Chapter 17 #2
“I don’t know,” Silas sputters. “James—he’s my producer—he said that this guy is one of the best vocal arrangers on Broadway. But if he’s changed his mind about working on my musical, I don’t know who else will.”
He pokes at his phone a few times, and swipes his thumb down the screen again, while his left knee starts bouncing on the lounger.
“James says not to worry about it until we get back, but what if he can’t find someone else?
” He whips his sun hat off, fans his face with it, and starts fumbling with the belongings he’d brought to the pool.
“Hey,” I say. I swing my legs around and turn sideways on my lounger so I’m facing him.
“I’m gonna…” Silas’s head swivels side to side, though I’m not sure what he’s looking for. “I need to get back to our room.”
I reach toward him and pat the lounger near his leg to get his attention. I don’t want to touch him without his consent, but he’s clearly in the middle of an anxiety attack. “If you want to go back to your room, that’s okay, but if you don’t want to be alone, I’m here for you.”
He looks at me, his green eyes wide. His fingers pluck at the brim of his hat and they’re shaking a little. “I need to talk to Logan.”
“I know,” I say. I’m pretty sure Logan is going to be just as distressed that he’s not here for his boy, but the resort staff had warned us that cellular service is spotty in the cloud forest. “Do you want to text him? Even if he doesn’t get the message immediately, he’ll see it when he gets back in a place with better reception. ”
“I don’t know,” Silas mutters. “I don’t know if that will help. He’s not here, but I really need to talk to him.”
“Okay,” I shift a little closer to his lounger. “I’m not Logan, obviously, but I’m here. Do you want to talk about what might happen with your musical or would you rather we talk about something else to distract you?”
“Do you know anything about producing a musical on Broadway?” he says a little snappishly.
“No, but can you tell me about the process you’ve gone through already?”
Silas takes a shaky breath, then another. He’s obviously trying to calm himself down. He swallows hard and licks his lips.
“I’d like to go get you some water, but I don’t want to leave you alone unless you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” His knee is still bouncing and he’s still shifting restlessly in the lounger. “Um, water would be good, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’m happy to do it,” I tell him. I point to the restaurant bar on the other side of the pool. “I’m going right over there and I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Take some deep breaths while I’m there, okay? I promise I won’t leave you.”
Silas nods. He inhales deeply through his nose and breathes out shakily through his mouth.
I round the pool and request a couple of waters from the bartender, then ask her to send over a tropical smoothie with a scoop of protein powder.
I figure a frozen, non-alcoholic drink might hit the spot when Silas calms down a little.
When I return, Silas seems a little better.
He’s breathing easier, anyway, and he’s lost the terrified rabbit-about-to-bolt vibe.
He thanks me for the water, but doesn’t look at me when I hand it to him.
I’ve already twisted off the cap for him and he swigs a couple swallows before letting it rest in his lap.
“I’m sorry for freaking out on you.”
I shake my head. “No apologies necessary. If you want to talk about it, I’d be happy to listen, but it’s also okay if you don’t.”
He downs another gulp of water, then resettles his sun hat on his head and leans back against the lounger. “It’s been such a crazy whirlwind, I don’t even know where to start.”
I sip my own water and listen while Silas tells me about his musical, a queer retelling of the Oedipus myth as a contemporary space opera.
“I know,” he sighs. “Everyone looks at me like that when I describe it. But Logan saw it when it was just my student thesis project and sent it to his friend, who’s this big-time Broadway producer, and yeah, that’s probably nepotism or something, but everyone’s gotta start somewhere, you know?
And James legit wants to produce it—we have a contract and everything—except that I wrote it so it has all these polyphonic choral pieces, sort of an homage to the chorus in ancient Greek plays, but modern, right?
And the vocal arranger James wants to hire is supposed to help me figure out how many singers we need and the harmonic and melodic lines to give to each singer, stuff like that. ”
It’s too bad Jason’s not here. He’d know exactly what Silas is talking about. He might even have some advice for Silas. But right now, Silas probably doesn’t need advice. All I need to do is help Silas realize that his musical isn’t doomed because of this one setback.
“It sounds like a fascinating project.” A resort staff member brings the smoothie I ordered for Silas, who gives me a surprised, but very sweet, smile when she hands the hard plastic cup with a paper straw to him. “When’s the premiere?”
“Oh, not for months, maybe a year. It’s nowhere near ready.
We haven’t even decided on a choreographer yet.
James has someone in mind, but they’re busy with another show right now, and James says we should talk when we get back to New York about whether we should wait until they’re available or go with someone else. ”
“So, there’s time to find a new vocal arranger, too?” I hold my breath, hoping it’s not too pointed a question. I definitely don’t want to suggest to Silas that I think he’s overreacting or that his feelings aren’t valid.
Silas sucks down another long sip of smoothie. Then he sets the cup in his lap and looks off in the distance. “Yeah,” he finally says. “There’s time.” He heaves a big sigh, then his shoulders drop and his hands relax.
Adrienne joins us, fresh from her massage, and within moments of dropping her book, sunglasses, and swimsuit cover-up on the lounge chair on the other side of Silas, looks at me and tilts her head at the pool. “Swim with me, Victor.” It’s not a request.
I look over at Silas. He shrugs. “I’m better now. Don’t worry about me.”