Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“They will probably ask about what happened at stage door,” she said, then clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth.
“The whole thing’s kicked off some debate about performer safety and, to be honest with you, Jonah, I don’t want to be part
of that narrative. So you will not answer questions about it.”
Jonah bit down on the tip of his tongue to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t. The debate had raised the important
issue of boundaries and how production companies needed to put measures in place to protect their cast and crew. But assaults
garnered negative publicity, and extra security cost money, both things Colbie clearly hated.
“And I need you to ramp up the act with Dexter too. You’ve both been, dare I say it, disappointing with the social media stuff.
You barely interact online anymore, and the buzz surrounding you two has fizzled out.
We need to keep pushing this. We want people interested in you both so they buy tickets and get us all paid.
” Jonah’s eyes flicked to Evie, who crossed her arms over her chest and nodded along to Colbie’s words. The loyal lapdog.
“You told my agent you wanted me to not post on social media.”
“That was weeks ago.”
Jonah deserved an award for managing to not roll his eyes. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Good.” She smiled, eyes piercing into him. “Now, get out of here and warm up.” She waved her hand, dismissing him in quite
possibly the rudest way he’d ever experienced.
“Oh, Jonah,” Colbie said as he stood. “We think your energy has been lacking the past few performances. Pick it up, yeah?
Can’t have a weak link. I don’t want to make your agent aware of your shortcomings.” The spite in her voice couldn’t be denied.
He decided against retaliating, knowing full well any challenge to Colbie resulted in a swing being put on in his place and
a black mark against his name. It didn’t matter if she behaved like a rotten cow; in the theatre world, her name was gold
and a bad word from Colbie Paris meant saying goodbye to any dreams of being cast in another production. Instead, he gave
her the nicest, most shit-eating smile he could muster, vacated her office, and went straight to Dexter’s changing room.
Jonah didn’t knock; Dexter never offered him the courtesy of knocking, so Jonah returned the sentiment and allowed himself
full access to Dexter’s room whenever he felt like it. Dexter stood beside his clothing rack wearing only his boxers and bright
green socks, and he fumbled with the costume in his hand for a second before dropping it to the floor.
“You made me jump,” he complained, bending down to pick it up as Jonah closed the door behind him.
“Mind if I take a photo of you?” Jonah asked, taking his phone out of his pocket to open the camera, and pointed it toward Dexter. “Colbie wants the world to think we’re fucking each other so people buy theatre tickets.”
“Don’t you dare take a picture of me in my pants, Jonah.”
Jonah lowered the phone. “But social media would love it, Dex,” Jonah said, imitating Colbie’s voice. “You know what she said
to me the first time she pushed for us to be nice to each other? She said we don’t have to suck each other’s dicks, but make
people think we are.”
“Do you mean I didn’t have to give you blow jobs this whole time?” He picked up his costume and pulled it on over his head.
“I could have saved myself a lot of jaw ache.”
“What’s her fascination with wanting people to think we are a thing?” Jonah asked, sitting himself in Dexter’s dressing room
chair. “Best friends, boyfriends, whatever it is she wants us to be, is bloody weird.”
“I know. It’s why she hasn’t talked to me about it since, because I told my agent it made me uncomfortable.”
“What? Really?” Jonah’s voice came out higher than intended. “And Colbie backed off? Who the hell is your agent?”
“Stephen Carrington.”
Jonah sat up straight in the chair. “As in . . . the Stephen Carrington? How did I not know this?”
“He’s very discreet. Everyone wants him to be their agent, but he actually has very few clients.” Dexter adjusted his costume,
then cleared his throat. “He’s a dickhead, though.”
“But the best dickhead in the business, right?”
“He’s highly manipulative and doesn’t care about anyone other than himself. He’s formidable, sure, and represents some huge
names, but I wouldn’t call him the best in the business.”
Jonah stood up and helped Dexter to fix the back part of the collar on his costume. “He’s not done right by you?”
“He’s . . . he’s actually the ex I told you about, the one who I wanted my dad to meet.”
Jonah’s hands froze midair as he considered the weight of the admission Dexter made. “You were a couple?”
“Yeah. He signed me and about a year after that we started sleeping together and it went from there.”
“That’s . . . I don’t think that’s okay, Dex. He’s a lot older than you. Like . . . he’s old.”
Dexter sucked in his bottom lip, then shrugged. “His age didn’t bother me.”
“But you were young, and he was in a position of power.”
Dexter grimaced. “It wasn’t like that.”
“All right, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” Jonah said. He couldn’t see how it wasn’t a relationship created around
a power imbalance. “Isn’t it weird he’s still your agent now that you’re not together?”
“It was at first. Especially when . . . fuck, I don’t want to get into it. Either way, I signed an ironclad contract with
him and I couldn’t get out of it. I could leave now, but I would be stupid to. It’s all in the past, and he gets me work.
He got me Hector.”
“But not Achilles.”
Dexter scowled as he glared at Jonah. “Was there any need for that comment?”
“I’m just saying he didn’t get you the role you wanted, so why stay with him?”
“What does it matter? It’s nothing to do with you. And this is exactly why I said it’s not good to date people you work with.
It makes things awkward.”
Jonah raised his hands up to his chest in surrender. “Okay. Sorry. I only came in here to get a picture so I could post it
and write about how amazing you are.” Jonah paused for a moment. “Wait. I thought it was Henrik you were talking about dating
when you spoke about it before.”
“Henrik? No.” The way he scrunched up his nose as he said his name told Jonah there would never be any inkling of romance
between Dexter and Henrik. “That’s . . . way too complicated, and I can’t talk about it right now. Just take your picture,
then leave me alone.”
Jonah couldn’t tell if Dexter was actually pissed with him or if the sullen attitude came as an accessory to the pout on his lips.
He encouraged him to smile, then took a picture of him, his face illuminated by the lights surrounding his mirror, costume slightly out of place, eyes still filled with annoyance.
“Is it okay?” Dexter asked, swiping the phone from Jonah’s grip to critique himself. “My hair’s a mess.”
“It’s cute.”
“Cute?”
“Super cute.” Jonah reached up and ran his fingers through the blond strands. “You mad at me?”
“No.”
“Can I kiss you?”
Dexter thought for a moment. “Yes.”
Jonah closed the gap between them and felt Dexter’s lips against his. They fit together perfectly, two halves of a unique
shape. He wanted to know more about him, about the secrets he seemed to guard, about the people in his life and the stories
connected to them.
“So . . . the whole dating someone you work with thing. Is that because of what happened before? Do you still want us to just
be casual? A secret?” Jonah asked, the question caught up between their breaths.
Dexter pulled away, and Jonah felt the heat of his body fade. “Jonah,” he groaned. “I don’t know, okay?”
“Oh,” Jonah mumbled. “I’m sorry. I’m not even sure why I asked that.” He cleared his throat, then forced a smile. “You coming
to karaoke after the show tonight?”
“Yeah,” Dexter said awkwardly, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “I love karaoke.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Silence hung in the air as they looked at each other. They’d experienced the silence before, but it usually came from built-up
tension and ended in them taking each other’s clothes off in a heated frenzy. This silence, however, gave Jonah physical pain.
“I . . . um, I should go get ready for the show.”
“Yeah,” Dexter said with a nod.
“Break a leg and all that,” Jonah said, backing up to the door in quite possibly the most uncomfortable and horrendous way someone had ever tried to leave a room.
“The fuck are you doing?” Sherrie asked, seeing Jonah step out of the room like a burglar on a kids’ cartoon show.
“I literally have no idea,” he said and walked past her, swearing at himself under his breath and praying that the world would
implode so he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life replaying the exchange over and over again in his head.