Chapter Text
“You are playing Sally Bowles?” David asked.
“Apparently,” Stevie said drily.
He opened his mouth to say can you even sing and I’ve seen you dance but he closed it again. Stevie was looking at him with her usual smirk, but there was something in her eyes that made him want to tread lightly here.
“I didn’t know you were interested in that."
“I’m not. Have you ever tried saying no to your mother?”
“Many times." He didn’t mention that tried was the operative word there. He had tried many times, and possibly, someday, he might even succeed.
“Well, you’ll be great." Stevie rolled her eyes at him because she knew that he wasn’t the kind of person who ever said you’ll be great unironically. But then she wasn’t the kind of person who normally did things that forced him to say it! Why was she doing this to him?
All right, fine. Let Stevie star in Cabaret. He could be supportive.
But here was the thing: Stevie was his partner in ironic detachment, and if she was going to go around trying things instead of making fun of people who tried things, where did that leave him? Was he going to have to be cool and detached all by himself?
Because he already knew what that was like.
*
This production of Cabaret was not going well, as far as he could tell. When his mother had gotten wind that Jocelyn was taking on this “cultural monolith,” which just happened to be the show that had given Television’s Moira Rose her big break, it was inevitable that she would interfere.
Next to fall was Alexis, when she volunteered to play Sally. David knew he was certainly capable of self-delusion—recent events had made that very clear—but the fact that Alexis imagined she could sing never ceased to amaze him. But after being rejected for the lead, she had happily settled for being a Kit Kat dancer. When he’d asked her why, she’d flipped her hair at him and said she liked dancing and she’d wear a cute outfit and who cared if it wasn’t the lead? She had a lot fewer lines to memorize.
Alexis was different, these days. She still seemed sad about Ted and the fact that he was with Heather, but going back to high school and now community college seemed to have energized her. She seemed more willing to try new things and actually stick to them, even if it wasn’t what she originally envisioned. So, fine.
Why anyone would want to be associated with a production so obviously doomed to failure was beyond him, but now that Stevie had been sucked in too, it seemed that all the people in his life were falling like dominoes.
However, he couldn’t help being a tiny bit curious. No one in his family was likely to remember this, but David had actually directed a play once. Sort of. He’d had a boyfriend who asked him to put up money for a play he was directing. David gave him the money and agreed to help out with the art direction. It was all very unofficial, but that didn’t stop David from secretly harboring romantic fantasies of himself and Sebastien as the next power couple in the New York theater world.
Those fantasies had crumbled to nothing, just like all of David’s romantic fantasies, when Sebastien spent most of the production doing cocaine and fucking half the cast. That was when he showed up; when he didn’t, David covered for him, and had, in the end, essentially directed the play. Group work wasn’t exactly David’s strong suit, but he found the entire process strangely rewarding.
Then, halfway through the play's run, Sebastien dumped him, leaving him without even a producer’s credit. The play turned into a minor hit, and Sebastien went on to direct more plays and then switched to films, while David spent a year watching Bridget Jones’ Diary and eating mall pretzels. Alexis flew back from Ulan Bator and practically moved in with him for eight months. After that, plus the Jared Leto disaster, David swore he wasn’t going to date any more assholes from the entertainment world, and he hadn’t. He dated assholes from other walks of life instead.
At any rate, all this theater talk was bringing back bad memories, which was very bad for his skin. He added a ninth step to his eight-step skincare routine and vowed to stay far, far away from this production.
*
“David,” his mother said. “I’m wondering if I could persuade you to sit in on auditions today. Jocelyn is at the doctor for her little situation.”
Her situation is what his mother called Jocelyn’s pregnancy.
“I really don’t see how you think I could help.” David didn't look up. He was lying on his bed scrolling through Instagram.
“I hate to see you moping this way, David.”
David kept his eyes on his phone. “I’m not moping, I’m relaxing.”
“Are you still telling yourself that, dear?”
He looked up. She was looking at him with a reproachful look on her face, a scolding, fond look, a mother’s look; when she should know they weren’t doing that now, especially not after she had—when the reason he was doing nothing was—
“Yes, I am telling myself that, because it is still true.” But he could feel himself weakening. Dammit.
“David, please. I at least need someone to take notes on the performers. These townspeople are very hard to tell apart from one another.”
David sat up and threw down his phone. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m taking notes, and that’s it.”
“Excellent,” Moira said.
It was true David hadn’t felt like doing much of anything these days. But he was definitely not moping. He was decompressing.
Certainly, it had been a blow when his mother voted against him getting the lease of the general store, and oh-by-the-way dropped the bomb that she and Dad had funded his galleries in New York. Everything, every tiny shred of success he had ever had in his life, had been bought and paid for by Moira and Johnny Rose.
But that was a month ago, and he was fine now. Christmas World was going in where the general store used to be, and he had moved on.
*
The auditions were a disaster. Naturally.
The Kit Kat dancers had already been mostly cast, and his mother said she had a Fraulein Schneider who was surprisingly good. And Stevie was Sally. After viewing the auditions, he understood a little better now why Mom had cast Stevie as Sally. She at least had the right look and the right energy.
First up, there was Bob. His mother started off by asking him, “So tell me, Robert, why are you auditioning for this play?”
Bob chuckled. “Well, Gwen asked me if I could be out of the house every day between four and six.”
It was downhill from there.
David took meticulous notes on what the people said, their acting choices and their (lack of) singing ability. He got up and read with people. He gave them feedback, just a few things here and there, obvious things that needed to be said.
After they had seen everyone, his mother turned and looked at him expectantly. “What did you think, David?”
He made a face. “Well …”
“A promising day, I thought."
“Were we watching the same people?” David said. “Bob actually had a decent voice and could be Herr Schultz, and you had one person who might be able to play Cliff, but that’s it! No one for the emcee!”
“Who did you see for Cliff?”
He looked at his notes. “Adam?”
“He was a good singer. You don’t think he could play the emcee?”
He shook his head decisively. “Absolutely not. Not enough stage presence.”
His mother was looking at him with a little smile. “I am not as discouraged as you are,” she said. “And with a little help …” She trailed off, looking at him meaningfully.
“Oh, no,” he said. “No.”
“If I recall, you do have some experience in the director’s chair, David.”
“You knew about that?” Had his mother actually come to see the play? He would remember that, surely. But he had been going through a lot back then, so maybe—
His mother said, “I was unfortunately prevented from actually attending the production. But from what I understand, it was quite the little sensation.”
“Okay." Of course she hadn’t seen it. “I had actual actors to work with then. Not people like—like Bob.”
“What you are seeing, David, is the cast in its embryonic state. This is the clay waiting to be molded into the final finished product by the powerful hands of the creator.”
“Well, I’m just saying this clay is going to need a lot of molding.”
“A true artist does not shy away from a challenge, David!” she said. “These setbacks are but landmarks on the way to artistic triumph.”
“If you say so." He tried to convey with his tone that these were her challenges, not his.
His mother just looked at him with her little speculative half-smile. He’d seen that look before. It usually meant he was about to get dragged into something that was going to cause him a lot of grief and hassle, with nothing in the way of reward or thanks at the end of it.
“What?” he finally said.
But she just held out her hand for the notes he’d taken. He handed them over. “Thank you for your assistance today."
David, braced for an argument, was a little surprised to be dismissed so quickly. He stood up and hovered a little uncertainly.
“Good night, David."
“Okay, well. Good night." He went out.
*
On his way to the motel, he stopped in front of the old general store.
There was a banner hanging across the front reading “Christmas World—Coming soon!” That banner had been there for weeks, but now there was a new sign below it: “Now hiring!”
Setbacks are but landmarks on the way to triumph.
Was that a slam at him? That was probably a slam.
David stood hesitating, contemplating the wreckage of his dreams, embodied in the monstrosity of this big box seasonal store. His eyes dropped to the windows, and he noticed that there was someone inside, a woman with a clipboard, and she was waving at him. When he met her eye, she eagerly beckoned him in.
Because he had a way of responding to direct commands—which was definitely something he needed to work on—David found himself opening the door and walking in. He looked around. He hadn’t seen the store since it had been cleaned out. He had been right about its potential. The natural light, the subway tile, the wood floors—the bones this place had! What someone with a discerning eye and impeccable taste could do with it!
Too bad they’d never get the chance. This subway tile would be defaced with tinsel and grinning Santas, the wood floors scuffed by careless elves in pointy shoes.
His eyes came to rest on the woman with the clipboard. She was young, practically a teenager, wearing a glittery snowman sweater, an aggressively perky ponytail and a deranged smile. “Merry Thursday!” she said. “I saw you and I knew you wanted to come in. You just needed a little encouragement.”
She was looking at him expectantly. “Encouragement,” he echoed.
“To apply!” she said. “Christmas World is, like, super excited to bring jobs to this community.”
“Oh, no, I don’t—I’m not—”
“Do you have your resume?”
“I’m actually not looking for work right now?” Why did that come out as a question?
“Oh, do you have a job? Because part time hours are available too!”
“No, no, I’m not working.”
Her face scrunched up. “Oh. Well, long term unemployment is not super great for your chances—”
“I didn’t say it was long term.”
“—but I’m sure you have lots of good qualities? And like, marketable skills? And remember a little Christmas cheer goes a long way!” Her smile stretched even bigger. It was frightening. David could feel his mouth turning down to compensate.
“I don’t think I really fit the Christmas World brand, unless you want a deeply embittered, mildly Hebraic-looking elf talking to your customers.” he said.
The girl’s smile faded and now she looked like she wanted to cry. “It’s so important not to give up,” she said earnestly. “I could put in a good word for you—”
“I haven’t given up. I just don’t want to work here!” he practically shouted.
The girl wrinkled her nose. “Okay, rude.”
The bell jangled, and an older woman came in, a Santa hat perched on her grey hair. She looked vaguely familiar. “Is this where I apply for Christmas World?” she asked the girl eagerly.
“That’s right!” the girl said. David decided to take this opportunity to get away.
When he tried to pass the older woman, though, she stepped in front of him, barring his path. “Hello, David." She practically spit out his name.
“Um, hello?” What the hell? Who was this woman?
“Bob told me all about how you tried to hijack the lease for this place,” she hissed.
“No,” David said. “I mean, yes, I applied for the lease, but I wasn’t trying to hijack—”
She held up her hand, cutting him off. “Just be grateful you didn’t succeed." She swept past him to approach the girl with the clipboard. “Gwen Currie." She held out her hand. “Merry Thursday.”
“Merry Thursday!” David heard the girl chirp in return, as he got the hell out of there.
Once he was outside, he paused for a moment and looked back. Gwen—whoever the fuck that was—was glaring at him. Her eyes glinted balefully from under the Santa hat. He quickly walked away.
Well. That was weird.
David took out his phone to text Stevie.
David: want to get drunk tonight?
Stevie: thought you’d never ask
*
They were ensconced on their barstools, about to do their second round of polar bear shots, when Stevie said, “So is this fun drinking or are we still doing ‘moping about your future’ drinking?”
“Excuse me,” David said. “I would appreciate not being mocked. I have had a very difficult day.”
“So, moping drinking it is then.”
“Hey,” David said. “Who says I can’t do both?”
They clinked glasses and downed their shots.
“Another round?” David said. He looked up, but there was no one behind the bar. David looked around and saw the bartender coming out of the back room with his arms full of equipment.
He pointed. “Is that …”
“Yep. Karaoke,” Stevie said. “Now I definitely need more shots.”
*
After an hour of listening to increasingly tuneless renditions of Journey and Celine Dion, David tried to convince Stevie to get up and sing a song.
“No. I hate singing in front of people.”
“Um, I hate to tell you this, but you are going to be singing in front of a lot of people in the very near future.”
“Don’t remind me,” Stevie said. “I have no idea why I agreed to that.”
I don’t know why either, David didn’t say. He was drunk but he knew better than that. He was a supportive friend. “It might be good practice,” he said instead.
“I was thinking more about looking for randoms tonight."
“Um, I thought you were cheering me up.”
“That too. It’s just, that’s kind of a full time job.”
David narrowed his eyes at her. “I resent that."
Stevie circled on her stool to scope out the room, a siren in flannel and faded denim. David signaled to the bartender for another round.
Stevie nudged him. “Stop,” he muttered. She nudged him again, nodding to point out someone across the bar.
David glanced in the direction she’d indicated, at a man sitting alone at the end of the bar drinking a beer. He was cute in a nondescript kind of way, with short brown hair and a round, tidy face, all tucked into a blue button down.
“He looks like an accountant,” David said.
“A cute accountant."
The bartender brought their shots. David gave one to Stevie and picked up the other one. They downed them.
“Fine, whatever,” David said. “Go for it. I’m sure I can find a way home somehow.”
“Maybe I can go in his car, and I’ll let you drive mine home.”
“Okay, no. You are not getting into a strange man’s car. He could be a serial killer.”
“I thought he was an accountant."
“He can be both.”
Stevie was openly staring now. “Stop being so obvious,” David whispered.
“What? It’s my seduction technique.”
“Staring is your seduction technique?”
“It works." She looked a long moment longer, but the guy didn’t look over. She turned back to David.
“You were saying?” David said.
“Maybe he’s not interested in women."
“If that guy isn’t straight, I’ll—”
“You’ll do what, David?”
I’ll go after him myself.
Whoa. Where had that thought come from? David looked over again, and saw what his subconscious had obviously registered already, which was that the guy had a very nice set of shoulders filling out the button down, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms like a Greek god. As David watched, the guy lifted his beer bottle and wrapped his lips around it, which was, ugh, pretty hot. David looked away.
“Stop making me look at unattainable people,” he said irritably.
Stevie’s eyebrows climbed up to her hairline at that, and he waved a finger in front of her face, to erase where her mind was going.
“Just shut up and sing a song already,” he said.
“Fine. Two more shots and I’ll do it.” She got up to get the binder of songs and started paging through it.
David signaled the bartender again.
While Stevie was absorbed, David’s eyes wandered back over to Blue Button Down, and the guy looked up and met David’s gaze. His eyes were warm and whiskey-brown, and something kindled in them as he looked at David. David’s breath caught. He felt pinned, held; he couldn’t look away.
Stevie didn't look up from her binder, “I’ll sing a song if you go talk to that guy.”
David jumped a mile and dragged his eyes away. “I thought we established that he was straight.”
“An accountant and a serial killer and heterosexual? Making a lot of assumptions tonight, aren’t we?”
He pointed at her. “You are just trying to distract me from what is supposed to be happening here, which is you getting up and singing.”
The bartender brought over four shots. “Drink up,” David said.
Stevie did, very impressively knocking back both of her shots, one after another. She wiped her mouth and said, “Maybe I’ll ask the heterosexual accountant serial killer to sing a duet with me.”
“Fine, great idea.” If Stevie hooked up with the accountant, David would stop thinking about him. He had enough problems without fantasizing about obviously straight guys. “Please do it soon. I don’t know how much more Journey I can listen to.”
David downed his shots while Stevie bent her head back over the binder.
“I’ve got it." Stevie tapped the page.
“What is it?”
“You’ll see." She picked up the binder and went over to Blue Button Down. As David watched, she opened it up and pointed out the song. The guy put his head to one side and seemed to be considering. Then Stevie gestured over at David, and Blue looked over at him with a little smile. “Oh, no. No nono no nononono,” David said, making denying motions with his hands. What the fuck was Stevie saying to him?
Then Blue stood up and he and Stevie made their way to the karaoke machine. They stood waiting as somebody finished up a very enthusiastic rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody." Blue was smiling, his head bent toward Stevie, and David tried not to look at the ass Blue was hiding under some very boring mid-range denim. Jesus.
Bohemian Rhapsody stepped aside to a smattering of very muted applause, and Stevie and Blue stepped forward and picked up the mics. The music began and David’s mouth twisted when he recognized the opening bars of “You’re the One That I Want.” He was going to kill Stevie.
And then.
It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous what happened next.
Stevie and this random Blue guy brought down the house with that stupid song. Blue started out the first verse “I got chills, they’re multiplying …” and he sounded good, like really fucking good; his voice was smooth and rough at the same time, like a croon crossed with a sexy growl, and David’s mouth fell open, like how many times was this guy going to surprise him?
One more time, apparently.
Because during one of the rounds of “You’re the one that I want,” Blue turned and looked at David and there was a look on his face, a definite look, like the one he’d given him a few minutes ago, across the bar; but before David could react, it was over; Blue was turning back to Stevie to sing with her, and Stevie was singing back and she actually sounded good and where had that come from?
They wrapped up the song and the whole Wobbly Elm actually exploded into shouts and applause. A couple of people stood up. Stevie looked stunned, and Blue was looking at her and smiling, and he touched her arm gently, and encouraged her to acknowledge the crowd.
Arm touching. Okay. Yes, so that was happening. David had definitely imagined the moment earlier.
David applauded as Stevie made her way back over, bringing Blue with her. Stevie got back on her barstool, and there wasn’t another one available so Blue leaned on the bar on one of his ridiculously attractive forearms. The forearm was now very close to David.
“That was very impressive,” David said, looking between the two of them.
Blue just nodded and blushed. David watched the way the blush spread down his neck and wondered how far down it went. He’d very much like to see how far. If he unbuttoned that shirt, one button at a time, would that make Blue blush harder? And David could kiss that hot, flushed skin as it was revealed, button by button—
Stevie’s voice, loud, “I need another shot for me and my partner here.”
“I’m good,” David said. His head was swimming. He was definitely drunk. He was having drunk thoughts.
“I mean my singing partner."
“I think I’m good, too,” Blue said. “I had a lot of beer. Earlier.”
Stevie held up a finger. “One shot." She was giving Blue her best intense Stevie look. It’s my seduction technique. Ugh.
“Okay, one shot."
“Don’t, if you don’t want to,” David interjected. “Liquor before beer, or whatever.”
“Thank you.” Blue turned to David with a smile. “But I can probably handle one shot.”
Stevie gave the order to the bartender, and Blue held out his hand to David. “I’m Patrick."
David shook his hand. Patrick’s grip was firm and strong. Of course. The forearms. “Hi David, I’m Patrick."
Patrick’s eyebrows quirked up.
“The other way around, I mean,” David said. Great. This was going great.
Patrick seemed to be trying not to laugh. That was probably the only reason he didn’t let go of David’s hand right away.
The shots arrived, and Patrick let go of David’s hand to take his shot. “To singing in public,” Stevie said.
“Singing in public,” Patrick echoed. They clinked glasses and knocked back their shots, giving David a nice view of the length of Patrick’s neck as he tipped his head back.
Wait. Singing in public. Cabaret.
The motherfucking emcee.
But first. He turned to Stevie. “You know what?”
“What, David?” She was smirking.
He pointed at her. “You’re going to nail it. The part. Sally. You’re going to fucking nail it.”
Stevie smile faded. “We’ll see.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?"
“Never got drunk enough."
David shook his head and waved his arms, which made him almost tip off his barstool. Patrick caught him by the arm and righted him. And that felt nice, Patrick catching him—very very nice.
“Thank you,” David said to Patrick.
“Anytime."
David held a finger up to him. “Need to talk to you."
“Okay."
“Stevie is going to star in Cabaret,” David began.
Patrick smiled. He looked over at Stevie. “That’s great!” She smiled back.
David knew that Stevie was planning to take this guy home, and he should make himself scarce so they could get on with it. He just needed to take care of this first.
He looked at Blue. Patrick. “Have you appeared in musicals before?”
“A few,” Patrick said. “Awhile ago. In high school and college, mostly.”
“Which ones?”
“Well, Grease."
“Ah,” David said. That explained some things. “Any others?”
“Guys and Dolls. Bye Bye Birdie.”
“Sky Masterson? Conrad Birdie?”
“Yes,” Patrick said.
“Oh my God, spit it out, David,” Stevie said.
“Fine!” David snapped at her. There was a process, here. He turned back to Patrick. He took a deep breath and concentrated, so he could sound professional and not like a sloppy drunk. “My mother is putting on Cabaret. We can’t find anyone for the emcee. I think you could do it.”
“Really?” Patrick said. “You think I can do it based on just … that?” He gestured to the stage, where the Bohemian Rhapsody guy had reclaimed the mic and was now butchering “Sweet Caroline.”
“Yes,” David said.
Patrick tilted his head to the side. “You must have really liked it, huh?”
“I believe I have indicated that I did.” David heard Stevie snickering behind him.
“I guess you did … indicate that.” Patrick looked past him to meet Stevie’s eye.
Okay, so David could take a hint. This is what he got for trying to help out. He got to be the third wheel while these two heterosexuals performed their little pre-hookup ritual.
He said, still aiming for crisp and professional, “Since you are obviously not interested, I will withdraw the offer.” He slid off the barstool, slowly, holding on to the edge of the bar. He had to keep his dignity here.
Patrick said, “Wait, who said I wasn’t interested?”
“You did."
“I don’t think I did, though."
“I didn’t hear it,” Stevie piped up.
“It was clear from your tone,” David said.
“Well, I’d rather you waited until it was clear from my words,” Patrick said.
“Fine,” David said. If Patrick was going to keep up this ridiculous pretense, so would he. “Do you have a piece of paper? A business card, something like that?”
“Sure." Patrick took out his wallet, fished out his card. “This is my old card,” he said. “I just moved here.”
David took the card and flipped it over to write on the back. He wrote Cabaret and his mother’s number and gave him the card back. Now it was time for him to get out of here, and Stevie and Blue Button Down would go home together and do whatever, and David could banish the idea that those forearms would ever be wrapped around him.
Stevie arranged with the bartender to call a couple of cabs, and they all stumbled out of the bar together. David crawled into one cab with his eyes firmly averted from the other two, but before he knew what was happening Stevie was climbing in after him and they were driving away.
He hadn’t even looked at Patrick, or said goodbye, or anything.
“Um, how did that happen?” David said to Stevie.
“What?”
“I thought you were going home with him." He waved his hand in the direction they’d just come from.
“No,” Stevie said. “That was never going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because if he was into either of us, it was you.”
David shook his head. “No.”
“He was flirting with you like crazy.”
David kept shaking his head. “That wasn’t flirting.”
“Oh my God, David.”
David thought about it. Okay, so maybe there were a couple of times he’d thought he'd felt … something. Maybe. But nothing that couldn't just as easily be wishful thinking.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said finally. “I don’t even know his last name.”
“You were holding his business card in your hand. You didn’t look at his last name?”
“No, I flipped it over to write on the back.”
Stevie looked up to the roof of the cab, like it could help her deal with his stupidity. “Okay,” she said. “Well, he has your number anyway. I’m pretty sure he’ll call.”
“I … didn’t give him my number.”
“What?”
“No. I gave him my mother’s number.”
Steve started cackling. That was the only word for it. She was laughing like she couldn’t stop. “David, you have no game at all! You have zero game. Zero.”
“I thought you were interested in him! I was trying to get away so you could hook up!”
Stevie said, “So that was you trying to be my wingman?”
“Yes, actually."
That made her laugh harder. “Stop.” She wiped her eyes. “I can’t, I can’t.”
“Are you finished?” David said coldly. Really, Stevie had no reason to be so sure of herself. “I still think he was into you.”
“He really wasn’t.”
He threw up his hands. There was no way Blue Button Down in mid-range denim was interested in him. And if he was, on the off chance that he was…
David had given him his mother’s phone number.
He leaned back and knocked his head against the seat.
Stevie was right. He had no game at all.