Prince of the Playhouse (12 page)

Bam.
Something big and hard hammered on the front door. Gray jumped so high he could have gone out for basketball and leaped back at the same time. “Shit! Fuck!”

A bubble in Ru’s brain burst, pouring cold water all over him. He couldn’t walk without tripping over his own dick.
Deep breath. Let it out slowly.
He crossed to the door, pulled it open, and walked away from it.

Chris yelled, “Gray, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself hurt or spread across the cover of the
Enquirer
? Shit, man, let me do my job.”

Gray glowered at Merle, though he could barely hold up his head. “He got me drunk and lured me here.”

“Fuck if I did, buddy. Your idea.”

Ru planted his hands on his hips. “Enough!” The hell with all of them. He marched up to Chris and wagged a finger under his nose. “I don’t know who lured who, but I sure as fuck know this. I didn’t get either one of them drunk, nor did I invite them here. So take your boss home and shove his head in the sink—and take the other one while you’re at it. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

Merle leaned heavily against Ru’s flowered chair. “Awww, Ru, don’ be like that. He tried to kiss you, not me.”

Chris’s eyes got really wide. “What the fuck?”

Ru gritted his teeth. “Nobody kissed anybody. Now get out!”

With a lot of muscle applied, Chris managed to haul Gray out to the limo. Ru stood by the wall and watched the bumbling process. Merle made it to the door on his own. “Sorry, baby. Next time, I won’t bring the movie star.”

“Just leave.”

He staggered out the door. Ru leaned forward and slammed it. Hard.

Whip-fucking-lash.
His cock throbbed and his head ached. They drank the beer, and he got the hangover. Downing a couple of the aspirins he’d brought for the drunks, he went to bed. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he stared into the darkness.
What just happened?
Don’t even think about it.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
What I need to worry about is what the hell the cops are doing asking about me in Compton. Shit. And what can I do about it?

But his mind wouldn’t focus. Those perfect, not too big, not too small, just pink enough, slightly parted, tiny bit of tongue-showing lips lowered toward Ru’s—but never quite touched. And that was the fucking abysmal nightmare that haunted him all night.

OH FUCK.
Gray sucked up another half bottle of water as he listened to Artie give them last-minute instructions on how to use their costumes to best advantage. Ru stood next to Artie, arms crossed, a little crease between those carefully plucked brows.

What the hell had he been thinking? Easy. He hadn’t. Shit, that’s why he never got drunk. He couldn’t afford that kind of lapse. Eyes everywhere. He glanced at Merle, then away quickly. Merle stared at Ru like maybe he could hypnotize him from a distance. Were they lovers? His fuzzy brain vaguely remembered Merle saying Ru loved somebody else. Who was that? He drank the rest of the water and threw the bottle toward the trash can with so much force it bounced in and out onto the floor of the stage.

Phillip jumped as the plastic bottle sailed past, then watched it land. “Heartbreak. No points.”

Gray forced himself to smile. Too close to home. No points for him with Ru. Maybe Ru’d never help Gray again with his performance.
I shouldn’t care. Don’t care. Don’t—liar!

Artie demonstrated how the women actors should use their elaborate gowns. Gray rose and walked over to the bucket where they kept ice and water bottles. Grabbing another one, he sidled up beside Ru. “Hey, sorry.”

Ru stared straight at him, raised an eyebrow, then crossed his arms and looked back at Artie.

Whoa. Body language much?
He dragged himself to his chair. Whipped dog.

Finally the women went to suit up, and the dressers brought out his costumes.
Holy shit.
“These are amazing.”

He pulled the outfit Ru had described off the rack. Baggy shorts, but made of an elegant brocade, to be topped with a long T-shirt with some alternative rock band he’d barely heard of all over it in shiny stuff, and a tighter tank top that went under it. For the play-within-a-play, he’d change to a high-necked jacket over tight, shiny jeans. Shit, he could barely wait to get them on. Just looking at these clothes made the misunderstood, angry, confused, pissed-off kid who was Hamlet a lot more real.

Artie walked over to the rack and stood beside Gray. “You like ’em?”

“Yeah, a lot.”

“Okay, get dressed, and we’ll get the other costumes in place. Ru has to train the dressers, so there are bound to be some stops and starts, but do the best you can.”

Gray glanced at Ru holding up garments as he talked to the three costume dressers who would stand offstage and make sure they got their quick changes done on time. “He’s really talented.”

“Tell me about it. We were lucky to get him.”

“Did you know he’s been helping me with my role?”

“What do you mean?”

“He really understands
Hamlet
. He walks me through the scenes and explains what they mean and what he thinks Hamlet’s feeling.”

“No shit? Who’d guess that the peacock costumer would relate to the melancholy prince himself?”

“Yeah.” Gray smiled as Ru swiped his floppy black hair from his eyes.

Artie fist-bumped Gray’s arm. “Well, whatever it takes, man. You’re doing a helluva job. Let’s get to work on act 1.”

Ten minutes later he stood offstage as a fully dressed Hamlet for the first time. Seeing the other characters in their outrageous costumes gave the play a whole new dimension. The opening scene with the ghost really set up Horatio as a character, and Merle came across just the way Artie said he wanted him—intelligent, trustworthy, and loyal. Gray sighed. Yeah, that pretty much described Merle too, damn him. How much did Ru like him?

Scene 2 arrived. Gray took a deep breath and entered from stage right in his head-to-foot black leather, which made him a dark cloud in the middle of the wildly excessive costumes of Claudius and Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother and the uncle she’d married hastily after his father’s death.

Phillip, wearing brocade and feathers with an exaggerated codpiece of fur in his role as Claudius, turned to Gray. “But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son.”

Gray looked toward the audience with a raised brow and a sneer. “A little more than kin and less than kind.”

“How is it that the clouds still hang on you?”

“Not so, my lord. I am too much in the sun.” He made a face at their elaborate finery. Something like a rap song started playing in his head. His posture shifted, got slouchier, his voice more surly. Everything Ru said to him made sense. This disgusting twosome. His own mother, jumping his uncle’s bones two months after his father’s death.
Bitch.
And this dude, who’s king when Hamlet ought to be. Hell, not that he wanted to be king—but he didn’t want Claudius to have it either. And here’s his whore of a mother telling him to be happy for her marriage.
Not in this lifetime, Queen Witch.

The lines flowed from his mouth like he was making them up. He’d never felt so powerful and so perfectly absent.

SWEET JESUS,
he’s amazing.
Ru shook his head.
Don’t watch. Just do your work.
He whispered to the dressers, “When he comes off stage, the next scene goes quickly. What he’s wearing is hard to remove, so it will take both of you. Have the shorts ready.”

Ru tried to focus on the clothes. No use. Gray ate up the stage, wishing his too solid flesh would melt and moaning over the fact that the church would condemn him for suicide. Then he played out the scene with the two guys, like buddies from his gang. Finally Horatio and Bernardo exited off the other side. Funny, one of his cronies was named Bernardo. Hamlet stared at the audience. “’Til then sit still my soul, foul deeds will rise; though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.”

He stalked off the stage straight to Ru and stopped, his body shaking with energy. The two women grabbed him and started unfastening the black leather, revealing inches of skin at a time. A smell of sweat, beer, and citrus rose off him. Pupils blown from adrenaline, he stared at Ru as the dressers stripped him.

Look away. Walk away.
Couldn’t. Not happening. Gray sucked in all the energy from the universe, and Ru stood powerless in his wake. Down to his jock. The big, lean, powerful body shone in the dim lights. The infamous cock, just as huge as he’d seen in Mrs. O’s photos, was presented like a diamond on velvet in the jock.
Sweet Jesus, my eyes!
He never had to see another sight. This one added up to perfection.

The dressers held the shorts, and Gray stepped into them, then pulled the T-shirt over his head. Damn, a shame to cover all that amazing skin.

Ru turned to the dressers. “Get to the dressing room quickly to help Gertrude. Then run back here.”

As Polonius and Ophelia blabbed on the stage, Ru grabbed a cap and popped it backward on Gray’s thick brown hair.
Perfect. Yeah, in too many ways.
He forced a smile. “You’re doing great.”

Gray stared at him. “No, you’re the one who’s great.” He reached behind Ru’s head, pulled him two feet farther into the wings, and planted those unimaginably perfect lips that Ru had dreamed of all night right onto Ru’s gaping mouth.

For a second he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Then Gray’s tongue pushed past his lips, and some switch in Ru’s brain flipped. His fingers gripped the back of Gray’s hair, his leg wrapped around his thigh, and he sucked Gray’s tongue so far into his mouth, Gray could have found oil. Gray’s cap went flying as both his arms surrounded Ru, but the sound coming from his throat could have been a whimper.
Cock, meet cock.

Somewhere in a fuzzy alternate universe, Polonius said, “In few, Ophelia, do not believe his vows, for they are brokers—”

Wait. Isn’t that close to the—ummm.
Ru pressed closer. Closer to a dream that had consumed his life for years.

Ophelia said, “I shall obey, my lord.”

Silence.

Suddenly Gray ripped his mouth away from Ru’s and raced onto the stage.

“Late, Gray.” Artie’s voice didn’t sound too annoyed. “Ru, isn’t he supposed to have a cap?”

Damn.
He grabbed the thing from where it had fallen and spun it onto the stage like a Frisbee.

Artie called, “Thanks.”

Ru crept forward and peeked onto the stage. Gray stood on the parapet where he was about to see his father’s ghost, sporting an erection the size of Montana. Fortunately the lights were low.
Maybe only I can see it.

Merle walked on as Horatio, glanced down, and spent several seconds obviously hiding a grin.
Well, shit.

Ru staggered back against the wall. What the hell just hit him? He’d been well and thoroughly kissed by Gray Anson.
What does that mean? Does it mean Mrs. O’s photos are 100 percent right? Gray Anson is gay as an Elizabethan banner? Or maybe he just got so excited by the scene, he kissed whoever was handy.

Yeah.

No.

This development required serious thought.

SCENE AFTER
scene, Ru ran from one side of the stage to the other to be certain the dressers got the cues right—in a fog. His erection wouldn’t quite deflate. Every time he got it under control, he’d relive the feel of those soft lips and that funny whimpery sound, and sprong, up came Mr. Happy. More like Mr. Confused. Gray Anson was about to marry a woman—wasn’t he? Okay, so he’d as much as said the marriage wouldn’t happen. Did that mean he didn’t actually like women—or that he just didn’t want to marry Penelope? Or anyone?

Okay, asshole, what if he’s gay? So what? You want some closeted movie hero acting out his ass-fucking frustrations on you?

Unfortunately, the answer to that question might be yes. Even beyond Gray’s sheer magnetism, his weird sweetness and loneliness pulled at Ru like a heart magnet.

Oh shit, he knew nothing.

“Ru?”

He looked up at Beverly, who stood in front of him, waiting for her entrance with her zipper half-closed. Ru wrinkled his nose. “Sorry. Distracted.” He fastened the dress.

“It’s okay, darling. These costumes are so brilliant, you can drift off in a creative fog anytime you wish.”

“Thank you. Now go rock their socks.” He gave her a pat on the butt that she didn’t feel through the acres of tulle he’d clothed her in to observe her son get killed.

Finally he settled down to watch Gray, who hadn’t quite recaptured his amazing method performance from act 1 but did command the stage like he’d been reciting the Bard since birth. In this final scene, again in black leather, Gray, aka Hamlet, fought Laertes with a knife. Ru hadn’t offered to train Gray for this scene. He could have, of course, but that skill he didn’t reveal. Still, Gray looked credible. The big body moved like a
gato negro
, feinting and swiping with the blade.

Damn, there went his cock again.

He stepped back so he couldn’t see that perfect ass encased in cowhide.
Get your notes and go home.

A few minutes later, Hamlet died, Laertes died, and Ru was dying to get his throbbing cock back to his couch and a bottle of lube.

Artie gathered the cast for notes but spoke to Ru first. “You’ve done us proud, Maitland. These clothes are such a masterpiece, I want to become a fashion icon so you can dress me.” He extended a piece of lined notebook paper. “A few notes.” Ru took the page and tucked it in his jeans pocket. Artie smiled. “You have anything for us before I plunge into cast notes?”

Ru nodded. “Did anyone have any costume problems I should know about that I didn’t already catch while dressing you?”

Merle looked at Ru sideways with a half smile. “Yeah, how do I get one of those special codpieces Gray had in his shorts in the ghost scene?”