The Deep End (1/1)
Title: The Deep End
Pairing: None
Characters: Jesse Lacey (Brand New), Max Bemis (Say Anything), Adam Lazzara (Taking Back Sunday), Mark O'Connell (Taking Back Sunday), John Nolan (Straylight Run), with cameos by other people, including the ever-fabulous Zav.
Rating: PG-13 for language and themes
Summary: Jesse crossed his last T with a flourish and looked down at his diary. Across the top of the page, ‘Plans To Send Max Bemis Off The Deep End’ was written in his most elegant handwriting. He flipped the book shut, stashed it under his pillow, and smiled to himself as he flicked off the light. He would get that part, if it was the last thing he did. A community theater AU!
Disclaimer: While the cracked out as none other idea is mine, none of the real people portrayed in this belong to me. I mean no harm. Please don't sue. Also, I don't own the rights to the musical Jesus Christ, Superstar. Again, this is not meant to offend or harm anyone.
Warnings: While this is strictly a comedy, it does deal with kind of dark themes, including mental illness and John Nolan's preference for young ladies. Because it's totally lighthearted, I don't think anyone will find it offensive, but you should be warned.
Author's Notes: Thanks to makemebreak for the beta and (even though they won't be seeing this) to my writing class from this year who suffered through a couple drafts of this, albiet in a slightly different form. This story has been x-posted.
For the fanfic100 prompt "Writer's Choice" (I used to post as echoelf)
Jesse tried to understand. He really did. He bought the soundtrack. He read the script cover to cover five times. He watched different versions of the musical numbers on YouTube for hours on end. But, even after all that, he still couldn’t figure out why in God’s name the required audition piece for Jesus Christ, Superstar was “Thank Heaven for Little Girls.”
But if Jesse was anything, he was dedicated to his craft so, much to his roommate’s dismay, he set about learning the song. He bought the DVD of Gigi and watched the scene featuring the number over and over, hoping to learn the dance moves. He downloaded every copy of it he could find on Limewire. He bought the complete set of Learn in Your Car French in order to perfect his accent. Despite his confidence in his superior acting skills, he even started to begin his nightly prayers by asking God to grant him the part of Jesus in the upcoming Everyday People Productions’ performance of the show.
“You know this is all pointless, right?” his roommate Adam asked from where he sat across the room, flipping through the latest issue of Good Housekeeping as Jesse studied Maurice Chevalier’s moves across the screen. “From what I hear about this director, you’d be better off buying him a subscription to Barely Legal magazine or ordering him a stripper from that sketchy place your uncle runs in the city.”
Jesse turned away from the TV, affronted. “What? I’ll have you know that John Nolan is one of the finest directors in the state. I’m sure he casts on merit, not on sexual favors.”
“That’s not what that chick who played what’s-her-name in Little Women last fall told me,” Adam muttered.
Jesse chose to ignore him, focusing his attention back on the screen. Maurice was doing something with his cane that he just couldn’t seem to get right. Maybe if he twisted his wrist to the left a little…
“I can’t believe it,” Jesse said for what must have been the fiftieth time that hour. “How could I not get the part? I mean, I’ve been doing Community Theater for ten years. The last thing I deserve to be is Max Bemis’s understudy. How did he get the part, anyway? I mean, he’s Jewish for Pete’s sake.”
“Jesus was a Jew,” Adam said.
“That’s not the point,” Jesse said. He crossed his arms over his chest and sank back into the couch. “The man’s, like, 23 years old or something. I’m almost 30, and everyone knows Jesus was 33 when he died.” He paused for a minute. “I’ll bet you were right about this director. Max probably slept with him to get the part.”
“I really doubt that, Jesse. Like I said, Nolan’s tastes tend more towards the young ladies than the aspiring male leads. I mean, think about your audition piece. It’s not like ‘Thank Heaven for Little-’”
“Adam, how many times do I have to ask you not to say things like that?” Jesse snapped, cutting him off. “I’m sure Mr. Nolan has very professional relationships with all of his actors.”
“But you just said-” Adam groaned. “Never mind. There’s no point in arguing with you when you’re like this.” He picked up the copy of The Da Vinci Code that he’d been engrossed in when Jesse came bursting through the front door, and began to read again.
Jesse ignored him and pulled out his script. “I just can’t believe they put me in the chorus, you know? I have to be Mark O’Connell’s backup dancer while he parades around in little white booty shorts. My self esteem may never recover from this, Adam.” He began flipping through the pages and highlighting his lines, pressing down so hard with the marker that it bled straight through to the other side of the page. “Maybe he’ll get sick or something,” Jesse said with a sigh, staring at the paper.
After a moment of silence, Adam set down his book and said, “Okay, I wasn’t going to tell you this because you kind of go crazy when you don’t get your way and I don’t want you hurting the poor guy or anything, but I heard that Max is pretty seriously bipolar. Apparently he’s gone totally psychotic a couple times when he wasn’t taking his meds. I also heard that as soon as he gets a part he stops taking them. Says it interferes with his creative process or something. So, you know, don’t give up hope. Maybe he’ll lose it again or something.”
Jesse looked up. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But don’t go, like, provoking him, okay?”
“I wouldn’t do that, Adam. I thought you knew me better than that. I’m not a monster.”
Jesse crossed his last T with a flourish and looked down at his diary. Across the top of the page, ‘Plans To Send Max Bemis Off The Deep End’ was written in his most elegant handwriting. He flipped the book shut, stashed it under his pillow, and smiled to himself as he flicked off the light. He would get that part, if it was the last thing he did.
“This is pathetic,” Jesse grumbled as he watched Max Bemis rehearse Gethsemane for the twelfth time in a row. “He’s supposed to be portraying our Lord and Savior’s pain and anger at his destiny. It looks like he’s rehearsing to sing Memory in Cats.”
“I don’t know, he seems pretty good to me,” Mark said, keeping his voice low. Mr. Nolan had already chastised the two of them three times today for disrupting rehearsal, and neither of them wanted to risk pissing him off again.
“Yeah, well, what do you know? You’re playing King Herod. You wouldn’t know good acting from elementary school theater,” Jesse replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oh, yeah?’ Mark asked, leaning in close to whisper in Jesse’s ear, “At least I got a real part. You’re just an understudy, remember?”
Jesse opened his mouth to shoot back a haughty reply, but decided against it. This ingrate clearly wasn’t worth his finely tuned sarcasm. He turned back to the stage as Max fell to his knees, preparing for a sustained falsetto. When it came, Jesse winced and covered his ears. He sat back in his seat and glared at the stage, brooding over the injustice of it all. He could hit that note in his sleep.
Jesse jogged across the parking lot. “Hey, Max, wait up,” he called.
Max stopped and turned around. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to say that I thought you did a great job in rehearsal today,” Jesse said when he finally caught up. “I think it’s really brave of you to take on such a huge responsibility, especially because you’re, well, you have more to deal with than the rest of us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, you are bipolar, right? My roommate said you are,” Jesse said. He hoped to God that Adam hadn’t been lying to him. He’d spent the last week coming up with different ways to secure the part for himself. Some of his plans were pretty ingenious.
“Um, yeah?” Max said, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest. For some reason, he sounded kind of defensive. Jesse couldn’t imagine why.
“Well, like I said, I just think it’s really brave of you to take on such a huge responsibility. I mean, if you have a breakdown or something it’ll fuck up the whole play. I know I wouldn’t want that burden on my shoulders.”
“I think I can handle it,” Max said, inching towards his car.
“Of course you can,” Jesse said, trying to sound as encouraging as possible. “And, you know, if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m here for you.”
“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Max replied as he unlocked his car. “See you tomorrow.”
“You should have heard it, Adam. It was terrible. He sounded like a dying cat. No. He sounded like twenty dying cats. I’m surprised my eardrums didn’t burst,” Jesse whined while he watched Adam prepare dinner.
“So you’ve told me,” Adam said through gritted teeth as he chopped up some baby carrots for the salad.
“You know, you probably don’t need to cut those carrots so forcefully. You’ll turn them to mush and dull the knife.”
Adam slammed the knife down on the counter and whirled around to face Jesse. “Do you ever do anything but criticize other people?”
Jesse was shocked. Why was Adam angry? He’d only been trying to help. “Of course I do,” he replied. “I act.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Of course. How could I have forgotten? You’re an actor. Except for the part where you’re not, Jesse. You’re an understudy, remember? And don’t even start to tell me about how unfair it all is and how that Bemis guy is a fraud. I’ve been hearing about it for the last two hours. I’ve had enough.” He stepped away from the cutting board and handed Jesse the knife. “And if you’re so concerned about the state of the carrots, why don’t you cut them?”
Before Jesse could reply to those slanderous remarks, Adam pushed past him and stormed out of the kitchen. How dare Adam say those things about him? He was supposed to be on Jesse’s side. What a traitor.
Jesse walked up to the cutting board and began to chop the carrots into even slices. It didn’t matter, anyway. He didn’t need Adam. He’d already accomplished Step One of his Plan and Planted the Seeds of Doubt. He couldn’t wait to get out his diary and cross it off of the list.
“Jesse,” Adam said as he stood in the doorway, surveying the room. “Why are you reading An Unquiet Mind?”
“I’m reading it because it’s a phenomenal story of a brilliant woman who overcame many obstacles. You should give it a try sometime.”
“Uh huh,” Adam said, eyeing the stack of books on the floor next to Jesse’s chair. “And what were you planning to read next? Manic Depressive Illness, The Bipolar Handbook, or Bipolar Disorder for Dummies?”
“The Bipolar Handbook. I already finished Bipolar Disorder for Dummies, and, well, that textbook looks kind of scary,” Jesse said, not looking up from his book.
“Right. And, um, why, exactly, did you think it was necessary to check out every book on bipolar disorder in the library?”
“Um, my cousin Marty got diagnosed yesterday. I just wanted to read up so I can be there for him. That’s all.”
“Uh huh,” Adam said again. “Well, enjoy your reading, I guess.”
“Thanks,” Jesse replied. “And you should really check this book out. It’s amazing what not getting enough sleep can do to a bipolar person. It drove this woman completely insane.”
“Hey, Max,” Jesse called across the theater as the cast and crew packed up after rehearsal, “come over here for a second.”
“What is it, Jesse?”
“So, Mark and I have this bet going-”
“We do?” Mark interrupted, poking his head over Jesse’s shoulder. “What bet?”
“See,” Jesse continued, ignoring him, “I heard that you’re, like, amazing at learning lines, so I bet you’d be off book by the end of the week, but Mark here doesn’t believe me.”
“Wait, what?” Mark asked. “I never said¬-I have no idea what’s-”
“So what do you think, Max?” Jesse asked, still blocking Mark out as much as possible. “Do you think you’ll be off book by the end of the week?”
“What day is it?” Max asked.
“Wednesday.”
Max flipped through his script for a minute. “Yeah, I can totally have these done by the end of the week. I haven’t been sleeping much lately anyway.”
“Yeah, well, sleep is for the weak, right?” Jesse said, throwing an arm around Max’s shoulders.
“Uh, right,” Max said as he squirmed out of Jesse’s embrace. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Bye,” Jesse called after his retreating form.
“What the hell was that about?” Mark asked once Max was out of earshot.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jesse said. He shouldered his bag and walked away before Mark could ask any more questions.
On Friday, Jesse walked into rehearsal, balancing two Starbucks cups on top of his script binder, and found himself amidst a sea of black. He set the binder down on the floor next to him, reached into his bag, and pulled out his calendar to make sure he hadn’t accidentally come on a tech rehearsal day. Why else would everyone be wearing a black t-shirt? But, no, they were scheduled to run through everything from “What’s The Buzz” to “Hosanna” today. A good thing, too, because Max had butchered “Strange Thing Mystifying” during the last run-through.
Jesse picked up his binder, careful not to spill any of the hot liquid, and started over towards his usual seat by the stage. As he moved through the room, he realized that his fellow cast and crew members were not only all wearing the same color but, in fact, had on identical Jesus Is My Homeboy t-shirts. Even Mr. Nolan, the John Nolan (who, Jesse noticed, was sitting awfully close to Barbara, the high school senior who had somehow managed to snag the part of Mary Magdalene) was wearing one of the tacky monstrosities. But Jesse had to admit, it was a welcome change from the director’s customary ensemble of a polo shirt with all the buttons open, displaying an expanse of shockingly pale chest and a large gold chain.
“What’s with the shirts, Mark?” Jesse asked as he set his bag and coffee down next to his seat and shrugged off his coat.
“Max bought them for everyone,” Mark answered. “I’m surprised he hasn’t tracked you down yet.”
Jesse opened his mouth to ask what could have possibly motivated him to do such a thing, but before he could get a word out, he heard Max calling his name from across the room. He turned around in time to see a rather disheveled looking Max Bemis come sprinting across the room, brandishing what appeared to be yet another t-shirt.
“There you are, Jesse!” Max panted as he skidded to a halt. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I got you something.”
“Uh, thanks?” Jesse took the shirt from his outstretched hand. “I got you something, too.” He picked up one of the Starbucks cups and offered it to Max. “I didn’t know what you usually order, so I just got you coffee with cream and sugar. I hope that’s okay.”
Max grinned and took the drink from Jesse’s outstretched hand. “Wow, thanks, Jesse! That’s really nice of you.”
“No problem,” Jesse said, smiling in spite of himself. He hated to admit it, but Max’s enthusiasm was kind of adorable. “So, um, is there any particular reason for this?” he asked as he set the shirt down on his chair. “Or are you just feeling generous?”
“It’s for inspiration,” Max said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh. Of course. Inspiration. Because it’s a play about Jesus, right?” Jesse said.
“Exactly! God, you’re one of the first ones to get it! Everyone else just looked at me like I’m crazy. I mean, it makes sense, right? I totally think it makes sense.”
“Of course it does,” Jesse assured him. “But, um, where’d you even get the idea for this in the first place? And how’d you manage to get so many of these things? I mean, you must have had to buy at least fifty or sixty.”
“Well, see, I was staying up memorizing my lines last night, which, by the way, I totally did and you can tell Mark that you were right, and I was watching this show on TV and someone was wearing one of the shirts and I was like, ‘Hey, that could be a pretty cool thing to do for the people in the play,’ so today I went to Urban Outfitters and I bought all of them, but they ran out, so I had to drive to the mall and go to Spencer’s and then I still didn’t have quite enough, so I drove like an hour to that other Urban Outfitters and I bought all of theirs and I finally had enough,” Max replied all in one breath.
“Wait, slow down,” Jesse said. “Are you telling me you went to three different stores just so you could get everyone in the cast and crew novelty t-shirts?”
Max nodded. “Wasn’t it an awesome idea?”
“It must have cost a fortune,” Jesse replied, dodging the question
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” Max said with a shrug. “A small price to pay to bring inspiration to my colleagues, right?”
Jesse just nodded. He didn’t trust himself to answer with a straight face.
“Oh, I missed Barbara,” Max said, pointing across the room to where she was curled up on the couch, resting her head in John Nolan’s lap as he stroked her hair. “I need to go give her a shirt. We wouldn’t want Mary Magdalene to go without, would we?” He darted off without waiting for an answer.
Jesse pulled the t-shirt over his head and dug his script out of his bag. It looked like things were progressing well.
“Nice shirt,” Adam said as Jesse walked into the kitchen after rehearsal.
“Thanks,” Jesse replied, draping his old down coat over a chair and setting his gloves and hat on the counter. “Max bought them for everyone in the play.”
“Um, why?” Adam asked. He picked up Jesse’s winter wear and tossed it in his general direction before going back to stirring a pot of what appeared to be clam chowder. “And will you please put these where they belong? The kitchen is not your personal closet, Jess.”
Jesse shoved the offending gloves into his coat pocket and picked it up with a shrug. “Apparently he thought it would inspire us. He’s kind of going off the deep end, if you know what I mean.” He headed into the hallway to hang up the ragged green coat which Adam claimed made him look like a hobo, trailing little bits of feather as he went.
“It certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“What? You don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you? I mean, like you said, he’s off his medication,” Jesse said as he walked back into the kitchen.
“I know,” Adam said, “but don’t you think maybe someone should do something about it?
“He’s a grown man, Adam. He can take care of himself.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious at this point that he can’t. Don’t you feel sorry for him?”
Jesse shrugged. “I’m not his mother. I’m just his understudy.”
Jesse adjusted his enormous yellow sunglasses and heaved a sigh. This was the fifth time they’d had to stop so Zav, the choreographer, could show Mark the few simple steps he had to do in the first half of the song. He shuddered to think what would happen when they got to the part where Mark actually had to dance.
“Okay. For the last time, you point your index finger, and wave your hands back and forth, starting to the right,” Zav said.
“Don’t worry. I’ve totally got it now,” Mark said. He raised his arms a little, pointed his fingers, and swung them to the left.
“For the love of God, Mark,” Zav said, exasperated, “all you’re doing is moving your arms back and forth. Is it really that difficult?”
Mark blushed. “I just-sometimes I have trouble remembering right and left?”
Jesse resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. If Mark couldn’t manage to wave his arms correctly, he could only imagine what would happen when he had to actually move his whole body. He hoped Adam would save some dinner for him; it was going to be a long night.
“This is so undignified,” Jesse grumbled as Michelle, the costume designer (and Mr. Nolan’s baby sister, as the cast was reminded every time one of them got a little too caught up in her cleavage), nudged his legs further apart to get a more accurate measurement of his inseam.
“You think this is bad?” Michelle said with a laugh. “Just wait until you see the finished product. I tried to talk John out of it, but he’s really set on the costumes in this scene being exactly like the ones in the movie.”
Jesse felt himself go pale. “You’re joking, right?”
She shook her head as she wrote down his measurements in her book. “I wish. I mean, do you really think I want to sew booty shorts for Mark O’Connell? If it were up to me, you’d all be wearing togas.”
“So, um, what exactly am I going to be wearing?”
“You know, I’m not sure I can really do it justice. I think you have to see it,” she said, walking over to a table littered with needles and sketches and computer printouts. “Come over here.”
Jesse walked over to the table, wondering what could possibly be so horrendous that it defied description. At the very least, he was sure it couldn’t be as bad as what Mark would be wearing.
Michelle handed him a piece of paper bearing a screencap from the movie. “You’re that guy,” she said, pointing to the dancer standing to King Herod’s right.
Jesse had been wrong. The outfit was worse than Mark’s costume. The man in question was sporting gold lamé shorts, a turquoise satin robe, and large sunglasses identical to the ones that Mr. Nolan had been making him wear to every rehearsal. “Holy crap,” Jesse whispered, staring at the picture. “You can’t be serious. I am not wearing that.”
Michelle shook her head. “I’m afraid you are. If it’s any consolation, you should see what he’s got Barbara wearing. I mean, I understand John’s trying to save money on the costumes and I know Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, but, somehow, the French maid outfit that Vicky wore in Clue last spring seems totally inappropriate.”
“That’s not what she wears in the movie.”
“Oh, trust me, I know,” Michelle replied, rolling her eyes. “But he insists that Barbara’s artistry will enable her to rise above the constraints of a slightly inappropriate costume or something. If you ask me, he just wants to see her prance around in a little dress.”
Jesse nodded his agreement, still gazing at the photo in his hands. He was going to have to step up his plan. There was no way he was going to wear that outfit. Absolutely not.
He finally tore his eyes away from the picture when the door to the costume shop creaked open and Max trudged in. He looked small, hunched over as if there were ten pound weights strapped to each of his shoulders. All of the energy that had seemed to course through his body just a few days before was gone; instead of bounding across the room, buzzing with excitement, it seemed like he was struggling just to pick up his feet enough to move forward.
Michelle looked at her watch. “You do realize that you’re over an hour late, right?”
Max nodded, stripping off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor. “Yeah. Sorry. I just-I had a little trouble getting out of the house. It won’t happen again.”
Even his voice seemed smaller, deflated somehow. He looked so miserable, Jesse had to fight off an overwhelming urge to give him a hug and tell him everything was going to be all right..
“Well, I’ll let you guys get started,” he said, walking to the door and grabbing his coat from a hook on the wall. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Max.”
“See you,” Max said, sounding so forlorn that, for a moment, Jesse was almost tempted to call the whole thing off.
“Okay. Now, Barbara, when you bend over to wash his feet, I want you to really lean forward,” Mr. Nolan called out.
Barbara complied, and Jesse averted his eyes as her underage breasts almost fell out of the plunging neckline of her shirt. It wasn’t that he didn’t relish the rehearsals where he got to practice Max’s part, it was just that, well, he’d kind of gotten over the desire to see bodies as young as Barbara’s at least five years ago and he’d already gotten a glimpse of her thong under her tiny denim skirt when she’d bent over to pick something up earlier. He almost wished that Max hadn’t missed rehearsal today without telling anyone in advance.
Mr. Nolan, however, seemed to disagree. “Excellent, Barbara. Just like that,” he said, eyes glued to the high schooler’s chest.
Barbara turned and grinned at him as the music started again. She took a deep breath, looked back at Jesse, and began to sing. Jesse suppressed a shudder. If possible, her voice was even worse than Max’s. Mr. Nolan may have been one of the finest directors in the state, but he sure sucked at casting.
Jesse squinted at his clock as he fumbled for his phone, which was blaring “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” It was 2:28 A.M. Who could possibly be calling him at this hour? He flipped it open without checking the display to find out and mumbled, “Hello?”
“Jesse! You’re awake!” said a very enthusiastic Max.
“I am now. Why are you calling me?” Jesse asked, sitting up in bed. “Do you even know what time it is?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s late, I know, but I have to show you the coolest thing ever, Jesse. Seriously. It’s a freaking miracle.”
“Can’t it wait until morning, Max? I have to get up for church in five hours.”
“No way, man. You have to see this. Jesse, I’m Jesus.”
Jesse sighed. “Yes, Max, I am aware that you’re playing Jesus. I’m your understudy, remember?”
“No, you don’t get it. I am Jesus,” Max said, sounding more excited by the minute. “Jesse, I can walk on water. You have to come see this.”
“Max, I seriously doubt-”
“If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you. Meet me at the duck pond by the theater. I swear, it’ll blow your mind.”
Before Jesse could say anything else, the line went dead. He groaned and got out of bed, stumbling over his slippers in the dark. It wasn’t that he actually thought Max could walk on water. He wasn’t delusional or anything. But Max had sounded so sure. Something had to be up. Losing a little sleep was a small price to pay to witness what might well be the final downfall of his arch enemy.
Jesse’s car thermometer read 15˚ as he pulled up to the duck pond behind the theater. He sat inside for a moment, trying to absorb as much heat as possible, and scoured the landscape for any sign of Max. Just then, something banged on his window. Jesse jumped in his seat and turned to see Max’s face peering in. He turned off the car and unbuckled his seatbelt before opening the door.
“Christ, Bemis, aren’t you freezing?” he asked, tugging his hat down over his ears. Despite the sub-freezing temperature, Max was only wearing jeans and his Jesus Is My Homeboy shirt.
“No, man. I’m totally fine. Come on, I have to show you something,” Max said. He grabbed the sleeve of Jesse’s coat and pulled him over to the pond. “Okay, Jess. You’re not going to believe this. But I can walk on water. Seriously.”
“So you told me. That’s why I’m here, remember?”
“Oh, right, I forgot,” Max said with a laugh. “Anyway, wanna see?”
“Not really,” Jesse said. He didn’t know what Max was going to show him, but, judging by Max’s present state of mind, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to find out. “How about I take you home and you can show me before rehearsal tomorrow?”
“No way. You have to see this right now. Seriously. It’s a miracle,” Max insisted as he walked down to the edge of the water. Jesse followed him, wishing for a flashlight. The moon was out, but his night vision was not all it could be. He made a mental note to eat more carrots.
Up close, Jesse could see that the pond was frozen around the edges. The ice extended about twenty feet in from the shore before tapering off into a black expanse of water. By the time he’d managed to navigate around the various roots and stones that littered the bank, Max had started out onto the ice.
“See, Jesse?” he called out. “I’m totally walking!”
“Max, come back. The ice isn’t thick enough to walk on,” Jesse yelled back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jess. I’m walking on water. I told you. I’m Jesus.”
Jesse couldn’t believe it. Was Max actually so deranged that he couldn’t tell the pond was frozen? If he weren’t standing out there in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, Jesse would have thought he was faking it. “Max, you’re not Jesus. You’re just a man who’s playing Jesus in a musical. Will you please come back here?”
Max shook his head. “No way. It’s not every day you become the Son of God, Jesse. I’m going to maximize on my new powers.” He inched a little further out towards the middle of the pond, holding his arms out for balance. “You know,” he said, “the water’s really slippery. Which is funny, because in the movies it always looks so solid.”
This was not good. Max was heading closer and closer to the edge of the ice and, while Jesse had many strengths, swimming was not one of them, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get Max out of the water if he fell in. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a female voice on the other end of the phone asked.
“Hi, I need an ambulance or something. I’m at the pond behind the Riverview Theater on Beach Street and there’s a man out on the ice who won’t come back and I’m afraid he’s going to fall in,” Jesse said into the phone. Out on the ice, Max was gliding in circles, moving closer and closer to the edge.
“Who’re you talking to?” he called back from his precarious position, flapping his arms around to keep his balance.
“Nobody. Christ, Max, watch out! You’re going to fall and break your neck.”
“Can you describe the situation more clearly, sir?” the voice asked. Jesse could hear typing in the background.
“He’s bipolar and I know he hasn’t been taking his medication and he seems to have convinced himself he’s Jesus and can walk on water and-Max, be careful!” Jesse called out as Max slipped again and almost toppled over.
“And where are you exactly?”
“Right behind the theater. If you pull in to the parking lot and walk straight back you’ll see us. My car is parked there. It’s a baby blue Jetta,” Jesse said.
“Hey, Jesse, do you think I can walk all the way across the pond?” Max asked, heading closer to the edge of the ice.
“No!” Jesse shouted. “Max, come back here. You’ll fall in.”
“Sir, I’d like you to remain calm,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “An ambulance is on its way, but I want you to try and get him to come back on your own.”
“I’ve been trying, lady,” Jesse snapped, turning around to scan the road for any sign of an ambulance. “He’s not exactly listening to reason.” There was a loud crack followed by a splash, and Jesse whirled around. In the dark, he could barely make out Max flailing in the water by the edge of the ice. “Max!” he yelled, snapping his phone shut and shoving it in his pocket.
“Help!” Max called. “Jesse, help, it’s cold, I can’t get out.”
Jesse racked his brain, trying to remember what you were supposed to do when someone fell through the ice. He knew he couldn’t go out after him. Having both of them in that freezing water wouldn’t do any good. Suddenly, he remembered a scene from that movie Little Women where Winona Ryder fishes Kirsten Dunst out of the water with a large stick. That was it. He had to find something to fish Max out. But what would he use?
“Hang on, Max, I’ll be right there,” Jesse shouted. He ran up to his car and opened the door to the back seat. After a few seconds of digging through a layer of sweatshirts and fast food wrappers, he found what he was looking for: the lasso he’d used in the musical adaptation of How The West Was Won last fall. When he got to the edge of the ice, Jesse called, “Max, are you still with me?”
“Yeah, but hurry,” Max yelled back. His voice sounded faint and shaky.
Jesse looked down at the lasso. He wasn’t sure it was long enough to reach the edge of the ice from where he was standing, and he didn’t want to risk losing it. Holding an arm out for balance, he stepped out onto the ice. “Okay. I’m coming. Just hold on a second.”
When he was about ten feet from the bank, Jesse tossed the end of the rope to Max. “Okay, Max, grab on to that,” he said. He felt the rope go tense as Max took hold of it. “Do you have it?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
Jesse wrapped the rope around his hand a few times to get a good hold on it, and started walking back towards the shore. Between the added weight from Max and the slippery surface, it was all he could do not to fall flat on his face. When he reached solid ground, Jesse turned around to look back at the pond. A very bedraggled Max Bemis was shivering on the ice, clutching the rope to his chest.
“Max, are you okay?”
Max nodded. “Yeah. Just. Cold.” He dropped the rope and crawled across the ice to Jesse and curled into a ball at his feet.
Jesse stripped off his coat and wrapped it around Max’s shoulders. “I think I have a blanket in my trunk,” he said. “I’m gonna go get it. You stay here, okay?”
Max nodded and pulled the coat around himself tighter. “Yeah, okay. Just. Hurry back?”
“Of course,” Jesse said. As he headed up the bank to his car, he saw the flashing lights of an ambulance approaching. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and prepared to greet the EMTs.
After all, it wouldn’t do for him to catch cold. He had to keep his voice in top shape for his starring role.
Pairing: None
Characters: Jesse Lacey (Brand New), Max Bemis (Say Anything), Adam Lazzara (Taking Back Sunday), Mark O'Connell (Taking Back Sunday), John Nolan (Straylight Run), with cameos by other people, including the ever-fabulous Zav.
Rating: PG-13 for language and themes
Summary: Jesse crossed his last T with a flourish and looked down at his diary. Across the top of the page, ‘Plans To Send Max Bemis Off The Deep End’ was written in his most elegant handwriting. He flipped the book shut, stashed it under his pillow, and smiled to himself as he flicked off the light. He would get that part, if it was the last thing he did. A community theater AU!
Disclaimer: While the cracked out as none other idea is mine, none of the real people portrayed in this belong to me. I mean no harm. Please don't sue. Also, I don't own the rights to the musical Jesus Christ, Superstar. Again, this is not meant to offend or harm anyone.
Warnings: While this is strictly a comedy, it does deal with kind of dark themes, including mental illness and John Nolan's preference for young ladies. Because it's totally lighthearted, I don't think anyone will find it offensive, but you should be warned.
Author's Notes: Thanks to makemebreak for the beta and (even though they won't be seeing this) to my writing class from this year who suffered through a couple drafts of this, albiet in a slightly different form. This story has been x-posted.
For the fanfic100 prompt "Writer's Choice" (I used to post as echoelf)
Jesse tried to understand. He really did. He bought the soundtrack. He read the script cover to cover five times. He watched different versions of the musical numbers on YouTube for hours on end. But, even after all that, he still couldn’t figure out why in God’s name the required audition piece for Jesus Christ, Superstar was “Thank Heaven for Little Girls.”
But if Jesse was anything, he was dedicated to his craft so, much to his roommate’s dismay, he set about learning the song. He bought the DVD of Gigi and watched the scene featuring the number over and over, hoping to learn the dance moves. He downloaded every copy of it he could find on Limewire. He bought the complete set of Learn in Your Car French in order to perfect his accent. Despite his confidence in his superior acting skills, he even started to begin his nightly prayers by asking God to grant him the part of Jesus in the upcoming Everyday People Productions’ performance of the show.
“You know this is all pointless, right?” his roommate Adam asked from where he sat across the room, flipping through the latest issue of Good Housekeeping as Jesse studied Maurice Chevalier’s moves across the screen. “From what I hear about this director, you’d be better off buying him a subscription to Barely Legal magazine or ordering him a stripper from that sketchy place your uncle runs in the city.”
Jesse turned away from the TV, affronted. “What? I’ll have you know that John Nolan is one of the finest directors in the state. I’m sure he casts on merit, not on sexual favors.”
“That’s not what that chick who played what’s-her-name in Little Women last fall told me,” Adam muttered.
Jesse chose to ignore him, focusing his attention back on the screen. Maurice was doing something with his cane that he just couldn’t seem to get right. Maybe if he twisted his wrist to the left a little…
“I can’t believe it,” Jesse said for what must have been the fiftieth time that hour. “How could I not get the part? I mean, I’ve been doing Community Theater for ten years. The last thing I deserve to be is Max Bemis’s understudy. How did he get the part, anyway? I mean, he’s Jewish for Pete’s sake.”
“Jesus was a Jew,” Adam said.
“That’s not the point,” Jesse said. He crossed his arms over his chest and sank back into the couch. “The man’s, like, 23 years old or something. I’m almost 30, and everyone knows Jesus was 33 when he died.” He paused for a minute. “I’ll bet you were right about this director. Max probably slept with him to get the part.”
“I really doubt that, Jesse. Like I said, Nolan’s tastes tend more towards the young ladies than the aspiring male leads. I mean, think about your audition piece. It’s not like ‘Thank Heaven for Little-’”
“Adam, how many times do I have to ask you not to say things like that?” Jesse snapped, cutting him off. “I’m sure Mr. Nolan has very professional relationships with all of his actors.”
“But you just said-” Adam groaned. “Never mind. There’s no point in arguing with you when you’re like this.” He picked up the copy of The Da Vinci Code that he’d been engrossed in when Jesse came bursting through the front door, and began to read again.
Jesse ignored him and pulled out his script. “I just can’t believe they put me in the chorus, you know? I have to be Mark O’Connell’s backup dancer while he parades around in little white booty shorts. My self esteem may never recover from this, Adam.” He began flipping through the pages and highlighting his lines, pressing down so hard with the marker that it bled straight through to the other side of the page. “Maybe he’ll get sick or something,” Jesse said with a sigh, staring at the paper.
After a moment of silence, Adam set down his book and said, “Okay, I wasn’t going to tell you this because you kind of go crazy when you don’t get your way and I don’t want you hurting the poor guy or anything, but I heard that Max is pretty seriously bipolar. Apparently he’s gone totally psychotic a couple times when he wasn’t taking his meds. I also heard that as soon as he gets a part he stops taking them. Says it interferes with his creative process or something. So, you know, don’t give up hope. Maybe he’ll lose it again or something.”
Jesse looked up. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But don’t go, like, provoking him, okay?”
“I wouldn’t do that, Adam. I thought you knew me better than that. I’m not a monster.”
Jesse crossed his last T with a flourish and looked down at his diary. Across the top of the page, ‘Plans To Send Max Bemis Off The Deep End’ was written in his most elegant handwriting. He flipped the book shut, stashed it under his pillow, and smiled to himself as he flicked off the light. He would get that part, if it was the last thing he did.
“This is pathetic,” Jesse grumbled as he watched Max Bemis rehearse Gethsemane for the twelfth time in a row. “He’s supposed to be portraying our Lord and Savior’s pain and anger at his destiny. It looks like he’s rehearsing to sing Memory in Cats.”
“I don’t know, he seems pretty good to me,” Mark said, keeping his voice low. Mr. Nolan had already chastised the two of them three times today for disrupting rehearsal, and neither of them wanted to risk pissing him off again.
“Yeah, well, what do you know? You’re playing King Herod. You wouldn’t know good acting from elementary school theater,” Jesse replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oh, yeah?’ Mark asked, leaning in close to whisper in Jesse’s ear, “At least I got a real part. You’re just an understudy, remember?”
Jesse opened his mouth to shoot back a haughty reply, but decided against it. This ingrate clearly wasn’t worth his finely tuned sarcasm. He turned back to the stage as Max fell to his knees, preparing for a sustained falsetto. When it came, Jesse winced and covered his ears. He sat back in his seat and glared at the stage, brooding over the injustice of it all. He could hit that note in his sleep.
Jesse jogged across the parking lot. “Hey, Max, wait up,” he called.
Max stopped and turned around. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to say that I thought you did a great job in rehearsal today,” Jesse said when he finally caught up. “I think it’s really brave of you to take on such a huge responsibility, especially because you’re, well, you have more to deal with than the rest of us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, you are bipolar, right? My roommate said you are,” Jesse said. He hoped to God that Adam hadn’t been lying to him. He’d spent the last week coming up with different ways to secure the part for himself. Some of his plans were pretty ingenious.
“Um, yeah?” Max said, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest. For some reason, he sounded kind of defensive. Jesse couldn’t imagine why.
“Well, like I said, I just think it’s really brave of you to take on such a huge responsibility. I mean, if you have a breakdown or something it’ll fuck up the whole play. I know I wouldn’t want that burden on my shoulders.”
“I think I can handle it,” Max said, inching towards his car.
“Of course you can,” Jesse said, trying to sound as encouraging as possible. “And, you know, if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m here for you.”
“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Max replied as he unlocked his car. “See you tomorrow.”
“You should have heard it, Adam. It was terrible. He sounded like a dying cat. No. He sounded like twenty dying cats. I’m surprised my eardrums didn’t burst,” Jesse whined while he watched Adam prepare dinner.
“So you’ve told me,” Adam said through gritted teeth as he chopped up some baby carrots for the salad.
“You know, you probably don’t need to cut those carrots so forcefully. You’ll turn them to mush and dull the knife.”
Adam slammed the knife down on the counter and whirled around to face Jesse. “Do you ever do anything but criticize other people?”
Jesse was shocked. Why was Adam angry? He’d only been trying to help. “Of course I do,” he replied. “I act.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Of course. How could I have forgotten? You’re an actor. Except for the part where you’re not, Jesse. You’re an understudy, remember? And don’t even start to tell me about how unfair it all is and how that Bemis guy is a fraud. I’ve been hearing about it for the last two hours. I’ve had enough.” He stepped away from the cutting board and handed Jesse the knife. “And if you’re so concerned about the state of the carrots, why don’t you cut them?”
Before Jesse could reply to those slanderous remarks, Adam pushed past him and stormed out of the kitchen. How dare Adam say those things about him? He was supposed to be on Jesse’s side. What a traitor.
Jesse walked up to the cutting board and began to chop the carrots into even slices. It didn’t matter, anyway. He didn’t need Adam. He’d already accomplished Step One of his Plan and Planted the Seeds of Doubt. He couldn’t wait to get out his diary and cross it off of the list.
“Jesse,” Adam said as he stood in the doorway, surveying the room. “Why are you reading An Unquiet Mind?”
“I’m reading it because it’s a phenomenal story of a brilliant woman who overcame many obstacles. You should give it a try sometime.”
“Uh huh,” Adam said, eyeing the stack of books on the floor next to Jesse’s chair. “And what were you planning to read next? Manic Depressive Illness, The Bipolar Handbook, or Bipolar Disorder for Dummies?”
“The Bipolar Handbook. I already finished Bipolar Disorder for Dummies, and, well, that textbook looks kind of scary,” Jesse said, not looking up from his book.
“Right. And, um, why, exactly, did you think it was necessary to check out every book on bipolar disorder in the library?”
“Um, my cousin Marty got diagnosed yesterday. I just wanted to read up so I can be there for him. That’s all.”
“Uh huh,” Adam said again. “Well, enjoy your reading, I guess.”
“Thanks,” Jesse replied. “And you should really check this book out. It’s amazing what not getting enough sleep can do to a bipolar person. It drove this woman completely insane.”
“Hey, Max,” Jesse called across the theater as the cast and crew packed up after rehearsal, “come over here for a second.”
“What is it, Jesse?”
“So, Mark and I have this bet going-”
“We do?” Mark interrupted, poking his head over Jesse’s shoulder. “What bet?”
“See,” Jesse continued, ignoring him, “I heard that you’re, like, amazing at learning lines, so I bet you’d be off book by the end of the week, but Mark here doesn’t believe me.”
“Wait, what?” Mark asked. “I never said¬-I have no idea what’s-”
“So what do you think, Max?” Jesse asked, still blocking Mark out as much as possible. “Do you think you’ll be off book by the end of the week?”
“What day is it?” Max asked.
“Wednesday.”
Max flipped through his script for a minute. “Yeah, I can totally have these done by the end of the week. I haven’t been sleeping much lately anyway.”
“Yeah, well, sleep is for the weak, right?” Jesse said, throwing an arm around Max’s shoulders.
“Uh, right,” Max said as he squirmed out of Jesse’s embrace. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Bye,” Jesse called after his retreating form.
“What the hell was that about?” Mark asked once Max was out of earshot.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jesse said. He shouldered his bag and walked away before Mark could ask any more questions.
On Friday, Jesse walked into rehearsal, balancing two Starbucks cups on top of his script binder, and found himself amidst a sea of black. He set the binder down on the floor next to him, reached into his bag, and pulled out his calendar to make sure he hadn’t accidentally come on a tech rehearsal day. Why else would everyone be wearing a black t-shirt? But, no, they were scheduled to run through everything from “What’s The Buzz” to “Hosanna” today. A good thing, too, because Max had butchered “Strange Thing Mystifying” during the last run-through.
Jesse picked up his binder, careful not to spill any of the hot liquid, and started over towards his usual seat by the stage. As he moved through the room, he realized that his fellow cast and crew members were not only all wearing the same color but, in fact, had on identical Jesus Is My Homeboy t-shirts. Even Mr. Nolan, the John Nolan (who, Jesse noticed, was sitting awfully close to Barbara, the high school senior who had somehow managed to snag the part of Mary Magdalene) was wearing one of the tacky monstrosities. But Jesse had to admit, it was a welcome change from the director’s customary ensemble of a polo shirt with all the buttons open, displaying an expanse of shockingly pale chest and a large gold chain.
“What’s with the shirts, Mark?” Jesse asked as he set his bag and coffee down next to his seat and shrugged off his coat.
“Max bought them for everyone,” Mark answered. “I’m surprised he hasn’t tracked you down yet.”
Jesse opened his mouth to ask what could have possibly motivated him to do such a thing, but before he could get a word out, he heard Max calling his name from across the room. He turned around in time to see a rather disheveled looking Max Bemis come sprinting across the room, brandishing what appeared to be yet another t-shirt.
“There you are, Jesse!” Max panted as he skidded to a halt. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I got you something.”
“Uh, thanks?” Jesse took the shirt from his outstretched hand. “I got you something, too.” He picked up one of the Starbucks cups and offered it to Max. “I didn’t know what you usually order, so I just got you coffee with cream and sugar. I hope that’s okay.”
Max grinned and took the drink from Jesse’s outstretched hand. “Wow, thanks, Jesse! That’s really nice of you.”
“No problem,” Jesse said, smiling in spite of himself. He hated to admit it, but Max’s enthusiasm was kind of adorable. “So, um, is there any particular reason for this?” he asked as he set the shirt down on his chair. “Or are you just feeling generous?”
“It’s for inspiration,” Max said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh. Of course. Inspiration. Because it’s a play about Jesus, right?” Jesse said.
“Exactly! God, you’re one of the first ones to get it! Everyone else just looked at me like I’m crazy. I mean, it makes sense, right? I totally think it makes sense.”
“Of course it does,” Jesse assured him. “But, um, where’d you even get the idea for this in the first place? And how’d you manage to get so many of these things? I mean, you must have had to buy at least fifty or sixty.”
“Well, see, I was staying up memorizing my lines last night, which, by the way, I totally did and you can tell Mark that you were right, and I was watching this show on TV and someone was wearing one of the shirts and I was like, ‘Hey, that could be a pretty cool thing to do for the people in the play,’ so today I went to Urban Outfitters and I bought all of them, but they ran out, so I had to drive to the mall and go to Spencer’s and then I still didn’t have quite enough, so I drove like an hour to that other Urban Outfitters and I bought all of theirs and I finally had enough,” Max replied all in one breath.
“Wait, slow down,” Jesse said. “Are you telling me you went to three different stores just so you could get everyone in the cast and crew novelty t-shirts?”
Max nodded. “Wasn’t it an awesome idea?”
“It must have cost a fortune,” Jesse replied, dodging the question
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” Max said with a shrug. “A small price to pay to bring inspiration to my colleagues, right?”
Jesse just nodded. He didn’t trust himself to answer with a straight face.
“Oh, I missed Barbara,” Max said, pointing across the room to where she was curled up on the couch, resting her head in John Nolan’s lap as he stroked her hair. “I need to go give her a shirt. We wouldn’t want Mary Magdalene to go without, would we?” He darted off without waiting for an answer.
Jesse pulled the t-shirt over his head and dug his script out of his bag. It looked like things were progressing well.
“Nice shirt,” Adam said as Jesse walked into the kitchen after rehearsal.
“Thanks,” Jesse replied, draping his old down coat over a chair and setting his gloves and hat on the counter. “Max bought them for everyone in the play.”
“Um, why?” Adam asked. He picked up Jesse’s winter wear and tossed it in his general direction before going back to stirring a pot of what appeared to be clam chowder. “And will you please put these where they belong? The kitchen is not your personal closet, Jess.”
Jesse shoved the offending gloves into his coat pocket and picked it up with a shrug. “Apparently he thought it would inspire us. He’s kind of going off the deep end, if you know what I mean.” He headed into the hallway to hang up the ragged green coat which Adam claimed made him look like a hobo, trailing little bits of feather as he went.
“It certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“What? You don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you? I mean, like you said, he’s off his medication,” Jesse said as he walked back into the kitchen.
“I know,” Adam said, “but don’t you think maybe someone should do something about it?
“He’s a grown man, Adam. He can take care of himself.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious at this point that he can’t. Don’t you feel sorry for him?”
Jesse shrugged. “I’m not his mother. I’m just his understudy.”
Jesse adjusted his enormous yellow sunglasses and heaved a sigh. This was the fifth time they’d had to stop so Zav, the choreographer, could show Mark the few simple steps he had to do in the first half of the song. He shuddered to think what would happen when they got to the part where Mark actually had to dance.
“Okay. For the last time, you point your index finger, and wave your hands back and forth, starting to the right,” Zav said.
“Don’t worry. I’ve totally got it now,” Mark said. He raised his arms a little, pointed his fingers, and swung them to the left.
“For the love of God, Mark,” Zav said, exasperated, “all you’re doing is moving your arms back and forth. Is it really that difficult?”
Mark blushed. “I just-sometimes I have trouble remembering right and left?”
Jesse resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. If Mark couldn’t manage to wave his arms correctly, he could only imagine what would happen when he had to actually move his whole body. He hoped Adam would save some dinner for him; it was going to be a long night.
“This is so undignified,” Jesse grumbled as Michelle, the costume designer (and Mr. Nolan’s baby sister, as the cast was reminded every time one of them got a little too caught up in her cleavage), nudged his legs further apart to get a more accurate measurement of his inseam.
“You think this is bad?” Michelle said with a laugh. “Just wait until you see the finished product. I tried to talk John out of it, but he’s really set on the costumes in this scene being exactly like the ones in the movie.”
Jesse felt himself go pale. “You’re joking, right?”
She shook her head as she wrote down his measurements in her book. “I wish. I mean, do you really think I want to sew booty shorts for Mark O’Connell? If it were up to me, you’d all be wearing togas.”
“So, um, what exactly am I going to be wearing?”
“You know, I’m not sure I can really do it justice. I think you have to see it,” she said, walking over to a table littered with needles and sketches and computer printouts. “Come over here.”
Jesse walked over to the table, wondering what could possibly be so horrendous that it defied description. At the very least, he was sure it couldn’t be as bad as what Mark would be wearing.
Michelle handed him a piece of paper bearing a screencap from the movie. “You’re that guy,” she said, pointing to the dancer standing to King Herod’s right.
Jesse had been wrong. The outfit was worse than Mark’s costume. The man in question was sporting gold lamé shorts, a turquoise satin robe, and large sunglasses identical to the ones that Mr. Nolan had been making him wear to every rehearsal. “Holy crap,” Jesse whispered, staring at the picture. “You can’t be serious. I am not wearing that.”
Michelle shook her head. “I’m afraid you are. If it’s any consolation, you should see what he’s got Barbara wearing. I mean, I understand John’s trying to save money on the costumes and I know Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, but, somehow, the French maid outfit that Vicky wore in Clue last spring seems totally inappropriate.”
“That’s not what she wears in the movie.”
“Oh, trust me, I know,” Michelle replied, rolling her eyes. “But he insists that Barbara’s artistry will enable her to rise above the constraints of a slightly inappropriate costume or something. If you ask me, he just wants to see her prance around in a little dress.”
Jesse nodded his agreement, still gazing at the photo in his hands. He was going to have to step up his plan. There was no way he was going to wear that outfit. Absolutely not.
He finally tore his eyes away from the picture when the door to the costume shop creaked open and Max trudged in. He looked small, hunched over as if there were ten pound weights strapped to each of his shoulders. All of the energy that had seemed to course through his body just a few days before was gone; instead of bounding across the room, buzzing with excitement, it seemed like he was struggling just to pick up his feet enough to move forward.
Michelle looked at her watch. “You do realize that you’re over an hour late, right?”
Max nodded, stripping off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor. “Yeah. Sorry. I just-I had a little trouble getting out of the house. It won’t happen again.”
Even his voice seemed smaller, deflated somehow. He looked so miserable, Jesse had to fight off an overwhelming urge to give him a hug and tell him everything was going to be all right..
“Well, I’ll let you guys get started,” he said, walking to the door and grabbing his coat from a hook on the wall. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Max.”
“See you,” Max said, sounding so forlorn that, for a moment, Jesse was almost tempted to call the whole thing off.
“Okay. Now, Barbara, when you bend over to wash his feet, I want you to really lean forward,” Mr. Nolan called out.
Barbara complied, and Jesse averted his eyes as her underage breasts almost fell out of the plunging neckline of her shirt. It wasn’t that he didn’t relish the rehearsals where he got to practice Max’s part, it was just that, well, he’d kind of gotten over the desire to see bodies as young as Barbara’s at least five years ago and he’d already gotten a glimpse of her thong under her tiny denim skirt when she’d bent over to pick something up earlier. He almost wished that Max hadn’t missed rehearsal today without telling anyone in advance.
Mr. Nolan, however, seemed to disagree. “Excellent, Barbara. Just like that,” he said, eyes glued to the high schooler’s chest.
Barbara turned and grinned at him as the music started again. She took a deep breath, looked back at Jesse, and began to sing. Jesse suppressed a shudder. If possible, her voice was even worse than Max’s. Mr. Nolan may have been one of the finest directors in the state, but he sure sucked at casting.
Jesse squinted at his clock as he fumbled for his phone, which was blaring “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” It was 2:28 A.M. Who could possibly be calling him at this hour? He flipped it open without checking the display to find out and mumbled, “Hello?”
“Jesse! You’re awake!” said a very enthusiastic Max.
“I am now. Why are you calling me?” Jesse asked, sitting up in bed. “Do you even know what time it is?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s late, I know, but I have to show you the coolest thing ever, Jesse. Seriously. It’s a freaking miracle.”
“Can’t it wait until morning, Max? I have to get up for church in five hours.”
“No way, man. You have to see this. Jesse, I’m Jesus.”
Jesse sighed. “Yes, Max, I am aware that you’re playing Jesus. I’m your understudy, remember?”
“No, you don’t get it. I am Jesus,” Max said, sounding more excited by the minute. “Jesse, I can walk on water. You have to come see this.”
“Max, I seriously doubt-”
“If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you. Meet me at the duck pond by the theater. I swear, it’ll blow your mind.”
Before Jesse could say anything else, the line went dead. He groaned and got out of bed, stumbling over his slippers in the dark. It wasn’t that he actually thought Max could walk on water. He wasn’t delusional or anything. But Max had sounded so sure. Something had to be up. Losing a little sleep was a small price to pay to witness what might well be the final downfall of his arch enemy.
Jesse’s car thermometer read 15˚ as he pulled up to the duck pond behind the theater. He sat inside for a moment, trying to absorb as much heat as possible, and scoured the landscape for any sign of Max. Just then, something banged on his window. Jesse jumped in his seat and turned to see Max’s face peering in. He turned off the car and unbuckled his seatbelt before opening the door.
“Christ, Bemis, aren’t you freezing?” he asked, tugging his hat down over his ears. Despite the sub-freezing temperature, Max was only wearing jeans and his Jesus Is My Homeboy shirt.
“No, man. I’m totally fine. Come on, I have to show you something,” Max said. He grabbed the sleeve of Jesse’s coat and pulled him over to the pond. “Okay, Jess. You’re not going to believe this. But I can walk on water. Seriously.”
“So you told me. That’s why I’m here, remember?”
“Oh, right, I forgot,” Max said with a laugh. “Anyway, wanna see?”
“Not really,” Jesse said. He didn’t know what Max was going to show him, but, judging by Max’s present state of mind, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to find out. “How about I take you home and you can show me before rehearsal tomorrow?”
“No way. You have to see this right now. Seriously. It’s a miracle,” Max insisted as he walked down to the edge of the water. Jesse followed him, wishing for a flashlight. The moon was out, but his night vision was not all it could be. He made a mental note to eat more carrots.
Up close, Jesse could see that the pond was frozen around the edges. The ice extended about twenty feet in from the shore before tapering off into a black expanse of water. By the time he’d managed to navigate around the various roots and stones that littered the bank, Max had started out onto the ice.
“See, Jesse?” he called out. “I’m totally walking!”
“Max, come back. The ice isn’t thick enough to walk on,” Jesse yelled back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jess. I’m walking on water. I told you. I’m Jesus.”
Jesse couldn’t believe it. Was Max actually so deranged that he couldn’t tell the pond was frozen? If he weren’t standing out there in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, Jesse would have thought he was faking it. “Max, you’re not Jesus. You’re just a man who’s playing Jesus in a musical. Will you please come back here?”
Max shook his head. “No way. It’s not every day you become the Son of God, Jesse. I’m going to maximize on my new powers.” He inched a little further out towards the middle of the pond, holding his arms out for balance. “You know,” he said, “the water’s really slippery. Which is funny, because in the movies it always looks so solid.”
This was not good. Max was heading closer and closer to the edge of the ice and, while Jesse had many strengths, swimming was not one of them, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get Max out of the water if he fell in. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a female voice on the other end of the phone asked.
“Hi, I need an ambulance or something. I’m at the pond behind the Riverview Theater on Beach Street and there’s a man out on the ice who won’t come back and I’m afraid he’s going to fall in,” Jesse said into the phone. Out on the ice, Max was gliding in circles, moving closer and closer to the edge.
“Who’re you talking to?” he called back from his precarious position, flapping his arms around to keep his balance.
“Nobody. Christ, Max, watch out! You’re going to fall and break your neck.”
“Can you describe the situation more clearly, sir?” the voice asked. Jesse could hear typing in the background.
“He’s bipolar and I know he hasn’t been taking his medication and he seems to have convinced himself he’s Jesus and can walk on water and-Max, be careful!” Jesse called out as Max slipped again and almost toppled over.
“And where are you exactly?”
“Right behind the theater. If you pull in to the parking lot and walk straight back you’ll see us. My car is parked there. It’s a baby blue Jetta,” Jesse said.
“Hey, Jesse, do you think I can walk all the way across the pond?” Max asked, heading closer to the edge of the ice.
“No!” Jesse shouted. “Max, come back here. You’ll fall in.”
“Sir, I’d like you to remain calm,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “An ambulance is on its way, but I want you to try and get him to come back on your own.”
“I’ve been trying, lady,” Jesse snapped, turning around to scan the road for any sign of an ambulance. “He’s not exactly listening to reason.” There was a loud crack followed by a splash, and Jesse whirled around. In the dark, he could barely make out Max flailing in the water by the edge of the ice. “Max!” he yelled, snapping his phone shut and shoving it in his pocket.
“Help!” Max called. “Jesse, help, it’s cold, I can’t get out.”
Jesse racked his brain, trying to remember what you were supposed to do when someone fell through the ice. He knew he couldn’t go out after him. Having both of them in that freezing water wouldn’t do any good. Suddenly, he remembered a scene from that movie Little Women where Winona Ryder fishes Kirsten Dunst out of the water with a large stick. That was it. He had to find something to fish Max out. But what would he use?
“Hang on, Max, I’ll be right there,” Jesse shouted. He ran up to his car and opened the door to the back seat. After a few seconds of digging through a layer of sweatshirts and fast food wrappers, he found what he was looking for: the lasso he’d used in the musical adaptation of How The West Was Won last fall. When he got to the edge of the ice, Jesse called, “Max, are you still with me?”
“Yeah, but hurry,” Max yelled back. His voice sounded faint and shaky.
Jesse looked down at the lasso. He wasn’t sure it was long enough to reach the edge of the ice from where he was standing, and he didn’t want to risk losing it. Holding an arm out for balance, he stepped out onto the ice. “Okay. I’m coming. Just hold on a second.”
When he was about ten feet from the bank, Jesse tossed the end of the rope to Max. “Okay, Max, grab on to that,” he said. He felt the rope go tense as Max took hold of it. “Do you have it?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
Jesse wrapped the rope around his hand a few times to get a good hold on it, and started walking back towards the shore. Between the added weight from Max and the slippery surface, it was all he could do not to fall flat on his face. When he reached solid ground, Jesse turned around to look back at the pond. A very bedraggled Max Bemis was shivering on the ice, clutching the rope to his chest.
“Max, are you okay?”
Max nodded. “Yeah. Just. Cold.” He dropped the rope and crawled across the ice to Jesse and curled into a ball at his feet.
Jesse stripped off his coat and wrapped it around Max’s shoulders. “I think I have a blanket in my trunk,” he said. “I’m gonna go get it. You stay here, okay?”
Max nodded and pulled the coat around himself tighter. “Yeah, okay. Just. Hurry back?”
“Of course,” Jesse said. As he headed up the bank to his car, he saw the flashing lights of an ambulance approaching. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and prepared to greet the EMTs.
After all, it wouldn’t do for him to catch cold. He had to keep his voice in top shape for his starring role.