Chapter 23
Hunter
Mr Peanut is fascinated as he watches me set up the tripod in the living room.
I feel like he’s going to somehow find a way to rat me out to Max.
It’s not like me to be dishonest. The reason I didn’t tell Max what I planned to do today is because I’m so used to Rafferty belittling me for pursuing my dreams.
Sondheim may have been the writer who made me fall in love with theater, but it was Shakespeare who convinced me I wanted to be an actor.
I was fourteen, in my first year of high school and hating every minute when halfway through the semester, our English teacher went on maternity leave and we got a new teacher, Ms Nelson.
Every gay kid has that one teacher they dream of tearfully thanking in their Tony acceptance speech.
Ms Nelson is mine. She was an artist in her spare time and often came to school in paint-splattered overalls.
I heard there were parents who complained about that, but personally I found everything she did impossibly cool and glamorous.
That first semester, we studied Twelfth Night.
Ms Nelson didn’t shy away from its queer subtext.
More than that, she brought the text to life in a way I have never forgotten.
Ever since then, it has been my dream to appear in a Shakespeare production.
Shakespeare’s Globe, a reconstruction of the original Globe Theatre, was one of the first places I visited when I arrived in London.
You can buy tickets to stand at the front for only ten pounds and experience theater almost exactly as people did in Shakespeare’s day, with the roof open to the stars.
I promised myself I wouldn’t leave London until I managed to step on those boards, and I’m finally within touching distance.
Even though my visa is still only provisional, I’ve decided to think positive and start auditioning.
The Globe is holding an open casting call for the greatest play of all: Hamlet.
I don’t want to get ahead of myself. They claim it’s an open call, but they probably have to do that because of their funding.
Wait for them to turn around and cast Paul Mescal.
But I still get a chance to try. For the first round of auditions, they’re having actors send in tapes of a scene that’s not from Hamlet, but is in some way thematically related.
I have the whole of today to pick something and get it on tape.
The problem is, I don’t know where to start. I need to wow these producers. I need to show off everything I can do in a two-minute performance. But that’s a hell of a lot of pressure to put on one audition tape.
My first attempt is the ‘tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow’ speech from Macbeth, but I can’t get past the fact that those lines are now the title of a bestselling novel about computer games.
I try King Lear to show off my range, but it feels ridiculous.
Dr Faustus is too melodramatic, The Seagull too self-conscious.
I get all the way to Tennessee Williams and Sarah Kane and still nothing’s working.
At lunchtime, I’m in need of a break, so I take Mr Peanut out for a walk.
It’s been a while since I had a dog in my care.
The last one I fostered was a hyperactive dachshund with a kamikaze streak who gave me palpitations every time I took him outside.
For the first ten minutes, Mr Peanut is a similar nightmare, pulling on the leash, attempting to greet random strangers, and eating anything and everything he finds on the sidewalk.
Every time he misbehaves, I stop and make him sit.
To my surprise, it works, although it slows our progress to a crawl.
When we finally reach the park, I don’t dare let him off the leash.
The thought of having to tell Max that Mr Peanut has bolted is too horrifying.
But there’s a dog park that is gated off, and Mr Peanut is desperately straining to enter.
Even I can’t conceive of how he could come to any harm in there.
I shut the gate behind us and let Mr Peanut off the leash.
As he dashes away from me and launches himself at a schnauzer, I’m convinced it’s going to end in tears.
But I force myself to remain calm, and it soon becomes clear that there’s nothing to worry about.
Watching Mr Peanut run around and play with the other dogs, I get a serotonin boost that honestly makes me understand Max a little better.
No wonder he’s so relaxed and carefree about everything if this is how he starts each day.
As I stand here and bask in the feeling, it’s as if a little bit of his spirit rubs off on me.
I meant what I said about Max at the wedding.
The last few years have not been easy. But I’m realizing I’ve been pushing away anyone who might make me think another way is possible.
What if Max is who I’ve been needing all this time?
Just because we’re not romantically involved doesn’t mean we can’t be what the other person needs.
I don’t have to worry about things between us turning sour because it will never get that far.
As I walk home with Mr Peanut, I’m no closer to figuring out what I’m going to do for my audition.
But I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to stress over it.
I’m not going to assume that Max will have the same reaction as Rafferty.
I’m going to ask for his help. For him to turn his trademark optimism towards this problem.
For us to do this together.