Chapter 5
Five
“And now I know, he waits for me beyond the city doors, pacing back and forth, the drums hounding me in my sleep. We cannot
escape, we have no tears to weep. Andromache, promise to cover your eyes. For this is it, my final outing, the Gods have planned
my demise.”
—“Achilles Waits,” The Wooden Horse, Act Two
Bastien covered his mouth while biting down on the inside of his cheek as Omari turned away from them, a wry smile twitching
at the corner of his lips. Bastien sucked in a breath, seeming to compose himself, and let his hand fall to reveal a remarkably
grim-looking frown.
“Sorry, I think you might have to repeat that. What happened?”
“His foot kicked me right in the dick.”
Bastien gave a solemn nod, a smile appearing despite his best efforts. “Who knew Dexter Ellis would take aim at your sex life
by wounding your little soldier?”
Jonah rolled his eyes and turned his attention to his reflection in the dressing room mirror. “Little soldier? Also, a pointless
attack given I have no sex life to speak of.”
“You need to get yourself out there,” Omari said, leaning over Jonah’s shoulder to inspect his remarkably perfect umber-colored
skin in the mirror. The skin peels were clearly working.
“You’ve not found any noble young steeds to ride since Edward?” Bastien asked.
“There are a million things wrong with that question, Bastien.”
Bastien reached forward and adjusted a couple of Jonah’s curls at the back of his head. “You know what they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
Jonah batted his hand away. “Who? Who says that?”
Bastien shrugged. “People. Me. I say that. Go out and sow your wild oats.” He went to the clothing rack at the back of the
room and thumbed through the costumes Jonah wore throughout the show.
“Sow my oats? Little soldier? What old lady has possessed you, and how do I get rid of her?” Jonah looked over his shoulder
at him then pointed to the costume on the far right, the deep-blue and teal cotton ensemble he wore at the end of the first
act. Bastien pulled it from the hanger and handed it to him.
“Old ladies are full of wisdom. Besides, sowing your oats wouldn’t be a bad thing. I know Lucian has a thing for you.”
Omari scowled slightly. “Lucian? He has a thing for everyone, no? Pretty sure he was hooking up with one of the front-of-house
girls last week. The little ginger one, Enid, I think? Anyway, I slept with him way back during our previews, I wouldn’t recommend.”
“Even if he wasn’t trying to fuck every person in this theatre, Lucian eats mackerel sandwiches before going onstage, even
when he’s covering you, Bash, and I have to kiss him repeatedly for most of the first act. Mackerel. Every time,” Jonah said
seriously.
Bastien scrunched up his nose. “Is that what it is? I always thought he smelled of cabbage.” He went to the second rack in
the room, the one not usually there but that had been wheeled in early that morning to make space for the extra bodies changing
in the building. “Fuck, I’m nervous,” he murmured, taking his own first costume off the rack before looking at Jonah. “They
got the same photographer again even though I begged them to choose someone else.”
“Your ex? Bennie with the bad lens?” Omari asked, going over to another rack with his costumes hung neatly on it.
“The one and only. And I bet he will take as many shots from beneath my chin as he can just to make me look like I have saggy jowls. I mean, it’s been eight years since we’ve been together.
You would think he’d be over the petty shit he pulls.
” Bastien tutted as he removed his clothing.
“Though, I am now looking forward to you coming face-to-face with Dexter penis-destroyer Ellis.” He pulled his light-green tunic on over his head, then grinned at Jonah.
“I don’t for a second believe he didn’t know who you were. ”
“No, me neither. Which makes the foot slip even more painful. I mean . . . what’s he going to say to me today? Oh, you’re
that guy whose dick I kicked at yoga yesterday? Or will he pretend it never happened?”
“Money on pretending it never happened,” Omari practically sang as he slipped his shirt off.
A light knock on the door interrupted them before it cracked open and the familiar face of Sherrie peered round it. She smirked
at them as she stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her. Her cheeks, rounded, flushed with a rose and gold swipe
of color finished with a glitter dust settling between her freckles, complimenting the cotton candy pink of her hair. Jonah
always found her endlessly refreshing. A rainbow caught in a droplet of water.
“Darlings,” she said, waving her hands in the air with a flourish before curtseying to them. “How are my favorite people getting
on?”
“Fabulously,” Bastien said, adjusting the sleeve of his tunic while trying to get a glimpse of himself in the mirror over
Jonah’s shoulder. “Have you come to tame my hair? Look at it, it looks like a bird nested in it overnight. I need you, Shez.”
“Sherrie, can you get the steamer from my room, please? I think my sinuses are getting blocked.” Omari pinched the skin between
his eyes lightly. “I’m aging as we speak.”
“Your hair looks fine, Bash,” Sherrie said, moving toward him despite her words to work her fingers through his brown hair.
“Nothing that a bit of my magic can’t fix. And, Omari, you can get it yourself.” She ignored the glare he sent her way. “Colbie
wants full makeup, she said no half-arsing it today, she wants the photos to be perfect. Apparently the new program is going
to be A4 and glossy, to hell with the environmentally friendly recycled paper ones from before.”
Jonah shifted himself from the mirror, allowing Bastien to take a seat so Sherrie could fix his hair and help apply the minimal makeup he needed.
He clutched the blue material of his costume in his hands and frowned; he didn’t feel prepared for new photographs.
The old ones were beautiful; they captured gut-wrenching moments in the show, and despite Bastien’s apparently enormous jowls, they looked dazzling.
In those images, Jonah could believe he truly was Achilles, his body on loan to the Greek legend while he took over and performed each night.
Edward gushed over those pictures. He asked Jonah to sign his program in bed the night he brought it home to show him, then they had sex and basked in each other until the early hours of the morning.
On the other end of the scale, his dad called him after he mailed the program to him, his mind still lucid only a year ago, and expressed an unrestrained pride as he swallowed down tears of happiness.
Who would see the evolution of Achilles now? Edward was nothing but a ghost who lived in his kitchen drawer. His father didn’t
know who Jonah was, let alone Achilles, and his mum, well, she had bigger things on her plate than new production images to
think about. He knew how selfish he seemed; the situation with his parents should bear no reflection on his self-esteem, but
his father’s approval, his pride and words of encouragement, meant everything. He wished he could go back and relive the moments
they shared, the times when it was just the two of them walking along the beach near the house. Or the afternoons lounging
in the garden while his mum peeled carrots in her garden chair while listening to music from her earphones on the Walkman
she refused to upgrade.
“You’re special, Jonah, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my son. Though, I’m damn proud to be your dad.”
“You going to get changed, Jonah, babe?” Sherrie asked around a hairpin she’d wedged between her lips.
“Yeah, sorry, my mind ran away with me.” He pulled off his T-shirt and replaced it with Achilles’s first costume. Blue. Like
the sea. “Is my hair okay?”
Sherrie sprayed an obscene amount of fixing spray over Bastien’s head before narrowing her eyes at Jonah.
“For the first time ever, yes.” She plucked the pin from her mouth and smiled.
“You’re pale as fuck, though, babe, let’s give you a bit of color, yeah?
You’re not meant to look dead until the end of the show.
” She whipped a makeup brush from the bum bag strapped around her waist, then got to work on his face.
“I met Dexter earlier,” she said, her face so close to Jonah’s he could practically count her eyelashes. “Absolutely fabulous arse on him.”
Photo shoots for programs were a strange affair. They varied from production to production, but Colbie liked to select a few
scenes or songs and have her cast perform them while being photographed by Bennie-with-the-bad-lens. It created a gorgeous
illusion of the show, everyone in full costume, acting out the scene as if in front of a full audience. There were occasions,
for other shows, where photography happened during a performance, but Jonah preferred this approach; it took away some of
the anxiety and allowed the photographer to get in among the cast and gather the best images possible.
The stage had been set for the closing number of the first act: “In the Light of the Morning,” a gorgeous piece weaving the
melodies of previous songs to reach a stunning climax to entice the audience into the second half. Jonah adored performing
it, the staging and ensemble around him creating a work of sheer perfection. It ended with a passionate kiss between Achilles
and Patroclus as Hector wrapped his arms around his wife, Andromache, both couples drenched in white light. The song resembled
the calm before the storm, the characters in civilian clothing, no armor to be seen. A stark contrast to the bloodbath of
act two.
Jonah made his way to the stage, Bastien by his side, Omari nowhere to be seen, and he readied himself to be blinded by the
dazzling beauty of Dexter once again. He didn’t look the same as the night before. His hair, slicked back away from his face,