Behind the Curtain

by Jerry Cole

  Nick flushed with pleasure, and he pulled Clay into a deep, passionate kiss. When they separated to breathe again, he whispered the words against Clay's lips.

  "I love you, too."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dinner was tense from moment one. The restaurant was a midrange family place, inoffensively Italian themed and crowded with people enjoying the holidays with their families. Clay was the eldest of five sons. Thankfully, not all of them were in attendance. But the two youngest were, as well as Clay's sharp-eyed mother, dour, mustachioed father, and his surprisingly spry grandmother whose seemingly permanent expression was one of someone sucking on a lemon. Nick could tell right away they weren't happy about being here. They eyed the city like it was a predatory beast preparing to attack and looked at Nick with open dislike and mistrust.

  "This is Nick," Clay introduced him as they sat down. "He's a friend from the acting company. We're going to a little cast party together after this so I asked him to come along. I've told you about him before. He's the one who helped me figure out the trains and showed me around the city."

  "He's the one who convinced you to try out for this play, right?" Clay's mother asked, looking at Nick with a clear expression of blame.

  "Dumbest idea I ever heard," the grandmother snorted before Clay could reply. "You should be focusing on your studies and getting back home as soon as you can. You father needs the help."

  "Dad's got the four of us," one of Clay's brothers protested. "We take care of things just fine."

  "Don't talk back to your elders," Clay's father said sharply, smacking the boy on the back of the hand with the flat of his fork.

  "It's just a play!" Clay argued. "It's not distracting me. And I'm really enjoying it."

  "So long as it's just the one play, it's fine," Clay's father spoke in a low rumble that seemed to carry with it an unquestionable tone of finality. "A man needs something to keep him busy in his off hours after all. So long as it's just the one play."

  Clay swallowed hard, licked his lips, and glanced at Nick. Nick tried to shake his head minutely. They hadn't even ordered yet. Let them at least get some breadsticks to slow them down first!

  "Actually," Clay went on anyway, "I'm thinking of doing another play with this company once Cyrano is over. I'm really enjoying it."

  Silence fell over the table. The mother's sharp glance shot to Nick like she thought she'd see him literally holding a gun to Clay's head because that was the only possible explanation for her son having interests outside of dairy farming, right?

  "In fact," Clay pushed on, "I think I'm going to keep acting the whole time I'm here. I'm still going to get my degree and I won't let it affect my grades but—"

  "You realize what people back home are gonna think, don't you?" Clay's father stared across the table at Clay, gaze severe over his thick mustache. "What they're already thinking? I had to put down enough rumors just from you coming to this city in the first place. What do you think they're going to say if they hear you're prancing around on stage like a god damn fairy?"

  "It's not like that, Dad—" Clay tried to argue, but his father went on.

  "Are you trying to embarrass yourself?" the older man demanded. "Are you trying to embarrass this family?"

  "No, why would I—that doesn't even make sense—" Clay struggled to defend himself. Nick sat next to him, frozen silent and unsure how to help.

  "If you need a hobby, pick up something respectable," the old man went on. "I'm not going to be known around town as the man whose son runs around with a bunch of faggots and—"

  "Dad!" Clay cut him off, clearly disgusted. Even the rest of the family looked uncomfortable with the language.

  "And what about when you come back?" Clay's dad pushed on. "You think these kind of rumors are going to make finding a wife easy? Cause I can tell you buddy, you're wrong."

  "I don't care!" Clay said, loudly enough to attract the attention of the rest of the restaurant and finally make his father fall quiet. Clay, his hands flat on the table, stared his father hard in the eye. "I'm not going back, Dad. I'm not interested in running the farm. I want to keep acting, and I want to stay here in the city."

  There was a long moment of stunned silence.

  "This place has been a bad influence on you," his mother said at last. "I knew it would. You just need to come home and get your head straight again. We'll call your school tomorrow and tell them you're dropping out."

  "No, you won't," Clay said firmly. "I'm a legal adult. You can't make decisions like that for me. They won't let you without my approval."

  "So you're going to refuse?" his mother looked shocked and offended. "You're just going to abandon your family so you can, what? Pretend to be some big shot actor in the city?"

  "I'm not abandoning you, Ma," Clay sighed, frustrated. "I just want to do something different with my life! Is it really that unbelievable?"

  "You're going to humiliate all of us," his grandmother cut in. "And then you're going to end up broke and alone, probably on drugs, in a gutter somewhere, and then no one will want you!"

  "I can't believe you would just turn your back on us after everything we've done for you!" his mother wailed.

  "It's not happening, and that's final," his father insisted.

  "You're overreacting," Clay tried to reassert some kind of control. All four adults were talking over each other now, hysterical and outraged. Nick and Clay's brother shared a miserable look, joined in the mutual awkwardness of an argument they had no place in.

  "We're done here," his father said at last, standing up. "Come on, Ma, let's go."

  "We won't be going to that play," his mother said firmly. "We're not going to encourage this."

  "Once you've gotten over this stupidity, you can come back," his father said, and he, Clay's mother, and grandmother, left. Nick and Clay saw them to the doors of the restaurant. The brothers lingered a little longer.

  "I think it's cool you want to be an actor," the younger one, who was about sixteen, said. "Get rich and famous, okay?"

  The older one, who was eighteen, shuffled a little awkwardly.

  "I'm sorry we can't come to your play," he said. "You know Dad. Give it time and maybe he'll come around. I hope you'll be happy."

  He glanced at Nick shyly, and then away again.

  "You know, both of you."

  "How did you—" Clay's eyes widened, surprised, then he shut up, worried he just revealed himself.

  "It's pretty obvious in your emails that you're head over heels for him," the younger brother shrugged. "I think Mom and Dad just missed it cause they're in denial. Dale and Hunter figured it out too. Dale thinks it’s gross, but he doesn't hold it against you or anything. And Hunter and us don't care. We won't tell the folks so don't worry."

  "Thanks," Clay said with a sigh of relief. "Thank you, both of you. I'm sorry about leaving the farm to you guys."

  "It's fine," the older waved it off. "You know Dale has been wishing Dad would leave it to him all this time anyway. He'll be thrilled."

  "We'd better hurry up before they come back in here and make another scene," said the younger brother.

  "We'll see you around Easter maybe?" the older brother suggested. "I'll save up and see if me and Dan can't come up here and see your next play without Mom and Dad."

  "I'd like that," Clay said with a smile. "Nick knows all the best places around Brooklyn."

  "See you then!" Clay's brothers waved and hurried away, leaving Nick and Clay standing in the restaurant alone. Nick put a hand on Clay's shoulder and felt the other man trembling. Clay took a deep breath and steadied himself.

  "It's fine, see?" Clay turned back to Nick, smiling easily. "I told you it would be all right."

  "Yeah, you're right," Nick agreed. "Everything is fine."

  He pulled Clay into a hug and the other man embraced him tightly for a long moment before they separated, slightly embarrassed to be doing that in public.

  "Come on," Nicholas ignored his awkward
ness and took Clay's hand. "Let's go see Walter."

  ***

  They took the train into the city to Walter's apartment, stopping by Nick's house to pick up a few things on the way. Walter looked surprised when he opened the door.

  "Nicholas, Clayton!" he said, delighted. "You're early! We were just about to sit down."

  "Yeah, dinner with my folks ended a bit abruptly," Clay chuckled, "so we haven't eaten yet."

  "I brought gifts," Nick held up a bag as he slid past Walter into the apartment. "I got a yule log cake from that bakery near the theater and a bottle of champagne."

  "Oh, wonderful!" Walter guided them into the dining room, where the table was loaded with a Christmas feast. "You can put the cake there with the other desserts."

  The table was overloaded with a massive turkey and enough casseroles and sides to feed a small country, and another table to the side was equally overloaded with cakes and pies.

  "Are you planning to roll us all out of here at the end of the night?" Nick asked, laughing.

  "One cannot think well, love well, or sleep well, if one has not dined well." Walter replied sagely.

  "Virginia Woolf?" Nick guessed.

  "Just so," Walter agreed, pleased. "I knew you'd get one eventually."

  "You know what they say," Clay teased, "even a stopped clock is right twice a day."

  "Did you bring something for the white elephant?" Walter asked as Nick contemplated kissing the smug out of Clay's mouth.

  "Uh," Clay looked worried.

  "I did," Nick laughed. "And I got something for you, too, Clay so don't look so scared."

  "I don't know how these parties work," Clay shrugged. "I guess I’m not really prepared."

  "An acting company is a family," Walter said warmly, "so imagine this is exactly like a family gathering. Except there are no children running around so we can drink as much as we like."

  As he said this, he popped open Nick's bottle of champagne and began pouring them a glass.

  Several of the others from the company were already there, including Charlotte.

  "I figured you would have a boyfriend or something," Nick said, surprised. Charlotte was already halfway through her second sizable glass of wine and just shrugged.

  "I just got divorced not long ago," she explained. "Left my husband in Minnesota and moved down here. I don't feel like dating again yet, but I didn't feel like spending the holiday alone either."

  "Well then, happy holidays, Charlotte," Clay said, toasting her with his champagne. "I'm glad you're here with us.

  Charlotte grinned, apparently more pleased than Nick would have expected by Clay's words.

  "I'm glad you're here too, Clay," she said. "You really brighten the place up."

  Dinner was lively, full of conversation and laughter. Nick held Clay's hand under the table through most of it, quietly content in their little romance. Nick got a weird lamp from the white elephant which Charlotte originally acquired as a drunken purchase during an art festival. Clay got a book of poems by T.S. Eliot which Nick suspected was from Walter. He flipped it open and within a few lines looked more baffled than Nick had ever seen him.

  As the party began to wind down, Nick presented Walter with a small box.

  "Merry Christmas," he said as Walter took it, puzzled.

  "You didn't need to get me anything," Walter tried to give it back, flustered. "I didn't get any personal gifts this year."

  "I wanted to," Nick insisted. "You've done a lot for me this year. It isn't much."

  Walter opened it a little reluctantly, eyes widening as he saw the pocket watch inside.

  "Oh, it's lovely," he said, lifting it out. "But I can't accept it! This must have been far too expensive!"

  "I got Matthers to pay for it," Nick reassured him. "Told him it was for me. Open it."

  The inside of the lid was inscribed with a quote.

  "Theater is the greatest of all art forms," Walter read. "The most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being. Ah, Wilde."

  "I know he's one of your favorites," Nick said with a smile. "It seemed appropriate."

  "You are a wonder, Nicholas," Walter said, turning to embrace the other man. "And the closest thing I shall ever have to a son. Thank you."

  ***

  The evening wore on, and Nick met Clay on the steps of Walter's apartment to prepare to leave. It was a beautiful night, the sky a deep sapphire, lit up by the snow that covered the street, glowing white as the stars.

  "Ready to go home?" Clay asked, smiling, as Nick approached.

  "Not just yet," Nick pulled one last gift from his pocket. "I had to get it kind of last minute, so it isn't much, but..."

  Clay opened the package curiously, smiling as he saw the scarf inside. It was cow print.

  "That's ridiculous," he said, laughing as he pulled it out and put it on. "One of the most awful things I think I've ever seen."

  "I did say I got it last minute," Nick shrugged, embarrassed. "I thought I'd get you something to wear more appropriate for the weather that still matches your cowboy aesthetic."

  "I love it," Clay said, and bent to kiss Nick's cheek, the terrible scarf around his neck. "I got you something too. Right after you went to Matthers. I wasn't sure we'd have you back by Christmas, but just in case..."

  He pulled out a small box from his pocket and tossed it to Nick. It wasn't wrapped, and Nick knew the familiar shape of a ring box.

  "Don't you think that's moving a little fast?" Nick asked, laughing.

  "It's not like that," Clay blushed. "Just open it."

  Inside was Clay's high school class ring. Nick chuckled, shaking his head.

  "That's so cheesy," he giggled.

  "I just wanted you to have something of mine," Clay was red as a stoplight. "Just something to show, you know, that we're connected."

  Nick put it on, admiring it.

  "It's perfect," he said. "Thank you. Merry Christmas, Clay."

  "Merry Christmas, Nick."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A year later, Nick stood in an empty apartment and took a deep breath. Before him, French doors looked out over a balcony with a beautiful view of the Manhattan skyline. Footsteps echoed off the bare freshly painted walls as Clay approached and put his arms around Nick from behind.

  "So you think this is the place?" he asked.

  "I think so," Nick nodded. "It's close to your school and the theater after all. I'll miss Brighton Beach, but the extra space will be nice."

  "I like the balcony," Clay grinned.

  "You're like a kid," Nick laughed.

  "What can I say?" Clay shrugged. "I'm easy to please. And the view is nice."

  "We'll be paying too much for that view," Nick grumbled.

  "Oh, did you hear we're deciding on the new production at the next meeting?" Clay asked, turning Nick in his arms to face him. "Do you know what we're doing?"

  "I think Walter was talking about doing something romantic," Nick said, thinking back. "And aiming to perform around Valentine's Day."

  "Ah, that's too bad," Clay grumbled.

  "Not a fan of romance?" Nick asked, chuckling.

  "No, it's just that, if we aim for big parts, we'll probably end up having scenes mostly with women," Clay shrugged. "I'd rather do something with male leads so I can have more scenes with you."

  Nicholas blushed, pleased, and kissed Clay on the cheek.

  "Maybe we can talk Walter into doing something unusual," he suggested. "Like Romeo and Juliet, only Mercutio is in love with Romeo and we change the ending."

  "That'd sure be something," Clay laughed. "I think you just want to be Mercutio though. I know he's your favorite character."

  "Mercutio is the best character in that play," Nick said seriously. "Possibly in all of Shakespeare."

  Clay just laughed again, shaking his head. Nick turned back toward the window and Clay rested his head on Nick's shoulder.

  "Whatever we do, I
'm sure it'll be great," Nick said. "Damien's help with the advertising brought us all kinds of good attention last time. The Green Carnation and the Guignol will be one of the top companies in the city again in no time at this rate."

  "Damien's a good guy," Clay agreed. "I do wish he'd quit reminding you he's still waiting for you to dump me. Makes me a little insecure. How am I supposed to compete with a guy like that?"

  Nick laughed and turned his head to kiss the other man.

  "There's no competition at all," he said with a warm smile. "I want to be with you for the rest of my life."

  Clay squeezed Nick tighter, eyes full of undisguised adoration.

  "My parents might be coming to the next one," Nick changed the subject, looking away to hide his blush. "I've been talking to them more. They're starting to get more comfortable talking about it. I think maybe you should meet them this time."

  "You really think it would be okay?" Clay asked, worried. He hadn't made much progress with his own family. They still wouldn't even accept he wanted to stay in the city.

  "I think it might make them feel better to know I'm in a stable relationship," Nick said, "rather than running around the city with strange men."

  "I don't know. I think I'm pretty strange," Clay teased, tickling Nick's side. "Or at least you seemed to think so last night when I had you tied by your—"

  "Never mind, you're never meeting my parents," Nick said deadpan, pulling out of Clay's arms. Clay laughed and tried to catch him again.

  "You know you love it."

  "Yeah but that doesn't mean I want to hear about it during polite conversation!"

  "You know," Clay caught Nick and pinned him to the balcony door, "the realtor isn't going to be back for another hour. We could break the place in..."

  He was already pulling at Nick's pants, and Nick gasped as the cold glass of the French doors touched his skin. He bit his lip, knowing this was a bad idea, but unable to resist as Clay dropped kisses down his throat. Nick groped Clay through his pants boldly, unsurprised to find the man already getting hard. Something was always setting him off. It seemed like Nick just had to smile the right way for Clay to be jumping him like this. Not that Nick minded.