“Guy, there are lovers out to get me.”
“What? You think Warwick and Pedro are out to get you? Pedro, maybe, but not Warwick.”
My angelic friend strolled with me to the theater about an hour before opening night.
“No, hear me out. It came out in my reading with Monique. That falling stage light was no accident.”
“What?”
“Apparently there are ‘lovers’ who were responsible.”
Guy gave me a puzzled look.
“Are you sure you understood what Monique showed you?”
“Pretty damn sure. She was fairly direct. There are lovers who were responsible for the falling light.”
My heavenly chum stopped in his tracks. I almost bumped into him.
“Allan, the only lovers cast in this play are Pedro and Warwick. The light fell while Pedro was on stage. He wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way if he was responsible.”
“Perhaps he knew exactly where to stand when it fell?”
“But if it was loosened, how would he know exactly when it would fall? He may have been walking directly under it when it came crashing to the ground. In fact, any one of us could have been under it. You can’t orchestrate something like that.”
He had a point. As the eccentric locals weaved around us, Guy stood stroking his chin.
“It’s official. I’m neurotic,” I said.
“A little around the edges, maybe, but you’re not a raving lunatic yet, Allan. Now if Monique said something like that, then there’s truth in it somewhere. Pedro might be out to get you, and he’s one-half of the ‘lovers’—but being clever enough to cause ‘accidents’? I don’t think so.”
We began walking again. Old-world streetlamps lit the mild evening. A blond child, not more than seven years old, whizzed by in a bright red toy car, chased by what appeared to be his older brother. People leaped out of the way of his runaway vehicle. His cheeky cackle took me back to my own starry-eyed innocence, long before I reached puberty. Before the world had to make sense. I once told my angel buddy I was trying to fall without a parachute. This carefree young fella would be my role model.
“Allan, have you told Warwick about Monique’s reading?”
“I haven’t seen him since we were at the Medieval Quarter, yesterday.”
“Maybe that’s a sign to move on. His relationship is blossoming, and getting in their way will only fuel Pedro’s resentment.”
I wanted to cover my ears and hum loudly to drown out Guy’s advice. My security blanket was being pulled away, and I was ready to break my nails if I had to before I would let it go.
We pushed through the heavy doors of the theater, and the rest of the cast greeted us. I cheerfully acknowledged Pedro who was rereading the article about himself in The Stage Door. His wimpy hand waved back.
We put on our costumes, chatted to the others, and soon heard the murmur of our waiting audience. Would we bore them with mundane dialogue or delight them with a farce? The vain playwright had put down the magazine, so I flicked through it. There was an interview with Maudi claiming the play’s ‘melodramatic style was an aspect missing from so many plays of the last century,’ even though she accepted the realism that had taken over since she last took to the stage. It seemed she was putting the hard sell on this show.
The first act went over well although Pedro complained several times about the audience’s laughter. He didn’t see what was funny about his play.
At the start of the second act, my Mr. Death and Guy’s Bullet have a little disagreement.
“So you think you can run this business?” says Mr. Death. “You’ve got delusions of grandeur.”
“I pretty much run this business already. What do you do? You just rake it in!”
“I’m the brains. You’re the brawn. It’s that simple.”
“I can be both.”
“You ain’t got the smarts. My empire would collapse in your hands.”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out!”
Guy barked that line with more venom than he ever did before. He was so worked up he even charged toward me, which he wasn’t supposed to do. Mr. Death was meant to walk over and pick Bullet up by the collar.
“Whoa!” shrieked Guy.
He was no longer Bullet. He slipped, sending himself airborne like an acrobat. Confused gasps filled the theater as the angel fluttered madly. He hovered above the stage before carefully landing on his feet.
I mouthed “You can fly” as he nervously pointed to the floor. A clear gel with Guy’s sliding shoeprint glistened on the wooden boards. I stepped over it and grabbed Bullet by the shirt.
Backstage, Warwick’s fingers glided over his cheeks, touching up his ruby makeup. His wig was off, making him look like a failed cross-dresser. I would have done anything to share a soapy bath and a bottle of champagne, gradually wiping his face back to the image of the man I longed for.
“What happened on stage?” he asked.
“I slipped,” replied Guy.
“And he flew!” I added.
“I slipped on some goo on the floor.”
“And he flew.”
“Allan, that something was meant for you. You’re the only one who’s meant to walk across the stage in that scene.”
“Guy, who cares? You lifted yourself off the ground. You can fly!”
“Why would someone put goo on the floor?” asked Warwick.
“Because they wanted Allan to slip over.”
“What?”
“Monique, the fortune-teller, told Allan that someone doesn’t want him here. So the falling light and the goo on the stage were meant for him.”
“It’s Pedro for sure,” I said.
“I know you two have stepped off on the wrong foot,” said my old friend, “but seriously, he’s not that vindictive.”
“How would you know? You’ve only dated him for a short while.”
“Because he was on stage with you when the light fell. He was just as shaken up as you were.”
“But look at the way he smashed that jug of water when Maudi made us swap roles.”
“Yes, in anger. He was reacting. This is different. You’re accusing him of going out of his way to cause trouble.”
“But he’s got a motive. What do you think, Guy?”
The angel scratched his head.
“Allan’s right. He’s the only one with a motive.”
“Think about it,” said Warwick. “Really think about it. Why would Pedro sabotage his own play, even if he’s no longer playing the lead? This show is his baby!”
Guy’s wings slackened. The tips rested on the floor as he continued scratching his head. I smiled at my old friend, but he didn’t respond. I smiled again, but nothing. I was the stranger in town. I was caught in a whirlwind, calling out to my dearest mate but being ignored. No one would rub my shoulders and tell me everything was all right. He pulled on his wig and left for the stage.
* * *
We finished the play unharmed. The audience’s applause echoed like crashing waves across the hall. With spotlights in my eyes, I could only distinguish the first two rows of punters, howling and whistling madly.
I felt as one with the cast through our clenched network of hands. We bowed once more as our new fans turned up the applause. Two more weeks of performing now seemed like an honor rather than a chore. For this brief moment, those little accidents seemed trivial, filed in the wastepaper basket. Nothing could spoil this feeling.
We headed out to party, crowding into the Pedestal. Nellie shimmered in a tight-fitting gold dress. Its mirror-ball effect left me spellbound as I headed toward her like a sailor lured by a siren. A siren in disco drag. Her silver suited band revived the hits and the forgotten treasures of the mid-seventies. Synthesized notes quivered through the crowd, urging them to stomp their feet and find their “cool.”
Maudi, Samantha, and Warwick took to the dance floor, as a rare favorite of his thumped its domination over the crowd. Disco bunnies of every persuasion invaded the space, some dressed as if they came from a costume party. A few resembled unwanted Christmas decorations.
Some partygoers wore fur bodysuits resembling funky barn animals. They were inviting others into their unique boogie circle. One man sporting a tight Dalmatian-patterned shirt encouraged my belief in puppy love.
Back at the bar, Guy and Pedro sat quietly. I went over to prompt conversation.
“Why don’t you celebrate with doggy boy over there, Guy?”
“My wings would be in the way.”
“You mean, if you dance?”
“I get carried away and inevitably knock someone over.”
I had the impression that this had only happened once.
“How often have you tried?” asked Pedro.
Guy didn’t answer. Instead, he focused on the crowd. At this stage, Warwick was on his way back from the dance floor, raising my alarm bells at the thought of enduring the next chapter of his amorous adventure from an A-grade seat.
“Okay, Guy, here is your chance to face your fears and be a man!” said the playwright.
He seized the hand of the angel, leading him gallantly to the dance floor. I was relieved at his sense of timing as Warwick sat himself next to me. They stood an arm’s length from the rest of the dancing crowd, Guy’s wings nowhere near anyone he could knock down.
“Maybe Pedro’s heart’s in the right place,” I said.
“That’s not all that’s in the right place.” Warwick grinned.
“I thought you said he didn’t measure up?”
“There are ways around it.”
I did my best not to scream.
“How serious is it between you two? I mean, you seemed pretty pissed off when I mentioned that he may be out to get me.”
“Allan, he’s no psychopath.”
“Regardless, you said you would break up with him after the run of the play.”
“Maybe sooner.”
“So is it time to end the fling?”
“Just about. Is it the right thing to do before the play has finished its run?”
“It might inspire him to actually act.”
Warwick chuckled. He reached around and hugged me from behind. The bristles on his face brushed against my neck, making me want to throw off my clothes and let his unshaven whiskers drag themselves down the base of my spine.
“I miss you, you know,” I said in a low tone.
“I know, but I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“Warwick, you have gone somewhere. I’m just not sure where.” He pulled away from me. “Why did you…?”
“Pedro might see us. You know how jealous he gets.”
“Oh, right.”
I was in limbo again. Toyed with like a yo-yo. Sometimes close, at other times too far to mention.
People flirted and embraced as the retro music broke down their inhibitions. But Cupid had overlooked me and Warwick, and Guy for that matter. He knocked over Mr. Puppy Love, who even on all fours knew how to wag his tail. Guy mimicked the fall next to the dog. Dalmatian boy smooched the angel and got back on hind legs to dance. Guy got up, but didn’t accept the invitation.
The angel bowed his head and meandered toward us. I demanded another vodka and cranberry from the barman and rushed over to the wannabe stud. Pouring the concoction down his gullet, I spelt out the rewards one can uncover when feeding an animal. Soon Guy was back on the dance floor.
As I wandered back, the barman served Warwick two vodka and cranberry cocktails.
“You know, I’d love our friends back home to be here at the Pedestal with us,” I said.
“I don’t think they’d necessarily kill themselves to get here.”
“Looks like we’ll need to settle for our new friends. And I’ll have to get used to Pedro.”
“Trust me, he’s not bad. But I guess when I break up with him, they’ll be no reason for you to get to know him.”
“Warwick, he’s not going to take that well. You know how moody he is.”
“Yeah, I know. But there’s something odd about that.” My friend watched his boyfriend swivel his hips like he was mastering a hula hoop. “In bed, we have a lot of fun. No one says ‘I love you.’ It’s just sex. But when it comes to you, he gets all worked up.”
I sipped my drink. Pedro was in a world of his own on that dance floor, which was a relief for me. I had alone time with my dearest pal for the first time in ages. I placed my hand on his shoulder, leaning into him and telling him to observe Maudi. She was like some bizarre mechanical doll that was wound up by a key.
“How innovative,” he said. “I guess there are only certain disco moves you can make when wearing a corset.”
“Fluidity is not an option.”
He turned, nearly bumping noses with me. His face stayed close to mine. I grinned, believing all my Christmases had come at once.
Warwick then moved away to view the dance floor. My heart sunk. I felt like the bachelor no one wanted to be seen with until I realized Pedro was on his way back, followed closely by Samantha and Maudi. Guy stayed, swinging his arms and his wings with Dalmatian boy. They’d found that special bond between master and dog.
“Just good friends, eh?” Pedro said.
How I wished I’d pushed him off that Ferris wheel the day before.
“Of course,” I replied. “But we all have to tippy-toe around your fragile ego.”
“Is that the vodka talking?”
“Maybe? But you have got a vindictive streak in you.”
“I have not!”
“That wasn’t a question. Some slippery goo on stage today. The killer stage light yesterday. What are you up to, Pedro?”
“You’re blaming me for a few minor mishaps?”
“Yes, Allan,” said Samantha. “You are drawing a long bow.”
“I agree,” added Warwick. “That fortune-teller got it wrong.”
“What fortune-teller?” asked Maudi.
“At the Carnival of Lost Souls, I saw a fortune-teller. She told me that the falling stage light was no accident and that some lovers were behind it.”
“Pedro and I are the only lovers,” said Warwick. He stared at me without expression. “I know you and Pedro have your differences, but you’re implicating me in your argument.”
“I’m not. For goodness sake, we’ve been through a lot together. I’d never think for a minute that you’re behind anything that would hurt me.”
“I know, Allan, I know. But think about it. It’s Pedro’s play. He’s hardly going to ruin his own show. Yet you believe the lovers, which can only mean him and me, are out to destroy the play and take you down with it.”
“But there was something on stage that made Guy slip,” said Maudi.
“Something the stage manager spilled,” added Samantha. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Still, I am the director. I’m concerned over such things. I mean, what type of goo would the stage manager need to use between acts?”
“A glue of some kind?”
“We wiped the stage ourselves after our scene,” I said. “It wasn’t sticky like glue. We couldn’t work out what it was. And besides, if the stage manager spilled it, why didn’t he mop it up?”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Warwick stated. “You really believe that someone is out to get you, Allan?”
“Yes, Allan,” said Pedro. “You’re hardly devoid of blame yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You tripped me up during the play.”
I knew exactly what he was getting at. From Maudi’s tales of romance, I had taken a leaf from her rival and forgotten a line. It was an important cue for Pedro, leaving him speechless on stage for what must have felt like eternity.
“It was an honest mistake. Really! What actor would purposely forget his line?”
The director grinned, peering down her nose at me. My rival didn’t reply.
“I think we need to go back to your place, Pedro,” said Warwick. He stood up and took his lover’s hand, leaving his drink at the bar. “I don’t like where this conversation is going.”
“We’re just discussing a few things that need to be brought out in the open.”
“Allan, you’re discussing them. We’re just the white noise around you.”
“Come on, Warwick…”
But no matter what I tried to say at that point, my old friend and his ill-chosen love interest strode out of the nightclub like a lawyer protecting his client from the meddling press.