Chapter Twelve “Baby Mine”

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Showmance

Chad Beguelin

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" Baby Mine "

Later that night when I arrive with a flotilla of new score pages it's chilly in the Plainview Players Theater, and not just because of the industrial air-conditioning. As I walk into the room, everyone is sitting quietly onstage in folding chairs and busy either looking at their scripts or at their phones. I heave a guilty sigh and trudge forward to deliver what Luke prescribed for the situation: an epic apology.

"Hey, guys, before we start tonight, I'd like to say something." The silence is deafening. If this were a sitcom there would be a soundtrack of crickets. "Um, I know that I made that great big speech on our first day together. And the basic upshot of it was that every time anyone comes into this theater they have to put their egos aside. That the show comes first. That we're all in the same boat and so on. Blipitty blapitty. Well, guys, I forgot that meant me, too. I know I told you to ask yourself at any point when you were lost, ‘What is best for the show?' Turns out that was really good advice. And now I see that I have to take that advice, too. Cyborgs? Eye gouging? ‘Ye' talk? I am slowly realizing all of that isn't what's best for the show. I mean, how many things can I be wrong about?"

Luke flashes through my mind. Yet another thing I had totally wrong. But stick to the apology at hand, Noah.

"Look, you guys have been pretty open with me, so I'll return the favor. This musical crashed and burned in New York. And it was a devastating blow to my self-esteem. And it was actually kind of humiliating when you threw that party for me. I was worried you'd all think, ‘Oh, look at Noah. Guess he's not as great as he thought he was. But we'll give him a little shindig anyway, even though his show closed and he's a total fraud…'?"

Melissa shakes her head. "No one thought that, Noah. No one thinks you're a fraud."

"The point is, after everything that's happened, I get extra defensive when people start pointing out all of the musical's obvious flaws. But the truth is, this has become a better show because of you guys. You're not just amazing performers, you're also incredibly insightful. I guess I wasn't prepared for that. But I'm more grateful than any of you know. And I am so sorry that I freaked out yesterday and that I got heated with Jackie and that I made Mrs. Henson cry at her piano. There's a lot of pressure that comes along with this little enterprise, especially since we're apparently going to get reviewed. But that's no excuse. I am not letting myself off the hook. Believe you me. No one can punish me more than me . I'm kind of an expert at it. But even so, I do know this: I love this place and I love all of you talented people. All I can ask is that you understand that I'm completely stupid and overly sensitive and can be a—I don't know—a total tool sometimes. I'm asking if you can forgive me for being a jackass and if we can just move forward in our small, beautiful little boat together."

Dramatic pause. (Which I deserve, for sure.)

But then the cast finally responds.

It's not a hero's welcome, but there is some general head nodding and slightly positive murmuring and I will take what I can get.

Time to start pushing forward. I launch into work mode. "So. Changes! The Shakespeare talk is OUT!"

I hold up a batch of freshly copied pages and everyone actually cheers. "The biggest learning curve is the music. I'm going to let Mrs. Henson take you through the lyric changes first."

Always the faithful trooper, Mrs. Henson graciously takes over and starts leading the cast through the newly fine-tuned songs. I take the opportunity to pull Jackie McNew aside.

"I owe you a personal apology, Jackie. You made the smartest insight of all about our musical and I reacted by being a grade A prick. I'm just hoping that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Jackie's eyes narrow for a moment. "You were a grade A prick. But…" She smirks and shakes her head slightly. "But the truth is I've had worse things said to me at the Elks Club on dollar margarita night, so I guess I can let it slide."

I heave a pent-up sigh of relief. "Thank you, Jackie. That's very kind of you."

"I made the smartest insight of all, huh?"

She looks triumphant and she deserves to, so I just say, "Yep."

"Don't worry, I won't let it go to my head. As long as you don't mouth off to me ever again."

A second sigh of relief from me. "Jackie, we have a deal."

Just as Jackie joins the others to go over the score, Luke appears, fiddling with a prop lantern. One problem solved, another one to go. I decide it's time to Esther Williams out of the frying pan and into the fire.

But I start with the easy part first.

"So…did you hear that apology? Was that epic enough?"

Luke nods, jiggering the battery-operated lantern candle instead of looking at me. "It was better than epic. It was sincere."

It becomes obvious that it's time to address the big gay-or-possibly-bisexual elephant in the room. It's pointless to put it off any longer.

"Um, so that thing that happened in the parking lot? We were both up all night while I was rewriting and clearly that means we weren't thinking straight. So, is it possible that we could just act like it never happened? Are you, like, capable of just sweeping that whole incident under the rug?"

Luke looks at me as if he's trying to hold himself back from asking something, but then goes ahead and asks all the same. "Did you tell your boyfriend about it?"

I answer without thinking. "Oh, God, no. It's not like it meant anything, so why bring it up, right?"

There's a hiccup of a pause and then Luke offers a small shrug and the prop lantern snaps on as if it's hoping to illuminate the situation. But it flickers and dies. Luke and his lantern beat a hasty retreat backstage.

When did I pick up a talent for saying exactly the wrong thing? Was I born with it or is it a learned skill? I wonder why I'm so confident writing dialogue for imaginary characters when my own actual dialogue is so coarse and casually hurtful. "It's not like it meant anything"? Even if it didn't, those are not the words to choose. But something magical happens to interrupt my shame spiral. The freshly tweaked lyrics float over to me from the other side of the stage and they're working. They're actually a huge improvement. The Plainview Players were right once more! As I stand there, I realize that I'm smiling like an idiot. Did I ever smile like this during rehearsals for the Broadway version of the show? I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure the answer is no.

Rehearsal ends with everyone swearing to commit the rewrites to memory as quickly as possible. I actually feel touched when I think of them sacrificing their free time so willingly. Or going over the new changes as they work. Louis singing through his day as he tests samples at the barbecue sauce factory or Abby reciting her lines as she drives her school bus chock-full of babbling kids. How did we all end up caring so much about this broken little musical?

Back at home I'm greeted with a little pantomime performance from Mom. Instead of sleeping, she's sitting on the front porch swing and picking flecks of paint off her "painting apron" as she calls it. Well, that's what she appears to be doing. In reality, she's busy transmitting little silent radio waves of disapproval in my general direction as I climb the front steps.

I choose the classic dodge and talk about the weather. "It's so unbelievably hot tonight, right?"

"Well, maybe you feel that way because your pants are on fire."

Of course. Here we go.

"I'm not a liar, Mom. I'm not lying to Chase."

Mom's voice goes singsongy. "Lying by omission is still lying."

A humid gust of wind rattles the trees and I realize that when Mom is right, she's right. This is going to suck, but maybe it's best to just pull the Band-Aid off as quickly as possible.

I take out my cell and very theatrically text Chase with a great amount of flourish for Mom's benefit. "There. I just texted Chase to ask if we could chat. I hope you're satisfied. I'm officially about to face the music."

"Good. Take it adagio."

The Executive and I climb the stairs to my bedroom and I try to ignore the bubbles of dread percolating in my chest.

Chase texts back: Just finishing something up. Will call in a few.

In order to distract myself, I open my laptop and begin to go over the latest script changes for the millionth time.

My phone buzzes and I see another text from Chase: Lunch tomorrow at the Intercontinental? I booked us a room for afterwards. Be prepared to eat a big lunch. You're going to need lots of energy. And then a wink emoji.

I stare at my phone, confused for a minute. Chase wants me to have lunch with him at a hotel? And he's booked us a room? What is he talking about?

Then the hand holding my phone begins to tremble. Then outright shake. In an instant I'm shaking all over. My skin is freezing cold and burning hot at the same time.

My phone buzzes. It's Chase.

"Hi, Chase…" I start off as slowly and calmly as is humanly possible.

"Hi, there. How's your old man doing?" Unbelievable. He doesn't even realize what he's done. I pretend for a second that everything is fine. If you pretend things are fine, they morph into fine. Isn't that how life works?

"He's good. Annoyed, of course, but what else is new?"

"Well, I'm sure he's relieved to be in his own bed again."

(Speaking of beds, you adulterous man whore.)

I start off breezily. "So, Chase, I'm a little confused by your last text. How am I going to have sex with you tomorrow at the Intercontinental if I'm here in Plainview? Do you have a private jet you're going to send to pick me up? Or is there a hidden enchanted portal that will transport me there?"

The line is deadly silent and I imagine Chase going through a mental card catalog of excuses, wondering if there are any that might actually cover his tracks. Finally, he lets out a very long and low, "Fuuuuuck."

And I find to my complete shock that I want him to lie. I want him to lie, because I don't want it to be true.

Neither of us knows what to say for an eternity. Finally, Chase begins.

"I'm not going to lie to you, because I respect you too much and, God knows, you're too smart to believe a lie anyway. I've been meaning to have a proper talk with you about this for some time now, but you've been going through so much—"

"Oh, so it's out of respect for me that you've been hiding the fact that you've been fucking someone else? You are such a giver, Chase. Such a selfless giver."

"I knew this was how you would react. Maybe I was just…I really was just waiting for things to settle down in your life before I told you about Aleister and me."

The floor beneath me evaporates. I'm plunging into darkness.

"ALEISTER!?! You've been fucking Aleister Murphy behind my back?! What the fuck is going on here? So you're into twinks now? None of this makes sense! And by the way, have you noticed the way that guy walks? He doesn't walk, he slinks. So you're into slinky twinks , now?"

Chase gets defensive. "Look, I'm sorry if I wanted some, I don't know, variety. He's young and full of energy and enthusiasm. I guess I got caught up in it all."

I'm suddenly, very embarrassingly, choking on tears. "But I was loyal to you, Chase. Loyal."

Chase huffs. "You were the one who wanted a monogamous relationship. You know I had my doubts—"

"But you agreed to it! You agreed to it, Chase, and I trusted you! Don't you understand that was our deal? And I…I loved you with all of my fucking heart and now…" Another horrible realization washes over me. "This is why you wanted me to stay here. So you could fuck Aleister Murphy in expensive hotels without me getting in the way!"

Feeling lightheaded, I sink to the floor.

I try to get my bearings and say slowly, "I just don't understand. What changed? Did I do something wrong?"

There's a frosty pause and then Chase says coldly, "I knew you'd make this all about you."

"I think I deserve to know what the fuck happened! There has to be some reason you're destroying our entire lives together!"

Chase groans. "It's just, I don't know, Noah, you're just so bloody needy sometimes. You do whinge on about yourself. And don't blame it on being a writer; I work with many artists that aren't constantly ME! ME! ME!"

I stifle a shocked sob, but he hears it and mercifully softens. "I wanted to do this in person. Properly. Once all of the dust had settled. I'm gutted that it's like this, over the phone, so far away from each other."

I'm so numb that I just sit there quietly trembling and barely able to keep the phone up to my ear.

"So—" I can't stop myself. I know it's pathetic and cliché and devoid of any self-respect, but I just can't stop myself. "Did you ever actually love me? Because I loved you completely, you know."

Chase sighs, as if being forced to act out a scene he has been dreading for weeks, years maybe. "Of course I loved you. I still do. You're a brilliant guy and your career had real potential."

Holy fucking gut punch. " Had? "

"Has. You know what I mean."

Except that I don't.

"But…but you said when this was over, that ‘we shan't be parted no more.'?"

I sit silently hoping that the quote will work its magic. That it'll bring Chase back to his senses and back to us.

But Chase simply says, "I was merely quoting E. M. Forster."

And as if that wasn't devastating enough, something ten times worse happens. Chase switches to his agent voice.

He uses his agent voice on me .

"Look, you're a handsome fellow and God knows you're bloody great in the sack, you'll make out just fine." I can feel myself crumbling. I'm losing him. He's throwing me away. "There will be loads of logistical things for us to figure out now, so I hope we can both act friendly. Like adults."

"Fuck you and fuck friendly!" I scream. "I hope you get attacked by a group of angry bikers and that they…they…they chop your dick off!"

And then I add for good measure, "If they can find it, that is!"

I disconnect the call and throw my phone across the room like it's somehow to blame. And then I run into the bathroom and throw up. I throw up three times.

I hear Mom quickly climbing the stairs and she finds me covered in tears and clutching the toilet for strength. Her face goes desperate with worry and she runs to me, holding me by the shoulders as I turn around. She frantically searches my face.

"Honey, what happened?"

I shake my head, thinking I'm going to be sick again. I wait to see if it passes. I finally get enough air to blurt out, "He dumped me."

Mom bursts into tears, which makes everything a million times worse somehow. "He didn't! Because of a stupid little kiss?"

I'm hyperventilating now. I try to speak while gulping air.

"No! We didn't even talk about that. He's…he's…seeing…someone new…"

Mom's nurse training kicks in. "Okay, don't try to talk, honey. Focus on your breathing. Let's both take long inhales and exhales together."

I try. We both do. And then I lunge for the toilet to throw up again and Mom rubs my back. She wets a washcloth and cleans my face. Mom helps me walk slowly to my room and gently lays me onto the bed. She sits next to me and strokes my hair like she did when I was a kid. I lie there and search her face for answers. "Was it a lie? Was our whole relationship a lie?"

This stumps Mom for a second.

"No. I just can't see how it could be."

"How can he just do that? How can he just take back his love like that?"

I'm crying again and gravity makes my tears trickle backward into my hair. They leave little wet roadways on my scalp. Finally, Mom stands up and announces, "I'm going to get you some broth."

"What?"

"I read this wonderful book by Joan Didion…"

Even though I'm weeping, I'm intrigued and sit up on my elbows. "Since when do you read Joan Didion?"

"I have layers, Noah! Anyway, she said that when people are grieving a loss, they'll lose their appetite. But they can usually tolerate a warm broth. You've barely eaten a thing today. And after something like this, you have to eat."

Once she's gone, I stare at the ceiling, utterly lost and shell-shocked.

I call Kiara. It's the only thing I can think of to do. She answers and my voice is noticeably small. "Hi, it's me."

We sometimes share a kind of twin telepathy, especially when things go south for one of us.

"You're scaring me, Noah. Tell me quickly."

"Chase broke up with me. He's been sleeping with Aleister Murphy and it's over, Kiara. It's over and I have no say in the matter."

Kiara sucks in air like she's just been kicked in the stomach. "Are you alone? Are you with your parents?"

"Yeah," I say weakly.

"Okay. Don't go anywhere. I'm getting on a plane."

I immediately protest. "If you get on a plane, I will punch you right in your beautiful face!" She hangs up without another word. Mom comes back with her broth and though I don't feel like it, I choke down a spoonful or two.

"Can you call Mrs. Henson and tell her rehearsal is canceled for tomorrow? I'm just in no shape."

"Of course, honey. You just lie in bed and rest. You've had a nasty shock from a very nasty man."

"Also, can I ask you to do something stupid?"

"Anything you want, honey."

"Remember when I was a kid and I couldn't sleep and you would sing that song ‘Baby Mine' from the animated feature Dumbo ?"

"Yes, and you don't have to say ‘animated feature,' honey."

"Actually I do, because they made a really shitty live-action version."

This makes us both laugh half-heartedly. Then I close my eyes. And Mom strokes my hair and sings softly.

Baby mine, don't you cry

Baby mine, dry your eyes

Rest your head close to my heart

Never to part, baby of mine…