Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Re: Poster!

~Luscious~ Spriggs <[email protected]>
to Stede

Yeah sorry Stede I’m not gonna print that. It’s for your own good, trust me.

Mary was not a theatre person.

She’d considered saying that in her program bio, but then she remembered the time she’d made the mistake of using those words in Stede’s hearing. He’d taken it as a song cue, launching into a very confusing one-man rendition of the title song from Rent. So that was out. But the fact remained.

Ed and Stede had sent everyone their bios as examples, but they’d been less than helpful. Ed’s was very professional:

Edward Teach (El Gallo/Co-Director). Nassau High mainstage: Cyrano de Bergerac (Christian), You Can’t Take It With You (Tony), Romeo and Juliet (Romeo), Arsenic and Old Lace (Mortimer), Hamlet (Hamlet), The Crucible (John Proctor). Nassau High black box: The Importance of Being Earnest (Algernon), Massive Aggression (Jeff), Art (Yvan), Sea of Troubles (Kraken), The Pillowman (Katurian). Elsewhere (highlights): A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Theseus/Oberon), Richard III (Richard III), Much Ado About Nothing (Benedick), Brighton Beach Memoirs (Eugene), Rumors (Lenny), The Glass Menagerie (Tom), Our Town (George), The Seagull (Konstantin).

While Stede’s was, well, very Stede:

Stede Bonnet (Henry/Co-Director) is thrilled to be here! He shot for the moon and landed among the stars of this fantastick cast! Thank you to everyone who helped make his dreams come true!

Neither was much of a model for someone who’d never acted before and would rather die than describe herself as “thrilled.”

“Mary Allamby (Luisa) doesn’t want to be here” was an option, but it wasn’t really true anymore. Yes, Mary never would’ve chosen to do the show, and she was absolutely never going to do another one, but once Stede and Oluwande switched roles, acting had actually started to be fun. She liked the cast, liked the give and take as they played around with the lines and the characters’ relationships. It was like she was back on the elementary school playground with Evelyn and Ellen, pretending to be fairies or horses or whatever. Mary knew she’d never be an actor – or God forbid, a singer – but for a one-time thing, this was… nice.

Except that now it was tech week, and she was starting to understand why Evelyn and Ellen had always called it Hell Week.

It hadn’t been so bad at first. They’d moved into the black box two weeks before opening night, which gave them plenty of time to prepare. The black box lived up to its name – just a big, empty room, entirely painted black. Stede had waxed poetic about the possibilities of the space, and hemmed and hawed about where to put the stage until Mary wanted to strangle him. Eventually Ed, who’d been watching Stede with that gooey-eyed smile of his, pointed out that there was only one place the stage could go if they wanted to be able to get from the hallway to backstage without being seen, which made Mary want to strangle him, too. But then they’d been able to rehearse, getting used to the bigger space and the cubes that would make up most of their set.

Seriously, cubes. Also painted black, and with handles cut in the sides to make them easy to move. They stood in for chairs, benches, trees, and anything else the script called for. The experienced theatre people in the cast all seemed to have feelings about the cubes, some telling horror stories about the complex formations they’d had to maneuver them into. Mary was glad she didn’t have to do anything more complicated than put one on top of another.

“Mary Allamby (Luisa) didn’t even get to paint the fucking set because there fucking isn’t one,” that was a possibility. Also not strictly true, though. On Thursday, the first official day of tech week, while most of the company set up risers for the audience, she and Doug had painted the show’s logo, in purple, onto a small white curtain. Mary liked the spiky handwriting of the logo, but coloring within the lines wasn’t exactly artistically fulfilling. She added some drips and splatters to liven things up. Then she’d gotten to paint the cardboard – plywood, actually – sun and moon prop, giving it a bit of a Van Gogh twist. And that was it. Still, technically, she had painted the set.

On Friday, they had guests. Buttons brought in his friends Karl and Olivia to help hang lights, and Ed, correctly surmising that no one in the cast had any construction skills, recruited Fang and Ivan from the mainstage to help build a trunk and a little platform with a pole in each corner, the non-cube portions of the set. Mary knew Fang and Ivan a little from Hamlet, where they’d played Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, or possibly the other way around. In Midsummer they were Lysander and Demetrius, or possibly the other way around. Mary didn’t care enough to keep the names straight. Whatever their roles, Fang and Ivan both seemed pretty interested in the musical, and promised to come see it on opening night. Fang also seemed pretty interested in Lucius. Too bad that was hopeless, Fang was a sweetheart.

While Buttons and Ed dealt with the serious tech stuff, Stede supervised the rest of the group. Pete, Jim, and Oluwande set up folding chairs for the audience and hung black curtains to make the backstage area. Wee John, armed with a sewing machine he’d produced from somewhere and scraps from his mom’s bridal shop, worked on the backdrop for the glen scene. Stede offered a lot of opinions about how the strips of fabric should be arranged. The task of hanging up posters – tastefully redesigned by Lucius, who’d made himself look very busy with his notebook and so avoided manual labor – fell to Mary and Roach. They made sure to put some posters at his eye level, some at hers, and most in between. It was a relief to get out of the black box and away from Stede and Ed’s impromptu mushy duets. Mary was happy for them, but for fuck’s sake.

On Saturday, they’d run the show, without costumes but with props and confetti, from beginning to end. Twice. The platform held up, thank goodness, but Mary thought her voice might give out. Only the thought of having to lip-sync to the Swede’s singing kept her going. It was embarrassing enough that he’d be doing her obbligato in “Round and Round,” which was at least such a chaotic song that an offstage voice wouldn’t seem too out of place. They’d all made it through, anyway, with help from brownies baked by Roach and gourmet pizza paid for by Stede.

Which brought them to Sunday, and the cue-to-cue rehearsal. It had sounded like a breeze when Ed explained the concept. Only rehearsing the parts of the show when some tech thing happened and skipping through the parts where nothing changed? Should take like an hour total, right? But of course nothing was ever that easy when Stede fucking Bonnet was involved. Did there really need to be a different lighting effect for every single kind of abduction? Stede thought so! And okay, Mary might have underestimated how complicated it could be to get lighting just right, even when the results didn’t look like anything special. But mostly it was Stede’s fault.

“Hold,” Buttons said for the millionth time that day, and everyone groaned.

It was 5:00. They’d been working for three hours. And they were still only halfway through “It Depends on What You Pay.” Mary Allamby (Luisa) thought that hell sounded great in comparison.

At least she had her sketchbook. The shifting stage lighting that spilled into the darkened audience, even in the top row, was annoying, but fortunately Buttons, who was a little too appreciative of her work on the moon, tolerated her booklight. Her pencil flew over the page, capturing fragments of their little band of weirdos. Oluwande’s profile, a weirdly unfamiliar sight given how much time she’d spent staring into his eyes. Roach’s eyes, Pete’s nose, Lucius’s mouth. Mary thought about cutting those out and seeing how they looked as one face. The negative space around the Swede and his harp. A blind contour drawing of Wee John and Frenchie talking across the piano. Jim throwing confetti, Buttons sweeping confetti, Stede picking confetti out of Ed’s beard, why did this show have so much fucking confetti.

“That’s really good,” said Lucius, looking over Mary’s shoulder at her gesture drawing of Ed jumping off the platform. Somewhere near the ceiling, Karl and Olivia fluttered around adjusting lighting equipment.

“Thanks,” Mary said absently. The angle of Ed’s hair flying behind him wasn’t quite right, and she couldn’t figure out how to fix it. If only Buttons’s holds could actually freeze time.

“I can’t help but notice, though…”

“Hm?”

“You’re sketching when you could be writing your bio.”

“So?”

“So, I’m getting the programs printed tomorrow. Chop chop!”

Mary sighed. “But I haven’t done anything. What am I supposed to say?”

“Just say you did Midsummer somewhere,” said Lucius. “Everyone else did.”

“I don’t want to lie.”

“Say you’re making your theatrical debut?”

“I don’t want to be boring, either.”

“Well, write something, or I’ll write it for you, and you will not like it.”

“Try me.”

Lucius furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Mary Allamby, Luisa,” he began slowly, “is honored, nay, humbled by the opportunity to work with the man, the myth, the legend, Stede Bo⁠—⁠”

“Jesus, point made,” said Mary, and Lucius batted his eyelashes at her.

Onstage, the action started again. Ed repeated his leap off the platform, this time accompanied by a lighting change so dramatic that the angle of his hair would have to remain a mystery. Mary cursed softly and turned to a fresh page.

“Mm, yeah,” said Lucius, “how about instead of that, we just…”

“Hey!” Mary said as Lucius yanked the sketchbook from her hands.

“Bio now, sketch later!”

Fucking sophomores. “Mary Allamby, Luisa, is getting sick of your shit, Spriggs.”

“So happy to help!” said Lucius. He flipped through the sketchbook, and Mary fought the urge to yank it back. “Ugh, your lines are amazing, I hate you so much.”

“Thank you?” said Mary.

“No seriously, how do you do that?” Lucius held up a page full of Mary’s cats, each movement caught in a few simple, expressive strokes. “I keep getting stuck in the details.”

“I dunno, practice?” said Mary. She’d certainly had time to practice drawing Alma and Louis, seeing as Stede had wriggled out of their shared custody agreement by developing an allergy almost as soon as the adoption papers were signed. It was fine, she’d wanted a cat or two ever since she’d met Ned, Evelyn’s Bengal, but it was just so typical of Stede. “Let me see your work.”

Lucius started to hand over his sketchbook, then hesitated. “Are you asking because you really want to see it, or because you want to put off writing your bio?”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Look, do you want compliments or not?”

“You know I do,” Lucius said, and released the sketchbook. “They’d better be very sincere.”

“No promises,” Mary said, then promptly ruined her air of indifference by opening the sketchbook to a delicate drawing of a fern and saying, “Oh, nice.” She turned the pages, recognizing some class assignments along the way – a mug, a window, studies of hands and hair. Lucius’s style was sharp and meticulous, each object crafted in exquisite detail. His in-class figure drawings were more tentative, though, the poses sketched in pencil so light it was nearly invisible, while his faces were mostly just eyes and lips. “They’re really good details,” said Mary. “I think you just need more confidence. Make your marks, don’t worry about being perfect.”

Lucius pouted. “But I like being perfect.”

“You would.” Mary turned another page, revealing an oval that was blank save for some faint guidelines and one very realistic eye. The eye looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Who’s that?”

“Fang,” said Lucius. “He modeled for me during a break on Friday. We really hit it off.”

“‘Hit it off,’ like…”

“Like we might be a thing now.”

Well. Not so hopeless after all. “What about Pete?”

“We’re not exclusive, Mary, God,” said Lucius. He grinned. “Anyway, Pete hit it off with Fang, too.”

“That’s, um. Nice?” said Mary. She wasn’t a prude or anything, but a throuple seemed a little advanced for high school.

“It is, thank you!”

Mary glanced back at the stage. The song was finally over, and Stede and Pete had just made their entrance. There was plenty of time before she would be needed. “Can I have my sketchbook back now?”

“Have you written your bio?” asked Lucius.

“Mary Allamby, Luisa, will not hesitate to shove this pencil in your ear if she doesn’t get her sketchbook back.”

“In my ear? That’s… specific.”

Mary shrugged. “Easy access to the brain, don’t have to watch your face as you die. Sketchbook?”

“Fuck,” said Lucius, and he dropped Mary’s sketchbook into her lap. “Did Jim teach you that?”

“I can come up with my own murder methods, thank you very much!” said Mary. She’d had to, to keep up with Evelyn. Those horse and fairy games had gotten dark.

Lucius shuddered. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He quickly took his own sketchbook back, then tapped Mary’s with his pencil. “You can do better. By the way.”

Mary looked down. Her sketchbook was open to one of her many portraits of Doug, and she smiled at his sweet face. “Really? I like that one.”

“Not the drawing, the guy.”

“I like him too, asshole.”

“Mary Allamby, Luisa, has boring taste in men,” said Lucius.

“You know what,” Mary began, but she was cut off.

“Hey!” Buttons shouted. “Where is the glen?”

“That’s Jim’s job,” said Ed. He was alone onstage, which meant they must’ve skipped to the end of the scene, which meant Mary was on soon. She scrambled to pack up her drawing supplies.

“Then where is Jim?” said Buttons. “I cannae run a cue-to-cue with missing cues!”

“Jim!” called Ed. There was no response.

“I think Olu’s missing, too,” said Wee John, who was playing cards with Roach in the front row.

From backstage, Stede poked his head through the curtains. “Lucius! You’re the stage manager! Manage the stage!”

“Fuuuuuuuck,” groaned Lucius, and he started to slowly make his way down the risers. Mary was close behind him. “Did anyone check the hall?”

Pete’s head joined Stede’s. “They’re not out there, babe,” he said.

“Got an idea,” said Ed. “Stede?”

“Yes, dear?” said Stede.

“Come with me.”

As the co-directors set off to find their errant cast members, Mary sighed and settled into the front row, resting her head on Roach’s shoulder. “We’re never getting out of here, are we,” she said.

“If they’re not back in fifteen minutes, we can leave? Right?” said the Swede. He was busy doing something to his harp that looked very important.

“Nah, that’s just teachers,” said Frenchie, who had gotten up from the piano to stretch. “For directors, we stay until we die.”

“That may be sooner rather than later,” Buttons said ominously. “We may need to start eating each other.” Karl and Olivia exchanged glances and nodded.

“Not yet,” said Roach. “I brought cookies.”

Buttons shook his head. “Cookies don’t have the nutrients necessary for survival.”

“We can order pizza, guys,” said Mary. “The outside world does still exist.”

“What if it didn’t, though?” said Pete. He pulled up a cube and leaned in. “Who are we eating first?”

Everyone looked around the room. Most eyes eventually fell on Wee John, who threw up his hands. “You can’t pick me just because I’m the biggest! That’s cheating!”

“How are we picking, then?” asked Mary. “Who’d taste the best?”

“They look pretty tasty,” said Pete, nodding at Karl and Olivia.

“They are not to be eaten!” bellowed Buttons. No one dared to contradict him.

“How about Mary? Bet she’d be sweet,” said Wee John, and he reached across Roach to tweak Mary’s nose.

“Hey!” she said, laughing.

Frenchie stroked his beard contemplatively. “They do say that girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice…”

“Oh, please,” said Lucius, “I’m more sugary and spicy than she’ll ever be. But I’m necessary to the production, so.”

“If that’s the criteria,” said Roach, eyeing the Swede, “do we really need a harpist?”

Buttons licked his lips. “Aye, he’d do.”

“Ahem,” came Stede’s voice, and everyone turned to the door. There stood Stede, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.

“Help! They’re going to eat me!” said the Swede.

“They⁠— what?” said Stede. He shook his head. “Never mind, I don’t care. Our prodigals have been found!” he declared in his stupid “Look at me, I’m Acting!” voice. He stepped into the black box and Ed took his place in the doorway, dragging Jim and Oluwande with him. Jim looked somewhere between stoic and murderous, which wasn’t unusual, but their face was flushed, and Oluwande looked downright giddy. Given that Oluwande’s crush on Jim was practically visible from space, it wasn’t too hard to connect the dots.

“Hey, sweet pea,” Ed sang, grinning.

Oluwande’s face fell. “No.”

“Hey, snookums,” Stede sang back.

“No, please,” said Oluwande. Jim’s expression tipped slightly towards the murderous end of the scale.

“What’s the story, morning glory?” sang Ed.

“Fuck,” said Olu, hiding his face in his hands.

“What’s the tale, nightingale?” sang Stede.

Ed pushed Oluwande and Jim through the door, and together he and Stede sang, “Have you heard about Olu and Jim?”

“Fucking Bye Bye Birdie,” Oluwande moaned.

“Yes, your ears have not deceived you!” said Stede. “Thanks to my beautiful boyfriend’s brilliant hunch…”

“Supply closet,” Ed explained smugly.

“…our Matt and Mute have been caught in a compromising position. Not on the clock, lovebirds!”

“You were doing the Mortimer and Henry scene!” said Jim. “That thing takes forever!”

“Never turn your back on a cue-to-cue,” said Ed.

“Unless, of course,” said Stede, “you wanted everyone to know that…”

“He’s in love with Jim, Jim’s in love with him!” Ed and Stede sang.

“I can’t believe I thought getting together would make them less annoying,” said Lucius.

Jim muttered something in Spanish that Ed and Stede were probably lucky not to understand, while Oluwande, now curled into a ball on the chair next to Mary, whimpered. Mary nudged him and whispered, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’m very happy.”

“All right, back to work!” said Stede. “Jim, the glen! Ed, Mary, Olu, places!” As Jim hung the glen backdrop on the back poles of the platform and Mary and Oluwande got into position behind it, Stede chuckled. “You know, the original Kim in Bye Bye Birdie was also the original Luisa! In the original original production, when it was still a one-act. By the time it went Off-Broadway, she was busy with Birdie.”

“But she came back when they did it on TV,” added Ed. “The one with the Cowardly Lion and Khan.”

“Khan?” said Frenchie, perking up. “Khan Noonien Singh, big plastic chest? That Khan?”

“Uh…” said Ed.

Frenchie sighed wearily and, shaking his fist, said, “Khaaaaan?”

“Yeah, that one,” said Ed.

“His chest wasn’t plastic,” said Wee John, “it was real.”

“It’s cute that you think that,” said Frenchie.

“The director said it on the DVD commentary!”

“And you believed him?”

“It looks real! There are shots where you can tell!”

Frenchie clucked his tongue. “So sad to see someone taken in by Big Chest.”

“People, please!” said Stede. “We can argue about Star Wars later!”

It was very satisfying, Mary thought amid the pandemonium which followed that unforgivable mix-up, to see Stede on the other end of a nerd tantrum. They’d tried to get into each other’s interests, briefly, and the hissy fits he’d have when she confused Rodgers and Hart with Rodgers and Hammerstein or whoever were epic. Meanwhile he could barely tell Botticelli from Banksy, and Mary didn’t even get snippy about it.

Though she did keep pretending to forget the difference between cast albums and soundtracks. Sometimes it was amusing to watch Stede get all steamed up.

“It’s not even sci-fi!” Frenchie exclaimed.

“Yeah!” said Wee John. “Feckin’ space wizards!”

Mary leaned against a pole, smiling, as the Trek/Wars war ran its course. Pete and Roach egged Frenchie and Wee John on, while Stede cowered behind Ed, shouting apologies. Buttons flickered the lights in a fruitless attempt to call the rehearsal to order. The Swede sat at his harp, looking lost. Safe behind the backdrop, Jim and Oluwande were wrapped up in each other.

Lucius, also staying out of the fray, joined Mary. “Penny for your thoughts?” he said. “Except by ‘thoughts’ I mean ‘bio,’ and by ‘penny’ I mean… not that.”

And maybe it was just the loopiness of tech talking, but… “Mary Allamby, Luisa,” Mary said, “is having fun playing with her friends.”

“I am a mother pheasant plucker,” said Ed.

“I am a mother pheasant plucker,” Stede and the rest of the cast repeated. It was opening night at last, and Ed, looking very handsome indeed in his costume and makeup, was leading them in a diction warmup.

“I pluck mother pheasants.”

“I pluck mother pheasants.”

“I am the most pleasant mother pheasant plucker to ever pluck a mother pheasant.”

“I am the most pleasant…” The sentence devolved into profanity and giggles as the proverbial tongues were twisted.

“Fuckin’ disgraceful,” said Ed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Again!”

Even with Ed’s lovely face to keep his attention, Stede was having trouble focusing on pheasant pluckers, slitted sheets, and pickled peppers. After so many weeks of hard work, The Fantasticks would finally be unveiled to the world! Or at least to a small audience consisting mostly of friends and family that was filtering in at that very minute. The cast and musicians were in the green room – a real green room, made no less thrilling by being rather less glamorous and less green than Stede had expected – while across the hall, Karl and Olivia were stationed with programs at the black box door, and Doug was setting up his tripod and video camera in the last row. Lucius and Buttons were all over the place, talking to each other on headsets and taking care of any number of last-minute necessities. The very air seemed to crackle with excitement.

The dress rehearsal the previous night had gone reasonably well, with just enough mishaps to have everyone cheerfully reciting, “Bad dress, good show!” Stede would have preferred if one of those mishaps hadn’t been his wig getting stuck in the hinges of the trunk, but c’est la vie. His cast was ready, and he couldn’t be more proud of them.

Unlike the others, Stede wasn’t in costume yet. He and Pete didn’t enter until almost forty minutes into the show, but more importantly, he would be giving a curtain speech. And so, he was back in his artistic genius outfit from the audition, this time with the beret. If opening night of his co-directorial debut wasn’t the right time for a little extra theatricality, when was? Besides, Ed liked it.

After the warmup, the cast scattered around the room, with Ed and Stede gravitating towards each other as usual. Ed’s treasured red scarf hung loosely around his neck, waiting to be tied, and Stede used it to reel him in for a kiss.

“Then out of the hat, it’s that big first night,” Ed sang once his lips were no longer occupied. He had quite enjoyed Kiss Me, Kate, after some judicious content warnings.¹ “Ready to steal the show?”

“From you? I would never!” said Stede. “Could never, you’re so wonderful in it.”

“You’re wonderful,” said Ed, nuzzling Stede’s nose.

“No, you are!” said Stede, nuzzling back.

“No, y⁠—⁠”

“Please stop,” Mary begged, “I’m nauseous enough as it is.”

Stede turned away from Ed just enough to see Mary sitting on a couch and hugging herself. She did look a little green about the gills. Was that how the green room had gotten its name? “Deep breaths, Mary! Don’t you know what vomit does to your vocal cords?”

“Aw, she’ll be fine,” said Ed. “Just picture the audience in their underwear.”

“That’s supposed to make me less nauseous?” said Mary. “My parents are out there!”

“Don’t worry about the audience at all,” said Oluwande. He was next to Mary and leaning against Jim, who was sitting on the arm of the couch. “They’re not the enemy, they’re rooting for you.” He paused. “Most of them. Probably.”

“If it would help,” said the Swede, “I could si⁠—⁠”

“You can’t sing for me, Swede!” said Mary.

The Swede sighed sadly. “Okay.”

The door to the hallway opened, revealing Lucius.

“Fifteen minutes to places, everyone,” he said.

“Thank you, fifteen!” the others chorused. Stede caught Ed’s eye and beamed – it was so exciting to feel like a theatrical insider.

“Also,” Lucius continued, “you’ve got guests.”

“Guests? This close to curtain?” said Stede. “Is that really wise?”

His objections were drowned out by Mary’s squeal as two girls entered the room. “Evvy, Ellen, thank God!” she said, and jumped up to throw her arms around her friends.

“Oh,” said Stede, glaring at Evelyn. “It’s you.”

“Nice to see you too,” Evelyn said drily.

“Hmph. Homewrecker.”

“Fuck you, Stede,” came Mary’s voice from the depths of Evelyn’s ample bosom.

“Whoa, okay, let’s play nice,” said Ed, laughing. He wrapped an arm around Stede’s waist and nodded at the girls. “Hey, Ellen. Mom-wife.”

Evelyn nodded back. “Son-husband.”

“Pardon?” said Stede.

“She was my Gertrude in Hamlet,” said Ed. “Got used to calling her ‘Mom,’ and then bam, married in The Crucible.”

“Two tragedies in a row,” Evelyn said with a sigh. “We thought a little incest would lighten the mood.”

“It didn’t,” said Ellen. “Hi, Stede, congratulations on your show.”

“Why, thank you!” said Stede. Unlike some of Mary’s friends, Ellen could be depended upon to have manners.

Evelyn snorted. “Yeah, whatever. We just wanted to drop in and see our little star.” She ruffled Mary’s hair.

“Break a leg!” said Ellen. “Don’t forget us when you’re on Broadway!”

“Aw, you guys!” said Mary. She was looking considerably less ill, so perhaps Evelyn was good for something – though Stede itched to set Mary’s hair to rights.

“Break legs all around,” said Evelyn, glancing over the room. “We’ll be watching you.” With that, she and Ellen left.

“Did you see that?” said Pete. “Evelyn Higgins told me to break a leg!”

“She said it to all of us,” said Wee John.

“Yeah, but she looked at me!”

“She looked at all of us,” said Roach.

“I don’t want to break my leg!” said the Swede.

“It’s just a saying,” said Frenchie. “Superstitious lot, actors.”

“Oh, we’re superstitious?” said Jim, and Oluwande giggled.

Once again, Stede had the pleasant feeling of being an insider. He’d known that saying “good luck” was bad luck in the theatre even before his Fantasticks journey began, and seeing the alternative in action was delightful. He hoped that someone would wish them “merde,” too. He could say it himself, of course, but it would be so much more fun for it to happen organically. And it was bound to, wasn’t it? Surely someone would give in to the temptation to say “shit” in French.

Ed chuckled and pulled Stede to him, lacing his fingers at the small of his back. “Hey, co-director.”

“Sweet Charity?” said Stede.

Ed blinked. “What?”

“You know,” said Stede. “Hey, co-director – ba ba ba-ba – speeeend a little time with me.”

“Bit of a stretch, man,” said Ed, his eyes sparkling even more than usual thanks to his eyeliner, “but fuck yeah, I’ll take all the time with you I can get.”

“We’re in agreement, then,” said Stede, and he leaned in for a kiss, twining Ed’s scarf around his fingers.

“Shit, the scarf!”

“Hm?”

“Was gonna ask you to tie it,” said Ed. “Before you distracted me.”

“I’m distracting, am I?” said Stede.

“Oh, very,” said Ed, pulling him closer.

“You know we can all see and hear you, right?” said Oluwande.

Stede had, perhaps, forgotten that other people existed. Gazing into Ed’s eyes tended to have that effect. “Ah…”

“Talk amongst yourselves,” said Ed. “We’ve got important co-director business to take care of.”

“It had better just be tying the fucking scarf,” said Jim.

Ed flipped them the bird, then turned back to Stede. “Tie me.”

The outside world fell away again. “Of course, dearest.”

Ed was more than capable of tying the scarf himself, obviously, but it had become something of a ritual for Stede to do it. A quite enjoyable ritual, as it always brought them back to their first kiss – and their second, third, fourth, fifth, etcetera. After some initial experimentation, Stede had found that the fancier knots he favored for his ties weren’t really suited to the airy silk, and so he’d settled on a simple half-Windsor. But that was all right. Time spent fussing with complicated knots was time that could be spent kissing Ed. Which, knot accomplished, he leaned in to do.

“Fucking unbelievable,” said a disgusted voice.

Ed sighed and leaned his forehead against Stede’s for a moment, then looked towards the door. “Izzy.”

And indeed, Izzy stood in the doorway, flanked by Ivan and Fang. Lucius waved from behind them. “Yeah, hi, more guests, sorry,” he said. “Ten minutes, everyone!”

“Thank you, ten,” Stede parroted along with the rest.

Ed turned to face Izzy without letting go of Stede, who slipped an arm around his shoulders, feeling rather like he was playing one of the twins in Side Show. In their new configuration Stede could see that Izzy was wearing the same shirt he’d worn to crash the dance rehearsal, and oh, it wasn’t advertising a band after all. With his arms crossed over the foreign-looking writing, a hidden message was revealed: “FUCK OFF.” Charming.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Iz,” Ed said.

Izzy pulled his lips back in a grimace that was probably meant to be a smile. “I couldn’t miss a Teach performance.” Ed flinched, and Izzy’s grimace spread. “And Edward, from the bottom of my fucking heart… good luck.”

There was a collective gasp, and Ed tightened his arms around Stede. “You take that back!” Frenchie said furiously.

“What’s done,” Izzy said deliberately, not breaking eye contact with Ed, “cannot be undone.”

“The hell are you doing?” said Ivan, while Fang covered his mouth in shock.

Izzy’s words sounded familiar. Stede couldn’t place them, but he could picture Ed saying them, clutching his arm and whispering intensely as they read Shakespeare together.

“That’s a line from something, isn’t it?” said Ed. He looked at Stede, a sly smile playing on his lips. “What was it, Mack and Mabel?”

Of course, Macbeth! The cursed Scottish Play, its name never to be spoken in a theatre. Ed claimed to not believe in the curse, but clearly he couldn’t ignore such a blatant attempt at sabotage. Stede caught what he was aiming at and flipped through his mental catalogue for other musicals that could fit the bill. “Or… was it Martin Guerre?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” said Izzy.

Ed ignored him. “Marie Christine?”

“Mame?” said Stede.

“Mary Poppins?”

“Man of La Mancha?”

“Mamma Mia?”

Stede decided it was time to bring out the big guns. “Brigadoon?”

“Brigadoon!” Ed agreed through a gale of delicious laughter.

“Come on,” said Izzy, “that one doesn’t even start with the same letter!”

“As what?” asked Ed, suddenly cold. He stared Izzy down, as if daring him to break the great theatrical taboo. “What is that line from? Hm?”

Izzy glanced at Fang and Ivan, looming over him disapprovingly from either side, and folded. “The Scottish Play,” he muttered.

“Silly me, thinking it was the Scottish musical!” said Stede. He sighed dramatically. “What a day this has been!”

“What a rare mood I’m in,” said Ed, continuing the lyric.

Stede grinned at him and they sang together, “Why, it’s almost like being in love!”

“Fuck this,” said Izzy, and he stomped off into the hallway.

Fang and Ivan lingered. “Don’t worry, Ed, we’ll keep him in line during the show,” Fang said.

“Yeah!” said Ivan. “No one breaks theatre etiquette on my watch!”

“Thanks, guys,” said Ed. “And thanks for coming!”

“Of course! Have to see our handiwork in action, don’t we?” said Fang, beaming. He blew a kiss at the cast, and Pete pretended to catch it. “Break a leg, everyone!”

Ivan echoed him, and soon the green room was at peace once more. Briefly.

“Eddie T!”

“Stede Bonnet!”

The two boys at the door – “Aren’t we popular today?” commented Lucius – were unfamiliar to Stede. Ed seemed to know the one with the mullet and regrettable attempt at a mustache, however.

“Jack, hey!” Ed said, letting go of Stede enough to give Mr. Mustache a friendly punch in the arm. So this was the infamous Jack of the cast party makeout sessions. “Meet Stede, my boyfriend!”

“You’re dating Teach?” the other boy interjected as Stede started to offer Jack his hand. “Awesome!”

“Who’s this loser?” Jack asked Ed.

“Yes,” said Stede, rather annoyed at the interruption, “do I know you?”

“I’m Jeffrey! Fettering! From elementary school! You made us do Annie at recess! I was Tessie!”

“So you’ve directed before, and you didn’t tell me?” asked Ed, pouting playfully. “Were you Annie? Bet you were cute.”

“I was Miss Hannigan, I’ll have you know!” said Stede. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about that in years.” The fond memories of the playground production that came flooding back to him included only the vaguest outline of Jeffrey Fettering, but he smiled politely anyway. “Jeffrey, of course. What brings you here?”

“I saw the poster,” said Jeffrey, “and I was like, ‘I know that guy!’ I can’t believe you’re doing a real show, that’s so cool!”

Stede couldn’t help preening a little. “Oh, you know, the siren song of the stage and all that.”

“Jeez, get a load of these nerds,” said Jack, elbowing Ed.

“We met at Shakespeare camp, Jack,” said Ed. “We’re all nerds.”

Jack grunted. “Yeah, well, fie on you, fucker.”

“Whoreson rogue,” Ed countered with a grin. Jeffrey watched them wide-eyed, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed in their presence.

Which he shouldn’t have been, really. “Jeffrey,” said Stede, “it was very kind of you to drop by, but we have much to do and only⁠—⁠”

“Five minutes to places!” Lucius called.

“What he said,” said Stede as the others gave the traditional reply. “So if you wouldn’t mind…?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry!” said Jeffrey. “See you out there! I’ll be in the front row!”

“Ta-ta!” said Stede, and Jeffrey left, pausing to apologize to the doorframe for bumping into it as he tried to get a last glimpse of Ed.

“Man, I thought he’d never leave,” said Jack. “Nice going, Steve.”

“Stede,” Ed and Stede said together, and they smiled at each other.

“‘Stede,’” repeated Jack, the air quotes invisible but palpable in his voice. “So, guess I owe you one.”

“Me?” said Stede. “Why?”

“If you hadn’t seduced Eddie with your fancy-ass ‘musical,’ he’d be Bottom.” Jack leered at Stede. “Unless he is anyway.”

“I didn’t⁠— that’s not⁠— I mean⁠—⁠”

“Oh, fuck off,” said Ed. “We’ve got a show to do.”

“And a cast party, right?” said Jack, turning his leer on Ed. “Can I come?”

“Jack, hey, meet Stede, my boyfriend,” Ed deadpanned.

Jack gave Stede a once-over and shrugged. “The more the merrier.”

Stede felt his face do something very complicated, and Ed rolled his eyes. “Not this time, Jack.”

“You’re missing out,” Jack informed Stede. He slapped Ed on the back. “Break a fuckin’ leg, you fuckin’ piece of merde.”

He didn’t even pronounce “merde” properly, but rather like the first syllable of “murder.” That was one dream shattered. Fortunately, the night held the promise of many more dreams yet to be fulfilled.

“Right, show to do,” said Ed as the door closed behind Jack. “Circle up, everyone!” He shook out his hair and turned to Stede. “Hair approved?”

“Hair perfect,” Stede said, tucking a strand behind Ed’s ear.

“You’re perfect.”

“No, you’re⁠—⁠”

“Guys, please,” said Oluwande.

Stede started guiltily. The cast was now clumped in what could generously be called a circle, while Frenchie and the Swede remained on the couches. “Orchestra, you’re welcome to join us!”

“We’re good, thanks,” said Frenchie.

“Very well! Ed, do you have any… advice to the players?”

Ed raised his eyebrows approvingly at the Hamlet reference. “Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc’d it to you, trippingly on the tongue,” he declaimed, then laughed. “Nah, that’s all bullshit, Hamlet doesn’t know anything about acting. You’ve got this. Just get out there and do what you’ve been doing, and don’t fuck it up.”

“And most importantly,” said Stede, “remember to have a blast⁠—⁠”

“As a cast,” the others chanted obediently.

Stede beamed. “Yes!”

“We should do a cheer!” said Pete.

“‘Reckless and terribly gay?’” suggested Roach. The line which had caused such a stir at the readthrough was now a cast in-joke, somehow still amusing despite the countless repetitions. Stede was pleased to feel that he’d progressed from “terrible” to “terribly,” though certain stage managers might have disagreed.

“Mm, bit long for a cheer,” said Ed. “‘Fantasticks’ on three?” He stuck his hand in the middle of the circle and Stede quickly covered it with his own, followed by the rest of the cast. “One, two, three…”

“Faaaaantasticks!”

The door opened, as if on cue. “Places!” Lucius said. “Stede, you’re on!”

“Right,” said Stede, his heart suddenly thumping wildly. He smoothed his turtleneck and adjusted his beret. “Outfit approved?” he asked Ed.

“Outfit fuckin’ adorable,” Ed said.

“You’re fu⁠—⁠”

“Yeah, no, we’re not doing this,” said Lucius, and he shoved Stede through the door.

Even in the hallway, Stede could hear the hum of audience chatter, and it grew to a rumble as he and the others filed through the backstage door. The sound was intoxicating. In mere seconds, all of those people would be watching him! He squeezed Ed’s hand, took a deep breath, and stepped through the curtains.

There was a smattering of applause, started by Ed’s mom, smiling proudly in the front row. Under her chair was a large bag that Stede knew held the bouquet he’d given her to give to him to give to Ed at the curtain call. Mary’s parents sat a few rows back, and clusters of people who might have been related to other cast members were scattered throughout the audience. Jeffrey was also in the front row, as promised, while Izzy, bracketed by Fang and Ivan, was in the second. Jack was right behind them, leaning back and resting his feet on Izzy’s chair. Evelyn and Ellen were in the center of the third row, next to⁠— oh, goodness, that was Jackie, the head of the drama department, and her husband/underling, Geraldo. No pressure!

Stede’s parents were nowhere to be seen, but that was hardly a surprise.

“Welcome, one and all!” Stede said. He made sure to smile at Doug’s camera. This was for posterity! “I’m Stede Bonnet, co-director of tonight’s entertainment, and I am delighted you could join us for the inaugural performance of the first musical ever to be performed at Nassau High!” He paused for applause, and after a moment of confusion, Ed’s mom made another valiant attempt at starting some.

Stede soldiered on. “Please note the exit signs in the front and rear of the room in case of an emergency, and of course, please silence all cell phones. If you find yourself peckish at intermission, visit our refreshment stand in the hall, where you will find a scrumptious array of baked goods.” Roach had donated the results of his stress baking to the cause, once it had become clear that there was too much even for the prodigious appetites of the cast and crew. “All proceeds will go to the Nassau High drama department, our gracious hosts.” Stede bowed with a flourish in Jackie’s direction. She did not look impressed. “Now, without further ado, sit back, relax, and enjoy… The Fantasticks!”

A somewhat larger smattering of applause accompanied Stede as he exited the stage, crossing paths with Frenchie and the Swede. Frenchie tripped on the platform on his way to the piano – hopefully that wasn’t a sign of how the performance would go.

Backstage, the cast was lined up in their entrance order, and Stede walked past Jim, Wee John, Roach, Mary, and Oluwande to join Ed at the end of the line. They grinned at each other as the first notes of the overture started to play, Jim jammed the top hat on their head, and the show began.

“Hey Stede,” Ed whispered, “guess what.”

“What?”

“So I was thinking, I’ve never done a show like this before, I’m gonna be going out there and singing and dancing and everything, and suddenly… I got stage fright.”

“What? That’s terrible!”

“No, it’s fuckin’ great! Haven’t felt this alive backstage in years.”

And Ed did look more excited than scared, his eyes practically glowing in the semidarkness. “You nut,” Stede said fondly. “Still, maybe you should picture the audience⁠—⁠”

“Only one person here I want to see in their underwear,” said Ed, hooking a finger into the collar of Stede’s turtleneck.

Stede blushed. “Well, you must let me give you a kiss for lu⁠— uh, leg-breaking.”

“Good save,” Ed said with a grin. “Thought you knew better than that.” He kissed the sputtering apologies from Stede’s lips, only breaking away when the music neared his cue. “Gotta go,” he said. “Love you!” And he strode through the curtains, leaving Stede reeling behind him.

Love.

The enormity of the word took Stede’s breath away. After three blissful weeks of dating, he was certainly convinced of Ed’s miraculous affection for and attraction to him, but love? It seemed so momentous, so sacred, so… something that should probably be saved for their one-month anniversary, at least. But somehow, Stede found himself not caring about the timing.

He loves me, he thought as he ran to peek through a gap in the curtains. He loves me, he thought as Ed sat down to sing the opening number. The title song from She Loves Me played in Stede’s head, almost drowning out Ed’s lovely, wistful rendition of “Try to Remember.” The lyrics didn’t fit the situation at all, even with a pronoun change, but that didn’t matter. The music echoed the joy fizzing through his veins.

Stede could have stood there watching Ed forever, even when all he was doing was watching someone else – he listened so beautifully, as if he hadn’t heard Mary’s monologue so many times he had it memorized – but he knew he had to get into costume. At least, he did once Lucius tapped him on the shoulder and gestured angrily at the door. “I’m going, I’m going!” he whispered, and scurried across the hall.

When he got to the green room, Pete took one look at him and asked, “What’s with you?”

“Ed loves me,” said Stede. The laughter that had been bubbling up inside him spilled out. “He loves me!”

“Uh, yeah, I know,” said Pete.

“What do you mean, you know? He just said it for the first time!”

“Seriously? You’ve both been singing it for weeks.”

“We have not!” said Stede. He frowned. “Have we?”

“Like, constantly,” said Pete. “That Brigadoon song just now?”

“Ah, that’s ‘Almost Like Being in Love,’ it’s what we call a conditional love song, when it’s too early in the show for⁠—⁠”

“‘People Will Say We’re in Love?’”

“Again, conditional⁠—⁠”

“‘I Think We Got Love?’”

“In the context of the show, that’s actually⁠—⁠”

“‘No Two People Have Ever Been So in Love?’”

“We were in character⁠—⁠”

“The one that literally just goes, ‘I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love⁠—⁠’”

“‘I’m in love with a wonderful guy,’” Stede finished amazedly. “My God, I am! I have to tell him!”

“You are really dense,” said Pete. “And you’re gonna be late, if you don’t start getting dressed now.”

Stede registered for the first time that Pete was already in costume and makeup, and all at once he felt absurd. Talking about something as serious as love with someone in a green onesie, deely boppers, face glitter, and green lipstick? Why, it was almost as ridiculous as the thought of professing love in long underwear, a bald cap with a fringe of stringy white hair, drawn-on wrinkles, and oh, no, he wouldn’t be able to tell Ed he returned his love as soon as he saw him backstage! If he wanted to do it right, he’d have to wait until intermission, which seemed hours away. Never had Stede related to Tony and Maria more.

Well, he’d just have to put on a good show in the meantime! He hurried into the dressing room that adjoined the green room to get ready. More songs, some of which he and Ed had sung together, flitted through his mind as he pulled on the long underwear and pinned back his hair. “He’s in Love.” “I Am Loved.” “I Dare Say I’m in Love.” “I’ve Never Been in Love Before.” “When Did I Fall In Love?” “Too Much in Love to Care.” “Two People in Love.” Talk about a heart full of love, a heart full of song.

Ed was backstage when Stede, fully transformed, returned to the black box. Lucius, Oluwande, Jim, and Mary were there too, but Stede didn’t see them. Ed smiled at him, and “She Loves Me” came roaring back. My teeth ache from the urge to touch him, I'm speechless for I mustn't tell him, it's wrong now, but it won't be long now… “How goes the show?” was all he said out loud – though of course quietly enough not to disturb Roach and Wee John’s duet.

“Almost perfect,” said Ed.

“Only almost? What happened?!”

“Shh, don’t panic, it’s fine. Bit of paraphrasing. Hate that. Time and a place for improv, you know?”

“Ah, yes,” said Stede, trying to sound knowing.

The song ended, and the audience applauded. “That’s my cue,” Ed said, and patted Stede on the bald cap. “See you onstage!”

Stede watched through the curtains as Ed made his grand entrance, now as the Bandit rather than the Narrator. As he bantered with Roach and Wee John, broad and funny and gloriously on in front of an audience, another song came to Stede’s mind, coincidentally one by the creators of The Fantasticks. Sometimes in the evening when you do not see, I study the small things you do constantly. I memorize moments that I'm fondest of, my cup runneth over with love.

“Hey,” Pete whispered in the middle of “It Depends on What You Pay.” “Earth to Stede!”

“Hm?” said Stede, eyes still fixed on his love.

“Snap out of it, we’re on soon!”

“Yes, well, Ed’s on now, so shush.”

Someone grabbed Stede’s shoulders, pulled him away from the curtain, and spun him around. It turned out to be Lucius. “Look,” he whispered fiercely, “I know you’re having feelings and that’s great, but you will not ruin this for Pete. Got it?”

“I wasn’t going to! I have everything under control!” said Stede.

“I’m sure you do,” said Lucius. “Now get in the trunk, the song’s almost over.”

“Confetti!” Pete hissed as Stede started to obey.

“Damn!” said Stede, and grabbed a handful from the prop table. Then he and Pete crawled through the false back of the trunk to wait for their cue. There was applause, a bit of dialogue, a brief reprise, and then…

“La. Time is rushing, and a major production to do,” said Ed. “I need actors – extra actors – to stage my elaborate abduction. But I’m not worried. Something will turn up. I can sense it in the air.” The speaker Buttons had rigged up inside the trunk played the TARDIS sound effect from Doctor Who. “There – you hear?” Ed continued. “What did I tell you?”

The trunk opened – Jim’s doing – and Stede found himself in front of an audience as a real actor. “Sir,” he said in his histrionic Henry voice once Pete had helped him out of the trunk, “the players have arrived!” He punctuated the words with the confetti.

“Señor,” said Ed, “the players are most welcome.” Only the slightest twinkle in his eye betrayed that El Gallo thought of Henry as anything but a convenient solution to a problem.

Stede was determined to maintain a similar level of professionalism, even with the entire “Andrew Lloyd Webber Love Trio” playing in his head at once. Love did change everything, Ed’s face was like a song, but Stede reckoned he did know how to love him. Fortunately, he also loved The Fantasticks enough to stay reasonably focused. The scene went well, with the audience laughing in all the right places. The ratty doublet, handed up through the trunk by Lucius, was a hit. Everyone loved Pete’s mimed death. And while Stede couldn’t be quite sure, he thought he saw Jackie crack a smile at his mixed-up Shakespeare speech.

All too soon, they reached the end of the scene. “He’s not really an extraterrestrial, you know,” Stede said of Mortimer, gaining another laugh from the audience. He was very proud of that particular rewrite. He was considering suggesting it, along with the whole alien concept, to the licensing company. Really, why had Mortimer ever been an Indian in the first place? “Well, that about does it, I think,” he continued, speaking to Ed. “I imagine we’d better hide.”

“Oh!” said Ed. He snapped his fingers, and Jim handed him the moon. “I nearly forgot. I promised them moonlight.”

As Ed hung the moon and Jim hung the glen backdrop, the lighting turned to a soft, dappled swirl of blues and purples. Truly, Buttons and his crew had outdone themselves. The shredded bridesmaid dresses on the backdrop looked magical, almost dancing in time to the Swede’s harp glissando. And Ed in the faux-moonlight… well, the only word for that sight was in the script. “Amazing,” Stede murmured.

“Beautiful, eh? A lover’s moon,” said Ed. Was it only Stede’s imagination that made the words sound so fresh and new, heavy with a significance they’d never had in rehearsal? “You go ahead, Henry. I’ll be right there.”

Stede wiggled his fingers in farewell, passed through the curtains, and immediately turned around to peek through them again. It was time for his favorite part of the show: the glen speech. It was almost a duet, the strains of the harp curling seductively around the words as the Narrator set the scene for a secret tryst. Ed had told him once, shortly after their co-directorship had been established, that the music reminded him of a line from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. “It gives a very echo to the seat where love is throned,” he’d quoted, looking at him with a soft, hopeful smile, and hm. Looking back, maybe he had been a little dense.

The speech could be played in many different ways, and Ed had experimented with all of them. Was El Gallo thinking of his own lost love? Was he mournful, bitter, nostalgic, yearning? Or was he thinking only of Matt and Luisa and the joys – or the sorrows – that awaited them? Was the speech a celebration? A warning? A prayer? A mere appreciation for nature?

Tonight, it seemed like Ed had opened his heart and invited the audience inside, each word trembling with an exhilarating passion. Me, me, he’s talking about me, Stede wanted to shout, but he contented himself with mouthing the lines along with him. And love was sweeter than the berries… or the honey… or the stinging taste of mint.

The harp died away, signaling the end of the interlude. “It is September, before a rainfall,” said Ed. “A perfect time to be in love.” He spread his arms and beckoned Mary and Oluwande forth from opposite sides of the stage.

It was a lovely bit of staging, if Stede did say so himself. A last-minute tech week inspiration. Of course, it would have been even lovelier if Mary hadn’t had to nudge him away from the curtain to make her entrance. He’d have to remember to pick a different watching spot for the next performance. For the time being, though, he stayed where he was until, with a burst of thunder and confetti, Ed melted into the shadows and reappeared backstage.

“Oh, Ed,” Stede said when they reunited, “that was magnificent.”

“Yeah?” said Ed, pleased.

“Absolutely. I saw the glen. God, I⁠—⁠” Stede stopped himself with a cough, remembering the wrinkles and bald cap.

“You what?”

“I… have something to tell you. But not until intermission!”

Ed quirked an eyebrow. “A good something?”

“Oh, yes,” said Stede. “I think you’ll like it very much.”

“Hm. Can’t wait.” Ed pressed a quick kiss to Stede’s lips – all that could be risked, what with the wrinkles around his mouth. “Help me with my hair?”

Stede smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As they arranged Ed’s hair for the abduction, Mary and Oluwande started to sing “Soon It’s Gonna Rain.” Hearing them, Stede couldn’t bring himself to regret switching roles. Oluwande’s voice was like velvet. And if Mary’s was more like linen that hadn’t quite been broken in yet, well, she was doing her best.

Hair sorted, Ed held out his hand. “May I have this dance, Lord Bonnet?”

Stede bowed. “You honor me, Sir Edward.”

Dancing with Ed was Stede’s favorite offstage part of the show. They had honed their routine throughout tech, getting fancier and sillier as the hours dragged on. Now they whirled expertly, just managing to avoid bumping into Wee John napping against a wall, Roach playing with the confetti pile, and Pete and Lucius cuddling in a corner. Stede dipped Ed so low that his hair brushed the floor, and drew him in close on the way back up. After that the dance became mostly just an embrace, which suited them both just fine.

“Happily we’ll live and love, within our castle wall,” Mary and Oluwande sang, and Stede reluctantly let Ed go. It was abduction time.

As scripted, Stede entered during the applause and accepted it as his own. “Thank you! Thank you so much,” he said, then turned to Frenchie and the Swede. “Orchestra! Accelerando con molto prosciutto!” The whimsically suspenseful music began. “Swords!” Jim handed Stede a stick. “Aliens, ready? Aliens, abduct!” Pete ran on from off left brandishing a toy blaster gun, and the stage exploded into carefully choreographed chaos.

For a little while Henry and Mortimer worked alone, carrying around a kicking, screaming Luisa, but soon Matt recovered his bearings and got the upper hand. Reinforcements were needed. “Ready, cavalry!” Stede shouted.

El Gallo rode to their rescue on an invisible horse, with the Mute providing drummed hoofbeats, and the tide turned in the abductors’ favor. Fighting with Oluwande and flirting with Mary with equal gusto, Ed was a blazing star. Stede was glad he’d had the forethought to stage Henry’s death in such a way that he could keep his eyes open and see Ed fight on. When the time came for El Gallo’s defeat, Ed milked it for all it was worth, staggering around the stage melodramatically and spraying red confetti blood into the audience. It must have been a relief for him to finally die for good.

Until the deceased all popped up again while the lovers and fathers were frozen in a happy tableau, that is. Then Pete had his big moment, giving El Gallo death scene advice. He had been nervous about that at the beginning of rehearsals – after all, who was he to be giving acting tips to Teach? – but Ed had put him at ease. Ed was so thoughtful that way. And in so many other ways. Really, Ed was quite perfect.

Stede’s moment to shine came next. First he nearly stole the moon, and sheepishly handed it over when Ed prodded him. “Thank you,” Ed said. “‘Good night, sweet prince.’”

The line was from Hamlet. Stede had known that before, but Ed had brought it to life for him on the couch in the entertainment room, reprising his mainstage role as the dying Hamlet while Stede read for Horatio. The lines were used for comedy in The Fantasticks, but still, he liked to think that he was giving the audience a taste of Henry’s glory days.

“‘And flights of angels sing thee,’” he began, then stopped as Pete was hit by a spotlight. As written, of course, Buttons would never make such a mistake. “That’s my light!” Stede yelled up at him, and smiled as the spotlight moved over to him. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “‘And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest,’” he said, trying to imbue the words with Horatio’s mourning. “‘Why doth the drum come hither?’”

On cue, Pete fired his blaster, shocking Henry out of his reverie and almost into a heart attack. Stede plucked the deely boppers from Pete’s head to punish him, then added, “Remember, Mortimer, there are no small actors. Only small parts.” As the audience laughed at his reversal of the usual phrase, Stede heard a single bark that sounded like it came from Izzy. What a victory!

Stede climbed into the trunk beside Pete and gazed out at the audience. “Remember me – in light,” he said, and slowly sank down as Jim closed the lid.

Onstage, Wee John, Roach, Oluwande, and Mary unfroze to sing “Happy Ending.” Offstage, Stede clambered out of the trunk. There was only a minute and a half left until he’d see Ed again, and wrinkles be damned, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t, declare his love in a bald cap. He peeled it off, yanked out the pins, and attempted to swiftly restore his hair to its usual fluffiness. “Act One is over,” he heard Ed say, and his heart leapt into his throat. “It’s the intermission now.” There was applause, and a stampede of people backstage, and Ed holding the moon, and⁠—⁠

“Ed!” said Stede, unable to contain himself for one second longer. “Darling! I love you too!”

The moon clattered to the floor.

“No,” said Lucius, grabbing Stede by the doublet before he and Ed could get their arms around each other. “Move now, snog later. We need to let the audience out.”

Stede pretended to swoon. “Alas, to be so cruelly parted!”

“Be brave, my love!” said Ed, and Stede nearly swooned for real. “Someday we may meet again!”

“You know I hate you both?” said Lucius. “Like I actually hate you. Now go.”

They went. They ran, holding hands and giggling, across the hall, through the green room, and into the dressing room, where they slammed the door and didn’t emerge until Lucius called for places.

Stede spent the beginning of Act Two putting himself back together, humming dreamily to himself as he touched up his smudged wrinkles and reapplied the bald cap. His song of choice was “So This Is Love” from Disney’s Cinderella. A bit pedestrian, but anything more sophisticated had flown from his mind around the time Ed had started kissing his neck. Besides, the other best option for dreamy humming was “A Little Bit in Love,” and Stede wasn’t. He was a lot in love. “So in Love,” one might say, but a torch song for a divorced couple hardly fit the occasion.

He kept humming as he layered his breeches, coat, and wig over his base look. Perhaps putting on the bald cap again just to cover it with a wig was a tad ridiculous – Pete, once again his late entrance compatriot, certainly thought so – but Stede was nothing if not thorough. Ed loved that about him. Ed loved him!

Even with the extra steps, Stede made it backstage in time to watch Ed’s next big showcase: the fencing lesson. Oluwande attacked him with a real foil instead of the stick he’d used in Act One, and Ed defended himself with nothing but his bare hand. The lesson ended with Oluwande disarmed, Ed pressing the tip of the blade to his throat. And then, when Mary tried to slap him, he caught her wrist, purred, “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt your hand,” and kissed her palm. Stede had played both Matt and Luisa more than once in his fantasies.

A lovers’ quarrel, a tiny gem of a speech for El Gallo, and then came “I Can See It,” Matt and El Gallo’s duet of naivety and cynicism. While Oluwande and Ed sounded marvelous together, Stede did regret losing the chance to sing that one. He longed to duet with Ed in front of a proper audience. No time to dwell on that, though! As soon as the song was over, he and Pete, now in pirate mode, went back into the trunk. “We commit him to the tender mercies of that most stringent teacher, Time,” they heard Ed say. “But, just so there’s no slip-up, we’ll add a bit of spice!”

The audience laughed again when the new and improved Henry and Mortimer were revealed. Stede suspected he could get addicted to that sound. He and Pete bumbled through their waylaying of Matt, garnering more gratifying laughter along the way. There was even applause for “An Episode,” the not-quite-song that ended the scene. It rang sweetly in Stede’s ears as he and Pete hustled Oluwande out through the audience’s door.

Once in the hallway, they turned right back around, and reached backstage just as Ed was setting the sun on the prop table. “Fuckin’ awesome work,” Ed whispered. “The audience loves you.” He smiled. “I love you.”

Stede’s heart fluttered, the intermission idyll not having worn the bloom off the words. “I love you,” he whispered back.

“I love you more.”

“No, I love you more!”

They continued in that vein for some time and might have indefinitely, had Jim not come offstage. “Gross,” they muttered as they passed by.

“The nerve of some people!” Stede huffed.

“Don’t mind them, dear,” said Ed, quoting one of Matt’s lines. “I think they’re jealous.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” said Jim. They snuggled into Oluwande’s arms, apparently deeming some public displays of affection more acceptable than others.

Ed tenderly brushed Stede’s wig out of his face. “Guess we should get out of our bubble, anyway. Almost time for me to seduce your ex.”

“Oh, yuck,” said Stede, the moment well and truly broken. “Never say that again, please.”

“As you wish, love.”

“And don’t say things like that when I still need my wrinkles, you menace!”

Ed zipped his lips, and Stede prepared for his next appearance, stripping down to his base costume. He kept the bald cap on – the professional Henries he’d seen used their own hair for this part, but then, their own hair was genuinely gray. By the time the wig, coat, and breeches were carefully folded on the prop table, “Plant a Radish” was almost over. That song had never been one of Stede’s favorites, as he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was the Brussels sprout his father had dug up instead of the carrot he’d planted. But Roach and Wee John performed it admirably!

Then Ed ascended the cube tree, and Pete had to pull Stede away from the curtain so he wouldn’t get stuck watching him again. They had to stay sharp for “Round and Round.” It was the most complicated number in the show, featuring the entire cast, intricate choreography, and a dizzying amount of props. In addition, the song carried a great deal of dramatic weight. El Gallo romanced Luisa with a surreal tour of the world, slyly manipulating her like a puppet master as they danced. In every country, Luisa spotted Matt – and Henry and Mortimer torturing him. El Gallo urged her to ignore the cries for help, leeching away her compassion with a magical mask. But the mask could only do so much. The voyage turned nightmarish, with Mary caught in a phantasmagoria of fabric flames, flashing lights, and confetti. The Swede’s stunning high notes added to the eerie frenzy.

The archaic lyrics posed a bit of a challenge, but if anyone could remain menacing while singing, “Gay… we’re so gay… terribly gay,” Ed could.

In the blackout that followed the song, Stede, Pete, Jim, Oluwande, Roach, and Wee John rushed offstage and, after dumping their props, quietly squealed and hugged each other in celebration of a job well done. The show was almost over now, with only Ed, Mary, and Oluwande having anything substantial left to do. The latter ran off to make his entrance through the audience door as the first two continued their emotional scene. Which Stede watched, of course, admiring the way Ed managed to play the Bandit for Luisa while letting the Narrator’s sorrow shine through.

That sorrow came to the forefront in Ed’s last poetic monologue, after El Gallo tricked Luisa into giving him her beloved necklace and then abandoned her. “There is a curious paradox that no one can explain,” he said, standing over the devastated Girl and Boy. The harp thrummed somberly. “Who understands the secret of the reaping of the grain? Who understands why Spring is born out of Winter’s laboring pain? Or why we all must die a bit before we grow again.” Ed looked out at the audience, begging for absolution for his role in the story. “I do not know the answer. I merely know it’s true. I hurt them for that reason, and myself a little bit too.” He withdrew, leaving the lovers to their bittersweet reconciliation.

Nothing was bitter backstage. “We fucking did it!” Ed whispered, gleefully grabbing hold of Stede.

“Almost!” said Stede. “It’s not over until the devastatingly handsome narrator sings.”

“Psh, one little reprise left. Could do that in my sleep.”

Stede laughed. “No more stage fright, then?”

“Mm-mm. All good. Ready to ruin your wrinkles?”

“And show up to curtain call all disheveled? What a scandal!”

“Oh, a scandal, can’t have that,” said Ed, eyes dancing. “Speaking of curtain call, you’re not dressed for it.”

“Well, naturally, darling,” said Stede. “I’ve been busy watching your extraordinary performance.”

“You’re extraordinary,” said Ed, and he fetched the Pimpernel coat from the prop table.

On went the coat and off went the bald cap. Ed fluffed Stede’s hair for him, finishing just as “They Were You” began. Oluwande and Mary’s last duet was gorgeous in its simplicity, expressing a more mature, more earned sort of love than their Act One songs. Stede reached for Ed’s hand as they listened, brought it to his lips. All my wildest dreams multiplied by two, they were you, they were you, they were you.

Soon Ed was back onstage for his reprise of “Try to Remember.” Mary, Oluwande, Wee John, and Roach sang backup, sprinkled with Jim’s confetti snow. “Deep in December, our hearts should remember,” Ed sang at last as he and Jim hung up the title curtain, hiding the others from sight, “and follow.”

The applause was so loud that Stede, waiting in the trunk with Pete, almost missed when Frenchie and the Swede started playing again. His heart swelled. He’d done this – he and Ed and the cast and crew and musicians, but it had been his idea. His vision. He’d taken words and notes on a page and brought them to life. He’d entertained people, maybe even moved them. It felt amazing, and there were still two performances to go.

But first, his bow! Jim opened the trunk, and the audience cheered. Parts of it, anyway. And parts of it were standing! Ed’s mom, Mary’s friends, Doug behind his camera, Jeffrey Fettering, Jack, Fang and Ivan… Izzy stayed stubbornly seated, or possibly he was just too short to be visible behind one of Wee John’s siblings. Stede didn’t spare him another thought as he made his way to center stage, gestured for Pete to take his bow, and then bowed himself, one hand pressed to his heart in gratitude.

“Yeah, Stede!” Jeffrey whooped. “That’s my friend!” Oh, dear. That would have to be dealt with another day.

The cast formed a line – Pete went to the end, but Stede joined Ed in the middle, as befitted his co-director status – and directed the audience’s attention to Buttons, Frenchie, and the Swede. Lucius had very emphatically declined the opportunity to come onstage for his share of the applause, but Pete would not let him be ignored. “There’s also a stage manager!” he piped up. “He’s the best!”

Non-actors acknowledged, the cast joined hands for a group bow. While everyone’s heads were down, Stede caught Ed’s mom’s eye and nodded. She nodded back, and, with a mischievous twinkle that made her look very much like Ed, reached under her seat and brought out… two bouquets.

Stede looked at Ed. Ed looked at Stede. “You didn’t,” they said at the same time.

“And I thought I was so original!” Stede said mournfully.

“Stede,” said Ed. “Flowers after a show? Not exactly unheard of.”

“But not unwelcome, I hope?”

“Very not unwelcome. Come on, let’s get ‘em.”

The exit music was playing now, and the audience starting to leave or mingle with the cast, so Ed’s mom met them halfway. “Congratulations, boys,” she said, handing them each a bouquet. Stede noted with satisfaction that he’d been given the one he’d originally given to her, so he could still give it to Ed. “You were wonderful.”

“Thanks, Ma,” said Ed. He stooped down and tolerated her kissing him on the forehead, then turned to Stede. “Got something for you.”

“And I for you!” said Stede. “Shall we trade?”

“We shall,” said Ed, and the exchange was made. Stede put off looking at his bouquet to watch Ed’s reaction to the dozen red roses he’d gotten him. He was not disappointed. “Fuck, Stede!”

“Language, Eddie-bear!” said Ed’s mom.

“Sorry,” said Ed. “But they’re so fu⁠— freaking fancy.” He breathed in the scent of the roses and rubbed a velvety petal against his cheek. “I love them. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, dearest,” said Stede. “Only the finest things for my co-director!” He turned his attention to his own flowers, and gasped in delight when they turned out to be carnations dyed bright rainbow colors.

“They’re not much,” Ed said awkwardly. “Reminded me of you, though. Vibrant.”

At that, Stede simply had to reach through the roses for Ed’s scarf. “They’re perfect,” he said, and, careful not to crush either bouquet, he pulled Ed into a passionate kiss.

Ed’s mom cleared her throat. “I’ll go wait in the car, hm? Call me if you don’t need a ride.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ed said, and went right back to kissing Stede.

When Stede surfaced some time later, he sighed happily. The music was done, the audience was gone, but there was still confetti on the floor and magic in the air. “This really has been the almost perfect evening,” he said.

“Only almost?” Ed asked teasingly.

“For true perfection we’d need a duet, don’t you think?”

“Hm, yeah. Maybe next time.”

“…next time?” Stede hadn’t allowed himself to think beyond the end of The Fantasticks.

Ed smiled and kissed him again. “Next time.”

Re: Audition flyer!

~Luscious~ Spriggs <[email protected]>
to Stede

Whatever, it’s your funeral.