Page 107 of Sweet T

“In a minute.”

Evan pulled Tucker to him for a kiss, lifting his hand to Tucker’s scruffy jaw and caressing it lightly.

“Mmm. You keep that up, and we’ll never make it out the door.”

“I don’t care.”

“What about your energy levels... for the show?”

“Funny you should mention it. I’m craving a protein bar.”

“We just had breakfast.”

Evan said nothing, kept eye contact and lowered his hand to Tucker’s zipper.

“Oh.”

* * *

By the time they got outside, most of the decorating crew had stopped for lunch. Titus and Pedro were sitting at a table by the pool, eating sandwiches.

“How can y’all eat out here?” Evan asked. “It’s so hot.”

“What?” Titus pointed up at the table’s umbrella. “We’re in the shade.”

“Don’t mind my princess,” Tucker said. “He’s a little hungover.”

Pedro chuckled. “Celebrating, no doubt. Word is the play is fantastic. Come, join us.”

They pulled up chairs and joined them in the shade.

Pedro offered a plate. “Have a sandwich. I made plenty.”

“No, thank you,” said Evan. “We just ate breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Titus said, folding his newspaper and reaching for another sandwich. “It’s afternoon already.”

“I’ll have one,” Tucker said. “I’m always hungry.”

Pedro gave Evan a wink. “I can’t imagine where he gets that from.”

“Listen to this.” Titus was reading from the paper. “Sebastian Collins, the play’s director, has a keen eye for detail. Not only was the show staged beautifully, but the costume choices, sets, lighting, and sound were all top-notch. I felt as if I were at a theatre Off-Broadway, certainly not in Spoon, Georgia.”

“Wow,” Tucker said. “Who said that?”

“Holt Baxter,” answered Pedro, then to Evan– “He’s a writer for the Spoon Tribune. One of three. Keep going, honey.”

Titus continued: “As far as acting, there are no weak links. However, aside from Collins’s powerful portrayal of the arrogant, yet sympathetic, Lear, there are two performances that bear mentioning. Cassie Wan’s chilling version of Goneril is the stuff of nightmares. No spoilers, but Hannibal Lecter can stand aside. There’s a new sociopath in town, and she’s got four hundred years on the good doctor.”

Evan gasped. “Holy shit! He’s comparing her to Anthony Hopkins. This is going to make Cassie’s day. Hell, her whole month.”

“That’s not all,” Pedro said.

Titus gave Pedro a wink, then continued. “Some performances tell an entire story unto themselves. Evan Harbuck, as the Fool, delivers one such stunning star turn with a grace and maturity far more than his years. Harbuck’s Fool is the perfect mirror to Lear’s hubris and delirium, bringing not only concern and wisdom to the old geezer, but conveying the profound heartache of what it is to lose your best friend to mental illness. In the two (of five) acts in which the Fool appears, Mr. Harbuck took me through the gamut of emotions. He is what I remember most of all, and I cannot wait to see what he does next.”

Titus stopped again, peeking around the paper for Evan’s reaction. Evan just stared, dumbfounded.

“I told you.” Tucker took Evan’s face in his hands, turning it toward him. “I told you how wonderful you were.”

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