Everything seemed to hit Jeremy in waves.
The day after his audition for See the Light, he was coming home on the subway and realized as the train tumbled into the Atlantic Center stop that he had to get off here to go to Max’s apartment rather than staying on the train to go to his apartment in Crown Heights. Except it wasn’t his apartment, it was just the place he’d lived for two years. It was Ryan’s apartment—Ryan who had kicked him out—and everything had happened so fast he hadn’t had time to process it.
They’d been in love once. There’d been that moment, maybe three months into their relationship, when Ryan had shown up at Jeremy’s door with takeout from Jeremy’s favorite Thai place and an adorable grin, and Jeremy had known in that moment that he was completely in love. And living together had been so easy and fun, at least for the first year and a half. Where had it gone wrong?
And was it even worth rehashing?
Jeremy took some kind of wrong turn in the bowels of the Atlantic subway station. Not entirely sure where he was, he followed the signs to the exit, climbed the stairs, and found himself on a corner he didn’t recognize.
He’d gotten to know his home, his old neighborhood, well in the years he’d lived with Ryan. They had favorite restaurants, a favorite bagel place, a favorite bar. Jeremy had gotten in the habit of buying groceries from the organic food store because the deli there had mac and cheese that Ryan loved. They talked all the time, doled out affection easily, made love at night like the world might end the next day.
Except they hadn’t really done any of that in a while, had they? They hadn’t spent a ton of time together in the last few months. Jeremy had taken a couple of gigs out of town because he’d struck out in New York the previous season, and he’d wanted to pay his half of the rent without having to go back to waiting tables. And Jeremy had been hanging out at Frocks a lot. Ryan wouldn’t go because Max was always there, and Max and Ryan hated each other. That had become kind of a sore spot, something that came up with increasing frequency in arguments with Ryan. The two most important people in Jeremy’s life couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other.
Well, there had been that one fight, just before Jeremy left for Boston, when Ryan had asked, hypothetically, if Jeremy would be able to cut Max out of his life if asked. Jeremy had retorted that they weren’t living in an episode of Friends. And how could Ryan even ask that? Jeremy and Max had been friends for most of their lives.
Jeremy stopped walking, hopelessly lost now. He stood in front of a Middle Eastern restaurant he’d never seen before. This couldn’t be right.
As he pulled out his phone to check the maps app, he realized that he loved Ryan, but if he’d had to choose between Ryan and Max, Max would have won. And what did that say about his relationship with Ryan?
Or was he still mad about having to move out of his home in two days?
He kicked a rock and then looked at his phone. He had indeed gone the wrong way.
He turned around and headed back to Max’s place.
At which point it hit him that he and Ryan wouldn’t have lazy dinners at the little hole-in-the-wall Mexican place near their apartment, the one with the best mole in the city. They wouldn’t solve a Times crossword together, or belt out show tunes together while cooking dinner, or go on vacation or make love or really probably ever see each other again. And that sucked, because for all Jeremy was angry with Ryan, for all his fury over Ryan’s immaturity and infidelity, he knew deep down that Ryan was a good guy.
And whatever they’d had was over.
His heart sank.
Between moving and the audition, Jeremy hadn’t had time to feel that yet, but he did now.
He struggled to hold it together as he avoided eye contact with Max’s doorman and rode the elevator upstairs. Max was home when Jeremy pushed through the door. He immediately stopped what he was doing and looked at Jeremy. “Are you okay?”
“Ryan dumped me. It’s over. Forever.”
Jeremy felt foolish for crying, but he couldn’t stop it. Max didn’t even blink. He didn’t point out the obvious fact that said dumping had occurred four days before. He just took Jeremy into his arms and rubbed his back. He was warm and comforting and so very Max. Jeremy rested his cheek on the top of Max’s head.
It was nice, being held by Max. They’d long had the sort of touchy-feely friendship that involved a lot of hugging and hand-holding, though it felt a little different this time. Perhaps in light of Jeremy’s realization that he’d choose Max over Ryan, the moment felt weighted.
He pulled back slightly but kept his hands on Max’s shoulders. “I want you to know, toward the end, Ryan started dropping hints that he was jealous of you and wanted me to give you up, but I could never do it, Max. You’re my anchor. I want you to know that.”
Max didn’t say anything, but he met Jeremy’s gaze and he sniffled.
Jeremy took a deep breath and let go. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get maudlin.”
“It’s okay. I was just making some dinner. Nothing fancy, just baking some chicken pieces to serve with rice and whatever veggies are in the fridge. That okay?”
“Sounds great, Max.” And Jeremy was grateful, not only that Max gave him a place to stay, but that he knew exactly how to listen to and comfort Jeremy. Jeremy hadn’t wanted a big show of emotion, he just wanted someone to acknowledge what he was feeling so he could figure out how to process it.
He walked over to the sofa and grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table as he sat. He hadn’t meant to cry. He was just overwhelmed.
“When are you supposed to hear back about that audition?” Max asked.
“Probably not for another few days. I’m trying not to think about it.”
Max nodded and fiddled with something on the stove. “The studio put in a bunch of bids to do makeup at new shows this year. Wouldn’t it be funny if we ended up working on the same show?”
“I always like when you do my makeup. Think you could make me look seventeen?”
Max grinned. “I’m a makeup artist, not a miracle worker.”
“Ha.”
“Actually, there’s a play based on a fantasy novel coming to Broadway. There are elves and dragons and other magical creatures. That would be insanely fun to work on. That guy Pete who came to work for me a couple of months ago has done monster makeup for movies and TV, so I’m hoping that seals the deal. I got a call today that they’re interested in the studio, but I have to put together a bunch of mock-ups. It’s like the makeup equivalent of an audition. But I’m still excited about it. There are goblins and dragons and things. I have a ton of ideas.”
Jeremy loved Max’s enthusiasm when he got going about his work. Max was an artist; he knew everything there was to know about using makeup to create illusions. He knew how to do theater makeup so that the actor’s features popped, he could do everything from subtle wedding makeup to outlandish drag queen makeup, and he loved painting people in over the top ways. Max could make anyone look ugly or beautiful or older or younger.
Max, who was currently cooking dinner.
Jeremy briefly entertained a fantasy in Max was cooking dinner for them on a mundane Tuesday night when nothing in particular was pressing—not unlike this night. Max would look across the counter island at Jeremy tinkering on his laptop. Their eyes would meet. Max would smile shyly in that shrug-shouldered way of his. Maybe they’d eat together, talk about what they did that day, watch a little TV. Max’s vice was competition reality shows, so maybe they’d watch people cook or make fashion or do makeup or whatever it was, all the while judging the contestants.
Jeremy glanced over into the kitchen, where Max was humming to himself and reaching up into a cabinet. He pulled down a rice cooker with a grunt. It was a perfectly natural sound to make, but something about it sent Jeremy’s imagination into overdrive. His pleasant little domestic fantasy took a left turn into Raunchville, and suddenly he was picturing Max naked and panting and making that grunting sound, riding Jeremy as Jeremy ran his hands all over the glorious skin of Max’s chest, Max’s head thrown back as he thrust his...
Woah.
He hadn’t thought of Max that way in a long time. Now was hardly the time to start. He was still processing things with Ryan, he had to find a new place to live, and his entire professional future hinged on a musical about a gay teenager. Now was not the time for resurgent crushes on one’s best friends, and besides, Jeremy needed a friend more than he needed to get laid.
So resolved, he opened his laptop and navigated to the housing website he was using to find a new apartment. He was starting to think that staying at Max’s longer than necessary might not be the best idea.
His next big career move might depend on figuring out how to make a man look like a dragon.
Max sat across his conference table from Daphne, one of the other artists in his employ, who had spread out books and printed out images of all manner of monsters. Pete, the only one in the studio with practical experience with monster makeup—he’d worked on a horror movie the previous year—sat at the end of the table, listening in. They were gathered in the conference room of Max’s studio, space he rented in the theater district while he gained a reputation for being one of the go-to makeup studios for Broadway.
“So, the show is not quite Lord of the Rings: The Musical,” Daphne said, “but it is based on a fantasy novel with elves and goblins and things, and the producers want us to take some inspiration from the Lord of the Rings makeup. So the elves are supposed to be very ethereal. Pointy ears, long flowing blond hair, glowing skin. And the goblins are supposed to be horrifically ugly. Scary ugly. Like the goblins in Labyrinth, kind of.”
“Except for Bowie,” Pete said.
Daphne rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. But they want the goblins to be more humanoid. And also we have to make actors who look like unicorns, dragons, and regular horses.”
“Could we use puppets?” asked Max.
“Maybe. Here’s the deal. We’re meeting with the costume designers on Monday, and they want us to have a makeup plan by then. If not samples, then definitely sketches. The producer I talked to told me we’re definitely in the running, but we’re competing with another studio who worked on some of the Disney shows, so they have more experience making people into animals and that kind of thing.”
“We can do this.” A thrill zipped up Max’s spine. “We could really be doing monster makeup for a Broadway show.”
Daphne grinned. “Exactly.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun.” Max had submitted a tentative proposal for the project a few weeks before, and if he nailed the upcoming presentation, the job was his. The show’s producers were a team he’d worked with before, so they knew the quality of his work.
But first he had to convince the producers and put this other studio out of the running. He’d never really done anything on this level; he’d made up Mephistopheles for a production of Doctor Faustus the previous year, but that was one character, not a whole cast.
Still, his brain was already churning with how to make masks for the goblins, what materials he could use, what kinds of foam or latex props could be affixed to an actor’s face with spirit gum. To be given the opportunity to not only do the makeup for a show like this, but to have a hand in the design was something Max wanted so much he could taste it.
“You’re picturing it, aren’t you?” Daphne said.
Max stood. “I need to get my sketchpad. I have a ton of ideas.”
He broke up the meeting, and settled in at his desk with his sketchpad and a box of colored pencils. He had five creatures drawn when Daphne walked back over and said, “I hate to interrupt this, but Regina Morris is here.”
“Here...in the office, here?”
“Yep.”
“Has she not heard of a phone?”
Daphne shrugged.
Max gave one last look at his sketchpad—his mind was still stirring with images of goblins and dragons—and then got up to go meet with Regina.
She looked like her usual frazzled self. From what Max could tell, Regina spent her days running all over the city to various meetings. Her black, curly hair was a wild mane around her face. The flimsy silk scarf around her neck didn’t quite match her baggy Fair Isle sweater, and there was a coffee stain on her khakis. There seemed to be a pencil lost in her curls, too.
“Let’s go to the conference room,” Max said after he greeted her.
“What do you know about age makeup?” she asked as they sat.
“Some. If you want to go older, it’s probably better to create a latex mask—”
“I need to go younger.”
Max spared a thought for Jeremy trying to look like a teenager. He smiled. “Well, you do heavy foundation to smooth everything out. No wrinkles or crow’s feet. The foundation we typically use for theater productions takes care of most of that. Then rosy cheeks. White eyeliner to make the eyes look bigger. Pink lips. That sort of thing. Do you need to age down an actor?”
“I’m working on a play about teenagers, but most of my cast is in their twenties.”
Was this the same show? “All right. I mean, that’s pretty easy. A lot of the work is in costume design, but like I said, rosy skin to indicate health. Eyes that pop. That sort of thing. I mean, there are limits depending on height and body type, but we can definitely age down faces.”
“Job’s yours if you want it. We’re hoping to start out of town previews in about six weeks. Still finalizing the cast. So we wouldn’t need you for another month or so, at least, but I want to get this lined up before you’re totally booked.”
Well, that was easy. Max had done a half dozen shows with Regina—some of them flops—so they knew each other well enough that a cursory meeting was all it took now. “Where are you doing previews?”
“Boston. I just lined up the theater, in fact.”
“Okay.” Max wasn’t thrilled with going out of town, but if he assigned someone else to the job, they might be willing to travel. “We have a couple of other shows we’re doing this season, but I think we’ve got enough staff to cover everything. I’m happy to design the makeup. If I can’t do it myself, I’ll send a couple of my people, maybe Jake and Daphne, to do the show for you. They’re fantastic artists.”
“That should be fine. I’d rather have you, of course, but the makeup for this show shouldn’t be that complicated.”
Max nodded, mulling it over. Imagine if this was the show Jeremy had auditioned for. What if he were cast? What if Max did his makeup every night? That could be fun. They hadn’t done a show together in a long time. On the other hand, there was something kind of intimate about all that touching, about painting someone in that way, which might complicate matters. Could Max really handle painting Jeremy that way every night? Being that close, looking into each other’s eyes as Max worked, the kind of proximity that could lead to ideas about touching other parts or kissing. Taking the job to be closer to Jeremy—or to torture himself—was obviously a terrible idea. On the other hand, the studio could use the income.
“Let’s draw up the deal,” Max said.