by J. Kenner
Jerome veered left behind black masking, almost to the edge of the actual stage. "Wait, Wince, c'mere."
"I don't wanna miss Keisha, man."
"Two secs." Jerome tugged him forward, holding his shoulders and standing behind him. "See?"
From where they stood, all 2,500 seats of the theater glittered at them in the dimmed house lights like a glass waiting for wine, but no one could see them. Not from before or behind. The swept stage gleamed under kaleidoscopic pastel lights, and the whole building seemed to hold its breath.
"Jesus," Wince whispered.
"Best view in the house."
Standing close, the warmth between them rose. Jerome's chest and Wince's back were an inch apart. His chin hovered over Wince's shoulder. The wings seemed unexpectedly quiet, and the sound of their breathing amplified.
Wince swayed against him, lightly, just resting his strong back against Jerome's torso, the bouquet held at his side brushing both their legs.
Neither spoke.
Slowly, warily, Jerome's hands rose like muscular shadows as Wince turned to face him like someone waking up from a dream. They stood pressed, breathing together in the wings.
The stage manager voice from out in the house. "Three minutes. Three minutes. Places, please." The stage turned mauve and peach then deep blue.
One breath together. Two.
"We should find our seats. C'mon." Wince looked terrified in his sharp suit. "Well, say something."
"That doesn't matter." Jerome raised his head in wonder. "I am a stopped clock." He took Wince's free hand and pressed it against his heart.
"A what?" Confused grin.
"Clock. I get to be right twice, even if I'm broken." The lights from onstage raked the wings, turning Wince violet and tangerine for a minute, then leaving them in brief darkness. "But only if my timing's right."
Wince stood very still, under the candy light. "It always was." His face crinkled in a smile, and his thumbs hooked Jerome's belt loops.
Jerome lowered his face.
Wince's eyes shone in the sudden dark, and without thinking, Jerome kissed him.
"J--" Wince may have been saying something, but the words vanished into their mouths and Jerome pulled him close; if he never had another chance, he wasn't going to waste this one.
Once burned, once burned. He opened his eyes. Not wanting to miss anything.
Wince pushed one thick arm around Jerome's ribs, holding their chests together as his mouth opened. He pulled away to tip his head and come back licking at Jerome's mouth under the lambent shafts of pink, amber, teal that swept over them.
Somewhere on the other side of the stage, the muted kat-tump-a-bump of toe shoes as dancers took their places for Act Two and the Land of Sweets. His hands were shaking, his legs too.
"Hey, fella. Easy." A quiet laugh from Wince and a rustle of roses. "Jug. Hey. Hey. Easy. I'm right here."
Jerome straightened, self-conscious and nervous about his daughter somewhere back here dressed to dance for Mother Ginger. "I wanted to, y'know. So much. And I didn't know if--" He snuck another kiss, quick, and then another. And then he stepped aside. "Sorry. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm not." A nipping kiss pressed at the corner of Jerome's mouth like punctuation. "We're gonna have an accident, an incident. Look at me."
Jerome nodded. Wince beamed at him with easy, tested affection. And this time he was right, a stopped clock, a cracked nut.
Olivia spoke in his head, You only get the chances you take.
"There's no rush. We're okay, man. We're both grownups." He took Jerome's hand and gripped it, not letting go. "Well, you are."
Jerome squeezed back. He felt crazy and hopeful. What would they say to their kids? Would they go on dates? What would their friends say? His parents? Did he even care?
"Hey. Hey, Jug. Later." Wince tapped Jerome's forehead, as if he'd read his mind. "Leave it 'til later."
Jerome smiled. "Yes, sir. I'm good for it."
"I know you are." They made their way out to the orchestra, not saying any of the stuff they might've.
Wince paused at the end of the row to let him pass and then followed Jerome to their seats in the half-lights, bumping into him in all the right places. The director and the lighting team sat about twenty rows back with the board, deep in conversation. Dress rehearsals tended to be stop/start for hours, but just now, Jerome didn't mind sitting quietly for a bit.
As soon as they sat, Wince found his big hand in the dark and laced their fingers, black and tan.
Jerome grunted in pleasure. Wince grunted back.
"Fair warning, man. This may take a while. Plus dinner." He and Keisha usually celebrated after the dress with a massive pile of sushi.
"Cool. I'm in no kinda hurry."
Jerome smiled. Maybe I'm good for you too.
"What are your feelings about Christmas?"
"Uh, good?" Jerome shrugged. Was that an invitation? Before he could ask, the overture started up and the curtain rose on a confectionary castle eighty feet high.
"Jeez." Wince blinked happily at the sudden brightness.
For some reason sitting for any dress, seeing a show come together, always made him so proud of his little girl, all that work and sweat and discipline that made her blaze onstage. Harsh joy spiraled up out of him like cinders lifted by a bonfire. He said a prayer for Olivia, another for their strong daughter, and a small one for himself. Once burned.
Wince turned and whispered in his ear, "What happens now?"
Jerome winked. "Whatever it is, it's worth waiting for."
Chuckle. Cellos and trumpets below and rustling from the dark wings.
Wince squeezed his fingers. "I missed you, Jug."
"Man." Jerome squeezed back and turned to look at his dark profile. "What took us so long?"
Wince kissed him again and whispered into his skin. "We were shy."
Damon Suede has lived all over: Houston, New York, London, Prague. Along the way, he's earned his crust as a model, a messenger, a promoter, a programmer, a sculptor, a singer, a stripper, a bookkeeper, a bartender, a techie, a teacher, a director ... but writing has ever been his bread and butter.
Damon is a proud member of the Romance Writers of America and serves on its Board of Directors. He also served as the 2013 president for the Rainbow Romance Writers, RWA's LGBT romance chapter.
Though new to gay romance, Damon has been writing for print, stage, and screen for two decades, which is both more and less glamorous than you might imagine. He's won some awards, but his blessings are more numerous: his amazing friends, his demented family, his beautiful husband, his loyal fans, and his silly, stern, seductive Muse who keeps whispering in his ear, year after year.
Three days before New Year's Eve
SHE'D NEVER BEEN ONE to hide in a crowd, but today, she must.
A glimmer of recognition lit the eyes of some of the people waiting in the long customer service lines, their wilted, frustrated expressions softening to surprise. Or maybe disbelief.
Ducking into a crowded restaurant on Atlanta's C concourse, Ansley aimed for the only open seat at the bar. And even more luck! There was a power socket tucked against the wall. With her phone dead and a mountain of calls to make, she couldn't have asked for a more divine result.
"Pardon me." She angled her guitar case around the man sitting on the stool next to hers, tripping over his luggage and computer bag. "You might want to get those out of the way."
He glanced at her, his blue eyes bright and clear. "Not mine." The man gestured toward the packed in travelers, reaching for outlets, hailing one of the harried servers. "Take your pick."
"People should know better than to leave their stuff around--" Truly, it wasn't that big of a deal. She was tired and hungry. Drained, just like her cellphone battery. But, then again, weren't they all?
"Sorry, they're mine." A dark suit reached for his bags, his brown eyes landing on Ansley. "Hey, aren't you--"
She waved him off with a
mock laugh. "Ansley Moore? I get that all the time. Nope, but don't I wish. I just look a lot like her."
The man frowned. "Really? You sure you're not--"
"Would I be sitting here if I was?" She arched her eyebrow, pulling her best face. "Please."
"Guess not." The suit grabbed his bags and backed away.
Good. Ansley fished her phone and power cord from her shoulder bag and plugged in. A harried server appeared, gave her the once over, but was too distracted to let her gaze linger. Her nametag read "Marie."
"The menu is right there." She pointed to the metal holder in front of Ansley. "What can I get you to start?"
"Diet Coke."
With that, Marie left, picking up checks and credit cards from the customers ready to leave, only to have others in the waiting holiday horde take their place.
"Pretty big mess." The man with the blue eyes, sun-bleached hair, and a soft tan on his cheeks pulled her attention from the menu--and out of hiding.
"The airlines will have to learn to back up their systems."
The man whistled. "Wouldn't want to be the man who has to answer for this."
"Or the woman."
"Especially not the woman." He grinned, winking--an action Ansley felt. A warm, spicy swirl.
She faced away, pretending to focus on her phone as the sensation faded. What was that? Ever since her boyfriend of three years, Hank, bugged out a year ago, deciding he didn't want to be in a relationship with an artist, she'd retreated from ideas of love and romance.
Though she believed one day she'd give love a second chance. Then came the stalker ...
Ansley swerved around a little more, giving the man her back. Traveling alone, she needed to be wary. As soon as her phone charged up enough, she'd call Noel, her best friend and assistant, for an update.
Exhaling a load of stress, she glanced around. The airport was nuts. She'd tried to find the airline's Preferred Lounge when she arrived from LAX, but since she rarely traveled alone, she was lost. And the airline staff had no time for "Where's the Preferred Lounge?" when passengers were in long lines demanding an explanation and new flights.
So her growling stomach and need to charge her phone drove her to the nearest restaurant.
She didn't become a country sensation by waiting on others.
"Pardon me," a woman leaned around Mr. Blue Eyes, "aren't you--"
Ansley shook her head, offering a quick laugh. "Ansley Moore? No, I'm her doppelganger." She sighed, grateful when the woman left without pressing.
"So, who's Ansley Moore?" Blue Eyes drank his Coke. From the glass. No straw.
She regarded him for a second. Was he serious or playing her? "A country singer. Pretty famous. The biggest contestant to ever come out of An American Singer."
He shrugged. "I don't watch television."
"Do you listen to the radio?"
"Some news or talk radio. Classical. Maybe '70s rock. Inspirational."
"Really?" Ansley's phone buzzed in her hand. Noel was calling. Her best friend. The future bride. "You look really young for being so old."
He laughed--a sound she liked--as he raised his glass for another drink.
"Hey, bride-to-be," she said. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just caught up in all the crazy ... at a restaurant ... charging my phone ... hold on ... the server is coming around." Ansley reached for the menu. Ah, she'd landed at a sushi place. "I'll have the tuna and a California roll."
"Ansley, why aren't you in the lounge?" Noel said.
"I was hungry, my phone was dead, so I headed for the nearest restaurant with a vacant stool."
"Why can't you ever remember to charge your phone?" There was an endearing rebuke in Noel's voice.
"Because I have you. Are you sure you want to leave me to get married?" Besides keeping Ansley's schedule, Noel was her clothing and makeup expert and all-around confidant. Especially when her reality show win shot her to stardom.
Then Noel met and fell in love with a pro surfer, Ty Houston, when she took over Ansley's vacation plans in Costa Rica last October. Ten short weeks later, they were getting married on New Year's Eve in Melbourne, Florida, Ansley and Noel's hometown.
"As much as I love you, I love Ty more. Ansley, isn't this what we always dreamed of when we were kids? To find the love of our life?"
"Yeah, I'm just mad you beat me to it."
"Just think, if you'd gone to Costa Rica instead of me ..."
Ansley had forgone the trip--sorely needed after a grueling twelve-week tour--to open for country legend Aubrey James.
"You're going to love Mindy." Ah, the new assistant. "She's even more organized than I am."
"But she's not my best friend since fifth grade."
"You don't need a best friend. You have me."
"Always." Though Ansley knew ... Ty was already taking her place.
"Tell you what, as my last act as your assistant ..." There was silence for a few moments. "The Preferred Lounge is by Gate 30 on concourse B, C, and D. Where are you?"
"C."
"Get to the lounge. I don't want my wedding to be eclipsed by your funeral."
She'd laugh if Noel's concern wasn't rooted in truth. Ansley cut a glance at Blue Eyes. He exuded confidence, giving her a sense of safety. "I'm fine. Hidden in a very crowded restaurant. Besides, I've ordered. I'll go as soon as I eat."
"Call me the moment you do. And Ansley, I know you've only met Ty a few times, but you're going to love him. I promise."
The tenderness in her best friend's voice watered Ansley's heart. She wanted to love him. She wanted to love someone like Noel loved Ty.
Saying goodbye, Ansley picked up her chopsticks as Blue Eyes was served another soda, his attention fixed on the TV above the bar. Football. Looked like a college bowl game.
"Where you headed?" He asked the question without looking over at her.
She hesitated, gripping her first sushi roll between the narrow sticks. "Florida."
But his attention was on the TV as one player tackled another. Ansley knew nothing about football. She'd devoted her teen and college years to her guitar, to music.
A fact her last two boyfriends never understood.
"Business or pleasure? This Florida trip?" So Blue Eyes heard her after all.
"My best friend is getting married." Ansley's phone lit up again with her manager, Jim Rubart's, face and number.
"You okay? Man, what a day to travel."
"I'm good. Safe. Listen, did you get my email about the rehearsal schedule?" She was about to record her second album, and she planned on doing it live, with her band. Old school.
"You're all set. Found a place for you to rehearse. I have some news, too. Joe Townsend wants to produce your next album."
"You're kidding. Joe Townsend?" The man who'd won every Grammy known to man.
"He saw you on the People's Music Awards last night. Said you stole the show with your performance. Your life is about to change again, Ansley. In a big, big way."
She cut a glance at Blue Eyes, then turned to the wall. The glint in his eye, the mold of his expression made her yearn, wanting something she'd never really had before. Not even with Hank. This stranger made her want what she felt and heard in Noel's voice.
But her career was her lover. She had no time for the hassle of romance. No room for longings of the heart.
She inhaled deeply. "But I planned to do a live album with Len Davis."
"Ansley, Joe Townsend. People would kill to have him producing. Listen, I got to run. Glad you're okay. We'll talk later."
With a sigh, Ansley swallowed the last of her Diet Coke, slung the strap of her bag over her head, grabbed her guitar and scooted past Blue Eyes without a backward glance.
"See you later, Ansley."
"See you--" She whirled around, her gaze meeting his. A slow grin lit his face.
She pressed her finger to her lips. "Shhh."
He nodded, returning his gaze to the football game. The longing from a moment ago twisted deeper.
Her path had just crossed with one of the good guys. Too bad it was only for a few moments in a crowded, crazy airport.
He watched her go, back straight, her guitar swinging from her hand. She was quickly swallowed up in the crowd, but the amber highlights in her brown hair lingered in his vision.
She was petite, determined, and pretty. Not beautiful. But pretty. In the way a man likes a woman to be pretty. Casual or decked out, pretty girls were always easy on the eye. On the soul.
But it was her lyrical voice that vibrated in his chest. Too bad they wouldn't ... Naw, man, don't even think about it.
You're better off alone.
Romance complicated life. Love hurt every bit as much as it healed.
Drew ordered another soda from the server and checked his watch. Three more hours before his flight. If they didn't cancel it. His trip from Hawaii started two days ago. Nice and smooth. Easy. Then he landed in San Francisco. What a madhouse. Twenty-four hours later, he boarded a flight to Melbourne by way of Atlanta.
In some sort of conciliation, the airline boosted him to first class for the hour flight, but until then ...
Another weary traveler took Ansley's seat. Drew greeted him, then noticed Ansley had left her phone at the counter, charging.
"That yours, man?" The traveler said. "I need to plug in."
"Go ahead." Drew gathered Ansley's phone and plug. He'd take it to her, though he hated the idea of losing his bar seat. He had a perfect view of the game.
Living in Hawaii, he didn't connect much with stateside college ball. He missed the days of watching Big Ten play all day Saturday.
"Hey, you." Ansley tapped his shoulder. He peered up into her anxious hazel gaze, her high cheeks flushed. "Have you seen my phone?" She stooped looking around her stool and the counter where she sat. "I can't lose it. All of my new songs are--"
Drew held up her phone. "I was going to bring it to you."
"Thank you!" She snatched it from his hand, exhaled deeply, and reached into her bag. "You don't know what this means to me." She passed him a hundred dollar bill.
Drew recoiled. "What do you take me for? Go back to your lounge." He cut a glance at her. A mistake. Something in her hazel eyes made him yearn for more than a life of a bachelor.
The server set down his drink. He thanked her and turned the glass in his hands. He wasn't thirsty. He just needed something to do while he waited.