Jeremy stood in the wings before the first show, trying to calm his nerves.
They’d done three dress rehearsals on this stage. They’d made dozens of tweaks. Mark Taupin had changed a whole verse in one of the songs the day before. There would undoubtedly be more changes as this preview went on.
Jeremy didn’t get stage fright, as such. He’d sailed through the rehearsals fearlessly. Excitement got the better of him in the dress rehearsal a little—he’d gone sharp during the love ballad, which Alex and Mike had a lot to say about—but he didn’t feel nervous or afraid.
But standing in the wings now as the orchestra did its last tuning, about three minutes from strolling out onstage, Jeremy shook. He knew from experience that as soon as he belted out that first note, he’d be perfectly fine, but his whole body tingled and churned now.
Then the opening piano melody played, and that was Jeremy’s cue. He shook the whole walk across the stage until he took up his place on the mark.
Then he sang.
The first song of the show was called, “Behind the Curtain,” and in the song, Benjamin explained the status quo, that he was just trying to get through high school, and no one knew the truth about him.
Somehow, the first performance came together. That was the magic of theater, that all of these talented people could be on their game when the moment called for it. Maggie sang in key, Jeremy remembered all his lines, and Jeremy kissed Keenan sweetly during the show’s climax. The tech crew missed a cue and moved one set piece late, and the house lights randomly came on in the middle of one of the songs in Act 2, but otherwise, the problems were minor and didn’t seem to throw anyone off.
And before Jeremy could think too hard about what had happened and what it all meant, he was standing in the middle of the stage for his curtain call, and the whole audience was on its feet.
Holy shit. He’d done it.
It was a small theater in Boston, not Broadway, but he’d successfully sung and danced and acted through the show that could make his career. In a few weeks, he’d be doing this again in a Broadway theater.
His heart might explode. It pounded like a bass drum as he bowed before the audience.
Backstage afterward, Alex seemed pleased. He held a notepad in his hand and said, “I have a bunch of notes, but let’s save it for tomorrow. Celebrate tonight, or sleep, I don’t care. Just be back here tomorrow at ten in the morning ready to go.”
Jeremy was leaning toward sleep. And calling Max, although he wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Keenan asked if they could do a couple of scenes when they got back to the hotel, and Jeremy agreed. Gus joined them for the walk there, asking if they wanted to get a drink—both declined—and generally made a pest of himself.
When they got to his room, Keenan said, “That guy has an enormous crush on you.”
“I noticed. But things at home are complicated.”
Keenan nodded and didn’t say anything, probably too polite to ask. That was just as well; he and Keenan had developed an easy friendship despite the initial awkwardness in their relationship, but Jeremy didn’t have the energy to explain what was up with Max.
They ran through a couple of scenes together, and by the time Jeremy got back to his room, it was nearly one a.m. He fell on the bed, exhausted but still wired.
He gave up trying to hold out. He texted Max, U up?
The reply came almost instantaneously. Yeah. How was opening night?
Max wasn’t generally the type to stay up late; he must have gone to Frocks or out with Anthony—or he was at Frocks with Anthony—and Jeremy didn’t know why that made him jealous, but he pushed it aside and typed, Really good. Not perfect, but really good.
I’m happy for you.
Jeremy weighed what he was going to say. There’s a kid in the tech crew who keeps flirting with me.
This reply was a long time coming. Clearly a misstep, then.
Can I call you? was Max’s reply.
Yeah, definitely a misstep. Sure.
Max called thirty seconds later. “Look, I didn’t want to say this over text. Or even over the phone, but that’s the option right now. I’m having—I’m having a really hard time with us.”
Jeremy’s heart sank. “What are you talking about?”
“You’d think, you know, this was something I’ve wanted for a really long time. Being with you, I mean. I should be happy. But instead, I feel like I’m on uneven ground. And I think—I think maybe this won’t work.”
What the hell? “I thought we were taking time now to sort out our feelings. Have you already sorted yours out?”
“I just don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. It’s more important to me to have you as a friend than as a romantic partner.”
It was? Did Max not see how good they could be together? “Let’s not make any rash decisions. Wait until I get home, so we can talk this out.”
Max went silent.
“Hello?” said Jeremy.
“I’m here, I just...it’s fine, you know. If you want to hook up with that guy who keeps hitting on you.”
“What?” What the hell was going on with Max? “Maxie, did something happen? Are you okay?”
He was being dumped. Max, for whatever reason, was stepping away from their relationship. It was shocking and frustrating and Jeremy couldn’t figure out how to stop it.
“No, nothing happened. I’ve just been thinking about us a lot.”
“And...you want to break up? You want to see other people?”
Max’s voice broke when he spoke next. “Well, no, that’s not what I want. I just think that it’s better to end things with us when we have some chance to salvage our friendship, rather than when we’re in deeper and it hurts more. Because then our friendship would be unsalvageable. But you’re my best friend, Jer, and I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t lose me, Max. Listen, I don’t want to hook up with anyone else. I want to be with you. For the last few days, all I’ve thought about is the show and you. I think we can make something work, if you just let me prove it.”
But Max must have chosen not to hear the desperation in Jeremy’s voice. “We’ll talk when you get back. Just...assume we’re on a break. Do whatever you want in Boston. It stays in Boston. I won’t hold it against you.”
“How can you say that?” Because if Max hooked up with someone in New York—if he got back with Anthony on even a temporary basis, for example—it would rip Jeremy to shreds. Wasn’t this what Max wanted? Why was he dumping Jeremy? None of this made any sense.
Max let out a long sigh. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I need to sleep.”
“Okay, but we will talk about this when I get home. I’m still staying with you, aren’t I? Even if just on your couch?”
“Yes, of course. The couch is still yours as long as you need it. We’re still friends. I’m just saying I think the sexual component of our relationship was a mistake and we should end it. No hard feelings.”
No hard feelings? Jeremy had a lot of feelings. But he didn’t know what to say. It was like Max had been abducted by a pod person. Even his tone was flat and utterly lacking in emotion. This couldn’t have been what he wanted. He must have been sabotaging the relationship, but why? Maybe he didn’t really love Jeremy after all. Maybe that was what all this had been. Max thought he loved Jeremy, but once they hooked up and started building something, he realized he didn’t.
Part of Jeremy’s heart shattered, then.
“Fine. Have it your way, Max.”
“I think it’s for the best.”
Jeremy was so hurt and furious he hung up the phone and threw it across the room. It landed softly in Jeremy’s open suitcase, but Jeremy decided to leave it there.
The image of Jeremy fucking some guy—and even though Max had no idea what said guy looked like, he imagined the guy was smoking hot—was basically killing Max, so he threw himself into his work for the next week, and spent a lot of time either at Frocks or pestering Anthony, needing the distraction. He went to see Veronica Fake be crowned Miss Drag Brooklyn one night, and Veronica thanked him in her acceptance speech.
He was doing Anthony’s makeup before a show at Frocks one night when Anthony said, “I need to ask you a stupid question. Don’t be offended.”
Max knew without asking that the question would be about Jeremy. “Sure.” His tone was terse.
“You said you were miserable a week ago, but now you’re really miserable, and likely not sleeping on top of it. Even that magic under-eye concealer stuff you recommended to me couldn’t cover up those bags.”
Well, that made Max feel awesome. “I don’t hear a question.”
“Why did you torpedo your relationship with Jeremy? And before you argue, I know that’s exactly what you did. You could have worked something out, you could have given him space to decide what he wanted, but instead you ended things, and I want to know why.”
Max put the brush he’d been holding down. “Because it could end.”
“Or it couldn’t.”
Max didn’t feel ready to be rational about this, but Anthony wasn’t hearing him. “Dating puts a different set of risks on our relationship. What if we break up?”
“What if you don’t.”
Max frowned at Anthony.
“You, my friend, are afraid of success,” Anthony said.
“No, I’m not. I do very well at my job. I’m successful. I worked hard for that success. And is fear of success even a thing?”
“It’s definitely a thing. At your job, sure, you work hard for your success. You’re a real artist, and you’re great at what you do. I’m talking about your personal life. You’re as afraid that things with Jeremy will work out as you are that they’ll fall apart.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Max crossed his arms and tried to convey that Anthony was crazy by the expression on his face.
“And yet.”
Max slammed a shadow brush on the counter. “What are you even trying to say?”
“So, I read this article in a business magazine about fear of success. That some people are afraid that if they are successful at business, it will raise their profiles to a level where they’re uncomfortable. Being successful in business also means you’re subject to more scrutiny, you know? I think it’s the same for you and Jeremy. There’s a lot of stuff you can sweep under the table if you’re just friends, because your heart isn’t invested in the same way. But once you’re in a romantic relationship and your feelings get involved, it’s a whole new world. It’s risky.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“I think it is. Because you’re risking your heart if you commit to Jeremy, and that’s a risk you are not willing to take.”
Max busied himself rifling through his brushes to pick the one he wanted to use next, because he didn’t like being analyzed, and he knew deep down that Anthony was right.
“I’m just saying,” Anthony went on, “don’t write it all off until Jeremy gets home. Then see what happens. Maybe it won’t work out. But maybe it will. Maybe you’ve just sabotaged the one thing that will make you the most happy.”
“I told him to fuck other people. Some guy on the crew of his show was interested in him.”
“Oh, Max. You are an idiot.”
The realization of what he’d done—sent Jeremy into the arms of another man—washed over him in waves. His stomach flopped over. “Oh, god. I am, aren’t I?”
“I don’t think it’s too late. I think Jeremy feels more strongly toward you than you even realize. Just wait until he gets home. Have a conversation face-to-face. If it won’t work, it won’t work, but don’t let your fear tell you it can’t work, because honestly? I think the two of you are made for each other. That’s the real reason I dumped you, by the way. Yeah, part of your heart will always belong to Jeremy, but part of his belongs to you, too, and the two of you should be together.” Anthony pressed his hands together, as if they represented Max and Jeremy.
Max’s eyes stung. Had he really pushed Jeremy away? Well, yeah, he had. And Anthony was completely right, as he so often was.
“I hate when you’re right.”
“It is a substantial gift,” Anthony said with a faux-serious expression on his face. “Seriously, you’re my white brother from another mother. I love you to pieces. You deserve to be happy. So stop avoiding what you really want. Talk to Jeremy. Try to work things out.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good. Now, while you’re thinking, can you finish my makeup. I know you only did one eye. I don’t want to look lopsided.”
Max took a deep breath to get his pounding heart to calm down. All the emotion running through him made his hands shake. He clasped his hands together until his heart started beating at a more reasonable pace, then he picked up the brush to do Anthony’s other eye. “You want to do those neon lashes again? I brought some pink ones.”
“Yes. Oh, I saw something really cool the other day. Maybe you can recreate it.” Anthony pulled out his phone and after poking around, he came up with an image. “This lady is the Eurovision representative from Lithuania. Sings like a dying cat, but isn’t her makeup amazing? I love the triangle over her left eye. Looks like 1987 exploded on her face.”
Max studied the picture. “I can totally do this, but I’m not sure I have all the right colors. I’ve got a blue that’s a little more teal we could do. With the hot pink it will look very early ’90s.”
“Perfect. Do it.”