Page 62 of Sweet T

Tucker stared at Evan incredulously.

“Just saying.”

“Of course, I would need an audition,” Sebastian mumbled to himself more than anyone else. “Should anyone question... not that it’s really any of their business. I am the director.”

“I can audition right now if you like,” said Evan. “I don’t know Lear by heart, but I have other pieces prepared.”

“Excellent!” Sebastian gave another silent applause. “What have you got?”

“I was the understudy for Romeo.”

“Understudy? Egads! You would make the perfect Romeo.”

“Tyke said I was too short.”

“Nonsense. Those eyes. If I wasn’t old enough to be your grandfather, I’d—”

“Hold up,” Tucker said. “Wait a minute. You rehearse nights, Sebastian. Evan is working here nights. He has to. The thug that beat him also stole all his money. He can’t work here nights and still be in a play with you.”

Sebastian mulled this over. He unrolled his silverware, raising the napkin and tucking a corner into the neck of his t-shirt. “Fine. He can rehearse with me in the afternoons. The Fool doesn’t have many scenes, T. They’re just important ones with me—Lear.”

“He doesn’t have a car.”

“I’ll pick him up. Where are you staying, Evan?”

Tucker shot Evan a pleading glance. Evan’s eyes lowered. “At Tucker’s,” he said.

“Oh... I see.” Sebastian’s tone went from business to casual with lightning speed. “If music be the food of love, by all means, play on.” He took a bite of his sandwich.

Tucker looked at Evan, defeated. Who was he to interfere with Evan’s passion? Why would he?

Because he’s hot, said the little devil on his shoulder.

Because you care about him, countered the angel.

“Please reconsider, Evan. I-I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Evan raised a finger, lightly pressing it to Tucker’s lips, and said, “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?”

He pointed above Sebastian, gently turning Tucker, placing an arm around him and lowering his voice to a confiding stage-whisper. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou her maid art far more fair than she.”

Sebastian watched, transfixed, as Evan addressed him almost directly. Shelly and Ben were in the periphery, peeking from the kitchen.

Evan lowered his hand and continued: “Be not her maid, since she is envious; her vestal livery is but sick and green and none but fools do wear it; cast it off.”

He didn’t elevate the words as most do when attempting poetry. He spoke to them conversationally. Then, turning back to Tucker, he reached up and took the larger man’s face into his palms, the joy in his eyes tangible. “It is my lady—O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!”

He stopped, but held the pose. Tucker hadn’t a clue what the words meant, but he remained there, magnetized by Evan’s touch, his gaze. The pull was so strong that Tucker found himself leaning down slowly, falling toward the crystal pools of those eyes, those soft lips.

“BRAVO!” Shelly shouted, emerging from the kitchen clapping. “That was fantastic, Evan. Who knew there was a stage actor among us?”

“I beg your pardon,” Sebastian quipped.

Shelly dismissed him with a wave. “Oh, you know what I mean. Another one.”

“It was quite good, Evan,” Sebastian said, sipping from his brandy. “Interesting take with the cadence. For a moment there, I thought you may switch the pronouns.”

“I considered it.” Evan broke the pose with Tucker. Tucker shook his head, his smile drunken and euphoric. “But I thought it best to keep to the original. It was an audition, after all.”

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