Happy Merry Everything (Charlie Barber)

Opening Night pt. 1

The evening before opening night was positively electric. Charlie's nerves were through the roof from the agony of his own anticipation. The curtain hadn't even fallen on their first performance and he was already worried about the reviews.

After his last show closed early in the wake of his divorce, Time Out New York's newest article on Charlie had characterized him as "the comeback kid". It made him chuckle as much as it unnerved him. He was hardly a kid at 37, but it was his one shot to be back on top.

His earliest shows, including his directorial debut in his twenties earned him recognition as a theatrical master of the avant-garde. You often thought a particular space on his bookshelf would make a fantastic home for a Tony Award and mentioned it on occasion, but he was quick to dismiss any talk of it—something you chalked up to him possibly being superstitious. It wasn't that Charlie thought his winning a Tony was unattainable. On some unspoken level, you thought perhaps he'd convinced himself he was undeserving or that all he needed was theatre itself because the art of the performances themselves rarely ever let him down.

He was so beside himself he practically begged you to spend the week with him.

"I know I might not show it, but on the inside I'm a nervous wreck. At least if you're with me, I know I'll sleep better—even though I'm still not sure I'll sleep at all. Stay?"

You couldn't deny him. Of course you stayed. The idea of getting ready together before his big night seemed to comfort you both. He had even talked to you about what to expect the day of.

"A town car will be picking us up and taking us to the theater on the night of. Press will be there. BroadwayWorld, Broadway.com, Playbill. That sort of thing. I'll probably have to give a couple of interviews, but you'll be right there with me so we'll be together.  You won't be alone. We'll pose for photos. Other than that, we'll watch the show and most likely have dinner and a few drinks with the cast after to celebrate."

While you were making yourself at home, you found a great deal of comfort in the domesticity of staying with Charlie. Your efforts, especially unspoken, didn't go unnoticed. It still baffled him that you wanted to help with things as mundane as doing a load of laundry. At times, it was painfully obvious he had previously carried the emotional and physical burden of caring for the household in addition to being a director, father, and husband.

The tension in his shoulders faded away when there were tasks you shared and his gratitude knew no end. Even something as simple as setting out clean towel for him while he showered seemed to surprise him. The day you fluffed his towel for him earned you a wet hug. How could someone ever hurt this man? You wondered. Charlie had his moments, sure, but so did everyone else.

The night before the show's debut, he clung to you in bed. The muscles in his back were taut with stress. You had showered with him, washed his hair, and body. After returning the favor, he pressed you up against the shower wall and you made out until the water ran cold. You craved him and wanted nothing more to take care of the man you loved.

"Charlie?" you asked softly lying against his bare chest. You relished the feeling of his naked body on yours beneath the sheets.

"Hmm?"
"Can I ask something?" You could hear his heart beating.
"Anything."

"Well..." You raised up on an elbow to look at him. A rather unexpected awkwardness crept over you, making you unsure of yourself. "We touch each other."

Charlie chuckled lightheartedly. "We do."
"And we've gone down on each other."
"Several times."  He said, smirking.
"Yeah...so...I guess I was wondering..."
"Why we haven't..?"
Your voice came out more as a squeak. "Yeah."