Page 54 of Footlights and Forever

“I’m so sorry Teddy,” Dylan said meekly behind his hands which were covering his face.

“Why are you sorry?” Teddy’s eyebrows scrunched up together. “I do same thing. Stagehand down the hall with very similar satisfied face as you had when I come into room.”

Dylan’s wide stare caught mine over his shoulder. Laughing, I clapped him on the back and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Listen, why don’t you go to the theatre bar and grab a drink. I’ll be there in a few minutes and we can go on to the after party.”

An hour later we were making our way down the block towards the subway. I had not taken into account the fans that would wait outside the stage door for autographs and pictures. I was on what I thought may have been millionth selfie when the stage door opened again behind me, and a very put-together Teddy stepped out into a flurry of press, flashing bulbs and screaming fans wanting to stand next to the lead of the play. I smiled at him wistfully for a moment, watching as the attention immediately left me and focused on the star of the show. I slipped between the ropes and into the embrace of my ever-present and patient boyfriend who had stood at the back of the crowds waiting for me to finish.

“Are you okay?” A small smile was playing on his lips, but the concern in his eyes was evident.

I looked up into the murky New York sky. A heavy layer of cloud covered the city, giving an almost green glow above the tall skyscrapers, promising storms later in the evening. Thecool winds of the coming weather fronts contrasted with the hot currents blown up from the sewer steam grates and subway system below the city streets. I turned my head to look at Teddy, still caught in the fans’ snare, signing autographs and posing for what might turn out to be endless selfies, and smiled.

“I’m good.” I wrapped my arm around Dylan’s shoulders and led us toward the subway.

The small warehouse space in the meat packing district served as the venue for the opening night after party. While these things technically were a chance for all the cast and crew to get together to celebrate opening night and wait for the first reviews to roll in, it tended to be more of an excuse for the production team to mingle with journalists, critics and A-list celebrities who might be persuaded to perform a run in that next production that all directors had up their sleeves.

I gave my name to the nice lady with the severe makeup at the door, who nodded for the bouncer to let us pass. I wasn’t sure whether she had returned the smile I sent her way as her makeup was caked on so thick that it may have prevented her from noticeably smiling.

“Here he is!” a voice boomed over the sound system. I looked to my right. In a small DJ booth was the Director Mitchell, with Marge, his second-in-command. His Evil Lynn to his Skeletor, if you will. “Everyone put their hands together for our very own Austin Ridge!”

The small crowd, seemingly annoyed by the interruption to their drinking, groaned somewhat of a greeting before turning back to their designer cocktails.

“Oh and his boyfriend,” Marge’s voice followed up, “well… how fun.” The last was more of a question for the room than a statement. Dylan’s hand clenched in mine, not so much grasping mine, but more curling his own into a fist. I worked my fingers between his own and gave his hand what I hoped wasa reassuring squeeze before leaning over to place a peck on his cheek. I understood it must have been hard for him with me in the spotlight, him trailing behind me sometimes literally in my shadow.

“There are so many people,” Dylan whispered, his eyes darting around the room like a proverbial deer in the headlights. I cast my gaze across the room and figured I must just be used to the hustle and bustle of the city and the cacophony of voices that carried over the expansive atrium and theatre. It didn’t seem overly crowded to me, but then again I figured that since Dylan had previously spent the majority of his day working in a small coffee shop, this must be somewhat overwhelming.

Things had been quite different for us lately. We hadn’t been able to spend a lot of time together, since the production had taken up a lot of my time. Dylan had also started his new role as a writer’s assistant, which brought him into the city every day. From what I could gather he had been assigned to the main writers’ room, and was acting as an assistant for four main writers of a sitcom involving two sets of neighbors who shared a floor in a New York City apartment block and tended to be at war with each other with any hijinks the writers could come up for that week’s show.

I was happy for Dylan, but I’d decided against speaking openly about my feelings on the show and how lowbrow I thought it was compared to what I was doing, and what I knew for a fact that Dylan could be doing. He loved his role and the people he worked with, so I kept my mouth shut.

“You don’t have to worry babe.” I squeezed his hand gently once more. “You’re with me tonight, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

A sort of calm acceptance crossed his features as he plastered on a fake smile as person after person came up to introduce themselves, applauding my work in the play and asking aboutwhat I had lined up next. I had spotted a couple of big-name casting directors and producers hanging back, their ears perked up to my answers but never really approaching me. It was a tactic I’d become familiar with over the course of my time in the city. A producer would send out scouts to find out as much as they could without ever approaching themselves. That way, they could maintain an air of aloofness, therefore giving them an upper hand in any future negotiations.

After about an hour and a half of smiling, talking, and networking, I noticed Dylan flagging a bit. I gave my apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Blank Cheque that Mitchell Grant had sent over to talk to me, and towed Dylan across the open space to an empty booth along the back wall of the space.

“I’m fine, you know,” he smiled, suppressing a yawn.

“Yeah, that sleepy yawn just screams fine to me, Dyl,” I smiled back, running my fingers through his chestnut mop of hair.

“I’ll be okay.” He shook himself like a big dog shedding its coat of water. “Just need something to wake me up.” He looked around the room. “They must have somewhere here.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of venue,” I chuckled.

His eyes darted past me before he nodded his head over my shoulder. I turned to spot Marge and Mitchell striding towards me, wide smiles on them like nightmare twin versions of the Cheshire cat. The creepiness of Mitchell’s smile didn’t seem to escape Dylan as I saw him visibly shiver as the director approached.

“Ah, there you are,” Madge cooed, coming over to my side and almost standing between me and Dylan. “What are you doing over here by yourself?”

A small cough sounded behind her. Her rolling eyes were the only sign that she’d even heard anything. A cruel smile played on Mitchell’s lips, obviously reveling in the mean-spirited attempt to dismiss my boyfriend right underneath my nose.

“As you are well aware, Madge, I’m here with Dylan,” I said, reaching around her and shoving her out of the way, pulling him to my side.

“Oh, of course you are.” She smiled sweetly, smoothing down a nonexistent crease in her sharp, tailored navy-blue pantsuit. “How fun.” She said it in that same almost questioning tone.

“Anyway, that’s not what we came over to talk to you about.” Mitchell waved over his shoulder into the crowd. I watched as the hoard of guests parted as Teddy, Lisa and Christina made their way towards us. “I have some good news.”

“This is sensitive information, Austin.” Madge nodded slightly in Dylan’s direction.

“I’m sure if you have something to say…” I began.

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