Page 123 of Dear Mr. Brody

“Denny isn’t going on,” Rachel said, and my stomach clenched again.

“Fuck.” Marcos didn’t even try to lower his voice, and I think Chance might’ve actually glared at him. I couldn’t tell. The man was impassive as hell. “Oh my God, Park. You can be Silas.”

“What? No.”

“Why not?” Rachel asked. “You wrote the damn play. You know the lines.”

“It could work,” Chance added, and I wanted to scream. I think Marcos’s drama had started to wear off on me after all these years.

“For one, I have no costume,” I said. “And I’m not kissing a fourteen-year-old.”

“Nix the kissing scene and we’re good,” Marcos said. “I got the costume under control. Chance, give me your pants.”

“Ah…” His thick brows dipped into a severe line. “Why?”

“You’re the only one around here close to Parker’s size.” Marcos held out his hands and the silent “duh” hung between us all. “Besides, those jeans have seen better days, it fits the whole homeless lost boy look perfectly.”

Rachel covered her smile with her hand.

“Marcos…” I warned and he shrugged. “It won’t work.”

“It will,” he insisted and called one of the kids over. “Can you grab me a few of those ivy garlands off the cottage prop. I think two or three will be enough.”

“I’ll look ridiculous standing next to Jake. I’m a grown-ass man. I can’t be a lost boy.”

I wrote the play. I wasn’t a goddamn actor. My gut churned, and the empathy I had for Denny increased threefold.

“Park, what else can we do?” Rachel pleaded and Christ, this was happening.

“Fine. But I want a raise, and you have to promise to never fire Rachel,” I pointed at Chance, and he actually laughed.

“Sure.”

“And I’m not kissing Jake. I’ll just… rest my cheek against his when the time comes.”

“Sounds good,” Rachel said, setting her hands on my shoulder. “Now hurry the hell up, the curtain is supposed to open in ten minutes.”

“Wait a minute,” Marcos said as Chance started to walk away. “I wasn’t joking. I need those pants.”

“I can wear my own jeans.”

“No… they’re too nice.”

“There’s holes in the knees.” Chance pushed his hands in his pockets, looking Marcos up and down. “I think I’ll keep my pants on… for now.”

When he walked away Rachel asked, “Did he just hit on Marcos, or am I high?”

“He did no such thing.” Marcos made a fake gagging noise, and I was too nervous to laugh.

“You’re on the clock, Basulto, make me pretty.”

Back in the dressing room, Marcos quickly turned my jeans into shorts. He cut out a jagged line around my legs, and I was surprised at how well they turned out. Instead of a shirt, Marcos wrapped the ivy from the cottage around my waist and chest.

“I don’t look half-bad.”

“Sit,” he said. “I only have three minutes, I can’t promise you anything fabulous, but close your eyes.”

“Um…”

---