#benoit

You could tell about 10 minutes before 5 that the kids were getting restless, eagerly rehearsing their roles, voices getting louder, and not being able to stay in their seats.

It’s not as if this was an issue, and you were beyond used to it, having been in their situation yourself about 5 years ago. That’s one of the reasons you’re back, because you missed the excitement.

It was 4:50 on a Monday afternoon. The first Drama club meeting of the semester, and as the new theatre teacher and Drama director for Pine Hill High, it was the talk of the whole school.

The old Director, an older, stern woman called Ms. Cunningham, had just retired. She didn’t host Drama meetings at all and reserved any school productions for students only. 

This wasn’t a major issue, but you can recall how much you hated her when you used to go to school here. How awful and demanding she was for a high school director. You were set to make it your sole purpose to go against her taxing ways of teaching. You promised yourself that you would be different and understanding. 

Thankfully, most of the kids seemed to be accepting the change happily, especially the seniors and Juniors who had already had Ms. Cunningham for quite some time.

The freshmen starting the new year seemed to still be very full of hope, and you were glad they seemed very eager for you to be their instructor. 

Especially one named Carrie. She always seemed to bring all of her passion towards every project in class, and it was no surprise to see her so excited to be there for the first drama meeting of the school year. She was elated after hearing what play would be put on by the end of the year.

“Little Shop of Horrors has always been one of my uncle's favorites!” She exclaimed as you passed out shortened excerpts of the script to the ones interested in auditioning. She followed you around as you handed each out, eagerly explaining her favorite characters and scenes.

“And I especially love the part with the dentist! The one where he gets trapped in his gas mask!”

You smiled, “He’s one of my favorite characters, too.”

“Yeah, I just hope I can sing as well as Tracy can. I really want to play Audrey.”

“You shouldn’t worry too hard about it, we aren’t expecting Oscar-level, and we can always train your voice if you feel it isn’t good enough,” you pat her back, “But I’m sure you’re being too hard on yourself.”

She smiled warmly at you, “My uncle’s gonna be so excited,” She muttered, then, looking back down at her script.

“Is he a big fan of Musicals?” You asked.

“He’s the biggest fan ever. He donates a lot every year to the program.”

At that, you raised your brow and handed out the last of the stack. “He is?”

“Yeah, after my older sister used to be in the Drama program, he’s always been supportive, you should totally meet him as the new director.”

Her eyes beamed at the opportunity. Looking at you, expecting you to agree.

You paused for a moment. Was this her way of passively pressuring you into giving her the role? You’re sure she wouldn’t ever do something to you, as she’s been one of the nicest students you’ve ever had, but you still felt skeptical. Despite how much you weren’t keen on meeting someone who might demand something of you as the new director, you reluctantly agreed.

So soon after talking with Carrie, students were filing out of the theatre room. All chatting loudly about what they thought of the production choice and what role they’d audition for. Most comments you caught were positive, so you locked the door with highspirits and slowly followed the group outside, where the cars lined up for the freshmen.

The seniors and juniors of the club slowly continued towards the student parking lot. Carrie, of course, stayed behind. 

Only a couple of parents offered your a warm exchange. Thanking your for taking over for Ms. Cunningham and for opening a Drama club in her stead. You appreciated their gratitude but made sure to thank them for being there for your students.

When one car with a particularly talkative parent drives away, it’s only then that you notice him.

A man, above average height and wearing the most impeccable suit, stands patiently to the side. His hair is longer, swept to the side, and cut around his ears. He’s very well groomed, but his stubble is visible and graying. A pair of expensive looking shades rest on his face. 

He is both unassuming and dressed just a tad more formally than you would assume from any of your students’ caretakers to be. He almost confuses you, as you mistake him for a teacher you hadn’t met. That is, until Carrie exclaims happily and walks towards him, taking his arm and leading him to you.

You smile nervously, as you have zero judgment of his character, yet besides that he seems reserved with his presence and that he’s stylishly dressed. 

“This is him! The teacher I was talking about,” Carrie says to him, very happily.

It’s only then that the man expresses anything. He raises a brow and smiles. It curls very attractively, and at the same time, he extends his hand.

“Why hello, my niece has spoken a lot about you,” He speaks with a heavy southern accent. It’s very charming.

You chuckle, “I hope mostly good things.” You reciprocate his handshake. His hands are calloused, which isn’t surprising, but they’re also strong, and you can tell he must be built under that suit.

“Only good things!” Carrie reassures quickly. As she says this, the man takes off his shades, revealing a haunting set of aquamarine eyes, and his eyelids droop slightly. A row of crow's feet is laid across his cheekbones.

It scares you how attractive you immediately find him. So much so that you completely blank when he opens his mouth for the second time, staring straight at you with a small smile.

You quickly try to recuperate yourself, “I-I’m sorry, you’re…”

His expression could only be described as amused by your awkwardness. 

“I’m Benoit Blanc. You may have heard of me.”

You hum, “Uh, well Carrie has certainly mentioned you quite a few times, and I hear now that you used to be one of the program's biggest supporters.”

He chuckles, “Guilty as charged. I’m always very happy to give to anything to do with performing arts. And I’m very glad you’ve taken over. I haven’t heard very many good things about the former director.”

“Oh, I am too, and I’m very thankful to have such eager students this year. Carrie especially.”

Mr. Blanc smiles warmly at Carrie, which beams at the attention. 

You find yourself so lost in Blanc’s expression of love towards the girl that you space out again. 

“Now- we should really be going…” He says.

“Right! Right, sorry,” You fumble, laughing, “You two have a good day.”

“You too,” Mr. Blanc reciprocates, turning to walk towards the parking lot with Carrie at his side. 

You stare only for a moment, slightly curious which car is his in the parking lot, before one of your students yells a goodbye. You grin back and wave as their sports car glides across the spaces towards the exit. A couple of kids carpooling in the back laugh along. 

You take their leave and the absence of anyone else on the sidewalk as your cue to go. Adjust your work bag on your shoulder and step across the road to reach your car. Once you do and open your door, someone else calls out to you.

“Bye!”

You whip your head up just in time to catch Carrie waving out the window of a beige 1980s-looking Mercedes-Benz. There’s a faint tune from inside that almost sounds like Hamilton, but you can’t catch enough to say for sure. You softly wave back and squint your eyes. In the driver's seat is Mr. Blanc, pulling out towards the exit. 

You smile to yourself as you climb into your own vehicle. This was going to be an interesting first year.

…

Carrie grins at Blanc as they reach the first stoplight after exiting the school.

“How’d you like him?”

Blanc, who was humming along to Satisfied (from the Hamilton soundtrack), stopped and cleared his throat at the question. 

“Whadd’ya mean?”

“I mean, I’m curious what you think of him,” Carrie asks, “You know, I don’t think he knows who you are,” She then adds perceptively.

Blanc nods, waiting and then turning left as the light changes to green, “I don’t think so either.”

“Do you prefer it when people don’t recognize you?”

“Yes, actually. It helps me get a more accurate read on who they are. When they know who I am, they always assume I’m studyin’ them.”

“I see, and what did you read on my new director?”

Blanc spares her a look, trying to gauge just what she was getting at by asking him for his opinion, but from what he saw, she was genuinely and innocently curious.

“Well, uh, he’s… young. Capable. Determined.”

Carrie nods along, “And very nice.”

“Yes, he was very polite.”

“Do you think he might turn strict like Ms. Cunningham?”

“No, I sincerely think not. I could tell by the way he spoke to me that he disagreed with the way she ran the theatre department.”

“That’s a relief,” Carrie sighs, “Anything else?”

Blanc wrestled his memory for anything more to say about the man. From what he could remember, he seemed a decent, modest fellow. Nothing caught his eye. Well, besides the way he was clearly either incredibly intimidated by him or was smitten. Blanc couldn’t help but smile at the memory of him fumbling for his words when he took off his glasses.

“Did you remember something?” Carrie asks about Blanc’s smug expression.

“I’m just recallin’ his nervousness… It’s cute.” 

Carrie gasps, fighting a smile, “Scandalous! I’ll tell Phillip!”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right, I’ll keep it a secret,” She laughs.

“We’re almost home. Whaddya’ want for supper?”

…

It’s been 4 days since the last drama meeting. Auditions were in a week, so it made sense that there wouldn’t be one until next Monday. 

It was currently 5:46 pm on a Friday. You sat, running through pages of the sheet music for tonight. Beside you sat Emma, the pianist at the club. She was nursing a vodka soda, always drinking to soothe her nerves. You’ve told her on multiple occasions that she had no reason to be nervous. It’s not as if she’s a beginner pianist or that she’s never played here before. Every time, she just shoots you down. Complaining that “not everyone is a jazz virtuoso like you or Kasen.”

A couple of years ago, you and your college friends decided to form a sort of jazz quartet. Emma on piano, Rodney on drums, Kasen on sax, and you on string bass. You used to play in the high school orchestra, and the rest (besides Rodney) were music majors, so it just sort of clicked together one day. 

Ever since you had your first show here at “Gatsby’s” (very original), it more or less formed into a habit that you just can’t break. It’s sort of become your relaxation time. You could freely spend hours after work on Fridays here, and go home at any time, since there was nearly never any work on Saturdays thanks to your school schedule.

“Okay, party people! Showtime’s in 10!” Kasen yelled as he sprinted through the backstage hallway. There really wasn’t much of a backstage more than there was an employee hallway and an unused storage room where the four of you kept your instruments and did before-show tuning.

“Speak for yourself, Kasen! You haven’t even touched your sax since last Friday!” Emma yelled from the storage room. 

Kasen popped his head in the room at Emma’s comment.

“And watch, I’ll still play better than you.”

“You wanna bet?” Emma challenged playfully, “Maybe this time you won’t knock over Rodney’s symbols this time.”

“Oh, you know that was an accident!” Kasen said with a exagerated flare.

“Did someone call me?” A voice down the hallway said, then shortly afterwards, Rodney stepped into view. 

Once you and Rodney met eyes, his grin widened, “Hey man, how ya’ been?”

He moves past Kasen to dap hands and pat you on the back. You smile along with him, “I’ve been fine, genuinely. Just getting used to the new school schedule.”

“Oh dude, that’s sick, you did say you were switching it up this year, didn’t you?”

“Yep, no teacher assistant anymore. Now it’s just… teacher.”

He laughs, “Must be a crazy switchup huh?”

“Actually, it’s been better than I expected. The kids are nice.”

“Guys, we have like 2 minutes,” Emma interrupts as she glances at her phone.

“Right. Right, let’s get a move on.”

The four of you, dressed all in black for the night, finally take your stand on stage. A small number of people pay attention, clap, and the rest finally look over and give a light clap aswell. 

As a Jazz quartet with no singer, there aren’t many words expected to be said tonight from the lot of you, but Kasen likes to make the quartet’s presence known by saying a few words every Friday that the lot of you play.

After his nice words, you have a short moment for tuning. You mostly play the same songs for the first set every Friday, but you have 3 sets total, so there’s always room for improvisation.

For the next hour, the four of you put your heart and soul into your instruments. There’s nothing more fulfilling to you than to play along. The beat, the sax, the light notes leading. It’s…enchanting. It’s your favorite part of the week. 

By the end of the first set, your right pointer finger is already feeling the effect of the constant plucking. You stretch your left hand and very carefully lay the heavy bass down as Kasen says a few brief parting words before the next set. After the claps have ended, and he is finished, he turns to the rest of you and smiles, “Amazing, as per usual.” He softly high-fives Emma as they step off the stage.

You follow suit, thirsty for anything as you head to the bar. Behind the counter are Jeremy and Melissa. Two of the best and only bartenders who work at the Gatsby. Jeremy, also Emma’s boyfriend and friend of yours.

“Hey guys,” You greet, as you take a nearby stool. Jeremy grins and leans on the counter beside you, “How’s life?”

“Nothing crazy.”

“That’s the best answer,” Says Melissa, the older, wiser of the two behind the counter, and she turns to your side, out of your vision, “And what can I get you, darlin’?”

You turn to look and nearly fall dead in shock.

A stool to your right sits Mr. Blanc himself. He bashfully glances down from your gaze as you stare at him before answering Melissa. 

“Just a Vesper, please… and whatever he’s havin’.”

Melissa smiles warmly, then turns to you and your slowly falling, shocked expression.

“The usual?” She surmises.

“I- uhm- actually I’ll take a Long Island.”

“Oh? But I thought you only drank vodka soda.”

You laugh nervously, then clear your throat, “Trying something different.”

“Need somethin’ stronger?” 

You smile, shifting between too wide to embarrassed, “Hah, yeah.”

By now, Melissa has left to make those drinks, and Jeremy is tending to a different person at the bar.

“Am I too intimidatin’?” Blanc asks bluntly.

“Uhm. Just a little,” You reply honestly.

This causes Blanc to grin wolfishly. You almost feel like prey under his gaze. He takes you in, your suit, your styled hair, your nervous smile.

“How did you… How did you know…?” You begin to ask.

“If you’re askin’ how I knew you played here, rest assured, I didn’t. I had no idea until I stepped in 20 minutes ago.”

You nod once, “Right. Right.”

“And I’m glad I did. You’ve got real talent.”

You can feel your face heat up at his compliment. You can only hope it’s not noticeable under the dim light in the venue.

“Thank you, thank you.”

It takes an absurdly short amount of time for Melissa to come back with both of your drinks. You take the Long Island with thanks and take a sip. It burns, but you need it to do its magic as soon as possible.

Benoit Blanc is looking absolutely stunning under that warm glow. It’s almost infuriating how much you like him like this. Casual, alone, and with his attention solely on you.

“You’re lookin’ quite dashin’,” He comments.

You grin into your glass, “Speak for yourself. Are you always this stylish?”

“Perhaps. I do enjoy dressin’ myself up from time to time.”

You chuckle. Then- after a comfortable beat as passed- “You don’t seem like you’re from around here…”

“No, I’m not. I actually grew up in Louisiana.”

“Ah- I should’ve guessed with that wonderful accent.”

He huffs, barely suppressing a smile, “But now I live in London. I’m visitin’ for ma’ niece.”

“Carrie, right.” You take another sip, “And what is it you do for work?”

He seemed genuinely amused at your question, “I’m a private detective.”

“Oh, that’s so cool,” You perk up and lean your elbow on the counter and rest your head on your hand. “I bet you’re amazing at Clue.”

He sighs, “No, no, I’m not good at the dumb stuff.”

You laugh, “Well, I’m not good at it either.”

You happen to glance to the side at the foot of the stage to see Kasen staring straight at you. You furrow your brow at him before he exaggeratedly points at the watch and ushers you over with his hand. 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave for the second set,” You sigh. “ How long will you stay?”

“Until you’re done,” Blanc grins, tilting his head almost seductively as he says so.

You feel your heart swell at the sight, “You’re too kind.”

The rest of the night goes by almost too fast for your taste. You wanted to savor the feeling of the music. The feeling of Mr. Blanc’s watchful stare. It was exhilarating. Unfairly soon, the third set had ended. It was nearing 9 pm. You were very tipsy by this point. Refusing to be labelled drunk, you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him. 

The quartet had joined you at the bar, not helping you act unaffected. They even joked regularly with Blanc, shaking hands and including him in some conversations. 

When it neared 11, they were clearing out and heading to carpool with Jeremy. You exited slowly after them, trying not to act a fool while walking, and wrapped up in an insightful discussion about the Great British Bake Off with Blanc as he followed you to the door.

“Aw shit,” Jeremy exclaimed as he neared his car.

“What’s the matter, Baby?” Emma asks, rounding the other side of his Honda.

“I forgot I was moving my brother’s stuff.”

When you look in the back, you spot a collection of boxes filling at least half of the backseat.

“The trunk’s fucking full too.”

“So you can only sit two other people?” Kason asks, studying the heap inside.

“Yeah… well, maybe three if y'all squeeze.”

“It’s all good, guys, I can call an Uber,” you reassure.

“I can stay behind with you if you’d like,” Rodney offers.

“No, no, no, no, it’s okay, really. You guys go home.”

Everyone’s gazes seem unsure, yet thankful at your response.

“I can drive you,” Blanc says simply.

You look at Blanc with wide eyes. You had forgotten he was here, honestly.

“Wait really?”

Blanc even seems slightly surprised at himself for offering, but he doubles down, “Well, of course.”

Kason slaps the top of the Honda, “Problem solved. We ride with Jeremy while you ride with this generous gentleman whose name I can’t remember.”

“Mr. Blanc,” you remind him, announcing his name a bit more than necessary, “God, get it through your thick skull, Kason.”

“Wait, wait. I think- I think I’ve heard your name–”

But by the time Emma can complete her comment, Blanc has taken your arm and is almost forcefully leading you away from the spot where Jeremy parked his car. You stumble along with him, nearly tripping over yourself multiple times.

“Woah woah,” you exclaim as you almost fall. Almost, because as soon as you trip, his hand is already there to support your hip. You don’t hesitate to lean into him the rest of the way. He seems unfazed by your weight. Which proves your assumption that he’s secretly built underneath all those clothes.

The thought makes you shudder, and you drunkenly lean into him. By the time you’ve already neared his car, the same one he picked up Carrie in after drama.

He helps you to the passenger side, and you grin up at him. “You smell really good.”

He smirks, “Really?”

“Really.”

“Time to go home, Champ.”

You stumble into the passenger seat. He stands, ready to close the door, but you reach out for the handle. He assists you anyway.

He gracefully climbs into the driver's seat. He glances over at you. You sat, smiling dumbly straight ahead. He chuckles, “Happy?”

“Oh, I’m very happy,” You admit, glancing back at him, “The minute I saw you driving in this car, I imagined being driven around by you in it. And now it’s so.”

Blanc is almost taken aback by yourconfession. “Well, your wishes have been granted. What’s your address?”

You mumble your address, already feeling very relaxed in the passenger seat. 

You’re asleep for most of the ride. The Gatsby isn’t far from your house, and you’re always thankful for that, especially during times like this.

When you reach your flat, you groan in annoyance.

“Do you need help getting out?”

“Oh! Please help me, I can barely move.” You speak exaggeratedly, not wanting to leave him just yet. You can hear him chuckle before he exits his side of the car. 

When he reaches the passenger, he opens it softly and leans down to grasp your hands. He easily hoists you to your feet, but you stumble a little. To your surprise, you stare at his face, and then your eyelids fall back down to droopy. You can’t stop yourself from looking at his pretty lips. He grunts as he wraps an arm over your back and under yours to guide you to your front door.

You fumble with your keys before finally finding the right ones. You miss once, twice, three times before Blanc gently wraps his hand around yours to line up your house key. You experience a full-body shiver at the touch, and you finally twist and unlock your front door.

You step inside, almost missing the light switch to turn on the closest light, which was in the kitchen.

You turn back towards Blanc, who seems strangely conflicted on what to do next.

“I guess this is goodnight,” he says finally, with a smile.

“Thank you for driving me,” You say, leaning against the door frame with a dopey smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” He answers, then pauses as if there was anything more to say.

He almost steps away, but stops when you call out to him.

“Can you- would you want to come inside?” You offer.

Blanc’s nervous expression turns pained, “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Stubbornly, you lay your head against the door frame, giving him your best pleading look, “Please?”

“No, Darlin’... I think we both know what could happen if I do.”

His tone drops with the last bit of his response. Your heart flutters at his words, yet sinks all the same.

“Why not?” you press.

He almost chuckles, “I’m married, Sugar.”

Your mouth drops. “O-Oh.”

“I’m sorry if I- If I lead you on… I’m gonna go now,” He sputters out. 

You watch as he walks back to his car, opens his driver's side door, looks back at you, “Get your rest, okay?”

“I will…” You speak unsuredly.

He either doesn’t notice or ignores the tone of your voice as he climbs back into the car. You can only watch as it slowly pulls away, out of your driveway and down the road.

You guess it was worth a try.

…

“Welcome home!” 

Blanc stands astonished when he enters his sister’s lake house to find Phillip already in the foyer waiting for him. They immediately hug each other before Phillip pulls away with a large grin.

“Surprised?” 

“Very,” Blanc smiles, but it fades slightly. He’s still feeling strangely guilty, despite not having done anything outright. His thoughts, however, were a different story.

“I was able to leave early, so I got home this evening.” Phillip exclaims, kissing Blanc’s cheek.

“You should’ve told me, I woulda’ picked you up from the airport.”

“Oh, I didn’t bother me. I know you’re usually busy around that time anyway.”

“But I didn’t have work today,” Blanc added, but then quickly regretted saying so.

“Oh? Then why were you out so late?”

Before Blanc could say anything, someone interrupted.

“Blanc!” Carrie shouted from further down the hall. She then came out running, in socks. Blanc braced for impact as she slid into him. She started laughing, and he soon joined in, “Quite the greetin’.”

…

It isn’t until Blanc is undressing himself for bed an hour later that the topic is brought back up.

Phillip is reading, resting against the headboard with some pillows behind his back for support. A pair of reading glasses sits on his face as he takes in each page. The nightstand lamp was casting a warm glow on him and his novel. Blanc carefully taking off each part of his suit in the walk-in closet.

Once he’s in his sleepwear, he finally returns toward bed. He climbs in, sighs deeply, and almost dramatically plops his head against the silk pillow.

“You seem troubled,” Phillip observes, eyes not once leaving the book.

Blanc chuckles, “I can never hide anythin’ from you.”

Phillip gives him a threatening glance, “You better not be,” Then flips a page, “Now what is it? Do you need to leave for work again?”

“No… it’s not work-related.”

This piques Phillips' interest. He places a bookmark in his book and closes it.

“It’s not work-related?”

“No, it’s not…” Blanc admits, slightly ashamed of himself.

“Well, what’s the matter? Is it your sister? Is she asking for more money?”

Blanc shakes his head only slightly as he is lying face up, “No. Thank God, no.”

“Then what could it be?”

Blanc hesitates, trying to find the best way to approach the discussion. He finally decides how he’s going to say it, so he leans forward, resting his weight on his elbow as he looks up and meets Phillip in the eye.

“Do you remember… 2 years ago when you asked if I could ever be interested in… a third?”

Phillip’s eyes widen, “Now that you mention it, yeah…,” Then his brows furrow, then go back to raised, “Don’t tell me… You actually met someone–”

“I- I turned him down, and I just feel guilty for possibly leadin’ him on–”

“You turned him down!?” Phillips exclaims, distraught.

Blanc gives Phillip an incredulous look, “Yes?”

“You didn’t even let me meet him! What if I liked him too?”

Blanc is fully sat up now, at a loss for words.

Phillip continues, “I was not joking 2 years ago when I said I could be interested in a third, but you didn’t seem pleased, so I didn’t push it further. But now I find out that you actually found someone that you could possibly be interested in, and you already turned him down!?”

“I- I didn’t realize how passionate you felt-”

“I’m not passionate about it- the only thing I’m passionate about is you, and your wants and needs. I just hate that you found out that you like someone and you sabotaged yourself for my sake.”

Blanc laughs, the situation so absurd he couldn’t help it, “Well, would you want to meet him still?”

“Of course!” Phillip almost shouts, “I swear to God if he’s handsome and thinks that you don’t want him anymore, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“What if you think he’s ugly?” Blanc teases, grinning.

“Well… then you can turn him back down.”

Blanc laughs heartily, “I love you.” He leans forward to kiss Phillip and Phillip quickly reciprocates. 

“I love you too…” Phillip returns, then opens back up his book, “Is there anything else you need to confess?”

“Nope. That’s it,” Blanc answers, turning to lie on his side, his back towards the lamp.