Page 40 of Don't Point at the Moon

“Sometimes. Are you going to be okay on your own?”

Disappointment flashed momentarily across Zane’s face, something he quickly masked by nodding his understandingbefore peering out of the café window. Mitchell felt a mix of anger and remorse—anger at his boss for being cold and unsympathetic and guilt for leaving his nephew alone in a foreign country.

“Sure. I’ll find something to do.”

“Hang on. I have an idea.”

Mitchell hesitated only a moment. Would he be out of line calling in a favour from Tommy at ten-thirty on a Sunday morning? Tommy’s previous Sunday mornings had been hijacked, and he might take exception to having another one disturbed. And what if his hook-up was still there? But he had gotten along so well with Zane the night before. And they had, after all, agreed to help each other out, with Tommy promising to show Zane around.

Just as Mitchell unlocked his phone to find Tommy’s contact number, the device vibrated with Tommy’s name showing on the screen.

“Tommy Chow? Are you psychic?” asked Mitchell, and he noticed Zane’s mood soften.

“Sorry?” replied Tommy with what sounded like a snort of humour.

“I was just about to dial your number. Purposely resisting until after midday under pain of death. Yes, I hadn’t forgotten. And here you are calling me.”

This time Tommy chuckled with amusement.

“Yes, well. Looks like I cannot resist your charms.”

“Yeah, right. What’s up?” asked Mitchell. “You sound good. Must have had your morning coffee.”

“Don’t push it, Mitchell. Coffee’s only just brewing. But I’m calling on the off chance you could do me a favour. Are you and Zane free this afternoon?”

Chapter Ten

A thick slat in one of the horizontal wooden blinds in Tommy’s bedroom had broken a while back. Sunshine shone through the gap, cutting across the teak headboard of his bed, onto his pillow and straight into his eyes. Most days he could guess the time by the invasion of light. No matter how much he turned away and squeezed his eyes closed, the blaze would nag him until he surrendered to waking.

He opened his eyes and instinctively turned his head on the pillow. Memories from last night floated back. Half of his double bed remained unused. He breathed out a sigh of relief. No awkward morning pleasantries or forced conversations. After he pulled himself onto his elbows, he noticed his jeans and shirt from the night before hanging neatly on the back of the bedroom chair.

Was Aaron right? Had he lost his touch?

There had been that good-looking daddy, a New Zealand investment banker with his friend, in town for a weekend conference. The friend, a handful of years younger, had clearly been smitten with the older man. Enjoying their banter, Tommy had let them ply him with drinks while they asked questions about the gay scene in Hong Kong. The older Kiwi had clearly wanted Tommy. All the signals had been there. But there had been something about the young friend, the sadness and desperation at being overlooked by somebody he worshipped in silence, that had tugged at Tommy’s heart. In much the same way Tommy yearned for Alec.

And there it was. He was saving himself for the best man. Simple. Eventually, as the place had become crowded, he’d faked a toilet run and escaped.

Last night had not been a complete bust. Up until his itch to get laid had surfaced, he’d enjoyed being with Mitchell and Zane. There was something to be said for easy and uncomplicated company.

Fully awake now, he staggered out of bed to his open kitchen and popped a capsule into the coffee maker. While the machine whirred and glugged, he plucked his phone from the charger, rested his back against the countertop and checked messages. Almost midday, and nothing. Perfect. His eyes slid down to an earlier message from Mitchell, probably sent from the taxi after they’d parted ways, thanking him for the evening and including a link to the biography section of Alec’s extreme sports website. After scratching a hand across his scalp, he fired off a quick thank you and ran through the things he needed to do. After he’d showered, he would try to phone Daley again about the magazine article. The sooner he found out the truth, the better. If all went well, maybe he’d ask about Alec, too.

Before he had a chance to dial the number, his phone rang. Shelly from school. He groaned. A call from her on a Sunday usually entailed one of the teachers being away sick or on unscheduled leave the next week, and he would have to cover their lessons. That also meant he would need to spend the afternoon going through lesson plans. He braced himself and took the call.

“Tommy. Sorry to disturb your Sunday. Can you help out with the play this afternoon? We were supposed to be doing a full run-through in the gym from two, but the bloody director has food poisoning. Inconsiderate bastard. She suggested spending the time running through the musical numbers and choreography, something they did to death last Thursdayevening. As the assistant director, I eventually persuaded her that we could spend the time more wisely blocking movement with the actors while your team moves parts of the set around between scenes—”

“The set isn’t finished yet, Shell.”

“I know, I know. But couldn’t we use tables and benches to represent moveable parts? We’ve been working in an open space so far. Using objects will help the actors become familiar with the space they have available to them, with entrance and exit points, what is going to be where, and also what happens when. We did the same sort of thing back in Auckland when I directed a school production. Turned out to be time well spent.”

Shelly had a good point. They’d been known to leave that kind of detail until the technical rehearsal a few days before opening night.

“Excellent idea. And sure, I can be there. All the crew I’ve cobbled together so far will be there. But we don’t have everyone in place yet.”

“Yeah, I thought today might be a good chance for the cast to see what goes on behind the scenes. You mentioned that friend of yours, Mitchell, and his nephew wanting to help out. I know it’s a bit of a cheek, but can you get them to come along? You could also use the opportunity to ask the cast if they’ve got any friends or family members who might be willing to help.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad plan. Okay, bugger off and let me phone around. I’ll see you at one-thirty.”

Before anything, Tommy called Daley. Once again, the call went to his voice messaging service. He considered leaving a detailed message but instead asked Daley to call back. Once he had rung off, he sighed and shook his head. This issue of the mysterious woman was messing with his usual good mood. He decided to shelve the problem and concentrate on Shelly’s idea.He sent a quick note to the messaging group he’d created for the crew to tell them about the afternoon run.

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