Page 11 of Billion Dollar Love: Manlove Edition

She narrows her eyes, but her mouth is soft. Oh, Christ, she’s gonna ask if I’m feeling all right and I’ll have to lie. I don’t have the focus for this performance. Instead, she looks down at her clipboard and lets me off easy. “Just Velcro and tassels left?”

“Yeah, I can pull a few late nights and have them ready for next rehearsal if you like.”

Late nights in the theater would give me a little time to recover from Mr. Ito.

“I can help,” Carlos suggests.

Late nights in the theater with Carlos are not an option. “I mean, I think the elves look slutty enough without the tassels. It’s up to you and Scissors, of course. But that’s a low priority for me.”

Van nods then looks over at Carlos. “Sweetness, how are—”

“Lights are all fixed and focused unless there are any last-minute changes before wet tech. All the cues are backed up on universe 2,” Carlos replies. “Sets and platforms are ready for the detail painting, once you all decide on which set palate you prefer. I’ve also started the scaffolding for the elf-dance number, with a few removable, uh … poles in case the number of performers change.”

That’s why he’s so sleepy, doing all that work himself. He’s way ahead of schedule, but he’s still worried she’ll bite off his head. “If you want to sit with me in the booth, I can walk you through my notes, and you can call cues at the next rehearsal.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Van reviews her clipboard then dismisses us with a well-worn speech. “All right. That’s that. Sorry to be high-strung. Let’s go have a good rehearsal.”

Mercy, to show his magnanimous forgiveness, jokingly snaps a salute. “Company, dismissed!”

Joanna interrupts the laughter, unable to take a God-damned reprieve, “Once the postcards arrive, is it legal to hand them out in Times Square? Don’t we need some kind of permit for that?”

“If we do, we’ll find out after we hand out a couple hundred, won’t we?” Van answers. “If those idiots can wander around in Elmo costumes with the head half off and scream at families for not tipping, then we can hand out some postcards.”

This is not my department, so I grab my things and head toward the theater. Sore from teaching morning classes and lack of sleep. Also, I don’t remember if I’ve eaten today. I’m a little scared of eating at Mr. Ito’s—

“Uh, Harp?”

Carlos is so soft-spoken that it takes me a moment to turn.

Mercy’s gone ahead, and the chaos of rehearsals becomes a structured moan as he leads the vocal warm-up.

I pause in the dim lights of the aisles and rub my shoulder. “Hey, Sweetness. You have questions about the pole-dance lighting? All we need is the spot in the center. Anything more flash you want to add, go wild, man.”

“Actually, I … well, you’re tired.” He loses his nerve. “We can talk later.”

It doesn’t occur to me to drop it until after I gesture to the stage. “What’s up, Sweetness? The music-men won’t let us move until after the vocals warm-up is done. I got nowhere pressing to be.”

Not until after rehearsal. Where I’ll find Mr. Ito waiting at home. Maybe he’d be working late again, and I can soak in that big tub on his terrace. Maybe he’ll join me… A little wave of heat tickles my spine.

“I just…” Carlos avoids looking me in the eye. “Did I do … something wrong?”

Shit.

Of course, he’s noticed. Without me forcing him into the light, we’ve all watched Sweetness wither into the darkness. He’d never opened up to Van. Everyone else in the company was too caught up in friendly arguments to bother with someone as small as a techie. No one but me knew how to balance a conversation with someone shy. So, he’d faded into the background.

But he’s a techie. That’s probably where he wants to be. Up in the cat-walk, hiding from attention, wearing his sunglasses indoors, dressed all in black.

How would Mr. Ito want me to respond? Oh, fuck him. How can I answer that look of pain? It must have taken Carlos hours to screw up the courage to have this conversation. “Dude, you haven’t done anything wrong. I'm just busy. I have a lot going on after practice.”

He lifts his head, but never his voice. So, his insistence is cautious, nervous. He’s prying, and he doesn’t like it. “Is it that rich guy?”

Every muscle in my body clenches. You got to watch out for the quiet ones because they’ll figure things out. Then again, he’s the only one who knows about that text. “Carlos, you haven’t told anyone about—”

“Told anyone? No.” Carlos startles. “Why would I? Are you in—”

“Listen.” An overwhelming paranoia takes me. Someone else in the theater does know and is reporting to Mr. Ito. “I can’t talk right now.”

I soften my voice so much, he has to lean in. “On the fifteen-minute, we’ll do a Froth run, and I’ll … we’ll talk.”

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