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Dorian seemed to take equal enjoyment out of the chore. He danced and flourished the fliers as if he was bequeathing a holy relic to each pedestrian. It was fun to watch, and made the time go by much faster.
“Someone will probably be handing out leaflets like this for The Proposition when it opens,” I said when we both took a short break.
Dorian laughed. “We’ll see.”
I frowned at him. “What do you mean? Do you think the show will never get off the ground?”
“No, I think it will,” he said carefully. “But the producer…” He trailed off like he shouldn’t say.
“Tell me,” I insisted. “What is it about the show you guys are hiding from me?”
He shrugged his shoulders slowly. “The producer is a man named John Vandercant.” He paused to see if I recognized the name. When I didn’t, he said, “He owns a dozen establishments around Manhattan—theaters, bars, restaurants. Yet supposedly he’s notoriously cheap. Hence all the problems with the theater and lighting instruments. With the ad budget—or lack thereof—we’ll be lucky to have a full house on opening night, let alone the three weeks thereafter.”
I grabbed a stack of fliers and thumbed through them. “Then what’s the point? He just wants to be a rich guy who says he has a theater?”
Dorian gave me a curious look. “Do you really not recognize the name? Vandercant?”
It was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t tell from what. “I give up.”
Dorian did a little dance which ended with him bowing and extending a flier to a little old woman in a Nebraska sweatshirt. She giggled and thanked him. Dorian turned back to me.
“Here’s a hint. There’s a Vandercant in the cast.”
I ran through the cast in my head. I didn’t have to go far. “Tatiana!” I blurted out. “Tatiana Vandercant!”
Dorian wrapped his arm around a young woman taking a selfie, smoothly photobombing her. “Excuse me, ma’am?” Dorian said to the woman. “Will you tell my friend she’s won the grand prize?”
The woman looked annoyed, and quickly walked off without a flier. Dorian clasped his chest like he’d been shot.
“Tatiana is what? John Vandercant’s wife?”
“Worse,” Dorian said gravely. “She’s his granddaughter.”
“Well shit. That explain why she has the lead role.”
“And,” Dorian replied, “why Director Atkins is afraid to give her any criticism.”
“I can see why Braden doesn’t want to gossip about it,” I mumbled as I shoved a flier into a tourist’s path. “That’s a quick way of getting kicked off the show.”
“But that’s not going to stop us from gossiping, is it?” Dorian asked. “We have less to lose. And I’m dying for a gossip partner.”
I put my palm over my heart like I was saying the Pledge of Allegiance. “As God as my witness, I swear to be a loyal gossiping partner so long as I live.”
“Amen!” Dorian shouted, which drew a few looks.
As we slowly churned through the rest of our fliers, I found myself watching Dorian. And it wasn’t just for the entertainment of him finding creative ways to give fliers to tourists. My distaste for man-buns aside, he was a sharp looking man. Lean and fit, and dressed to show off his slender body. His green eyes held a humor in them that seemed to banish all the horrors of the world, as if they were only mild annoyances. Every time he smiled at a child and handed them a flier, I found myself smiling along with him.
I wondered if he was gay. The odds of that was a coin-flip in the theater business. Not that it mattered since he only wanted a friend, and not one with benefits. But still, I wondered.
I got my answer when we were nearly done. I bent over to grab the last stack of fliers from my box when I caught him glancing at my ass. And more than just a platonic examination; this was a careful-to-make-sure-she-didn’t-notice glance. The kind I got while bartending when male customers thought they were being slick.
I stood back up with my fliers, and he quickly segued into greeting the next passing tourist and offering them a flier. But I’d seen.
And for some reason, that made me smile even more.
15
Dorian
