Cesare

Art by verilyvexed.

-

Charles’s debut show goes over beautifully. After he starts with the opening “Love For Sale” strip, the customers are impatient for each new number. Several come to drop tips in the glass on the baby Grand and ask Erik when Charles will be back. A few ask for more. Erik lets his glare speak for him. Apparently it’s eloquent. Nobody asks twice.

For now the act is three songs and a medley, and after Charles’s fourth appearance, Erik takes his break and goes backstage.

Charles is still in knickers and stockings, a short filmy robe thrown over; he stands in the dressing room doorway as if he’s waiting, and he brightens when he sees Erik, as if it were him Charles were waiting for. “I think it came off all right. Don’t you think it went well?”

“Perfection,” Erik says, and Charles tips his head and narrows his eyes as if he’s wondering whether Erik’s being sarcastic. “They loved it,” Erik adds, and that seems to satisfy. Charles smiles again.

“I’m glad. You really never know,” he says, and motions with a nod for Erik to follow as he withdraws into the dressing room. There’s an open bottle of wine on the side table, a bouquet of roses on the vanity. “Sebastian sent flowers…” Charles chooses a bloom and begins to separate it. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you ought to at least have a boutonnière.”

“No,” Erik says, too gruffly. “No thanks.” Charles meets his eyes in the vanity mirror, brows raised, but he doesn’t exactly look surprised.

“All right,” he says. “May I offer you wine?” He drops his voice, confidential. “I brought that.” Erik nods, and Charles pours him a drink. There are only two glasses; he can’t help hesitating. Charles laughs softly, “He hasn’t come by yet,” and Erik accepts the drink, bemused when Charles clinks their glasses together with a peppy little “Chin-chin!”

Somehow, this is all Erik wants in the world right now. Everything else seems distant, unimportant. Charles has two freckles on the bridge of his nose that Erik can just see through his makeup, this close. And then the wine sours on his tongue as footsteps click in the hall and Charles retreats to the vanity, lounging against it easily.

Shaw comes in. “They ate it up, angel. You were gorgeous.” He throws a look at Erik, unimpressed. “Lehnsherr. What brings you?”

“Celebrating a job well done,” Charles smiles. “He was asking about sharing tips. I told him no need. You take care of me.”

“That’s right,” says Shaw. “I’ve got a lot to take care of tonight. Lots of business contacts here. You ready to do some entertaining?”

“Always.”

“Wear this,” Shaw chooses a longer peignoir from the wardrobe. “Don’t be long, baby. And Lehnsherr, get back out there before I replace you with a Wurlitzer.” Shaw leaves, as peremptory and abrupt as he arrived. Erik stands there hating him for half a dozen new reasons.

“Sorry about that.” Charles shakes his head, approaching again. “He doesn’t know what he has in you.” His smile for Erik is much quieter and looks much more genuine than what he flashed at Shaw. “He doesn’t know, but I do.”

This close, Erik needs to kiss Charles more than he needs air, but kissing Charles would cost them both, and so far, breathing’s free. “I should go,” he says instead. “You need to get ready.”

“True enough.” Charles slips out of his short robe and tosses it past Erik onto the side table, his fingers grazing Erik’s sleeve on the way back. He turns back to the vanity and leans down to see himself in its mirror, repainting his mouth, his bare back sculpted by the bright lights, the heels boosting the curves of his legs and backside. He meets Erik’s eyes in the glass again. “Tomorrow,” he says.

Erik’s not sure what he’s agreeing to… another rehearsal, another drink, could be anything. It doesn’t matter, his answer’s still the same. He says, “Tomorrow,” and heads back to the bar.