Page 64 of Cleats and Pumps

Images of Amos and I, our arms and legs tangled around each other, came to mind first, causing me to laugh. Yeah, I liked that a lot. I couldn’t make a career out of shagging my boyfriend though.

I closed the computer and decided to do something I hardly ever did during the day. I went for a run. It wasn’t like I was opposed to working out. Truth was, I tried to keep in shape. I usually ran on my treadmill while listening to the morning news or while I was catching up on the latest sports news that I’d missed on ESPN.

I rarely went out for a run on the street. New York certainly wasn’t set up for that kind of thing. I knew exactly where I was going to run to though— right to where Amos was rehearsing. Would I get to watch? Probably not, but hey, I had journalist credentials. That got me into a lot more doors than people would think possible.

I ran to the back door that Amos used, then walked in. “Hey, can I help you?” a man asked when I came into the hallway where a hive of activity was taking place.

“Yeah, I’m a journalist, and I’m dating one of the actors. I thought I might check out the show’s progress and possibly make a few notes about potential articles.”

“Wait here,” he said and disappeared around a wall I hadn’t noticed when I came in. He came back out with the same older man I’d seen introduce Amos the night he’d tricked me into performing. The moment he saw me, the worried expression he’d been wearing changed to a smile.

“Mr. Sanders, welcome. I thought maybe you were… well, never mind what I thought. We met briefly the night we introduced the show, but you were a bit… distracted,” he said, smiling. “I’m Anton Wagner. Come with me. I’ll take you up to where Amos is learning how to be a dancer.”

I snorted before I could stop myself, then cringed as I looked at the older guy. His smile hadn’t left his face. “I take it you’ve not seen him lately?”

“Almost every night,” I said, and this time the man chortled.

“I meant, you’ve not seen him rehearse lately.”

I shook my head. “No, there’s little to no movement when he gets home. Mostly, he falls asleep on the couch.”

“Aah, then we’re doing our job.” We walked up a very long flight of stairs and then through a door that led to another door. This place was a labyrinth. Finally, we stood on a balcony, looking down over what appeared to be a tiny gym, withhardwood floors and mirrors all around the room. “Six, seven, eight,” someone called out, and all of a sudden, a group of individuals danced out from under the balcony and into view. At the front was Amos.

His skin exposed, I noted a layer of sweat coated him. He was singing, although I couldn’t hear whether he did so in tune or not, but the choreography was brilliant. Amos didn’t miss a beat. He was the beautiful, gorgeous drag queen himself. Damn, he did a fabulous job.

“Impressed?” Mr. Wagner asked next to me.

“Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“That man has so much talent. I dare say this is the beginning of an illustrious career. At least we’ll get him for a moment before someone Hollywood pulls him into their world.”

“He’s made to perform, so if he left Broadway, it’d never be because of anything personal. I’ve known him my entire adult life, and… well, he’s drawn to performance like a moth to flame.”

I turned to see the man smiling sadly. “I know performers like that. Have known them since I started in the industry. One thing remains constant. Those who survive and find happiness have someone in their corner. Someone who fights for them, who stands by them, and often knocks sense into them, when their ambition or love of the game takes them to dangerous heights.”

He paused, looking down at the performance below us. Then he glanced at me. “I think you are that for our beautiful Alec down there.”

I smiled. “I love him, that’s for sure, but no one tells Amos Clark what to do.”

The guy laughed. “I bet he listens to you. I’d be willing to bet he always will. Feel free to watch, and talk to anyone not performing or running around like they’re about to lose their job, because likely they are. We welcome any articles you mightwish to write. The star is your boyfriend though, and you already have more access to him than any of us ever will.”

He walked away then, leaving me standing on the balcony, watching with amazement as the choreographer stopped them, gave Amos some direction, then began again. Whatever she’d told him, he must have done because a smile immediately lit her face.

They stopped and started repeatedly. Most of the time, they fixed something small I couldn’t see. There were a lot of performers on stage. Lots of moving bodies doing different but coordinated movements. It was truly amazing to watch.

I stayed, probably too long, mostly because Amos was so fucking hot to watch as he danced around the room. Truth be told, hotter than when I’d seen him tackling men on the field, and that’d been pretty damned sexy.

I managed to find my way back down the stairs and ran into a very tall, skinny man with a balding head. Although, he didn’t look like he was much older than me. “Excuse me,” I said, and the man smiled and said the same.

“Wait,” I heard Mr. Wagner’s voice behind me. “I’m glad I caught you. I want you to meet Orion Mattingly. He’s the owner ofProudest, an online magazine covering the LGBTQIA community.”

I nodded politely and shook the man’s hand. “I’m Tommy Sanders,” I said.

“Oh, I know who you are. Your article about Amos taking this job was well done. In fact, you captured my attention and held it until I finished reading. That’s quite a task when you’re mixing sports metaphors with the arts.”

I chuckled, “I’m a sports writer. Well, I was. I thought maybe I’d pushed the sports thing too far.”

“No, certainly not. The fact that you essentially wrote an article about a new Broadway star, using sports as the backdrop for the article…? Well, it was unique and refreshing to read.”

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