Happy Merry Everything (Charlie Barber)

Once More With Feeling

You wished you could say the night had gone to plan. That as you were getting ready, you still couldn't believe it was real. Charlie surprised you with a hotel for the night and Abba and Papa came into the city for the night to watch their favorite grandson. With it being your first awards show and what Charlie hoped to be the first of many grandiose nights out together, he had his heart set on spoiling you. Which is exactly why he fought with you to hire someone to professionally do your hair and makeup.

Tonight's red carpet was far more intimidating than the first you'd encountered with him. The flash of bulbs and cries of "Turn this way!" "Mr. Barber! Over here!" assaulted your senses and it wasn't until you were finally seated that the two of you found some solace.

He was silent as he sat beside you, the look in his eyes all too telling. Even though you'd only witnessed it on rare occasions, you knew--Charlie was nervous. He reached into the inner jacket pocket of his tuxedo, patting to ensure the folded piece of paper was still there.

"I don't know why I wrote a speech," he admitted, trying his best to remain hushed. "This thing's been burning a hole in my pocket since I put it in there...and I hate what I said...what if--what if I jinxed myself?"

"Honey, you didn't jinx yourself."
"I wouldn't be too sure. I was saying the name of the Scottish play in my head like a mantra on the ride over."

His voice was so tight with stress you weren't sure if he was trying to lighten the mood or being serious.

"I'm kidding...I didn't."
"Oh."
"But I'm thinking about it now."

You reached over, wanting to reassure him, as you placed your hand over his. "No matter what happens, win or lose, it's not going to be because you had a speech in your pocket. This award doesn't say anything about your abilities."

"It says everything about my abilities," he interjected.

"What I mean is--we're here now. Let's enjoy the evening, come what may."

He lifted your hand and brought it to his lips. "I love you."

"I love you too...and I'm proud of you, no matter what."

The show rolled on. So far a play with Glenn Close headlining was sweeping all of the categories. Donna had done some of her best work with costume design for Exit Ghost's production so when they read off the nominees, Charlie was almost certain they'd snag the Tony for that one, but alas--they were overlooked. One after another, nominee after nominee, Glenn's play continued to sweep.

By the time the presenters reached "Best Direction of a Play", it was easy to see why Charlie wasn't feeling confident. The nominees were listed off one by one and his hand gently squeezed yours when he heard his own name. You were both holding your breath. The show was incredible. He deserved this. You so badly wanted for him to win. The presenter stepped up to the microphone a second time, envelope in hand, and tore it open.

"And the Tony Award goes to..."

--

After the show, the champagne was free flowing at The Carlyle. You were surrounded by nominees and winners alike in various points of celebration, all basking in the afterglow of the evening's events. Charlie held you close as you swayed to the music coming from the large grand piano. "I don't know about you," he muttered. "...but I've about had my fill of this. You want to get out of here?"

You stared back at him, wide eyed. You didn't understand. This was his night. This was his moment and the only thing he wanted to do was go back to your room. "You don't want to stay? Mingle a bit?" He smiled, knowing you were enjoying the ambiance--and not just the ample amount of Broadway elite floating about. "So long as I can continue directing shows I'm proud of, with a little luck, we'll be here next year and the year after."