Chapter Fourteen “Gay Godzilla”

fourteen

" Gay Godzilla "

Chase once called me the sensei master of dwelling and now this master seems to be dwelling almost exclusively on Chase. How long will he wait before he moves Aleister into our apartment? Will he kiss Aleister's nose at opening night parties like he used to kiss mine? When Aleister grows nervous, will Chase offer his bum to be cuddled? Although it's hard to imagine Aleister actually being nervous. The guy walks around like everything is owed to him and free for the taking. My boyfriend included, I guess. The puzzle piece that left me confused was that Chase usually liked to be completely dominated in bed. It was hard to imagine a twink with over-plucked eyebrows being able to accommodate. And every time I did try to envision it, I only succeeded in making myself nauseous or depressed. Or both.

Chase eventually does end up sending me a text that reads simply: Kiara has forbidden you to speak to me? Am I really supposed to go through her and Stephen?

I have to harvest every tiny morsel of self-control I have left in order to stop myself from texting him back. Why is the temptation so strong?

I hastily shoot Kiara a text: Not sure why, but I feel bad ghosting Chase.

Kiara's response: Ghosts don't have feelings so they can't feel bad.

Maybe she's right.

Dad's new set for the show meant some slight alterations to the blocking. The next few rehearsals pass by without much more drama, except for one close call that threatened to turn the theater gods against us.

Over a ten-minute break, Louis Jenkins and I are sipping horrible coffee when he asks out of the blue, "Hey, so, Noah, why did you choose King Lear to turn into a musical?"

I shoot him a deflated look. "Well, because I clearly have daddy issues. I mean, isn't that obvious to everyone in a forty-mile radius?"

Louis chuckles and gives a noncommittal shrug. "Well, I don't know about that. But why not Hamlet or Macbeth ?"

Mrs. Henson lets out a bloodcurdling scream from across the auditorium and the entire cast looks up, their faces stricken with panic.

"What did I say? What did I say?" Louis asks, clearly spooked.

I shout at him with possibly a little more fervor than is necessary, "You don't say the Scottish play in a theater unless you're performing it, Louis!"

Louis bursts into a relieved laugh. "What? That's crazy!"

Mrs. Henson is quickly at my side and as serious as an undertaker. "It's not crazy in the least. You've cursed us. And now you have to fix it."

The cast starts to gather around a defiant Louis. "I didn't curse anybody, I just said Macbeth ."

Now everyone screams, including me. I put a solemn hand on his shoulder. "You've got to fix this, Louis. We're not rehearsing for one more minute until you do."

"Come on, guys, this is crazy talk." He scans the room and his grin quickly dissolves. He can see that we all mean business, especially Mrs. Henson and me.

"Fine, what do I do?"

Mrs. Henson speaks at a deliberate pace, hoping to make sure that Louis gets the order right. "First, you go outside. Then you spin around three times and spit on the ground. Then you say a curse word of your choosing. And then, finally, you knock on the door until one of us lets you back inside."

"You guys really expect me to do all that nonsense?"

Louis reads the room and realizes that he has no choice.

"Fine." Louis dutifully walks out of the theater. When he knocks on the side door a few seconds later, I consider not letting him in. But since he's playing by the rules, I open the door and bow theatrically to him as he reenters the building.

"Jeez, is there anything else I need to know?"

The cast stares at me and I quickly oblige. "Well, you're not supposed to whistle backstage. That's a definite jinx. And we've just established that saying the Scottish play is a big no-no. And I'm sure you all know the whole ‘break a leg' thing."

Jackie looks confused for a moment. "Break a leg?"

"Yeah, like if I see you before the show, I'll tell you to break a leg."

Jackie smirks. "Yeah, well, then I'll tell you to go fracture a fucking arm!"

"No, it means ‘good luck.'?"

Jackie shrugs. "Well, I'm not superstitious, except that thing where if you spill salt, you're supposed to throw a pinch of it over your left shoulder."

Confused, I can't help but ask, "Why the left shoulder?"

"That's where the devil stands, ya ding-dong! God, I thought you went to college."

And with that, we return to rehearsal before burning up any more precious time with questionable folklore. The evening goes on without another hitch until Melissa feels a wave of morning sickness and throws up all over her costume. She swears that she's been long over any queasiness and apologizes profusely to everyone. Eddie mops the stage while Allison diligently washes the puke out of Melissa's shirt.

Heigh-ho, the glamorous life!

To everyone's amazement, we manage to get almost all of Act Two sloppily up on its feet by the following night. In fact, the nights here in Plainview have rushed by at a surprisingly speedy pace thanks to the distraction provided by rehearsals.

The days? Not so much.

There's been little for me to do during the daylight hours other than ridiculously pine away for Chase. And feel lost and abandoned. At least he's clearly given up texting me, which somehow feels even worse. Ugh. I put the thought out of my head as I start packing up The Executive and trying to make a mental game plan for tomorrow's rehearsal. Do we dare try to run the whole show? I consult my crumpled rehearsal schedule and quickly count. Thirteen rehearsals left. Better save the run-through for Saturday. I'm busy scribbling notes to myself when Luke approaches pensively.

"Hey, Luke."

"Hey." He just stands there, looking down at his scuffed-up duck boots.

"What's up?"

He shifts his weight from side to side. It sounds stupid to call a grown man adorable, but no other word fits. And then it strikes me all at once. He's nervous. Luke Carter can probably bench-press the Taj Mahal. Why is he nervous?

"Are you doing anything Saturday night after rehearsal?"

"You finally called it rehearsal. See, I knew you could do it!"

He gives a cautious half laugh and then asks, "Well, are you?"

I'm confused for a second, then completely dumbfounded. Is he asking me out on a date? He is! He's asking me out on a date. He's actually standing there in the tightest t-shirt in North America with his chest muscles straining to break free like he's a superhero and asking me on a date.

What do I say?

I mean, I'm obviously single now. Painfully so. But getting dumped still feels pretty fresh. And aren't I supposed to wait until the sadness numbs? Aren't I supposed to avoid rebound dating? And yet, Romeo went out with Juliet just to get over someone else and everything turned out pretty great for those two kids, right?

"If you have to think this long, I get it. You're not ready and that's cool."

Fuck it.

"No, um…sure. I'm free."

And now we're both nervous.

"You could come over to my place. You're not too fancy for burgers, are you?"

"I am not."

"So, I know this is probably real soon after the whole breakup thing with Chase, but I just want to be clear. This is a date. Like an official date. And if that's not okay, I totally understand."

Why is my mouth dry? When did my body stop producing saliva? I clear my throat and look as unassuming as possible.

"No, I would love to come over for a very official date."

Luke breaks out into a devastating smile. Then we're both smiling. Like fools. Like a stage of fools.

"Cool," he says, then turns and leaves. When I'm sure he's gone, I do a very melodramatic collapse to the floor, which hurts a little because it's solid concrete. Melodrama has its price, I guess.

The next night after rehearsal, the sky is an inky blue and I'm practically lightheaded when I turn and see Luke running toward me through the parking lot. I've been slightly stunned how forcefully thoughts of Luke have been crowding Chase and Aleister out of my mind. I've given up obsessively following Aleister's career online and deleted almost all of Chase's pictures. Instead, I find myself trying to remember teenage Luke and wondering how I had gotten the past so wrong. It's almost sad to think we could have been friends all those years ago. Or maybe even more.

Luke asks, slightly out of breath, "Hey, just checking if we're still on for Saturday night."

"Definitely," I say. "You know, I don't even know where you live."

"Oh, I'm on Walnut Street. Twenty-three Walnut Street. It's a little white house with a blue door. You can't miss it."

"Great." And then I add for good measure, "I'm kind of relieved. I was worried you might have lived in a trailer or something and I don't do trailers."

Luke looks like I've just stabbed him in the face. I'm suddenly scared I've done something terrible, but not sure what.

"Uh, Luke? Are you okay?"

"I was raised in a trailer. In fact, my mom still lives in that exact same trailer."

Fuck. Oh, fuck my stupid mouth.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, Luke. I didn't mean—"

"A lot of people that are a ton better than the both of us live in trailers." Luke is getting pissed now and I'm not sure what to say to fix it.

"I know that. I'm sorry, I was just trying to be funny, I guess. I was trying to be charming and it backfired because I'm an idiot."

Luke starts to walk away.

"You're not just leaving, are you?"

He spins back around and walks back toward me. A pair of inquisitive crows watches us from a telephone pole.

"You know, not everyone was born rich like you, Noah."

I can't help but laugh incredulously. "Rich? Dad's farm has been hanging by a thread for as long as I can remember!"

"Yeah, but you went to college."

"Lots of people go to college."

"Lots of people don't. And let me ask you this, did you have to work when you were in college? Even a part-time job?"

"I was on several scholarships, which I earned ."

Why am I getting defensive? I'm supposed to be apologizing.

"But did you have to work and go to school at the same time?"

I stare at him, lost and exasperated. "No."

"That's what I figured."

Silence. Why are we fighting about this? Is this our first fight? We haven't even had our first date.

"I don't know what you want me to say. Sorry I didn't have to personally pay for my education?"

"I just think you should be a little more careful about going around and looking down on people."

My face flushes and I stare stupidly at the ground. Jesus. He's right. Luke is totally fucking right. When did I become this person? Have I always gone around making jokes at other people's expense? Do I really want to be the kind of guy who punches down like that? For a second I'm tempted to blame New York for turning me cynical and cruel, but I know that's a total cop-out. The remorse is so thick I can taste it in the back of my throat. I force myself to look Luke in the eyes and try to figure out where to even begin.

"Luke, I'm…I am so sorry I made a stupid joke about trailers. Oh God, I'm such a dumb man-baby sometimes. I guess all this time I thought you were the bully, but it turns out I'm the bully…"

I hang my head, disgusted with myself. "Looks like I'm just some spoiled little prick whose parents paid for his college. And his car. And…"

My mind races. I'm a total fraud. So much was handed to me on a silver platter and yet all I do to thank the world is spout an endless stream of snarky commentary. How did I end up becoming such an entitled douchebag? And so blind to my own privilege?

I've ruined everything with one flippant remark. It takes a pretty amazing amount of talent to wreck things so easily. Willy-nilly. I'm like some enormous, gay Godzilla clomping through the tiny cityscape of sweet Luke Carter's heart.

"Please don't be mad at me, Luke. I'm an asshole, I guess. But I can try to be better."

Luke's greenish-hazel eyes soften. "You're not an asshole, Noah. But you sure as hell didn't used to be like this. I guess you sort of live in a bubble now. You have to remember that you've been given a lot more than most people, and you shouldn't just take it all for granted. Not everybody has had it as easy as you have." Luke pauses, searching. "And also I'm really overprotective of my mom. This town hasn't been nice to her."

And then the words just come pouring out of me, without even giving the jaded part of my brain time to edit them.

"Luke, you are by far the nicest fucking person I've ever met. And for some reason I had you pegged wrong for so many years. And you couldn't have just been born that way. Clearly you are the way that you are because of how you were raised. All that credit is obviously due to your mother. I know without a doubt she has to be one of the most amazing people on this side of the Mississippi River if Luke Carter is her son."

Luke smiles a little. Jesus, does talking to people without sarcasm actually work? "Apology accepted."

"Will you still cook burgers for me on Saturday night? I promise I can be a better person. I swear I'm not totally rotten to the core. There's hope for me yet."

Luke glances around the parking lot, I assume to check if we're being watched by anyone other than the crows. I'm not sure what he's worried about. Ninjas, maybe? Then he puts his hand on the back of my neck and pulls me into a warm and gentle kiss. Before my knees can start to do their buckling thing he pulls away.

"We're on for Saturday," he says and climbs into his truck. I have a date with a hot cowhand who drives a truck.

What would teenage me think?