So Bitter and So Sweet: Adam and the Aragorn Curse Part III

[idahophoenix]

Part 3 Adam and the  Aragorn Curse

Thursday

In the morning, Adam walked downstairs to the flower shop and bought a vase of anthurium, which he placed on his bedside table. Adam looked over their waxy red petals and slightly obscene yellow stamen with satisfaction. They were just what he needed in this unfamiliar place: a little West Hollywood sass in the middle of the dreary New York City winter. Adam called room service and had hot tea for two and a plate of fruit and cheese delivered.

At precisely 10 a.m. there was a sharp knock at the hotel room door. Adam was sipping ginger tea with the TV on low, trying hard to convince himself that he wasn't a nervous wreck. He jumped at the knock, expected as it was, but made himself turn off the TV before he slowly sauntered over to the door.

Sir Ian looked positively leonine this morning, a black cashmere scarf flung artfully around his neck and wearing an elegant, calf-length winter coat. Adam greeted him with a good morning and offered to take his coat. Sir Ian nodded, turning his back to Adam who, feeling a little like a man-servant in a BBC period piece, slipped the coat from his shoulders and hung it in the closet. Sir Ian kept the scarf, which contrasted nicely with the deep maroon shirt of Egyptian cotton, black dress pants that were tailored to hang gracefully from his legs, and leather boots with a slight heel. Adam was determined not to feel underdressed in his favorite Queen t-shirt, skinny jeans and bare feet.

Since his lordship was saying nothing, Adam dove in. "Welcome to my humble abode." Adam gave a slightly mocking half-bow. "Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you, Adam, I think I shall." Sir Ian replied, as if the half-bow were simply his due. Adam headed over to the table to pour some tea, but Sir Ian stopped him. "Oh, don't trouble yourself with that; I'll make my own. No one in the States has the slightest clue how to make a decent cup of tea. Why don't you have a seat, and we'll both have a cuppa and chat for a bit."

Adam sat in one of the two armchairs, sipping his ginger tea, and waited. As he watched Sir Ian making tea, he was struck by how comfortable the man looked in his own skin. He moved with an easy, unselfconscious grace and seemed to savor the ritual tea making-although he frowned a little at the English breakfast tea bag, and Adam wondered if Sir Pain-in-the-ass had expected loose tea leaves and crumpets. Adam was usually good with people. In fact, he considered his ability to charm the hell out of just about anyone a key asset, something he had fallen back on in countless awkward situations. But Sir Ian looked distinctly disinclined to be charmed, so Adam didn't even try. Adam thought briefly about his life in LA, which was a good life dammit, and found a well-spring of resentment bubbling up. Who the hell did this man think he was?

At last, Sir Ian settled himself into the other armchair, neatly crossed his legs in what Adam had to admit was kind of a sexy pose, and began to speak.

"Well, lad, no one would dispute that you can sing. You and Cleo could cut a record tomorrow and have a hit on your hands. But alas, it appears that you can't, or perhaps won't, act."

What the fuck? Adam so didn't need this. He'd been acting since he was 12 years old. "I've acted in plenty of productions and heard no complaints," he said, setting his tea cup down with a clatter.

"Oh, I'm certain that you've been in a number of musicals, Adam. Musicals where your singing voice and stage presence were enough. You do have a certain fruity charisma."

"Fruity charisma!" Adam nearly exploded out of his chair. "Jesus Christ! I didn't expect to hear that from you of all people. What the hell are you playing at, anyways?"

"Oh simmer down, lad. Who better than an old theater fag to call it what it is? I am certainly not averse to a little camp and a lot of sex appeal. But it just won't do for Aragorn." Sir Ian looked at Adam with what appeared to be amusement. "The camp, I mean. Not the sex appeal."

"Don't call me lad, Sir Ian. I'm 27 friggin' years old and no ingénue for you to dazzle with your British superiority complex. Maybe you should finish your tea and be on your way." Adam couldn't quite believe he was talking this way to Ian McKellen, but honestly, this was too much.

Surprisingly, Sir Ian snorted a laugh. "Well, you do have spirit, I can't deny that. Let's call a truce here. I'll call you Adam, you drop the Sir, and we shall start again." Ian gestured toward the chair. Adam paced for a few moments, unsure whether he was willing to take this thing any further. Eventually, curiosity won out, and he settled back into his seat.

"That's better. Make yourself comfortable, drink a little of that horrible herbal concoction you call tea, and we'll see what we can see." Now Sir Ian, oh that's right, we're buds now-just Ian, sounded like he was trying to gentle a wild horse.

"I'm not thirsty. Just say what you have to say." Adam folded his arms across his chest.

"Believe it or not, I'm here to help you," Ian started.

Adam rudely interrupted, "I never asked for your so-called help." Shit. Adam sounded petulant even to himself.

"Be that as it may, I'd like to give it a try. Some people do, after all, believe that I know a thing or two about acting. But certainly, Adam, the choice is yours." Ian sipped his tea and allowed a silence to settle over the room.

Adam could play the waiting game as well. He boldly looked across the room, taking in Ian's grey hair, clear blue eyes, and wrinkled face. Ian looked back, seeming neither worried nor uncomfortable under Adam's stare. As far as Adam was concerned, the next move still lay with Ian.

Eventually, Ian sighed and said, "You certainly are stubborn, Adam Lambert." Ian gave Adam a half-smile. "Well, perhaps that gives us something to work with. You haven't said 'no,' so I shall take that as a yes and proceed."

Adam inclined his head, just a little, in acknowledgement.

Ian continued, "As I said, Adam, you've clearly done the musical theater rounds. However, you have to understand you are in a whole different league here. This is Lord of the Rings. More people than you can imagine are watching us and waiting for us to fail. Aside from the fact that there are literally millions of dollars at stake, the fans are legion. They are picky, passionate, and often dogmatic. The script will already challenge them because, naturally, it veers from the original text; how could it not? So it is doubly important that they believe all of the characters. And most importantly, they must fall in love with Frodo and Aragorn."

"They're already in love with Elijah," Adam said. Then added grudgingly, "And, I suppose, you." He had thought about this before. It was both a good thing and bad; there would be a certain level of buy-in from the public at the very start, but it put even more pressure on the new actors. "You'll both have it easy."

Ian shook his head. "No, you're wrong, there. The fans are in love with movie-Frodo and movie-Gandalf. How they'll handle the transition to Elijah and I singing and dancing has yet to be seen. It's one of the many elements fraught with risk in this production."

Adam got all that-he really did. In fact, on the surface, the whole enterprise looked rather dubious, despite all the famous names attached. Speaking of which- "Then why the hell would Tim want to even give an unknown like me a chance? I mean, I'm certain that I can do it. And do it well. But I don't quite get why he's even giving me a chance." There. He'd said it out loud. And to Ian McKellen of all people.

"Why indeed," replied Ian, giving Adam absolutely nothing to work with. Then, in an abrupt change of gears, Ian stood and walked over to Adam. Looking down at him, he asked, "If you and I were on a tour bus, who would get the top bunk?"

Without even thinking, Adam replied. "I would!"

"Why?"

"Um, I always take the top." Shit, how was he even having this conversation?

"Not good enough."

"Well, not to be rude, but I think that it'd be more polite for me, as the younger man and all, to climb the ladder and, not to put too fine a point on it, take the top."

Sir Ian shook his head.

"Wrong, boyo! Age before beauty. I'd clearly take the top."

"Um, well maybe.…" This is so NOT how Adam had envisioned his first real conversation with Ian McKellen going.

"Next question: If Aragorn and Gandalf found themselves in a cabin with a bunk bed," Adam couldn't help himself; a laugh bubbled to the surface. For the first time, Ian cracked a real smile. "Well, need I finish the sentence? Who's in the top bunk: Aragorn or Gandalf?"

Adam took a moment to think. Maybe this was some kind of test. It seemed to him that Ian wanted him to say Gandalf, but no that was ridiculous. Aragorn would definitely have the top.

"Aragorn," Adam said firmly.

"And why?" Ian looked intently at Adam.

"He'd have to be able to leap out of bed quickly and have his sword available. Bumping his head on the top bunk is simply not an option."

"Better. That's a much better answer. But I'm afraid you are once again wrong. Now, here's the test: Can you tell me why?"

Adam was quiet. He ran scenarios through in his mind. He'd been so convinced that he'd had it right…. Oh! Maybe there was another option.

"I think maybe Aragorn and Gandalf don't sleep at the same time. One of them would always need to be on guard, wouldn't they?"

Ian beamed at Adam. "Exactly! Now you're starting to think like a member of the Fellowship of the Ring. That's something to remember about Aragorn and Gandalf-they have each others' backs. Two halves of a whole, I'd say."

Well, this was a conversation that made more sense to Adam. He felt himself relaxing into it with a small tingle of hope. For the next half hour, he and Ian talked about Aragorn-his motivations, his story arc, his role in the whole saga. Ian also quizzed Adam about his favorite lines.

"Remember, the text is all-important," Ian counseled. "It may not be Shakespeare, but the words still matter. They point the way. We follow." Adam nodded. He could buy that. "So let's get to work. Why don't you start with your soliloquy to the men of Gondor? It's the one piece they've lifted whole from the movie-and my God, negotiating that with Peter was quite the trick. But he does owe me a favor, so, there you have it. And it's a fine thing, because it's bloody good. But enough! The stage is yours."

And so Adam started. "Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers, I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day."

Ian stopped Adam. "Your voice sounds constricted. What is happening here?"

Embarrassed, Adam replied, "Tim told me to lower my voice, so that's what I'm doing."

"Good Lord! In this case, do not by any means listen to Tim. He was trying to fix what ailed you yesterday with mechanics. Your voice is fine! Just support it like you do when you're singing and you'll be on your way."

So Adam started again. Part way through, Ian stopped him, giving him directions about how to stand and how to hold his ground. And they started again. And again. And again. Until Adam began to feel he couldn't breathe without Ian thinking he was doing it wrong. Adam had worked with many directors, but it had felt like more of a collaboration-a give and take. It was all Adam could do not to snap each time Ian stopped him mid-sentence.

At one point, Ian almost shouted in exasperation, "For heaven's sakes, Adam, Aragorn is not a fierce drag king vamping for the boys."

Adam suddenly wanted very much to punch Sir Ian, the most famous faggot of stage and screen, in the face. Adam didn't give a shit about the politics of internalized homophobia, this man was an arrogant asshole.

Ian stepped back and gave Adam a little space. "Now, don't give me that look, Adam. It's not that you can't be sexy. Aragorn is powerful, even seductive. In fact, I think you have caught something even Viggo missed. Aragorn is seducing his men here, as all captain's must before a war, but it's nuanced. Now, from the top."

After a few more run throughs of the speech, Ian held up his hand. "Good. You're making some progress here. Let's see your scene with Arwen. I'll play your leading lady."

Ian stood across the room from Adam and began. Adam paused briefly to note that Ian had all of Arwen's lines memorized, then jumped in to respond. The words flowed smoothly this time, and, to Adam's huge relief, Ian allowed him to complete the scene uninterrupted before returning to his armchair. Taking his cue from him, Adam also sat.

"So how did you think that scene went?" Ian asked.

"Not perfect. But it felt like I was getting there," Adam replied. "Funny thing-it's almost easier in Elvish than in English."

"Yes. You were better in Elvish," Ian agreed. "But I'm afraid I must be painfully blunt here. I was Arwen, and I wasn't feeling anything from you. Your words skimmed over the surface of my heart, but never touched me. No heat. No love. Each time I reached out to you, I met a wall."

Oh God! Adam sank back into his chair. A series of snarky, self-justifying, and, yes, he admitted it, defensive retorts ran through his mind…but they all rang hollow. He looked across at Ian, whose wise blue eyes held a question for him.

Ian got up from his chair and went to stand over Adam again. Adam's every instinct told him to stand as well, to remind Ian that he, Adam, was a couple inches taller, his hair black to Ian's grey, his body young and capable. Instead, he took a deep breath, looked up at Ian and softly asked, "Will you help me be better?"

Ian surprised Adam, then. He knelt before him and held out his hand. Quite naturally, without thought, Adam took it. Ian's hand was warm, strong and weathered. He smiled warmly, the look lighting up his face. "That's good, Adam. Good. I think we both need a break and some food. I'm going to go downstairs and make some calls. I'll return in an hour, and we shall see what we shall see."

***

Adam spent lunch reading and re-reading his script, underscoring words here and there. Then he dove into the fruit, cheese, and bread, eating with the gusto of Strider the Ranger. As he chewed, he conjured images of Rivendell, Rohan, Gondor, Lothlórienand the Shire.

When Ian knocked on the door, Adam leapt up to open it. Ian walked into the room and glanced around, his eyes lighting on the flowers. He walked over to the vase.

"I've always thought these flowers were peculiar. " Ian touched a waxy petal. "So different from the blooms of my beloved England. But fierce and singular. As I see them here, for the first time I quite like them." Then shaking himself, as if coming out of a reverie Ian said, "I think before we begin, we should have another chat. Do you mind if an old man rests his weary bones on your bed while we talk?"

If Ian had made this proposal in the morning, Adam would have sent him packing. But somehow, it was okay now.

"Sure, make yourself at home," Adam said.

Ian took his boots off, then settled onto the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. "Holy Queen Mother, that feels good!" Ian stretched his legs and wiggled his toes. "I hate to admit it, but I feel this New York winter in a way I never did before." Adam looked doubtfully at Ian, finding it a little hard to believe that this lithe man was complaining about creaky joints. Ian patted the bed. "Now, let's have our talk. Oh, and don't worry, I have no nefarious designs on you."

Adam bristled a little at that because really-no nefarious designs? Wasn't that a little insulting?

Seeing Adam's look, Ian hooted with laughter. "Adam, if you could just manage to communicate with your face as well when you're acting as you do when you're just being you, you'd have a Tony in your hand already!"

Adam settled onto the bed, sitting with his legs folded in front of him, yoga style. It was a favorite position of his; he'd spent many a long evening talking with friends, sitting just like this at the end of his bed.

"So what would you like to talk about?" he asked Ian curiously.

"Over my noon repast, I was thinking about you and I decided that I was going about this all wrong, letting my long held prejudices get in the way of my common sense."

Adam raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what the hell Ian was talking about. "Prejudice about what? About Americans? About musicals? About Aragorn? About, I don't know, gay men?"

"Oh good Lord no! My prejudice against Method Acting. That inside-out approach you Americans so love. It's always rather irritated me-it seems a self-indulgent short cut, when studying the text for clues and understanding can get you there just as well. Certainly Shakespeare would have been profoundly amused by it."

Adam was intrigued. "Sure, I've known a few method actors in Hollywood. They're intense! Would you believe I once knew a guy who gained 40 pounds for a part in a play that probably only about 150 people ever saw?" Adam shook his head in amazement. "I met him in the gym. It took him a year to lose the weight."

"Drastic measures, indeed," Ian said wryly. "Don't worry. I don't think you'll need to carbo-load to get to the core of Aragorn. But I do think that you're going to need to let yourself feel like Aragorn."

"But I've been trying to feel like Aragorn. Instead, I think I'm more like Morales trying to be an ice cream cone melting." Adam sang Morales's song from A Chorus Line:

"And I dug right down to the bottom of my soul
To see what I had inside.
Yes, I dug right down to the bottom of my soul
And I tried, I tried….

But I felt nothing."

"Ah, yes, I rather see your point," Ian said dryly. Then, growing serious, he asked, "But have you really? Have you, as Morales said, dug right down to the bottom of your soul?"
 Adam shifted uncomfortably. Truth was, he sort of felt he lost his soul last week.

"Ah, I see," said Ian. "Well then, it's high time you did. Or do you really want this part? It could be you don't. That's fine if that's the case. It does happen sometimes, you know. A glorious part comes along at just the wrong time, and life takes you on another path."

There Ian went, surprising Adam again. Everyone in his life had told him he had to take this opportunity…but maybe it really was the wrong time. Maybe Adam just didn't, really couldn't go there right now. Ian, in that unsettling way he had, settled back and waited for Adam to answer.

Lord of the Friggin' Rings! A month ago he'd apparently been the only person in America who hadn't even seen the damn movies! And he'd been fine, just fine.

Adam stood up and went to look out the window. Spread below him was New York City in all her glory. How often had he dreamed of waking to just this view? But it all felt empty to him right now. Really, everything did. God damn Brad! It all came back to that, didn't it? He'd taken the joy out of everything.

Adam leaned his forehead against the cold glass and closed his eyes. And whose face should he see, but Brad's. His beautiful, gazelle brown eyes looking at him with disappointment and, yes, compassion.

Well fuck that! Hell yes, he wanted to be Aragorn; he wanted it with every fiber of his being. Adam turned around. "Ian. I want this. I really want this."

"Okay then! Let's get to work." Ian sprang from the bed, all semblance of weariness dropping from him in an instant. "Stand over there, near that wall. I'll be Arwen; you be Aragorn. Now. Tell me that you love me."

Adam found himself leaning against the hotel room wall, Ian just a foot in front of him. He started to say his lines.

"No!" said Ian. "Again!"

Adam stumbled through the Elvish opening, and Ian shook his head. "No!"

"I just God Damn don't know what you want!" Adam said through gritted teeth.

"Well, let's try this." Ian moved closer, now only inches away from Adam. "Sing to me."

Adam began the Arwen love song from the play. Again, Ian stopped him. "No, Adam. No. I want a song for him. A song for whoever the hell it is that broke your heart." Ian stepped closer again, his whole body pressing up against Adam. God, the man was fucking charismatic! Adam felt his cock stirring and, for the first time in many years, it brought a blush to his face.

"Sing to me, Adam. Just sing," Ian said in a low, urgent voice.

"Oh God." Adam was shaking a little. And then, somewhere from his distant past, an old Joni Mitchell song came to mind. He started, hesitant.

Just before our love got lost you said
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said "Constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar"

Adam's voice broke a little, but Ian put his hand on Adam's cheek and said, "Come on, sweetheart. Keep singing to him. Come on."
 Adam knew he was missing verses. He'd never really memorized the song, but he went on.

I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And still I'd be on my feet
oh I would still be on my feet

I remember that time you told me you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Adam stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling a little frantic and exposed. But Ian only pressed closer into him, looking him right in the eyes. "Yes," he said. "Don't stop now. Come on!" He placed his hand on Adam's heart, his warm, strong body holding Adam upright against the wall. After a moment, Adam began again, at first stuttering the words, then feeling the song well up inside him, clear and true.

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed"

Oh but you are in my blood
You're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

"That's it, Adam. That's it."
 And Adam wept, still standing against the wall, now fully embraced by Ian, who simply held him until the weeping stopped. Adam drew a deep, ragged breath and Ian stepped away.

"Now, Aragorn. Tell Arwen that your love is not enough. That you and all the men of Middle Earth are destined to die. That the world she knows will fade whether Sauron is defeated or not. Tell your EvenStar that she must leave for the Grey Havens and save herself."

And Adam looked at Ian, who was transformed before him, a creature of light and dark, and, in Elvish and in English, he spoke with all his heart to a love he knew was doomed.

For two more hours they continued. Ian was a wonder, one moment an elfin princess, the next Boromir, dying, seeking forgiveness and final succor from his liege lord, and then a laughing hobbit, grown wary as he parried words with the mysterious Strider. Through it all, Adam followed. His emotions close to the surface, he found himself only occasionally struggling to find Aragorn's voice or faltering on the words. Ian gave him a suggestion here or there, but mostly seemed content to let Adam find his own way into the character.

At last, Ian sat again upon the bed. "You've made a strong start of things today. Should Tim cast you-and let's be very clear about that, Tim has the last word on all casting decisions-your next task will be to hold Aragorn so clearly within you that the power of his presence infuses every scene. Remember, he is not a perfect man. He has his moments of self-doubt, and the weight of his destiny weighs heavily at times. But whether he is Strider, biding his time to reveal himself in full, or Aragorn, rallying the men of Gondor before the final battle, he is a leader-and a beloved one at that. Beloved because he brings hope, but also beloved because he can turn quickly to laughter and see into the heart of man, elf, or hobbit."

Adam, almost giddy with relief that he had survived the day's trial, replied in his best cowboy voice, "Well, that's a mighty tall order, mister."

Ian replied in his very own version of John Wayne, "A tall order for a tall drink of water." He tipped his imaginary cowboy hat towards Adam and glanced at his watch. "Good Lord! It is late and I must be off now. But I'll be there to watch your final audition tomorrow. Meanwhile, get some rest." And then, with a sudden look of mischief, Ian added, "And for heaven's sakes, don't watch any gay porn. The acting is atrocious, and I'm convinced that it's bad for one's sleep cycle."

Feigning shock and horror at the thought, Adam gravely raised his hand to his heart. "I do solemnly swear to remain porn-free so that my dreams may be unsullied by, ahem, atrocious acting."

After Ian left, Adam wandered down to the hotel's workout room where he ran on the treadmill until his legs were aching and his mind was empty of everything but the feel of putting one foot down and then another. Returning to his room, he ordered up dinner: apricot-glazed salmon, braised asparagus, wild rice, and salad. Feeling nourished in heart, body, and soul, Adam thought about calling one of his friends. He scanned through cheerful text messages from Dani and Monte, and groaned at a series of scathing, political puns from Neil. None of them really needed a reply so, for once, Adam turned off his phone. Instead, he pulled out his much-neglected journal and began to write Brad a letter that he knew he'd never send, followed by a thank you note to Ian, which he planned to mail tomorrow.

Friday

Adam was 45 minutes early for his final audition and stood in the wings, waiting for his turn. On stage, an actress auditioned for the part of Pippin. Adam wondered for a moment how LOTR loyalists would react to this kind of cross-gender casting, and then thought, screw it, if she's good, she's good! And she was-spunky and funny with a lovely, high voice that would add a nice texture to the comic songs that featured the four hobbits.

Cleo joined Adam and whispered, "Our first Pippin had a wee bit of a drinking problem. So Tim's been auditioning for a new Pippin all week."

"Glad to know I'm not the only one being put through my paces," Adam replied.

"Oh, not at all. I had a chance to work with Nathan during his audition yesterday."

"You did? How was he?"

Cleo shrugged.

"No really. I wanna know."

"Honestly, he was good. And kind of a great guy." Suddenly Cleo gave Adam a wicked grin. "And way more interested in all of my assets than you are!"

Adam simply nodded, "I thought he'd be good."

"All that means," said Cleo leaning into Adam conspiratorially, "is that you're just gonna have to bring it today."

"I know. I really do know that."

Cleo looked at him with surprising intensity. "For some reason, despite my interest in Mr. Nathan Fillion's fine, fine booty, I'm rooting for you, baby." And to Adam's surprise, she kissed him gently on the cheek before moving away to prepare for her next scene.

Adam touched his hand to his cheek, closed his eyes, and breathed into the moment. An image of Brad giving him one of his goofy thumbs up gestures came to mind. And, for a change, thinking of Brad didn't hurt. It even felt, well, good, encouraging, sweet. Sweet. Yes, that's what most people didn't get about Brad: the deep sweetness, the seriousness of his belief in those he loved, and the fierce loyalty that lay just beneath the surface of all that attitude and froth.

A kind of peace settled over Adam, and he turned his thoughts to Middle Earth, to living with a dreadful sense of purpose, to long days of anonymous wandering, to swords that were broken and made again, and elven kisses, and small men who held the fate of the world in their hands.

"Adam, you're up!" announced a stage hand with a clip board.

Adam walked onto the stage to meet his future.

Interlude March 2009

Milo Magraw's Broadway Blog
musicalsaremylife.com

"Aragorn Curse Comes to An End?"

As you read here first (Why, my little blogateers? That's right, because Musicals Are My Life), eyebrows were raised when Tim Burton announced he'd cast virtual unknown Adam Lambert in the part of Aragorn. Rumors abounded that Tim had been turned down by numerous A-listers for the starring part in Lord of the Rings: The Rock Musical because they feared being the next victim of the (cue spooky music) Aragorn Curse.

One avid defender of Lambert is another Broadway newcomer, Cleopatra Jones, who is playing the part of Arwen.

"Those rumors are the product of petty people who don't understand a thing about Tim Burton, our producer Ian McKellan, and what it takes to make a great musical. There were plenty of A-listers who wanted in," she insists. "They simply weren't as good as Adam."

Be that as it may, it seems that yesterday Adam Lambert was nearly the next victim of the curse. I spoke with Tommy Joe Ratliff, bagel delivery boy to the stars. (btw blogateers, you'll recall this is the fellow that Hugh Jackman tripped over. And after having met him, let me declare publicly that I wouldn't mind falling over him, myself!) I've recorded his words verbatim, as I wouldn't want you to miss a single breathless moment of this epic tale.

"I wasn't even allowed in the theater, after breaking Hugh's leg and all, but Taylor was late for his shift, and Sasha was gonna blow a gasket because she couldn't find anyone else to take the bagels over to LOTR, and they're regulars and stuff…so I told her I'd go in disguise. It just happened that I'd dressed as Marilyn Manson for a party the night before, so I had this wig and all…anyhow, I put it on and got my bike and…."

Okay, maybe every word verbatim is a little much. Let's fast forward to the good stuff.

"So there I was, just playin' some air guitar riffs in the hallway and waiting for someone to figure out who the hell was supposed to pay me for the bagels, when I heard this incredible singing. So I snuck backstage to see. Right out in the middle of the stage, Adam, he's the dude playin' Aragorn, you know, was on his knees singing to a guy who was lying on his back. (I later learned that was Boromir.) Anyhow, suddenly I got this bad feeling and just had to look up, and I see this big ol' light right above Adam, hanging by a thread. Then suddenly everything went all slo-mo on me, and I was, like, running onto the stage, and I said 'WATCH OUT MAN!' and Adam looked up, and it was the coolest thing: he just like kind of levitated on top of Boromir and then somehow got them rolling across the stage, and anyhow, this giant light fell right where they'd been and, man, they could have been, like, seriously dead."

Seriously? Being a fearless investigative journalist and recognizing that what I had here was an honest-to-god expert on the Aragorn curse, I asked our intrepid Bagel Boy the natural follow up question. Did he think that Adam was a victim of the Aragorn Curse? Here is his intriguing analysis:

"You know, I've thought a lot about that curse, cuz I felt so bad about Mr. Jackman and all, but I figure Johnny Depp had it right-things like hurricanes and broken legs aren't really anyone's fault, and they sure as hell don't have anything to do with Lord of the Rings. But still, if it was true, this would've been the third thing, right? And, look, nobody got hurt. So, third's the charm and all that. I guess that Adam's broken the curse."

Nice logic, I say. And remember, you heard it here first!

June 6, 2009 : The Day After

Adam was still buzzing from the high of last night's performance. Despite a disastrous dress rehearsal, opening night had gone without a hitch. The only challenge had been managing the play's pacing between the surges of applause that spontaneously swept through the audience. He had to be ready in just four hours to start again, but right now he just wanted to relax and let it all sink in. Many of his friends and family had flown in for the opening but they knew he was working and had planned to entertain themselves for the first couple of days. He'd catch up on Monday and Tuesday when the theater went dark.

Adam's phone rang. It was Dani.

"Adam, have you read the paper yet?"

"God, Dani. I'm barely waking up here."

"Well this is worth waking up for, so listen up, mister. It's the New York Times review:

"Lord of the Rings: Much Is Risked, Much is Gained"

Many things can be said of the eagerly awaited Lord of the Rings: A Rock Musical. It is a complicated feast for the eyes, concocted under the direction of film auteur Tim Burton, a rock musical that soars on the surprising musical collaboration of Andrew Lloyd Weber and David Bowie, a grueling but ultimately satisfying four-hour-long production which features a stellar cast of familiar faces and surprising new discoveries.

It is the last, which has left this reviewer newly optimistic about the future of the musical on Broadway. In this production, not one, but two stars are born. First in a luminous performance by Cleopatra Jones as Arwen, and then in the mesmerizing singing and emotionally-nuanced performance of Adam Lambert as Aragorn.

Adam said, "Um, Dani, could you read that again? I'm not sure I was hearing right."
 "Oh, you were hearing right. Mesmerizing and nuanced-it's here in black and white." There was a pause. "Adam, hey Adam, are you there? Did we get disconnected?"

"I'm here," Adam mumbled. This was kind of overwhelming. "Is there more?"

"Lots and lots-and most of it's really good. Hey, are you getting all choked up on me?" Adam nodded, forgetting that Dani couldn't see him. "Do you want me to come over? I could get there pretty quick, and we could look at reviews together and drink mimosas."

Suddenly that sounded just perfect to Adam. Who wanted to be alone on a day like this? "Yes, Dani, please, get your ass over here!" There was an immediate knock on his door. When Adam opened it, he found a grinning Dani, arms full of bags from Zabars and newspapers, and a bottle of champagne tucked under her arm.

With a shout of joy, Adam pulled her into his apartment and, for that moment at least, all was right in his world.

September 2009: The Ellen Degeneres Show

Elijah snuggled into Adam as they watched the TV monitor in the green room. They had plenty of time. Ellen, it turned out, was yet another avid Lord of the Rings groupie, so she was dedicating three entire shows to the cast and crew of the musical-and they were all being filmed that day.

Adam still marveled at how being in the show had changed his life. First, it turned out that Monte and Brad had just been the tip of the iceberg. All over the world, the most unlikely people committed to all things Middle Earth with an almost religious fervor that sometimes frightened Adam.

And then there was YouTube. When Brad had finally come out to New York to visit Adam, they'd had a long talk about the power of social media, and how Broadway was really missing the boat on engaging a whole generation. Brad had kept poking and prodding at the subject until finally he and Adam hatched a radical idea to bring musical theater kicking and screaming into the 21st Century. Adam had immediately gone to Ian with the concept.

"I think we should allow people to video the shows. I mean, not actively promote the idea, but just keep security at a minimum when they pull out their phones. They'll post the clips on YouTube, and 'voila,' people all over the world will be seeing our show."

Ian at first dismissed the idea. "You do understand that the way we make money is by selling tickets to real people, who sit in real seats, in a real auditorium, don't you?" But Adam had persisted, and eventually Tim, Ian, and Andrew had conceded that if David was okay with it, they'd allow it as an experiment for a few nights.

So Adam called David Bowie (Adam still couldn't think of him by anything but his full name), who it turned out didn't need any convincing. "Bloody good idea," he'd said, and that had been that.

As Brad frequently reminded Adam, it had been a bloody brilliant idea. At first just a few YouTube clips had shown up. But when LOTR fans had caught on, it had become this thing; every show, there were several people filming, and the clips were getting thousands of hits. Instead of depressing ticket sales, the clips had made LOTR a worldwide phenomenon. People were coming from as far away as New Zealand, Chile, and South Africa just to see the show they'd already grown to love online. The different actors even developed their own specialized fan bases. Adam's had named themselves the Gornberts and were following him on Twitter and MySpace by the thousands. Adam thought being on Broadway brought a nice, manageable sort of fame with it.

Then there was Elijah. What had started as a casual stage flirtation based on a shared sense of humor and long, grueling hours of rehearsal, had gradually grown into something more. Not an all-out love affair, but a spark, a connection that often led to the two of them tumbling into bed together. It might become more, but Adam wasn't holding his breath. Elijah really did like girls-Adam hadn't been lying about it when he responded to that bitch Broadwaybabs'attempt to out their relationship on Twitter. On the other hand, Elijah also liked punk rock, roller derby, and flirting with men…especially Adam.

Most of the time things were easy between Elijah and Adam. In fact, the only thing they ever seemed to fight about was whether they should take their 'sort-of a relationship but not really' public. Much to his own surprise, Adam was the one arguing to play it down. It seemed to him the kind of fame Elijah had was a tricky thing. Elijah's fans had feelings and a sense of ownership about him. Sure, there was a whole contingent that would leap for joy if they knew Elijah was sleeping with Adam, but there was a whole other group that would freak out. Elijah tried to be casual about it, but Adam could tell he was scared. And Adam thought that made sense: bisexuality among women was popular these days, but people still had a hard time buying it with men. And despite the years of fame Elijah had under his belt, Adam worried that Elijah hadn't built up the kind of armor one needed when you'd spent your whole life queer-to-the-core. So, for now, they were discreet. In interviews, they celebrated the close friendship that had emerged, and Adam was open about being gay, and Elijah was just his usual, slightly-fey self with no comment on sexuality: sometimes life was just…complicated.

Elijah nudged Adam, bringing him back to the present. "You better go rescue Cleo; she looks like she's about to crumble, and she never listens to me when she gets like that." Indeed, across the room, Cleo was eyeing a bowl of peanut M&Ms with a look of quiet desperation.

Adam leapt up from the couch. "Cleo, don't! Be strong, baby. Remember, we have a duet to sing-on national TV! Now is not the time to screw with your blood sugar."

"But there are all those beautiful colors, and they're chocolate and yummy, and I'm just so tired, and I hate being diabetic. I never used to be diabetic," whined Cleo.

Adam grabbed her hand as she reached out for the candy. "Here, have some delicious celery and hummus." Adam handed Cleo a stalk and then took a bite of one himself, groaning with the exaggerated pleasure of a teenage boy experiencing his first orgasm. "Really, Cleo-crispy, green, refreshing, and protein, too! Much better than M&Ms." Cleo sighed. "You are a terrible, lying liar Adam Lambert. Just another lying man in my life."

"True," chimed in Elijah helpfully. "But remember, he's pretty."

"But not as pretty as Cleo," Adam added gallantly as he took her hand and led her back across the room to join Elijah on the couch.

Elijah gave them both a considering look. "Actually, I'd say it's a toss up. I wouldn't kick either one of you out of bed."

"In your dreams, little man!" Cleo said, some of her energy returning as she obediently ate the tidbits Adam was feeding her from the array of food laid out for guests in the green room.

"Shush," said Elijah. "Ellen's about to interview Tim and Ian. Do you think they'll dance?"

All eyes turned to the TV monitor.

Ellen's DJ was playing The Hobbit's Theme as Ian and Tim walked onto Ellen's set. Ellen was doing her usual self-parodying dance, and Ian and Tim, good sports to the end, both joined her. Ian moved his hips with the self-assured and sexy elegance Adam had come to take for granted from his friend and mentor, while Tim, hilariously, moved only his arms, fists clenched, the embodiment of a nerd-boy who'd never learned how to move the rest of his body.

After a flurry of hugs, the three settled in for a conversation. At first, the conversation wended its way through familiar territory, including Tim's decision to direct a live-theater production, Ian's decision to join as a producer as well as actor, the challenge of staging a play that was four hours long, and the eternally amusing question of how David Bowie and Andrew Lloyd Weber managed to work together.

"You also made some surprising casting decisions," Ellen said with that trademarked twinkle in her eye.

Tim nodded. "Yeah. I thought we had to shake things up a little-and I didn't want to miss out on casting some of the most remarkable talent in the world just because of conventions around race and gender."

"That's certainly worked out well, hasn't it?" Ellen replied. "Personally, I adore Cleopatra Jones and Adam Lambert. I listen to them on my iPod all the time." Pictures of Cleo and Adam in their Arwen and Aragorn costumes flashed up behind Ellen.

"They are wonderful, aren't they?" Tim responded. "Cleo came to us from an open casting call, but we would never have found Adam if it hadn't been for Ian."

Oh really? Adam straightened up on his backstage couch.

Ian jumped in, a big grin on his face. "Yes. I'd seen Adam in the Ten Commandments in California-a play that is rather an embarrassment to the art of musical theater, don't you think?" Behind Ellen, a picture of Adam as Joshua flashed on the screen. "But I was so impressed by Adam. Truly, I couldn't stop thinking about his performance. Such heart in the middle of that mess-and his voice-well, I think we all know the wonder of that voice now."

"So what happened next?" Ellen leaned forward.

"He'd piqued my curiosity, so I looked around on YouTube to see what else he'd done and stumbled across the most astonishing performance." Apparently this had all been planned beforehand, because suddenly, behind Ellen, a video of Adam's performance of "A Change Is Gonna Come" at the Zodiac Theatre was playing. Ellen, Tim, and Ian turned to watch it all the way to the end when Adam stomped off stage, diva on high. The studio audience burst into a round of applause, and it was time for a commercial.

"Whoa! Adam, that was awesome!" Elijah clapped his hands.

Cleo fanned herself, "Oh baby…that was hot!"

Adam waved off the compliments. He wanted to see what Ian would say next. The interview began again.

"Ian, you were telling us about discovering Adam Lambert. How in the world did you make the leap from those performances to casting him as Aragorn?"

"As you may recall, first Hugh Jackman and then Johnny Depp were set to play Aragorn, but due to circumstances beyond our control they each had to bow out. Well, Adam came to mind, and I thought we should give him a chance to audition."

Tim spoke up, "Frankly, I wasn't too interested. I thought there were plenty of other strong actors out there-people who were actually known quantities, bankable even-but Ian just wouldn't let go of the idea."

"That's when I signed on as producer. I realized that I really did want more voice in the production. As a producer, I was able to talk Tim into giving Adam a chance. Well, really more than a passing chance; I talked him into giving Adam a week to prove himself."

Adam's mind was reeling. Sure, Ian had helped him out during the audition process, but he'd never given the slightest hint of this back story.

Ellen was clearly fascinated. "So, Ian, you brought Adam out to New York. How'd he react when he knew that Sir Ian McKellan was sponsoring his audition?"

"But, Ellen, he's only learning that today. I didn't want to give him the false impression that he was a shoo-in for the part. Tim was very dubious about the whole proposition, so Adam was going to have to prove his mettle. When I contacted him to come out to New York, I used a fake name-Neil Mecklan-put on a Brooklyn accent, and pretended to be a publicist for the production."

"How very secret-agent-man of you," Ellen smiled.

Tim interjected, "Yes, I told him he was having way too much fun with the whole process. You do notice, don't you, that Neil Mecklan has all the same letters as Ian McKellan? I swear, sometimes I think I'm working with a 12-year old."

"I've always said 12-year olds deserve more credit than they get," Ian retorted.

"Credit where credit's due, Ian. There were some bumpy moments during that audition week, but Adam certainly proved himself in the end. And we're all grateful for it." Tim gave a little gesture of acknowledgment to Ian.

"That's such a great story!" Ellen took charge of the conversation again. "Don't you agree, audience?" The camera panned across the audience members, who were clapping enthusiastically. Adam felt a thrill of warmth run through him as he saw his whole L.A. crew sitting front and center-Brad and Dani and Monte and Alisan and Lee and Scarlett and Cassidy and, of course, his mom and dad and Neil, too-somehow they'd all made time in their busy lives to show up for him today.

"When we return, we'll see how Tim and Ian do in my latest game, "Place the Ring on the Hobbit." Ellen pulled out two of her ridiculous blindfolds, and the camera panned over to a kitschy Styrofoam sculpture of Elijah as Frodo, complete with exaggeratedly big hands. Back in the green room, Elijah fell into a fit of the giggles.

Adam's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket. No surprise, it was a text from Brad.

Message: Adam this is so unfair. I was the one who always wanted to be Cinderella!

Adam quickly texted back: Suck it!

Brad, naturally, replied: Just say when and where

Adam laughed and put the phone away.

"Was that Brad?" Elijah asked.

"Yeah. He's jealous that I have a Fairy Godfather."

"Oh good. I kind of like jealous-Brad." Elijah decided this was the right moment to run his hand up Adam's thigh.

Cleo slapped Elijah's hand. "We're performing in a half hour, don't get him distracted."

Adam, ever the peacemaker, kissed each of their hands and got up from the couch. "Cleo, let's warm up. I have to prove my Fairy Granpapa picked the right girl to send to the ball."

Half an hour later, Adam and Cleo walked onto the set hand-in-hand to sing their famous duet. Before they started, they both turned to Ellen, Ian, and Tim and gave a formal bow.

Then they opened their hearts and sang.

***

And in Boise, Sue called out to Rhonda, "Oh my God! Get the hell in here and listen to this!"

In Flagstaff, Joshua sat up in his wheel chair and gave a squeal of excitement, picked up his cell phone and called his best friend Ruth.

In Conway, Kim told her son Daniel to turn off the vacuum cleaner so she could hear these amazing singers on Ellen.

In Madison, Doug pulled Brian into his lap and said, "Wanna make out?"

In Sioux City, Trina turned on her DVR so she could post the clip to YouTube that night.

In Tempe, Mary Ann tweeted Jessica, "Turn on Ellen. That dude is hot!"

In Los Angeles, Michael Slezak texted his editor at Entertainment Weekly: "I've found our next cover boy."

In New York City, David Letterman told his booking agent to contact Cleo and Adam.

In Kansas City, Fred Phelps called his followers and prepared to go picket Lord of the Rings.

In Elko, Mariah posted on Facebook "I'm in love with Adam Lambert," and 63 of her closest friends responded "like."

Epilogue

January 5, 2010:Four Seasons

Over dessert at The Four Seasons, Brad trotted out the elephant in the dining room. "You know it's almost a year to the day since you left L.A."

"Really? Hadn't thought about it much." Adam took another sip of espresso.

"Bullshit." Brad lowered his voice when Adam gave him an admonishing look. "It's a whole year later, and you're still pissed at the way I handled the whole thing."

"Brad…it's been such a good visit. Really good. Can't you just let it go?"

"I will when you do, baby." Brad swirled the Grand Marnier in his glass.

"What else is there to say, Brad? You dumped me-not once, but twice. And I finally got the message. So we've both gone on with our lives. We're friends, having a nice, civilized dinner together. It's all good, right?"

Brad leaned back and crossed his arms. "I guess I just wanted you to know that it sucked for me, too. Not a word, not a text, not a message through a friend for two whole months! Fuck. It nearly killed me."

Adam called a waiter over. "I'd like two shots of Jameson, neat." After the waiter left, Adam leaned forward and said, "Brad Bell, in five years I give you permission to talk to me about how much you breaking up with me fucking hurt you. But before then? Not. One. Word."

A swift, wounded look crossed Brad's face. Adam saw it and almost relented, but a fan stopped by to ask for an autograph, Brad rearranged his expression, and the moment passed.

Brad took Adam at his word, and they drifted back into their old familiar repartee. He told Adam about this cool new thing he'd discovered called "Bubble tweets," and together they plotted out a series of Twitter-appropriate topics for Cheeks. They pondered the amazing phenomenon of the "Gornberts," and Adam once again reassured Brad that he was delighted that a lot of them were now following Cheeks. Brad tried to convince Adam that a Cheeks and Negative Neil online blog really was a good idea, and Adam asked for Brad's advice on what to wear to the Tony awards. Twice during the conversation, they noted the waiters politely confiscating cell phones from other diners who were taking photos of the two of them.

Finished at last, they stood up and prepared to leave the restaurant. As they neared the front door, the maitre'd pulled them aside and said in a hushed voice "Mr. Lambert, I just wanted to let you know that there are paparazzi waiting for you on the street. We'd be happy to see you out the back door, if you prefer." Adam looked through the front window; he could see the waiting cameras and a small throng of bystanders pushing forward.

"Oh no," said Brad airily. "We never use the back entrance."

Adam gave a hysterical little laugh, then nodded his agreement and took Brad's hand firmly in his.

Brad looked up at him and said, "Before we go out there, I want to point something out to you."

Adam raised an eyebrow and waited.

"That Bagel Boy had it wrong when he said you escaped the curse. You haven't really, you know."

"And how do you come to that conclusion, cher Bell?"

Brad gestured out to the waiting crowd of paparazzi and intoned, "Behold, Adam: The Aragorn Curse."

Adam considered that for a moment and found that, really, it made a kind of sense. It had been months since he'd been able to walk anonymously on the streets, to know exactly who he could trust and who he couldn't, to go out to dinner or a club without people surreptitiously taking his photo or reporting about it on the internet. Well, so be it. If fame was the curse, Adam was willing to pay the price.

"Well, you know what I always say. Let's give them something to talk about, baby." With those words, Adam and Brad stepped onto the New York City sidewalk and into a cacophony of greetings and questions. "Hi, guys," Adam said amiably to the paparazzi.

And with camera flashes lighting the night, Adam pulled Brad into a lingering kiss. A kiss that tasted of Grand Marnier and lemon soufflé, of Burning Man and Brad-a kiss that, no matter how many other men Adam grew to love, would always taste like one kind of home.

The End

Notes: Elvish Language in LoTR Movies, edited by Ryszard Derdzinski, www.elvish.org/gwaith/movie_elvish.htm

Excerpt taken from J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, 1954, chapter 2, British scholar & fantasy novelist (1892 - 1973)

I Could Drink A Case of You, written by Joni Mitchell

To learn about Adam and Brad’s first break up, how Brad and Kris ended up in a sword fight, and Kradam’s first kiss read the beginning of this AU, in Kiss the Beautiful Boy: A Burning Man Story idahophoenix.livejournal.com/4685.html

To make ze magnifique' omelette souffle’ served up by Brad to Adam and Monte check out www.ifood.tv/recipe/belgian_souffle_omelet_in_meringue

> Part 1 Aragorn Curse