Sandbox: Wide Awake Dreams
Title: Wide Awake Dreams
Pairing: Jon/Stephen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing, suggestiveness
Summary: Jon & Stephen are still living in the city, but realize that it’s time to take a chance and do something different in their work-a-day worlds.
Source fic: Curve of the Earth by underthepiano, written for my Secret Santa wish last year.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to underthepiano for creating such an adorable, believable, tactile universe for Jon & Stephen. This is huge (that’s what she said), but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope that it does the universe justice!
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.
Wide Awake Dreams
New York in the summer was a sweaty, teeming beast that was dead set on testing your resolve to remain there. Garbage was set out in steaming piles and the midday heat got trapped between skyscrapers. The city was, in general, a challenging place to live, but the weather created additional challenges for its residents. In the winter, challenges had been centered around remembering the correct clothing for cold evenings and stepping lightly on icy sidewalks intent on breaking your neck. The summer city, instead, specialized in sunburn that snuck up on you and chilly, hospitable nights that gave way to sweltering mornings that left you kicking off blankets and bedmates.
“Hey!” said Jon, his arms flailing as he was sent careening toward the edge of the mattress they laid on the floor of their apartment. “What are you trying to --”
When he glanced over at his boyfriend to chastise him properly, he was surprised to find him still asleep. Yet he wasn’t surprised at all to find that even while he was still asleep, Stephen was stronger than him. Jon sighed softly, now wide awake, and laid back against his pillow to stare at the ceiling.
He certainly couldn’t blame Stephen for kicking him away considering how the sun was already beating into their small apartment. The city had been on a streak of temperatures in the 80s and 90s and it was beginning to weigh heavily on everyone. The evening before had been pleasantly cool with a slight breeze wafting into the apartment. Now, the only air that was moving inside was the breath making Stephen’s chest rise and fall.
Several minutes after Jon woke up, Stephen groaned in his sleep and turned onto his side. He opened one eye, caught sight of Jon, and sighed.
“It’s hot again,” he said, his voice half-muffled by the pillow he was pressing his face into.
“I know,” said Jon. “And I suppose you’re going to use that as an excuse for almost shoving me off the bed.”
“Oh my God, did I do it again?” said Stephen. He sat up, hand over his mouth, clearly embarrassed.
Jon waved his hand at his boyfriend. “Don’t worry about it. It’s clear to me now that you despise me.”
Stephen smirked and rolled eyes. “Oh, yeah, I find you repulsive.”
When Jon didn’t respond, Stephen cupped his face gently and shifted closer to him on the mattress. He leaned in and kissed his boyfriend softly, lips brushing together ever so carefully. Jon threaded his fingers into Stephen’s hair and pulled him closer, held him against his mouth longer, and deepened the kiss. When they pulled apart, Jon almost felt the need to wipe his brow. That was probably the most frustrating part of the heat wave -- being close to another person nearly caused heatstroke. Stephen had joked several nights ago that they should keep water bottles nearby when they engaged in strenuous activity.
“You okay?” said Stephen, softly, as Jon took deep breaths.
“Fine,” said Jon. “You just take my breath away.”
Stephen smiled and patted Jon’s cheek. “You’re sweet. Orange juice?”
“Coffee, please.”
“How the hell can you drink steaming hot liquid on a day like this?”
“I know. I know it seems insane, but I genuinely need something to get me going in the morning, you know?”
Stephen shrugged and opened the mini-fridge. When he leaned over to peer inside, Jon took an unabashedly long glance at his ass. There was one good thing, it seemed, that came from this sweltering weather -- Stephen’s legs in shorts. Yes, there was something special about having his boyfriend traipse around the house in nothing but his boxers. Though their apartment wasn’t fully furnished and they were working crappy jobs, Jon considered himself a lucky man when he came home to those sexy legs.
“I’m going to report you for lewd behavior,” said Stephen when he turned around to find Jon’s eyes glued on him.
“I’ll follow you and report you right after you report me,” said Jon. He stood up to help Stephen with the coffeemaker. “Especially after last night.”
Stephen grinned and fumbled with the coffee filter. “Have to do something fun after a long day at work, now don’t we?”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” said Jon, bumping Stephen’s hip with his own.
Work was, indeed, particularly soul-crushing and Jon was glad of some guaranteed fooling around at the end of a long day. The top of a tour bus was not the ideal place to be in a heat wave, but it brought home money and that was currently the only criteria Jon cared about. After the holiday season ended, his gig as Santa’s little helper had ended. For a few months, he’d continued volunteering above Stephen’s old workplace, entertaining the kids there with his playful puppets. But puppeteering wasn’t a viable career path and they needed money.
Stephen, of course, had quit his deli job and found himself in the same occupational position as Jon. For several blissful, carefree weeks in January they lived off money sent by Stephen’s mother and went job-hunting in tandem. The money ran out eventually and New York was a city hungry for greenbacks. So they both took mind-numbing jobs at a local bar that happened to be hiring two waiters at the same time. Unfortunately, the job didn’t last long. They were discovered making out in a supply closet and were fired. Stephen liked to tell people it was because they were gay and that everyone should boycott the bar, but it was really because no one had gotten their mozzarella sticks.
After the bar debacle, Jon and Stephen made a pact to get very separate jobs when they next went searching. As the weather grew more hospitable, more jobs became available or more attractive. The city shifted from spring into summer and with new commercial demands came more interesting jobs. They’d been wandering through Midtown when Jon stumbled upon one of the stands for one of the many, many city bus tours. On a whim, Jon asked if they were hiring and the next day he was a tour guide.
“We’re lucky I’ve been obsessed with this city since high school,” he had joked. “I’ve read just about every guidebook for New York that exists.”
A few short days after Jon found his job, Stephen came rushing in the front door of their apartment with exciting news.
“I’m an ice cream man.”
Jon had choked on his third cup of coffee that day. “What are you talking about?”
“I was down at the ice cream shop on 110th and I mentioned that I was looking for a job. So, Mr. Daniels said I had a nice face and that he was looking for someone to run this ice cream cart he wants to start as a satellite for the shop.”
“How is it that you just talk to strangers and get jobs?”
Stephen simply shrugged and continued with his story. “So, I have to be down in Battery Park all day and I have to wear a very stupid uniform, but I got a job!”
With long weeks, hot days, and tired feet in between that first triumphant week in May and the morning when Jon was almost shoved off their bed, the jobs didn’t appear quite as attractive as they had initially. Jon had discovered the importance of sunscreen ten times over and Stephen had learned the terrifying strength of a group of children in search of ice cream. But they came home to each other and told each other all of the horrors of their day and, as a result, those horrors seemed to slip away.
When Stephen handed Jon his cup of coffee, Jon took it, set it down, and engulfed Stephen in a hug. Somewhat confused, Stephen returned the hug and gave Jon a kiss on the cheek as he pulled away.
“What was that for?” he said, eyebrows crinkled.
“For selling ice cream to rowdy children and demanding parents all day long.”
“Well, in that case, this is for sitting on top of a sweltering bus day after day and trying to make information about the city interesting.”
Stephen grabbed two handfuls of Jon’s t-shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. This wasn’t a typical let’s-start-the-day kiss, this was more on par with we-are-both-going-to-die-from-heatstsroke-so-kiss-me-now kiss. Jon savored every last moment of it because he knew what he had to say when the kiss ended.
“I have to get dressed and head to Midtown.”
Stephen sighed. Not an angry sigh, but the sigh of someone who knew that the situation was intractable and that he had to let go of his boyfriend’s shirt so they could both go earn money.
“Right,” he said, smoothing the soft, worn fabric of Jon’s grey t-shirt -- just one of many that migrated with Jon when they moved in together.
“Hey,” said Jon. “I’ll meet you back here tonight, right?”
“Of course,” said Stephen.
******
Later that evening, Jon was lying on their mattress with a cool rag on his forehead. Between the sun, the humidity, and that kid who wouldn’t stop tossing potato chips at him, Jon was done. It was only the first week of July and he already knew that if saw the shiny red exterior of that bus with the yellow letters proclaiming “hop on, hop off!” one more time, his head was going to explode. He started to imagine his little grey cells acting as the new decoration for that abhorrent vehicle, but that made him nauseous and he’d already thrown up once that day, so he tried to think of other things.
Just as Jon was contemplating finding some iced tea or some other kind of cool beverage, he heard the clink and twist of Stephen’s key in their front door. Jon uncovered his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.
“Well, that day was just about the worst I’ve ever -- oh my God, what’s wrong?”
Stephen’s mood shift from frustrated to completely worried was so quick that it may have caused whiplash. Jon felt his stomach churn with guilt when he saw the troublesome kink in Stephen’s eyebrows.
“Nothing,” he managed to croak. “Just the heat. Just the usual.”
“You look awful.” Stephen sat down next to Jon with a grunt and laid his hand gently on Jon’s cheek. “Your skin is hot, baby, what happened?”
“I told you, just the heat,” said Jon.
For a while, Stephen just stroked Jon’s hair and remained quiet. Jon closed his eyes, feeling relaxed and calm for the first time all day, and he was just about to drift off when Stephen spoke.
“You shouldn’t have to do this.”
“This is a place that wants to employ and pay me,” said Jon. “I think I have to do this.”
“Maybe you could look for something else.”
“If I quit this job and jump back into the job-finding scene, I won’t find anything for another month. We just can’t afford that.”
Another moment of silence passed. “Want to marry rich?”
Jon snorted and rubbed at his chin. “I would, but I don’t really want to marry anyone who isn’t in this room.”
The fierce blush that bloomed across Stephen’s cheeks made him glad that Jon’s eyes were still partially hidden by the wet rag.
“Well, you can’t go to work tomorrow, that’s for sure,” said Stephen.
“Fuck, I can’t afford a sick day.”
“Tough titties,” said Stephen, leaning down to kiss Jon softly. “You can’t just go out into the heat again after this. You’re only going to make it worse.”
Jon groaned. “Why is life so hard?”
“If I knew, I’d make it all better,” said Stephen.
The next morning, Jon felt marginally better, but Stephen still insisted that he stay home. Stephen even borrowed a box fan from one of their neighbors so that the apartment wasn’t so unbearably stifling for him. The image of Jon lying spread eagle on their bed in nothing but his boxers was an awfully hard one to pass up -- no pun intended. But Stephen knew that one of them needed to be working, so he kissed his boyfriend goodbye and left for the subway station.
Battery Park was the final stop on the one train, so that meant a lot of sitting and watching other people get off at their stops. Stephen didn’t mind as long as he didn’t stick out. Some days he brought along one of his beat-up sci-fi novels to bury his nose in, but more often than not he just stared straight ahead or down at his fingernails and thought about the future. He liked to think about fancier apartments that he and Jon could own one day and how they would both be doing what they loved rather than getting heatstroke and selling ice cream.
Once in a while, Stephen saw two men holding hands on the subway -- two men who were at least ten years older than Jon and him -- and he imagined that days in the future would mean Broadway plays and expensive dinners and a mattress that was actually supported by a bedframe. Then the train would stop and the couple would get off and Stephen would be jerked back to reality.
The ice cream stand was Mr. Daniels’ rickety, wooden, nailed-together attempt at covering more of the island and getting more people to choose his frozen desserts. Mr. Daniels, of course, was never really present at his own satellite ice cream institution. Instead, Stephen’s job performance was overseen by Cath, a tough girl from SoHo who wore combat boots with sundresses and had earbuds that may as well have been surgically attached to her ears. Cath’s job was to make sure the cart’s freezer was keeping the ice cream cold and that Stephen was shoveling out as much ice cream as he could manage. At least, that’s what she had told him her job was.
“Hey, Cath,” said Stephen as he stepped up into the cart. Cath held the fort at the ice cream counter until Stephen got there and as soon as he did, those earbuds were in and The White Stripes were cranked up.
“Hey, dweeb,” she said. Though Cath was younger than Stephen, she’d deemed it appropriate to call him names because he had a job that a teenager would normally have.
“Anyone come by this morning?”
“Just a group of field trip students who wanted some ice cream before they went to the Statue of Liberty. Hey -- I talked to Mr. Daniels over the weekend and he was thinking about adding this neat ice sculpture feature to the cart and he thought you could --”
“No!” said Stephen, a bit louder than he’d intended. As soon as Cath had said the words ice sculpture, he’d flashed back to the tiny vegetable villages and animals he’d been forced to create at the deli. If he could, he’d rather stay away from carving anything ever again in his career.
“I mean,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to yell, I just...I’d rather not carve anything, if that’s okay...”
“Whatever,” said Cath. “Put on your hat, you’ve gotta man the counter now.”
With a slight grimace, Stephen unfolded the paper hat he’d hidden in his back pocket and pulled it on. The hat looked awful and it created a weird notch in his hair and it was Stephen’s fondest wish that Jon never, ever see him wearing it.
During the lunchtime rush, Stephen was what you would technically call in the zone. Orders flew at him quicker than a normal person would be able to absorb them, but he was Stephen -- Ice Cream Vendor Extraordinaire. Scoops of strawberry and vanilla stacked themselves almost of their own volition and not one pecan was dropped. Every child that walked away from the ice cream cart walked away happy. The only time Stephen faltered was when a familiar voice broke through his intense concentration.
“You got any Rocky Road back there?”
Fumbling hands grabbed at spaceship-shaped popsicles before they hit the ground and cost Stephen half of that day’s pay. Once he’d gotten the rogue ice cream treats under control and deposited them on the short counter inside the cart, he peered out through the order window. His good ear was never wrong -- Jon was standing there, smug smile on his face, waiting for someone to take his ice cream order. Stephen shielded his eyes with his hand and searched the surrounding area. Jon was the only one in line, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt anything to take a quick break. Stephen rested his forearms on the counter and grinned.
“What can I get you, cutie?”
“Mom only gave me five bucks. What can I get for that?”
“Hmm,” said Stephen, pretending to search his mental menu of their offered items. “I think that’ll just about cover a kiss.”
“Just one?” Jon pouted.
Stephen smirked. “We can haggle. Seriously, though, what are you doing here?”
“Being home by myself is boring,” said Jon.
“You’re sick. It’s too bad,” said Stephen.
Jon scowled and stuck his tongue out. Then his expression changed as he struggled to stifle laughter. “Nice hat.”
“God...damn it,” muttered Stephen. He whipped the paper monstrosity off his head quickly and dashed it to the ground. “Changing the subject quickly so you don’t remember what I look like in that hat...how are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” said Jon. “It was kind of pointless for me to stay home, so I felt like an idiot just laying around. I figured this was a good excuse to come and visit you.”
“It’s nice to see you in the middle of the day,” said Stephen, smiling.
“Ditto,” said Jon.
“Did you really want that Rocky Road?”
“You know it.”
“Hmm, hang on a sec.”
Stephen glanced back to where Cath was sitting, bobbing her head up and down in time with her music. The lunch rush appeared to have ebbed and he hadn’t taken his break yet, so he figured this was as good a time as any. Though it was akin to tickling a sleeping dragon, Stephen stepped away from the counter to tap Cath on the arm. She jumped and yanked her earbuds out of her ears.
“What?” she barked.
“Can I take a break now? My boyfriend is here.”
Cath gave him a surprised look. “You have a boyfriend? Huh, you’re cooler than I thought.”
“Yes, all of us gay people are just so metropolitan,” said Stephen, losing sight of the fact that Cath was his boss and could easily fire him. “Can I take a break?”
“Sure, go ahead,” she said, shrugging.
Deciding not to stick around for any more of her charming conversation, Stephen dashed off to find the Rocky Road ice cream. He quickly assembled a pair of two-scoop cones, opened the back door of the cart, and hopped out to meet Jon.
“One Rocky Road, made to perfection,” he said, handing Jon one of the cones.
Jon took it and giggled softly. “You made the ice cream yourself?”
“Naturally,” said Stephen, licking a broad swipe across his ice cream. “That’s what took me so long. Well, that and asking my boss for a break. She’s thrilled, by the way, that we’re gay. We just earned coolness points or...something.”
Jon raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean a raise?”
“I wish it did,” said Stephen.
The one thing Stephen liked most about his new job was the view that it afforded him once he stepped out of the wooden cart. Turning to the right meant that he could see clear toward the Statue of Liberty, turning to the left meant he could see the entire city of Manhattan. Battery Park was one of Stephen’s favorite parts of the island, but he’d much rather be there under circumstances like this -- eating ice cream with Jon. With a warm breeze wafting over them and the sweet taste of Rocky Road in their mouths, it was as though Jon and Stephen were taking their own little vacation moment. Stephen inched his hand towards Jon’s and without a word being exchanged between them, they linked their fingers together.
“This is damn good ice cream,” said Jon.
“Glad you like it,” said Stephen, smiling broadly. “I wouldn’t sell crap.”
“Of course not,” said Jon. He took a long lick of his ice cream cone and stared at Stephen.
“You can’t look at me like that while we’re in public,” murmured Stephen.
“I can do what I like, Mr. Colbert,” said Jon, waggling his eyebrows at his boyfriend.
“Okay, come on, I have to get back to work in a few minutes.”
“Fi-ine,” said Jon. “Cockblocker.”
Stephen giggled. “You know...I’ve been thinking. Do we really need to live like this?”
“Like how? Like...adhering to the rules of society and wearing pants outdoors?”
Stephen snorted and shook his head. “I just meant, do we have to spend every day apart while we work pointless, seasonal jobs?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it -- your last serious job was as an elf. Now we’re on tour buses and ice cream carts and those jobs are going to fizzle out when the weather changes again.”
Jon took a few licks of his ice cream and then shrugged. “Right now, that’s just bullshit we have to live with.”
“Is it, though?”
“Stephen, we’re young and stupid. What else could we possibly do besides stupid jobs?”
“What have you always wanted to do?”
Jon looked down at his ice cream cone. He’d finished the top plume of Rocky Road and the rest of the cool, brown substance was melting into the top of the cone. He took a slurp of the soupy ice cream in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Stephen continued to gaze at him intently, genuinely wanting the answer to his question.
Finally, Jon sighed. “I always wanted to do stand-up.”
“Really? Like...comedy clubs and sweaty palms and the fear of rejection?”
“Yes, Stephen, I only dreamed about the bad things. What did you always want to do?”
Stephen smiled sheepishly. He thought of pushing the question off with a joke answer, but Jon had told the truth so it was only fair that he do so too.
“Theatre,” he said. “With an -re on the end. Musicals and Shakespeare and glorious renditions of Tennessee Williams.”
“You’re adorable.”
“Come on, I took your dream seriously.”
“No, I just meant...you’d be really great on the stage. Remember how you acted out the reruns of Seinfeld for me when our television broke?”
Stephen snickered. “Yeah, not exactly the same thing.”
Jon wrapped his arm around Stephen’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. “You’d be good. Okay?”
“Yeah, well, you’d be good too.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t.” Stephen caught an errant drop of ice cream with his tongue. “No one knows. But don’t we have to eventually go for it?”
“I guess,” said Jon. “Eventually.”
“Why don’t we try going for it right now?” said Stephen, a wild, inspired grin on his face. “I went out for some auditions when I was working at the deli. It was tough because I’d been working all day and sometimes I was completely exhausted, but it was also exhilarating to be working toward something that was actually my dream. You know, something that wasn’t carving stupid animals out of vegetables.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then it doesn’t work. Am I on Broadway right now? No. But it still feels good to make headway toward that goal. I was thinking of getting back into the game soon anyway. I haven’t gone out for any new auditions since we’ve been dating.”
Jon smiled to himself and said, “I guess it would be neat to try out some of my material on an actual audience.”
“You have material?” said Stephen. “You know, I’m always a willing audience. And I’m a captive one, basically, so hit me with the jokes!”
Jon stared intently at his ice cream and shook his head. “I thought you’d think it was all really stupid.”
“Of course not!”
Stephen wrapped both of his arms around Jon’s slight frame and hugged him tightly. This was something Jon had had to get used to -- how touchy-feely Stephen could be. It wasn’t unwelcome, of course, but it wasn’t what Jon was used to.
“Just think,” said Stephen. “We’ll come home late at night, exhausted from having been creative all evening, and then cuddle while we tell each other about our onstage experiences.”
“You’re such a romantic,” said Jon, giggling. “All I can think about is the exhaustion. And not being with you even more.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to spend time apart for something like a comedy club audition? Or an audition for a play? You know, instead of ice cream?”
“I don’t want to be away from you for any reason, frankly...”
“Hey,” said Stephen, gently running his fingers through Jon’s hair. “We can do it. It’s going to be difficult, yeah, but do you want to be spouting dubious facts about New York to tourists your whole life?”
“No,” said Jon, and he gave his boyfriend a mournful glance. “The other day I told someone that it was called SoHo because someone had called it So Hot and had been misheard.”
Stephen burst out laughing loudly and hugged Jon again, turning his head to kiss his cheek. As the midday sun crept higher and higher in the sky, they finished their ice cream and then loitered for another half hour. Stephen clung to Jon despite the heat and Jon gave him a mock tour bus monologue about Battery Park that included mentions of a young Bruce Springsteen and something about George Carlin making a historic sojourn to the very spot on which Mr. Daniels’ ice cream cart stood. They giggled and joked around until Cath called Stephen brusquely back to the cart. Somehow it stung a little less to say goodbye to Jon and return to the cart with their new plan of action determined.
******
Four months later
If New York changed identities with its shift from season to season, then it had different identities as soon as the sun set behind the skyscrapers as well. New York at night was filled with people who were too busy to traverse its streets at normal hours, vacationing families clogging the restaurants, and couples spending quality time together before going to sleep to wake up and work another day. Jon passed them all, hands deep in his pockets, and tried to keep his mind on the goal for the evening rather than on Stephen. This was Jon’s biggest problem when trying something new or shifting to a new schedule -- he couldn’t stop thinking of what he could be doing if only he’d let things stay the same. If he’d told Stephen that the audition idea was silly, he could be cuddled next to him right now watching reruns of some kind. But if he’d said no, he never would have started scouting the comedy clubs.
When they’d first agreed to try out their creative dreams, Jon had no idea where to begin. Stephen at least had theatres that he’d auditioned at in the past and he had some friends within the theatre scene. Jon’s first instinct had been to call the woman who ran the puppet show above Stephen’s old deli job. He just wanted to see if she was willing to pay him for his services. Mrs. Goldbaum had relied on him to remain on a volunteer basis, though, and she had to regrettably tell him this when he asked. Jon had really enjoyed giving puppet shows for the kids, but if it wasn’t going to pay, then it had to go for the time being. He told Mrs. Goldbaum that he may return one day.
After that lead came up empty, it was just a matter of searching for local comedy clubs. Of course, there was an abundance of opportunities for him to seek out and Stephen helped him take down the phone numbers and addresses of them all. Stephen had been so excited, in fact, for Jon that he had taken it upon himself to organize all of the contact info according to the section of the city in which the clubs were located. Having someone organized around the house was a big advantage, it seemed.
Jon had decided to try out the clubs nearest to their apartment in case the whole affair was too embarrassing or awful, he could get back home quickly. The first one he’d tried out seemed to have a nudity requirement, the second announced proudly that it paid their performers in booze, and the third one had had an open mic. Even though the thought gave him hives, Jon had faced his fear and tried out a few jokes from what he had scrawled on his notepad. He’d gotten a few laughs, but the crowd was largely silent and intimidating.
“Hey, don’t give up on this,” had been the only encouragement he received in the club. The bartender had grunted this to Jon as he tried to exit the club as quickly as possible. Still, those words had echoed in his head along with all the encouragement Stephen had given him later that night.
Three weeks passed before Jon returned to the club that had given him a chance and he took those three weeks to write more material, try it out on Stephen, and take any of his suggestions to heart. He returned with what he considered to be much more solid material. He’d gotten even more laughs.
A month passed and Jon found himself awake at three in the morning while Stephen studied lines for his next audition. They sat side by side on their mattress, hunched over their respective endeavors. Occasionally Stephen would say one of his lines out loud and Jon would consider it, glad for a glimpse into what his boyfriend was trying out for. Occasionally Jon would yawn loudly and Stephen would reach over to rub his arm reassuringly. In the morning they smiled blearily at each other over the coffee and set off to their jobs.
When the summer ended, Mr. Daniels recruited Stephen to work in his actual ice cream shop because he “had a nice face.” Stephen wasn’t going to argue with him, he was just glad of the continued employment. Jon was fired from the tour bus company and was quite glad of it if he was telling the truth. The next time Jon was in the comedy club, he asked about a bartending job and was told that their junior bartender had recently quit. So they began the fall miraculously and gainfully employed.
That night it was a Friday. Jon worked from Monday to Thursday and was then allowed Friday night off so he could participate in the open mic. He was lucky that the club owner was so encouraging to fledgling comedians. Or maybe the stories were true and the owner, Jake, liked the way Jon’s ass looked in jeans. Either way, he had his notes stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket and was feeling good about that night’s performance.
As always, his time on stage flew by and he seemed to experience it from somewhere above his own head. Before he knew it, the crowd was clapping loudly and he was thanking them before heading backstage quickly.
“You’re not bad,” said a young, red-haired guy who was leaning against the wall when Jon rushed off stage. “You’re pretty ballsy to include all the political stuff, I respect that.”
Jon stared at him, unsure what to say. He’d never discussed his material with another comedian, which he assumed this guy was.
“Denis,” said the young man, holding out his hand. “Denis Leary. And I’m on after you every night.”
“Uh, Jon Stewart. How come I’ve never seen you?” said Jon, shaking the man’s hand.
“I’m always sneaking a quick smoke before my performance,” said Denis, giving him a sideways smile.
Jon chuckled. “You wouldn’t happen to have one on you right now, would you?”
“Sure,” said Denis, digging in his back pocket. He produced a crumpled Marlboro box and offered one of the last cigarettes to Jon. “But I’d take it outside, Jake doesn’t like it when you smoke backstage.”
“Got it,” said Jon. Denis gave him a jaunty salute and strode past him onto the stage. Disregarding the half-assed warning about smoking backstage, Jon pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette, taking a few puffs and smiling to himself.
“Hey,” said a voice from behind him. Jon turned around to find Jake standing there, a stern expression on his face. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
******
Falling back into the routine of memorizing lines and leaving work at a fast clip to make it to auditions was simple. That kind of life was all Stephen had wanted when he’d moved to New York and he’d been unconsciously missing it for months. Now that he was back on the stage, that part of him had opened up again and it felt amazing. If only the stage would open up in response and let him in.
Since that first night when he’d gotten in touch with his old theatre friends, Stephen hadn’t had one single callback. He’d begun by trying out for what he was comfortable with -- drama, musicals, and Shakespeare. When he was greeted with nothing but failures, he turned to comedy and more independent, off-off-Broadway ventures. Still, no one would have him. As much as he despised his day job, he sometimes looked forward to it because at least the children and teens there liked him when he handed them ice cream.
All of his friends told him he needed to keep trying. After all, he’d been out of the game for at least six months and it took time to become a familiar face again. It was all very frustrating, but if Stephen ever wanted to star in a Sondheim original, he had to keep standing up and dusting himself off after each play failed to call him back. What made it all worth it was that Jon, who had been so reluctant about trying out the comedy thing, was having the time of his life. Somehow it didn’t matter to Stephen that he’d been rejected for another part as long as he came home to Jon’s smiling face and warm hug.
That evening, Stephen had been auditioning for a play entitled Platonic Numbskulls that read as if it had been written by the play’s namesakes. It was thoroughly disheartening to be reading such bad material and to know that he was probably not going to get the part anyway. He was meeting Jon, though, at the comedy club, so Stephen tried to put a bounce in his step and a smile on his face.
Jon was waiting outside the comedy club, standing under a streetlight with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Stephen had chided him for his smoking habit many times, but it was no use. He figured he could eventually guilt him into quitting, but it would take some time. To his credit, Jon tossed the cigarette and stomped it out when he saw Stephen approaching. The first thing they did when they saw each was lean in for a kiss and when they parted, Stephen reached for Jon’s hand.
“Ice cream?” said Jon, smiling up at his boyfriend.
“Please, no,” groaned Stephen. “In fact, can we avoid frozen treats of all kind for the rest of our lives?”
“Sorry, baby,” said Jon. “I forgot that you’re around that stuff all day.”
“Yeah,” said Stephen, sighing as they began walking down the street with no particular destination. “Before you know it I’m going to start substituting lines in scripts with the words cone or scoops.”
Jon giggled and squeezed Stephen’s fingers. The street up ahead looked perfect and Jon had an odd, light feeling in his chest and on his shoulders. It was as though he was completely and utterly happy for the first time in years. He turned and pulled Stephen into a long, deep kiss that stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk and forced other pedestrians to navigate around them. Jon didn’t really care, though, because Stephen’s slim fingers had closed around his waist and he had his own hands buried in Stephen’s dark hair. When they pulled apart, Stephen was breathing heavily, his forehead resting against Jon’s.
“Wow,” he gasped. “What was that all about?”
Jon smiled. “It’s a gorgeous autumn evening and you look fucking hot in that plaid scarf.”
“You think so?” said Stephen, smirking. “It’s part of my new line -- Unemployed Actor Chic.
“I think it’s gonna sell,” said Jon, giggling. “Hey, um, I have some good news.”
“Oh?” Stephen’s left eyebrow rose inquisitively.
“Yeah. Jake pulled me aside after my set to talk to me about something tonight.”
Stephen snorted. “Did he try to make a pass at you?”
“Surprisingly, no, as I am clearly irresistible,” joked Jon. “He, uh...he wanted to give me my own, established set three nights a week. No more open mic night, I’d have a guaranteed spot.”
Surprise and pure joy bloomed on Stephen’s face instantly. Jon had been worried that Stephen would be jealous of his success when he’d been the one to suggest they try more creative endeavors, but he should have known better. Once again the pair stopped foot traffic as Stephen flung his arms around Jon’s neck and hugged him tightly.
“Congratulations!” he said, kissing Jon’s cheek repeatedly and then giving him a soft kiss on the lips.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything and Jon worried that the jealousy was hitting him just then. But Stephen gently took Jon’s face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs along his cheeks. It looked as if he was about to cry, but he simply took a deep breath and kissed Jon one more time.
“I am so proud of you,” he said. “So fucking proud.”
Jon had to bite his lip and repeat to himself that he wasn’t going to cry in the middle of a New York sidewalk. “I thought you might be jealous.”
Stephen let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “Jealous? Are you kidding me? No fucking way, I’m just so proud that you...you went for it and now you can do something besides stupid-ass bus tours.”
Jon grinned and gathered Stephen up in another bone-crushing hug. They stayed that way for a while, Stephen breathing in Jon’s smoky scent and Jon rubbing Stephen’s back.
“Hey,” said Jon. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” said Stephen.
“I’m in love with you,” said Jon, clarifying it the way they did in those movies they watched on Saturday nights.
“I’m in love with you too,” said Stephen, chuckling. “Like, a lot.”
Jon giggled and gave Stephen’s shoulders a squeeze before backing away from him. “What do you say to some celebratory Chinese take-out?”
“I’d say that sounds amazing,” said Stephen. “Only if it can be followed by celebratory sex.”
Jon simply grinned at him and when he began walking down the sidewalk, he felt Stephen pinch his ass. Jon let out a yelp and jumped a few feet forward, running into the woman in front of him at the crosswalk. He apologized profusely and turned around to find Stephen laughing hysterically.
Just one year earlier, Jon had been volunteering at a kid’s puppet show and searching for work that would allow him to stay in the city. He hadn’t been expecting anything extraordinary to happen, but when he’d helped Stephen with those milk crates of vegetables, there had been something warm about him amidst the cold, snowy back alley of the deli. What if he’d been in more of a hurry to get to his elf job? What if he hadn’t paid enough attention? Usually he didn’t even want to fathom those strokes of luck he’d encountered in his life. But it did make him realize that the man standing behind him just then, laughing his ass off and poking Jon’s shoulder, was something special. He wished he could make all the directors and producers on Broadway realize it so they wouldn’t miss out either.
Pairing: Jon/Stephen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing, suggestiveness
Summary: Jon & Stephen are still living in the city, but realize that it’s time to take a chance and do something different in their work-a-day worlds.
Source fic: Curve of the Earth by underthepiano, written for my Secret Santa wish last year.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to underthepiano for creating such an adorable, believable, tactile universe for Jon & Stephen. This is huge (that’s what she said), but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope that it does the universe justice!
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.
Wide Awake Dreams
New York in the summer was a sweaty, teeming beast that was dead set on testing your resolve to remain there. Garbage was set out in steaming piles and the midday heat got trapped between skyscrapers. The city was, in general, a challenging place to live, but the weather created additional challenges for its residents. In the winter, challenges had been centered around remembering the correct clothing for cold evenings and stepping lightly on icy sidewalks intent on breaking your neck. The summer city, instead, specialized in sunburn that snuck up on you and chilly, hospitable nights that gave way to sweltering mornings that left you kicking off blankets and bedmates.
“Hey!” said Jon, his arms flailing as he was sent careening toward the edge of the mattress they laid on the floor of their apartment. “What are you trying to --”
When he glanced over at his boyfriend to chastise him properly, he was surprised to find him still asleep. Yet he wasn’t surprised at all to find that even while he was still asleep, Stephen was stronger than him. Jon sighed softly, now wide awake, and laid back against his pillow to stare at the ceiling.
He certainly couldn’t blame Stephen for kicking him away considering how the sun was already beating into their small apartment. The city had been on a streak of temperatures in the 80s and 90s and it was beginning to weigh heavily on everyone. The evening before had been pleasantly cool with a slight breeze wafting into the apartment. Now, the only air that was moving inside was the breath making Stephen’s chest rise and fall.
Several minutes after Jon woke up, Stephen groaned in his sleep and turned onto his side. He opened one eye, caught sight of Jon, and sighed.
“It’s hot again,” he said, his voice half-muffled by the pillow he was pressing his face into.
“I know,” said Jon. “And I suppose you’re going to use that as an excuse for almost shoving me off the bed.”
“Oh my God, did I do it again?” said Stephen. He sat up, hand over his mouth, clearly embarrassed.
Jon waved his hand at his boyfriend. “Don’t worry about it. It’s clear to me now that you despise me.”
Stephen smirked and rolled eyes. “Oh, yeah, I find you repulsive.”
When Jon didn’t respond, Stephen cupped his face gently and shifted closer to him on the mattress. He leaned in and kissed his boyfriend softly, lips brushing together ever so carefully. Jon threaded his fingers into Stephen’s hair and pulled him closer, held him against his mouth longer, and deepened the kiss. When they pulled apart, Jon almost felt the need to wipe his brow. That was probably the most frustrating part of the heat wave -- being close to another person nearly caused heatstroke. Stephen had joked several nights ago that they should keep water bottles nearby when they engaged in strenuous activity.
“You okay?” said Stephen, softly, as Jon took deep breaths.
“Fine,” said Jon. “You just take my breath away.”
Stephen smiled and patted Jon’s cheek. “You’re sweet. Orange juice?”
“Coffee, please.”
“How the hell can you drink steaming hot liquid on a day like this?”
“I know. I know it seems insane, but I genuinely need something to get me going in the morning, you know?”
Stephen shrugged and opened the mini-fridge. When he leaned over to peer inside, Jon took an unabashedly long glance at his ass. There was one good thing, it seemed, that came from this sweltering weather -- Stephen’s legs in shorts. Yes, there was something special about having his boyfriend traipse around the house in nothing but his boxers. Though their apartment wasn’t fully furnished and they were working crappy jobs, Jon considered himself a lucky man when he came home to those sexy legs.
“I’m going to report you for lewd behavior,” said Stephen when he turned around to find Jon’s eyes glued on him.
“I’ll follow you and report you right after you report me,” said Jon. He stood up to help Stephen with the coffeemaker. “Especially after last night.”
Stephen grinned and fumbled with the coffee filter. “Have to do something fun after a long day at work, now don’t we?”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” said Jon, bumping Stephen’s hip with his own.
Work was, indeed, particularly soul-crushing and Jon was glad of some guaranteed fooling around at the end of a long day. The top of a tour bus was not the ideal place to be in a heat wave, but it brought home money and that was currently the only criteria Jon cared about. After the holiday season ended, his gig as Santa’s little helper had ended. For a few months, he’d continued volunteering above Stephen’s old workplace, entertaining the kids there with his playful puppets. But puppeteering wasn’t a viable career path and they needed money.
Stephen, of course, had quit his deli job and found himself in the same occupational position as Jon. For several blissful, carefree weeks in January they lived off money sent by Stephen’s mother and went job-hunting in tandem. The money ran out eventually and New York was a city hungry for greenbacks. So they both took mind-numbing jobs at a local bar that happened to be hiring two waiters at the same time. Unfortunately, the job didn’t last long. They were discovered making out in a supply closet and were fired. Stephen liked to tell people it was because they were gay and that everyone should boycott the bar, but it was really because no one had gotten their mozzarella sticks.
After the bar debacle, Jon and Stephen made a pact to get very separate jobs when they next went searching. As the weather grew more hospitable, more jobs became available or more attractive. The city shifted from spring into summer and with new commercial demands came more interesting jobs. They’d been wandering through Midtown when Jon stumbled upon one of the stands for one of the many, many city bus tours. On a whim, Jon asked if they were hiring and the next day he was a tour guide.
“We’re lucky I’ve been obsessed with this city since high school,” he had joked. “I’ve read just about every guidebook for New York that exists.”
A few short days after Jon found his job, Stephen came rushing in the front door of their apartment with exciting news.
“I’m an ice cream man.”
Jon had choked on his third cup of coffee that day. “What are you talking about?”
“I was down at the ice cream shop on 110th and I mentioned that I was looking for a job. So, Mr. Daniels said I had a nice face and that he was looking for someone to run this ice cream cart he wants to start as a satellite for the shop.”
“How is it that you just talk to strangers and get jobs?”
Stephen simply shrugged and continued with his story. “So, I have to be down in Battery Park all day and I have to wear a very stupid uniform, but I got a job!”
With long weeks, hot days, and tired feet in between that first triumphant week in May and the morning when Jon was almost shoved off their bed, the jobs didn’t appear quite as attractive as they had initially. Jon had discovered the importance of sunscreen ten times over and Stephen had learned the terrifying strength of a group of children in search of ice cream. But they came home to each other and told each other all of the horrors of their day and, as a result, those horrors seemed to slip away.
When Stephen handed Jon his cup of coffee, Jon took it, set it down, and engulfed Stephen in a hug. Somewhat confused, Stephen returned the hug and gave Jon a kiss on the cheek as he pulled away.
“What was that for?” he said, eyebrows crinkled.
“For selling ice cream to rowdy children and demanding parents all day long.”
“Well, in that case, this is for sitting on top of a sweltering bus day after day and trying to make information about the city interesting.”
Stephen grabbed two handfuls of Jon’s t-shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. This wasn’t a typical let’s-start-the-day kiss, this was more on par with we-are-both-going-to-die-from-heatstsroke-so-kiss-me-now kiss. Jon savored every last moment of it because he knew what he had to say when the kiss ended.
“I have to get dressed and head to Midtown.”
Stephen sighed. Not an angry sigh, but the sigh of someone who knew that the situation was intractable and that he had to let go of his boyfriend’s shirt so they could both go earn money.
“Right,” he said, smoothing the soft, worn fabric of Jon’s grey t-shirt -- just one of many that migrated with Jon when they moved in together.
“Hey,” said Jon. “I’ll meet you back here tonight, right?”
“Of course,” said Stephen.
******
Later that evening, Jon was lying on their mattress with a cool rag on his forehead. Between the sun, the humidity, and that kid who wouldn’t stop tossing potato chips at him, Jon was done. It was only the first week of July and he already knew that if saw the shiny red exterior of that bus with the yellow letters proclaiming “hop on, hop off!” one more time, his head was going to explode. He started to imagine his little grey cells acting as the new decoration for that abhorrent vehicle, but that made him nauseous and he’d already thrown up once that day, so he tried to think of other things.
Just as Jon was contemplating finding some iced tea or some other kind of cool beverage, he heard the clink and twist of Stephen’s key in their front door. Jon uncovered his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.
“Well, that day was just about the worst I’ve ever -- oh my God, what’s wrong?”
Stephen’s mood shift from frustrated to completely worried was so quick that it may have caused whiplash. Jon felt his stomach churn with guilt when he saw the troublesome kink in Stephen’s eyebrows.
“Nothing,” he managed to croak. “Just the heat. Just the usual.”
“You look awful.” Stephen sat down next to Jon with a grunt and laid his hand gently on Jon’s cheek. “Your skin is hot, baby, what happened?”
“I told you, just the heat,” said Jon.
For a while, Stephen just stroked Jon’s hair and remained quiet. Jon closed his eyes, feeling relaxed and calm for the first time all day, and he was just about to drift off when Stephen spoke.
“You shouldn’t have to do this.”
“This is a place that wants to employ and pay me,” said Jon. “I think I have to do this.”
“Maybe you could look for something else.”
“If I quit this job and jump back into the job-finding scene, I won’t find anything for another month. We just can’t afford that.”
Another moment of silence passed. “Want to marry rich?”
Jon snorted and rubbed at his chin. “I would, but I don’t really want to marry anyone who isn’t in this room.”
The fierce blush that bloomed across Stephen’s cheeks made him glad that Jon’s eyes were still partially hidden by the wet rag.
“Well, you can’t go to work tomorrow, that’s for sure,” said Stephen.
“Fuck, I can’t afford a sick day.”
“Tough titties,” said Stephen, leaning down to kiss Jon softly. “You can’t just go out into the heat again after this. You’re only going to make it worse.”
Jon groaned. “Why is life so hard?”
“If I knew, I’d make it all better,” said Stephen.
The next morning, Jon felt marginally better, but Stephen still insisted that he stay home. Stephen even borrowed a box fan from one of their neighbors so that the apartment wasn’t so unbearably stifling for him. The image of Jon lying spread eagle on their bed in nothing but his boxers was an awfully hard one to pass up -- no pun intended. But Stephen knew that one of them needed to be working, so he kissed his boyfriend goodbye and left for the subway station.
Battery Park was the final stop on the one train, so that meant a lot of sitting and watching other people get off at their stops. Stephen didn’t mind as long as he didn’t stick out. Some days he brought along one of his beat-up sci-fi novels to bury his nose in, but more often than not he just stared straight ahead or down at his fingernails and thought about the future. He liked to think about fancier apartments that he and Jon could own one day and how they would both be doing what they loved rather than getting heatstroke and selling ice cream.
Once in a while, Stephen saw two men holding hands on the subway -- two men who were at least ten years older than Jon and him -- and he imagined that days in the future would mean Broadway plays and expensive dinners and a mattress that was actually supported by a bedframe. Then the train would stop and the couple would get off and Stephen would be jerked back to reality.
The ice cream stand was Mr. Daniels’ rickety, wooden, nailed-together attempt at covering more of the island and getting more people to choose his frozen desserts. Mr. Daniels, of course, was never really present at his own satellite ice cream institution. Instead, Stephen’s job performance was overseen by Cath, a tough girl from SoHo who wore combat boots with sundresses and had earbuds that may as well have been surgically attached to her ears. Cath’s job was to make sure the cart’s freezer was keeping the ice cream cold and that Stephen was shoveling out as much ice cream as he could manage. At least, that’s what she had told him her job was.
“Hey, Cath,” said Stephen as he stepped up into the cart. Cath held the fort at the ice cream counter until Stephen got there and as soon as he did, those earbuds were in and The White Stripes were cranked up.
“Hey, dweeb,” she said. Though Cath was younger than Stephen, she’d deemed it appropriate to call him names because he had a job that a teenager would normally have.
“Anyone come by this morning?”
“Just a group of field trip students who wanted some ice cream before they went to the Statue of Liberty. Hey -- I talked to Mr. Daniels over the weekend and he was thinking about adding this neat ice sculpture feature to the cart and he thought you could --”
“No!” said Stephen, a bit louder than he’d intended. As soon as Cath had said the words ice sculpture, he’d flashed back to the tiny vegetable villages and animals he’d been forced to create at the deli. If he could, he’d rather stay away from carving anything ever again in his career.
“I mean,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to yell, I just...I’d rather not carve anything, if that’s okay...”
“Whatever,” said Cath. “Put on your hat, you’ve gotta man the counter now.”
With a slight grimace, Stephen unfolded the paper hat he’d hidden in his back pocket and pulled it on. The hat looked awful and it created a weird notch in his hair and it was Stephen’s fondest wish that Jon never, ever see him wearing it.
During the lunchtime rush, Stephen was what you would technically call in the zone. Orders flew at him quicker than a normal person would be able to absorb them, but he was Stephen -- Ice Cream Vendor Extraordinaire. Scoops of strawberry and vanilla stacked themselves almost of their own volition and not one pecan was dropped. Every child that walked away from the ice cream cart walked away happy. The only time Stephen faltered was when a familiar voice broke through his intense concentration.
“You got any Rocky Road back there?”
Fumbling hands grabbed at spaceship-shaped popsicles before they hit the ground and cost Stephen half of that day’s pay. Once he’d gotten the rogue ice cream treats under control and deposited them on the short counter inside the cart, he peered out through the order window. His good ear was never wrong -- Jon was standing there, smug smile on his face, waiting for someone to take his ice cream order. Stephen shielded his eyes with his hand and searched the surrounding area. Jon was the only one in line, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt anything to take a quick break. Stephen rested his forearms on the counter and grinned.
“What can I get you, cutie?”
“Mom only gave me five bucks. What can I get for that?”
“Hmm,” said Stephen, pretending to search his mental menu of their offered items. “I think that’ll just about cover a kiss.”
“Just one?” Jon pouted.
Stephen smirked. “We can haggle. Seriously, though, what are you doing here?”
“Being home by myself is boring,” said Jon.
“You’re sick. It’s too bad,” said Stephen.
Jon scowled and stuck his tongue out. Then his expression changed as he struggled to stifle laughter. “Nice hat.”
“God...damn it,” muttered Stephen. He whipped the paper monstrosity off his head quickly and dashed it to the ground. “Changing the subject quickly so you don’t remember what I look like in that hat...how are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” said Jon. “It was kind of pointless for me to stay home, so I felt like an idiot just laying around. I figured this was a good excuse to come and visit you.”
“It’s nice to see you in the middle of the day,” said Stephen, smiling.
“Ditto,” said Jon.
“Did you really want that Rocky Road?”
“You know it.”
“Hmm, hang on a sec.”
Stephen glanced back to where Cath was sitting, bobbing her head up and down in time with her music. The lunch rush appeared to have ebbed and he hadn’t taken his break yet, so he figured this was as good a time as any. Though it was akin to tickling a sleeping dragon, Stephen stepped away from the counter to tap Cath on the arm. She jumped and yanked her earbuds out of her ears.
“What?” she barked.
“Can I take a break now? My boyfriend is here.”
Cath gave him a surprised look. “You have a boyfriend? Huh, you’re cooler than I thought.”
“Yes, all of us gay people are just so metropolitan,” said Stephen, losing sight of the fact that Cath was his boss and could easily fire him. “Can I take a break?”
“Sure, go ahead,” she said, shrugging.
Deciding not to stick around for any more of her charming conversation, Stephen dashed off to find the Rocky Road ice cream. He quickly assembled a pair of two-scoop cones, opened the back door of the cart, and hopped out to meet Jon.
“One Rocky Road, made to perfection,” he said, handing Jon one of the cones.
Jon took it and giggled softly. “You made the ice cream yourself?”
“Naturally,” said Stephen, licking a broad swipe across his ice cream. “That’s what took me so long. Well, that and asking my boss for a break. She’s thrilled, by the way, that we’re gay. We just earned coolness points or...something.”
Jon raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean a raise?”
“I wish it did,” said Stephen.
The one thing Stephen liked most about his new job was the view that it afforded him once he stepped out of the wooden cart. Turning to the right meant that he could see clear toward the Statue of Liberty, turning to the left meant he could see the entire city of Manhattan. Battery Park was one of Stephen’s favorite parts of the island, but he’d much rather be there under circumstances like this -- eating ice cream with Jon. With a warm breeze wafting over them and the sweet taste of Rocky Road in their mouths, it was as though Jon and Stephen were taking their own little vacation moment. Stephen inched his hand towards Jon’s and without a word being exchanged between them, they linked their fingers together.
“This is damn good ice cream,” said Jon.
“Glad you like it,” said Stephen, smiling broadly. “I wouldn’t sell crap.”
“Of course not,” said Jon. He took a long lick of his ice cream cone and stared at Stephen.
“You can’t look at me like that while we’re in public,” murmured Stephen.
“I can do what I like, Mr. Colbert,” said Jon, waggling his eyebrows at his boyfriend.
“Okay, come on, I have to get back to work in a few minutes.”
“Fi-ine,” said Jon. “Cockblocker.”
Stephen giggled. “You know...I’ve been thinking. Do we really need to live like this?”
“Like how? Like...adhering to the rules of society and wearing pants outdoors?”
Stephen snorted and shook his head. “I just meant, do we have to spend every day apart while we work pointless, seasonal jobs?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it -- your last serious job was as an elf. Now we’re on tour buses and ice cream carts and those jobs are going to fizzle out when the weather changes again.”
Jon took a few licks of his ice cream and then shrugged. “Right now, that’s just bullshit we have to live with.”
“Is it, though?”
“Stephen, we’re young and stupid. What else could we possibly do besides stupid jobs?”
“What have you always wanted to do?”
Jon looked down at his ice cream cone. He’d finished the top plume of Rocky Road and the rest of the cool, brown substance was melting into the top of the cone. He took a slurp of the soupy ice cream in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Stephen continued to gaze at him intently, genuinely wanting the answer to his question.
Finally, Jon sighed. “I always wanted to do stand-up.”
“Really? Like...comedy clubs and sweaty palms and the fear of rejection?”
“Yes, Stephen, I only dreamed about the bad things. What did you always want to do?”
Stephen smiled sheepishly. He thought of pushing the question off with a joke answer, but Jon had told the truth so it was only fair that he do so too.
“Theatre,” he said. “With an -re on the end. Musicals and Shakespeare and glorious renditions of Tennessee Williams.”
“You’re adorable.”
“Come on, I took your dream seriously.”
“No, I just meant...you’d be really great on the stage. Remember how you acted out the reruns of Seinfeld for me when our television broke?”
Stephen snickered. “Yeah, not exactly the same thing.”
Jon wrapped his arm around Stephen’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. “You’d be good. Okay?”
“Yeah, well, you’d be good too.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t.” Stephen caught an errant drop of ice cream with his tongue. “No one knows. But don’t we have to eventually go for it?”
“I guess,” said Jon. “Eventually.”
“Why don’t we try going for it right now?” said Stephen, a wild, inspired grin on his face. “I went out for some auditions when I was working at the deli. It was tough because I’d been working all day and sometimes I was completely exhausted, but it was also exhilarating to be working toward something that was actually my dream. You know, something that wasn’t carving stupid animals out of vegetables.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then it doesn’t work. Am I on Broadway right now? No. But it still feels good to make headway toward that goal. I was thinking of getting back into the game soon anyway. I haven’t gone out for any new auditions since we’ve been dating.”
Jon smiled to himself and said, “I guess it would be neat to try out some of my material on an actual audience.”
“You have material?” said Stephen. “You know, I’m always a willing audience. And I’m a captive one, basically, so hit me with the jokes!”
Jon stared intently at his ice cream and shook his head. “I thought you’d think it was all really stupid.”
“Of course not!”
Stephen wrapped both of his arms around Jon’s slight frame and hugged him tightly. This was something Jon had had to get used to -- how touchy-feely Stephen could be. It wasn’t unwelcome, of course, but it wasn’t what Jon was used to.
“Just think,” said Stephen. “We’ll come home late at night, exhausted from having been creative all evening, and then cuddle while we tell each other about our onstage experiences.”
“You’re such a romantic,” said Jon, giggling. “All I can think about is the exhaustion. And not being with you even more.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to spend time apart for something like a comedy club audition? Or an audition for a play? You know, instead of ice cream?”
“I don’t want to be away from you for any reason, frankly...”
“Hey,” said Stephen, gently running his fingers through Jon’s hair. “We can do it. It’s going to be difficult, yeah, but do you want to be spouting dubious facts about New York to tourists your whole life?”
“No,” said Jon, and he gave his boyfriend a mournful glance. “The other day I told someone that it was called SoHo because someone had called it So Hot and had been misheard.”
Stephen burst out laughing loudly and hugged Jon again, turning his head to kiss his cheek. As the midday sun crept higher and higher in the sky, they finished their ice cream and then loitered for another half hour. Stephen clung to Jon despite the heat and Jon gave him a mock tour bus monologue about Battery Park that included mentions of a young Bruce Springsteen and something about George Carlin making a historic sojourn to the very spot on which Mr. Daniels’ ice cream cart stood. They giggled and joked around until Cath called Stephen brusquely back to the cart. Somehow it stung a little less to say goodbye to Jon and return to the cart with their new plan of action determined.
******
Four months later
If New York changed identities with its shift from season to season, then it had different identities as soon as the sun set behind the skyscrapers as well. New York at night was filled with people who were too busy to traverse its streets at normal hours, vacationing families clogging the restaurants, and couples spending quality time together before going to sleep to wake up and work another day. Jon passed them all, hands deep in his pockets, and tried to keep his mind on the goal for the evening rather than on Stephen. This was Jon’s biggest problem when trying something new or shifting to a new schedule -- he couldn’t stop thinking of what he could be doing if only he’d let things stay the same. If he’d told Stephen that the audition idea was silly, he could be cuddled next to him right now watching reruns of some kind. But if he’d said no, he never would have started scouting the comedy clubs.
When they’d first agreed to try out their creative dreams, Jon had no idea where to begin. Stephen at least had theatres that he’d auditioned at in the past and he had some friends within the theatre scene. Jon’s first instinct had been to call the woman who ran the puppet show above Stephen’s old deli job. He just wanted to see if she was willing to pay him for his services. Mrs. Goldbaum had relied on him to remain on a volunteer basis, though, and she had to regrettably tell him this when he asked. Jon had really enjoyed giving puppet shows for the kids, but if it wasn’t going to pay, then it had to go for the time being. He told Mrs. Goldbaum that he may return one day.
After that lead came up empty, it was just a matter of searching for local comedy clubs. Of course, there was an abundance of opportunities for him to seek out and Stephen helped him take down the phone numbers and addresses of them all. Stephen had been so excited, in fact, for Jon that he had taken it upon himself to organize all of the contact info according to the section of the city in which the clubs were located. Having someone organized around the house was a big advantage, it seemed.
Jon had decided to try out the clubs nearest to their apartment in case the whole affair was too embarrassing or awful, he could get back home quickly. The first one he’d tried out seemed to have a nudity requirement, the second announced proudly that it paid their performers in booze, and the third one had had an open mic. Even though the thought gave him hives, Jon had faced his fear and tried out a few jokes from what he had scrawled on his notepad. He’d gotten a few laughs, but the crowd was largely silent and intimidating.
“Hey, don’t give up on this,” had been the only encouragement he received in the club. The bartender had grunted this to Jon as he tried to exit the club as quickly as possible. Still, those words had echoed in his head along with all the encouragement Stephen had given him later that night.
Three weeks passed before Jon returned to the club that had given him a chance and he took those three weeks to write more material, try it out on Stephen, and take any of his suggestions to heart. He returned with what he considered to be much more solid material. He’d gotten even more laughs.
A month passed and Jon found himself awake at three in the morning while Stephen studied lines for his next audition. They sat side by side on their mattress, hunched over their respective endeavors. Occasionally Stephen would say one of his lines out loud and Jon would consider it, glad for a glimpse into what his boyfriend was trying out for. Occasionally Jon would yawn loudly and Stephen would reach over to rub his arm reassuringly. In the morning they smiled blearily at each other over the coffee and set off to their jobs.
When the summer ended, Mr. Daniels recruited Stephen to work in his actual ice cream shop because he “had a nice face.” Stephen wasn’t going to argue with him, he was just glad of the continued employment. Jon was fired from the tour bus company and was quite glad of it if he was telling the truth. The next time Jon was in the comedy club, he asked about a bartending job and was told that their junior bartender had recently quit. So they began the fall miraculously and gainfully employed.
That night it was a Friday. Jon worked from Monday to Thursday and was then allowed Friday night off so he could participate in the open mic. He was lucky that the club owner was so encouraging to fledgling comedians. Or maybe the stories were true and the owner, Jake, liked the way Jon’s ass looked in jeans. Either way, he had his notes stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket and was feeling good about that night’s performance.
As always, his time on stage flew by and he seemed to experience it from somewhere above his own head. Before he knew it, the crowd was clapping loudly and he was thanking them before heading backstage quickly.
“You’re not bad,” said a young, red-haired guy who was leaning against the wall when Jon rushed off stage. “You’re pretty ballsy to include all the political stuff, I respect that.”
Jon stared at him, unsure what to say. He’d never discussed his material with another comedian, which he assumed this guy was.
“Denis,” said the young man, holding out his hand. “Denis Leary. And I’m on after you every night.”
“Uh, Jon Stewart. How come I’ve never seen you?” said Jon, shaking the man’s hand.
“I’m always sneaking a quick smoke before my performance,” said Denis, giving him a sideways smile.
Jon chuckled. “You wouldn’t happen to have one on you right now, would you?”
“Sure,” said Denis, digging in his back pocket. He produced a crumpled Marlboro box and offered one of the last cigarettes to Jon. “But I’d take it outside, Jake doesn’t like it when you smoke backstage.”
“Got it,” said Jon. Denis gave him a jaunty salute and strode past him onto the stage. Disregarding the half-assed warning about smoking backstage, Jon pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette, taking a few puffs and smiling to himself.
“Hey,” said a voice from behind him. Jon turned around to find Jake standing there, a stern expression on his face. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
******
Falling back into the routine of memorizing lines and leaving work at a fast clip to make it to auditions was simple. That kind of life was all Stephen had wanted when he’d moved to New York and he’d been unconsciously missing it for months. Now that he was back on the stage, that part of him had opened up again and it felt amazing. If only the stage would open up in response and let him in.
Since that first night when he’d gotten in touch with his old theatre friends, Stephen hadn’t had one single callback. He’d begun by trying out for what he was comfortable with -- drama, musicals, and Shakespeare. When he was greeted with nothing but failures, he turned to comedy and more independent, off-off-Broadway ventures. Still, no one would have him. As much as he despised his day job, he sometimes looked forward to it because at least the children and teens there liked him when he handed them ice cream.
All of his friends told him he needed to keep trying. After all, he’d been out of the game for at least six months and it took time to become a familiar face again. It was all very frustrating, but if Stephen ever wanted to star in a Sondheim original, he had to keep standing up and dusting himself off after each play failed to call him back. What made it all worth it was that Jon, who had been so reluctant about trying out the comedy thing, was having the time of his life. Somehow it didn’t matter to Stephen that he’d been rejected for another part as long as he came home to Jon’s smiling face and warm hug.
That evening, Stephen had been auditioning for a play entitled Platonic Numbskulls that read as if it had been written by the play’s namesakes. It was thoroughly disheartening to be reading such bad material and to know that he was probably not going to get the part anyway. He was meeting Jon, though, at the comedy club, so Stephen tried to put a bounce in his step and a smile on his face.
Jon was waiting outside the comedy club, standing under a streetlight with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Stephen had chided him for his smoking habit many times, but it was no use. He figured he could eventually guilt him into quitting, but it would take some time. To his credit, Jon tossed the cigarette and stomped it out when he saw Stephen approaching. The first thing they did when they saw each was lean in for a kiss and when they parted, Stephen reached for Jon’s hand.
“Ice cream?” said Jon, smiling up at his boyfriend.
“Please, no,” groaned Stephen. “In fact, can we avoid frozen treats of all kind for the rest of our lives?”
“Sorry, baby,” said Jon. “I forgot that you’re around that stuff all day.”
“Yeah,” said Stephen, sighing as they began walking down the street with no particular destination. “Before you know it I’m going to start substituting lines in scripts with the words cone or scoops.”
Jon giggled and squeezed Stephen’s fingers. The street up ahead looked perfect and Jon had an odd, light feeling in his chest and on his shoulders. It was as though he was completely and utterly happy for the first time in years. He turned and pulled Stephen into a long, deep kiss that stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk and forced other pedestrians to navigate around them. Jon didn’t really care, though, because Stephen’s slim fingers had closed around his waist and he had his own hands buried in Stephen’s dark hair. When they pulled apart, Stephen was breathing heavily, his forehead resting against Jon’s.
“Wow,” he gasped. “What was that all about?”
Jon smiled. “It’s a gorgeous autumn evening and you look fucking hot in that plaid scarf.”
“You think so?” said Stephen, smirking. “It’s part of my new line -- Unemployed Actor Chic.
“I think it’s gonna sell,” said Jon, giggling. “Hey, um, I have some good news.”
“Oh?” Stephen’s left eyebrow rose inquisitively.
“Yeah. Jake pulled me aside after my set to talk to me about something tonight.”
Stephen snorted. “Did he try to make a pass at you?”
“Surprisingly, no, as I am clearly irresistible,” joked Jon. “He, uh...he wanted to give me my own, established set three nights a week. No more open mic night, I’d have a guaranteed spot.”
Surprise and pure joy bloomed on Stephen’s face instantly. Jon had been worried that Stephen would be jealous of his success when he’d been the one to suggest they try more creative endeavors, but he should have known better. Once again the pair stopped foot traffic as Stephen flung his arms around Jon’s neck and hugged him tightly.
“Congratulations!” he said, kissing Jon’s cheek repeatedly and then giving him a soft kiss on the lips.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything and Jon worried that the jealousy was hitting him just then. But Stephen gently took Jon’s face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs along his cheeks. It looked as if he was about to cry, but he simply took a deep breath and kissed Jon one more time.
“I am so proud of you,” he said. “So fucking proud.”
Jon had to bite his lip and repeat to himself that he wasn’t going to cry in the middle of a New York sidewalk. “I thought you might be jealous.”
Stephen let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “Jealous? Are you kidding me? No fucking way, I’m just so proud that you...you went for it and now you can do something besides stupid-ass bus tours.”
Jon grinned and gathered Stephen up in another bone-crushing hug. They stayed that way for a while, Stephen breathing in Jon’s smoky scent and Jon rubbing Stephen’s back.
“Hey,” said Jon. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” said Stephen.
“I’m in love with you,” said Jon, clarifying it the way they did in those movies they watched on Saturday nights.
“I’m in love with you too,” said Stephen, chuckling. “Like, a lot.”
Jon giggled and gave Stephen’s shoulders a squeeze before backing away from him. “What do you say to some celebratory Chinese take-out?”
“I’d say that sounds amazing,” said Stephen. “Only if it can be followed by celebratory sex.”
Jon simply grinned at him and when he began walking down the sidewalk, he felt Stephen pinch his ass. Jon let out a yelp and jumped a few feet forward, running into the woman in front of him at the crosswalk. He apologized profusely and turned around to find Stephen laughing hysterically.
Just one year earlier, Jon had been volunteering at a kid’s puppet show and searching for work that would allow him to stay in the city. He hadn’t been expecting anything extraordinary to happen, but when he’d helped Stephen with those milk crates of vegetables, there had been something warm about him amidst the cold, snowy back alley of the deli. What if he’d been in more of a hurry to get to his elf job? What if he hadn’t paid enough attention? Usually he didn’t even want to fathom those strokes of luck he’d encountered in his life. But it did make him realize that the man standing behind him just then, laughing his ass off and poking Jon’s shoulder, was something special. He wished he could make all the directors and producers on Broadway realize it so they wouldn’t miss out either.