Never Enough

by Alexandra Caluen

  “Playing anything,” Andy agreed. “Not to mention the most-commented-upon swordfight in the history of the internet.”

  “Is it really?”

  “Apparently so. The Niall and Red version, which must chap that guy’s ass.” Victor laughed. He felt sorry for the actor playing Macbeth. Andy didn’t, much. “Come on, he’s lucky he has the part. Niall could have said, you know what Janis, I’ll catch up with you and Geoffrey after it closes, have to tread the boards now.”

  “He didn’t want to be an actor.”

  “I know. He doesn’t want that life.”

  “He’s got his hands full with Janis.”

  “And his mouth full with Geoffrey, no doubt.”

  Victor snickered. “So what have you told Reggie lately?”

  “Not a lot. I sent him one of those pictures of Dmitri and Patrick and he

  swooned so much I thought I’d better not send him any more.”

  “Who’s still outstanding?”

  “Well, since I got Antony and Cleopatra this week, I think I’m through until Red and Mary come home. Nobody else has come knocking saying can we do this or that, and I’m out of ideas, and you haven’t thrown me anything for a while.”

  “We got so many more than I expected. It was fun.”

  “Yeah, it was. Anyway, I’ve been pretty much choosing the gallery images along the way. Now it’s time to do the processing. And now that I know how many it is, I can start thinking about when and where to hang the show.”

  “That gallery where you had ‘A Tempest’ is too small, huh.” Andy made a sound of assent. Victor looked around for his drink, realized the glass was almost empty, and went to get a refill. “More water for you?” He refilled Andy’s glass too, set down the pitcher, and had a thought. “Were you working on a show when we met?”

  “When I did Tanith’s pictures? Yeah, I was.”

  “Did you not do a book for it? I only remember seeing one from spring twenty twelve.”

  Andy’s usual thing was to print up a single book with all the images from a given shoot, highlighting the ones he’d printed for hanging. Only occasionally did he design and print a book for the public. “The spring show had a book. The fall show, after I hung it, I thought it was too depressing. So I didn’t do my usual thing, much less one for sale.”

  “What was the subject?” Victor sat down, elbows on his knees, studying his husband. Andy didn’t usually do depressing things. Even his next exhibit, the wildly popular ‘Cut Open’ – which was explicitly about damage – hadn’t been depressing.

  Andy gazed back at him. “Empty theaters. I’d taken it down a week or so before we met again.”

  “Oh.” Say no more, Victor thought. No wonder Andy hadn’t kept working on it. At the time, that must have felt like opening a vein. He wanted to apologize. Something in his husband’s expression told him he shouldn’t.

  He tried something else instead. “Ever think of revisiting that?”

  “Well, I never did before.” Andy thought about it. “In view of

  subsequent events, I might feel differently about those images now. There’s a lot of promise in an empty theater.”

  He might have hesitated to suggest another project for his husband, but he knew this one wouldn’t take much time. Andy had a template for those archive books. Plus, he wouldn’t be surprised if some of that material would be a good tie-in for their Broadway concert. “I’d like to see them.”

  “Then I’ll throw together a book.” Andy smiled, leaned across the gap between the loungers, and kissed Victor. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too. You’re literally the most interesting man in the world.

  Even when you don’t have the beard.”

  “I don’t always print a book,” said Andy, striking a pose, “but when I do, it’s a dirty book.” Victor laughed. “Is it time to shower?”

  Chapter 14

  October 2019

  They took a livery car to Hollywood, since experience had taught them that driving themselves would be a pain in the ass. The last time they’d done it, it had taken them more than twenty irritating (and anxiety-inducing) minutes to get from the club to their car. This way, they could be picked up within feet of the entrance, with a driver and the Chrome doorman to deflect paparazzi or other celebrity hounds. “You know what’s nice,” Andy said on the way. “I’ve been hanging around this place so long that Tyrone and Terry don’t give a shit about me. They’re like, oh it’s you again? I suppose you want a loveseat up front. I mean,” he added, glancing over at Victor, “most people only give a shit about me because I’m married to you. Mr. Movie Star.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Victor waved that off. Once the new ‘Countdown’

  premiered – with his name above the title – maybe he’d start feeling like he actually was a movie star. “Is Jim here tonight?”

  “He said so. Maybe we can catch up at the afterparty. Loretta hasn’t had much to say lately.”

  “I know. I told her Tanith didn’t hate our script and she sent back a thumbs-up, and that’s basically all I’ve heard.”

  “Hope that ex of hers isn’t causing trouble.”

  “Me too.” Victor wasn’t sure whether that guy was actually dangerous, or simply a loudmouthed asshole. “And I hope Jim is keeping in touch.”

  “Me too.” There were enough people coming to the Cabaret shows in hired cars these days that nobody really noticed them going in. Andy exchanged greetings with the longtime doorman Julio as they passed. On the inside, he took a moment for a fresh look. “I remember what this place looked like when it was still called Level. Did you ever see that?”

  “No, what was different?”

  “Well, for one thing, Tyrone didn’t have that space.” Andy pointed across the catwalk. “No ground-floor lounge. You came through the door and there was a wall. Went straight downstairs. The upstairs bar, this part where we can see down into the performance space, that all came after he got the ground floor.” They headed downstairs. “They had a removable dance pole

  on the stage, instead of out here separate. Jeez, hardly anybody even uses it anymore.”

  “Dana’s kind of retired, huh.”

  “She was just learning pole when we were roomies. Michelle was doing it, this other chick in the original company did it. Then that chick got a job in Miami, and then Michelle started doing ballroom.”

  “It looks kind of wicked here anyway.”

  “I’ll bet bachelorette parties still get some use out of it.” Victor laughed.

  Andy was grinning. “And bachelor parties, probably. That was that same year,” he realized. “The year we met.”

  “Was it really?”

  “They had this huge grand re-opening show. That was such a good poster, if I do say so myself. ‘Blue,’ you remember that one?”

  Victor definitely did. “You had that one up on your wall on our first night.”

  “Yes I did. You liked it. Figures, since Michelle had that fishnet catsuit on. I didn’t know about your fetish then.”

  “I didn’t even know I had a fetish till I saw you doing that ‘Chicago’

  thing. Damn, I wish I’d seen that on stage.”

  I wish you had too. They took their seats. Andy checked out the table talker with the mini poster and the show order. “Sam and Mateo are opening.

  Stacey’s closing Act One. The cabaret group is closing the show. Fuck, I don’t want to wait that long to hear you sing.”

  “You’ve been hearing me sing,” Victor said, amused. “I’d’ve thought you’d be sick of that song by now.” He lowered his voice, even though the noise level in the club was high enough to cover ordinary speech. “What’s our position for ‘Spy Games?”’

  “We’re opening.” Andy shot him a look. “I told Rory about the whole costume thing and she said, well, I guess we’ll need to start you over at the bar, won’t we. And I said, well shit, maybe so.”

  “When was this?” Victor was half-laugh
ing. “Because we’ll need to work out how we get you up on the stage.”

  “This was, like, yesterday. Okay, so.” Andy looked around; a server was there. They ordered some drinks, and the themed menu items, and then got back down to business. “They have the new spotlight, you know, that swivels

  out into the house. So they’ll bring up the light for you on stage, start the music, and then hit me with the spot. We already had the first eight bars for the introductory bullshit.”

  “If you’re vamping your ass off by the bar, I’d better keep still on stage.

  Don’t want to pull focus.”

  “Sweetness.” Andy gave him a quick kiss. “You can smolder up there.

  Anyway, I get the cloak off, get to the stage, maybe a couple of the guys give me a hand up so I don’t break an ankle.”

  “Oh, as if.” Victor thought no time like the present and said, “I had a thought about footwear.”

  “Oh yeah?” Andy turned to give his husband his full attention. They’d danced ‘Mein Herr’ with complete success despite the height difference. But this dance was different; there was a lot of work in closed hold.

  “When we’re practicing, it feels fine. I don’t mind that you’re six foot four with those high heels on. And I sure love the way it looks. But when I looked at the video and there’s me five ten, I thought, there are some people who might laugh at that.”

  Andy waited. There was one super easy way out, which was to jettison the drag component and dance it as two men. Their normal two-inch height difference was negligible, on stage. They could mask it entirely if he wore flat shoes and Victor wore Cuban heels. He’d do that if Victor was feeling like the fun factor wouldn’t make up for the potential laughter. All the same, he didn’t want to suggest it. “What’s your thought, sweetheart.”

  “I really want you to do it in that dress. What if I got some boots? Like platform boots?”

  Yes, Andy thought. He knew his face was saying the same thing. “I personally would fucking love that. You would need to get them, like, immediately. Practice night and day. They’re going to feel really heavy. You won’t be able to feel the floor the same way.”

  “But there’s not a ton of complex footwork for me. Nowhere near what we had last time. Where would I go? To find that shit?”

  “I know a place. We can go tomorrow. Get you straight to work. Then if you absolutely hate them after a week, we can revisit. Because I can lose the dress.”

  “No,” Victor said. “If I can’t get the hang of the boots, I’ll just have to

  look really mean.”

  “You can do that.” Andy kissed him. “Wow, honey, maybe someday I’ll get you into some fishnets.” He got his phone out and sent a quick text to Rory: We had a thought for our number next time, we’re going to work out the getting on stage part. And I think don’t announce us, okay? He knew she was stage-managing ‘Spy Games.’

  The reply was immediate. She was undoubtedly backstage right now, getting ready to perform. You want to surprise people?

  With any luck it’ll take them a minute to even realize it’s us OK I’ll do the usual sit your asses down and prepare to enjoy thing, then we’ll take the house lights down so you can get in position. I’ll ask Terry to let you change in the office and make sure they keep a seat open at the bar Thanks chica

  You realize second night is going to be a fucking madhouse Eh well the price of fame

  LOL enjoy the show TTYL. Andy showed the exchange to Victor, then put the phone away. “I’m looking forward to seeing what the fuck she does with ‘Paint it Black.’ She wouldn’t tell me if it was jazz or striptease.” The lights dimmed, giving people a chance to organize last-minute drinks and their seats, and then the show started. They thoroughly enjoyed the first act, joining the standing ovation for Stacey in her comeback number on the aerial silk. There were a few friends in the house to chat with during intermission.

  Then the lights went down again for Act II. Rory was opening the act.

  “Wait one goddamned minute,” said Victor, very softly, when the vocal came in. He turned his head; Andy was staring back at him with a very ‘what the fuck’ expression. It was definitely Andy’s voice. He shook his head a little, like ‘I have no idea,’ and they both turned back to the stage. It was a jazz routine, and it was tricky. Nasty, growly, something they hadn’t seen from Rory before. They both loved it. So did everybody else, apparently; there was another standing ovation.

  As soon as they sat down Andy had his phone out again, texting: WTFF!

  Cool as hell but how?

  Her reply took a few minutes. Andy watched the next number and waited for the phone to buzz in his hand. How is more like ow I am getting too old for that shit. Tanith had video of you at Springbok karaoke that time. Danny

  peeled you out of there somehow and remixed it for me You are all sneaky fuckers. Also don’t say old you’re the same age as V

  Yes I know and you don’t see him doing that shit do you Andy snorted. He wasn’t a gymnast missy. Great job TTYL. He handed the phone to his husband, who also snorted at the exchange before handing the phone back. There were two more numbers, and then the finale. The cabaret team entered while the stage was black; each woman was hit with a mini spot as the song’s intro began. Then Victor’s voice came in with the new lyrics for ‘Speak No Evil,’ still a boogie-woogie hymn of non-repentance. There was a perfectly-synchronized first verse, using cabaret chairs. On the second verse, the dancers blended cha-cha and jazz. They were making the most of their costumes, fringed bodysuits over fishnets and lace-up mesh dance boots. On the bridge they went into a stepping section that got the audience worked up. The last verse was a return to tricky, trampy cabaret jazz. Most of the people in the club had probably never heard the song before, but judging from the standing ovation, they liked it. “That,” said Andy after the curtain call, as the applause died down and he turned to Victor, “was objectively cool as fuck. I almost forgive Tanith for the last-minute recording session.”

  Victor grinned. “It’s so much better now,” he said. “If we ever do a little jazz set here again, I’m totally doing that.” Somebody overheard that, and asked them about the song. Victor explained that it hadn’t been released yet.

  There was some discussion with a growing number of other audience members; people had recognized them now. Before it got too intense, Terry was there with another Chrome employee, quietly suggesting that these two celebrities should be given some space. Before long, the shoveling-out procedure was underway for the afterparty. Victor got his phone out to text Tanith: Hey chica I don’t know if you’re here tonight it’s kind of a mob scene but new Speak No Evil went over big. People want to download. If Val can get you produced and released you can probably make a buck to spend on that movie

  I’m upstairs and they only want it because you sang it. I’ll talk to Val.

  Btw rewriting In The Night too and I’ll want a version from each of you because leitmotif for every one of your scenes. Shared calendar will be a thing within next ten days TYVM can’t stay for afterparty but talk soon.

  Victor put his phone away because the performers were out in the house, and

  the party was starting. They knew everybody who’d been on stage, and most of those people’s friends. Even after the music started, a whole gang was hanging around the bar and talking instead of dancing. Victor only realized how late it was getting when he looked down the bar and saw Vicky with Sharon, who had a ‘getting ready to go’ look about her. It was a work night for both of them. He waved as they headed out, then looked around again, trying to spot Jim. Andy was talking to him on the other side of the room.

  Victor made his way over there. “Hey Jim. What’s new?”

  “Not much,” Jim said, “except I’m worried about Loretta. I was telling Andy.”

  “We haven’t heard much from her.” Victor and Andy exchanged a glance. “Is it that Ernesto douchebag?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I got a message today
from a new number. She changed it. She shut down her social media too. There was some of that if I can’t have you nobody will bullshit.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Yeah.” Jim looked upset. “I asked her if she wanted me to come out.

  Haven’t heard back yet. I don’t know if that would make things better or worse.”

  Another silent consultation between Victor and Andy. Victor said, “You being there might escalate the situation. On the other hand, it might not. And if you being there made her feel safer,” he stopped. Shrugged.

  “I don’t know how much use I could be,” Jim said. “I’m not a big tough guy. I don’t know how to fight. But at least I could be there.”

  “Sometimes that’s enough,” Andy said. “My mom has a one-bedroom condo with a big-ass couch. She knows Loretta. I know she’d be happy to have you stay while you figure things out. If that doesn’t include you staying with Loretta.”

  “I think I’m going to go. Tomorrow,” Jim said. “I have a job starting on the fifteenth that I can’t really afford to blow off, but maybe by then this will be resolved.”

  “Okay. I’ll text you Mom’s number and her address, I’ll get in touch with her, and we’ll tell Loretta you’re on your way. And you call us if there’s any fucking thing you need, right? Weapons, attack dogs, assassins.”

  Jim huffed out a laugh. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Thanks,

  Andy. Thanks, Victor. I’ll text you when I touch down.” They all shook hands. Jim went to speak to a few more people. They saw him head out shortly after.

  That conversation took a lot of the fun out of the evening. It was a little too close to home, in more ways than one. They made the rounds, congratulating performers again and resolutely dropping no hints about ‘Spy Games.’ Everyone there seemed to know they would be dancing in it.

  Everyone promised not to spill the beans. “Somebody’s totally going to spill,” Andy said on their way out. “We might actually want to hire security for the trip next time.”

  “Or maybe that’s the Loretta situation talking.” Victor thought about it, though, on the ride home. Once they were safe inside, with Molly walked and the doors locked, he said, “No. Let’s tell the car company to send a team. If nothing happens, which it probably won’t, it’s only a few extra bucks. And if something happens there’ll be another pair of eyes and hands to help us deal with it.”