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The Drama Club-Part 3 (The Chameleon-Episode 2 of 3 Episodes)

dontravis.com blog post #384


Courtesy of Needpix.com
I’m willing to wager Jarrod’s found the guy he wants, but has he made a mistake? Bret’s a song and dance man, but he seems to be straight. Let’s see what happens this week.


*****

THE DRAMA CLUB

Part 3: THE CHAMELEON (Espsode 2)



Jarrod was satisfied with his modifications to the lighting by the time try-outs came around. He had one iron-clad rule, he never used his lights to try and influence Ms. Atherton for or against anyone; he did the best for every would-be actor who trod those boards. As Thes hall slowly filled, Jarrod discovered that Ms. Atherton wasn’t completely loony. She’d located some pretty decent talent among the music classes and choruses on campus.

Brett auditioned for the leading male role and did a good job. He had a pleasing tenor that was clear and true. He didn’t hit one false note in the song he auditioned, one of the hardest numbers in the play. There was another tenor who was as good as he was, but no one could touch Brett when it came to dancing.

After auditions were over, Jarrod sat in his easy chair and watched the stage slowly clear. Man, he’d have to be on his toes for this one. Most of the time, he set the lighting for a scene and that was that. Not so, on this one. He began to get excited over the prospect.

He heard Brett hit the bottom rung of the ladder. “How’d I do?” he asked when he emerged onto the platform.

“Dead heat singing. Blew them away dancing.”

“So what do you think?”

“Atherton’s got one problem,” Jarrod said. “Does she pick the best male lead or one that’s more on a par with the female lead? If there was a girl as good as you, she’d snap you up in a minute. It’s probably going to be Miriam, and she’s no clumsy ox, but she’s not up to your speed either.”

Brett frowned, something he did very handsomely. “Makes sense. Well, we’ll have to see.”

“Can you teach her?”

“Sure. I think she could be pretty good.”

“You willing to put in some extra time with Miriam?”

“You bet! And I’ve got rhythm tonight. Let’s dance! At any rate, let’s start teaching you,” Brett added. “Only problem is you’ll learn backwards. Well, I guess I could switch,” he seemed to be talking to himself, leaving Jarrod wondering what the hell he meant. He found out when Brett turned on his tape deck and found some music he liked. “Two-step. Basic. Come on! Let’s dance!”

Jarrod was awkward and reticent, but he soon found himself enchanted with the idea of dancing with this hunky guy. He liked the way their legs touched and enjoyed the feel of Brett’s strong grip on his hand and arm across his shoulders. When he’d trip on his own feet, they’d end up groin to groin.

“Okay,” Brett said after a few minutes, “now I’ll be the woman.” They did some sort of switch and Jarrod found himself leading… sort of. After awhile, he wasn’t doing all that badly, and they were dancing closer, more naturally.

A slow blues number came on, and Brett switched again so that he was back in charge. “Ah, this kind of song in a dark club with your gal so close there’s nothing between you…it’s heaven!” He pulled Jarrod hard against him. Their noses almost touched, and Jarrod looked into the most amazing eyes he’d even seen. Hazel, but they weren’t. They were blue green with a myriad of other colors in the iris…brown and black and gray. How had he not noticed them before?

“And when it gets late and you’re a little loose from the booze, it gets like this,” Brett said, pulling Jarrod’s head to his shoulder. He released Jarrod’s hand and put both arms around him, guiding them with his hips. Jarrod could feel the heat of Bret’s groin against him. In spite of himself, he began to react. The music wailed on, and Jarrod found his hands crossed behind the other boy’s back at waist level. They shuffled slowly, the music weaving a spell over them. Jarrod’s hands moved lower. Boldly, he put them on the boy’s buttocks, pressing their groins even tighter. Brett said nothing, simply continued to sway with the music.

The song died in a long, sad note, and Brett roused himself from its trance, stepping away suddenly and smiling ruefully. “I-I get carried away sometimes. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jarrod forced the words through a tight throat.

Silently acknowledging it was an awkward moment, Brett snapped off the tape deck and made his excuses. Before leaving, he grasped the rope Jarrod used more often than not to come and leave the loft.

“Might as well learn to come and go like you do.”

Jarrod moved quickly, staying him with a hand on his arm. “You learn to go up first. Then you can go down.”

“Oh. Thanks. Wouldn’t want to break a leg for real and give it to Blue Balls by default, would I?”

As soon as he was alone, Jarrod turned off the lights in the loft and stretched out in his chair. On impulse, he reached over and turned on the radio to another blues number. It wasn’t the same song, but it helped capture mental images of the last half hour. He reached orgasm recalling his head on Brett’s shoulder, arms around one another, groins joined.



Brett got the the male lead, and Ms. Atherton built the show around him. He was by far the best dancer in the troupe, and the drama coach simply used the female lead as a prop in the difficult numbers, putting her to the side, tapping her bare leg seductively while Brett danced his heart out. It worked.

This show was different from any Jarrod had worked on before. By the end of rehearsal each night, he was exhausted, and the actual performances would be worse. He moved constantly, changing spots, blending colors, slipping a filter in here and out there. And then there was the special lighting that sent bursts of color across the sets, at times only inky black curtains against which his lights created the scenes. Several times at the end of rehearsal Jarrod saw Brett glance up and smile. Jarrod waved back, pleased by the acknowledgment, wanting desperately for the handsome young man to come up, but realizing they were both too tired to cope.

The cast took a one-day break before final dress rehearsal, and that afternoon Jarrod noticed the rope he used to climb into the loft was jerking and swinging wildly. He peered over the edge to see Brett struggling about to haul himself hand-over-hand. More than once, he though Brett would fall, but the dancer doggedly kept at it until he was within reach. Jarrod dragged him the rest of the way over the ledge. Brett lay gasping on the floor.

“Dumb.” Jarrod sighed. “That’s all we need, our star breaking a leg before opening night.”

“Yeah,” Brett panted. “But at… least… I did it!”

“But you’ll leave by the ladder. Or better yet, by the freight elevator.”

“Take…you up on that.” Brett struggled to a sitting position. “Damn, I’ve got the legs for it, but you don’t use them much going straight up a rope. Need to work on upper body strength, I guess.” He patted his chest. “Build this up some.”

“Looks good to me,” Jarrod said.

They spent an hour or two talking about the show, making suggestions for improvement, commenting on how the female lead had improved.

“Man, you’ve done wonders with the lights. Worthy of a Las Vegas production.”

“Naw, but it’s pretty good for an amateur effort.”

“Think you’ve gone beyond that,” Brett countered. ‘You’re something, Jarrod. Everybody says so.”

“Yeah, but nobody can agree on what!”

“You don’t mix much, do you?” Brett said in one of his chameleon changes. Lightning fast and deadly accurate.

“Naw. Usually pick one guy to buddy around with. Kind of a one man… guy,” he finished slowly. How did that sound to a straight guy?.

“Loner,” Brett said. “I can dig that. But when are we going to go dancing? June can get you a date if you don’t know a girl who likes to dance.”

“Not good enough yet. Only had one lesson.” Jarrod wasn’t sure, but he thought Brett blushed slightly.

“We’ll be too busy until this play’s over, anyway. We’ll see then, okay?” Brett said.


*****

Oh, my! Jarrod's beginning to pant. The play's about ready to open and he hasn't made his move yet. When will he do it? Tune in again next Thursday.


Until next week.


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Don

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