Hang Up Your Coat (Barlyle)

03

"Phillip? Are you coming?"

Anne stood in the doorway, still in costume, wig in her hands, and leaned her head against the doorframe. Phillip snapped his head up and glared at her. His hair was ruffled, his eyes dark.

"Do you not see all this?" he spat, motioning toward all of the finance and advertising paperwork littered across his desk. "Barnum," (he only referred to the man by his last name when he was truly annoyed), "will have me working here 'til the year 1900 with these damn double shows he's insisted on performing."

Anne's face fell.

Phillip sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, all right?" He ran his hands over his face. "Just...go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

Anne left without another word.

Phillip sighed again and melted back into his work, but it was harder to concentrate. He felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache coming on.

Time melted away from him as he worked in utter silence for a little while, half-focused, eyes almost crossing as he scanned over the words, the numbers, the percents. He jumped when he heard someone knock at the door.

"Damnit Anne, I thought I told you—"

His breath caught in his throat when he looked up and saw P.T. standing in the doorway. The older man smiled.

"Phin? I thought you'd gone home already."

"Could say the same about you," P.T. responded casually, dropping himself into a spare chair.

"Not with all this paperwork," Phillip muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Um..." He fiddled with the pen in his hand. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be home with Charity and the girls?"

P.T. sighed. "Charity and I had a fight."

"Oh?" Phillip looked up, perhaps a little too quickly. A quick burst of...something twisted in his stomach. "What about?"

"She thinks I'm overworking the troupe with these double shows—"

"That makes two of us."

"—and won't listen despite my repeated explanations as to why these shows are a good thing," P.T. finished, oblivious to Phillip's mumbling.

"I - uh." What was he supposed to say? That he hoped P.T. and Charity would work it out? Kiss and make up? "I'm sorry, Phin. Is there anything I can do?"

"Don't worry about me." P.T. brushed away Phillip's concern with a flick of his wrist. "What about you?" He smirked.

"Wh-What about me?" Surprised by the sudden change in conversation, Phillip fumbled for words.

"You and Anne are spending a lot of time together, aren't you?" That coy little smile returned to P.T.'s lips.

The tips of Phillip's ears flamed red with embarrassment. "I don't believe that's any of your concern, Mr. Barnum."

"What's with the formalities? You can tell me, can't you, Phillip? No secrets between men, huh?"

Phillip almost choked on his own spit. What did that mean?

(why are you so worried? It's not like—)

"Have you taken her to the rooftop yet?"

(—you've got anything to hide. Right?)

Phillip began to gather up his things, blindly stuffing paperwork into his drawers and folders. "I really should get going, Mr. Barnum. It's getting late and—"