“Exactly,” Andy said. “What if you decided you couldn’t stand being idle, and ran off to do that play in San Francisco?” Neither of their agents had stopped sending them things. “This last-minute shit isn’t going to fly. We pulled ‘Carlos Gardel’ together that way but only because we all knew it was fucking happening.”
“Well, she knows we’re doing ‘Spy Games.’ She would know I wouldn’t ditch on you. But I’ll have a word with her. Remind her how far out we’ve got stuff scheduled.” Victor shifted closer, letting his body rest against Andy’s. “I love that you’re mad about it.” Andy huffed out a laugh. “I’ll find out what else she’s got going on with this thing. Remind her it’s the both of us, which means two schedules to work around.”
“Remind her about that shared calendar. Sandesh and his tool kit.
Imagine what a clusterfuck last year would have been without that.” Andy put an arm around Victor, kissed the side of his face. “I’m glad you’re getting to record that song again.”
“Jesus, yes. Maybe she dropped the rap part.”
“Jesus, yes.” They both snickered. “Let’s take Molly out, then take a nightcap upstairs.”
“I’ve been wondering,” Victor said later. They were lying in bed, doing the unhurried cuddle thing that had gradually developed over the past few months. Andy had his head on Victor’s shoulder, an arm across his chest, and one leg between his husband’s. Sooner or later things were likely to develop; they nearly always did. But for now, it was another sweet quiet moment.
“What have you been wondering, querido.”
“When you did those photos for Tanith’s play. When we met. It never occurred to me that you lived at the Brewery. I figured she brought you out there because we already had the space.”
“There were all kinds of rehearsal things going on back then. That room got used a lot. It’s not as often now that there are some newer spaces around town that have sound and lights, but I hear they still get the lower-budget productions in there.” Andy glanced up for a second, then laid his head down again. “I’m not sure Tanith even knew I lived there. Jim referred me for that job. She found him through the showgirls, because they’d done a couple of Cabaret things at Chrome and he was there taping.” Another quiet minute. “I almost gave you my business card. I never heard of you before. Didn’t watch the show.”
“You watched it after.”
“After our first night, yeah. I wanted to hate you. I was like, please let him suck. Please let that bastard be only a pretty face.” Victor laughed silently. “Obviously that didn’t work out. I knew you were good because of that fucking play.”
“My part was so small.”
“Yeah, but you killed it. What made you go out for that, anyway?”
“I’d done a few stage things, a few musicals. None of them were modern. My only bad guy was Billy, from ‘Carousel.’ I hate that show.”
“God, I do too. A few good songs, but the message blows.”
“Right? Forget passion, forget dreams, this tiny life is all you get. And you’ll never walk alone, because we’ll be up your ass every goddamned second of the day.” Victor felt Andy laughing and tracked the conversational thread back. “For Tanith’s thing, it seemed like with such a small cast, there was a good chance I could get noticed. And it was a different part for me. I’d done bad guys on TV plenty of times but they were, like, fill in the blanks bad guys. Oh we need a bad guy here, you know. That guy Ivory, he was a piece of work. I had a whole back story for him in my head. Why he would run a club like that, why it would be this friendly neighborhood dance hall with entertainment, and then after hours it goes all the way dark. I asked Tanith how she came up with that.”
“What did she say.” Andy’s voice was soft. He loved hearing Victor talk
about his work.
“She said she wrote the first version after reading this series of books about a vigilante. The Evan character wasn’t a cop at first, and Jenny’s character wasn’t the girl’s mother. She was one of the entertainers. I’ll bet Tanith is going to pull from that for ‘Diamond Dogs,’ the movie version.”
“And we’re coming from Tina’s drawing. That whole straight-razor thing gave me a little chill.”
“God, me too.” Victor was petting Andy’s arm, fingers lightly brushing up and down. “Reza better be glad he’s not in this one.” Andy snickered.
Tina had used Reza’s face for a character in her Eisner-winning book ‘A Nightingale Sang.’ He’d survived in that story, in a ‘to be continued’ kind of way. “When you found out about that show. Tanith’s play. Did you wish you were in it?”
“No,” Andy said. “I was fully offstage. Even if I hadn’t been, there was no dance chorus. She had the showgirls and the social dancers.”
“You could have played Ivory.”
Immediate disagreement. “Oh no. Not then. I could do it now.” Another minute, enjoying Victor’s touch. “The last thing I’d done was ‘Chicago.’ I told Rory, when I was living with them, I regretted doing it. Even though it was a great experience, for a good cause. It was like tearing the scab off. I was really serious about never again.”
“Sorry about that.”
Andy turned his head, kissed Victor’s chest. “I was so far gone over you, you could have suggested going out on a cruise line as a song and dance team and I probably would have said yes.”
“We could still do that.” Victor felt Andy laugh again. “We could be Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor.”
“Fred Astaire and Judy Garland.”
Victor snorted. “Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye.” They were both giggling now. “So how short
