Page 12 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
“He’s got the flu, his boyfriend had to call in for him, apparently he’s, like, really ill with it.” Jonah hesitated; the thought of going back to get his phone to shoot him a text passed through his mind, but Sherrie linked her arm with his and guided them both forward. “And, well, it’s not just Bastien who’s ill either. We’ve got seven cast members off.”
“Seven?” Jonah’s attention was suddenly piqued. “Seriously? Who?”
“Bastien, Lucie, Nate, Lucian, Elliott, Luca, and Toby,” Sherrie said, counting off the names on her fingers.
Jonah tried to piece the names together in his head. Three main cast members, three ensembles, and one swing. His mind started trying to work out who would cover who, and within seconds he’d run around in circles and looped a rope around himself only to trip over his thoughts.
“They haven’t canceled the performance?” he asked, though the fact he was on his way to warm-ups answered the question for him. “We don’t have enough cast to cover the leads.”
“You’ve got Lennon stepping in,” Sherrie said, her voice careful, restrained. “And Sarah covering Lucie.”
Jonah gave a nod. Lennon and Sarah were two of the best swings he’d ever worked with, falling seamlessly into whatever track they were given, even on a minute’s notice. He didn’t know how they did it; they were the unspoken heroes of the theatre, brave, immensely talented, and with memories capable of absorbing countless roles.
“So, just a small ensemble tonight, then?” Jonah said. “Is Lennon on as Patroclus?”
Sherrie shook her head. “No. Odysseus.”
They moved through the wings to the stage where Evie, their stage manager, stood with her hands on her hips, overseeing her cast as they stretched in front of her. She glanced at Jonah and waved him over, her movements choppy, as if she couldn’t shake off the tension building in her muscles. As he approached, Sherrie went to Sarah and spoke quietly with her, their words light and friendly, and Jonah wished he could be with them rather than with the clearly frazzled Evie.
“Slight issue,” she said as Jonah reached her, and he noted just how frizzy and large her usually neat dark hair had become. “You might not have a Patroclus tonight.”
Jonah laughed, not knowing how else to respond, but when her pinched expression didn’t change the joy seeped from his tone. “But we can’t do the show without him.”
“I know,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I called Colbie, and she’smade some calls. I’m just waiting on a response and hopefully we can go ahead, but I need you to be on your A game tonight because you will have to carry someone who is unfamiliar with the track.”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, of course.”
“Fabulous.” She forced a smile. “Now warm up with the others, we’re going to make this happen, I’ll be damned if we have to cancel the show tonight.” She waved Jonah away with a small, dismissive jerk of her hand.
Jonah took his space on the stage and moved with the others, all of them watching Omari as he led the stretches. Jonah marveled at the man, the way he moved, so fluid, effortless, never breaking a single bead of sweat, and it pissed Jonah off to no end that someone could be so frustratingly perfect. But despite Omari’s best efforts to energize the cast the mood became subdued. They knew the likelihood of a performance tonight was slim; there would be no show without a Patroclus. Evie’s voice kept interrupting them as she spoke on her phone, becoming more of a distraction when they were running their vocal warm-ups, her tone shrill, desperate, until finally she stuffed her mobile into her pocket and clapped her hands together loudly.
“Because I am the best person in the entire world, I have a cover coming in for Patroclus. Please continue to get ready and, Sherrie, I need you and the wardrobe team ready to make some adjustments to the first cover costume and make sure he’s looking fabulous for stage.” She then let out an uncharacteristic squeal. “Tonight is going to be huge!”
“Who is our hero, then? Who stepped in to save us last minute?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms over her chest with a smile. “Don’t leave us hanging.”
Evie smirked. “Dexter Ellis.”
Jonah hadn’t seen Dexter since the incident on the tube. He’d expected him to show up for yoga, but he didn’t, and he kept an eye out for him during and after the shows in case he popped up to tell Jonah about all the mistakes he made again. Hemighthave spent a couple of hours scrolling through Dexter’s Instagram,and God, the man was a bore. He posted photos from rehearsals and gushed about his excitement attaking on the role of Hector. There was a worrying amount of photos of salads he’d eaten and even more photos of himself pouting in mirrors. Yet people ate his content up. His followers were nearing one hundred thousand, an obscene amount given how utterly mundane he was, but it only solidified his position as the darling of the West End. True theatre royalty.
Jonah adjusted the collar of his costume, then fiddled with the microphone poking out of his hairline. He had not really allowed himself to ponder the reality of performing with Dexter; the cast change still wouldn’t happen for five weeks, and even then his scenes with him were limited, save for the fight scene, and he couldn’t deny feeling slightly excited at murdering him onstage. Dexter covering Bastien meant their rivalry now faced a different turn. There would be no besting him in a sword fight; he had to make out with him instead. At least he wouldn’t taste of mackerel like Lucian did. Or, Jonah hoped he wouldn’t taste of mackerel, anyway.
A loud knock on his dressing room door jostled Jonah from his thoughts. Before he could answer, Dexter made his way into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked... undeniably handsome in the costume Bastien usually wore, though the tunic sat higher on his thighs, the man’s height his downfall. His hair looked tousled and playful and made Jonah want to run his fingers through it. No. No. The guy was a giant dick, and Jonah hated him.
“So, I thought we should quickly talk about the sex scene?” Dexter said bluntly. “Normally Achilles disrobes Patroclus then lays him down on the bed, but I think we should switch it.”
Jonah blinked slowly at him. “So, you want to take my clothes off and get me onto the bed instead?”
“I just think our dynamic is clearly different from the one you have with Bastien, and it would work better if Patroclus takes the lead in the sex scene. I don’t think the audience will believe you could be dominant in a sexual situation with me.”
“Are you for fucking real?” Jonah scoffed. “You’ve never played Patroclus, you’ve never acted with me, and it shouldn’t matter what you thinkour dynamic should be because we have directions and lines to say and don’t have any choice in what our characters do onstage.”
Dexter clicked his tongue against his teeth then smirked. “You are so wildly unprofessional.”
“I’munprofessional?”
“Yes. You’ve been a total twat to me for absolutely no reason from the moment I stepped foot in this theatre for the photo shoot. And now you won’t even discuss a way to make our performance stand out and be the best it can be.”
“I’ve hardly had time to be a twat to you, have I? We’ve spent... what, twenty minutes together? And even if I have been a twat, I’ve only been mirroring the way you’ve been with me,” Jonah said. “You pretend like you didn’t know who I was at yoga, then you come here and threaten me and then—”
