Dutchy was right. Everything did just fly by. Days melted into weeks and weeks into months and I don't know where it all went.
The past several weeks have been a blur... It's all consisted of Becky not talking to me and acting like we've gotten a divorce or something (though I have no idea what the hell is going on there...), David finally forgiving me, Spot and Race still sneaking around behind everybody's backs (except for mine, of course), Blink and Mush very nearly putting one another in the hospital from fights over the choreography, and things with Dutchy escalating to an intensity I never thought possible.
And now here we are, opening night, intermission. Being on stage isn't quite so bad. I don't have to sing so much and I never have to dance by myself. It's actually pretty fun. My nerves have exploded into a kind of excitement. I think I might actually like this.
Dutchy and I are sitting backstage rather than in the green room, waiting out the half-hour in the quiet darkness. We're wedged between a couple of old sets, I believe from West Side Story and The Music Man. I lean my head back against a billiards table, amazed that Dutchy hasn't told me that we've got trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for pool.
"So you're having fun?" Dutchy pats my knee, smiling, which I can just barely see in the dim lighting.
"Yeah... it's funny, I didn't think I would." I smile back. "It's actually kind of a rush."
He nods. "Yeah."
And we sit in silence for another minute or so.
"Is everything okay?" I turn my head towards him, trying to read his face, which is nearly impossible with all the shadow.
"Um..." Dutchy slides his hand up, closing it over mine. "Yeah, everything's fine. It's just that... can I tell you something?"
I squeeze his hand. "Of course."
He takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand back. "I..." He stops to clear his throat. I've never seen him this nervous. He always seems so cool and collected. "I think... well, really, I know, I love you."
My jaw drops and my hand goes slack. I stare at him through the darkness for several moments before I have the capacity to speak again. "Dutchy..."
He lets go of my hand and smooths his slicked-back, Albert-Peterson hair down. "Sorry."
"No, don't apologize." I run my hand up his arm, touch his cheek. "I love you, too."
He leans in and kisses me, warm and soft, and for once there isn't that fevered, sexual heat... it's all tender. I very nearly melt into his lap.
My tongue meets his and we cradle each other a while, kissing. I slide a hand to the back of his neck and rub a little, leaning into him. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and holds me, tight, close, and it feels amazing.
We don't even hear the door open.
"You fucking faggots," a voice spits. We break apart and look up, our eyes adjusting to the sudden light, finally recognizing the form of Oscar Delancey, stagehand extraordinaire. "I always knew you were a fairy, Visser."
His brother, Morris, pops up behind him. "Well, hey, fellas. When's the wedding?" The smile on his face is nowhere near friendly. Vicious, sickening, and entirely unkind, he laughs.
Dutchy and I scoot apart, the both of us completely speechless. Oscar clicks his tongue. "What's Daddy gonna think, Visser? What's he gonna say when he finds out that all that money he spends on your education here is being used so you can go at it with some queer?"
The Delanceys laugh uproariously, shaking their heads. "We got dirt on you now, pal," Morris says with a smirk. "You won't be such a damn golden boy anymore."
They walk away and we sit, stunned... I think I might actually hear Dutchy crying.
Though we were able to put up a couple of rather impressive facades for the second act, we were both seriously disturbed after the play. I walk Dutchy back to his room, silent the whole way. We stand outside his room, shuffling our feet awkwardly.
"You okay?" I look up at him, those usually happy blue eyes a little clouded.
He shrugs. "Other than the fact that I'm completely fucked up, down, and sideways, yeah, I'm peachy."
"Dutchy, everything's going to be okay." I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing lightly. "We're going to be fine."
"How can you say that?" He pushes my hand away, shaking his head. "Specs, the Delanceys hate me. They have since day one. They'll do anything to trip me up." He runs a hand over his still-gelled-down hair in frustration. "I told you what would happen if my dad finds out. I'll be outta here in no time flat."
"I really doubt that." My hand hovers awkwardly at my side, and I'm more than a little angry that he doesn't even want me to touch him.
"You don't know my father, Specs! He's this right-wing, super-Christian, gun-toting, fag-hating son of a bitch. He finds out, I'm going home and then my sorry ass is on its way to boot camp for the rest of my life. This isn't okay, Specs. It's not going to be okay."
I sigh and shake my head. "I'm sorry, Dutchy."
"Don't be fucking sorry!" He kicks at the wall, looking about ready to tear his hair out.
"Look, don't take this out on me. This isn't my fault," I snap, but immediately regret it. When he only stares at the floor, I put my hands on either side of his face and make him look at me. "This isn't your fault, either. This is just Oscar and Morris being assholes. I bet it'll all just blow over."
He looks like he's going to cry and his body is starting to droop. "What if it doesn't?"
"Well, your dad's going to have to accept you at some point. Things might get bad, I can't say that they won't, but I'll be here for you, okay?"
Dutchy nods, sighing and dropping his head on my shoulder. I just want to hold him and make him forget everything. "Specs, I am so fucked."
I don't know what to say. I rub my hand over his back and sigh, standing in silence a moment. "Look," I say at length, "let's just get some rest. It's been a busy night, and we're both more than a little exhausted. We need to sleep, and we'll see how things are in the morning."
He straightens, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I think I need to be alone tonight, Specs."