Chapter 7 #2
might have spent a couple of hours scrolling through Dexter’s Instagram, and God, the man was a bore.
He posted photos from rehearsals and gushed about his excitement at taking on the role of Hector.
There was a worrying amount of photos of salads he’d eaten and even more photos of himself pouting in mirrors.
Yet people ate his content up. His followers were nearing one hundred thousand, an obscene amount given how utterly mundane he was, but it only solidified his position as the darling of the West End. True theatre royalty.
Jonah adjusted the collar of his costume, then fiddled with the microphone poking out of his hairline. He had not really allowed
himself to ponder the reality of performing with Dexter; the cast change still wouldn’t happen for five weeks, and even then
his scenes with him were limited, save for the fight scene, and he couldn’t deny feeling slightly excited at murdering him
onstage. Dexter covering Bastien meant their rivalry now faced a different turn. There would be no besting him in a sword
fight; he had to make out with him instead. At least he wouldn’t taste of mackerel like Lucian did. Or, Jonah hoped he wouldn’t
taste of mackerel, anyway.
A loud knock on his dressing room door jostled Jonah from his thoughts. Before he could answer, Dexter made his way into the
room and closed the door behind him. He looked . . . undeniably handsome in the costume Bastien usually wore, though the tunic
sat higher on his thighs, the man’s height his downfall. His hair looked tousled and playful and made Jonah want to run his
fingers through it. No. No. The guy was a giant dick, and Jonah hated him.
“So, I thought we should quickly talk about the sex scene?” Dexter said bluntly. “Normally Achilles disrobes Patroclus then
lays him down on the bed, but I think we should switch it.”
Jonah blinked slowly at him. “So, you want to take my clothes off and get me onto the bed instead?”
“I just think our dynamic is clearly different from the one you have with Bastien, and it would work better if Patroclus takes
the lead in the sex scene. I don’t think the audience will believe you could be dominant in a sexual situation with me.”
“Are you for fucking real?” Jonah scoffed. “You’ve never played Patroclus, you’ve never acted with me, and it shouldn’t matter what you think our dynamic should be because we have directions and lines to say and don’t have any choice in what our characters do onstage.”
Dexter clicked his tongue against his teeth then smirked. “You are so wildly unprofessional.”
“I’m unprofessional?”
“Yes. You’ve been a total twat to me for absolutely no reason from the moment I stepped foot in this theatre for the photo
shoot. And now you won’t even discuss a way to make our performance stand out and be the best it can be.”
“I’ve hardly had time to be a twat to you, have I? We’ve spent . . . what, twenty minutes together? And even if I have been
a twat, I’ve only been mirroring the way you’ve been with me,” Jonah said. “You pretend like you didn’t know who I was at
yoga, then you come here and threaten me and then—”
Dexter raised his hand to hush him with a laugh. “Wait a minute, threaten you? When the hell did I threaten you?”
“When you said I’ll see how an Olivier really doesn’t mean that much?”
“Why would you think that’s a threat?”
“Because it is one?”
Dexter continued to laugh and shook his head. “Wow. You’re even more insecure than I first thought.” He took a deep breath
and let his laughter subside. “Look, Jonah, let’s be professional here.”
“I am being professional!” His protest sounded whiny, desperate, like a child. “You can’t go changing scenes half an hour
before going onstage without talking to the creative team first. I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t waltz in
here and expect everything to change for you.”
Dexter’s posture changed from cocky to somewhat vulnerable, his shoulders turned in, his height seemed to shrink. “Why don’t
you like me, Jonah?”
Jonah opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, any words he might muster running away from him.
“I stood up for you on the tube with those guys, just so you know,” Dexter said. “I tried to make it better. I could see the
situation was proper shit for you so I tried to help and you still have a problem with me.”
“You didn’t need to say anything because it was nothing to do with you.
” Jonah knew he sounded spiteful, his tone sharp, set out to harm, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“And don’t talk to me about ‘not liking you’ when you’re the one who has come here and caused problems. Like, no one’s asked for your opinion, Dexter.
I don’t care if you think I messed up a line or was behind a couple of beats, it’s none of your concern. ”
Dexter appeared to be carefully considering his next words before frowning and taking a deep breath. Jonah readied himself
for more criticism or an explanation for why it was Dexter’s concern, but the reasoning never came. “We’re switching the bit in the sex scene. I will take the lead,” he said,
turning to open the door. “Break a leg, Jonah.”