8 comments/ 7747 views/ 3 favorites Historic Costumes By: MSTarot The phone has been ringing off the hook for the last week. "Historic costumes," I paused and waited for the inevitable question given it was October. "Yes, ma'am, we do rent for Halloween. No, we only carry costumes from pre-nineteen hundred." I rolled my eyes at the Hanna Montana as a slut request. "Yes, we have several pirate costumes in stock." Holding up my hand, I made mock talking motions with my fingers and thumb. My tailor, Julian, smiled and gave me a wink. "Yes, we can. Alright, thank you and yes we are open till 8:00 tonight. Then 10:00 tomorrow night. And then till midnight on Halloween night. Thanks again, and hope to see you soon." I hung up the phone. "You stupid twat-waffle." "Another request for Captain Sparrow?" He asked, not looking up from the hundred-year-old bobbin lace he was attaching to a collar. He kept checking the printout next to him, but he was still doing it not quite right. Julian made my OCD twitch. Among other things. "More or less. She wanted a traditional pirate costume." With a shake of my head, I finished writing down the ladies phone number and stuck it to my cork appointment board. "So, I need to mug another homeless guy for his clothes?" Julian gave me a wink, alluding to an old discussion of ours. "I don't think she knows what a traditional pirate looked like. I'll slap something together for her. Now, are you going to get the Elizabethan lace sewn on at some point tonight?" I gave him a look over my glasses. "Oh, yes sir! Don't beat me, Massa." He cringed back from me. "Julian will have it ready on time. Don't fire me, please Massa." "Shut up and sew something, you Gaydar bait." Julian grinned and put a hand on his hip in a flamer pose, that fit him far too well for a straight guy. Then when he pitched his voice into a twink's lilting tone that made me want to either murder him or fuck his ass till he begged. "Oh, darlin'!" He blew me a kiss. "I ought to feel so jelly of you, that buttery backstitching pattern you can sew. I think envy is leading me to a have delicate condition." He reached down to reposition his cock in his pants. It took my full control not to follow that motion with my eyes. "If you were not so damn good a tailor, I would fire you just for firing sake." I tossed a fabric ruler at his smiling face. "And you're delicate condition is that you can't tell 1700s needle lace from late 1800s bobbin." He looked down at the pattern in the open book before him and then at the 1885 Prussian ladies' ball gown he was working on. "No, this is bobbin lace! See the pattern here is almost identical to what it shows here." Then he saw my eyes, that I'm-teasing-you-twinkle, and frowned. "Man cunt." The phone again. "Historic costumes." Sigh. "No sir, we don't have Power Ranger costumes. Sorry." ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Sitting in my empty shop, listening to music Julian would have teased me about if he had been here, I was depressed. Looking at Facebook, between silly-costume request phone calls, I saw where all my SCA friends were posting pictures of Gatalop 29. Again Fort Gaines had been invaded by the middle ages, and again I had missed it. For the second ... no, the third time since I opened my shop here. Leaving their pages for my own FB page, I pulled up my pictures. There in images was almost a timeline of my life. Goofy pictures of me, as a late teen, sitting around a gaming table, playing my Blood Angels at a Warhammer40k tournament. Then all the Cosplay pictures. And then my attempt at a beard year, and that first spring in the Society of Creative Anachronisms. Getting dragged to Mississippi for GulfWars. Oh, the fun I had then! The costumes! I looked at the pictures of me, and half wanted to wince at what I thought was historical back then. Then I looked at the guy in the photo next to me. Kevin the Drakecatcher. His snarky, sarcastic as hell smile. That stupid blue beret hat--color matched to his kilt and boots--with that azure ostrich feather. Had I even know what a blue feather meant when that photo was taken? Then the photos after that. The improvements in the way I dressed at every event till I was nearly perfect. I could have stepped back through time and not been out of place. Sitting back, I looked around at my shop. My dream had come true. Perhaps dreams should stay dreams. When they come true you have to wake up. Looking at the picture of the opening day, me holding up the first dollar I had made. How little gray there was in my goatee then, how unchanged Julian looks. The man must be a vampire, he never ages. With a sigh, I reached for my coffee and looked up to see a zombie, in 1817, French-cut, blue waistcoat, walk into the shop. I closed my eyes for a half-second and took a deep breath before putting on my professional face. Not only had this guy just scared the whey out of me but he was in a movie level quality makeup and costume. The Walking Dead had nothing on this guy. I smiled. "Can I help you? If you're after brains I'm afraid we're all out." He smiled, which was pure gruesome. "Lord, I hope so. That you can help I mean." He turned and there on his backside was a massive tear in the fabric--threads sprayed out like a dust broom--of his pants. Smiley face boxer shorts showed through the tear. Laughing, I nodded. "That, I can fix. But, from the looks of it, whoever made that should probably do the work. They might have more skill than I do." I gestured with my hand, showing him my acceptance of the fact that there were other historical tailors out there better than myself. "It belongs to a theater production company. We're putting on a play tonight. I went out, in my costume and makeup, to an early Halloween party at a friend's house." He managed to look embarrassed even under all those latex appliances and layers of paint. "I shouldn't have done that. Now, if I show up with it like this, I'm going to be in trouble. I have an understudy that's getting too big for his britches." He shrugged. "No reason to give the director even more reasons to put him in my place." I smiled and nodded. "Sure. I'll keep you out of trouble." I gestured behind me to the curtained-off back room. "There is a dressing room back there where you can drop trou." I watched the smiley faces and smiled along with them as he walked past my work desk. When he went between the curtains, I got out my kit and moved some paperwork I had been fiddling with earlier. I closed my laptop and got it out the way. He reappeared in a moment, holding the pants through the parted curtain. I smiled and took the pants. "Modest much?" "No, not really. I just didn't want to embarrass you if were. Plus someone might come walking in." I chuckled and turned to my work top and got my fabric scissors to do the de-threading. A good place to start anyway. This was a mess. "I don't get embarrassed and you are the first customer since sunset." He shrugged and stepped out into the shop again. I saw very nicely muscled legs molding those silly boxers. I did my best to keep my eyes off the Bowie bulge he was sporting, but I did take at least one good look. "So what play?" I asked as I worked. "Les Misérables the zombie version." That stopped me in mid-cut. Twitching, I looked around at him. "Do what?" He nodded, with a tired look. "We have a strange director. He came up with the idea for Halloween. You know how in the normal play everyone dies? Well, in this one everyone is already dead at the beginning, and when their character dies they are reborn as children. They reappear on the stage as laughing, happy children and then go running around asking for candy from the audience members." At my smile he nodded. "And of course, all the zombies are heartbroken when this terrible thing happens." Laughing, I shook my head and went back to work. "Clever. Twisted, but clever." "Yeah, it's doing well. We did one show yesterday. Two today, one at lunch, then the one tonight and then we have the big show tomorrow night." "Damn. Who are you playing?" "Valjean." I grinned and sang "Undead Prisoner 24601." He laughed and then struck a pose. "My name is Jean Valjean!" "And I'm Javert!" I grinned. "That was always my favorite play. I must have seen it a dozen times." "So what did you think of the movie?" "You're kidding, right? Russell Crow, Hugh Jackman, and Sacha Baron Cohen all in the same movie? They could have been reading names out of the phone book and I would have loved it. For it to be Les Misérables, even with what the director did to the source material, I still went and saw it four times. My friends hated it." He nodded. "Yeah ... I'm about the only one in the cast at the theater that liked it, too." He suddenly looked a bit nervous. "I'm Scotty by the way." "Gene." I put down my scissors and offered him my hand. "Gene Scranton." He held my hand for a second longer after the grip. "So Gene, want to see a play?" ** ** ** ** ** ** ** The theater was a century old when I was born. Just how close to the time period of this play the theater was, when it was built, brought so much home to me, sitting there enraptured by the music. The time I loved above all modern times, the early to late eighteen hundreds, when the clothes were so much more than simply a way to cover yourself with a cloth. When they were not the frame but were art in themselves. The wardrobe makers for this production company had spared no expense on the costuming, but a few of the actors? Well, my friend Scotty was by far the best in the cast, but then he was supposed to be, I guess. And the direction? How often I smiled at the sick humor of this wonderful musical being done by hideous zombies. And then, when members of the cast began to die off, and all these cute-as-hell little kids began to come running out into the audience, hopping up into laps and asked for candy, the whole theater broke into peals of laughter. And this became all the more humorous as the play went on and more and more people fell into ... life? I had little Fantine sitting next to me swinging her feet when Scotty sang out his last line and slumped over dead-ish. She hopped up and ran up onto the stage to hug the child Valjean that suddenly appeared. They went skipping off to join the growing crowd of children gathering, I realized, to sing ~"Do you hear the people sing?"~ And when at last only zombie Cosette and Marius were left dead, the children surrounded them and began to sing the ending. Each child kept bringing them flowers, but the two undead would try to eat the flowers. I stood with the rest of the audience and clapped with all my heart. I smiled at Scotty when he came back out on stage with the rest of the cast and then they, with each child they were teamed with, took a bow and waved. A man in a modern suit came walking out on stage and the cast members joined in the applause. He too bowed to the audience and then, with a huge smile, went cast member to cast member shaking hands and thanking them. As the curtain came down and the lights came up, I stood to leave but had a hand catch my sleeve. It was the little Fantine, smiling up at me. "Scotty asked me to come get you and bring you backstage." She tugged at my arm. Who could refuse that face? The area behind the curtain was a whirlwind of people getting out of the outer layers of heavy costuming and handing them over to people placing those jackets and coats on rolling racks. I let my hand brush the fabric of a couple of them as we went past. Feeling the authentic weaves under my fingertips, I smiled. Real craftsmanship. So very rare to see nowadays. Scotty was standing next to Javert and a woman who was an extra from the Jean Valjean's factory cast, but she seemed to be talking to them with authority. She looked at me when I came walking up. "So you're the one to touch a needle my work?" she demanded. I looked to Scotty, he looked embarrassed, gave me a shrug and a nod. "Yes ma'am, I made the repairs." I confessed to, but unlike Scotty I held my head high in the face of this woman's ire. I was, as I always am, proud of my work. "I own a historic costuming shop. Was there an issue with the work?" "Nope, I barely noticed it. Least ways not till I had the pants back in my hands." She looked me up and down and then smiled. "Carol Wilson, wardrobe director. I was rushed the night I stitched those the first time. Your stitches were better, neater, than the ones I had put in. The only reason I noticed them. Nice work." "Thank you." "Do you do commissioned work? We often have dozens of repairs after a production ends; I mostly take care of them, but that because I don't trust others with my work." She eyed me critically again. "Where did you learn?" "I'm in a medieval group." I started to explain. "SCA?" "Yeah." "Good, you're hired. Let me get your number and I'll have you more work than you can do after tomorrow. We have to make all the repairs to this lot, and then get ready for our Christmas show. I've been thinking of trying to find some help." She smiled. "I did the SCA back in the eighties. The Middle Kingdom." I was about to say something when she was called away, from a dozen directions. Scotty gave me a smile. "She pounced on me the moment I got back from my fist act as M'sieur le Mayor." Javert laughed at him. "You should have seen his face." He popped Scotty in the stomach with the back of his hand. "She was about ready to skin his hide to make buckskin pants for the Thanksgiving Indians." Scotty nodded, sighed, and then looked at me. "We're about to get a beer. It's been a long night, hella long week and my voice is about gone from the singing. I thought I might see if you would like to join us?" For a moment, all the work I need to do was there, ready to be used as an excuse, but then just how long it had been since I had been somewhere fun came to me. "Sure." I looked at my phone checking the time; damn its 1:35 in the morning! "Where at? It's kind of late for the normal bars." "My place." "Yeah, Valjean here is playing host to the Devil's Night cast party." Javert grinned. "I'll be there soon. Save me a beer or three." When he walked off, I suddenly felt uncomfortable. "It's a cast party? I was thinking you meant just a drink at a bar. If it's a party for just the cast." Scotty caught my hand. "It's not. That was just Tim, being an ass. It's only about four or five of us going to get together, talk for a bit and drink a beer to the end of the show tomorrow. You are more than welcome, Gene." He smiled. "You're my guest, and I promise you, after the way she acted tonight Carol would have had Phillip Ross, the director, toss me out on my ass if I had shown up with those pants ripped. So I own you one." I smiled, shook my head, suddenly feel the weight of the money he paid me for the work in an odd way. As if I had charged a good friend for help. I realized, as I felt that, where it was coming from. Scotty had this infectious personality. He was instantly likable, and would be your best friend in the world after you had known him an hour. "Give me about twenty minutes and the just follow me to my place." He started trying to loosen the heavily starched white collar. "I have got to get out of this." "Here let me." Standing in front of him, I avoided his eyes while I removed the ties and decorative pins holding the stiff piece of cotton linen in place. But I could tell his eyes were on me the whole time. A not unpleasant feeling. When I had it undone, he sighed. "You have no idea how hard it is to sing for hours when you can hardly breath and are feeling like you're about to be choked. Thank you," He took a deep breath. Alright, let me get the rest of this off, and get out of this makeup and I'll be ready in just a few minutes." I nodded and watched him rush into the back, then I made my way back the direction I had come in and out to my car. I sat humming and singing songs from the play as I waited. "Don't you fret, M'sieur Marius ...." ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Scotty's house was, in fact, a loft apartment. The old building it was in had once been a small department store, then a dry cleaners, then a coin Laundromat, and finally had sat empty for a decade. Now it was under renovation into lofts and he had the first one to be finished and leased out. "Does the construction not cause problems?" I asked him when we climbed the two flights of stairs up to his unit. The elevator had yet to be installed. "Only when I want to sleep in." He fished his keys out his pocket. Behind me on the stairs I heard other of the cast following us up. "They are hammering and what all by six-thirty every morning." By the time he had the door open the others were there, with six packs and bags of food from whatever 24 hours fast food place of their choice, they had stopped at. Scotty had promised DeGionos Pizza and salad when, in the parking lot of the theater the others had been talking about stopping and I had I asked him about food. I had him swing us through a gas station and I grabbed a six-pack of Redd's Apple Ale for me, and whoever else wanted one. Which proved to be everyone. They all wanted to give one a try. The others, Tim (Javert), Mark (Marius), Terry (Thenardier), and Beth (Eponine) each shared whatever they had brought as well and soon we had a buffet of food and drinks on Scotty's table. When the pizza came out the oven, I was in the kitchen discussing the play with Tim. He had been cast for his voice and the fact his hair had turned gray at thirty. He looked my age but was a decade younger. "Yeah, I auditioned for Valjean. But then pretty boy there, with his perfect tones, showed up and stole the role. He has to have a wig, though, as you saw." He threw a French fry at Scotty. "Worked out all's well that ends well, I love playing the villain now. Terry began to shake his head. "No, no, no. Clearly you are not the villain of the play. That is my part. You are merely misinformed law enforcement. What? I'm abusive to the poor girl, Cosette. Abusive to my daughter." Beth pantomimed crying while nodding her head and rubbing her bottom. "I steal for the poor and give to myself. Hell, I even rob the dead at the barricades. I try at every turn to get Scotty here turned over to the law and back into enslavement." He struck a nose in the air pose. "You, Tim, are merely Darth Vader, when it comes to evil I am the Emperor." He hid behind Beth, laughing at the rain of fries thrown his way. Over the next hour, the discussion of this play drifted into talk of the next. A Christmas Carol, done from the point of view of the ghosts. Comments about the director and his mental health seemed to top their lists of party games. Then Beth and Terry had to get going. At some point, I had come to realize that, father and daughter in the play, were engaged to be married in real life. Mark and Tim hung around till the sun was coming up outside before they headed downstairs. Then, with Scotty and I joining in from the balcony, we four seriously confused the arriving construction workers by singing ~"One more day!"~ at the top of our lungs. Laughing, Scotty and I went back in after they drove away, him getting another drink to ease a tired throat. "Well, I guess I need to be heading out as well." I sighed. "Let you get some rest, you've had a long night. And I ...." "You don't have to leave, Gene." He reached over and tapped his beer bottle to my Redd's "Stay and ah, well ... am I wrong in thinking that you are, well..." His eyes and face were telling what he wanted to ask. "Yeah," I said simply. He nodded. "I wasn't sure, but ... oh, hell I'm terrible at this." Historic Costumes I smiled, remembering when I was the same way once myself. Before my years with men that taught me the way of us ... of men like myself. Like, Scotty. Still smiling, I placed my ale on the table and stood in front of him. "It's alright. I don't mind shy uncertainty. So long as you're sure of yourself. Sure of what you want." I bit my lip imagining what he would look like in bed, that boyish face with wise eyes. "Do you know what you want, Scotty?" "You." "You're sure? I'm too flattered to ..." Then he was kissing me. Normally I expect hesitant kisses that become more assured, but he did the reverse. He grabbed me, kissed me, and then began to slack off like he was embarrassed by his own impulsiveness. I caught him before he could stop and kissed him back, showing him without words that I was more than willing to feel his lips on mine. His hands on me. We stumbled then, me hitting my hip on the table, sending a cascade of empty bottles rolling. I laughed at his eagerness now that he was receiving a confident response from me. "Bedroom?" He began to pull me, making me laugh even harder. "Easy. There is no rush; I'm not going to run off and leave you, Scotty. I never leave the feast early." His bedroom was what I would expect from a man his age. A mess. But then I can't say mine, at the moment, is any better for my dozen more years on this earth. But then, I didn't come here for the décor. And it really didn't distract me from the man doing his best to pull me out my clothes, kiss me, and get me directed onto his bed all at the same time. I grinned at his eagerness, something I hadn't encountered since I was about his age myself. With a laugh, I tumbled onto the mattress him on top of me. Okay, alright. He wants to play like this, we can play like this. The next few minutes were a laughing wrestle to see who was not so much stronger, but less willing to give in. Sitting up a bit, I slid my pants off under my hips and then went to work tugging at his jeans. I ignored a whimper-like sound when his cock popped free and I took it in my hand, giving him a squeeze. Then it was I who I nearly jumped out my skin when I felt his hand touch my stomach and move south. Where his hunting fingers found and then closed around my cock I couldn't help the moan. My mouth covered his, seeking again that soft feisty tongue that I so hoped was going to feel just as wonderful in other uses than just kissing. Not that it was bad when used to make these kisses all the hotter. Then he was whispering by my ear, asking me if I enjoyed this and that. If I didn't like something he promised not to try and talk me into do it. Silly boy, I was born in that briar patch. Turning around, I laid down beside him, pulling Scotty to me when he turned on his side. I took his cock into my mouth, feeling him placing kisses on the head of mine at the same time. Then as I felt the warmth of his mouth sliding down me I let my mouth do the same. Feeling the soft veins compressing under my lips and the warm head brushing the top of my mouth I sucked on him. Taking him as a little deeper I began a slow massage, hoping to encourage him in the same direction. I could have chuckled at the ferocity with which he went after me. A starving man presented with food wouldn't stuff his mouth faster. Or choke as quickly. He finally got the idea after that. And I settled in to make him appreciate the slow approach. To take your time and savor what the warmth, taste, and silky texture sliding over your tongue can do for your own pleasure. I placed a hand on his ass and pulled him to me making him give a little hunch of his hips that I then mimicked. He startled me with a finger caressing my pucker, but I can't say I minded. And he moaned a hot breathe down the length of me when I ran my thumb across his wrinkled rose. Soft teasing. Scotty pulled his mouth from me. "Gene? There is lube and condoms in the drawer there. Please?" I nodded, released his cock and patted his ass--just hard enough to be called a spank--as I slid out of the bed. I took the time to get the last of my clothes off. God damn, trying to fuck in socks. I opened the drawer and grinned to find a bottle of Gun Oil lube, laying on its side between two butt plugs and a box of gold-wrapper Durex. I enjoyed his eyes on me as I was rolling the condom down me, then I was knee walking back onto the bed next to him. I straddled his thighs and looked down at his blond-down covered ass cheeks. I enjoying the way his lower back dimples, and the nice play of those trim muscles along his spine, as he shifted a bit under me. Pulling his cheek open, I let a few drops of the Gun Oil drop on his asshole. I put a good dollop on the head of me, on top of the condom's reservoir, then set the bottle aside. Scotty wiggled under me when I placed myself over him, eager for me. I felt the divot under the head of me when I moved and knew I was right where I wanted to be. "Are you going to sing for me, Scotty?" "Oh, god yes." He moaned as I pushed into him. "Good, let me hear you. I like that." Angling myself up with thrusts of my hips, I let the end of me caress along his prostate, trying to show this overeager young man that it doesn't have to be balls deep and last to the finish line takes the booby prize. Long slow strokes, about half my length, letting the head give him pleasure even as I enjoyed the tight muscle contractions pulsing around me. And oh, how he began to sing for me. Low throaty moans, little pleas for more, little begging cries when I gave him that. I let my weight rest on him more and more, till my chest was sliding along his back. "Gene ..." "Yes, lover?" "I ... I ...." With a grin, I let my fingers tangle in his hair and lifted his head from the pillow pulling him to me, making him gasp. "I know. Let it build. There is no rush, let it build." Scotty clawed at the sheets bunching them in his fingers. Then he had pulled the fitted sheet loose and was digging his hands into the pillow top mattress; low moans began to give way to a sharper cries as I was fucking him with harder pops of my hips. Driving myself now towards my own need to cum, even as I felt Scotty getting closer and closer to his own. I suddenly felt I had guided him along long enough. With a buck of my hips, I made him cry out my name. Whether he meant it as a plea to be more gentle, or a begging cry to fuck him harder, I didn't know or even really care at that second. I felt all my air pulled from my chest and then I heard the sound I was making, echoed as I felt his whole body locked up under me. There was a total demand, from even the smallest cell in me, to not allow a second of this feeling pass by unnoticed. I felt spasm after spasm shoot cum from my cock into Scotty. He was crying under me, panting for air, and then he dropped boneless to the bed, simply exhausted and craving air. I rested on him for a moment then slid to the side to lie panting. "I ... I came," he said with a wonder that was comical. "I've never done that like that before. I've always had to finish myself off after my partner has cum in me." I looked at him for a moment. "Then you have been with either some inexperienced or more likely, some completely shitty guys then." I took his hand, closing my fingers into his. "The topbottom cum at the same time. I promise you if you had cum first, I would have stopped. And if I had come first I would have made sure you got off. That's some twisted crap." He nodded, then took a deep breath. "Want another beer?" "Yeah. That would be nice. But you know what? I think it's breakfast time more than drinking time. How about we get a shower, then go get something to eat. Then maybe come back here, get seem sleep, and possibly do this again before I have to go to work, and you have to go to the play?" "That sounds like a wonderful plan. But I still want that beer." "Yeah." I took my own deep, lung-expanding breath, "Me, too." ** ** ** ** ** ** ** There was a very high probability that I would murder my tailor, slash assistant, Julian before Halloween night was over. Very, very high. He somehow could tell by looking at me that I had gotten laid, and from that point on him and his, too-smart-for-its-own-fuckin'-good, phone had become a nuisance. First, it was '70s porn music. Very bad porn music. Then he got really creative. ~"Rollin' Rollin' Rollin' Though the streams are swollen ..."~ "JULIAN! Enough!" With a chuckle, he went into the back for more fabric. But I knew it wasn't over. This was going to be a very long night here in my shop. I picked up on cutting shears, muttering under my breath. "Maybe I could make him into a Jack-o-Lantern and stick him out front." "Hey, Gene has you seen any ... latex tubing? I'm sure we had some around here somewhere." Yep. Murder most foul. "I'll be out in fifteen with good behavior. And what the hell, the sex is too my taste anyway." I spun my scissors on my thumb. My phone buzzed saving a tailor's life. [I'm in trouble, Gene] Seeing Scotty's text, I flipped up the screen to get at my keypad. {I wore a condom, It's not mine I swear} The phone buzzed almost immediately. [Funny. I've lost my voice!] {Damn ...} [Yeah] I sat back in my chair, blinking. What could I do? I don't know any miracle cure for laryngitis. I began to tap the plastic handle of my scissors on my lips, an old habit of mine. I must have looked seriously worried because Julian walked in, with something no doubt witty to say, and stopped dead in his tracks. "What's up?" He set down a bolt of blue crush velvet. I held up the phone. "Scotty lost his voice." I shook my head. "The guy I was with last night and this morning. He is in a play and he has the lead, but now he has no voice. What the hell can I do about that?" "Well, if I was still kidding with you, I would mention the vocal benefits rumors of semen, but you look too serious for that." My phone buzzed. [Gene?] {I'm here. Thinking} [Explains the smell of smoke.] {Lol. What can I do to help?} The phone sat silent for a moment. [Come to the theater. Don't want to face director alone] I swallowed, letting my brain focus on the emotions behind such a plea and trying to figure what they could mean for me long term. {Sure} [BTRN 10] "Okay, I don't know this text," I said puzzled, I began to type back asking. Julian looked over my shoulder and translated it from text geek to Ren Faire geek. "Be there in ten. Basically, he's not too far away and coming here. Damn, he must have heard the same rumors I have." I gave him a look that nearly set off the sprinklers. Chuckling, he went back to his workstation. "He wants me to go to the theater with him so he doesn't have to face the director alone." Again I was tapping my scissor handles, but now I had added my patented rocking back and forth to the habitual movement. "All his friends are there, the guys we drank and partied with last night, but he wants me there." "And that worries you?" He asked. "A little." Looking outside, I saw Scotty's car pull into the strip mall's parking lot. His headlights lit the front of the shop for a moment before he shut them off. Then he was out the car and coming inside before I could get my coat from off the back of my chair. He gave Julian a wave then walked over to me, his fingers flying on his phone. [Sorry to have to ask this, we just met, but I'm worried about the next show] "I understand." I looked over at the man I was going to have to bury if he didn't get that smirk off his face. "Can you manage to not burn down the shop till I get back?" "Oh, to hell with that, I'm going to see the play." At my raised hand, he pointed back at me. "We haven't had a call in an hour! People either have their costumes or have already taken them off for the night. Time to live a little, Gene." Oh, yeah ... I am going to strangle him. There was no other choice. I sighed. "Let's see a play." ** ** ** ** ** ** ** "WELL, THANK CHRIST! I was beginning to wonder just what else could go wrong, and what the fuck might have happened to you too!" "Ah, that must be Philip Ross, the director," I said behind my hand to Julian. "So? Where the hell have you been? You have to get your makeup and costume done, and" He looked at his watch. "You just barely have time." It was painful to watch Scotty bring his hand to his throat and then try to say a word and not a sound appear. Possibly even more painful was the look of stark terror that passed over the director's face. It was there for a second then Mr. Ross just shook himself into a spitting rage and sent his baseball cap flying across the backstage. He then kicked a prop piece that was less than movable and cussed the pain. "JUST, FUCKIN' PERFECT!" "Take it easy, Philip." I recognized Carol, the wardrobe director, trying to calm him down. "We will make it work." "How will we make it work? My lead has no voice, and his only understudy is in the hospital! How, Carol? How!" My phone buzzed at my hip. And I looked down to find it was Scotty. Looking up at him he had his phone out and was texting to me like mad. He pointed to my phone. "Ah ... Scotty wants to know what happened to ... Eddie?" The director gave me a looked then saw my phone in my hand and Scotty's phone in his. "Oh, that a great idea, we'll text the whole play!" He stormed off. Carol looked at the departing back, shaking her head. Then she looked at Scotty. "Eddie wrecked his bike. He's alright but his ribs are bruised, and his wrist is broken. They are keeping him overnight. They think he could have a minor concussion." Again my phone. [So what are we going to do?] I repeated that for him, but he only got a shrug for an answer. Before I could ask anything I saw Mr. Ross coming back at a stalking walk, his phone at his ear. He was having a blistering conversation with someone, hung up and started to dial again. "I know twenty people than can sing this part and not fucking one of them will answer their god damned phones!" He made a motion like he was going to strangle his phone, then left a message, as heated as the last one. "Gene, can sing it." I turned around to see the premature gray Javert standing behind me. My drinking buddy from last night flashed me a grin. "Gene? Who the fuck is Gene?" asked Philip Ross, looking at the man who was now number two on my must choke-to-death-and-bury list. Javert pointed at me. "I heard him last night. His voice is nearly as good as Scotty's and better than Eddie's." He flashed me a grin. "Besides, he looks the part more than both of them." Suddenly, all eyes were on me. "You can sing the part?" Ross took a deep breath and held it like he was about to jump into cold water. I began to frantically shake my head, even as Scotty, Julian, and Javert were all three nodding. "No. No way I can't...." Julian's hand appeared over my mouth! "He sings in the shop all the time. I know I've heard him sing the entire song list from Les Misérables a dozen times, today alone. He can do it." "He won't fit the Jean Valjean costume," said Carol, my now Most Blessed Saint Carol, savior of my life and health. "I might could put something together ... but it won't look right." She pointed to the costume on the rolling rack nearby. "We have a nearly identical costume in our shop," said Julian next to me, while I mouthed mumbling denials. He walked over looked at the costume and then nodded. "Yeah, I know we have this." I did too. And I knew it would fit me. Perfectly. Mr. Ross looked at me, let out that breath he had taken. "Fine. Get ... Gene ... into makeup." "Wait! Wait, I ..." My phone bussed. [The show must go on. Please?] I looked up at the pleading look in Scotty's eyes. Then at the half-made-up zombie faces of the rest of the cast, that had been quietly gathering to listen in to this conversation. Looking around, it was the children that did it. Those normal looking children, so happy yesterday when they rushed out into the crowd to beg for candy. Little Fantine was in costume and the look on her face broke my heart. Who could refuse that face? "Sure." ** ** ** ** ** ** ** "Oh, I am so going to be sick," I muttered under my breath. I looked around me at the other convicts. They were all so very cool, collective, and eager to get this show going. I alone wanted the curtain to never rise. "Oh, this was a mistake." "Suck it up, 24601." I looked at the hideous zombie face of Inspector Javert. He was looking at me with contempt. Then he grinned with malice. "Maybe with you playing the part I'll even get the applause, that I deserve ... 24601." The curtain began to rise. "My name is Jean Valjean!" I told him with a smile. ~"Look down, Look down ...'~