All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language, please exit now.
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"Echoes from a Wishing Well"
Copyright Ritchris,2007
(Copyright revised, 2013)
A Story
by
Ritch Christopher
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chapter nine
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It had been a sad/happy whirlwind of a weekend for Art. He had put one son to rest and practically adopted a surrogate son to take his place. How many other parents could have been as fortunate as Art, having a huge void in his life filled so quickly and seemingly so perfectly? Several times during the past few days, Art had found himself just staring at Trent, almost unable to believe that it wasn't his own son, Ronnie. Damn! The two boys were so much alike in such minute details until Trent would open his mouth to speak and a glimmer of his Tennessee accent would filter through and break the otherwise-worldly illusion. It was as if everything that had happened over the last week had been scripted. Ronnie ready to begin his junior studies at the High School for the Performing Arts when fate stepped in, playing its trump card and this morning, Trent had gone in Ronnie's place.
Art had taxied to JFK airport with Cyrus and Dean. The two musicians were headed back to Tennessee while Art's plane lifted off at almost the same time, carrying the stage manager to Boston. The three had had time for one final cup of coffee at the Nook in the airport where they said their goodbyes and promised to keep in touch every week from now until Thanksgiving when Art would be going south with Trent to spend the holidays in Weston.
On hearing the latest developments, Colette was thrilled beyond words to learn that Trent would be staying in New York and she was to be his...his what? His nanny? No, Trent was too old to have a nanny...a Granny Dee, yes, but definitely not a nursemaid. A caretaker? No, that's someone who looks after furniture or a dwelling. No, Colette would be Trent's live-in companion. That sounded much better. Ronnie had left an empty spot in Colette's heart and Trent would assist her in her loss as well. She promised Art that she would be at the apartment by one o'clock to be there when Trent got home from school.
Art's flight from New York to Boston was a mere leapfrog. He barely had his seatbelt unfastened before a, somewhat mechanical voice informed the passengers that it was time to refasten their seatbelts for the landing in the Hub. The ride had taken a total of seventy minutes. With only a carry-on bag, Art beat the crowd out of the Boston airport, taking a cab to the Killebrew Hotel where all the cast was staying. He wanted Paul Warner, the producer, and George Claiborne, the show's director, to know he was back and available, in case there was a called rehearsal in the afternoon for this evening's performance.
As soon as Art checked in, the desk clerk handed half a dozen messages to him. All were from the producer, Paul. At the bottom of each note was written, 'URGENT! CALL ME ASAP!' Art took the elevator to the ninth floor, went inside his room, dropped his bag on the bed and went straight to the phone to call Paul.
"Hello?"
"Paul?"
"Art?"
"Yes."
"Where are you?"
"In my room on the ninth floor."
"I'm on the sixteenth. Get your ass up here as soon as possible."
"Right away, Paul!"
Art slammed down the receiver, ran out of his room to the elevator which, luckily, had remained on the ninth floor after Art had exited. In less than a minute, Art was tapping on Paul's door at room 1605.
"Come in! It's unlocked," Paul shouted. Art entered the room immediately. Paul stood up and offered a handshake to his stage manager. "God, it's good to see you, Art!"
"I thought you were still in New York. When did you get here?"
"I slipped in, unnoticed Saturday to catch the matinee and saw Saturday evening's show as well. I called for you. I was going to let you know I was here in Boston and nobody else. That's when I learned of your tragic news! I am SO sorry, Art. I know how talented Ronnie was...and I had big plans for him one day."
"Thanks, Paul. I'm sure he would've loved working with you, just as I always have."
"It's so strange. You know, I lost my Bobby when he was sixteen."
"I know..."
"Hearing about Ronnie brought memories of Bobby back to me. I don't know which is worse...having your son die a slow death, day in and day out, getting weaker and weaker, having strong pain and even stronger pain...or be taken out quickly, as Ronnie was. It hurts either way. Both our boys should have outlived the two of us. I swore to Bobby that I would take him in as a co-producer and make him a millionaire by the time he reached his twenty-first birthday."
"All Ronnie dreamed about was standing in the pit and directing the orchestra for one of your shows!"
"Is it alright if I ask, was Ronnie gay, Art?"
"Yes, yes, he was. We talked about it openly and he knew I approved."
"But he never got the disease that took my Bobby, did he?"
"No, Paul. I had Ronnie tested for HIV every month. He promised he would be safe and apparently, he was true to his word."
"I'll never know what asshole gave AIDS to Bobby. It could've been any one of a number of chorus singers or dancers who worked for us. You know, lots of 'em have it and are careful never to give it to anyone else."
"I don't blame the chorus boys as much as I blame those bastards in Washington who won't fund AIDS research to find a cure. They'd rather find ways for boys to get their heads blown off in some stupid war. For war, the government appropriates, hundreds of billions while I think cancer research got six-hundred million last year...and AIDS, not even a fourth of what cancer got. The drug companies are making zillions off their pitiful AIDS medications...and IF a cure were found tomorrow, they'd hide it in the closet or under a mountain of red tape, just to keep their AZT-like placebos on the market, ripping off Medicare and Medicaid."
"Well, Art, we can sit here all afternoon and all night discussing the Drug Industry Bandits, but that's not why I wanted to see you."
"I got your stack of notes from the desk clerk. What can I do for you, Paul?"
"Art, what's said in this room is like Las Vegas...it STAYS here. Right?"
"All right, sure."
"Art, what do you think of George Claiborne as a director?"
"Whew! I was hoping I'd never have to answer that question..."
"I have MILLIONS of dollars invested in this show. We have quite a lot of advance-sale business in New York, but if this show flops, they'll be standing at line at the box office to get refunds. I got word last week that this show was practically in shambles. That's why I slipped up here to see for myself. "
"What did you think of it, Paul?"
"I bought two tickets, anonymously, one for the matinee and one for the evening. After I saw the matinee, I was ready to ask for a refund on the evening ticket." He knew that this was the wrong time to laugh, but Art had to force himself to hide a self-satisfying grin.. "The leads are brilliant, I've hired the best talent available, but the score is hit and miss. I heard one good song and then two mediocre songs...then another good one and then one that really stunk. The book is fairly useable with some editing and tightening. But the overall picture is weak, almost pitiful, and the only person I can see to blame is George. That's why I want your honest opinion of him."
"Well, Paul, it's hard to criticize a director who has an Oscar, two Emmy's, and a Director's Guild Award on his mantel."
"Yes, but those were for work on screen and on television. George is no triple crown winner like Bob Fosse. The father of us all, George Abbott, could direct in all three media, yet his son-in-law, Hal Prince, couldn't. Hal is probably the most successful director on Broadway, but he couldn't direct movies. His attempts were flops. The intelligence of Hal's work is understood by New York theatregoers, but his films might just as well have been in Chinese--movie fans missed the point completely. What I'm saying it, I think George is out of his field, working on a Broadway musical. He's not the first Oscar winner to fail in live theatre, there have been dozens!"
"You want to get rid of George?"
"In a nutshell, yes!"
"Are you going to try to get Hal to replace him?"
"That's not my plan. I want YOU to replace him!"
"ME?"
"God damn it, Art! How long are you going to hide behind a stage manager's clipboard? You've got more theatre experience than George will EVER have. Don't think I don't know about the tips you've been giving him? According to certain members of the cast, your ideas are the only ones which are working."
"Shit! Who told?"
"It doesn't matter who told. When I have millions at stake, I have my little spies everywhere!"
"Paul, you know I'd do anything for you AND the show..."
"Good! I'll have my secretary call and have your name printed on the Playbill and the posters as soon as I fire the son-of-a-bitch! Fuck him! Fuck his Oscar! Fuck Hollywood!"
"When do you want me to start?"
"If I were you, I'd call a quick rehearsal this afternoon and start making changes ASAP. If it doesn't do anything more than raise the morale of the cast, that'll be a definite improvement."
"Thanks, Paul! I'll do my best." Art rose and started to leave, ready to jump and down at seeing his professional dream land in his lap, but Paul stopped him.
"I heard that you saw Cyrus Barnes and Dean Barger over the weekend."
"I did. They helped me with Ronnie's service."
"I also heard they're writing a new show..."
"What?"
"Don't look so goddamned surprised. I AM getting first dibs on producing it, aren't I?"
"Nobody else but, Paul!"
"By the way...this kid...the one they're writing the show for. Is he any good?"
"The best I ever heard, Art."
"You got anything for him that might improve our present show?"
"He needs a bit more seasoning, Paul. But HOW IN HELL did you know about Cyrus, Dean, Trent, and the new show?"
"Oh, is that the boy's name...Trent?"
"You mean you didn't know THAT?"
"It's Trent Matthews, isn't it?"
"You sly old bastard! REALLY, Paul, how did you dig up all this secret info?"
"Like I said, Art---I've got spies EVERYWHERE!"
Art shook his head in disbelief as he left. When the door had closed behind Art, Paul picked up the phone. "Room five-eight-nine, please." He waited. "Rita, you have Art's address in New York? Good! I want you to send a huge bouquet there to Art's assistant, Colette. Yes, and add a little note with the flowers...let it read, 'It worked like a charm! Thanks. Paul'...Now, Rita, I want you to call George Claiborne and tell him to get his ass up to my room, immediately!" Paul put down the phone, poured himself another cup of coffee, lit a cigar, and continued to read his trade magazine.
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When the cast learned that Art would be taking over as director, a sigh of relief was felt from stage right to stage left. They rehearsed from two until five, cutting dialogue, rearranging the order of songs, rewriting funny lines and lyrics. It was only Art's first day as director, but the show improved nearly seventy-five percent and everyone felt they were on the right track, getting the show in shape.
Paul had removed the Hollywood director and sent him packing back to L.A. He didn't watch any of Art's rehearsal, but went out to dine leisurely and came back to the theatre. Only this time, Paul didn't stand in back. He took a seat and waited for the overture to begin and observe what Art had done in one afternoon. About forty-five minutes into the first act, Paul was already out of his seat, standing and applauding with the rest of the audience. As usual, Paul's instincts had been right on target. Too bad he had wasted so much time, effort, and money by not letting Art direct the show from the beginning. Paul was confident that he would sleep tonight and could head back to New York the following morning. His investment was in good hands now!.
The cast was ecstatic by the way the show worked for the first time. After they took their final bow, they ran to mob Art with hugs, kisses, thank-you's, and congratulations. Art gave them a two o'clock call for Tuesday afternoon to make even more changes. The company left the theatre in a happy mood, for the first time.
It was 11:45 when Art called Trent. Trent had so much to tell Art and Art had big news to relay to Trent. When the phone rang, Trent yelled to Colette that he would answer it as it was probably Art calling.
"Hello?"
"Hey, little buddy!"
"Hey there, yourself, big Art!"
"I didn't wake you, did I?"
"I couldn't go to sleep until I talked with you."
"So how was your first day at school?"
"It was fantastic! I never knew school could be so much fun."
"Did you get a chance to let anyone hear you sing today?"
"Yes...last period...in singing class."
"Who's your teacher?"
"A Miss Florence Taggart..."
"FLO?"
"I guess. You know her?"
"Sure, we've done several shows together...including one that Cyrus and Dean wrote!"
"Then she knows you?"
"You better believe it. What did you sing?"
"'Being Alive,' from 'Company'!"
"Sondheim, again? Excellent choice! Did everyone like it?"
"I guess so. I practically got a standing ovation from my classmates!"
"Your FIRST standing ovation on Broadway, huh?"
Trent smiled to himself, "Since you put it that way, yeah, I guess it was."
"E pluribus unum?"
"Huh?"
"One of many! It's on all the U.S. money."
"How's your show, Art?"
"Well, the producer wasn't too pleased when I met with him at noon. He...he made a few drastic changes."
"Uh oh. I thought it was the director's job to make changes, not the producer."
"Well, as far as the show itself, it IS left up to the director, but the producer controls the purse strings. He does the hiring and firing."
"Oh, gosh! You...you didn't lose your job, did you?"
"Well, yes, I did..."
"CRAP! The producer didn't know what he was doing! Uncle Dean and Uncle Cyrus, BOTH, said you were the best in the business."
"Well, all things come to an end some time. I'm afraid, I've seen my last days as a Broadway stage manager."
"Good Lord, Art! What are you gonna do for a job?"
"I...I thought I might try my hand at directing."
"GOOD! Dean says that's what you SHOULD be doing. Are there any prospects for a director's job."
"At present, I don't know of any opening."
"Heck! You...you want me to quit school and see if we can get a refund on the tuition? You know, just to have some money to pay rent, buy groceries, and things like that."
"No, no, Trent. Tuition is NOT refundable. That's another reason why I wanted you to go in Ronnie's place. Otherwise, the school would've just kept the money and no one would have benefited from it."
"So...are you coming back home to New York to look for a job?"
"Oh? Didn't I tell you? I HAVE a new job!"
"No, you didn't! What is it and WHERE is it?"
"As of noon today, 'La-Di-Da', the show I was working for as stage manager...hired me to become their new director!"
"Are you kidding me?"
"Nope. I'm the new director!"
"WOW! I thought I'D had a good day...but we BOTH had one! I'm so happy for you."
"For us, Trent. For you and me."
"Do you really mean that? For me and you?"
"One-hundred percent. Since I don't have Ronnie to share my happiness with, I'm so grateful that I have you." Art suddenly was aware of an unexpected sound. "Trent? Are you crying?"
"...uh, just a little..."
"I hope you're shedding tears of joy..."
"I am, Art. I...I've never been so happy. Last week, I was the saddest person on earth and now, all that's changed."
"Trent, we barely know one another...and yet, the bond we share, both loving Ronnie, has brought us so closely together."
"I feel the bond, too, Art."
"Little man, I want you with me as long as you'll stay. I'll love you just as I did Ronnie. He was all I had...until I met you."
"You know, when I first met Uncle Cyrus and Uncle Dean, I'd lie in my bed at night and wonder how it would be if one or both of them could be my adopted 'dad'? Since my real dad died, I...I've had no male in my life...I've only had Granny Dee and there are things I could never discuss with her...you know, man talk?"
"I know. It makes it kinda rough when you need someone to talk with but have no one."
"Well, Granny Dee, Uncle Cyrus and Uncle Dean are seven hundred miles away and I'm alone in a big new city. I think I need a man in my life...not a gay man...just a man...you know...like a dad..."
"Trent, are you asking me to be your dad?"
"Up here, well, you're all I have...except for Colette and she's not really family, the way you are."
"If that's what you're asking...then I accept."
"Now I really AM crying."
"You know what? Me, too, Trent. I wish I were there to hug you."
"Me too."
"I've got an idea. I'll have Colette call the airlines and schedule you a flight to Boston Friday afternoon when your school lets out and you come on up to be with me. You can see the show...from out front or from behind stage, whichever you prefer. We can have dinner together and spend most of Sunday until you fly back to New York Sunday night."
"Are you trying to get my heart to burst out of my chest? I could shout!"
"Go ahead...but don't let anything hurt that big heart of yours. I have plans for it. Lots of plans."
"Now I'll NEVER go to sleep tonight!"
"Tell Colette my good news and ask her to fix you a cup of hot cocoa to help you sleep."
"I will."
"Just think, in four more days, we'll be together!"
"I can't wait, Art!"
"I can't either, son."
A moment of profound silence..then, "You...you called me, son."
"Sorry, did you mind?"
"Heck, no! Can I call you Dad or Daddy Art?"
"Well, Art or...no, Daddy Art would be wonderful!"
"OKAY! From now on, you're Daddy Art!"
"Ha! Now I can't stop crying."
"I'm so proud of you...Daddy Art! Congratulations on your big promotion!"
"Don't congratulate me too much. I'm a tyrant when I'm directing. Just wait until I get you on the boards for the first time."
"E pluribus unum?"
"You got it! E pluribus unum and duo and tres and quattuor! We're gonna do LOTS of shows together! But I want you to go to bed so that you'll have another good day at school tomorrow."
"Yes, Daddy Art!" Trent replied and laughed. "You've been my father less than five minutes and you're already ordering me around."
"Well, you'd better mind me. Otherwise I'll have Colette to spank your little butt!"
"That sounds like fun!"
"Good night, Trent. I'm proud of you. Have a good day and I'll call you tomorrow night about the same time."
"Good night, Daddy Art."
"I...I love you, Trent..."
"I love you, too!"
The phone called ended and Trent began to scream and dance around his bedroom. Colette came rushing in.
"Good heavens! What's the matter?"
"I just talked to Art."
"Then from the way you're jumping up and down, I guess he told you that he's the new director?"
"How did you know? Did he talk to you?"
"No...but I have ways of knowing things...and they're going to be good things from now on."
"Well, smarty, do you know that Art wants me to be his son?"
"No, that I didn't know...but I'm thrilled to death for both of you! Art needs you as much as you need him."
"You knew that too, didja?"
"Some things that happen are heaven blessed. This is one of them!"
"I'm supposed to ask you to fix me some hot cocoa!"
"You're so excited, I ought to fix you TWO cups!"
"So make two...only you have one with me!"
"Good idea. Come on out into the kitchen and give me a hand!"
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Trent and Colette were seated on bar stools on opposite sides of the kitchen island, sipping their hot cocoa. Outwardly, neither was saying a word, but they were communicating all kinds of messages with their eyes as both had big smiles on their faces.
"What?" Trent giggled.
"I was just looking at you, wondering when in my life I had ever seen anyone as happy as you," Colette replied.
"Then take a good look and remember it because you'll never see anyone again as happy as I am right now!"
"How does it feel to be Art's son?"
"Probably the same way that Ronnie must've felt."
"Do you think the hot cocoa will help you sleep?"
"I doubt if a whole bottle of Granny Dee's Carter's liver pills could put me to sleep tonight."
"Would you like to play some video games, watch a movie, or do something to get your mind off your excitement?"
"Do you know anything about computers?"
"Lots! I have to work with them every day."
"Is it hard to learn?"
"No one will ever master everything there is to know about computers, but I can teach you lots of things. Once you learn how to surf the Internet, that'll be plenty for you for right now."
"Would you show me how to use the one in Ronnie's room?"
"You mean in YOUR room. That's your room from now on. You might as well get used to thinking of it as your room. That's YOUR computer now."
"I...I looked at it and, heck, I don't even know how to turn it on."
"Bring your cocoa and I'll show you the basics."
Trent followed Colette into his bedroom and she seated him before the monitor and keyboard.
"What do I do first?"
"Well, this big box is called the tower. The 'on' button is located here. Push it." Trent turn it on. "Now this screen is called the monitor. It has an 'on' button on the side. Push that." Trent completed the second command and soon 'Windows' appeared on the screen.
"Hey, Colette. So far, so good!"
"Fine. Now you'll have to choose a password...a secret word, known only to you. That password'll allow you access to get inside the computer and log onto the Internet."
"Can I choose ANY WORD?"
"Yes, but choose one that you won't forget!"
"I got it!"
"Good! Now type it in!"
Trent used the old hunt and peck keyboard method until he typed in his secret password. Then Colette proceeded to show him three simple steps to log onto his ISP and voila! he was ready to surf Al Gore's highway.
"Now what?"
"Your best friend on a computer will be a site called, 'Google dot com'. Once you log onto Google, you can find the world."
"What if I wanted to find a list of Stephen Sondheim songs?"
"Type, Google, hit a dot, and type com." Trent did and Google appeared. "Now type 'Stephen Sondheim songs', and hit the enter button on the keyboard." In 0.12 seconds, 672,000 items appeared.
"Good gosh! Is that for real?"
"You see it, don't you? All those sites are at your disposal now."
"What if I wanted to look up Stephen Sondheim song lyrics?"
"Type it in the bar! Yes, right up there."
` This command was even quicker...0.11 seconds and 272,000 choices popped up!
"I don't believe what I'm seeing!"
"If you want to narrow your search, click on ANY of the sites and type the name of a Sondheim song." Slowly, but meticulously, Trent typed, 'There Won't Be Trumpets', the song Art had played when he came into the living room earlier in the day to go to school. The lyrics appeared and Trent reached for a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen and hurriedly began to copy the words. "No, no, Trent, you don't have to do that. Point that little arrow, it's called a cursor. up to the word file,". Trent did so. "Now point the arrow to the word, 'print'." Suddenly the lyrics scrolled out of the printer while Trent watched in awe. It was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen, outside of Granny's cow giving birth to a calf!
"THIS was Ronnie's computer...all by himself?"
"Yes, Trent, why?"
"'Cause I don't know of any kid in Weston who has his own computer. I mean, people always talk about the south being backward...and no wonder! Do all kids up here have computers?"
"Nearly all, Trent."
"I used Dean's computer to write letters back and forth with Ronnie, but I thought only grownups had 'em!"
"Tomorrow or the next day, I'll give you your next lesson. There are many games you can play on the Internet."
"I think I'll be too busy looking up Sondheim to play silly games."
"Well, don't stay up too long. Let that cocoa do it's duty and put you to sleep. You have a busy day at school tomorrow."
"I...I just want to look at a few more and then I'll go to bed. I promise."
"All right, Trent. I'll go lie down and watch some TV. If you need me, you know where I am."
"Thanks, Colette."
"I just want to congratulate you again, for winning Art's heart the way you did. If you're serious about show business, Art can open lots of doors for you."
"I...I don't want Art to think that's why I like him so much. I mean, in just a few days, he's become almost like a real father to me."
"THAT, my dear Mr. Matthews, is something I already knew!" Colette said good-night and left Trent at the computer.
Trent went from site to site, looking up Sondheim music and found dozens of songs which he already knew but now found that Steve had written them and it surprised Trent. He picked up his pen and paper and jotted down a few titles and then, as he promised Colette, he went to bed. The computer had made the cocoa lose it's sleeping effect, so for the first time since Ronnie died, Trent masturbated to help him relax and he fell asleep.
The following morning, he was up and alert, once again, before his alarm went off. He cleaned up in the bathroom, donned his clothes and leather jacket. Colette was still asleep. So, Trent put a couple of Pop-Tarts in the toaster and had breakfast. There was a note on the kitchen island with a key and key chain attached. Colette had left Trent his very own key to the apartment and now he really felt he was grown up and part of Art's family.
He skipped down the stairs onto West 74th Street and headed toward Amsterdam Avenue. He discovered that the blocks between New York avenues were four times as long as the blocks between the numbered streets. He was on 74th and the school was on 52nd...roughly twenty-two short blocks or two miles. He walked farther than that from Granny Dee's to Weston High. He had plenty of time before school started, so he decided to walk to school. The fall air was crisp and chilly, but Trent felt warm beneath the leather jacket. He saw many parts of New York he'd never seen. Around W. 65th, on the right, he saw Lincoln Center and that gave him a thrill. He knew that's where Leonard Bernstein had conducted and Pavarotti had sung. Trent, being Trent, couldn't help himself from singing all the way down Broadway. Sondheim songs, of course! People were turning around to stare as he belted out Sondheim's 'Everything's Coming Up Roses!' and 'Comedy Tonight'.
In no time at all, he was at W. 52nd and Broadway, nearer Eighth Avenue and the Merman Theatre, and could see his fellow juniors standing and palavering about their first day at school yesterday. He hadn't seen Angio, Rick, or Steve after the class had been divided into groups of fifteen and he was a bit sorry that his only friends were not in the same section with him. However, in the distance, as he approached the school, he saw Angio who waved at him.
"Hey, Trent!" Angio yelled.
"Hey there, Angio! Man, it's good to see you."
"Same here."
"It's too bad we didn't get put into the same group."
"Oh, we'll all change groups in a few weeks. That way, eventually, everyone in the junior class will get to know everyone else and do scenes with each other."
"I hope we're together when they change."
"Me, too. I...I heard you kinda showed everyone up in singing class yesterday."
"Oh, who told you that?"
"It's all over the school. Everyone is talking about your singing voice."
"You're full of baloney!"
"Believe me! I...I sing, too, Trent!"
"You're kidding? I thought you were here for straight acting?"
"Ah, I used to sing soprano in the boys' choir at church."
"You sure don't sound like a soprano now!"
Angio laughed. "Naw! When my voice started changing, I was twelve, and my parents made me start private singing lessons."
"Wow! You must be pretty good, yourself."
"I'll bet YOU'RE better!"
"We'll just have to find out, won't we?"
"Probably sooner than you expected. Did Miss Taggart see you after school yesterday?"
"I had her for my last period but she didn't talk with me after class."
"I'm surprised. I had her thirty-minute class just before lunch, and then, when school let out at two, she stopped me on the stairs just as I was ready to leave to go home. She asked if I knew you and I told her that you and I had met before orientation. Then she said something about the administrator wanting some of the junior class to stay late Friday afternoon and meet some of the seniors. She complimented me on my singing and told me how you had thrilled your section...and she wondered if it were possible for you and me to sing a solo each or a duet to show the seniors how talented the new junior class was."
"You and me? Singing a duet?"
"Yeah. Would you be interested?"
"Heck, yeah! What would we sing?"
"That's up to us. The school has this big musical library on tapes and discs. It's kinda like Broadway karaoke...only it's full orchestra playing the original Broadway arrangements in the original keys. They've got EVERY show possible."
"Gosh! Us? Singing with a full orchestra?"
"Yes, only we've got to pick a song or two and find sometime to rehearse...just the two of us."
"We could rehearse at MY apartment. We have two pianos and we've got all kinds of sound equipment. Do you think you could come home with me this afternoon and we'll get on the computer and see what songs we want to sing."
"Sure can! Where do you live?"
"On West 74th. We can take the subway or a taxi. I WALKED to school this morning!"
"I love to walk, too!"
"OKAY! Let's meet here in the doorway as soon as school is out this afternoon!"
"Sounds like a plan."
MORE excitement for Trent. When would it ever stop? When he entered the building, Miss Taggart stopped him to tell Trent what she has told Angio the day before, but Trent, being one step ahead of her, said, 'Yes!' without her asking him to perform on Friday. Angio was almost as good as Trent, according to Flo Taggart's judgment and the two would make an entertaining duo and they'd do their sophomore class proud!
Trent's second day at school was just as much fun as the first day. Although he had had a strenuous workout in movement class and expected to wake up with sore muscles, come Wednesday morning. Two o'clock came and there came Angio, bouncing down the stairs to meet Trent and the two began their trek back up Broadway, over to Amsterdam, and then up to W. 74th. As they approached Art's apartment, Angio slowed down and seemed almost reticent about entering the building. As they entered the elevator, Trent observed Angio's slight reluctance but really didn't pay much attention as he thought the walk had tired Angio out a bit. Trent pulled out his door key to use it for the first time, just as Colette opened the door from the other side. She stopped and stared at Angio before she greeted Trent.
"ANGIO!" Colette exclaimed.
"Hello, Colette," Angio replied.
Trent was totally confused by their greeting one another. "You...you two, know one another?"
"Only slightly," Angio said. "I...I'll...we'll talk about it later."
"Well, come on in, both of you, and I'll fix you both some snacks." Colette said, making a fast exit to the kitchen.
"Come on, Angio, let me show you my room and we'll turn on the computer."
Angio slowly followed Trent into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.
"I...I'm sorry for acting so strangely, Trent, but this is ALL too weird!"
"What's weird?"
"You, this place....Colette."
"Angio, please sit down on the bed and explain. What's so weird?"
"Yesterday, when I met you...I couldn't believe how much you looked like Ronnie."
"I told you that everyone says that...including Ronnie's dad, Art."
"Yes, but...here you are living in Ronnie's apartment and living in Ronnie's bedroom!"
"Did you visit Ronnie here before?"
"Yeah...lots of times. I mean, seeing you here, the spitting image of Ronnie...it's all too weird."
"Were you and Ronnie close friends, Angio?"
"You...you might say that we were very close..."
"Okay, I've got to know. Did you ever spend the night in this room with Ronnie?"
Angio sighed, "Yes, Trent, lots of times."
"Then I don't have to ask the next question, do I?"
"No, Trent, I guess you don't..."
"Were you and Ronnie boyfriends?"
"No, not boyfriends."
"But you slept together...?"
"That was just fun...fooling around together. You know how best buddies get together to, well, you know, to get off together!"
"So were you gay like Ronnie?"
"I don't know, Trent. I could never decide if I was or not. I mean, what we did felt good...but that's about all there was to it. We weren't passionate lovers or anything like that. I hope you'll pardon me if I sound crass and naive, but we used to kid each other, pretending we really were in love, but neither of us ever was...we'd jerk off together...stop and have cokes and sandwiches, jerk off again, then we'd both turn over and go to sleep."
"You, uh, never kissed him?"
"No, not once. As I said, emotional feelings never came into the picture with us. It was merely physical and nothing more."
"Oh..."
"Now do you mind if I ask you some of the same questions?"
"I...I guess not...only my answers might be different from yours."
"You were in love with Ronnie?"
"Heart and soul."
"And Ronnie? Was he in love with you?"
"He said he was."
"How long did you know him?"
"Two weeks, when he came down to Tennessee to spend some time with two of his dad's friends, Cyrus Barnes and Dean Barger."
"Barnes and Barger? You know both of them?"
"They were my neighbors!"
"Good grief! I don't have to ask you how you wound up here in New York, living at Ronnie's place."
"Ronnie wanted me to go to school with him and my granny couldn't afford to send me. Then when Ronnie was killed, I came up for the funeral and Art asked if I wanted to use Ronnie's tuition at the school."
"So if you and Ronnie were in love, that means YOU'RE gay?"
"No, not really. Like you, I knew I loved Ronnie, but I wasn't sure if I was gay. I mean, I had my first date with a girl just two weeks ago. Prior to Ronnie, there had been no boy in my life either. I...I'm probably the closest person to being gay in all Weston, Tennessee. We don't have gay people...well, with two exceptions."
"You mean Cyrus and Dean, don't you?" Angio smiled knowingly.
"I...I won't tell tales about them..."
"Trent, everyone in the business knows they're gay. They're proud of it--and very honest."
"KNOCK! KNOCK!" Colette said on the other side of the door. Trent opened it and Colette was standing in the doorway with a tray of snacks and diet Cokes. "This ought to fill a couple of hungry, starving young actors!"
"Wow! Bagels, cream cheese and olives!" Angio said. "My favorite!"
"You really like bagels?" Trent asked.
"You're not a true New Yorker unless you love bagels! Isn't that right, Colette?"
"That's what I've been trying to teach Trent ever since I met him."
"Don't worry! I'll make a New Yorker out of him!" Angio replied.
"We're gonna look up some tunes on the computer," Trent explained. "Angio and I have been asked to sing for the senior class on Friday."
"What time?"
"Around two."
"I..I've made you an airline reservation for five o'clock, so hurry home when you're finished."
"You're going away this weekend?," Angio asked, turning to Trent.
"Yes. Art's show is doing previews of 'La Di Da' in Boston and he's asked me to fly up and see the show on Saturday."
"You lucky dog, you! I'd kill to see a preview!"
"Colette, d'you think Art would let me bring Angio with me?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that, Trent!," Angio protested, though it was plain to see that he'd never had such a chance in his life
"Why not? It's not like I'm going to Boston to sleep with Art. We're just gonna have dinner see the show and have a good time. Colette, What'd'you think?"
"Looks like I'd better make that reservations for two people!" Colette said.
"You really don't think Art would mind, do you, Colette?"
"Trent, Art would love to see BOTH of you. Once he sees you have a friend, he's going to be MORE than delighted."
"Do you think your parents will let you go, Angio?"
"Just let them try to stop me and I'll move out of the house!"
"I can't believe this, Colette," Trent said. "Just when I think I'm the happiest person alive, something else GOOD happens."
"Well, you know how Stephen Sondheim phrased it!"
"Yeah, 'everything's coming up roses...this time for me!'. I sang that song all the way to school this morning."
"On the subway?"
"No, I walked."
"Now THAT'S what a typical New Yorker would do!" Colette smiles as she left.
"Okay, let's turn on the computer and pick out a song!" Angio said.
The computer had not been turned off all night or all day. It was still cued up to 'Sondheim songs'.
"Hey! Here's a good Sondheim duet!"
"What?"
"Together, Wherever We Go!"
"I love it, but keep looking!"
The two boys sat side by side scrolling page after page through literally hundreds of Sondheim tunes and lyrics...looking for the 'perfect' duet.
"Angio, how brave are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I've got an idea that will knock their socks off!" Trent said.
"What's that got to do with my being brave? You want to sing, 'You've Gotta Have A Gimmick' and you're gonna ask me to strip?"
"No, but it's not a bad idea...!"
"Then what?"
"Can I ask you somethin' kinda personal?"
"What's more personal that my telling you that I jerked off with your boyfriend?"
"Well, it's the kinda question we don't ask, down South?"
"Okay. What is it?"
"Are you Puerto Rican?"
"No, I'm Italian. Why? Just because I look as if I have a sun-tan in mid-winter?"
"You COULD pass for Puerto Rican?"
"I suppose. What are you getting at?"
"You said you never kissed Ronnie...?"
"I didn't!"
"Have you ever kissed ANY boy?"
"Not that I can remember. And I think I'd remember that!"
"Well, would you?"
"Would I what! Kiss a boy?"
"Yes!"
"Who?"
"ME!"
"You want to sing a duet and have me kiss you?"
"IF you're brave enough to try it, I'm game."
"What song did Sondheim write where two boys kiss?"
"He didn't!"
"So what are you talking about?"
"THIS!" Trent pointed to a show and a song on the monitor.
"But that's a duet between a boy and a girl!"
"It doesn't HAVE to be. Suppose if WAS two boys. Look at the lyrics. If the scene were written for two gay boys, why wouldn't it work?"
"You're nuts! You know that, Trent?"
"Think about it, Angio, before you say no."
"You're right about one thing. It would DEFINITELY knock their socks off."
"Do you think Miss Taggart would be upset?"
"I doubt it. Gays are accepted in New York and if we were playing the scene that way...Oh boy! I can see the looks on the senior class faces!"
"Want to do it?"
"You got a copy of the script?"
"Art does in his study."
"Go get it and let's read through the scene."
Trent ran to get the script and was back in a flash. He had TWO copies and handed one to Trent while they turned the pages to the middle of the first act. The scene worked wonderfully. They sang the song a capella and their voices blended as two notes on the same pipe organ. Angio's only fear was if Sondheim found out about it, would he sue? Probably not since Steve had been outted a few years back and all the gay choruses across the country specialized in his songs.
"Want to practice the kiss now?" Trent asked.
"Might as well. If we're going to kiss in front of an audience, there's no reason why we shouldn't kiss in private."
They read the scene again, sang the song, but when the two got to the point in the script where the lovers kissed, Trent leaned forward to touch his lips to Angio's. Trent could feel Angio's pucker trembling from sheer nerves, so Trent pressed his mouth harder on Angio's. The two held the kiss longer than they had planned and soon Trent put his arms around Angio's back. Angio followed Trent's lead and IF they were acting, they could have convinced the smuggest skeptics that the kiss was real. Trent suddenly felt weak in his knees. Memories of the nights with Ronnie all but took over as Trent had his eyes closed. Angio, being very perceptive, realized that he became Trent's emotional substitute for Ronnie, but Angio didn't resist, as the moment became special to him as well. Acting became reality and would have made Stanislavki proud. Whether or not both were trying to ease the pain of having lost Ronnie or just being deeply involved in a dramatic scene, a strong friendship formed between them.
When the kiss ended, both faces stayed just a few inches apart as they stared deeply into the other's eyes.
"Whoa! What was that?" Angio sighed.
"I...I don't know, but I think we ought to rehearse it again."
"Uh...I do too...you know, just to make sure it'll be convincing to an audience..."
"If I say something to you, will you promise not to get mad?"
"I just kissed you, why should I get mad?"
"Monday, during orientation, you kept nudging my knee with yours... Were you hinting at something?"
"It's uh...a game gay New Yorkers play. Had you been gay, you'd have press your knee back against mind, but, you kept moving away, so I assumed you were one-hundred percent straight."
Looking at Angio, puzzled, Trent asked, "So NOW what do you think?"
"Well, after spending the last half hour kissing you, I'm wondering if I'M straight!"
"Down South, we have a phrase called, 'kissin' cousins'. I really don't know what it means, but if we ARE both straight, we can be 'kissin' friends."
"Trent, what happens if we find out we aren't straight?"
"Only time will tell, Angio...time will tell..."
Before Angio left to go home, they had the scene down...perfectly. They would pick up the orchestral accompaniment tomorrow and rehearse together every afternoon that week.
Friday, when the senior class assembled, just as Trent and Angio had predicted, the seniors, all but gasped when the two sophomores performed the balcony scene and sang 'Tonight' from Sondheim's 'West Side Story'! The dialogue remained in its entirety as Arthur Laurents had written it back in 1955, changing only the last word.
Angio held Trent's hands and whispered, "Te adoro, Anton."
Trent replied by looking into Angio's dark eyes, concluding with the line, "Te adoro, Mario."
The audience arose en masse to give them a standing ovation and some of the teachers were buzzing what a great idea the show would be if the two lovers from the opposing gangs were guys.
Trent held Angio's hand while they took their applause. At one point, they stopped to look at each other, both looking forward to an weekend in Boston.
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(To be continued in 'Echoes From A Wishing Well' chapter ten...next week!).