A posterboard sign was taped to the plate glass of the door:
2B. Or whatever.
A New Play about Learning to Live with Your Craziness by Boaz Grossman and the West End Players.
Suggested contribution: ten dollars.
Henry read the sign again, trying to figure out how to get in. Jessie arrived behind him and pushed the door open.
“Oh? It was unlocked?”
He followed her up the stairs. He was very excited, very anxious, which was silly. This was only a play, an amateur production featuring an attractive boy whom he hadn’t seen in two days. But it was fun to be silly again.
They came to the second floor and an apartment with an open door. A very pretty Spanish-looking girl glanced up. Her eyes nearly popped out of her face.
“Henry Lewse! Oh my God. Good, good, good. You came. We have a special seat for you. Hey, Jess.”
“Hey, Allegra.”
Jessie sounded mildly annoyed about something. Was it him? Which of the many things that Henry had done wrong tonight irritated her?
Allegra led him to a big wooden chair with a calico cushion. None of the other chairs had cushions.
“Oh, you’ll want your ten dollars,” said Henry. “All I have is a twenty. Oh, but I’ll get Jessie too. Yes. Here. Please. Take it. I insist.”
Henry gave the pretty girl the money and sat down, fearing he’d have to chat with her. She was so overwhelmed, however, that she said only “Hope you like it” and fled.
He looked at the room: high ceiling, cracked plaster, old theater posters; it looked like an old drama student squat, very convincing. He read over his program. “Now I get it,” he told Jessie. “To be or whatever. The apartment number is 2B? Very Tom Stoppard.” But where was To Be Toby or Not to Be Toby? That was the question.
More people arrived, more seats were taken. There were two dozen chairs in three rows, like at an old-fashioned wake. There was no coffin, although Henry sensed people looking his way, as if he were the corpse.
“That’s Frank,” muttered Jessie, nodding at a slightly dumpy fellow fiddling with a stereo in back. “If he seems standoffish later, it’s not about you, it’s about me. We had a big fight.”
“Oh? Oh. Of course.” The fellow was not bad-looking, Henry decided, merely heterosexual with a receding hairline.
A song came on: “Love Thy Neighbor” sung by Bing Crosby. Lights were clicked off all over the apartment. The play was starting.
Henry folded his arms together. “What fun,” he said.
A floor lamp came on directly in front of them. A large, stately black woman sat watching a silent television. There was the sound of keys in the front door—the apartment’s real front door. The door opened. And there was Toby.
“Hey. Hi. What’re you watching? Good show? I hope your day went better than mine. You wouldn’t believe what I saw on the subway coming home.”
He wore a loose necktie and carried a sports coat. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He did all the talking. This was one of those peculiar American acting exercises where an actor performs a dialogue with silence.
Henry had not seen Toby since Wednesday morning. He had hoped, or feared, his mind would say: Him? You’ve been pining away for Him? He’s nobody special. But here he was again, and he was beautiful. He was sexy; he was warm, far warmer dressed than naked. He seemed doubly dressed playing a fictional role, so his warmth and sweetness were magnified.
Henry felt he could look at Toby for hours. He had forgotten about the privilege of just looking, the joy of voyeurism. Like most actors, he preferred exhibitionism, but looking was nice too.
The black woman turned off the floor lamp and the scene ended. Kitchen lights fluttered on—the kitchen was to the right—and here was the black woman again, chatting with a dinky white girl. Was that all this would be? A string of acting exercises? Henry didn’t mind too much, so long as Toby returned.
The kitchen lights went off. Over to the left, a blue paper lantern came on. The curly-haired Spanish beauty, Allegra, sat on the sofa and talked with a large, androgynous teddy bear of a man.
There was a knock at the door.
The teddy bear looked nicely startled. Henry was impressed until Allegra said, “Now who could that be?” with a quoting inflection that suggested this was not in the script.
She got up and went to the door. She opened it.
Out in the hallway stood a tall, gaunt, male silhouette.
“Is that Boaz?” said a voice behind Henry.
It was light in the hall but dark in the living room. The figure could see Allegra but not the audience. The audience held its breath.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Has the play started yet?”
“Oh yes,” Allegra told him. “It started five minutes ago.”
The man was Prager, the Times man. He looked in, squinting, still not seeing anything. “Where is the play?”
A few people began to titter.
“Here,” said Allegra. “You’re in it.”
And the audience burst out laughing, Henry laughing as loud as the others. It must be the oldest theater joke in the world, the metaphysical joke of artifice tripping over reality, or however one described it. Henry never tired of it.
“Terribly sorry,” said Prager, jumping back. “I’ll go.”
“No, no, no,” said Allegra. “Just get in here.” She waved him inside and he automatically obeyed. She closed the door.
He wildly looked around, needing a seat. Then he saw the sofa under the lantern. He raced over and sat beside the teddy bear actor.
The audience roared all over again.
“Pssst, pssst,” went Jessie, standing up and patting her chair.
The teddy bear pointed her out to Prager. Prager jumped up, scuttled over, and seized her chair. Jessie sat on the floor.
“You were complaining about money,” said Allegra, instantly picking up what they’d set down. “Better money worries than love worries. Love worries suck.” They had put aside their make-believe for a minute, but it wasn’t broken, it was intact, like an old hat.
Prager sat petrified beside Henry, audibly embarrassed, loudly catching his breath.
“I’m so glad you decided to join us,” Henry whispered.
“I thought there was a theater up here,” Prager hissed back. “I thought I could just come in and use the phone. I am so humiliated.”
“All in good fun,” Henry assured him. “We’re all good friends.”
“Sssssh,” went someone behind them.
Henry made his voice lower. “And nobody knows who you are.”
Allegra and the teddy bear continued to commiserate. They stood up. And she pounced. She jumped up on him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and buried her mouth in his. They bounced against the wall. They lurched across the floor and hit another wall. They bounced again and disappeared around the corner into a hallway.
The music came back on—“Love Thy Neighbor” again.
Jessie’s friend, the director, Frank, came out and stood in front of everyone. Was the show already over? No, he held a finger to his lips and signaled the audience to follow him. People got up, one by one, and started down the hall.
“Very cool,” Jessie told Henry. “Come on,” she told Prager. “Don’t you want to see what’s back there?”
The audience trooped through, pausing to peek into a bathroom on the way, which made them chuckle. They crowded into a bedroom at the end. Henry hung back, not wanting to get caught in the crush, wondering what happened to Toby. He passed the bathroom.
A large, cream-colored figure stood at the sink: Toby, wearing nothing but red plaid boxer shorts. He looked at himself in the mirror with the saddest eyes imaginable.
Henry was the tail of the line. The people ahead were fixated on the bedroom, even Prager, who was craning his head over the pack. Henry slipped into the bathroom. “Hello,” he said.
Toby did not look at him. “Please,” he muttered behind his teeth. “Don’t break my fourth wall.”
This was even better than the Gaiety. Henry could just stand here, two feet away, and look and love without fear. Here were the nipples like plump freckles, the bare shoulders pebbled with goose bumps, the chewy upturned nose.
“You’re very good,” he said. “Quite good.”
Two sets of thick blond eyelashes swept the air when Toby blinked. “You’re enjoying the show then?”
“Oh yes. It’s nice to watch you and your friends be yourselves.”
There was laughter from the bedroom.
“You better go,” Toby pleaded. “I got to get dressed so I can do my next scene.”
“Of course. See you later. We’ll see each other after, won’t we?”
“Of course. We’re going to that party.”
“Oh good.” Henry leaned over and lightly kissed his shoulder.
The boy didn’t even flinch.