Crying in the Rain (Hiding Behind The Couch Character and Festive Episodes)

5 Out of Excuses

Ade

T he morning wore on, and the pain in Ade’s jaw wore off, as he’d known it would once he had the distraction of work, and the studio downlights meant his bruises were in shadow. Not that it made the situation any less dire, but it would’ve been worse still if he’d had to spend all day with people asking him what he’d done. There was a small but loud part of him that might actually tell them.

At lunchtime, he followed the smokers outside and lit a cigarette, realising the second he inhaled that he didn’t want it, but the lure of company, being able to stand by and listen to their mindless chatter, was a welcome escape from the feeling of cold dread, the icy tide that rose as they edged closer to finishing the recording.

Mid-afternoon, they were on a third take of the pivotal scene in which Rose admitted to Tommy that she had loved him once but wasn’t sure of anything anymore. In the movie, the scene ended with her crying out his name and throwing herself on him in a passionate kiss, but there was something about it in its contemporary, audio-only form that jarred, and it took Ade reading in as Rose for him to figure out what it was. The words weren’t his, yet as he spoke them, Rose’s despair became one with his. The man she’d loved was brutal and selfish, and she stood to lose everything by harbouring him. The idea that, in modern times, she would make that choice was unthinkable to most, but not to Ade, and by the time he was done, his actors looked somewhat unnerved .

Nonetheless, it had the desired effect, as on a fourth take, the actor playing Rose nailed it, after which the cast headed up to the cafeteria for a well-earned coffee break.

Ade took the opportunity to listen back through his headphones, really pleased with what they’d got so far. He exported a thirty-second clip and sent it to Sally O’Connor, not realising he still had company until he heard Kris clear his throat. Smiling, Ade removed the headphones and swivelled around to face him.

“Hey.”

Kris smiled back. “Hey, I just wanted to compliment you on your acting. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” Ade accepted bashfully, his cheeks warming. “So are you. I love what you and Ella did with the scars scene.”

“Really?”

“Really. I just sent the writer a raw clip, it’s so good.” That and he hoped it would put her off turning up at the studio. “TV would be lucky to have you.”

Kris bowed his head. “You’re too kind. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with your job, whereas you can do mine without breaking a sweat. Have you ever considered an acting career?”

“Ha. Yes. As a matter of fact, I used to do a lot of stage stuff, but the speech thing got in the way. Writers get very precious when a jumped-up thespian asks them to amend their well-considered words.”

“I hope that wasn’t a jibe at me,” a husky female voice said from behind Kris. Ade’s heart sank. So much for pre-empting her visit.

Ever the eye-catcher, even now in her early sixties, Sally wore a vibrant tie-dyed kaftan over deep-purple crushed-velvet culottes. She drifted past Kris, her gaze fixed on Ade, her cheery smile holding for now, as she wasn’t yet close enough to see any fine detail. Ade tried his best not to shrink into his seat. He loved Sally to pieces, but he really didn’t want to face her today .

Kris must have picked up that they knew each other, as he started to back out of the room, making his excuses, but Ade needed him to stay and so quickly introduced them.

“Kris, this is Sally O’Connor, Sal, this is Kris Johansson. He’s playing Tommy.”

“Riiiight,” Sal said, eyeing Kris up and down as if his physical appearance offered a valid indication of his ability to take on the role. She took a lunge-step towards him, and her hand shot out from within the folds of fabric. Kris recovered quickly from his astonishment and accepted her greeting.

“Good to meet you, Miss O’Connor. I love your work.”

“Riiiight,” she said again. “OK. Good.”

Ade would’ve intervened, but his nose was itching from the pungent, perfumy cloud that always accompanied the playwright and would no doubt linger for the rest of the afternoon. He couldn’t risk a sneeze, but the way Sally was drawing out every syllable, it was clear she thought Kris was sucking up and was preparing to test him.

“Which work exactly? Just On Sunday , or…?”

“Well, it’s a beautiful reworking, and I love the modern voice you’ve given Rose, although I hope you won’t be offended if I tell you I prefer…” Kris’s eyes widened in panic, and he looked to Ade. He’d forgotten it again. Ade mouthed the words at him.

“ Air Born ,” Kris repeated aloud, with a subtle grateful smile to his co-conspirator. Ade gave him a wink to say you’re welcome .

“Oh, do you?” Sal gushed airily, suddenly convivial. “It’s my all-time favourite, though I dare say it’s not the done thing for one to adore one’s own work. And may I ask which part you played?”

As Sal commenced interrogating Kris, Ade used his eyes only to try and signal to Kris not to leave him on his own with her. Luckily, Kris was good at reading facial expressions. That or it was the connection between them that had been growing stronger all day. Either way, it meant Sal didn’t get the chance to lecture Ade, despite making it obvious she’d noticed the bruises. He was only delaying the inevitable, but today he wasn’t up to being told he was a fool. He knew he was a fool, and it changed nothing.

Sal stayed just long enough for the rest of the actors and crew to return from their break, share a few pleasantries and listen to the next scene before bidding farewell and floating away, leaving a flowery wake strong enough Ade wouldn’t have been surprised to discover rose petals littering the corridor all the way to the lift.

“OK,” he said, once she was gone. “Final scene.” With a sigh of relief that at least one trial was over, he put on the red light and hit record.

*

“We’re going for a drink. Would you like to come?”

Again, Kris had hung back; the rest of the cast were already on their way to the lift, and Ade was alone at the control desk. The question paralysed him, took the power of words from him, because he so desperately wanted to go for a drink, be normal, socialise with his colleagues, but was it worth the risk?

“I don’t think we’ll be staying out late,” Kris added. “And I’d love to hear more about your acting experiences. There’s such depth to your characterisation. Want to give me some tips?”

Ade smiled at the compliment. It warmed him right through—not that he didn’t get complimented. He was good at his job—efficient, well-organised, and he made sure his cast and crew knew how much he appreciated their efforts. They, in turn, were grateful and very kind. Kinder than he deserved, he suspected, because he was just doing what he was paid to do. But for all of that, Kris’s words had struck a long-silent chord in his soul.

“And I’d really like some interesting company.” Kris smiled hopefully.

A battle raged in Ade’s head, the answer hanging in the limbo of his existence— yes…no…yes…no…yes…

“I don’t know that I can.” He picked up his tablet and glanced over his checklist. Everything’s done. I’m out of excuses.

“I’m sorry,” Kris said .

At the same time, Ade said, “Yes, OK.” He turned to face Kris and nodded. “I’ll come for a drink.”

“I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“You weren’t. I was being indecisive.” Ade put on his jacket as he followed Kris out of the door and caught Kris’s ear with his cuff. “Oh God. Sorry!” Ade gasped and backed off. Kris rubbed his ear and laughed.

“It’s OK. I have two.”

In what was clearly a valiant attempt to put Ade more at ease, Kris struck up a conversation about Sally O’Connor’s other plays, which carried them along the corridor, down in the lift and out onto the street. It was a neutral topic familiar to them both, and it was working because by the time they reached the pub opposite the radio station building, Ade was back in his fully-in-control producer persona and joked and chatted with the actors, no trouble at all. Every so often, he glanced Kris’s way, and they shared a smile, but they didn’t get the chance to talk until later in the evening, after the crew had gone home and the actors decided to go out for a meal. Kris waited to see what Ade wanted to do before he too declined their invitation.

“I hope this isn’t because you feel sorry for me,” Ade said as they laid claim to a couple of bar stools vacated by the others.

“Not at all. Aside from the fact that I’m still eager to know more about you, I’m severely allergic to shellfish, so I tend to avoid going to restaurants I’m not familiar with.”

“Ah. So you carry an EpiPen?” Ade asked. Kris nodded in confirmation and took it out of his pocket, handing it to Ade. He’d never seen one before and handed it straight back, terrified he’d drop it and leave Kris without his life-saving medicine. “How does it work?”

“It’s really easy. You pull the tape off the top, press the other end to your thigh and hold it there for ten seconds.”

“That’s clever.” Ade wasn’t watching Kris’s demonstration, still with the tape in situ, he hoped. He was actively staring at Kris’s profile. The Nordic slope of his nose, the defined angles to his temples, cheekbones and chin…the puzzled amusement in the inquisitive blue eyes that met Ade’s. He blushed. “It’s quite a common allergy, isn’t it?”

“So I’m told. That and peanuts, but I don’t have a problem with those. I do have a problem with cats, though.”

“Because they eat fish?” Ade asked innocently, but the corner of his mouth twitched, giving him away.

Kris shook his head and chuckled. “I actually have no idea if they eat fish or not.”

“They do. We used to have a cat. Well, I say we…when I was a kid. My mum called her Tiddles, but I don’t think that was her real name. She belonged to one of our neighbours, an old lady who died, and Tiddles was always at ours, so Mum took her in.” Ade smiled to himself. He hadn’t thought about that cat in years. Hadn’t visited his mum in a while either. He should probably rectify that…once the bruises were gone.

Realising he’d hijacked the conversation, which was absolutely not his intention, and that Kris was waiting for him to say more, Ade said, “Anyway, we were talking about you.”

“We were,” Kris agreed, “but I’d much rather hear about your early career on stage.”

“Really?” Ade pulled a face, making out it was a tedious chore, though a quiet fluttering had started up in his stomach, and it wasn’t the fear-born kind. “It’s not very exciting, I’m afraid.”

“I’d still love for you to tell me.”

“Well, OK, then…” Ade took a long suck of the straw in his G&T in preparation, but it was such a novelty having someone pay an interest in what he had to say, he didn’t know where to begin, so he went right back to the start, his uni days as an English Lit. undergraduate, his friends talking him into joining the drama society, discovering how much he enjoyed acting, getting the first role he auditioned for after graduating, and then another and another and another…until his run-in with the director who’d refused to cast him because of his rhotacism. What he’d told Kris earlier was true—he had suggested that some of character’s lines could be rewritten if his ‘R’s were that much of a problem—and he had Equity behind him, but there’d been other things going on by then, and his self-confidence was, he’d thought, at an all-time low.

He’d since learnt it could sink a lot lower, but at the age of twenty-four, he’d known nothing. He’d given up acting, taken on an unpaid internship with a national radio station and built up huge debts paying his living expenses. If his dad hadn’t died, he’d have ended up on the streets. Instead, he’d been able to pay off his credit cards and go back to college to retrain.

“So that’s it, really,” Ade concluded. Kris wasn’t to know he’d skipped most of the past eleven years. “Told you it wasn’t exciting.”

“Not action-packed exciting, no,” Kris said, “but you’ve achieved so much!”

“And failed a lot too.”

“Tripped over and picked yourself up. I mean, you’re a producer for the second-most popular talk radio station in the country. And that’s your second career!”

“OK, if you put it like that…” Ade conceded with a smile. And yes, he’d maybe become a little bit animated talking about the roles he’d undertaken when he was a young actor with the world at his feet. Between the alcohol and attention, he felt like he was glowing. “But that really is enough about me. Another drink while you regale me with your life story?”

Kris laughed. “Better make it a coffee or you’ll fall off your stool with boredom.”

“I doubt it.” Ade waved to get a bartender’s attention and ordered their drinks, then turned back to Kris. “So you…oh. Problem?” Kris was on his feet, putting on his jacket.

“I didn’t realise the time. I’m going to miss my train.”

It prompted Ade to check what time it was. “No way!” He couldn’t believe they’d been chatting for so long. Well, he’d done all the chatting .

Kris tucked his folder under his arm and smiled apologetically. “Sorry to abandon you, especially as I hassled you into coming in the first place.”

“Don’t worry about it. I need to head home soon too. And anyway, you didn’t hassle me.”

Kris didn’t look so sure about that.

“I’ve enjoyed it,” Ade said sincerely.

“Yeah. It’s been so good getting to know you.” Kris held out his hand, Ade reached out to shake it, and the moment they made contact, everything changed.

It was different from their handshake earlier in the day, as if the physical connection somehow cemented what had been building between them, and now they couldn’t release each other.

It was, eventually, Kris who broke free first, mumbled something about Ade having a pleasant rest of evening and left. Dumbfounded, Ade watched him walk out the door and pause to fasten his jacket. Kris glanced back, locking gazes with Ade. Then he smiled, waved and was gone.

The sound of glasses being set down on the bar snapped Ade back to reality.

“You did order this beer, right?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah. He had to go for his train.” Ade checked the time again, admonishing himself for not keeping track. Quarter past ten was too late to convincingly claim he’d only just finished work, too early to have any chance of sneaking in undetected. And why should I have to? You know what? Screw it. He paid for both drinks and knocked back Kris’s beer while the bartender was getting his change.

Kristian Johansson, what did you do to me? He examined his hand and clasped it with his other, re-imagining the sensation of the soft palm that had warmed his, the lightest squeeze of his fingers. Everything about it had been gentle, unthreatening, but there was another power at work, and it had awakened Ade’s long-dormant response to consensual physical contact. That one simple handshake had thrown his world completely off its axis.