Masquerade, Chapter 1

William

         The Acting Grounds had resided on the Broadway strip since 1939.  Over this period of time many stars of the stage and the silver screen had graced the coffee shop with their presence.  To this day it is still held in high favor with actors, locals and tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity.  However, a large sign upon entry forewarns those who come star hunting: Molestation and ogling of our patrons will be met with dire consequences!
  Professor William Wallace had been frequenting the Acting Grounds since relocating to New York five years ago.  He had come fresh from graduating from Oxford where he had acquired his PhD in molecular biology and minored in mechanical engineering.  As he reached for the door handle, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass door.  Green eyes, a strong frame that stood six foot even, a soft-featured face that had been clean-shaven for a trip to the theater and close cropped sandy brown hair.  His thick chest belied the gentle voice he spoke with and his strong, muscled frame he had acquired playing football in high school.
  As Will stepped out of the crisp, early November air and into the coffee shop, he was surprised to see that there were less than a dozen people within.  The crowd had just let out from a sold-out production of Peter Pan at the Rose Theatre just a block away and Will had expected the Acting Grounds to be packed.  New York theater-goers knew that Peter Pan was the favored production of the owner of the Rose and had been held one month every year for the past ten.  A critic had once written that each performance was worth more than three times the price of admission.
  Will knew this because he, himself, had just come from the Rose.  He smiled to himself remembering the performance he had just seen as he ordered a cup of coffee and a banana nut muffin.  After paying for his order he turned and scanned the interior of the shop.  Looking for an ideal place to sit and read his newspaper, his eyes fell upon someone he recognized.
  A young man who looked to be no older than his mid-twenties sat in the corner of the coffee shop.  With his head propped up on an elbow and his gaze intent upon the hard-back book cracked open in front of him, he was completely oblivious of everyone around him.  His thick, shoulder-length, dark hair was brushed back off his face in an unkempt mop.  He wore a faded denim jacket over a collarless, blue shirt and sipped absently from a mug.
  Nijel Robbins, Will thought, remembering the actor’s name.  I’ll be damned.  He had just watched the young man in the corner perform the duel role of Mr. Darling and Captain Hook.
  Will glanced at the sign that forewarned against approaching celebrities and frowned.
  Knowing the sign said not to, Will made up his mind and decided, What the hell.
  Weaving his way through the tables, Will sat in a seat adjacent of Nijel.  As he laid he paper out on the table, he had a moment to observe the actor and was surprised by how small the man was when met in person.  Seen from the stage, Nijel carried himself with pride and unmistakable arrogance, which had given Will pause when he considered approaching the actor.  Only, now, when seen from three feet away, Will realized the young man could be no taller than five and a half feet tall.
  Reaching over, Will set the muffin down on Nijel’s table and slid it towards him.  Seemingly oblivious and focused fully on what he was reading, Nijel’s hand shot out and caught the muffin before it tumbled across his book.  He looked up and blinked confused eyes at it.
  “It’s not exactly a bouquet of roses,” said Will gesturing at the muffin with one large hand, “but I hope it still gets my point across.”
  A brief moment of silence followed before a wide amused smile spread across the actor’s square jaw that reached all the way to his dark brown eyes.  Then he let out a loud infectious laugh that drew the attention of the other patrons in the shop.
  “You either enjoyed my performance or you‘re coming on to me.”
  Nijel’s response was in a mild, pleasant voice that held the edge of barely restrained humor.
  “I most definitely am not coming on to you,” Will replied easily.  “This makes my third time to see Peter Pan at the Rose.”
  Nijel gave an appreciative nod as he unwraped the muffin.  Will watched and chewed at his lip before continuing.
  “Not to appear ungrateful, but I’m actually pretty hungry. I had kind of hoped you’d be offended, that way I’d get to eat the muffin.  Now that you‘re actually speaking to me, I almost feel bad for wanting my muffin back.”
  Nijel rocked back in his seat with another burst of laughter.
  “I tell you what,” Nijel said after his laughter had subsided to a bemused grin.  “How about you tell me your name and I’ll split the muffin with you?”
  Will made a scoffing sound.  “And who says all stars are assholes?”
  “Oh, they are,” Nijel affirmed. “But I assure you, I am no star.”
  “Modesty and a sense of humor.  Who knew?”  Accepting his half of the muffin after Nijel had sliced it neatly in two, Will introduced himself.  “I’m William Wallace, my friends call me Will.”
  “Really?  Were you named after Mel Gibson?”
  “No,” Will demurred, sidestepping the comment.  “My father was a history professor with a sick sense of humor.”
  “Which you obviously did not inherit,” Nijel replied facetiously.  “Did you decide you needed a cup of coffee on your way home?”
  Will smiled with a full mouth and said, “I actually stopped for the muffin.”  Nijel laughed again and Will continued.  “So, are you relaxing after your stunning performance?”
  Nijel gave a mirthless laugh.  “Hardly stunning.  I ate Mexican food shortly before we went on stage and the whole night my stomach was turning and knotting.  It’s a wonder the audience never heard me farting over my singing.”
  It was Will’s turn to rock in his chair with laughter.
  “I’m serious,” the actor went on.  “I was warning everyone on stage not to stand behind me with their mouth open!”
  The jokes and humor shared between Nijel and Will endeared the two to each other with an easy camaraderie that allowed them to sit together for the next two hours laughing, musing and sipping coffee as if they had known each other since childhood.  They spoke of their backgrounds, how they each had come to be in their current profession, and how they had each loved and lost.  They also told one another about day-to-day stress that, once told, made them feel better by simply sharing that pain with someone.
  Nijel spoke of his mother, how for fifteen years she had run the theater that had been named after her.  He explained the intricacies that went on in theater and how behind closed doors, the players within were like a close-knit family.  The Acting Grounds, for Nijel, served as a retreat from those who also lived in the bowels of the Rose.  He also explained how a racketeering businessman was optioning Arthur Pride, the man who owned the theater, to buy the building so he could bulldoze it and replace it with a casino or something else equally useless when compared to a theater.
  “What are you doing to keep him from buying it?” Will asked.
  Nijel paused long enough for Will to recognize the sarcastic smile that spread across his new friend’s face.
  “Saying no.”
  Will explained that he was working on a project that was government funded.  He and his co-workers were trying to develop a suit of lightweight body-armor that allowed full mobility, but durable enough to stop a gunshot at point blank range.
  “I didn’t think there was anything remotely near that technology,” commented Nijel.
  “Neither does the rest of the public.  You‘ve seen the news and video feeds about Agent Dominic, right?”
  “The super-soldier the government has running around fighting crime?”
  “Yeah, him.”  Will paused, noticing the other mans tone.  “Do you not approve of the Agent Program?”
  Nijel took a deep breath.
  “I don’t want to get into a philosophical or ethical argument about a program that has been created by the government to genetically augment the human genome into an army of super-men with someone who works for the government.”
  “I don’t work for the government,” Will said quickly.  “I’m just government funded.”
  “Be that as it may, I feel like the initiating of this program is a backwards slide for our government into becoming the Third Reich.”
  Will began to say more, but became distracted and his eyes drew to just over Nijel’s shoulder.
  “I believe you have a fan.”
  Nijel’s eyebrows knit together at the odd comment then turned in his seat to look behind.
  A teenaged girl sat leaning over the back of her booth, her chin in her hands and one leg curled underneath her, with large, blue doe-eyes focused on Nijel.  Her features were lean.  There was no baby fat left on this teenager bordering on adult hood. Her dark, blond hair that was just past her shoulders in length was curled under and pulled back behind an ear to reveal a slender neck.  She was sitting alone, but the second cup on the table said that she had dinner company.
  “Hi, there,” greeted Nijel, one corner of his mouth curling up in amusement.  Will noticed that there was always amusement on the young-man’s face, only always in varying degrees.
  The girl sat back abruptly as a flush crept up her neck to her ears and cheeks.
  “Oh,” she stammered as it visibly sank in that she had been caught staring.  “I wasn’t, like, gawking or anything.”
  “Really?” Nijel replied with a chuckle.  “Then what would you call it?”
  The girl’s flush deepened and her features took on an angry sharpness to them.
  “Amused,” she replied crisply, “That you would be seen out in public wearing those yard-sale rejects.  Did you pay five dollars for the whole ensemble?  I was looking to see if you had a copy of the newspaper.”
  Will saw that his newfound friend was taken aback by the vehemence of the teenager’s insult and he watched as Nijel’s eyebrows rose high on his face.  Quickly gathering his newspaper together, he nudged Nijel with it.
  “Just give her the paper so she’ll stop talking to us.”
  Will badly wanted to say something scathing to the girl, but it was not in his nature to speak out of turn or inappropriately to a minor.  No matter how much they might deserve it.
  Then again, I did just come over here and strike up a conversation with a complete stranger.
  The opportunity to speak out passed when Nijel took the paper and, glancing at it before passing it off to the girl, saw a picture on the front page.  The header read, Agent Dominic, Hero or Abomination?  The picture showed the mayor of New York shaking hands with a man who looked like he should have been an underwear model; Agent Dominic Sinclair.  The all-American, blond haired, blue eyed man looked to be thirty and was clad in a stylized form of body fitting, blue riot gear, holding a helmet under one arm.
  “Speak of the Devil,” said Nijel.  “Our good little, law-abiding Arian has made the front page again.”  He held it up so Will could see, then handed it to the girl, to whom he said,  “I’m sorry my clothes are such an affront to your eyes, but not all of us have a mommy and daddy who will buy us clothes at Abercrombie and Fitch.”  Turning back around before she could make a reply, he smiled mirthlessly across the table at Will.
  Even though Nijel had given a simple and far more tactful reply than Will had expected, the girls face took on a distant look.  Without so much as a parting insult, the girl turned around in her seat and did not bother them again.
  Will smiled and shook his head.
  “Anyway, what I was going to say was that I had originally come here hoping to work on the Agent Program.  Instead I‘ve been given funding to develop my design of body armor.”
  Nijel nodded, then asked, “Why did you want to work on the Agent Program?”
  “Because I feel like it is a good thing.  I think that Agent Dominic is a benefit to the city and is saving many lives every day.”
  “But,” Nijel smoothly interrupted.  “If he is such a benefit, why is he in New York?  Why don’t the army or the CIA have him out doing . . . God knows what?  Stopping terrorists or the next Saddam Hussein?”
  Will blinked at the question.
  “You know, you have a point.”
  Nijel smiled and looked to a clock on the wall.  His smile fell.
  “Shit, it’s almost eleven thirty.”
  Will looked and was surprised that it truly was that late.
  “I should probably be going.”
  “Me too.”
  “It has been very nice talking to you,” Will offered.
  “You, too,” Nijel agreed.
  They both made for the exit and once they were outside, Nijel continued.
  “The next time you come to the Rose, come backstage or have someone let me know you are there.”
  “I’ll do that.  I don’t get out very often, but now I will have an excuse to.”
  The two paused as the rude girl who had sat behind them came out of the Acting Grounds with a man who was much older than she, presumably her grandfather.  They watched the pair walk by and the girl did not so much as bat an eyelash at them.
  Will could not help but frown at the girl as she walked away.  Then, turning back to Nijel and extending a hand, he said, “Good night, Nijel.  It was a pleasure meeting you.”
  Nijel took the proffered hand firmly in his and watched as Will’s enveloped it.
  “Good night, Will,” he replied warmly.  “I hope to see you again soon.”
  That said, Nijel turned and began to walk the block to the Rose theatre and Will raised his hand to flag a passing taxi.