Excerpt Three

Boy Toy Boy Toy
Excerpt Three: From Part One, "Teen Play"

By Michael Craft

Friday, August 3

On that Friday night, though the sun would not set for another hour or two, the original ornate marquee outside the playhouse was already ablaze with its chaser lights, announcing the new production that would soon grace the theater's old stage (or at least half of it). The sight of the bright, frenetic sign, though gaudy and dated, actually brought a lump to my throat, and I sensed that it had the same effect on Thad as he stared at it. Driving past, I placed a hand behind his head and gave his neck a squeeze, a silent good-luck wish, a tactile message that I appreciated the commitment he'd made to help bring the theater to life that night.

Clearing my throat, I asked, "Stage door?"

He nodded.

I pulled around the block to the rear of the theater, where a small parking lot accommodated cast and crew. A number of cars had already arrived, and people were milling about -- strange, I thought, given the heat. The stage door was shimmed open, and I could glimpse confused activity within. Thad's brows furrowed with wonder as I pulled into the lot and parked. Denny Diggins pranced out from backstage, joining the hubbub, fluttering from group to group, asking questions. Both Thad and I got out of the car as Denny approached us. Before he could speak, my reporter's instincts took over, and I asked, "What's wrong?"

He threw his hands in the air. "Jason's not here."

I glanced at Thad. Thad glanced at his watch. He told Denny, "It's just six-thirty. He's not late yet. There's plenty of time."

Denny wagged his head, palms pressed to his cheeks. "No," he explained through a pucker of frustration, "there's not plenty of time. We don't know where he is." Denny dropped one hand from his face, raising the other to his forehead, as if staving off a migraine. "I've been concerned about his cold, naturally. I spoke to him yesterday, and he said he wasn't feeling any better. So I told him to get plenty of rest, then tried checking on him this afternoon, but couldn't reach him. I've phoned again and again, but can't get past his machine. Something's wrong."

I stepped nearer, telling Denny, "Don't jump to conclusions. He could be anywhere. He's probably on his way here right now." This was truly an unexpected turn of events -- not Jason's questionable whereabouts, but my leaping forward to console Denny Diggins, of all people.

He said, "I hope to God you're right, Mahk."

Kwynn Wyman, Thad's friend, had seen us arrive and walked over to meet us. Hearing the last of our conversation, she said, "Please don't worry, Mr. Diggins. I'm sure Jason's fine. But in any event, we're covered, remember. Thad's ready to play Ryan tonight if he needs to."

"And he just may need to," said Denny, looking to the hot-hued heavens with an expression that asked, Why me?

"I'm ready if you need me," Thad assured Denny. "All we can do is wait."

And waiting in the wings, so to speak, was little Tommy Morales -- perched on the stairs to the stage door, script in hand, studying the role of Dawson.