“Why?”
“Who do you see as the phantom?”
“Why, Sebastian, of course.”
Oh yeah. Ideas whirled around Henri’s brain. “No, it’s me. Sebastian is the singer. And there has to be roles for everyone in my band.”
“I don’t know, Henri. What would the public think? No one’s tried anything this ambitious since The Who filmedTommy.”
“They’ll think whatever they want to. Isn’t that the beauty of the theater, to set the stage and let audiences’ imaginations take them where they want to go? If they want to make this homoerotic, let them. If they want a buddy story, that’s okay too.”
“I don’t know, Henri.”
“Make it happen. But I’m not mentioning the project to Sebastian until you’ve got the story in hand. Oh, and backers, though I’m willing to put up the money.”
“Your name alone will get interest.” Lucas sounded fully on board—and fully awake—now. “Let me see what I can do.”
“You make it happen. And Lucas?”
“Yes?”
“Be here first thing in the morning for your son. He needs you.”
Henri hung up and crept back into the room to take his place beside Seb. For years he’d been surrounded by folks with their hands out, wanting more, more, more, more, more. Seb wanted comfort and Henri’s arms around him. If that was all he’d take, Henri would give whatever he could. “Everything’s going to be all right,” he whispered, pulling his sleeping lover to his chest.
