his tablet in the air.
“A reviewer in The Guardian mentioned you in his review, Rose! In The Guardian!”
Damon and I pulled apart as we chuckled at Julian’s display. He hopped onto the bed, giddy as a child, and wrapped his arms around me. It was a good thing I had a T-shirt on, though I didn’t have anything underneath. Damon wore only his boxers, but he was a bloke. Men could get away with that sort of thing. Anyway, it wasn’t like Julian hadn’t seen me in various states of undress countless times before.
It was only as Julian let me go that he cast a smirk in Damon’s direction. “Christ, Atwood, at least buy me dinner first before you start waving that behemoth in my face. Go put some trousers on.”
Damon flushed bright red, and I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. I loved how he could appear so big and dark and manly, yet get as bashful as a schoolboy sometimes.
“Piss off,” he said, scowling at Julian, but I could tell he was trying not to smile. It made my heart sing to see the fondness in his eyes for my best friend, because I knew it had been difficult for him to accept Julian due to his past.
Julian rose from the bed. “Oh, wipe that blush off your face. You’re family now. You’d better get used to my ways.”
With that he took his tablet and left the room. I smiled so widely at Damon my jaw ached. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt so happy, so content. He gave me contentment, and I loved him for it. There was emotion in his eyes. He was touched by what Julian had said.
“Family?” he asked, his voice catching a little. Since his grandmother died he’d felt alone, so I knew being accepted into my and Julian’s odd little clan of two meant a lot to him.
I came and wrapped my arms around him, kissing him once lightly on the lips. “Yes, Damon. Family. Always.”
Epilogue.
*Damon*
6 Months Later…
“I’m not wearing that. It’s…it’s yellow,” I told the stylist as I stood in wardrobe, arguing over my costume. This was a tribute. It didn’t have to be one-hundred-percent identical. There was room for artistic licence, for some modernisation.
“Canary yellow to be exact,” the cranky faced woman corrected me, a stressed out slant to her features. “And Gene wore one just like this. The whole point of the scene is that it mirrors the original,”
“I’ll wear a waistcoat, just not that one. Have you got it in black? Navy, even?”
She pursed her lips in annoyance but didn’t say anything. I could tell I was getting on her last nerve.
Normally, I just took the clothes I was given and put them on. I wasn’t an argumentative bloke. But I just couldn’t get down with that waistcoat. It was going to make me look like a bloody banana.
“He’s right,” said Julian, coming to my rescue. “Shit like that flew in the 1950s, not so much in the 2010s.”
I was relieved he’d decided to come visit us on set today. If it weren’t for him backing me up, I feared the woman might have torn off my shirt and forced me into the blasted thing.
Someone had heard the radio interview I’d given, where I’d joked about remaking Singin’ in the Rain. I’d only said it to get a rise out of Rose, but unfortunately, word had trickled down the proverbial grapevine. A producer responsible for heading a film celebrating Gene Kelly’s work during the twentieth anniversary of his death had caught wind. It was just after we’d completed the three-month Moulin Rouge stint that I got a phone call asking if I’d like to be involved. And, funnily enough, the scene they’d wanted me to re-enact was one with the dancer Rose had told me about, Cyd Charisse. Only in this scene she wore a green dress instead of white.
At first I’d declined. I’d just spent several months dancing, and I wasn’t in much of a mood for more. But when Rose discovered the offer, she insisted I do it. I couldn’t say no to that woman, so in the end I caved…with one catch.
I told the producer I’d do the tribute, so long as I could pick the dancer who starred alongside me. He agreed.
I picked Rose.
Let’s just say, the night I told her she was going to re-enact Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse’s sensual dance with me was one I’ll never forget.
After weeks performing