Water still drips from Zakary’s face. He isn’t sure whether he’s still in shock from having the contents of the drink flung at him—or the fact that the playwright knows his name.
“Can you show us that again?” asks Hudson. “Yeah, one more time,” agrees Emilio just as eagerly.
Jonatho glances at Zakary. “Ready to go again?”
Zakary’s face feels as red as his new hair when he nods and chokes the word: “Yeah.”
And so they begin the scene once again. Every bit of tension is there, just as strongly as it was the first time. When the drink is flung yet again at his face, Zakary jerks back, surprised by it despite knowing it was coming. While water still drips from Zakary’s face, the director begins making a point to the actors, taking over for Jonatho, and after Emilio asks another question about his character, a third glass of water is flung carelessly at Zakary’s face, punctuated by Oliver saying, “See?”
While the actors discuss more with Oliver, Jonatho turns to Zakary. “You didn’t realize this is what you were signing up for today, huh?” he teases him.
Caught in the playwright’s deep eyes, Zakary only blushes, smiles, and says, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Jonatho lifts an eyebrow. “You mean you don’t mind us throwing water in your face over and over?”
Zakary shifts his feet and his hands find his pockets. “At least it’s just water and not real bourbon.”
“Right. Not the tea they’ll be using at the real shows. Or whatever tinted liquid the director finally settled on. Already forgot. The theatre world is full of fake things and deceptions …” He smirks. “Something tells me you’re not one of them.”
Now it’s Zakary’s turn to be caught off-guard. He stares into Jonatho’s eyes, lost.
Jonatho stares back appraisingly. “Hey, after this rehearsal, do you—?”
But right then, the director shouts out to start again from the top, and the moment—as well as Jonatho’s unfinished question—is ended. After a lingering, smirking gaze at Zakary, Jonatho hops off the stage and disappears again into the audience. Zakary similarly disappears backstage, then watches the scene from the curtains in a total daze as water continues dripping from his flaming red bangs.
In his chest, his heart races happily. A smile crashes over his face. What a crazy, unexpected night this has turned out to be.
An hour later when things are wrapping up, Zakary is alone in the bathroom, bent over to get his face and hair under the hand dryer. Over and over, his mind replays the moment when he was in front of Jonatho and those intense, gorgeous eyes. His heart still races happily. Did something actually happen between them just then, or had he imagined it? Zakary so often lives in his own head, it’s difficult to read people sometimes.
The door cracks open suddenly. “Sorry for getting you so wet.”
Zakary turns to find Jonatho standing there. In alarm, he brings his head up so fast, it bangs into the nozzle of the hand dryer. He winces, rubs his head, then smiles apologetically. “It’s okay.”
“Is it?” Jonatho crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, amused. “You mean I can do that again if I wanted?”
Zakary fights a grin. “I don’t know. I guess?”
“Do you really know every word of my play?”
Zakary bites his lip. The roar of the hand dryer fills his ears, which are probably turning red, too. He can’t seem to speak suddenly, so he just nods.
Jonatho considers him. “If only Hudson and Emilio knew my words as well as you do. Anyway, are you coming out with the cast and crew tomorrow night after we open?”
There is something about the confident, smooth, nearly seductive sound of Jonatho’s voice that raises bumps of excitement on Zakary’s arms. The more Jonatho speaks, the more Zakary wants to listen. Jonatho’s mysterious allure of speech transcends just the words he puts on a page; they tickle Zakary’s soul and hook him like a helpless, wriggling guppy.
And also cause him to forget to answer. “Y-Yes,” he gets out. “I’ll be there. Tomorrow night. I’ll definitely be there after the show, of course.”
“I’m glad.” Jonatho smirks. “By the way, the hand dryer is talking to me, and … I think it’s trying to tell you drying your shirt is a futile effort.”
Zakary squints back at him. “Why? Because I hit my head on it?”
Jonatho shakes his head. “Not quite.”
“Then … why?”
3
The Wet Scene
The question is answered a moment later when they find themselves standing outside under the awning of the theater observing a wet street, rain falling between the long fingers of tall, dark buildings. To Zakary’s knowledge, a storm wasn’t in the forecast, but here it is anyway.
“Which way’s your place?”
Zakary points. “That way, down Commerce Street on the other side of the Trinity.”
“Hmm. How far down Commerce? Do you need an Uber?”