Page 18 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
Jonah stared at her, unable to compute that he was actually discussing the topic of sucking dick with the producer of the show. “So, you’re asking us to be nice to each other? I haven’t been... I mean I haven’t beennotnice to him.”
“That’s not what Dexter said.”
Jonah rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Fine. I can be nice, I can say nicethings, I’m not a monster, Colbie. But I’m not implying anything when it comes to my private life,” he said, hands clenching into fists in his lap. “If people want to speculate about some totally made-up romance, I can’t stop that. But I’m not fueling the fire.”
“Do you want our ticket sales to plummet, Jonah?” Colbie asked bluntly. “We are in a cost-of-living crisis, and theatre is a luxury many people can’t afford. But after the show last night, we had a surge of people booking. If you want to get extended, then we need to keep it up. You can either help with that or watch everyone lose their jobs. Trust me when I say that animosity behind the scenes can destroy a production.”
“I’m sure we can be professional with each other. We have been so far.”
Colbie threw her hands in the air with an exasperated sigh. “Jonah. I don’t know what to tell you. I want this show to be one of the long-standing ones. We need to be up there withLes MisandPhantom. We can’t ride the high then allow ourselves to crash and burn. My reputation is on the line.”
“So, you think by pushing a narrative that me and Dexter are... what? Dating? That will help?”
“It won’t hurt. And you don’t have to evendoanything. Just do the press stuff and be nice to each other, post a few photos, social media will do the rest.” She took a deep breath. “You’re actors, for God’s sake, pretend, at least for a few months until the new cast is settled. Then you can channel the dislike into killing him each night, okay?”
Well. Fuck. He found himself between a rock and a hard place, smacking against both with no means of crawling his way out of it. He didn’t want anyone to fabricate romantic ties between him and the West End suck-up, but if they were going to do it anyway, he could at least make sure tickets were sold because of it. And he couldn’t say no to Colbie, not now, not when so much could be taken from him. Only now his rivalry came with its own ship name, and it seemed he would drown with it.
Ten
“King of walls, king of beauty, the king favored by the Gods. He sits on his throne, looking out on a sea of blood, of bodies, of destruction, and he hides her from view. He allows the world to crumble for the beauty of one, the desire of his son.”
—“Priam,”The Wooden Horse, Act Two
“We need to talk.”
Jonah stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder to see Dexter standing behind him. He’d hoped he could escape the theatre and grab a coffee before having to head back for warm-ups so he could digest everything he’d discussed with Colbie, but no. Not when Dexter Ellis was around. He looked at the other man, strands of blond hair kissing his forehead, another embroidered monstrosity on his jumper, a kite, perhaps, though Jonah couldn’t be sure. He stood with his shoulders back, posture impeccable, and nodded toward the stage door.
“Come on, let’s go for a walk,” he said, a statement rather than a question.
A million excuses bubbled on the end of Jonah’s tongue, but his mouth betrayed him and the only word that escaped his lips was, “Okay.”
They walked together in silence, away from Shaftesbury Avenue, through the busy London crowds until they walked farther past the Playhouse Theatre and came out on the embankments of the Thames. Jonah expected the other man to speak, to assert himself as they walked, but he didn’t. He kept his head down, hands in his pockets, and chewed on hisbottom lip, seemingly lost in thought. Jonah heard snippets of conversations from people they passed, arguments, gossip, plans for dinner, and he wondered if anyone paid any attention to them as they walked, two ghouls who knew no words and wouldn’t even look at each other. A cool breeze lifted from the river, and Jonah peered at the water as they moved along the pavement and danced his fingers along the stone wall separating them from the river below. The Thames, gray, reminiscent of soot, did little to ease the pining in his heart for Cornish seas. But the sounds of the water lapping against the banks soothed him. It almost called him home.
“So, Colbie spoke to you?” Dexter finally broke the silence. “About the whole being nice to each other thing?”
“Yeah.”
“And about people thinking we are, I don’t know, a thing?”
“Yup.” Jonah nodded.
“I don’t know why people would think I’m remotely interested in you,” Dexter quipped, and Jonah looked at him with a scowl. “But then again, I know how good I’ve been performing as Patroclus, so I suppose I can understand why they might think the romance has carried off the stage.”
“You really are the most arrogant person I’ve ever met.” Jonah shook his head slightly as he walked.
“I don’t care what you think of me.”
Jonah rolled his eyes. “No. Of course you don’t.”
“And, unlike you, I want to ensure everything I do is a success. Which is why I told Colbie I’m willing to go along with whatever I need to do to make this work. I can be nice. I can post some photos. But your social media needs some work.”
Jonah contemplated hauling him over the wall and into the river. He somehow restrained himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel the need to post pictures of lettuce every five minutes.”
Dexter huffed. “No, you like to post pictures of pavements and trees.”
Jonah knew this was an admission from them both at having checked out each other’s social media, but neither of them acknowledged it.
Dexter gradually came to a stop as they walked, Jonah falling in beside him naturally, and he watched as Dexter rested his arms against the stonebalustrade and looked out over the Thames. “As you’re awful at social media, I will handle it,” the blond said. “I can tag you and it will come up on your profile too. But you could at least post some stories or something, or comment on my stuff every now and then.”
