Lauriewas trembling.He hid the reaction carefully, driving it deep underhis skin.“I suppose so,” he said, then followed Arnold’s clumsyprogress down the aisle and added firmly, “Yes.Yes, itwas.”
“Well, take it from an old man who’s worked his way throughmany satisfactions and their opposite—sometimes the mostsatisfactory things turn out not to be the best.”
Laurieturned to him, surprised.He’d been defending Sir Ralf’s world—orso he’d thought—against the intrusion of Arnie’s.Againstcommercialism, pushy modern management that didn’t respect thedignities of London’s ancient theatrical establishment...“I don’tunderstand.”
“Never mind.Come along, you young chameleon—you’re here toshow me Romeo, not the famous Fitzroy temper.Hop onto that stageand pick up your cue from Benvolio.Mymind misgives some consequence yet hanging in thestars...”
***
Romeolooked around old man Capulet’s sumptuous ballroom.He wasrestless, nervy, in that stage of infatuated youth where the heartknows just enough to feel its lack.He did love fair Rosaline—ofcourse he did, and would forever and ever—but what was that ache,that hollow pain inside his ribs?As if he were ripe for something,ready, and had no idea of how to bring himself tofruit...
Hothouse fruit.Another forced,overwrought performance by the hothoused darling of the WestEnd...Romeo knew that was bollocks, butmaybe Fitzroy had better be careful.Perhaps he should work a bitmore on technique and not just let his lines and situation sweephim away.
Perhapshe should think.
His earspopped, and he was just Laurie, mid-stage in a vast, bareauditorium.Not a prop or a backdrop to aid him, because althoughSir Ralf insisted on his theatre locale from the very beginning, hedidn't want his actors to lean on externals.He wanted them tocreate the scenes around them, spinning them out of their ownessential selves.
That waswhat Laurie did best.He blinked in confusion.Around him wereCapulet hangers-on and servants, watching him curiously.Waiting.Fitzroy, the stage phenomenon who could transform not only himselfbut a whole cast and crew around him into a cohesive unit, makethem forget their unpaid rent and Equity dues and fly them all offto Verona.Down in the pit, Sir Ralf was waiting too, sitting thirdrow back in the exact seat Paul Jacobs had used to occupy at theRaynes, and suddenly Laurie wished himself back into that shabbylittle theatre—into the comfort of that warm gaze—with an intensitythat took his breath away.
“I need a moment.”That was no good.That was the wayfirst-rehearsal virgins began their lines, before they realised thespace they had to fill with their voice.Laurie had neverunderstood why people struggled with projection.You just breathed,didn't you?Breathed, let your lungs sense the periphery of youraudience, the very last person at the back of the gods, and youspoke.Not even Second Servant, three foot away from him with anapkin, had heard that.Laurie cleared his throat and tried again.“Sir Ralf, I'm sorry.I need a few moments.Will you excuseme?”
Hedarted out into the wings.Everything was tubes at the Barbican,long featureless corridors, modern and too damn clean.If he'd donethis at Rayne's End, or even at the Queen's, he'd have stumbledimmediately into a chaos of costume rails and cables.Now he wasalone, running down a bright-lit vacuum into nowhere.He shovedopen a pair of double doors and let them slam behind him.It wasdark in here, thank God.He staggered to a halt, clenching a handon the cold metal bar of a fire door.He pressed his other hand tothe wall.Beneath its palm, glass creaked and gave, and he snatchedhis hand back before he could set off the fire alarm and completehis absolute humiliation here.
At leastRomeo hadn't decided a mobile phone in his back pocket might not befitting to his part.Laurie dragged it out, clumsily hitting aspeed-dial key, but that was okay.He only had one person on thatlist.He sank down against the breeze-block wall, drawing his kneesto his chest.
Sashapicked up on the second ring.Belatedly Laurie remembered thatSasha had meetings this morning, important ones, but still hepicked up, and still he sounded as if Laurie were the only personin the world worth talking do.As if Laurie had called him at theperfect place, perfect time, and nothing else mattered.“Laurie?You all right, ves'tacha?Did you get finished withRomeo?”
I think he's finished with me, possibly forever.Laurie couldn't get a word out.He dropped hisbrow to his knees and rocked, the phone clamped to his ear.Sasharepeated his name a few times in increasing concern, then saidcalmly, “Okay.I'll be there.I'll come.”
Lauriefound his voice.“No!God, no.You're busy.”
“Not just now.Matter of fact, I'm just down the road from you.I had to come out to the Red Cross office.Can you meetme?”
“No.I...I've got to stay here.Oh, Sash...”
“I'm coming.Where are you?”
Nobloody idea.Dragging together the last of his strength andinitiative, Laurie unfolded from his foetal curl and hauled backone of the fire doors to look out.“Somewhere on Silk Street, nearthe underground car park.Do you know where that is?”
“Sure I do,” Sasha said cheerfully.“The soup kitchen nearthere used to be great.You just hang on.”
Laurietook him literally.He closed a painful grip round the edge of thefire door and hung on to it with one hand, breathing the rainy cityair and letting its soft grey whisper fill his head.He couldn't besure how much time had gone by but his heart had only just begun toease its frantic pounding when his lover appeared.Sasha, hisbeautiful urban fox—so handsome and well dressed these days thatevery head should have turned at the sight of him, and yet none ofthe lunchtime crowd looked twice.Laurie understood this.Sasha'slife had depended for so long on his ability to blend into thebackground that the gift had stayed with him.He was for Laurie'seyes only, a bittersweet privilege born of fear.
No.One other person saw him.A figure in a grey hooded top,flickering like the rain between one parked car and the next.Notthe new-made Sandrine Fulton returning from her acting class:someone taller and thinner than that, spectrally thin, makingLaurie's skin creep with the sense of warped familiarity.“Iknowyou,” he whispered,letting go of the door.He had to get to Sasha—shield him, warnhim...But there was no need.Sasha had silently crossed the spacebetween them and was holding out his arms.One step more and Lauriewas caught, held fast.“Sweetheart,” Sasha said against his ear.“What the hell is it?You look like you just met your ownghost.”
I feel like I met yours.That was it,finally, that sense of recognition.“Sash, do you have anybrothers?”
Sashapushed him back through the fire doors.The cyclists locking uptheir bikes at the kerbside stand were starting to look.“Dozens,probably.”
“What?”
“Old Stefan wasn't known for self-restraint.I don't think heput it about while my mother was with him, but...she wasn't.Notfor very long.Now, I'll stand here and talk to you about familyhistory for as long as you like, but I don't think that's whyyou're offstage during rehearsal time.”And shivering like a scared cat,Sasha wanted to add, but instead kept silent and stroked himlike one, a hand across his cheekbone and into the hair at the backof his neck, a firm calming hold on his scruff.“Whathappened?”
“Romeo.That is....hedidn'thappen.I tried, but I was just me.I can't makethe shift.I can't change.”
“You're not a werewolf.You're a hardworking actor, and a totalpro.The last time you missed a rehearsal was when you thought yoursister had been kidnapped by terrorists.”
Laurie stared at him.Therewaswork involved, wasn't there?Ithad been easy for him for so long that he'd forgotten.Butinspiration was sometimes the result of sheer graft, in the sameway that a sixth sense could be described as a hypernormalfunctioning of the other five.You learned your part and yourstagecraft, and it all reached critical mass and you took off.“Yes.Sorry.I’m being an amateur here.”
