Trifecta: Memorial day, part two

[frogs_of_war]

 Let's see if this works. Yesterday it took almost an hour to get the chapter posted in all three places (not counting editing). Today I got it up in the other two places in less than five minutes (the trick, I think, to AO3 is to paste from Scrivener into Rick Text. Yesterday it took me more than five minutes to get the spacing right). What took me the most time was DW refused to let me cut more than a line (either in Rich Text or HTML) and I couldn't just add the cut in lj because the 'edit entry' button sent me to some feed somewhere. Plus every time I toggled from Rich Text to HTML, more gobbledygook was added between paragraphs. I had to cut all of it and paste in /br to make it work.

Lets see what happens today.

Title: Trifecta

Chapter: Memorial Day, part two

Status: WIP

Genre: Romance, Triple Slash, businessmen, jobs, friends, working

Length: 2.4 k

Note: Memorial day is the last Monday in May here.

Summary: Damien's guys are watching his play, but so are Kenneth's parents (I almost said his, meaning Damien's, in-laws)

Master list

 

Damien stood on his mark with a giant feather duster in his hand. The curtains rose. Tara swept in wearing full stepmother regalia. The small noises from the audience stopped. She turned to look at Damien, or Deedee.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Oh, Mother Dearest, the cat’s paws were so quiet, I’m afraid I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“I was talking about you.” Stepmother rolled her eyes. “You sweet dumb child.”

“Thank you, Mother Dearest.”

The conversation continued in the same vein. The stepmother throwing shade while Cinderella was “too innocent to notice” and so very sweet with her answers, even when she was giving, oh so sweetly, back just what she’d gotten.

Cinderella’s step sisters flounced in. The hardest part of this role was to not hate them too obviously. As well as these parts, they were also Damien’s understudies. They’d talked Jaron into it after Damien had almost missed curtain call on Mother’s Day. Two weeks ago Damien would have given up his part if asked. Now they would have to pry it from his cold, dead fingers.

Cinderella held her own by deflecting most of the nastiest comments, many landing on the sister who spewed them. As a result, she wasn’t allowed to attend the ball. Sour grapes.

A wizard appeared before her—played by a woman—and granted her machismo for three hours. This gave her the gumption to attend the party on her own.

The curtain didn’t fall between acts. Techies, dressed like servants moved or turned furniture and the back drop was lowered or raised. Damien had one minutes thirty to change from the dress of rags, showing off more than an innocent girl should, to the ball gown while the set changed from garden to ball room and the prince—

Amanda today since it was Emma’s night off—was introduced.

On the left wing, Damien removed his wig, shimmed out of the rags and, with the wardrobe assistance’s help, into the gown.

Tara looked around the curtain. “Girlfriend, your fella’s here.”

Kenneth? Wasn’t he supposed to be with his parents?

“That guy’s with him.”

Ty was supposed to pick him up after the last show. What were they doing here?

Damien stepped into the hoop skirt and tied it around his waist as the wardrobe assistant placed the new wig on him and pinned it into place. He steps into his new shoes. The wardrobe assistant looked him over, bent down and untwisted his hem, then nodded. A gulp of water and Damien was good to go.

Just in time. Two lines, one line, Damien’s cue. He stepped out and looked around the stage. The prince cut off his conversation with the stepsisters and left his throne. He took Cinderella’s hand and asked for her name. She deflected the question. He asked her another and a third, but she answered each with what the prince took for an innocent nothing, but had the audience laughing.

Finally Damien had a moment alone. He fluttered his fan. He was supposed to be watching the prince talk to a servant, but he looked at the audience instead. As long didn’t seem to notice Tara, he was fine.

Kenneth sat near an aisle a little over halfway back. Ty sat beside him. On Kenneth’s aisle side, a dark haired couple watched the play. His parents? Why had the come here? Wasn’t Kenneth taking him to a restaurant or something? That should have kept them busy for three or four hours.

On cue Tara imposed herself on his view and sent this unknown princess barred comments. Cinderella sent back ones with sharper points and Tara hammed up her wounds.

Bells rang. Midnight. The machismo came to an end. Cinderella turned meek, or as meek as she ever was, and ran off stage without one shoe.

Stepping out of a shoe was awkward no matter how many times he did it, but the director insisted it was supposed to be.

Damien stepped out of the other shoe, picked it up, ran across backstage as quietly as possible while the stage was reset to be her house, and entered from stage right. She ran up the stairs that led to “the upper floor” backstage.

The wardrobe assistant met him at the bottom of the back stage stairs. Off went the wig, the gown, the hoop skirt. On went the rags, the ‘drab’ wig, and the barely-there slippers. He swished the rag skirt to make sure his legs showed off well, made sure the shoe was in his pocket, and hurried back up the stairs, where he downed half of the water bottle. Just in time.

The Stepmother and Stepsisters argue about who the strange woman might have been. The Stepmother calls Cinderella down and tells her that for the foreseeable future, she won’t be opening the door. Her Stepsisters will do it. They argue that they won’t do such a menial task. The Stepmother reminds them of the reward. The prince is looking for the woman and he might just fall in love with them.

They go off to bed. Cinderella wanders into the garden, as the backdrop rolls to the side, and the wizard appears. She asked for another dose of machismo for when the prince comes. He tells her he gave her what she already had. The stage goes dark and light again. The stage is back to being Cinderella’s front room with Cinderella in the middle. The Stepmother and Stepsisters come down wearing movie star dressing gowns, boas and feathers on their slippers and all.

The doorbell rings. Cinderella is sent upstairs. The prince’s servant has arrived. He tries the shoe on both the sisters with much grunting and swearing all around and even on the Stepmother when she insists. When he’s about to leave, the prince arrives. He wants results.

Both Stepsisters claim to fit the shoe and during their fight they let on that Cinderella is upstairs.

The prince’s servant insists Cinderella should be brought down. The Stepmother is just as adamant that Cinderella isn’t worth the effort. The prince takes matters into his own hands and goes toward stairs, but as his foot touches the bottom step, Cinderella opens the door. She walks to him, showing as much leg as possible. He gapes and falls to his knees. “Truly you are beautiful. If I were not looking for another…”

He turned to his servant. “The shoe doesn’t matter. This is the one.”

Cinderella smiles. “What a cute thing you are as well, my prince, but aren’t you going to ask me first?”

He takes her hand. “My love, my lover, today and forever.”

He kisses her fingers.

“What about the shoe!” The Stepmother stomps her foot.

“This shoe?” Cinderella pulls a shoe from her pocket.

The stepmother glowers. She grabs the shoe and breaks it in half. The servant snatches it away from her, but the prince is already on his feet, kissing Cinderella.

Amanda, her face inches from Damien’s, whispered, “Almost there.”

They pulled away as if for breath and clutched again. What was Kenneth doing out there?

When they stepped apart, the rest of the actors on stage stood gawking. They had several more arguments, because the Stepmother refused to lose quietly, but Cinderella gave as good as she got.

One more quick change into a wedding dress and another gulp of water as the stage becomes the prince’s ball room again, then on stage for the after-wedding dance. The Stepmother flirts outrageously with all the men and pretends that Cinderella was always her favorite because some people always win even when they lose.

But Cinderella and the prince trade double entendres and blissfully ignore the chaos.

The Stepmother got the last word because Tara would have it no other way and the curtain fell. The audience applauded.

Damien grabbed a quick drink as the actors went out in twos. He and Amanda went last. People were standing up, which was always nice. The exhaustion of doing shows back to back was dancing about the edges, but he’d last long enough to change and hopefully get home.

Kenneth blew a kiss. His men were out there watching him. They’d come to each of the plays, which changed according to some plan in Jaron’s head. Sometimes they did a different play every day of the week, sometimes the same play three days in a row and twice on weekends.

He bowed again. Someone handed him roses. He grinned and bowed and blew kisses and grinned some more. Jaron came on stage and let everyone go. Damien drank a whole bottle of water. All those lines dried his throat. Jaron gestured Damien and Amanda back onto the stage. They all took one last bow. “And,” Jaron gestured widely, “for being such a great audience tonight, if you present your ticket next door, your first drink’s on me.”

The crowd cheered louder.

This was a deal Jaron had with the bar owner next door. She got more customers and he got talked about by people who hadn’t even seen his plays. Most of the cast would be over once they were out of makeup, but first they had to greet their audience all done up. That was the reason for Cinderella’s last scene. Jaron had had a problem, years ago, with one particular patron and the rag skirt.

“I’m not going out without you.” Tara took Damien’s arm. They walked the long way to the theater lobby. Patrons waited to have their playbills signed or flirt or tease the actors. Some people came every night and treated them like family.

And old lady presented Damien with a shawl. He thanked her, but didn’t want to put it on until he got all his makeup off. “I’ll wear it home tonight.” “Be a dear and do.”

Damien promised again. Tara got a bottle of vodka and a vulgar t-shirt. That was the sort of thing he wore as Edgar. That and sweatpants. Things Tara would never get caught dead in. Damien matched himself mostly, which proved, according to Tara, that Deedee wasn’t a real persona.

But she was part of Damien now and even if he quit acting tomorrow, he’d never give her up.

Another group of people approached. Damien signed things and smiled and replied to flirting as gently as possible. No, he wasn’t going to be next door. He wasn’t quite twenty-one yet.
Jaron didn’t mind that excuse. Damien’s youth was good for the company or something.

A man stepped up and held out a hand. He looked as much like Kenneth as anyone could that didn’t look like him at all. More manner than looks maybe. Damien shook it. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Not as big as it could have been.” The man’s grip was firm and persistent. “But this is only your first acting job.”

The woman beside him nudged his elbow. “We are both pleased to see you are the star.”

Tara grunted. “Someone’s talking to the wrong person.”

Kenneth took Damien’s arm and removed his hand from Kenneth’s father’s. “Damien, Tara, these are my parents: Robert and Barbara Hunt.”

Tara took Robert’s hand and flirted outrageously. He laughed and played along, but kept looking at Damien. Barbara crossed her arms. Damien had to get out of this dress. “Kenneth, why don’t you take them next door?”

“What a great idea.” Tara didn’t let Robert go as she walked off. She always wore her stage makeup to the bar. Washing off the stage making and putting in the drag makeup was just too much work. Tara didn’t go anywhere work related as Edgar.

Barbara followed them out.

Kenneth kissed Damien’s cheek. “I better follow them.”

“Don’t let Tara force your mother to kill anyone.” Ty took the shawl from over Damien’s arm and turned him toward the green room.

“Is he yours?” asked a guy in a backward baseball cap and some kind of sports shirt with the sleeves cut off.

Ty grinned. “Yep.”

“Then that kiss…”

Damien wasn’t about to let patrons think they could just go around kissing him. “I’m the other guy’s too.”

“Switch days?” The guy bit his lip.

Ty grinned wider. “Big bed.”

The guy licked him lips. “If you’re ever looking for a forth…”

“You’ll have to wait in line.” Ty pushed Damien though the doorway. “Change quick. Barbara might blame us for her husband’s behavior and stay an extra day to punish us.”

Taking makeup off wasn’t easy. Rushing wasn’t an option if he wanted to keep his skin. Ty helped him put the wig away and took the dress to wardrobe. They would look over it for smudges or tears. Tomorrow probably.

Unless it was tomorrow already.

Damien was so tired. He shouldn’t have gotten up extra early to spend time with Kenneth before his parents arrived.

He got back in his jeans and t-shirt and wrapped the scarf around his shoulder before he put his windbreaker on. The old lady would certainly be watching for him.

She was.

Damien thanked her again as Ty pulled up in his car. He’d had to park down the block.

Damien got in and fastened his seatbelt. “Are the others coming?”

“I told Kenneth I’d call him when I got you home.”

“Thanks.” Damien closed his eyes.

“Need me to carry you in?”

Damien shook himself awake. Ty walked around and opened his door, then walked him into the house. “You were great up there.”

Damien grunted his thanks.

“Nothing fell and no one tripped or flubbed a line. It was a pretty good night.”

Damien agreed. Ty helped him out of his shirt and jeans and into bed. He’d brushed his teeth right after he ate between shows. The adrenaline crash always took him hard. On two show nights his men didn’t want him driving home. For the best.

The lights went out and Ty snuggled against him. Ty got up again. Voices rose. Kenneth warmed Damien’s back and Ty’s breath rustled his hair. Paradise.