Colors (7 page)

I know there’s nothing healthy about the chips, but they’re so good. Almost as good as the kisses Melissa and I shared before the snack break. Knowing her mother and dad would not be home for at least a couple of hours, Melissa succumbed. We spent a hot and heavy fifteen minutes on her couch.

“Let’s go to your room,” I pleaded, wanting ever so much to make this little make-out session complete.

“You know that’s not gonna happen,” she mumbled through our locked lips.

“Come on, Melissa. I’m dyin’ here,” I said as I pulled away.

“Do you want me to take care of it?” she said with a wicked smile.

I knew what she meant. She’d done it for me lots of times, out there in the hidden swing. But today, if I couldn’t have it all the way—and Melissa only ever went so far—I might as well steer us back to the present task. After all, one thing I’ve figured out about Melissa: she will never give herself totally to me until we are locked together, legally wed before the eyes of her God. It’s a pain, but I guess I have to accept it.

Frustrated, I said, “I’m starving. Got anything to munch on?”

And that was how I substituted chips and Diet Coke for what I really was starving for.

Snack over, Melissa plays me about a dozen songs. Nothing calls out to me. With the last one ending, she walks over to the CD player and pushes Stop.

“What did you think of this one, Neil? I like the beat, and the melody is kinda catchy.” She sits opposite the coffee table, facing me. She is so hot looking. How can I feel like this about someone who is so caught up in church? I will be eternally frustrated. Here I am, sitting across from this vision, the zipper on my jeans trying to burst apart, trying desperately to concentrate on Christian songs.
Stop it, Neil! Get it
to-ge-ther
, you fool.

“Yeah. It is a good one, but I don’t know, it just doesn’t say, ‘sit up and listen to Neil and Melissa,’ you know?”

“I guess you’re right.” She stands. “Let’s see what else we have.” Melissa goes to a shelf filled with CDs. I watch her cute butt sway as she searches.
Stop it, Neil you’re only hurting yourself.
As she thumbs through them, she asks, “So, why do you suppose the new guy—what’s his name? Jeffrey?—got to just waltz in and join the Show Choir? The rest of us had to try out first.”

“It’s Zane.” My mind’s eye instantly sees Zane’s curl.
Damn. Stop it, Neil. First you’re lusting after Melissa, now you’re stuck on Zane and his curl. What’s wrong with you?

“Zane?” Melissa jerks her head around. “Ms. Walter said
Jeffrey
—I heard her.”

“Well, he goes by Zane. It’s his middle name, and he uses it for a stage name.”

“Stage name?” I see a look of annoyance on Melissa’s face, like she doesn’t approve of anything so pretentious, so silly, as anyone sixteen years old having a stage name. Or does she think Zane having a stage name sounds gay?

A reason, besides the
not gonna happen,
for me to drop Melissa. She’s not really into my interests. After all, she thinks having a stage name is weird. And it’s pretty obvious she thinks there’s something wrong with being gay. There isn’t; it’s just not for me, thanks to Brother Gramm. But I like Melissa, despite her faults. And she is offering another chance to perform. I never turn down an offer. Practice makes perfect, as they say. So I simply reply to her.

“Yeah, I was wondering myself how he got into Show Choir so easily until I talked to him at lunch. You won’t believe what he’s done. He worked at some dinner theater where he played all kinds of roles, with stars even.”

“Stars?”

“Barry Williams, Molly Ringwald, John Davidson.”

A blank look takes over Melissa’s face. “Who are they?”

“Greg from
The Brady Bunch
? That’s Barry Williams. Zane was in
The Music Man
with him. Ringwald was in
Pretty in Pink
—the old movie. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? Davidson was on TV too. The point is, Zane worked with real professionals.” And, like a rock band groupie, I hear my voice get higher and my heart quicken. I can’t help it. I envy the guy.

“So that’s why Ms. Walter let him in without an audition,” Melissa says, pulling a CD from the shelf. “Aren’t you worried?”

“Worried? About what?”

“Well, tryouts for
Oklahoma!
are soon. You may have some competition this year.”

“Yeah, the thought already occurred to me. When I told him we were doing
Oklahoma!,
he said he’d always wanted to do the show. ‘Said’ is a little mild. He practically gave me the first lecture of Musical Theater 101.” Suddenly, recalling it all, defeat creeps in. “Looks like I may not be Curly after all.”

I shift my weight on the couch, trying to relieve the pressure of that last idea.

“Oh, poo.” Melissa gestures at me, totally dismissive. “I was just teasing. You know Ms. Walter will give you the lead.”

“It’s not Ms. Walter I’m worried about. The drama teacher also has a say in the casting, and he’s new this year. He’s never seen me perform. What if Zane does a better audition?”

“Nobody could be better than you, Neil,” Melissa strolls over, puts her hand on my shoulder, leans down, and pecks my cheek. “You just remember that.”

I smile. It’s nice to be comforted. But then I glance at her hand. Lingering. One second more and the spiders will be crawling. It’s a tough thing, to be continually reminded of Brother Gramm and what he did to me. And it’s weird. I can touch her first—no problem. Let her touch me first, and spiders.

I’m grateful when she takes the hand away and goes back to the shelf. She returns with CD in hand. “Here’s my favorite. I saved it for last.”

I look at the jewel box.

“Miriam Railston? Who’s she?”

“Who’s she?” Melissa gasps. “
Who’s she?
Only the best Christian singer alive!”

“So she’s the queen, huh? Well, let’s hear it.”

Melissa puts the CD in the player, punches in a number, then pushes Play. A velvet voice emerges from the speakers, laying down a soft melody with a gentle backbeat, caressing the air with soothing words of peace and love.

I jump up. “That’s it. This is the song we need to do. It’s fantastic. Can we get the sheet music to it?”

Melissa casually walks to the piano and pulls a song sheet from the music rack. A smug look on her face, she deposits the song sheet into my hands.

“Can You Feel His Love?” is emblazoned across a picture of a beautiful young woman.

“You had this all along?” I say, my eyes narrowing, accusative. “Why didn’t you bring it out sooner?”

“What?” Melissa grins. “And miss spending a whole afternoon with you?” Melissa’s a tease in more ways than one.

She puts her arms around my neck.

For a moment I want to squirm from her grip, and then a nanosecond later, guilt kicks in.
This is a beautiful girl, here, Neil. You love her—what’s wrong with you?

Text Messaging: Zane and Cara

Cara:
howz it hangin, zane babe?

Zane:
liza darling, fabulous to hear from u. howz trix? everyone in the old home town still mourning my departure?

Cara:
u know it. streets flooded with their tears. but i’m mighty fine

Zane:
always, babs. when u gettin skype? i want to gaze pon u

Cara:
no webcam. parental decree. u know that

Zane:
still with the parent controls?

Cara:
extreme. checks computer daily. knows sites visited

Zane:
poor baby. dad from dark ages. and he lets you work at carnival. weird.

Cara:
just shake my head and go on. crazy man.

Zane:
nuff bout him. what’s cookin?

Cara:
got the part

Zane:
knew u wud, dearest ethel. who’s doing mama rose?

Cara:
bertinelli! isn’t that a hoot?

Zane:
carnival’s stretchin for this one

Cara:
true. but i get billing right under her name: costarring cara carmine.

Zane:
awesome, angela.

Cara:
so howz the house?

Zane:
nice. not home, tho

Cara:
school?

Zane:
big

Cara:
and the candy?

Zane:
oh, bernadette, girl, a gorgeous hunk

Cara:
think he’s interested?

Zane:
don’t know yet. maybe. into musicals

Cara:
good sign. looks?

Zane:
tall. turquoise eyes. auburn hair. dreamy voice

Cara:
wat a catch!

Zane:
not reelin him in yet. need more time, chita

Cara:
u’ll get him, z. I have faith in u

Zane:
o! forgot! school doing oklahoma!

Cara:
looks like the move was gud for u

Zane:
we’ll see. don’t know the competition yet, luv

Cara:
u’ll blow em away

Zane:
hope so. gotta run, my dear

Cara:
miss you. xo,xo,xo

Zane:
me, 2

“H
EY
.”

Zane helicopters over my taco salad. I look around for any of the other choir guys, and then I answer, “Hey.” I guess if I’m going to be friends with Zane, I’m going to have to quit caring what the other guys think. Most of them don’t like me anyway. I could grow used to seeing that curl.

I motion for him to sit across from me.

“Can you believe this weather?” Zane folds his legs onto the bench. “Gorgeous day for eating outside.”

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing a huge mouthful of salad. “How are things? You settling in?”

“I guess so. This place isn’t bad, but I miss home. Talked to my friend Cara last night. She’s doing
Gypsy
, dinner-theater style.”

“Really?” I still can’t believe this guy did professional theater. And I can’t believe how he interests me right now. Who cares about those other guys and what they think? Zane speaks on my level.

“Really. And would you believe who they got to play Mama Rose?—Valerie Bertinelli! Carnival’s gone whack this time.”

“My God, what were they thinking of?”

“It’s all money. They figure she’ll sell tickets—she may be the right age for the role, but she still looks like a little girl. But the people who go to dinner theater want to see somebody they know. And it’s not like Carnival can afford to get a real Broadway star, so they settle. She’s not Ethel, but she’ll pull the audience in.”

“Ethel?” I ask.

“You’re kidding me, aren’t you?” Zane chomps on his barbeque sandwich, then wipes Satine’s—damn, I mean
his
—mouth. “You really don’t know who Ethel is?”

“Don’t have a clue,” I admit. “Fill me in. You seem to know everything about my favorite subject. All I know about musical theater is what I see on TV—you know, the Tony Awards, the entertainment news shows, the movie musicals.”

“Well, Ethel—Ethel
Merman
—was one of the greats—dead now. They created the role of Mama Rose in
Gypsy
for her. Big, big star in the forties and fifties. One of the great Broadway divas.”

“Diva? Like Bernadette Peters?”

“Oh! Bernadette—I saw
her
do
Gypsy
. What a performance. I remember it so well, even though I was a tiny kid.”

“She did a number from the show on the Tonys on TV. It’s on YouTube,” I say, swelling with the experience of actually getting to talk shop with someone who shares my passion. “You’re right—she was great. Definitely a diva.”

“Yeah. Well, she’s today’s diva, but there have been some fabulous ones over the years.”

“Like?” Listening to Zane is fun. I’ve never known anyone else who knows so much about the theater—or anything about theater, really.

“Well, let’s see…. Peter Pan and Dolly Levi, that would be Mary Martin and Carol Channing. Then there’s the great dancers—Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivera.”

“What about Liza Minnelli?” I ask. “I saw
Cabaret
on Bravo the other day—a diva performance if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Of course. Quoting the immortal
Chorus Line
song, she’s the singular sensation. What I wouldn’t give to have seen her in
The Rink
.”

“How come you know so much about the theater? You talk like you know all these people personally. I’ve never met anybody else who knows so much, much less somebody my age.” This guy is amazing. He thinks like me, and he knows far more about theater than I do.
Wow.

“Theater is my life, my passion.” With a grand gesture, Zane clutches his heart.

I laugh, hearing him use the word I was just thinking about my own feelings: passion. And laughing too, because he is so incredibly dramatic, so over the top.

I say, “Well, I’m open to theater anytime. I love it too, and I never get to talk about it.”

“Good. Then I’m glad we met. It makes moving here just a little easier to take. The only other good thing about moving here,” Zane says, “is next year I can audition for MusicTheatreMidwest.”

Now’s
your
chance to impress
him
, Neil. But be cool.

“I’m going there.”

Zane’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m going to MTM,” I repeat. “I auditioned for Scott Scheer and was accepted.”

“I bow in humble adoration, oh Wondrous One.” Zane dramatically lowers his head.

“Stop it.” I shake my head. “It’s no big deal.” But it is a big deal, and I’m glad he’s suitably impressed. Makes me feel like I measure up to Zane in some small way.

Being idolized—even if he is only teasing—feels pretty good. But what a goofball.

Then I realize something. Zane’s being weird, wacky, goofball, and
gay
as he can possibly be. And I don’t care if any of the other choir guys see. They can just suck it up. Zane’s
in the theater
, as he would no doubt say, adding a grand gesture. That doesn’t make him anything but a colorful character, as Aunt Jenny has said before, describing a lot of her artist friends.