Anything Could Happen (3 page)

“No, me either.”

“His sister died and he wasn’t coping—they were really close—and someone said, ‘You’re a writer, write about it,’ and thus we have
Steel Magnolias
.”

“Tell him what you’ve done with it,” Uncle Bodie said, all enthusiastic.

“Well, I didn’t come up with the idea,” Guy said. “But I cast male actors in half the roles.”

Austin sat up. “Men?”

“In drag,” Uncle Bodie declared.

“I figured since it was written by a gay man, and since I didn’t want to rewrite it with gay characters, and since drag is such a part of our heritage—our ancestry—it would be perfect. It’s been done. But I hope I did it better. This is the last weekend. Why don’t you come Sunday? I’ll make sure you get a seat.”

“Really?” Austin said. How amazing was that? He loved plays, and here he was, no more than an hour in town, and he was going to a play. “This is the most unbelievable day I can remember in forever,” he said, grinning foolishly. “First I get here and find out my uncle is gay—”

“Me too,” Guy said.

And wasn’t that incredible? If his uncle hadn’t told him, had he met Guy on the street, he would never have guessed it. The man was so… normal.

But why shouldn’t he be?
Austin asked himself. Hadn’t he read that one in ten men were gay? Hadn’t that been his secret mantra? So what could be more normal than Guy being gay?

“Me three,” he admitted, and to his surprise, realized he had said it for the second time in one day. No. Only kind of said it.

“I’m gay,” he amended, making it official.

“Your uncle thought you were,” Guy said. “And I was hoping.”

“You were?” Austin asked, his voice cracking.

Guy’s milk-chocolate eyes seemed to bore into him.

“Now Guy,” Uncle Boden said. “Stop being naughty. I told you. Austin is on a mission to find his friend, and as it turns out, I was right. Austin looks for his lover.”

“Damn,” said Guy. “Isn’t that always the way? They’re either straight or taken.”

Austin gulped. “I’m not taken
exactly
.” He felt a rush of nerves sweep over him. “I mean—I’m hoping. Sorry. But… but….”

“He’s in love, Guy. We must not stand in the way of true love.”

Guy looked away—“Of course not.”—thank God. Oh, but then those eyes were back. “So how about this Sunday? Will you come and see the play? It should be fun. There’s going to be a bunch of people showing up dressed as their favorite character from the show.”

“I-I’d love to, but I don’t have a costume.”

“You’re exempt. Tell me you’ll be there.”

Now those eyes were pleading, and Austin found he had no resistance. “Sure.”

“Great! Bodie tells me you’re an actor.”

Austin found himself blushing once again. Could you honestly call community theater and high school in Buckman, Missouri, acting? “Well. Maybe not an actor, exactly.”

“Okay,” said Guy. “You’re ‘not exactly’ taken, and you’re ‘not exactly’ an actor.”

“He
is
an actor,” declared Uncle Bodie. “He was in almost all of his high school plays, and he starred in his senior musical
Little Shop of Horrors
, and the town musical
Big River
.”

“I
love
that show. ‘I have lived in the darkness for so long, I am waitin’ for the light to shine…,’” Guy sang.

Austin chimed in with the next line—all about places beyond the horizon, and beyond dreams—then found himself blushing all the more.

“You’ve got a great voice,” Guy said.

“You think so?” Austin asked and felt his ears burning. “I don’t know.”

“We do,” said Uncle Bodie.

“Thanks,” Austin replied, a foolish grin on his face.

Had there ever been a better day?

D
ESPITE
the fact he had been warned, Austin couldn’t help but be surprised at the sight. A parade of drag queens. Well, no—not drag queens, exactly. But men in dresses and crazy wigs and outfits, marching right down the sidewalk along Main Street as if such antics were as normal as could be. Hell, maybe it was in Kansas City, but for a guy born and raised in the tiny town of Buckman, it was anything but an everyday sight.

As he stood there outside the Pegasus Theatre, he watched as the men got closer, walking as confidently as if they dressed up like characters from
Steel Magnolias
all the time. Assholes in passing cars honked but inspired nothing but happy Queen-of-England waves from the cross-dressers. At first Austin found the whole thing a bit of a shock, but the closer they got—as he saw the smiles on their faces, the way they held their heads high, as they laughed and poked at each other with umbrellas and, God, was that a shotgun?—he found himself getting caught up in the spirit of it all. After all, these men were coming to see the play
Steel Magnolias
—a production where half the cast were men—so why the hell not?

Austin felt his heart jump. Wasn’t this why he’d come to Kansas City? For this kind of magic? That and to find Todd, of course. But in the meantime, why not catch the enchantment? That’s what Uncle Bodie had told him to do.

Austin stepped back so as not to be mowed down by the leader of the Magnolia parade, a largish man with a huge blonde-white wig and breasts the size of volleyballs. As a matter of fact, Austin could see that was exactly what they were. Through the thin white blouse, he could just make out that one was orange and the other, green. Austin couldn’t help but laugh. The man came to a stop and put a hand, which was clutching a hair blower like a handgun, against his hip.

“What are you laughing at?” said the faux-Dolly Parton as Truvy in a mock-Southern accent.

“Nothing,” Austin said, taking a backward step. He swallowed hard and then smiled. “I think you look great.”

The Truvy smiled. “Well then! Aren’t
you
the one?” He patted his wig and straightened his boobs. “It takes some effort to look like this!”

“Your outfit is perfect.” Austin smiled happily. “You look
just
like Dolly. It must have taken you forever to get your outfit together.”

Truvy shook his ample hips. “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize,” he quoted.

Austin laughed in delight. “You’re brave. I wouldn’t have the guts. Not in a month of Sundays.”

Truvy’s eyebrow shot up. “I don’t know. I bet you’d make a great Miss Merry Christmas.”

“Move!” shouted a man behind Truvy, this one wearing a horrible brown wig, an ancient fur coat, and holding a stuffed toy St. Bernard under his arm. Obviously, he was supposed to be Ouiser Boudreaux, but truth to tell, as thick as his eyebrows were, they didn’t beat Shirley MacLaine’s.

“Calm down, girlfriend,” said Truvy. “I was just admiring this ‘big hangin’ man,’ here.”

Austin laughed uncomfortably. The last thing he’d ever considered himself to be was a “big hangin’ man,” in any sense of the description.

Truvy grabbed Austin by the elbow with a huge hand and hauled him through the front doors of the Pegasus. “You’re coming to see the show, right?” he asked.

Austin sighed. “Well, that was the plan. There was supposed to be a ticket for me at will-call, but they didn’t have it.”

“Well, hell, honey, let’s buy you one. The tickets aren’t that expensive.”

“The show’s sold out,” Austin explained.

“Oh no!” Truvy came to a sudden stop, and the man with the toy shotgun crashed into them.

“Hey!” cried the man, and that was when Austin saw the man wasn’t a man at all, but a woman dressed as Tom Skerritt—complete with a fisherman’s hat and splatters of fake bird poop all over an ugly sweater-vest. At least, Austin hoped it was fake poop.

Truvy spun around again. “Watch where the hell you’re going, Tiff!”

“Well, don’t stop like that.” Tiff/Tom Skerritt tucked a bit of blue hair under her hat.

Truvy pulled Austin out of the way and let the theatergoers pass by.

“You’re gonna miss getting a good seat,” Austin remarked, nodding in the direction of the passing parade.

“They’ll save me a good seat if they know what’s good for them. What’ll suck is if you miss it entirely.”

It had been a surprise to Austin. Guy had said he’d leave a ticket for him. Where was it? Guy hadn’t seemed like the type to promise something and not come through. He couldn’t help but be disappointed. The play would have been an awesome—if not weird—way to begin his first week in Kansas City. Austin shrugged. “I’m still hoping,” he replied. “The guy at the ticket booth said sometimes there are a few seats left for no-shows and I could still buy a ticket. If it’s okay with the guy who organized all this.”

“Guy? Guy! Guy
is
who organized this.” Truvy cocked his head and then scanned the room, pointed, and there was Guy, standing at the far end of the lobby, wearing a thick purple sweater that looked to be at least two sizes too big. “There he is, sugar. Come on,” he said, pulling Austin in that direction. “Let’s see what the hell happened.”

“I-I…. Wait.” Austin found he was unexpectedly nervous. He didn’t want to be a pest. Maybe Guy had simply forgotten. He’d probably had other things on his mind. It was the last performance of his play, after all. Maybe there hadn’t been any seats left. Maybe he’d been too embarrassed to call. Maybe he’d called and Austin had already left. Maybe….

“Guy, this young’un here….” Truvy paused. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Austin,” he replied, biting his lip.

“Guy, Austin here says you promised him a seat for the show.”

“Well, I didn’t say he
promised
,” Austin said.

Guy looked up from the clipboard he’d been studying. “I’m sorry. What did you say…?” And then those eyes—the color of milk chocolate—flew wide. “Oh shit! Austin. Dammit.” He slapped his palm against his forehead. “Wait. Don’t move.” He dashed over to the will-call window and began to talk to the man standing there. A second later, he returned. He glanced out the window, then leaned out the door and looked down the sidewalk. Turning back, he said, “I think that’s it. Grady, are there any people from brunch still coming?”

Truvy looked around at the crowd. “I don’t think so. Except for Leonard, who needs a ride because of his broken leg. Hey, Tiff!”

The woman-Skerritt turned around.

“This is everybody except for Leonard and his ride?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

Truvy turned back around. “There wasn’t quite the turnout for brunch we thought there’d be.”

Guy shrugged. “Then you’re in, Austin.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” Austin said.

“No. I owe you an apology,” Guy said. “I invite you and then totally mess up. I was sure I called it in, but I have been all nerves. Forgive me?”

Austin smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. “No problem.”

“I hope you like the show.” Guy smiled back. “Go pick a seat—they’re opening the doors right now.”

Austin grinned happily.
What luck.
“This is totally awesome. Want me to save you a place?”

“Nope,” Guy said. “I’m the director. Speaking of which, I better get backstage.”

“Break a leg,” Austin said as Guy was turning to leave.

Guy stopped¸ gave him a sweet smile, and winked at him.

Damn, those eyes.

“Thanks, Austin. Enjoy.” With that, Guy was gone.

A
FTERWARD
, Austin found he didn’t want to leave. He felt silly, but he found himself leaning against his truck instead of getting in and driving home. Everything had ended too soon. He wanted it to go on.

The play had been fun. At first, the fact three of the actors were men was a little… well, bizarre. But to his surprise, within ten minutes Austin had all but forgotten that fact. He was pulled into the world the playwright and everyone involved with the production had created. That was Truvy onstage and not an actor, male or female. And sure enough, that was Ouiser. And there was M’Lynn. Soon he was laughing and crying as the story unfolded, the characters sharing their journey, their growth, and their heartbreaks. And then there was the intimacy of the stage. It thrust out partially into the audience, with the seats wrapped around it like a parenthesis. With luck, he’d gotten a front row seat, and he felt like he was practically in Truvy’s beauty shop.

Austin loved the play. It was everything theater was supposed to be. It was magic.

When the double doors on the side of the building opened and some of the cast members spilled out—chatting, laughing, smoking—Austin felt his heart race. Actors. They were real actors. Sure, it was a small theater. But it was a real theater. In fact, the Pegasus was popular enough that it had two stages: one called simply “Main Stage,” and the second “The Wagner Stage.” The play hadn’t been some small-town production of
Arsenic and Old Lace
with actors constantly forgetting their lines, or
The Sound of Music
where the star was the daughter of the mayor. The actors had been amazing. How else had three members of the cast, men, made Austin forget—for the length of the play—they were, in fact, men, playing what were generally women’s roles?

When one of them looked his way, Austin waved. To his surprise, the actor smiled and waved him over. Heart in his throat, he found himself pulled to them like steel to a magnet. It was only when he got there that he saw what they were eating. “Oh my God,” he said, fighting a squeal. “Bleeding armadill’er cake!”

“Want some?” asked the young actress he recognized as having played Shelby.

For some reason, the request made his chest pound so hard he was sure she could hear it.
It’s just cake. Why are you acting like such a little kid?

“I’d love some,” he said, grinning.

She motioned for him to follow her backstage. “I noticed you in the audience,” she said, heading for a table surrounded by cast members and what must have been crew.

“You did?” he asked.

She nodded. “You’re the kind of audience member we love. You had me crying, watching you cry. Thanks. You helped my performance.”

Austin laughed in delight. “Really?”