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Carlos is sipping his tea—my boy’s got a sacred relationship with food—and it startles him to be addressed while he’s drinking.

Joanna and the intern both smirk in the moments it takes him to recover.

“Oh, well, uh.” Carlos sits straighter and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “We’re working on the puppets today. But the background practical…”

Was too ambitious. The dance for the finale is a weird and wild take on a Victorian tea party complete with octopus. The background he was talking about is a kind of Ferris wheel, which we might use for other acts, but might not.

“It’s approaching PoC.” Then Sweetness translated. “Sorry. Proof of Concept. Sorry. I mean, it’s functional but not safe for the kids yet.”

Van looks up from her clipboard concerned. “So, you’re behind your estimate?”

Before Carlos answers, I do. “But ahead of schedule. You can’t honestly be giving him a hard time for not having a fucking Ferris wheel built when we haven’t even hired the choir.”

Scissors looks up, stunned. The intern recoils and looks at the door like she shouldn’t be here for this. Faizz and Mercy exchange a “shots fired” glance.

Joanna is the one who defuses, with her customary mean laugh. “Oh, Papa Bear’s getting defensive.”

Everyone laughs, mostly because Carlos has gone new shades of pink and is trying to hide behind his tea.

“I’m just saying. As choreographer. My students are nowhere near ready to use a practical yet. Hell, I’m not sure I’m ready to use it. No need to feel extra pressure and stay late.”

Van agrees at once. “Oh definitely. Not at all.”

Mercy teases. “Papa Bear wants Baby Boi at home tonight.”

Carlos chokes on his shyness, and just to torture him, I put an arm around his shoulder and give him no escape. “Papa Bear’s got his places around the theater.”

Except for Carlos and the intern, who both look scandalized, they all laugh.

“I couldn’t stay late anyway. My other job…” Carlos writhes under the attention, but doesn’t squirm away in public like he used to. He realizes he doesn’t need to justify anything. “It will be finished and ready for the kids by next weekend.”

“I’m not worried.” Van waves dismissively. “Okay, I’m done. Let’s go surf the internet or whatever it is we get paid to do until the kids gets here.”

Immediately the intern steps up to Joanna. “Excuse me, ma’am. About those postcards you wanted me to hand out in Times Square? Do we need a permit or—”

“Just hand them out until someone stops you,” Joanna answers. “If those grody Elmos can get away with it, so can we.”

And Van, probably just to be a shit, says, “No. Let’s look into the permitting. See if it’s worthwhile to bring the kids out.”

The intern is confused when everyone else laughs.

****

Since Carlo is staying late at his company, I stay after with Scissors. Cheap bar food for dinner and cutting cloth because we don’t trust middle-schoolers with patterns. Not intensive work but time-consuming.

Still when I enter the apartment everything is dark, even the little footlights around the sunken den. It worries me that he’s not home yet. I fish out my phone, debating the right words to show support without making him feel guilty. I drop my bag and kick out of my sneakers as a matter of course. Probably, I’ll chicken out and end up sending him something vapid and flirty. Need dinner, boss? or you better come home before I get my own kept man.

I flick on the light switch, but the lights don’t turn on.

My immediate thought is that somehow the power has been shut off, but that doesn’t happen in penthouses. Not without help.

It’s just past sunset, so the sky is a purple bruise above the regimented glitter of the city. The curtains waft a little, ghostly in the darkness. The room seems colder in the dark, foreign though I’ve lived here for nearly three years.

I look for the kabuki mask, squinting in the dark. There is no trace of gold or silver, no indication if the demon is watching or if he’s somewhere waiting.

My heartbeat quickens, and I grin into the dark, while biting my lip. I first discovered that expression when I was playing a madman, and the only lover who’s made me feel that way is Carlos.

No, Mr. Ito.