Page 1 of Finding Finn (Foggy Basin Season 2)

FINN

M y boxes are sitting in my new house. I didn’t have too much. A theatre gypsy, like myself, rarely had time or money to collect anything but dance belts, jazz shoes, and bruises. My kitchen wares all fit into two small boxes. I should be depressed about that fact. I just don’t have the energy.

The last thing I wanted to do was to leave my New York City hovel. It wasn’t much, but it had been my home for ten years, and I loved it. I loved the city with every fiber of my being. Leaving it was not something I thought I’d ever do.

The best laid plans… Of course.

Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch, turn, turn, out, in, jump, step, fucking pas de bourree.

That was the dance combination from a show I had been rehearsing – a show I had to quit before it even started.

Fucking skateboard. Fucking tourist. Fucking knee.

I limped into rehearsal bleeding from gashes in my knees and elbow.

But that wasn’t what did it. It was the torn ACL that killed any chance I would ever have of being a professional musical theatre performer ever again.

An injury that I would never come back from, the doctor told me.

That wasn’t always the case, but after surgery and a year of rehab, I knew it was true.

Sure, I was a fine actor and a good singer – but those skills never got me the job.

It was my ability to dance that kept me in the chorus line.

Even my agent told me that the chances of me pivoting my career to straight theatre or non-dancing roles had the same hope of an ice cube in hell, I knew that I had to do something.

Hello, community theatre. Hello, the new executive director of the Foggy Basin Playhouse.

I sent so many resumes out before accepting this position that I had begun to feel hopeless.

I didn’t, and couldn’t afford to go back to waiting tables.

You can’t live in New York City as only a waiter unless you’re in one of the most exclusive restaurants.

I had never been that good of a waiter. The only thing I had ever been good at was theatre and dance.

At thirty-three, I was starting my life all over again.

I knew this job had an end date – it does for every dancer, but I didn’t know it was going to happen so soon.

I threw my skateboard in the trash. Fucking skateboard.

Fucking idiot. I hadn’t ridden the stupid thing in years, but one stupid day, I found it in the back of my small closet and thought, ‘Why not?’

Why not…

I had never actually been to Foggy Basin.

I rented the small house by calling a realtor in the area, and they sent me a few pictures.

It’s cute and near the theatre. I don’t have a car.

No one in NYC has a car. But I knew I would need to get one, eventually.

But for now, it was all in town, and she said I would find it very easy to walk everywhere I’d want to go.

The few times I was in Los Angeles on tour, I hadn’t been a fan. The city was too spread out, and you couldn’t get anywhere without a car. Everyone drove in LA. That was all I knew about California. Well, San Francisco, too. But Foggy Basin was definitely not San Fran.

I hadn’t lived in a small town since I ran away from Mayfield, Kentucky, the moment I turned eighteen.

I’d barely gone back to visit. My family was devout Baptists and had never reconciled the fact that I wasn’t.

There was also the gay thing. That’s how my mother put it when we sat in silence on the phone.

‘Don’t wanna hear about the gay thing,’ she’d remind me. We barely spoke. We weren’t close.

I looked at my phone. If it was five in the afternoon in New York, it was… minus three. God, I hated math. Two? I was supposed to land at three. So, an hour left on this flight.

I grabbed my charger, stuck it in the slot, and hoped it worked. My phone lit up.

I flipped to my music and put on Taylor Swift’s Lover album. It was the album I always went to when I was feeling a certain way. I was definitely feeling a certain way.

Could I actually do this? I had been doing theatre since I was five years old.

It was in my blood, but I had never been an admin in my entire life.

Fuck, I mean, I had to pay people and create budgets.

I had to raise money to keep the theatre open.

I had to plan a season of shows. Well, not this year, that had already been done by someone.

I had no idea what I was doing and was probably going to implode and get fired in a very fiery crash of shit.

Casting and directing – choreography, these were the things I could do, and do well.

Community theatre was always crazy, or so I remembered.

I grew up in community theatre as a part of the Young Actors’ Guild at the Purchase Theatre.

I still remember how much I loved Liz, the person who ran the place.

She always knew that I wanted theatre to be my life, and she helped me along the way.

She had been a true friend and confidant.

She was the first person I actually came out to.

If she were still alive, she’d be laughing her ass off at me right now.

I missed her more than almost anyone else in my life. She may not have been my parent, but she took over the role when mine failed. I should have gone home for her funeral, but I had been on tour. I’d always regret not going.

There was no longer a reason to go home. Home? I had a new home.

Foggy fucking Basin. Please let me like it there.

I put the phone in my lap and closed my eyes. I drifted off to sleep until the plane started its descent.

“Please put your tray tables up and make sure your seat is no longer in the reclining position,” the stewardess said over the loudspeaker.

“We are beginning our descent into Sacramento and should be on the ground shortly. The weather is clear with an outside temperature of ninety degrees. We hope you enjoy your stay and will fly with us again soon.”

Well, there was no backing out now. Supposedly, someone was coming to pick me up.

I opened my phone and double-checked the information.

Jim James, well, that was truly unfortunate.

His parents must have really hated him when he was born.

He must have been in an accident. He’s meeting me at baggage claim and will drive me to my new house.

Jim was the technical director at the Playhouse.

He was one of only three people who worked there full time.

The other was an office person named Buffy.

Both of them had been at the Playhouse for a while, or so I was told.

I really hoped that we’d get along and they could show me the ropes – maybe actually teach me how to do this fucking thing.

I was so going to fail.

Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch, turn, turn, out, in, jump, step, fucking pas de bourree.

The dancer’s motto: when in doubt, kick and shout. I would probably be doing a lot of shouting.

The plane landed, and we skidded to a stop that made me say a quick prayer to a god I rarely spoke to.

It scared the shit out of me and made me rethink ever flying into this airport again.

I wanted to slap the pilot, but I’d settle for a stewardess on the way out.

My heart raced as we taxied to the gate.

“Sorry, everyone. That was a little windier than expected, but we’ve landed safely and will be at the gate in just a few minutes.

Please keep your seatbelts fastened until the light goes off, and thank you for flying Paramount Air.

” The pilot's country voice was barely audible over the gasps of the passengers.

“That seems unlikely,” I murmured as I unplugged my charger and rolled it up before placing it in my carry-on bag that I pulled from beneath the seat.

I clutched it tightly. Maybe this guy didn’t know how to park a plane.

It would be the last time I chose an airline because it was cheap.

The watered-down drink they gave me was pathetic.

We only waited a few minutes before we were allowed off the plane. As soon as the seatbelt sign went away, everyone stood quickly and began grabbing their bags from the overhead bins. Myself included. I wanted off this plane even if I was nervous about what awaited me down in baggage.

Jesus. Why did I think this was a great idea? Small town – gay man – rarely a good thing.

I waited for my turn and soon it was my turn to walk down the thin aisle. I shot the pilot a quick glare as I walked past. He was hotter than expected – figures.

I made my way through the smallish airport and within a few minutes I stood in baggage with my small bag and looked around for Jim.

I had no idea what he looked like, and there were quite a few people standing around.

Well, he’d have to find me, I guess. I had sent in an eight-by-ten headshot when I applied for the job, so hopefully someone showed him what I looked like.

I waited for what felt like forever, but it was probably only five minutes.

I had this sinking feeling in my stomach that was trying to tell me to get back on the plane and go back to New York, where I belonged.

Before I could chicken out, the buzzer from the baggage claim went off and luggage started sliding down onto the conveyor belt, which ran with a deafening roar.

My two bags, pink with purple polka dots, slid down the slide and made their way to me.

I grabbed them and moved out of the way.

I pulled them over to the large window near one of the sliding doors and waited.

I waited for ten minutes, and a young lady walked through the doors as if she were being chased and looked around.

Her eyes settled on me, and a smile lit up her face.

She was adorable with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fabulous hourglass figure.

She’d look marvelous in a tight black dress with some fuck me pumps on those feet instead of the tennis shoes she was wearing.