Page 24 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
“You dirty little pervert.” He laughed and stretched his arm away from Jonah as he tried to snatch it back. “Mate, you can’t be looking at pictures of dicks in Carlos’s car!”
“Fuck off, Dexter.” He grabbed the phone and wrestled it from Dexter’s grip. “I can’t help getting unsolicited dick pics, and it’s none of your damn business what I do on my phone.” By pulling the phone away from him, he inadvertently caused Dexter to shift in his seat, their legs pressed together, but neither of them moved. Jonah didn’t want to think about how nice it was to have someone pressing against him, and he blamed the alcohol for not minding it was Dexter’s leg against his.
“Why are you so mean to me?” The question came out as pathetic as it sounded, and Jonah rolled his eyes at him. “What?” Dexter pouted, those stupid lips of his so full. “At least I’ve got a reason to be angry with you.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
“You took Achilles from me.”
Jonah stared at him. “No. I didn’t.”
“Yeah. You did.” His speech suddenly sounded more coherent. “You took him from me. It should have been me. It should have been me taking it to the West End and winning the fucking Olivier Award, but they gave it to you, and I still can’t understand why.”
A numbness crept over Jonah’s skin. “I auditioned,” he conceded. “It took months. I... I actually asked if you were taking the role and they said no, you were cast in something else, so I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s a bloody lie. I saw that role from the workshops all the way to the tour. Then they had me audition for the West End and told me they were giving it to someone else. You. You got it. And I had to pretend it was fine and that I always had something else lined up, but I didn’t. My agent got me an audition last minute forTick, Tick... Boom!And thank God, I got it.”
If Jonah didn’t feel sober before, he certainly did now. “Really?” he asked quietly.
Dexter nodded. “And I loved the way people tore you apart online,” he said, though there seemed to be no malice in his tone. “And how people wanted me. But then... then they loved you. And I went to see the show and of course you were amazing and it... ithurt. Then the Olivier and WhatsOnStage awards came around and the nominations alone made me want to set fire to everything, but I had to just grin and be, like, fine with it.” He spoke quickly before tapering off into a whisper. “Achilles is mine.” He sounded broken, his voice quivering, on the verge of tears, and for the first time Jonah saw a side of him he never thought he would be privy to: he was vulnerable.
“I’m sorry you’re upset,” Jonah said. “But I’m not sorry for auditioning and getting the role. It’s how it works, we audition, some stuff we get,some we don’t. You can’t blame me for that. Blame the casting team. Blame Colbie. Blame yourself for returning to a production that’s clearly hurt you.”
Dexter looked at him then, his eyes glistening as he blinked back tears. “It’s the biggest show in the West End right now. I would’ve been stupid to turn down a role in it, even one I didn’t want. It’s just... your life is perfect, and it pisses me right off.”
Jonah sucked in a deep breath. “My life isn’t perfect,” he said. “You don’t know me.”
“And you don’t know me.”
They descended into an awkward silence as Carlos pulled up on Lawford Road. Dexter sat motionless, his eyes trained on his hands as his head lolled slightly, still clearly drunk, and a shadow of the cocky persona he usually portrayed.
“You’re home,” Jonah said after four excruciating minutes.
“Yeah.” Dexter nodded. “Thanks.” He didn’t look at Jonah as he got out of the car and wandered down the road before stopping at a door and fumbling about with a key. Carlos seemed to have the same concern as Jonah, because he didn’t drive away and instead watched as Dexter tried time and time again to insert the key into the lock.
“You should help him, man,” Carlos said, looking over his shoulder at Jonah in the back of the car. “He’s gonna end up asleep on his doormat.”
Dexter shouldn’t have been Jonah’s problem. Yet there he was. A bloody problem.
“Fine, wait here,” Jonah snapped and got out of the car and crossed the road to where Dexter still struggled with his door. “Let me,” he said, whispering so as not to disturb Dexter’s neighbors. He took the key from him, and Dexter blinked in bewilderment. The key didn’t fit the door. “Dexter, is this your house?”
Dexter took a wobbly step back and peered at the building. “Huh. No.”
“What number are you?”
“Eight.”
“Dexter,” Jonah hissed. “You told me you lived at forty-eight. Eight’s all the way down there!” Jonah tried his hardest not to raise his voice ashe gestured toward the end of the road. “Come on.” He allowed Dexter to cling to his arm like a lost child as they walked farther down until they finally came to number eight. Jonah left Dexter standing by the curb fiddling with his shirt buttons as he unlocked the door for him.
“Thanks,” Dexter said, stumbling forward. He stood face-to-face with Jonah, the flush of his cheeks even redder than before. He opened his mouth and Jonah expected a snide remark to come from it, but instead Dexter doubled over and threw up all over the front of Jonah’s trousers. The vomiting seemed to go on forever, and Jonah just stood there, not making any attempt to move, the shock clearly having paralyzed him until Dexter stood back up and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Fuck. Sorry,” he said and took the key from Jonah’s hand and stepped through the threshold. “See ya, Jonah.” He closed the door.
Jonah could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at himself, vomit seeping through his trousers and covering his shoes, the smell utterly rancid, and he kept his hands above his waist as he trudged back to Carlos, unsure of what to do or how to function.
Carlos unwound his window and leaned out to look at Jonah before locking his doors. “No, sorry, mate, not driving you anywhere like that.”
Jonah stared at him. He imagined he looked like Carrie after they poured the bucket of blood over her at prom, his limbs stiff, eyes wide. “Carlos. Help me.”
Carlos shook his head. “Sorry, man.” He shut his window and drove off without another word, leaving Jonah standing in the middle of the road trying his hardest not to throw up himself.
