Chapter Eight
Backstage at the Mermaid Theatre was adrenaline-saturated chaos. Most acting careers began on a stage and Darcy’s was no different, but the last few years had been spent mostly on camera, from ties and toothpaste commercials to bystander number two. His first big break was as a troubled teen in the anti-drug PSAs.
There was a big difference between stage acting and television acting, and the exuberance of the cast—the grand gestures that continued off-stage—were parts he’d forgotten. Still, he’d got to take selfies with the leads and wondered if they’d remember him when Shelter Cove began airing its fourth season. Right now, some people knew his face, but Darcy Mancini was a name on nobody’s lips. Carlos and Krista Michelle had both assured him that would change.
For some reason, Darcy had thought Michael’s invitation for drinks after the performance was meant to be just the two of them. Instead, he was swept along with Michael and half the production’s cast to the historic Seahorse Tavern three blocks away. The bright noisy group claimed all the chairs at a long, sticky table glazed with decades of spilled beer.
Michael drew Darcy to the end of the table, squeezing in an extra chair, though it wasn’t necessary. It did seat them closer together, making it easier to talk. Pitchers of beer appeared on the table along with enough half-pint glasses for everyone. Michael poured four and sent the pitcher around.
“Did you like the performance? I mean, I know the play is silly, but.” He looked both proud and bashful at the same time and Darcy returned the grin.
“It was fun. I saw it in Preston as part of a high school thing, and they took themselves way too seriously, which made it seem…”
“Yeah, serious is so not the way to handle this show. So you’re not a local?”
“My mother’s in the air force, and we travelled a lot. I guess Preston is as close to a hometown as I ever had. I came to Stellarton after high school to attend the CAD. I always knew I wanted to act. What about you?”
“I’m just from a couple towns over, small town, like pig shit on my shoes. But yeah, I came for the college of art and design. It’s pretty prestigious for an east coast school.”
Darcy nodded agreement, his forehead brushing Michael’s, they were so close. In order to be heard, he ignored the intimacy of Michael’s breath on his ear or cheek, and the occasional brush of his hair across his temple. He found he didn’t mind it too terribly that their knees bumped under the table and their shoulders were pressed together, though he normally had well-tended personal space boundaries.
They stumbled out of the tavern around one thirty in the morning, holding each other up as they weaved back and forth across the sidewalk in a general homeward direction. Darcy hadn’t let himself get this drunk in a long time.
As they slowly made their way toward Munroe Street, the cool night air and exercise combined to counteract the booze and leave Darcy a little more clear-headed.
They were mostly walking in a straight line, arms still slung around each other for balance, when they got to the front door of Michael’s building. Michael stared at the door a moment before pulling Darcy around, almost into a hug.
“C’neye kiss you again?”
Darcy blinked. “Um, why?”
“I dunno. I wanna. S’okay, I’m straight.”
Darcy blinked again, trying to figure out if that made sense or not. He couldn’t. “Okay.”
Michael drew himself up, pushed his fingers into Darcy’s hair at the base of his skull. “You have pretty hair,” he mumbled.
Before Darcy could figure out if he should be alarmed or not, Michael pressed a sloppy kiss on his mouth and another on his nose.
He grinned at Darcy and started to tilt to one side. “Thanks. You’re so pretty. Night!”
Darcy blinked for a third time, staring at the door after Michael disappeared through it. Weird. Wasn’t it? He laughed and made it home in a more or less direct route.
Michael was grumpy for the next two days. He hadn’t meant to get drunk the other night. He wasn’t sure if he’d made a fool of himself or not—he most likely had—but he definitely had failed to make plans to do something else with Darcy.
They had talked, he remembered most of that, largely about their hopes and dreams in high school and how close or far they’d come to date. What they were still reaching for, what they’d let go.
At the studio, in rehearsal, and whenever he wasn’t onstage, he checked his phone. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for—a note to magically appear on his calendar regarding a date with Darcy?
Well. Not a date, because he was straight, and straight guys didn’t date other guys. He did feel a very strong desire to hang out with him, though. He racked his brain, trying to think of a good excuse or reason or activity that didn’t sound too much like…a date. Damn it.
Nothing.
He was about to do something drastic and confess everything to Dave before begging for advice when a miracle occurred: Darcy sent him a text.
Season prem. of SC tomorrow night
That was it! He typed back, Thanx for the reminder! Want to watch it at my place? Or would it be weird to watch yourself on tv?
The seconds stretched to agonizing minutes as Michael stared at the phone after hitting send.
Finally he got a reply. How many ppl? Should I bring something?
Yes! He grinned at his phone. Would “just us” be too date-like? He could ask Dave. In fact, if he didn’t, Dave would probably be pissed at him. Only three of us. Just bring what u want to drink, maybe chips if you’re picky about brand/flavour.
K, three is a good size crowd, c u!
Michael did a couple of dance steps across his living room floor and called Dave.
As much as Michael hadn’t wanted Dave there, he had to admit it made the evening seem a lot less date-like. This way, Dave would see that he obviously just liked Darcy as a friend. Or would, once he got to know him better.
Darcy arrived with a six-pack of sparkling pomegranate-flavoured water and a large bag of kettle chips.
Michael grinned. “I love kettle chips.”
“They’re the best,” Darcy agreed, laughing a little when he saw two bags already on the coffee table.
Unsurprisingly, Dave was right there, hovering. Michael rolled his eyes and said, “Darcy, this is my oldest friend Dave. And I mean oldest, he’s like practically thirty.”
“Ha-ha,” Dave said, staring intently at Darcy.
“Dave, Darcy Mancini.”
“Hi!” Dave stuck out his hand and shook Darcy’s in a mercifully brief gesture. “So you like Shelter Cove too, huh? It’s my favourite show.”
Darcy was smiling and he said, “Yes…” but he raised an eyebrow at Michael.
“I may have not told Dave. It’ll be a surprise.”
“Told me what?”
Darcy’s smile grew into a grin. “Cool.”
Dave frowned. “You look familiar,” he said to Darcy. “Have we met somewhere else?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Michael winked at Darcy. Dave really was a huge Shelter Cove fan, so he’d probably seen the previews, which had featured Darcy in a few brief scenes. His good humour took on the edge of worry as he surveyed his sofa. It was smaller than he thought, for three men. He opened a bag of chips and poured them into a big plastic bowl from the dollar store and sat down next to the other arm, leaving enough space for Darcy in the middle.
The idea was that Dave and Darcy could get to know each other a bit, a my-friends-are-your-friends deal.
It would have been a lie to say he wasn’t pleasantly surprised when Darcy chose to crowd him, sitting so their thighs touched. Somehow Darcy made him forget all about being straight, at least until he contemplated the idea of a naked Darcy. His dick loved the idea, but he wasn’t sure his head would be able to get around it.
Not that it mattered. Sooner or later, all parts of him would be on the just-friends page.
Dave met his eyes behind Darcy’s head and raised his eyebrows. Michael pretended he didn’t know what he meant. He just rested his arm across the back of the sofa. To give Darcy more room.
Dave didn’t seem to notice Darcy’s name in the opening credits, but Michael nudged Darcy’s leg with his knee and grinned conspiratorially at him. The show began in a generic city with a stereotypical mob family only to introduce the rebellious eighteen-year-old son who wanted nothing to do with the family business.
“Oh my god, that’s you,” Dave exclaimed before watching as Dana proceeded to steal a lot of money from his father and run—straight to Shelter Cove.
As they went to commercial, Dave said, “Jesus, Michael. You didn’t tell me your Darcy was a celebrity.”
“Hardly a celebrity,” Darcy murmured, looking pleased all the same.
“Maybe not yet…”
The show came back on, and Darcy’s character slipped unnoticed past Agent Marissa Keys and Sheriff Carlton Maddox to the infamously haunted bed-and-breakfast, where Shelter Cove’s bad-ass ghosts decided Dana was going to be a lot of fun.
Michael’s eyes widened and his breath caught when Dana, realizing that his father was going to be scouring the country for him, decided to disguise himself as a woman.
Shelter Cove wasn’t the kind of show to regularly feature nudity, but the camera traced so lovingly down Darcy’s bare back to show just the hint of his ass crack, then cut to show those gorgeous long legs as he, Dana, transformed himself into a woman that Michael could only stare.
“Wow,” Dave said softly.
Fucking gorgeous.
The rest of the episode dealt with the ongoing story arc, which was what had hooked Michael in the first place. Though he stared at the screen, all he could think of were Darcy’s scenes.
“Man,” Dave said when the show was over. “That was so brave! I don’t know if I could do a nude scene.”
“Technically it wasn’t,” Darcy replied. “I pose for a life-drawing class at the CAD on a semiregular basis. You get used to being naked in front of people. But I wasn’t naked for those scenes, not even close. It’s just artful camera work.”
Michael turned to gape at Darcy. He posed naked? Michael didn’t know if he wanted to ask when or be jealous that other people had seen his—Darcy naked.
“Very artful,” Dave said, grinning. “You are gorgeous.” He studied Darcy all over again and then asked casually, “So. Are you straight like Michael or gay like me?”
Whatever Michael thought Darcy would say, whatever he hoped Darcy would say, it wasn’t anything close to Darcy’s actual answer.
“Um…neither?”
“Bi?” Dave replied immediately, face brightening.
Michael blinked because his reaction had been, huh? like bisexual wasn’t a possibility. He had a real blindness about it that he didn’t like.
Darcy sidled almost imperceptibly closer to him and surprised him once again: “No, not sexual at all. Ace.”
Dave looked surprised, too, but apart from a raised eyebrow, his response was limited to a murmured, “Disappointing.”
“Why?” Darcy asked, in a defensive tone familiar to Michael.
“I wanted to play matchmaker with you and Michael.”
Michael’s jaw dropped, but Darcy took the words out of his mouth. “But Michael’s straight.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, but even he thought he sounded unsure.
“Between you and me, Darcy,” Dave said, reaching unconcernedly for the chip bowl, “Michael isn’t as straight as he thinks.”