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“Right.” Robert stands to survey the gathered drama society. “Thank you all for attending my emergency meeting. I have called us together to discuss—”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Chris?” Annie asks.
Robert shakes his head. “Chris has not been invited. This meeting is not for his ears.”
“You’re not planning another coup, are you?” Sandra asks, raising her eyebrows.
Robert frowns at her. “You don’t have to say it with so little enthusiasm. But no; this is about a different matter. Specifically, the matter of the director’s sexuality.”
The others glance at each other.
“Is that really something we should be talking about without him here?” Jonathan asks.
“It is something we must talk about,” Robert says, firmly, “for the sake of Chris’s wellbeing. Left to his own devices, he will simply continue to repress his homosexuality. As a result, he will be unhappy and bitter, and will react unreasonably to perfectly sensible casting suggestions. We have a duty to help.”
“Wait, hold on.” Trevor raps his knuckles on the table. “Chris is gay? Did he tell you he’s gay?”
“Of course he didn’t tell me,” Robert says. “He has no idea. Therefore, it is our responsibility to bring his inclinations into his conscious awareness. Trevor, you’ve built up some muscle hauling bits of set around; I’ll need you to be shirtless more frequently during rehearsals.”
“You will, will you?” Trevor asks. “You sure this isn’t for your benefit?”
“We can all enjoy it, obviously,” Robert says, “but our focus here is Chris.”
Trevor raises his eyebrows. “Fair enough.”
“Jonathan,” Robert says, “as the third most skilled male actor in the company, you’ll need to go on a date with Chris. Be discreet; simply invite him for a meal. He needs to realise it’s a romantic affair himself.”
“What?” Jonathan asks. “You can’t – you can’t just order me to date someone. And... third most skilled?”
“Well, I’m busy directing this endeavour,” Robert says, “and Chris can’t date himself, can he?”
“Oh!” Annie raises a hand. “If you need a man to go out with Chris, I could get dressed up. Sounds like fun.”
Worth a shot, Robert supposes.
-
“I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine,” Robert says, catching Chris in the playhouse corridor. “This is Andy. I thought perhaps you two might like to go for a drink.”
“Robert,” Chris says, “I’m busy with setup for the play, and so are you. If you’d like to come along to opening night, Andy, you’d be very welcome, but I simply do not have time for—” He cuts himself off.
A moment passes.
“Your friend,” Chris says, “looks very much like Annie wearing a large moustache.”
“Cousins, probably,” Robert says.
“Annie,” Chris says. “What are you doing?”
Annie gives him an awkward grin. “Just, erm, trying to help?”
“Fine,” Robert says. “Back to the drawing board, apparently.”
“The drawing board for what?” Chris calls after him, as he walks away.
-
If you want something done properly, you have to do it yourself. When Chris arrives at the restaurant, Robert stands to hold his chair out for him.
Chris eyes the chair warily. “You’re not going to pull it away, are you?”
“It’s ridiculous that you’re still holding on to this grudge over Scrooge, you know,” Robert says. “Think of all the plays I didn’t spend trying to maim you.”
Chris sits, with far more caution than necessary. He is, of course, unharmed. “Thank you.”
“I was glad you accepted my invitation.” Robert takes his seat across from Chris. “Despite supposedly ‘not having time’ when you rejected Andy. Was it the moustache? Too large?”
“Why would – no, of course not. ‘Andy’ was a stranger to me, or so I thought at the time. I’d have gone for a drink with Annie if she’d approached me like a normal person.”
Hmm. This is, by necessity, a romantic date; Chris cannot be allowed to think of it as functionally the same as a drink with a female friend.
“Waiter!” Robert calls. “Candles, please.”
“Candles?” Chris asks. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Please, Chris. They’re crucial for the atmosphere.”
Their meal is unfortunately curtailed when the tablecloth catches fire halfway through the main course. But up to that point it’s pleasant enough, and, as a bonus, the restaurant’s evacuation means that Robert doesn’t have to pay for the food.
-
Helping Chris to accept his own feelings is no easy task. He immediately rejects Robert’s suggestion that they perform The Rocky Horror Show; “It’s undignified, and the audience will not behave themselves.”
Chris gives some cautious consideration to Brokeback Mountain, at least, although it doesn’t seem that he intends to put it on any time soon. He mentions that the main roles may be ‘tricky to cast’ but does not specify further.
When Robert follows up by suggesting Rent or Angels in America, Chris frowns at him. “Robert, is there a reason...?”
“Hmm?” Robert asks. “Is there a reason for what?”
Chris shakes his head. “Never mind.”
-
For a while, invading Chris’s personal space seems to be making progress. Chris certainly reacts when Robert stands very close to him; he becomes uncomfortable and tries to move away.
They’ve done two circuits of the rehearsal room, Chris putting space between them and Robert resituating himself by his side, before Chris snaps; he grabs a stick of chalk from Trevor’s supplies and draws a wide circle around himself.
“If anyone crosses this line,” Chris growls, “they are relegated to non-speaking roles for the next five plays.”
That’s the end of that strategy, apparently.
-
“Oh, dear,” Robert says, carefully calculating his volume so Chris will be able to hear from across the rehearsal room; Dennis, next to him, flinches and covers his ears. “I seem to have left my costume at home.”
“For God’s sake.” Chris hurries over to him. “The costumes are supposed to stay at the playhouse, you know. Why did you bring it home to begin with?”
Robert, of course, brought it home specifically for the purpose of leaving it there. Chris would not be impressed by that explanation, even if it’s for his own good. “Personal use, naturally.”
Chris sighs. “Fine. It’s only a rehearsal; you can wear your street clothes. Just make sure to bring it back before opening night.”
“It’s a dress rehearsal,” Robert says. “I can’t possibly wear modern clothes; it’ll break the immersion entirely.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll just have to perform nude.”
“What?” Chris asks. “No. How could that possibly be more immersive?”
“The people of the Middle Ages did not have access to modern tailoring technologies,” Robert explains, pulling his shirt off and casting it aside. “They did, however, have skin.” He sets to work on his trousers.
Chris grabs his wrist. “No.”
“Oh?” Robert asks. “You have an objection, do you?”
“Of course I have an objection! You can’t strip off in rehearsals! If you want to change, do it in your dressing room; if you want to strip, don’t.”
“It makes you uncomfortable, does it?” Robert asks. “The prospect of a handsome man removing his clothes in front of you? Now, why do you think that might be?”
“What do you mean, why?” Chris asks. “It’s the same reason I’ve banned Sandra from doing the same thing; it’s inappropriate. It’s bad enough that Trevor seems perpetually topless these days.”
“Did I hear my name?” Sandra asks, coming over.
Hmm. Unfortunate that Chris has had the same disagreement with Sandra; that does perhaps weaken Robert’s argument. Still, it’s nothing that can’t be overcome. Perhaps Sandra’s body repels Chris, whereas Robert’s drives him mad with lust: two very different reactions, but they both might lead Chris to want them covered up.
“Right,” Robert says. “What I propose is that Sandra and I both strip off, and then you can take the time to examine the individual reasons you find that inappropriate.”
Sandra shrugs. “Bit odd, but I suppose I’m up for it.”
Chris opens his mouth. Closes it again. Looks around the room.
“Robert,” he says, quietly, “could you come to my dressing room? I need to discuss a matter with you in private.”
Interesting. Is this a sign that Chris is prepared to acknowledge his sexuality at last?
“Lead the way,” Robert says.
“Put your shirt on first,” Chris says. “Please.”
-
“Look,” Chris says, closing the door to his dressing room. “Robert. What are you doing?”
Robert calls upon his large and impressive repertoire of innocent expressions. “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m proactively solving a costuming issue, obviously.”
“You’ve been acting strangely for the last fortnight,” Chris says. “I know you’re up to something. If it’s going to cause issues with the play, I need to know about it.”
“I would never allow a personal project to interfere with theatre,” Robert says, solemnly, “unless it would improve the performance.”
“And what is this ‘personal project’? You’ve apparently dedicated yourself to making me uncomfortable. Why?”
Perhaps it’s time to have a frank conversation about this.
“Very well,” Robert says. “I am helping you to recognise your own homosexuality.”
Chris stares at him.
“You’re gay, clearly,” Robert explains. “To save you from a lifetime of repression and unhappiness, I have taken it upon myself to—”
“That’s what this is about?” Chris demands.
“Don’t try to deny it, Chris; it’s perfectly apparent. You’re the only one who doesn’t know, frankly. If you take the time to examine your own feelings, I’m sure you’ll come to understand that—”
“For God’s sake, I don’t need someone to help me recognise my sexuality! I know perfectly well that I’m gay. I’ve known for years.”
“What?” Robert asks. “No, you haven’t.”
“Oh, really?” Chris asks, spreading his hands. “I suppose you’re the expert. What other things do or don’t I know? It’s a difficult life, having no access whatsoever to my own thoughts; I should really see a doctor about it.”
This is ridiculous. Robert will not be fooled. “You can’t possibly know. You’ve never mentioned it.”
Chris makes a brief series of incoherent sounds. “It wasn’t any of your business!”
“Of course it’s my business,” Robert says. “Why on Earth would you stay silent? I’ve put a lot of effort into this. You’ve wasted both our time.”
“My sexuality,” Chris says, tightly, “is nobody’s business but my own.”
Robert shakes his head. “Not true. It is also the business of any man with whom you happen to enter a romantic relationship. How do you expect to maintain a romance with someone who doesn’t know you’re attracted to them? Honestly, Chris.”
“We are not in a romantic relationship.”
“True,” Robert acknowledges. Interesting prospect, now that he mentions it. “Would you like to be?”
“I—” Chris cuts himself off, suddenly.
They look at each other for a moment.
“Robert,” Chris says. It sounds a little strangled. “What are you talking about?”
Robert was rather expecting more enthusiasm. “You’ve already conceded that I’m right about your sexuality. Don’t try to pretend you’re not interested now.”
“I see,” Chris says. “I’m gay, so I must be attracted to every man I see. Is that it?”
“I didn’t say that,” Robert says. “But you’re attracted to me, aren’t you?”
“That’s not – that’s not a given! That is an outrageously egotistic conclusion to draw.”
“I see,” Robert says. “So I’m wrong, am I? You’re not interested, and I should withdraw my offer of romance.”
Chris shrugs. A poor effort at appearing casual; an audience would not be convinced. “It’s clearly not a serious offer; what difference does it make?”
“Why wouldn’t it be serious? How could it possibly benefit me to feign interest in you?”
“You’ve been acting interested in me for some time,” Chris points out, “as part of some mad scheme to force me out of the closet you’ve decided I’m in.”
Robert folds his arms. “All right; how could it benefit me to feign interest in you now?”
“Did—” Chris cuts himself off, briefly, and then speaks again. “Was this your intention all along? Were you just trying to... to get me into bed?”
“I’ve already explained my intention.” Honestly, the man is astonishingly bad at listening sometimes. “My goal was simply to have you acknowledge your sexuality. But, as that was apparently unnecessary, I suppose I might as well get you into bed; at least that would mean something has come of the whole affair.”
Chris says nothing for a moment.
“I’d like to reiterate,” he says at last, “that it’s outrageous of you to assume I’d be interested in you.”
“But you are interested in me,” Robert says. “Aren’t you?”
Chris closes his eyes, tilts his head back. Takes a deep, slow breath.
“That,” he says, fixing his gaze on Robert again, “is not the point.”
-
“I’m pleased to report that the efforts to help Chris accept his sexuality have reached a successful conclusion,” Robert announces to the rehearsal room as a whole. “Well, as it happens, they... may have been somewhat unnecessary. But the outcome has been satisfactory nonetheless.”
“Does that mean I should put my shirt back on?” Trevor asks.
“No,” Chris and Robert say, simultaneously.