BACKSTAGE ROMANCE.

* Daniel *

Everyone knew Jeffrey Williams, of course. A local boy made good, he had gone in a ridiculously short time from community productions to Broadway to a long-running television series.

He even had a few better-than-average movies to his credit, though none in a leading role. Not that Jeffrey couldn't have carried the mantle of a leading man—he had the looks and talent to do it.

I'm not sure whether he actively avoided that kind of part, or whether the opportunity simply never came his way.

The stage was Jeffrey's first love, though, and having made enough from Hollywood to secure himself financially, he left it behind without any apparent regret, and moved back home where he could be close to his family and childhood friends.

From that home base, he had a steady string of TV guest appearances and regional theater engagements around the country to keep him busy.

Our production was the first in quite a while to see Jeffrey back on the stage in his own hometown, though he was plenty active behind the scenes, teaching guest seminars at the local university and performing arts school.

We first met a day or two before the first rehearsal. Jeffrey was an old friend of Scott Jenkins, the director, and they had arranged to meet at the theater to catch up with one another and discuss the role. Jeffrey had the lead, naturally.

I was relaxing backstage and chatting with Mark, the senior stage manager, and Kelly, the house manager. Mark was middle-aged and gruff; Kelly was my age, red-haired and vivacious.

We'd worked together at the theater for three years now and had developed a strong friendship. We were laughing over one of Kelly's outrageous stories when a rich baritone voice interrupted us.

"Excuse me, I'm Jeff Williams. I'm looking for Scott Jenkins?"

I felt my jaw drop. I had seen Jeffrey Williams on the screen and in photos, but never in person.

He wasn't an exceptionally tall man, maybe five-eleven, tops, but he had a strong athletic build that made him appear taller, as well as chiseled features, bright blue eyes, and thick blond hair complete with a goddamn Superman forelock.

Even dressed casually in blue jeans and a battered brown leather jacket, with his hair tousled from the brisk wind outside, he drew the eye and held it. I quickly averted my own eyes to avoid being caught staring.

—————

* Jeff *

The stage manager seemed a decent no-nonsense sort.

He introduced himself as Mark Hopkins, his assistant stage manager as Daniel Lewis, and the attractive redhead with them as Kelly Richardson.

She batted her eyes a bit when we shook hands, but she did it so with a playful twinkle in her eye that told me I had nothing to fear.

She seemed the type that flirts to be friendly, and doesn't mean anything more by it.

My eyes returned to the ASM. He was a slim, fair-skinned guy a couple inches shorter than me, with reddish brown hair cut long so that it hung down over his eyes.

He seemed a bit tongue-tied. Star-struck, I suppose—I had seen it a few times before, though I hardly counted as a major celebrity.

I found myself wondering what those hidden eyes looked like. All I could see were his full lips, and they told me nothing about what he was thinking.

As I left, following Mark's directions to the production office where I could find Scott, I made a point to say, "Nice to meet you, Daniel."

That drew a startled look from him and a quick shy smile. Well, at least it was a start. We would all be working together for the next two months. Best to get comfortable being around one another.

I found the production office and knocked on the frame of the open door. Scott looked up from a heavily marked script and bounded out of his chair. Eight years older than I, he still came across with the energy of a teenager, lucky bastard.

"Jeff, it's good to see you!" Scott embraced me and stepped back to look me over critically. "Looks like the years haven't caught up with you yet—you'll be breaking hearts in this one, let me tell you!"

I'd known Scott fourteen years, and that enthusiasm of his had never diminished. Neither had his talent for flattery and creative overstatement.

I knew there were lines in my face that hadn't been there last time we met, and I owed the color of my hair as much to my discreet and talented stylist as to nature.

But Scott soon drew me into an animated discussion about his vision for the play, and how he wanted to develop my character. Jesus, we weren't starting rehearsals until Thursday!

But it felt good to be talking shop with him again, and I found myself relaxing as I realized he was still a director I could trust to make me look good. At least in his hands, I wouldn't come across as a fool.

We left the theater in search of a coffee shop for some more personal catching up and reminiscences.

Scott was still chatting away, a steady stream of the trivial and the profound carelessly mixed together, much as he had been at thirty.

Before I left the building I caught myself looking around for the elusive Daniel, but he seemed to have vanished to wherever shy assistant stage managers go in their off hours.