He was nervous of course, but not, this time, because he was starting his career as a chorus boy in pantomime, but because he wasn’t. It was only his third job since leaving drama school and—he still hardly dared to believe it—he was Romeo. Romeo, with all the expectations that that entailed, with all the weight of the great performances of the past upon his twenty-three-year-old shoulders. He knew the routine by now. Sunday evening: find the digs, find something to eat, try the local pub. Monday morning: meet the new faces, wonder if he’d be up to the job—console himself with the hope that perhaps some of his youthful fellow actors were secretly wondering the same thing. “I haven’t fenced since drama school,” he confessed. “Neither have I,” said Tybalt with a rueful smile. “Nor me,” said Mercutio. “I’m glad we’ve all got that off our chests at least,” said the fight arranger, handing out rapiers as though they were pencils in a drawing class. “Very slowly to begin with.
What do You think about Boy Crazy: Coming Out Erotica?
