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Just like a drug, the high only lasted so long. He fell asleep in Anjuli’s bed like he had in Nigel’s and awoke feeling just as miserable and useless as he had before. His head pounded even though he hadn’t indulged in as much liquor the night before as he had in the days and weeks leading up to meeting Anjuli. His head throbbed from the inside out, like the monsters inside were trying to claw through his skull.
If sexual conquests won’t dull the pain, then what next? he wondered as he sat up in her luxurious king-sized bed and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. All he could see were the glowing green numbers on her alarm clock until his pupils adjusted, then he was able to make out the curve of her hip. She was facing away from him, the sheet pulled up to her shoulders. He sat there for a moment, just listening to her breathe. Every once in a while, a soft sigh would come out with her breath.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. She has no idea what kind of bullet she is dodging by me leaving, he thought as his size fourteen feet pressed into the fluffy rug.
She reminded him too much of Sarah Lynde: older, experienced, accomplished, grounded. And he would be a completely disastrous addition to her life, just like he had been to Sarah’s. Good thing she isn’t an actress, he decided. That’s how he had met Sarah. They were both in the cast of South Pacific, then later, Chess, at the community theatre near College Park.
He hadn’t given Anjuli his phone number. She’d jotted down her address on the back of an old grocery receipt, and he’d shown up for her get-together. So it was his choice if they ever saw each other again. The one fucking thing I can be in control of in this miserable, godforsaken universe. Well, that and my cock.
He was out the door before she could wake.
He’d done the math a zillion times and still couldn’t figure out how he was going to make his rent past the current month. Not if he wanted to eat. Eating isn’t overrated, is it? he questioned as he stared at the numbers again, hoping they’d inflated since he’d glanced away last.
The theatre maintenance job was perfect in some ways. He loved the hours. He didn’t have to deal with people for the most part. But it didn’t pay shit. Nigel had promised him a small stipend for being the understudy in Chicago, but he couldn’t really capitalize beyond that meager amount unless he was somehow able to slip into the lead role. Maybe I need to pull a Tonya Harding? he chuckled to himself as he locked his apartment door and headed for his car.
Mara wouldn’t have even gotten that reference, he realized as he started up the engine and began to make the drive to the theatre. Gas better not go up. His eyes flicked to the needle on the fuel gauge, which was starting to creep into dangerous territory.
Being an adult fucking sucks, he surmised. How did people do this? How did they settle down with one person and keep the same fucking job for thirty years? How did they pop out kids and pay bills and deal with in-laws and save for college tuition and finance new cars and vacations at Disney World?
How the fuck did anyone live like that? Why the fuck was that “the dream?”
The radio crackled into static as he began to make his way toward DC. He turned it off and let the thoughts creep up around him like a badassery of ninjas.
Maybe if you are with someone you love, all of that adulting shit is actually tolerable, he reflected. Maybe it made life meaningful. Maybe some lucky married couples felt fulfilled in a way he never would.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly been in love. Yes, he had loved certain people in his life; he knew what the state of loving someone involved. He’d loved his mother, a few girlfriends here and there, even a boyfriend or two. He loved Nigel, in a way. He had loved Sarah Lynde. He hadn’t loved Mara. He knew the difference between love and lust.
But he hadn’t ever been madly, wildly, head-over-heels in love, the type of love where he might want to settle down and yoke himself to all of the seemingly unending responsibilities that went along with adult- and parenthood. He couldn’t imagine loving someone so deeply, so intensely that he would want to procreate with that person or to do life as partners together.
But maybe if he did, if he ever found “The One,” then he’d be happy to get roped into mortgages and IRAs, planning out a nursery, and how to split time between all the relatives on holidays.
He scoffed as he pulled his car into the mostly empty parking lot at the theatre. Maybe they aren’t having practice tonight, he wondered as he scoped out the barren lot. The drive-induced epiphany was still buzzing around him like a swarm of bees, trying to sting home its point as he made his way inside the dark brick building. He struggled to find the light switch so he didn’t fall down the stairs beside the loading dock.
I can’t even find a light switch, let alone find “The One,” he chided himself as it finally flicked on, illuminating the bleak gray backstage area near the loading dock, where traveling shows unloaded their set pieces and equipment.
Though he’d felt on top of things the night before, mingling with intellectuals and hip, thirty- and forty-somethings at Anjuli’s party—and then afterward, basking in his sexual prowess, which never disappointed—the fluorescent glow lighting the dingy loading dock area reminded him of his station in life. He was thirty-two, single, a failed PhD student, accused of inappropriate sexual advances, and basically a glorified janitor. He had no money, no prospects, and no hope.
How could he find The One when he couldn’t even find himself?
The following night at work, the theatre was equally deserted. It wasn’t until the next day when Garrett arrived to a full parking lot that he realized why. The previous days were Saturday and Sunday. It was amazing how quickly he lost track of the days after he lost his job and found the bottom of several bottles of booze.
He hadn’t spoken to another living soul since...Friday night, he realized. At Anjuli’s party. He got a warm feeling when he flashed back to her astride his cock, gyrating her luscious, full hips up and down, milking every last drop of cum from his balls. Just thinking about it gave him a raging erection. He forced his mind to return to its previous state of analyzing the absurdity of his lack of human interaction to regain control.
Details from multiple neurological studies that showed deteriorating brain mass due to lack of human contact—the subjects being prisoners of war and those exiled to solitary confinement—arose in his own gray matter. I’m getting a roommate, he decided. It would kill two birds with one stone: facilitating human interaction and easing his financial burden. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of it earlier.
He stumbled right into Nigel upon completing that thought. “Nav, hey,” he said, his lips twisting into a smile as his eyes raked over Garrett’s body. “How’s my favorite smokin’ hot ginger?”
Yeah, human contact isn’t so bad, Garrett smirked. He leaned down to press a kiss on Nigel’s cheek. “Hey, sorry I didn’t make any practices last week. I was dealing with that damn men’s restroom on the main floor.”
Nigel nodded in sympathy. “Sure, no prob, Nav. But, hey, can you come by tonight around nine when we finish up? I want you to meet the cast and the music director, yeah?”
“Sure thing,” Garrett answered, nodding. He grasped Nigel’s shoulder affectionately in his broad hand, then made his way to his office/maintenance closet. It wasn’t any more than an eight by ten box with a battered metal desk and some wooden racks with tools and cleaners stacked haphazardly. He was pretty sure the tools were from the 1960s, which was when the building was probably built, judging from the looks of it.
He went for the clipboard on the desk to see what kinds of notes his boss Tom and the daytime maintenance guy Chuck had left for him: 1) Change light bulbs in the dressing rooms 2) Fix clog in the sink in the green room. The plumbing in here could use a complete fucking overhaul, Garrett thought as he grabbed his toolbox and headed for the backstage area.
He pushed open the door to the green room and was surprised to find the light was already on. He heard a clanging sound in the mini-kitchen, which was behind a partition in the room, then footsteps. He headed toward the kitchen—logical place to put a sink, he thought—and ran right into...
“Oh my god!” her smooth voice came out.
He couldn’t place it at first, though it sounded familiar, especially the shriek that flew out of her mouth. Then he stepped back and got his bearings. “What the hell?”
Those eyes, those enthralling deep brown eyes stared back at him. This time, her hair hung loose around her shoulders like an obsidian waterfall, but those eyes...he could know them anywhere.
“Garrett?” she asked, as the hands that had flown to her mouth in shock slowly receded to their original position at her sides. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here,” he answered, then immediately regretted giving out that information. She never once asked him what he did for a living. Now she’s really going to think I’m a loser. Not that there’s anything wrong with my job. At least I have one.
“You work here?” Her brows crinkled as if she was still trying to understand what he meant.
“Yeah, doing maintenance...” He wanted to face-palm himself all over again. Couldn’t he come up with some sort of euphemistic title? Building engineer or some shit? “What about you?”
“I’m in the show they’re doing,” she answered. “I’m Roxie.”
Then it suddenly clicked. He had watched her sing a couple of weeks ago. His brain was so fuzzy from the alcohol that night, or maybe when he ran into her at the liquor store, that he hadn’t been able to put two and two together. “Wow, that’s crazy!”
“Is it?” She gave him a curious look, eyebrows arched, almost challenging him to say she didn’t look like any Roxie Hart he’d ever seen.
“No, I mean, I heard you sing the other night. You’re amazing,” he backpedaled. “I just didn’t realize it was you at the liquor store. I’d only seen you from far away—on stage.”
“I guess I never saw you around here, either. How odd!” A playful smile emerged on her lips as something else seemed to brew in her dark eyes. Anticipation? Lust?
“Agreed.” Well, there goes my plan of never seeing her again, he thought with a laugh.
She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She was wearing the choker with the fully bloomed rose again, too, which sat in that scrumptious little hollow between her collarbones. The lighting in the green room was not ideal, but the way it bounced off her cheekbones, her cleavage...all the dips and planes of her face and her curvy body were on display like she was sculpted from priceless marble. And this museum-worthy piece sent a powerful jolt to his groin. Suddenly his cock was straining against his zipper as he remembered how good it felt sliding into her hot, wet pussy.
In an instant the cauldron bubbled over, and what he saw in her eyes became an accusation. “You left the other night... I had no way of contacting you.”
“Right, I—” he stammered, not able to find the right words. There weren’t any right words, anyway.
They heard whistling in the hall, and Garrett instantly knew it was Nigel. Sure enough, his head appeared in the doorway not even a second later. The whistling instantly choked in his throat when he saw the two of them standing there. Garrett felt like he’d been saved by the bell.
“Nav, Anjuli, you met! How wonderful!” Nigel gushed in his silky British accent. “Anjuli, Nav is going to be the understudy for Billy Flynn, so I’m glad you got a chance to meet.”
“I thought you were the maintenance guy?” Her brows crinkled up again.
“Nav is a man of many talents,” Nigel answered for him, practically licking his lips.
His innuendo made Anjuli’s eyes bug out. “Nav?”
“Just a nickname.” It was Garrett’s turn to step in. “Don’t worry about it. And yes, I’m going to drop by practice later to pick up the script and music and meet everyone.”
Nigel nodded. “Good, thank you, Nav. Juli, you about ready for the top of Act 1?”
“Yes, yes,” she answered. “I was just getting some tea. My voice has been a little hoarse since...since the weekend, actually.” She flashed Garrett a look...
Garrett rewarded himself after fixing the clogged sink by having Chinese delivered to his “office.” While waiting, he found a roommate app on his phone and put up a listing for his apartment. The sooner he got someone in there, the sooner he’d be assured he could make November’s rent. He wasn’t sure why he had insisted on having his own place for so long anyway.
Oh, yeah, so I could bring people there to fuck without having to worry about a roommate getting in the way, he remembered. In writing his description of what he sought in a roommate, he made sure to throw in the words “tolerant,” “open-minded” and “laidback.”
That task had distracted him from Anjuli for a good fifteen minutes. His brain felt good to have a break from thinking about what he was going to say to her when she pressed the issue about seeing him again.
Or maybe she won’t ask to see me again?
He laughed at even considering that an option. All women want to see me again after having me once, he thought. Hell, most men do too.
By the time he got the Chinese food and devoured it—he hadn’t had a proper meal in days, not that Chinese delivery was terribly proper—he headed back toward the auditorium as it was time to meet the cast. He would need to get back to work after the meeting, so if he blew Anjuli off, he wouldn’t be making shit up. He did actually need to get the job done. He couldn’t afford to get fired yet again.
His mind flickered with memories of the first time he got fired from a job. He’d been fifteen.
It was the first summer he’d been old enough to work. A local farmer and friend of his stepdad had hired him to put up bales of hay. A week or two later, Garrett, his fair skin burned to a crisp in the relentless summer sun, was caught in the hayloft fooling around with another boy.
The hell that broke loose when Clark found out was of biblical proportions. Garrett didn’t drive, so he had to be picked up after his boss called his house. He was so afraid it would be Clark who arrived in his big, loud pick-up truck and not his mom, he very nearly exploded from nerves. But it only delayed the inevitable. As soon as his mother—his sweet, meek little mother—got him home, Clark laid into him. His toxic vitriol still echoed in Garrett’s ears even to this day.
“You’re nothin’ but a fucking fag, Son, an utter abomination! If I ever catch you with another boy again, I’m going to fucking kill you, you worthless excuse for a—”
His arm was pulled up, ready to strike Garrett across the face, when his mother, all 5’3”, 120 pounds of her, tried to intervene. She stepped between the two like the referee at a boxing match, and the blow meant for Garrett came down right upon her face.
She fell back in slow motion, but Garrett felt like he’d taken the punch directly to his own jaw. He collapsed on the floor next to his mother, wailing for Clark to leave her alone—
Nigel was making introductions around the circle, where the cast all stood on stage, by the time Garrett came back to reality. He groaned as he realized he’d had another episode. Ever since being dismissed from his job and starting to drink more heavily, those voices from the past had started coming back. He thought drinking more would keep them away, but he was starting to wonder if the opposite were true.
“And Clark Jones is playing Billy Flynn,” Nigel announced.
Garrett couldn’t get past the name Clark. Fucking seriously? He scrubbed his hand down his face and through the beard that had started to grow in nicely on his chin. He’d never had a beard before, but he liked the way it felt. It was like the security blanket he’d had when he was a child to ward off the monsters in his room. Now the monsters were memories, and they were haunting him—extremely persistent ghosts that they were.
“Hey,” Clark said, extending his hand for a shake. Garrett looked up into his eyes, which were dull and slate gray. At least he didn’t look like his stepfather. That had to be the silver lining.
Garrett was so mired in his own head during the rest of Nigel’s speech, he had no idea what he’d said. All he knew is that at 9:20, he dismissed the cast till the following night’s rehearsal. “We’ll be starting with Scene 3 tomorrow,” he told them.
There were nods and murmurs as everyone started to file off the stage. He felt warmth beside him, not touching him, just bristling the hairs on his forearms. “You okay?” came her voice, the one attached to those eyes.
He still hadn’t decided what he’d say to her, except that he needed to get back to work. He ran that line through his head and prepared himself to deliver it to her when and if she pressed the issue.
He gave her a slight nod before starting to follow the others off the stage.
But she grabbed on to his hand and stopped his progress. “Hey, can we chat a second?” she asked, and one look into those eyes revealed her sincerity and something else...hope?
Fuck, why does she have to look at me that way?
The line he had practiced came out something like, “Sure, here?”
Fuck, that is not what I meant to say.
Her lips spread into a victorious smile, and those eyes were shining like gems. “Back to the green room?” Her brows lifted, and her eyes kept sparkling. He wondered if she put sunglasses on if it would break the spell her eyes were casting over him.
He didn’t say another word as he followed her backstage and down the hall to the green room, where he’d already spent a considerable amount of his evening taking apart the damn sink drain and putting it back together. He wondered how appalled she’d be if she’d seen how dirty his hands had gotten during that fiasco. She wouldn’t want them touching her again, that was for sure...
He hadn’t figured out why she would want anything to do with him. She was older than him by at least eight years. She was a doctor, for fuck’s sake. But when she pulled him into the room and flashed her dark eyes at him again—making his cock twitch—he realized the answer.
“I really enjoyed myself the other night,” she began, locking her eyes onto his and rendering him incapable of looking away.
How the hell does she do that? It’s like she’s using some sort of jedi mind trick.
“Yeah, it was nice. Thanks for inviting me.” He straightened his shoulders and took in a lung full of air. Maybe she wants to fuck right here in the green room? He knew at least one part of his body would be up for that. And he did have a pretty good track record in green rooms...
But no. Not a good idea. She didn’t seem like the fuck buddy type. She was classy. She had a kid in college. She’s a fucking doctor, he reminded himself. His last go-around with a PhD—Sarah Lynde—had not ended well.
She paused for a moment as if she wanted him to finish his internal monologue before she gave him the speech she’d been preparing ever since she ran into him earlier that night. “I won’t lie...I was disappointed when I woke up and you were gone...and you didn’t leave your number or anything.”
She didn’t even give him a chance to defend himself.
“So, look, I want to tell you something.” Her eyes narrowed a little, but her gaze never wavered. “I enjoyed myself quite a bit, like I said before. And I have a feeling you left because you’re not a relationship guy.”
She stared at him as if she was expecting confirmation, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He kept his eyes trained on her, unblinking, his face devoid of expression. The beard actually helps with this maneuver, he realized. I’m keeping it.
Her lips curled into a knowing smile, like she saw right through him. “It’s okay, Nav,” she said, emphasizing his nickname so that her teeth were still sunk into her top lip long after the “v” sound ended. “I just want you to know that a relationship is definitely not what I’m looking for.”
He wanted to shove her up against the wall, pin her under his weight, press his rock-hard cock against her soft belly, and wipe that smart look right off her face.
Then the challenging look returned, as if she was daring him to follow through on his thoughts.
“And what are you looking for?” he finally spoke, his voice coming out deep and gritty.
“The way you fucked me the other night?” she asked, the F word rolling off her lips as if it were her mother tongue. “I just need to be fucked like that again.”
Now she had his attention.
“And again,” she added, extending her hand toward him until she found his stiff cock, which she wrapped her fingers around, even through the thick fabric of his uniform pants.
Needless to say, Garrett didn’t get much more work done that night.
