Ben at the Theater

Hi, my name is Ben.

ME: JBC Theater, how can I help you?

The 'B' stands for Ben, the 'C' stands for Carter since it was his money that helped build the place, and the 'J' stands for--

JEREMY: You're here early.

--my frequently absent partner.

When Carter died, he left Jeremy money with the instruction to do good with it. Since I had already put all my money into a theater, we decided the best thing to do would be to combine forces and create a theater company that focuses on gay issues.

Little did I know just how many gay issues I'd be dealing with once Jeremy decided to turn into his brother, Jackson, and become a total spaz.

ME: I'm actually here on time. You're two hours late.
JEREMY: I really need to get a new clock.
ME: Does it give you the time or just the day of the week?
JEREMY: Very funny.
ME: I know you're a blushing bride now, but--
JEREMY: Actually, there was a change of plans.

I decided to skip Jeremy and Davis' sham wedding since even seeing Jeremy fake marry someone was a little too much for me.

As much as I hate to admit it, I still have feelings for him.

So when he said 'change of plans--'

JEREMY: Turns out my insurance wouldn't cover Davis' treatment, so he married Hank instead.
ME: I can't imagine why the straight people think we'd desecrate the sanctity of message.
JEREMY: We're not disrespecting marriage, just the insurance companies.
ME: So you're still single?
JEREMY: Sort of.
ME: Sort of?
JEREMY: I sort of met a guy last night and I sort of like him.
ME: Did you sort of take his clothing off at any point?
JEREMY: We should get some work done.
ME: Works for me.

We're renting out a little black box space with an office that resembles a closet in a converted factory on the west side.

Over the past seven months, we've mounted a few productions, but haven't been able to make a big enough splash on the local scene.

Admittedly it would be a lot easier if there were someone else in the pool with me splashing instead of sitting by the side of the pool sipping--

--Okay, sorry. I got lost in my own metaphor.

Halfway through our work day, I noticed Jeremy staring off into space.

He does this from time to time. The doctors say he might be experience post-traumatic stress disorder from the shooting, but he says he's 'fine.'

Isn't it funny how 'fine' always means 'not fine at all?'

ME: You okay?
JEREMY: I'm fine.

See?

But then--

JEREMY: You know, maybe now that I'm not going to be a housewife, I can put effort into something more productive.

Hallelujah.

ME: You mean like making sure this theater doesn't fall down all around us?
JEREMY: No.

And then--

JEREMY: Like finding out who shot me.