Lives of the Circus Animals Read Online Free Page B

scarecrow walked past. He called out, “Nice job!” before disappearing in the crowd.
    â€œOh my God,” said Jessie. “Do you know who that was? That was Prager. The Buzzard!”
    Frank looked and saw only the elevated back of a gray suit.
    Jessie grabbed Frank’s arm. “He said nice job! Can you believe it? Oh wow. You should feel so pleased!”
    â€œWhoopee,” went Frank. But he was pleased. He’d feel more pleased if the two crummy words had changed Jessie’s mind about running after her boss tonight. Except he wanted to be loved for himself, not because he’d been patted on the head by the New York fucking Times. “Talk to you when we talk,” he said and touched Jessie good-bye on the elbow. “I need to get backstage and make sure stuff’s put away. Good night.” He backed toward the auditorium and waved at her, pretending everything was cool.
    She waved too, a light twist of her hand like Queen Elizabeth, then hoisted her briefcase under her arm and departed.
    Frank slipped back into the auditorium. It was empty, the stage restfully deserted. As he feared, coats and hats were strewn all over. He felt like kicking the hats, but instead began to pick them up and set them on the prop table. It made him feel like a mom, ineffectual and sexless. He cursed himself for telling Jessie not to come by tonight. Why did he do that? He could at least have gotten laid. What kind of man says no to sex? Well, a man in love. Men were supposed to think of love as a way to get nookie, but Frank just said no to nookie out of love. Or was it only pride?
    Maybe he wasn’t in love with her. Maybe he only wanted to be in love. What was there to love? Jessie was nothing but trouble. She loved theater, and Frank loved that she loved theater, but Frank was giving up theater. And she loved theater not like Frank loved it, as a craft, but needily, therapeutically, with lots of personal strings. There was her brother, for one, a successful playwright. And now there was Henry Lewse. The great Henry Lewse, former star of the Royal Shakespeare Company, the Hamlet of his generation and all that crap, currently appearing on Broadway. Frank was unimpressed, but Jessie was infatuated. There was no other word for her devotion. Lewse was gay—famously so, a public homosexual—which meant Jessie’s love would remain platonic. Only what the hell did she love then? His artistry? His fame? His success?
    Her brother was gay too, but not half as successful, especially after his new play flopped. There was some kind of connection there, which Frank was reluctant to explore. He could call her a fag hag, except the name explained nothing. He knew so many gay men himself that his friend Dwight, who was gay, called him a fag hog. Frank had cast Caleb Doyle’s new boyfriend in their uptown play in hopes of getting closer to Jessie. Toby was not half bad as an actor, although halfway through rehearsal he was suddenly an ex-boyfriend and Frank was still stuck with him.
    Carmen appeared at the stage door. “Oh, Frank,” she said. “I was going to do that. You should be outside talking to parents.”
    â€œThey have their stars to talk to. Didn’t your mom come?”
    â€œYeah, but she’s talking to one of our neighbors, wanting the dirt on our landlord. Here. I’ll help you.”
    â€œThanks, sweetcakes.”
    She picked Captain Andy’s coat off the floor and took it to the coat rack. “Actors are such pigs.”
    â€œWelcome to theater,” he said. “Where there’s the actors and the rest of us. Who clean up after the actors.” He bumped his hip against Carmen’s hip and she bumped back and they laughed.

5
    J essie sat in the fluorescent gloom of a rocking subway car, feeling guilty about ditching Frank—reluctantly, irritably guilty. She was attracted to Frank, kind of, just not in the way that Frank was attracted to