Chapter Twenty-One “Places!”

twenty-one

" Places! "

The curtain falls and the houselights come up. And the place immediately turns into a madhouse. People start rushing onstage or climbing over chairs to get to their family members in the cast. Selfies are being snapped everywhere. Jackie and Julia look like bookends, hugging an older woman with a walker from either side. The woman's sweatshirt has the words "Twin Baby Momma" spelled out in gold lamé letters, and she weeps majestically with pride. Louis Jenkins is crowded by a seemingly never-ending mob of family members. Kids from Abby's bus route ask for her autograph and she obliges, cackling with glee.

Anna Wong runs up to me and gives me a hug, which is very un–Anna Wong. "It's like a totally different show! I mean, I liked it on Broadway, but this version is so much more tangible, so much more sincere! I'm thinking we might be able to license this baby. We'll make it a big story for the press. ‘Revamped Stage of Fools is alive again!' Oh, there's Carrie Payne. Should I go ask her how she liked it?"

"No!" I hiss under my breath. "We just have to wait and see what she says in her so-called ‘human-interest piece.' Promise me you won't even look in her general direction."

"Got it. My mind is spinning with all the opportunities this new version of the show could have! I've gotta go make notes in my phone."

To my complete horror, Mom is doing some strange little conga dance as she moves through the crowd. A sort of celebratory jig. She keeps singing at the top of her lungs, "My sweet potato's a genius! My sweet potato's a genius! My sweet potato's a genius!"

"Stop singing that!"

Mom laughs. "Well, it's true!"

She squishes me into a hug and when she lets go, Sue's caught up to her.

Sue takes my face in her tiny hands and smiles up at me. "Now that was heart."

I sigh and say, "I can't believe on top of everything else, Luke can sing like that."

Sue shrugs. "My son can do anything."

Luke appears and starts hugging his mom from behind, wrapping around her tiny frame like a massive quilt. "You ladies wanna stay for the cast party?"

Sue shakes her head. "Oh, no. This is about as much socializing as I can stand for one day."

Mom fiddles with my hair and says, "I'm going to try to twist Sue's arm and get her to come over for a nightcap and some of my fruitcake cookies. They're little cookies that taste just like little fruitcakes!"

"That should tell you all you need to know, Sue," I warn grimly.

Mrs. Henson rushes over to me, breathless and carrying a bouquet of bouncing congratulatory balloons. "I hope I didn't milk the ending too much. I didn't want to gild the lily, but I couldn't help but draw out the last few notes! And Luke Carter, you little sneak! Where have you been hiding that voice? We're doing Sweeney Todd in the fall and you'd make a fabulous Anthony Hope!"

Luke turns magenta and laughs. "No way. That was a one-time thing. Back to the set shop for me!"

I notice Dad sitting glued to his seat, staring blankly at his kneecaps. His oxygen machine silently stands guard as always.

I turn to Mom. "Is he okay? He's not having another episode, is he?"

Mom's voice goes soft and secretive. "No, nothing like that. I think your musical just really spoke to him."

I blink at her in confusion. "But he's seen it before. Bits and pieces, anyway. He's been to a couple of rehearsals."

"Well, now, honey, it's different when you see it all at once, you know. In one fell swoop. And with an audience and everything."

I take a moment to hem and haw, and then ask, "Should I go check on him?"

"Oh, Noah." Mom puts a gentle hand to my cheek and I can tell she's somehow trying to infuse me with any courage I might lack. "I think that would be very kind of you."

I begin walking toward Dad with an almost comical abundance of caution. Like he's a big, bald bird that might fly away if I move too aggressively. I silently take a seat next to him and he doesn't stop staring down at his knees, as if they hold some kind of cosmic answer.

Finally, Dad says, "So…is your show about us, son?"

Swallowing unexpectedly becomes harder than usual. And there's a strange piercing feeling in my chest cavity. But I can't lie to him. Not if he's brave enough to ask. Isn't this the conversation I always wanted to have? Isn't this the not-so-subconscious reason I chose King Lear as my source material in the first place?

My voice trembles, but I ignore it. "Well, it's kind of about us, I guess. I mean, thematically speaking—"

Dad stops me by placing his weathered hand on my knee. "Well, then let's clear something up right here and now."

I steady myself, not sure what to prepare for. Dad continues as sadness slowly spreads across his brow. "I guess, maybe I've let you down somehow…"

The piercing in my chest cavity grows more intense. Unable to bear it, I quickly fall all over myself to reassure him. "No, Dad. Not at all."

Dad gives an exasperated huff. "Let me finish, Noah."

I quickly go mute and wonder if this little scene is really what I wanted after all. "You see, son, I was raised a certain way…and me and my dad, well, we never…my generation didn't…"

His fumbling breaks my heart. "We don't have to do this, Dad."

Frustrated, he squeezes my knee and I once again snap my mouth shut.

"Let me finish. I'm not good at saying things. You must have got your talent for words from your mom's side of the family. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised, those people never shut up."

We share an awkward laugh.

"But, son…I do, you know…I do ."

I put my hand on top of his. And though I'm usually an unstoppable fountain of babble, all I can muster is a simple, "I get it, Dad."

His eyes lift slowly until he's staring directly at me.

"More than words can hold, son. More than words could ever hold."

I don't spoil the moment by bursting into tears or throwing my arms around his bony shoulders or any other countless theatrical options that would make him uncomfortable. This is as vulnerable as Bill Adams is ever going to get. And I'll take it.

"Me, too, Dad. Me, too."

And as if to put a stop to any further soul baring or general mushiness, Dad wobbles to his feet and says, "I'd better pull the car around for your mom and Mrs. Carter."

He starts to head for the door, but then stops and shyly takes a program from one of the seats and slips it into his sports coat jacket. He catches me watching him and shrugs. "Souvenir."

And then he's gone.

Luke comes up behind me with a worried expression written across his face. "You okay? What just happened?"

All I can do is shake my head in disbelief and say, "Oh, nothing. And everything. Nothing and everything and everything in between."

"But you and your dad are good, right?"

I gaze into Luke's hopeful face and say with complete and total amazement, "You know what? I think we actually kind of are."

Cast and crewmembers start setting up tables on the stage and bringing out homemade snacks and booze. I put my arms around Luke's waist and notice the crown of leaves still circling his head.

"You saved the day, Luke Carter."

"You're the one who wrote the song."

We hug until we both can't breathe. I put my head against his neck and feel his pulse again. The smell of apples.

"Tomorrow's going to be horrible, isn't it? There's no denying it." Luke sighs.

"What do we do?" I ask.

"We don't talk about it."

And so we don't.

The party goes on until dawn and Luke and I sneak out onto the roof of the theater to watch the sun come up. Hidden where no one can see us, we're together under the brightening sky for what we know will probably be the last time for months.

—

Saying goodbye to my parents is the same as it always is. Mom is weepy and melodramatic, and Dad is neither.

Luke and I drive mostly in silence to the airport. The atmosphere is so thick with sorrow that it seems wrong to talk at all.

Luke finally breaks the general air of misery. "Are you going to be okay on the plane?"

"The fear of heights thing isn't so bad when I'm flying. Plus, the free cocktails help."

"I wish I was gonna be there to tell you that you're safe."

He reaches over and takes my hand in his. I try to imprint the image of his rugged fingers entwined with mine on the back of my brain.

"Jesus, Luke. I wish you would just turn this truck around and tell me to quit this stupid show."

"Don't tempt me, Noah. I'm trying my best to do the tough guy thing."

When we get inside the airport, the dreaded moment comes right before security. It's time to say goodbye and I find myself getting self-conscious about our surroundings.

"I guess we should just hug goodbye. I mean, this is St. Louis, not New York. People might freak out if two guys—"

Luke cuts me off. "Fuck 'em."

His magnificent lips lock onto mine and we're embracing each other so tightly that I think our bodies might meld together. I completely forget to worry if my fellow passengers are noticing or not.

Luke refuses to let me go and whispers into my ear, "I can't believe it's taken me so long to say this, but I love you, Noah Oliver Adams."

Because he knows me so well, he holds me tighter as my knees start to give out.

I whisper back, "And I love you Luke I-don't-know-your-middle-name Carter."

And then we have to break apart because we're laughing too hard. But now I definitely have to know. "What is your middle name?"

Luke gives me a painful look. "You're going to hate it."

"That's impossible."

"Fine, it's…Harlan."

I squeal, "Harlan?!"

"Stop it."

"No, I love it!" I grab the sides of his face and gaze into his eyes. "You're my lovable Harlan! Can I call you that instead of Luke?"

"Can I call you Oliver?"

"Fuck no."

"Good. Let's stick to first names."

Luke Harlan Carter gets very serious and I hate it.

"Call me when you land. And do me a favor. Once you get through security, don't look back. I'll be here until you disappear into the crowd, but if you look back it might just break me."

I'm openly weeping like a baby. "Everything about this feels awful and wrong."

"I know, but it's all going to be fine," Luke promises.

For the first time the old Carter confidence seems a little shaky.

I follow Luke's instructions and don't look back at him once I'm past security. I reach into my bag and pull out my sunglasses, hoping that if I put them on I won't look like a crazy sobbing person roaming the airport. Thankfully, Anna Wong insisted that the producers of Barbarella fly me business class. A bottle blond flight attendant with a name tag that reads "Juana" approaches me and points at her name tag as she says, "Juana drink?"

I respond, "Oh, you don't know how much I wanna, Juana."

Something seems so horribly final when they shut the cabin door. I'm really doing this. I'm actually leaving. Putting over eight hundred miles between Luke and me.

—

Since I promised to call him as soon as I land, I do. But the sadness in both of our voices is almost unbearable. Hanging up feels miserable.

Even more miserable is wandering around the city now that I'm on my own. Reminders of my past life with Chase are everywhere and they don't sting, but they do carry a tiny punch. Oh, look, that charming little café where Chase tried to make me an oyster enthusiast and failed! How fun, an advertisement for Chase's favorite cologne on the side of that bus! And what's on display at my favorite newsstand? A trendy downtown magazine with Aleister Murphy and his over-tweezed eyebrows! Isn't that just fucking swell? I used to love Manhattan, but now everything just seems tainted. It's not that I miss Chase in the slightest, it's just that reminders of our rotten relationship are everywhere. And being so far from Luke doesn't help matters much.

One particularly hideous day I find myself absentmindedly walking in Times Square and I can't stop myself from a bit of morbid curiosity. I stroll past the Broadway theater where Stage of Fools went down in flames. And there's the marquee. No longer with my name on it, obviously. In obnoxiously cheery colors it reads, " Cassatt & Degas —a new musical by Christine Garrick."

I need to vent, but I don't want it to be to Luke. Our calls are sad enough. I consider Kiara, but she'll just give me a lecture on the pitfalls of self-pity. I decide on Melissa. I had promised to be better at staying in touch anyway.

Melissa doesn't answer with a hello, but a simple, "I just bought a bra that has breast pumps attached and it's a game changer! I'm hands-free, baby!"

"How is little Noah Jr.?" I ask.

Melissa moans. "Give that up, Noah. His name is Anthony. Anthony Nelson Fazio."

"A name that will put all the other used car salesmen to shame."

Melissa sucks her teeth. "Just because I'm hands-free doesn't mean I'm patience-free. What's up?"

"I'm standing in front of the theater where the show flopped and there's a new marquee up, which is to be expected. But it still hurts, you know?"

"Oh, Noah. I'm sorry."

"I mean, of course another show moved in, but it just makes it feel like Stage of Fools never even happened. As if it's been completely erased and it's simply destined to be totally forgotten. I mean, some diehard theater buffs might talk about the show every now and then. But we didn't even get to record a cast album. So there's hardly any chance that it will live on at all."

Melissa is quiet for a moment, then says, "You know what Marilyn Henson said to me the other day at the car wash? She said next to the birth of her daughter , getting to be a part of your show was the biggest thrill of her life. Look, I know you wanted your musical to reach millions of people worldwide. But you've got to know how much it now means to our little town. To those of us in the cast, your musical was…well, it made us feel alive. And that's not a small thing. At least, it isn't to us."

I note the tiny lump in my throat and say, "I am so glad I called you. Thanks for that. I'll let you get back to the baby."

Melissa feigns panic. "Baby? What baby? Oh, shit. I knew I left something at the hospital!"

"Just stop by any nursery and pick up another one. They're pretty interchangeable."

Later in the week, Kiara challenges Melissa's standing as my favorite girlfriend by magnanimously offering to help me unpack my things in the studio apartment Stephen found for me. The place is a huge step down from the swanky pad I had with Chase, but Kiara always looks on the bright side.

"It's not really that bad. Just think of it as a temporary crash pad. You know, just someplace to hold your things until you're done with the shitty Barbarella show."

I change the conversation to an even more depressing topic. "Valerie Wernsman is going to eat me for lunch. Daily."

"You're going to have to just stand up to her from the very start. Read her Carrie Payne's human-interest piece about your show. Tell her to suck on that."

Carrie's non-review review had actually been very kind. She still had all sorts of issues with the musical, but she did admit that the show was stronger than it was on Broadway and wrote, "Though the revamped musical is still called Stage of Fools , there was not a fool to be found onstage or on the creative team." The Post-Dispatch review was a flat-out rave. Mom was right, no local critic would rip apart a community theater production. People know where Audra Bogner lives.

I find myself saying, "Speaking of Carrie's non-review, I wonder if Chase read it."

Kiara snorts. "Didn't you once say that the Times 's Arts and Leisure section was his bible? He read it. The question is, baby boy, do you even give a shit what he thinks anymore?"

I stop to consider if I really do. I perform a comprehensive scan of my brain and then my heart and come up with, "You know, I actually think I don't."

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call progress! Besides, why waste a single thought on Chase when your new boyfriend has the soul of a saint and the body of a Hemsworth? He is an embarrassment of riches."

"I know. I've just filed the paperwork to have everything below his waist certified as a UNESCO Heritage Site."

Kiara cackles and announces, "Let's unpack the books next."

I climb up on a stepstool and Kiara hands me a stack of well-worn paperbacks, including my cherished copy of The Complete Lyrics of Lorenz Hart . When I reach down to grab the books, Kiara notices the necklace Luke gave me dangling out of my t-shirt. "What's that?"

"Luke gave it to me on opening night."

"Oh my God. It's hideous."

I smile. "I know. Don't you love it?"

"Desperately." Kiara's eyes glance over to the wall where I've hung the Balloon Faire t-shirt Luke bought for me. Instead of saying anything, she hides a smile and wags her head.

My phone buzzes. It's Anna Wong. Why is she calling so late?

I hop off the stepstool and answer.

She sounds panicked. Very, very panicked. "I have news to report. This is…uh…I'm completely blindsided by this, but I have Elton John on the other line."

I pause. Then laugh. "That's funny, because it sounded like you said you had Elton John on the other line."

Anna Wong is practically breathless. "No time for jokes. It's actually him. He wants to talk to you."

"Is this a prank? Because it's not funny."

"It's no prank. You know how I sent your demo out far and wide? Well, this is because of that, I guess. I also might have emailed his management a bootleg of your boyfriend singing ‘More Than Words Can Hold.'?"

"You did what?!"

"You told me to be bold! I can't stall any longer. You have to take the call now. Elton John doesn't wait."

I'm shaking so hard that I have to use two hands to hold the phone up. "Okay, okay! Go!"

A muffled beep and then I'm talking to Elton John. I'm actually talking to Elton fucking John.

"Is this Noah, then?"

Please don't let him hear my voice shaking. "Hello, Sir Elton John. It's me."

"Oh cut the ‘Sir' crap. Ms. Wong sent some samples of your work. I thought your lyrics were quite good."

"Well, that means the world coming from someone like you, sir." I quickly add, "That wasn't a ‘sir' in a knighthood kind of way, that was just a regular sir."

"I don't like either, but never mind. So your lyrics I love. I hate to be a bit of a cunt, but I'm a much better composer than you."

Ouch. But, valid.

"Well, you do have five Grammy Awards."

"Six, but who's counting?"

"Technically, I think we both are."

He gives a little laugh. "Someone's quick on his feet. Look, I'll cut to the chase. I've had a bit of a dustup on one of my musicals. The lyricist just wasn't working out. No personal issues, he just wasn't cutting it. And I want you to take over. Immediately, if possible."

I grab the wall to steady myself, because it feels like my soul is leaving my body. Elton John wants to write a musical with me? Sir Elton John? The color must have drained from my face because Kiara gives me a worried look.

"That…that…would be dream come true."

"Good! So that's settled. I'll have my management send your agent the script with the old lyrics cut out and you can start crafting new ones and emailing them to me. I'm constantly on the road with my tour. So unfortunately we're not going to be able to meet in person that much. Why I agreed to one more tour, I'll never know. But anyway, it's going to be writing via email and Zoom for the next several years. I know that's not optimal, but the good news is you can work from wherever you like."

My heart stops beating. "What?"

"You don't have to be in New York or London, as long as the work gets done."

My heart explodes into a thousand cartoon butterflies. Luke. I get to come home to Luke.

A screeching sound, probably feedback from a speaker blares over the phone. "Listen, there's a problem with my sound check. I've got to go, but looking forward to reading what you come up with, Noah."

In a flash Anna Wong is back on the line, she's clearly been listening in.

"Oh my God, Noah!!!"

"You goddess! You made this happen!"

"Don't you deus ex machina this moment! It was your songs that did the trick. I just sent them out far and wide."

"Can you get me out of that shitshow Barbarella , though?"

"With pleasure!" And then in totally un–Anna Wong style, she gives me an Oprah-like shout. " Noah Adams is working with Elton John! "

"I'm hanging up because I might have to vomit. In a good way."

I throw the phone down and turn to a wide-eyed Kiara.

"Noah, did you say the words Elton John?"

"I'm working with him on a new show."

Kiara screams.

"And I can work from wherever I want."

Kiara screams louder.

"I have to tell Luke. I have to tell him that I could actually be with him in Plainview while simultaneously working on a new musical with Elton fucking John. That's like having my cake and eating it, too."

"That is an endless supply of cake, baby boy!"

And then the old, neurotic Noah pops up.

"But what if Luke doesn't want that? Me around all the time, I mean. And could I actually move to Plainview? I don't think they really understand my fashion choices. Does this mean I'll have to buy jean shorts?"

Kiara grabs me by the wrists and pulls down, as if hoping to ground me.

"Noah, it's okay to get what you want every now and then. This is a mean old world. Just be grateful and call Luke."

I nod. Everything is happening so fast and none of it seems real.

I call Luke and he answers with a familiar sadness in his voice. "I was just thinking about you, baby," he says. Cows moo away in the background as if to remind me how far away from New York Luke is.

"So, the brilliant Anna Wong might have saved our relationship."

Clearly confused, Luke asks, "As in how?"

"Elton John just hired me as his lyricist for a new show. But he's on tour, so I can work from anywhere. I want to come home to you, Luke." My voice breaks and I pause to take a breath. "I mean, I'll live with my parents and we can—"

Luke cuts me off. "You'll live with me."

The sentence takes my breath away for a second. "I…"

"You'll live with me. Please come live with me, Noah."

"Uh…if you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"I want to say something, but I'm afraid I'll jinx everything if I do."

"Go ahead, Noah. Say it."

"One night before rehearsal, Melissa was listening to me completely self-flagellate over all the things that had gone spectacularly wrong in my life. And, well, she said that maybe…maybe I was only at intermission. That maybe there was a big old second act barreling right toward me. What if this is it?" I gasp quickly. "Fuck, did I just jinx it? I did, didn't I?"

"Noah, stop talking and get on an airplane as fast as you can. The houselights are going to half and the entr'acte is just about to start. You need to get here so that I can call places!"

"Call places? For what?"

"Forever, Noah. Forever."

I close my eyes and exhale.

Let the second act begin.