Page 20 of Uriah's Orbit
It was the same in music, according to Maddox. Cutthroat users.
So how this guy had survived as genuine for nearly a decade in the industry and was still real blew my mind. And I realized I had gone from contempt to admiration. Not just of him or his singing, but his ass, and his ability to keep his status as gay from the public.
No matter how hard Noah and I had tried to keep the affectations out of our habits and speech, we were gay. Our parents had been ready for us to come out of the closet—together—for years before we were ready. It wasn’t hard for people to guess I was gay because of my chosen profession: fashion and costuming for stage.
Noah pulled the manly-man thing a little better than I did. He still favored pastel colors and sometimes called someone ‘honey,’ but that was probably something he picked up from me. He was a rising star financial manager, and I was sure that it wouldn’t be long before his money troubles were gone. He deserved it.
Wedeserved it. Gay twins in high school surrounded by jocks who were afraid to catchthe gay. It was its own version of Hell. We survived, but not without a few beat downs and mockings and a hole shit ton of bullying.
College was our saving grace. And we even got to be our own people. Not Uriah-n-Noah.
Uriah David Orback, and Noah Japeth Orback.
Thanks, Mom and Dad. Give your gay twins ultra-Biblical names. That’s not a set up for failure. And then hit poor Raphael with the same—and he turns out to be a pan twink.
I snagged my beer off the table. “Where’s the food?”
“Did you order it and pay for it?” Chase screamed back.
“You’re the host!”
“You’re the grubbing sons of bitches who keep showing up here to eat through my millions. Fuck you! Order a pizza and pay for it you lazy mooching shits.”
Maddox snickered and walked to the stairs, yelling up, “Well, now he doesn’t get a piece of the pies I ordered on the way here! Ungracious asshole host!”
“Twenty-eight stories, Maddox Jones! The windows open and it’s a long way down!”
Marcus laughed, and sat back. “Ah, domestic life.”
“You sleep alone tonight, Marc!”
Marcus looked honestly offended, and we all cracked up laughing at him.
* * *
The wordthat Austin Lowell of Up Down Left Right fame had joined the cast whipped through the Broadway and music worlds at lightning speed.
He worked all Monday to get the blocking right—the music was a done deal by Thursday last week. His stage presence blended in very quickly once he had the songs done.
Bill and Cesar managed to convince the understudy to give the show three last days off contract at the contract rate, so they didn’t have to deal with people coming in pissed that Austin Lowell wasn’t on stage that Thursday.
But during one of the weekend rehearsals, that I came to work on a costume adjustment, Austin dropped a bomb on the director and manager.
We knew the sales had lagged because of differences between the original album concept and the stage production were radical. He’d dug up the concept album to give it a listen. Then spoke up.
Dangling his legs off the side of the stage, over the pit, he looked at Bill in the center of the orchestra seats. “So. Tell me whyThe Messengerwas pulled out of the show.”
Everyone gasped and looked at him. I actually heard my pin drop out of my mouth and hit the floor.
“Hedidn’t,” Jayne hissed.
“He so did,” I answered.
Bill cocked his head, and considered him. “You’re new here, kid, and you shouldn’t question the director’s decisions.”
“But you’re the second or third director that’s left it out,” he said.
“Oh God, he’s going to argue,” Yvette whispered.
