[OLIVER and JAMES enter JAMES' living room. OLIVER carries in a small suitcase; JAMES closes the door behind him. For six seconds, the two of them stand there, shifting on their feet. JAMES watches intently as OLIVER looks around the room.]
OLIVER: I forgot you don't have a couch.
JAMES: I have my bed to lie in and chairs to sit in. I never needed a couch.
OLIVER: …Where am I going to sleep?
JAMES: [matter-of-factly] On my bed. I'll put something together for myself—I have pillows, blankets, sheets… [with amusement] I could sleep on the coffee table.
OLIVER: [dryly] You're going to set up a bed on the coffee table at this hour. Yes, brilliant thinking.
JAMES: It wouldn't be this late if you didn't insist on that awful wait…
OLIVER: But it was the only Thai place. Blame yourself for choosing this tiny town.
JAMES: Blame yourself for taking my place and forcing me into hiding.
OLIVER: Oh, stop dodging responsibility. Blame yourself for killing Richard in the first place.
[Silence falls. JAMES looks away and his posture slumps nearly imperceptibly. OLIVER, by contrast, stiffens at his own words and appears to freeze up.]
JAMES: You can be sure I do.
OLIVER: [gently] C'mon, we've shared a bed before.
JAMES: [glancing over sidelong] Wouldn't bother you?
OLIVER: I still count myself lucky to have a real bed at all.
JAMES: [wincing] God, I can't wait until you're a rich and famous Shakespeare actor and you pamper yourself rotten.
OLIVER: You flatter me.
[JAMES cracks a smile and picks up OLIVER's luggage from his loosened grip, setting off towards the hallway before OLIVER can object. OLIVER follows him down the hallway to a bedroom.]
JAMES: You really are traveling light.
OLIVER: No other way I can travel.
JAMES: [unhappy] Oh. I should have known—
OLIVER: If you're about to apologize, I swear—I'm staying in your house! It's fine, you're making it up to me.
JAMES: Hardly even.
OLIVER: Well it doesn't matter anyway, because I did it gladly. How many times do I have to say it? I chose it for myself.
JAMES: I… The love that follows us sometime is our trouble / which we still thank as love.
OLIVER: It is love.
JAMES: [quiet] I know it is.
[OLIVER waits. He shifts from one foot to the other, his shoulders curling in.]
JAMES: Come on, then.
[JAMES opens the door and flips a light switch, illuminating a room that contains a dresser, a bed, and a small bookshelf littered with programs for Shakespeare performances and thick books whose spines read Shakespeare under the Microscope, Shakespeare in the 20th Century, Shakespeare on Gender and Sexuality: A close read of Twelfth Night, and other similar titles. There are no windows, but the walls are painted a faded sky-blue.]
JAMES: Bathroom's…
[JAMES gestures vaguely down the hall and sets OLIVER's suitcase down on the wooden floor with a gentle thunk. OLIVER remains in the doorway, watching JAMES. OLIVER takes two steps into the room, hands in his pockets, then stops.]
OLIVER: Going to bed now?
JAMES: [glancing at the clock] If you are.
OLIVER: [shrugs] Sure.
[OLIVER turns his back to JAMES and kneels to open his suitcase, pulling out an old, worn T-shirt and soft draw-string shorts. JAMES, who had been watching OLIVER, quickly turns away.]
OLIVER: [without turning] Have you heard from Meredith yet?
JAMES: I've been too afraid to check.
OLIVER: [with understanding] Yeah. [a pause] What about Wren?
JAMES: She's thinking of joining Alex and Filippa. She's got work, though, a character role, and she doesn't know if she'll be able to get away. [a beat] She wants to know if I'm staying around here.
OLIVER: [turning around, with surprise] Are you?
JAMES: I never really thought that far.
OLIVER: You had a long time to think about it.
JAMES: I just thought I'd stay here and wait for you, and if you ever showed up, I'd do whatever you wanted me to do. That was as far as I got.
[OLIVER sucks in a sharp breath but does not speak. He turns back to his suitcase and resumes changing. JAMES begins to change as well, tossing a look over his shoulder after changing his bottoms.]
JAMES: Can stay pretty hot at night.
OLIVER: I've noticed.
JAMES: I mean, I… don't usually put on a shirt.
OLIVER: [even] Sure, I don't mind.
JAMES: [awkward] Okay.
OLIVER: [awkward] I'm—you said the bathroom was down that way?
JAMES: [fondly] Tiny place. You don't need directions.
[OLIVER hovers in the doorway for a moment, gazing over at JAMES, who lifts one shoulder in response. OLIVER taps the doorframe, once, as if in goodbye, and sets off down the hallway. JAMES drops his shirt into the laundry basket in the corner and gently closes the door.]
Scene 2: James' Bedroom[JAMES and OLIVER stand in JAMES' bedroom, both dressed for sleep. The bed is made up with only white sheets and a blanket folded into a rumpled rectangle at the food of their bed. They move with a mix of certainty and care, the mark of people doing something that they have done before, but which still feels novel and unsteady.]
[JAMES waits a moment, running fingers through his curls. He makes his way to the bed, turns to look at OLIVER when he reaches the edge, pauses, and then gets in. OLIVER follows carefully, turning off the light. They lie side-by-side, carefully avoiding touching, not looking at each other.]
JAMES: [quiet] They're coming, soon.
OLIVER: [Just as quiet] Yeah. You're ready for that?
JAMES: I guess I have to be.
OLIVER: But?
JAMES: It's going to be excruciating. You know as well as I.
OLIVER: [reluctant] It might be. They're—you know.
JAMES: They're worth the pain? Yeah, I know. [a long pause, tentative] What was it like, seeing me again? If you don't mind.
OLIVER: [staring up] I waited for four years to see you, after you disappeared. I imagined it a hundred different ways.
JAMES: [turning his head to look at OLIVER] Mmm.
OLIVER: This is better than any of them.
JAMES: [incredulous] Better?
OLIVER: Because it's really you. You're real. No matter how I try, I can't imagine how you would really act, or what you would really say…
JAMES: I know what you mean. [a pause] But I'm sure you wish I was different.
OLIVER: No.
JAMES: Be honest.
OLIVER: [turning to look at JAMES] I am. Do you wish it was different?
JAMES: Yes. I mean, I wish I was different.
OLIVER: …Oh? [apprehensive] In what way?
JAMES: [a heavy breath] I am angry at you.
OLIVER: [a pause] I thought you might be.
JAMES: I shouldn't be. [frustrated] I mean, I can't be.
OLIVER: Why not?
JAMES: Because—Goddammit, you know why. You're Oliver, and after everything you've done for me—
OLIVER: It doesn't matter what I did. You're allowed to be upset.
JAMES: But it does matter what you did. It's—I'm upset with you because of what you did, and I can't be. You know I can't be.
OLIVER: I don't think that's true.
JAMES: [sitting up abruptly, quiet] It was like you stole my line.
OLIVER: How do you mean?
JAMES: [quietly] You know what I mean. I mean—you stole my goddamn line. I had it all ready—I knew all my lines. I was ready to perform them, I would have. Colborne played his part, and that was my cue, and you stole my fucking line, Oliver. [getting louder] Right there in front of everybody, opening night, where I couldn't step on your line, where I couldn't break character and ask you what the fuck you were doing. Without auditions or rehearsals or even fucking understudying, you said my goddamn line less than an hour after you even found out there was a play. You fucking said my line and you—
[OLIVER sits slowly up as JAMES speaks and now places a hand gently on JAMES' shoulder, then slides it across his back to put his arm around JAMES, his touch light. JAMES breaks off abruptly, pulling an audible breath.]
JAMES: God, I hate this. I hate being angry with you. I can't do it.
OLIVER: I… I'm sorry. [swallows] I'm not sorry for doing it, but I'm sorry, truly sorry for how it hurt you.
JAMES: Oliver. Stop talking.
OLIVER: No, I—I am sorry.
JAMES: Oliver. Please. Just—
OLIVER: [quiet] Okay.
[JAMES is quiet for a long moment. Then, he turns towards OLIVER, lifting his head. For a long moment, the two of them look at each other, OLIVER's arm still around JAMES' shoulders. Slowly, JAMES leans into OLIVER and brings his arm around to hold OLIVER back just as loosely.]
JAMES: [murmuring] You know I'm grateful, don't you? I haven't managed a thank you this whole time, have I…
OLIVER: I know.
JAMES: It's like if I say thank you, I'm saying I wanted you to.
OLIVER: Well—
JAMES: No, that's what it feels like.
OLIVER: And apologizing feels like I'm saying I regret it.
JAMES: I cannot believe you don't.
OLIVER: Well.
[OLIVER and JAMES sit quietly for several moments. OLIVER's fingers run along the wrinkles of the blanket, pulling away when he follows them too close to JAMES. His other arm stays around JAMES. JAMES remains still, watching OLIVER's hand in the dark.]
JAMES: It's late.
OLIVER: It's the nightingale that sings?
JAMES: [soft laugh] Oliver?
[OLIVER hums.]
JAMES: I'm glad you stayed.
OLIVER: [gentle] Goodnight, James.
JAMES: Sleep give thee all his rest.
OLIVER: [obligingly] With half that wish the wisher's eyes be pressed.
Scene 3: Duncan's Ice Cream[JAMES and OLIVER sit at a light wooden table on blue plastic chairs. JAMES sweeps a napkin over the table, clearing a few traces of melted ice cream and another soiled napkin from the tabletop. JAMES rises, throws away the napkins, and returns to the table. When he does, OLIVER extends a hand across the table in invitation. JAMES takes it and squeezes it.]
JAMES: Five more minutes.
OLIVER: Are you expecting them to arrive on the minute?
JAMES: [strained] You're not helping.
OLIVER: Sorry. How about ice-cream?
JAMES: You think I can eat anything?
OLIVER: Maybe to take your mind off….
JAMES: I don't think I can eat anything.
OLIVER: I—you can call it off.
JAMES: I'm not calling it off. Just—talk to me.
OLIVER: About?
JAMES: How are you? How was—prison—? I don't know. Just talk.
OLIVER: [echoing] How was prison? [sincere, but hurried] I don't know what to say to you. It was terrible. We could hardly talk to each other. I didn't often have stimulating conversation, you might say. And no one there really… I guess I had acquaintances. Not much of anything real. Couldn't read anything. I passed the time running plays in my head, like losing my Shakespeare would be the same as losing my mind.
JAMES: Shit.
OLIVER: I missed you. Everyone, but especially you. Especially after you stopped visiting.
JAMES: [thickly] I'm so sorry.
OLIVER: James. I would do it again.
JAMES: I don't know what to do with you.
OLIVER: [cracking a smile] Maybe we're finding out together.
JAMES: [quiet] I hope so. [A pause] Keep talking. About—whatever you want. Just—
OLIVER: Right—of course. I missed the world.
JAMES: Right.
OLIVER: Leah visited.
JAMES: Did she believe… you'd…
OLIVER: I don't know. I don't think so, I would've been able to tell, I'd think.
JAMES: [relieved] That's—good to hear. She always was your favorite.
OLIVER: The only member of my family worth talking to, I think I said once.
JAMES: The rest of your family…?
OLIVER: I was convicted of murder.
JAMES: [wincing] Oh no.
OLIVER: I didn't miss them too much. I guess I missed the miniscule amount of support they did give me. But, you know, I mean, they pulled my tuition in the last semester of our senior year, so maybe it's better I don't rely on them anyway. The only reason they put me up when I came out was out of a sense of obligation and Leah's help. They probably don't like the look of it at all. Their murderous son staying in their guest room.
JAMES: [struggling for words] You always deserved better.
OLIVER: Whatever someone does or doesn't deserve doesn't matter, in the end. The concept never did anyone any good.
JAMES: But you did deserve better. From them, and from me.
OLIVER: [quiet] There she is.
[FILIPPA and ALEXANDER enter together, ALEXANDER in his usual black, FILIPPA in a slightly worn orange T-shirt. They look around when they enter, not at the menu, but at the tables, until their eyes land on JAMES and OLIVER. OLIVER waves, uncertain. JAMES freezes in his seat. After long, long moments of frozen silence, FILIPPA and ALEXANDER walk further into the shop.]
JAMES: That Thaisa am I, supposed dead / And drown'd.
ALEXANDER: [to JAMES] Recommendations?
JAMES: [echo] Recommendations?
ALEXANDER: For ice cream flavors.
JAMES: Ah. Yes. I… I like the blueberry.
FILIPPA: Fuck's sake, you two.
[FILIPPA steps in and wraps JAMES in a tight hug. Over her shoulder, OLIVER finds ALEXANDER's eyes and raises his eyebrows. ALEXANDER's mouth pulls into a tight line, but he steps in and wraps his arms around JAMES and FILIPPA's hug. OLIVER follows suit. They lose their balance slightly, but don't fall. Inside the circle of their arms, JAMES begins to cry.]
Scene 4: James' House[OLIVER and JAMES side-by-side at a small wooden table with plates of toast in front of them. OLIVER's is half-eaten, JAMES picks at his half-heartedly. There's butter, jam, peanut butter, and a couple knives in front of them, and bananas.]
JAMES: I missed this.
OLIVER: This?
JAMES: [hesitating] Living with you.
OLIVER: Oh.
JAMES: I guess it's not really the same.
OLIVER: What do you—I mean, I missed it too. I missed you.
JAMES: You're a much neater roommate.
OLIVER: [smiling slightly] I don't have many things to leave lying around. I'm sorry, I suppose, for being such a mess back in school.
JAMES: No, I was teasing. Besides, I was no better.
[OLIVER gazes at JAMES for a long moment. He hums quietly, an acknowledgment of JAMES' words. JAMES looks up. He raises his eyebrows at OLIVER, turning slightly in his chair.]
OLIVER: I was just wondering if you were alright.
JAMES: Do I seem any less than alright?
OLIVER: It's been quite a week.
[A pause]
JAMES: [quiet, thoughtful] It has, hasn't it. [A pause] I'm alright.
OLIVER: It's strange, seeing them after so long, isn't it? They're very different—
JAMES: [wryly] And they're just the same.
OLIVER: Yeah.
JAMES: [straightening] Wait—how long did you not see them for?
OLIVER: [shrugs] Pip kept seeing me, all ten years. [A pause] The others kind of fell off after a while.
JAMES: Shit, I'm sorry.
OLIVER: Oh, don't. We all made it through in one piece.
JAMES: Except for Richard.
OLIVER: James—fuck you.
JAMES: Just saying.
OLIVER: He was in one piece, if you want to get very particular about things.
JAMES: God.
[They both fall silent. JAMES' mouth turns down. For several seconds, they sit there, OLIVER waiting.]
JAMES: Why can't you and Oliver just admit that you're queer for each other and leave my girls alone? That's what he said.
OLIVER: Richard?
JAMES: Yeah.
[A long pause. JAMES begins to collect their breakfast plates and OLIVER follows him to the kitchen, carrying the jam, peanut butter, and corresponding knives. JAMES puts the plates in the sink and turns towards OLIVER, leaning against the counter.]
JAMES: Sorry I'm just… I've been thinking about him a lot lately.
OLIVER: [dry] I can't imagine why that would be.
[JAMES and OLIVER look at each other for a long moment, JAMES unsure, OLIVER searching.]
OLIVER: [uncertain] Why couldn't we?
JAMES: [stumbling] What? Admit we're queer for each other?
[OLIVER shrugs, looking away. JAMES stares at his profile, looking lost, tapping his fingers on the counter soundlessly.]
JAMES: I don't know. I was scared. And I sort of thought you knew.
OLIVER: [uneven] Knew what?
JAMES: That I…
OLIVER: Oh. No.
JAMES: No?
OLIVER: [looking at JAMES] Perhaps a little bit. But—James, you could tell I loved you. Everyone could tell. Colborne could tell.
JAMES: Colborne knew you spent ten years in jail for me.
OLIVER: [abrupt] Are you still scared, then?
JAMES: [short laugh] Terrified.
[OLIVER and JAMES gaze at each other for a long moment, silent. Slowly, JAMES reaches for OLIVER's hand and pulls OLIVER closer to him, without breaking his gaze.]
JAMES: [soft] I love you. [a pause] I think you know that.
[OLIVER lets himself be pulled closer still. He gazes down at JAMES, hardly breathing.]
OLIVER: [whispering] James.
[JAMES doesn't respond. He tips his head upwards and kisses OLIVER lightly, briefly, on the mouth. OLIVER puts his hands on the kitchen counter on either side of JAMES' hips and kisses JAMES back. After a long moment, JAMES's fingers tighten around OLIVER's shirt, keeping him there.]
OLIVER: [pulling away slightly, murmuring] I still don't know what I'm doing here. I—
JAMES: Just—
[JAMES kisses OLIVER again, longer and harder.]
JAMES: Just stay.
[OLIVER pulls away farther, looking JAMES in the eye. He appears uncertain, unsteady. His hands move from the countertop to JAMES' shoulders, then to cup JAMES' face.]
OLIVER: What do you mean, just stay?
JAMES: I want you to stay with me.
OLIVER: With you. Here?
JAMES: Anywhere. Only give me leave / unworthy as I am, to follow you.
OLIVER: A city, maybe. Good theater.
JAMES: Anywhere.
OLIVER: [half-smiling] Somewhere with more Thai options, maybe.
JAMES: [serious] Oliver—anywhere you want to go. As long as I have you.
OLIVER: And Shakespeare?
[JAMES lets out a surprised laugh; OLIVER's smile widens. They lean in closer to each other again.]
OLIVER: Our parting is a tortured body.
[JAMES kisses OLIVER again in response. OLIVER doesn't pull away this time. When the two part, OLIVER takes JAMES' hands and leads him, stumbling, to the bedroom. They lie down in JAMES' unmade bed, gazing at each other, unspeaking. They lie there for a long time in peaceful quiet.]
JAMES: A city, huh? Maybe near everyone else. I miss them.
OLIVER: I'd like that.
JAMES: Visit Filippa's class, use Alex's connections. Perhaps we can even pull Meredith and Wren back onto the stage.
OLIVER: [laughs softly] One thing at a time.
JAMES: Is that not your first priority?
OLIVER: I was thinking—you had better change your stage name.
