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“Sure,” Will said, reaching into his bag for his copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He already had the perfect passage picked out: Dorothy meeting the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion, and encouraging them to join her on her quest. It was what he used to read to Dylan when they were younger, doing his best to create distinct voices for each character. Not to mention that a story about making friends with people who were different from you, who each have their own flaws and goals, felt downright educational.
Except his audience weren’t especially receptive to such benevolent messaging. He could feel the children becoming fidgety and irritable while he read aloud, the excitement of Captain Kismet’s visit waning along with their attention spans. It was perhaps the most unenviable slot he’d ever performed in. How was one supposed to follow a real-life superhero?
“Cameron, if you bite Lara again, then I am going to leave you here,” one exhausted-looking mother hissed at a remorseless toddler, and Will stifled a laugh as he came to the final line of the chapter and closed the book dramatically.
“The end,” he announced, and tried not to take it too personally when the applause sounded a little half-arsed compared to Patrick’s ovation.
He hung back as everybody began to filter out of the room, several small children now screaming inconsolably at the indignity of being transported anywhere without their prior approval.
“The Wonderful Wizard of Oz?” Faye remarked from the corner of her mouth. “Groundbreaking.”
“You’re just feeling left out because I stopped before we met the Wicked Witch,” Will retorted, and they both laughed.
“Share a cab?” Faye asked, and Will knew that this meant, Share a cab down to Hurst Street, where we can enjoy a drink and not be ogled?
“Sure,” he said.
“And then you can explain to me why you sent your boyfriend to do your job for you,” Faye added, with the tone of a teacher who has read your assignment and just knows you are capable of better.
“What?” Will froze. “What are you talking about? He’s not my—”
Faye raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, please, I read enough schlocky celebrity gossip to know that man has never had a real girlfriend,” said Faye. “And I’d know those shoulders anywhere.” She adopted a higher, Kenneth Williams–esque voice as she straightened the last of the chairs. “Infamy! Infamy!” she wailed. “They’ve all got it in for me!”
“You can’t tell anyone,” Will babbled. “It’s a secret. I mean, I can’t talk about it. I mean, there’s nothing to talk about!”
“Calm down, dear, your secret’s safe with me.” Faye looked at Will as if seeing him for the first time. “Bloody well done, mind!”
Will giggled involuntarily, panic turning to relief. He hadn’t said anything, had technically not broken the NDA. He could hardly be blamed for the fact that most queens were like truffle pigs when it came to sniffing out gay gossip. And it felt good, for someone to know that Patrick had been here today for him. Even if he couldn’t so much as give Will a peck on the cheek in public, he’d still found a way to show he cared.
He was dwelling on this, a giddy smile on his face, eyes down on his sparkly red shoes, when he and Faye exited the building and he first heard the jeers. Looking up, he saw something he hadn’t registered properly on his way in, he had been in such a hurry: a small group of protestors. Only a dozen or so, but their boos were vocal, and each of them touted signs that ranged from the innovative—The Devil Wears Padding—to the weak—It’s Adam and Eve, Not Adam and Steve—to the downright inexplicable—Bibles Not Books.
“And I thought the kids were a tough crowd,” he remarked.
“Ugh. There’s more of them,” Faye said, and her earlier words came back to Will. Days like this are precarious enough as it is.
“More?” Will asked.
“They’ve shown up at readings before. It was only five or six then. Pathetic, really. I almost felt sorry for them.” She jerked her head in the opposite direction. “Come on, lass. Let’s go.”
In the exact same moment that they turned away, Will heard an impact right next to him. A muffled, wet thud. Faye stood still, face stricken, and Will instinctively stepped around her to check something he already knew.
The remains of an eggshell were embedded in Faye’s wig, the slime of the yolk already seeping into the fibers. Will wasn’t sure if it could be salvaged or if the entire thing was ruined, but he knew instantly, could tell from Faye’s wordless stare, that the desired effect had been achieved.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” he yelled at the protestors, scanning the crowd for whichever one was armed with an egg box.
“Not now, Gracie,” Faye whispered. “Just keep walking.” Will looked at her for a second, and the rage bubbling up inside him subsided into something far worse. Something approaching pity.
“All right then,” he said, taking Faye by the arm and marching away. The crowd did not follow. Their mission had been accomplished.
Will messaged the driver and requested he meet them around the corner, and he used the waiting time to pick eggshell out of Faye’s hair. He suggested first that she remove it, but her silent refusal let him know he needn’t ask again.
When the car arrived, Will began to walk around to the other side, but Faye said, “I think I’ll go home now, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Of course,” Will said. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Faye shook her head. She climbed into the car and let Will carefully close the door after her. Then she sat stiffly and silently, looking at the back of the driver’s seat as the taxi pulled away, her face stony in profile, head held high in quiet dignity.
