "I've been thinking about coming out publicly for a while now. I think this is the time to do it. Once I'm out ahead of it, their blackmail will be meaningless. I'm sure they'll be looking for a way to neutralize theirs as well, but it'll be a little harder for them, I think. Whatever happens, I'll keep them out of your hair."
"Won't it be dangerous for your business, coming out?" Nick worried.
"A little," Damien shrugged. "But I'm already rich. It's not like a few stuck up business partners getting finicky about my personal life will bankrupt me. In the current media climate, it might actually improve my business to be seen as more progressive. Don't worry about it."
"Is there anything we could do for you in return?" Walter asked. "It just feels like we've taken advantage of you."
"I want a reserved box seat at all your performances," Damien declared. "For me and a guest. And of course, that thing I mentioned to you Nicholas."
He nodded to Nick, and Nick smiled.
"I think that sounds very doable," he said, glancing to Walter for confirmation. "I think you might be waiting a long time for the second thing, unfortunately."