Soul Music: Love Encountered - 1. Overtures

“Who's singing that?”

Tony Marshall stopped staring into space, or rather at the back row of the town's Victorian concert hall, and turned to the man sitting next to him in the row of seats on the stage.

“Who's singing what? Sorry, Ted. I zoned out for a bit.” Tony found concert day rehearsals tedious, so much sitting around waiting for things to happen. He'd been thinking about life, the universe, and his current lack of a boyfriend. His last relationship had broken up some time ago – he wasn't lonely exactly, more missing the fun and companionship. And the sex. He might be approaching the grand old age of thirty, but it was still bloody important. Love? Well, it hadn't happened so far …

The older man smiled at him together an eyebrow roll. “God, I know how you feel. Our glorious leader has to spend so much time with the soloists or the orchestra, we hardly get a look-in.”

Tony suspected that Ted didn't approve of their new conductor particularly. She – and that was part of the problem – had some interesting ideas about performance practice, and repertoire. Though even she couldn't stop their biannual performance of the complete Messiah.

Ted looked at him questioningly, as if sensing that Tony's mind was still elsewhere. “Anyway... I'm curious. There only seems to be one female soloist – the soprano. Shouldn't there be two women? There's an alto solo coming up.” Ted pointed at his vocal score. He was despised had just been announced as the next thing up – of course, they weren't running through things in the right order.

Tony laughed, had a quick look around the stage, then pointed out a young man who'd evidently just arrived. “I think you'll find it's him. I seem to remember Vivienne saying something about it in October – that she'd decided to give the alto parts to a counter-tenor? Anyway, they'll have to wait a minute or two until he gets himself sorted out – probably got lost on the way.”

“Oh … OK … Hmm.” Ted sounded disapproving. He was one of the old timers and thought he knew how Messiah should be done in his choir. Tony had got the negative vibes on a number of occasions during the couple of years he'd been a member, but he'd never said anything. Tenors had to stick together. There were only eleven of them out of a choir membership of seventy-five or so. He didn't mind – he let most things go.

Tony eyed up the new soloist and thought he heard a faint ping on his gaydar. Not his type at all – artistic, highly strung, and intense. Far too much trouble. And all the travelling around – he did enough of that himself in his work. Trouble was, potential candidates for the position of boyfriend weren't exactly thick on the ground. For any kind of gay 'scene', he had to make the trip to his local city, and that wasn't a second Manchester by any stretch of the imagination. Tony sighed out loud, making Ted turn and look at him in concern.

“You OK?” Ted was one of the few choir members who knew about his Type 1 diabetes and that was obviously on his mind. It made sense for Ted to know because they usually sat together in the weekly rehearsals.

The younger man raised a smile. “Yes, I'm fine, Ted. All carbed-up, pump's working, and I've got my emergency rations.” No emergency extra insulin though – nowhere refrigerated to store it. “Thanks for asking, though. It's good to know that you're keeping an eye on me. It's the waiting – too many thoughts sculling around. Once we actually get singing, they'll go away – they always do.”

They both chuckled wryly, keeping the noise down because the late-arriving soloist had started up. It still got them an annoyed Shhh! from the choir secretary a few seats along. Both men rolled their eyes at each other and settled back down to wait their turn.

“Tony! Come and join us.”

The choir dressing room was busy with people sitting down to eat, sorting out clothes, or trying to get a phone signal. It being the second half of November, sitting outside in the local park wasn't really an option and they were forbidden to eat in the auditorium. Tony was one of many trying to find a spare seat. He looked round at the source of the sound and saw a straight couple he was quite friendly with. The man, Simon, waved to him.

Hmm … he really wasn't feeling too good – a hypo, more than likely – and he needed to test his blood sugar levels to see just how far they'd dropped. The choir dressing room was not a suitable place. Quite apart from anything else, he didn't like to advertise his illness – just as he didn't like to with the fact that he was gay. He smiled back at them, trying to disguise how shaky he felt.

Tony went over and dropped his bag on the empty seat next to them. “Thanks, Simon. I'll join you in a minute or two – just need to disappear.” He pocketed his testing kit and hurried off to the gents' toilet. His pump was working fine but he needed a top-up – singing tenor in Messiah was bloody hard work. But before he downed some sweets, he needed to check – better safe than sorry. The sweets would be the stop-gap until he ate properly.

On the way back, he heard somebody calling him from a distance. “Err... Excuse me …”

Tony stopped and turned round. He had to stop himself from gasping. Now that was more like it. A well-built man, about his age and height, with rich brown hair and a trimmed beard, hurried to catch up with him. Was he gay? … His gaydar helpfully chose that moment to go on strike.

The man looked anxious and was panting slightly. “You don't happen to know where the orchestra dressing room is, do you? … These Victorian places are rabbit warrens backstage.”

It was two doors down from the choir's room. Tony pointed it out, then turned back to his enquirer. On the spur of the moment, he decided to introduce himself. “Hi, I'm Tony – one of the choir tenors …” He smiled encouragingly.

The other man apparently didn't notice – he was trying to get past Tony with the minimum interaction needed not to seem rude. “Err … Yeah … Hi. Thanks for that.”

Tony already wanted to engulf him in a comforting hug, gay or not. He was in rather a state.

Tony wanted to make a connection of some sort before they went their separate ways. “Everything OK, mate? You look a bit stressed.”

The object of his concern pushed his dark, wavy hair off his forehead and wiped his brow with his hand. “The fucking car broke down on the way – thought I was never gonna get here. Then, there wasn't anywhere to park close by. I've had to lug the sodding timpani what feels like miles …”

Tony smiled to himself. He'd noticed that the Hallelujah Chorus had been lacking a certain something in the rehearsal. Well, here was his chance to be a good Samaritan. It didn't matter what happened afterwards – he was perfectly capable of befriending someone without coming on to them.

“You had anything to eat? There's still some time before we need to get changed.”

“Oh … err … Food? God, I've not even had lunch yet.” His companion's stomach decided to second his comment by rumbling loudly. They looked at each other in surprise, then Tony burst out laughing, followed by the other man, whose merriment sounded rather more self-conscious.

Tony apologised. “Sorry – I couldn't help it. It was so perfectly timed, right on cue. Anyway, the reason I asked was I've got more food than I need. I'm very happy to share if you'd like?” He held his breath, waiting for the still-anonymous man to make his mind up.

“Yeah, thanks. I always eat somewhere like MacDonalds when I'm doing 'away' gigs. But of course, when sod's law comes into play, that leaves me stuffed.” He ran his hand through his hair again – he was obviously still quite agitated.

Tony's heart went out to him – he found it pretty easy to just roll with it. He didn't stress things. “Look … you go and get yourself sorted. I'll be in the choir dressing room …” He pointed it out. “Don't rush – just get yourself together, then we'll both demolish what I've brought with me. All my own cooking – if I say so myself.”

The other man nodded and was heading off when he realised he'd forgotten something. He turned back and looked rather shy. “Sorry, I'm being rude. I'm Geoff. Geoff Lumsden. You're … Tony, was it?”

Tony smiled back at him. “Yeah, that's right. Tony Marshall.”

“OK … I'll see you in a couple of minutes.” Geoff hurried off.

Tony watched him disappear into the distance and wondered. Could he be so lucky?

Geoff burped discreetly – fortunately, there was a buzz of conversation in the choir dressing room – and sighed with satisfaction. “God, I'm so full. I'd better not fall asleep while I'm waiting for my one and only entry in the first half. That would be so embarrassing.” He stretched his legs out as far as he could in the crowded room, and breathed deeply.

Then he turned to Tony with a smile that was still a little hesitant. “Thanks for rescuing me, Tony. And your food is indeed delicious. Too delicious.” He looked down and rubbed his full tummy. “Sometimes, I think the way to my heart is through my guts.”

Although he said the last sentence without looking at Tony, was there a hint of a frisson in the air between them? Tony dared to hope … Possibly? He longed to ask Geoff the question uppermost in his mind: Are you gay? but he decided against it. This wasn't the time or the place for that sort of conversation. Plus, his quarry looked as though he'd scare easily. He'd already seen how anxious Geoff could get.

They'd chattered easily enough in between bouts of determined eating – they were both famished. Mostly about music and performing, but also some basic information about each other – where they lived, what their day job was … They discovered that they actually lived in the same town. Tony travelled to his rehearsals because the choir was better and did more interesting repertoire than the one close by. Tony had kept the conversation light. Nothing really personal, although he'd managed to slip in the fact that he was currently single. This hadn't produced any discernible response from Geoff, but Tony suspected that there were some stout defences in between him and whatever Geoff was really thinking. He made no apology for who he was, but he still hadn't been able to suss out his companion. That Geoff was gay seemed more likely perhaps, but …

Geoff stirred himself. “OK … time to get ready, though why I've got to be on stage all the time, god only knows.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Tony. “You gonna be OK getting back this evening? I mean, is your car fixed properly?”

Geoff grimaced and shrugged. “The breakdown guy said he'd patched it for the moment. Don't ask me what's broken, I haven't a clue about cars. Suppose I'll just have to take my time on the way back and book it into the garage tomorrow or whenever. I can always call them out again if it dies.”

Tony saw that Geoff was back to looking anxious again. “Look … how about I give you my number? I've a pretty tough 4x4 – I'm sure giving you a tow wouldn't be any problem if it comes to it. Save you contacting the breakdown guys again. Hmm?”

Geoff looked unsure. “I wouldn't want to be a nuisance …”

Tony raised an eyebrow and smiled at him gently. “I wouldn't offer if I wasn't prepared to follow up on it. Look, tell me your number and I'll send you a text. OK?”

Geoff thought for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks, again. I owe you one.”

The two men exchanged numbers, and they both spent a short while putting the details into their contacts list. Tony was pleased – he'd been wondering how to ask Geoff for his number. The offer was genuine but it did have a useful secondary purpose. He very much wanted to find out more about Geoff. Was the feeling mutual? He hoped so.