Mistletoe In The Marigny Five Points

Stories 3 1st Edition Kyle Baxter

Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmeta.com/product/mistletoe-in-the-marigny-five-points-stories-3-1st-editi
on-kyle-baxter-2/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Mistletoe In The Marigny Five Points Stories 3 1st

Edition Kyle Baxter

https://ebookmeta.com/product/mistletoe-in-the-marigny-five-
points-stories-3-1st-edition-kyle-baxter-2/

Bring Me Edelweiss Five Points Stories 2 1st Edition

Kyle Baxter

https://ebookmeta.com/product/bring-me-edelweiss-five-points-
stories-2-1st-edition-kyle-baxter/

Back Where I Come From Five Points Stories 4 1st

Edition Kyle Baxter

https://ebookmeta.com/product/back-where-i-come-from-five-points-
stories-4-1st-edition-kyle-baxter-2/

Back Where I Come From Five Points Stories 4 1st

Edition Kyle Baxter

https://ebookmeta.com/product/back-where-i-come-from-five-points-
stories-4-1st-edition-kyle-baxter/
Mistletoe Surprise 1st Edition Kat Baxter

https://ebookmeta.com/product/mistletoe-surprise-1st-edition-kat-
baxter/

Mistletoe Surprise 1st Edition Kat Baxter

https://ebookmeta.com/product/mistletoe-surprise-1st-edition-kat-
baxter-2/

Dragons Hate Mistletoe Fabled Hearts Volume Five A

curvy woman dragon shifter Christmas romance 1st
Edition Banks Tamrin

https://ebookmeta.com/product/dragons-hate-mistletoe-fabled-
hearts-volume-five-a-curvy-woman-dragon-shifter-christmas-
romance-1st-edition-banks-tamrin/

The Lyre Dancers Stone Stories 3 Mandy Haggith

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-lyre-dancers-stone-
stories-3-mandy-haggith/

The Rogue Crown (The Five Crowns of Okrith #3) 1st

Edition A. K. Mulford

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-rogue-crown-the-five-crowns-of-
okrith-3-1st-edition-a-k-mulford/
Mistletoe in the Marigny

A Five Points Story

Volume 3

By Kyle Baxter
Mistletoe in the Marigny
Copyright © 2020 Kyle Baxter

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be

reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical,
photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission
from the publisher, except as provided by United States of America
copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

are either products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark

owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in
this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The
publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated
with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
 Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1: We Live So Fast
Chapter 2: All These Things That I’ve Done
Chapter 3: Almost There
Chapter 4: Wild Heart
Chapter 5: Truth Hurts
Chapter 6: Love to Hate You
Chapter 7: Thorn in My Side
Chapter 8: Drama!
Chapter 9: Old Town Road
Chapter 10: Down in New Orleans
Chapter 11: Wouldn’t It Be Good
Chapter 12: Shine
Chapter 13: I Don’t Know Anything
Chapter 14: Time
Chapter 15: It’s Alright (Baby’s Coming Back)
Chapter 16: I’ll Take You There
Chapter 17: Days in the Sun
Chapter 18: Every Story Is a Love Story
Chapter 19: For Good
Chapter 20: Beauty and the Beast
Chapter 21: Penthouse and Pavement
Chapter 22: I’ll Be There
Chapter 23: It’s My Life
Chapter 24: School Boy Crush
Chapter 25: Borderline
Chapter 26: How Will I Know
Chapter 27: I’m Alive
Chapter 28: If You Asked Me To
Chapter 29: It’s Not Right but It’s Okay
Chapter 30: Original Sin
Chapter 31: Cajun Moon
Chapter 32: Evermore
Chapter 33: In Case You Didn’t Know
Chapter 34: My Own Soul’s Warning
Chapter 35: It’s Christmas Eve
Chapter 36: Jambalaya
Epilogue: A Million Dreams
Back Matter
 Acknowledgments
I have to start by thanking my dear friend, Andrea La-Rosa Jimenez,
for her advice and unflagging support. Thank you so much.

Thanks to all those who have been a part of my getting here

including, Jodi Erickson, Jordan Hollen, Julie Hollen, Jon Crefeld, my
father, and anyone who said anything positive, or taught me
something along the way.

Finally, this book would not have been possible without Gabriella
Michaelis, my ever-patient beta reader and a fantastic novelist
herself, and Bodie Dykstra, my amazing editor.

A few years ago I had a very bad holiday season. Hallmark

Christmas movies helped get me through it, and I couldn’t help but
wish there was something there for my community, the LGBTQ+
community. That’s where the Five Points Stories come from, the
desire for my own cozy gay romances. I hope you enjoy them.

Mahalo Nui Loa.

 For Robert, and Rich
and all those
we loved and lost.

What is remembered lives.

 Chapter One
We Live So Fast

“You’re saying that no one wants to work with me?” Wide-eyed,

Larry slumped in the chair opposite his agent. Sweat broke out on
his brow, and he fidgeted as he unbuttoned his double-breasted
peacoat. What is happening? Have I gone mad?
“Not at the moment,” Stuart said. The rotund man’s eyes barely
lifted to meet his. He looked embarrassed; Stu was clearly not
thrilled with this situation, either.
This is a complete disaster. He arrived at Stuart Schneider’s
office in the theater district today, with holiday gifts for the staff,
Larry’s annual custom, and stopped to check in with the man.
“I don’t understand, Stuart. I’ve got a callback for A Streetcar
Named Desire.” Wiping the sweat off his forehead with a
handkerchief from his breast pocket, Larry shifted in his seat. “My
fifth.”
“I’m so excited they’re doing a new production,” Stuart said with
a little squeal and clapped his hands. “It’s one of my favorite plays.”
“Yeah, and I hustled for that.” He grimaced. Stuart certainly
hadn’t sent a lot his way lately. I am so confused. What is going on?
“The casting agent personally asked me back.”
His agent cocked his head and smiled. “I know, and I hear you
did a great job.”
“Then I don’t—” Larry started but the wind left his sails. Why
would they contact him? Larry stared out the window behind his
agent. It featured a great view of the back of the building across the
alley. The snow is really starting to come down.
After taking a deep breath, Stuart went on. “Well, the word is
that they want a name for Streetcar.”
 So he did hear something. That’s unusual. Larry sat forward. “I
have a name. Lawrence Fonteneau is a great name, particularly for a
show like Streetcar. I mean, I am actually from New Orleans.”
“Sweetie—” Stuart adjusted the teal pashmina around his neck.
He wore them year-round. “I love you to death, you know that, but
Larry Fonteneau is a great name when I want to book a wedding,
not when I want to book an actor.”
“That’s harsh.” Larry fell back in his chair, letting out a long
breath. And rude. He was also painfully aware of how true it was,
especially of late.
“Joaquín Tapia, now that is a name for leading an off-Broadway
show.”
“Joaquín Tapia, seriously?” Larry sat bolt upright, his brow
creased, and clenched his fist. “I don’t . . . How did his name even
come up?”
“It didn’t.” Stuart waved a hand dismissively. “But I did hear he’s
in town filming another guest spot on a TV show. One of the CSIs or
SUVs, I think. Who can keep track? He is the kind of talent they’re
looking for.”
I think I have a headache. He put his head in his hands and
rubbed his temples. Was it getting warmer? Joaquín was not only his
coworker Enrico’s brother, but like Larry, he was also an actor. A
recurring role on a sci-fi TV series a few years ago brought Joaquín
some measure of fame, but Larry had no idea who he was when
they met.
They dated briefly this past summer after meeting at Joel’s
party. That was until the guy stood Larry up and returned to the
west coast. D-list celebrities I do not need in my life. His head
bobbed. “Yes, yes—I get it. Producers want to sell tickets and
Joaquín was on that show . . .”
“Exactly, he has a cachet and a following. His Instagram and
Twitter are huge. But you? Dear, everyone in town has seen or
already knows you.” Stuart regarded him with kind eyes and leaned
forward. “No one is interested.” He paused for effect. “At least not at
the moment.”
 Ouch, that hurts. Not that he expected to be coddled, but still.
The message was clear, but he still needed a job. Larry sat up. “Stu,
I’ll take anything.”
“Really, anything? Even musicals?” Stuart aimed a sharp eye at
him, and Larry faltered. “There is something in a chorus I could send
you up for—” Larry shrank back in his chair at that, and Stuart went
on. “You’re a bass-baritone. You know that’s all they ever offer you,
and only then because they love your voice to round it out.” Stuart
made a cupping motion with his hand. “But because of that, you’re a
shoo-in. I’m sorry, dear heart, but we have tried and we have tried
and the last really big thing we were able to get for you was
Always.”
“Ugh, I remember—” Larry rubbed his forehead again. Definitely
a headache. “Vividly.”
That particular show was two years ago. He’d been desperate
for a job and accepted a role in the chorus and as an understudy for
the lead. Sometimes at night he woke up in a cold sweat,
remembering it. Out of the gate, it started on a bad foot with a
terrible audition. The casting director insulted him and it never got
better.
It was a miracle he even got the role, but the production was
badly thought out; it just didn’t work onstage. Everyone was so busy
trying to find the next big thing, and they never considered that
some shows should stay on the drawing board. Even if there was
money behind it.
Worse still, the show was unprofessionally run, with the director
and choreographer regularly late for rehearsals. When they were
there, they gossiped loudly, berating the cast. At times, it seemed to
be nothing more than a musical money pit designed to separate
investors from their money.
“There’s also the other matter . . .”
Oh, there’s more? Larry’s eyes narrowed. “And what is this
‘other matter’?’”
“You have a reputation for being difficult on set,” Stuart said.
Larry jumped up. “Me? Difficult?” How dare . . .
 Stuart held up a hand. “You had ongoing arguments with the
choreographer on Always—”
“The woman wanted me to do some Twyla Tharp nonsense!” He
started pacing around the room, the blood pumping loudly in his
ears. This can’t be happening.
“It was a musical. There’s dancing, Larry.” Stu leaned forward.
“Yes, but that style she wanted didn’t suit the show or, more
importantly, that moment in the show. Anyone with a bit of sense
could see that. It was atrocious.” At the time, he was the only one
with the courage to speak up.
“Yes,” Stuart agreed. “But you don’t need to actually say that to
the choreographer. You’re lucky you weren’t fired.”
That landed like a slap to the face. Normally, he’d argue,
but . . . Stuart was right, damn him. “All right, I see your point. I
apologize. I’ll do better.” Larry deflated. Stuart raised an eyebrow,
and Larry protested, “I will. I promise.”
“It may be too late for your reputation. A show will put up with
some of that behavior from a star, but I’m sorry, dear—you’re not a
star. You were in the chorus. That is not done. Going forward, you
need to show up with a smile and do your job, and if they say louder
and faster”—notoriously the last thing an actor wants to hear—“you
give them louder and faster.” Stuart took a sip from his bottle of
water on the desk. “That is, if we can even get you anything . . .”
Something in his voice pricked up his ears. Uh-oh. “Stu, what
exactly are you saying? Are you dropping me?” Larry asked. Please,
please, please don’t. He was warm suddenly and pulled off his scarf.
Stuart put a hand to his chest. “I would never do that before
the holidays—”
But after? Larry thought sourly. He is. He’s going to drop me.
Larry did everything asked of him, spent money on classes,
headshots, props, and all manner of stupid things, trying to hone his
craft. It all came down to this: he was considered difficult. Here he
thought he was professional by demanding more, demanding better.
He almost wanted to cry. It’s not fair.
“I’ll tell you what.” Stuart clasped his hands on the desk in front
of him. “Go to your callback for Streetcar this week and don’t worry
about it. They said they aren’t making any casting decisions until the
new year anyway. We’ll talk then, okay?”
“Very well,” Larry grumbled. He’s definitely going to drop me if I
don’t get this role.
“You’re going home to New Orleans for Christmas, right?” Stuart
gave him a professional smile.
Larry nodded. “Yes, I fly out in a week.” This trip home for the
holidays had been planned for almost a year. He traded shifts with
Joel, his colleague and ex-roommate, and even picked up extra ones
to make room on the schedule for it. He hadn’t been home in too
long.
Stuart tapped a finger on his chin. “Well, maybe you should get
some kind of voodoo charm while you’re there.”
“I’ll consider it.” Larry smiled weakly. He wasn’t really a believer
in luck, voodoo, or spirits, but at this point, he was willing to try
anything. Maybe I’ll call Sissy. His older sister Cecilia did make Marie
Laveau’s House of Voodoo in the French Quarter a regular stop. He
could ask her to pick something up or . . .
Shaking it off, Larry reached into his messenger bag and pulled
out a festively decorated package. He placed it on Stuart’s desk.
“This is for you.”
“Ooh, what is this?” Stuart eyed it with a twinkle in his eye.
“My world-famous gingerbread Wookies.” Larry winked at him.
The man loved his cookies shaped like the Star Wars character. He
started making them for Joel when they were kids.
“Homemade cookies,” Stuart squealed and patted his waistline.
“You are an evil, evil man, and I love you.” He carefully unwrapped
the package.
“Happy holidays, Stuart.” Larry stood and made for the door. I
need to get to work.
“Happy Hanukkah,” Stuart replied.
Larry walked down the hall to the elevator, his heart heavy and
his mind a jumble. The thought of being dropped by Stuart left his
stomach in knots. He’d been with the man for years.
What will I do if he doesn’t represent me anymore? I can’t go
back to the chorus . . . He had to find a way to make this work. A
flash of resolve kicked him into gear and brightened his mood. I
WILL make this work. And for a little extra insurance, he would snag
a gris-gris and a candle when he got home.
Madame Rimbaud’s Magick Shoppe was his preference for such
things. Less touristy. While he wasn’t a believer per se, a little lucky
charm never hurt. A little down-home New Orleans magic could be
just the ticket.
Leaning against the elevator wall, he pulled out his cellphone. A
muscle in his jaw twitched when he saw the missed call from his
mother. She almost never phoned out of the blue. They had a
regularly scheduled call every Sunday morning. They called it “going
to confession.” What was wrong? Tensing, he hit redial immediately.
“Hey, Mama, it’s Larry.”
“Hey, baby, how’re you doing?” she asked in her husky voice.
She’d never smoked but it sure sounded like she did.
“I’m good,” he said. It wasn’t true. He felt dizzy. The rug was
just pulled out from under him, and he wanted to sit down. But he
didn’t have time to get into it with her on the phone. It could wait
until he got home to the Big Easy. Then he’d pour out his heart to
her while she poured the wine. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing just fine,” she said. Her tone was light but off.
Something was up. After a long pause, she asked, “So you haven’t
seen?”
Her tentative tone surprised him. His mother was larger than life
and brusque, never hesitant. The antennae went up.
“All right, I’ll bite. What haven’t I seen?” he asked. What now?
“Check your Instagram feed,” she added quickly. “Charlene
posted a photo of her and her new fiancé.”
“She’s engaged? What’s the problem? I think that’s wonderful,”
he said, a smile breaking over his face. Charlene, his favorite cousin
and childhood friend, had a checkered romantic past. The beaus that
weren’t already married were probably in prison.
“Normally, I’d agree with you, but not this time—”
“What’s wrong?” Alarm klaxons went off in his head. This should
be good news. What happened? Who was it? “Is it that guy from
two years ago that she almost eloped with? Did he finally get
divorced?”
“No, her fiancé is Dwayne,” she finished.
“Dwayne?” His jaw hit the floor. “My ex-lover Dwayne? My ex-
fiancé Dwayne? The same man who left me at the altar and cheated
on me with his best man? That Dwayne?”
“The one and only,” she said sourly. “This was a surprise to us,
too. We didn’t even know they were dating. How could she do this?
She knows what he did to you.”
“She was there when it all happened. I literally cried on her
shoulder.” Larry slumped against the elevator wall with a moan. That
period in his life was the last time he cried about anything. He
looked heavenward. Why did this have to happen now?
Heading home in a week, he couldn’t change his plans, not
now. Besides, it was two years since he’d been home. He had to go.
Now he had to deal with this? And at Christmastime, and the week
of the neighborhood festival. Oh God, I’m going to see them ALL of
the time!
The door opened and a woman got on. His eyes went wide. He
was still on the floor to Stu’s office; he’d forgotten to hit the lobby
button. Oops.
“All right, Mother, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later,” he said,
getting a slight smile from the young woman next to him.
“Love you, Peanut,” Mama said.
Opening the Instagram app on his phone, he looked for the
offending post. He also checked his follower count. Stu’s right. It
really is abysmal. Scrolling through his feed, he came across the
picture Charlene had posted and froze.
Mama warned him, but his stomach still dropped. The photo
was his cousin showing off her engagement ring. Dwayne, her shiny
new fiancé, loomed over her shoulder with a big shit-eating grin.
Charlene was there. She saw how he was destroyed by what
Dwayne had done. Now she was engaged to him? How could she do
this?
You cannot be serious. I am going to kill them both.
 As the elevator hit the lobby floor, he darted out onto 8th
Avenue. As the winter chill bit into him, he pulled his coat tighter
and then yanked on his gloves.
I think I need help. I . . . I can’t do this alone. Maybe I can ask
Freddie and Joel to go with me. Whatever else, he needed backup if
he was going to get through the holidays.
 Chapter Two
All These Things That I’ve Done

“Do you think that they know these are horrid?” Larry leaned over to
Joel. “Are they even that self-aware?”
The photos in question, set up on easels on either side of the
entrance to the reception, were large poster-sized glossies of the
two grooms. On one, a groom was situated in the foreground,
portrait style, with the other standing in the background, a hazy
blurring effect separating them. The poster across from it showed
the grooms in the opposite positions and in different outfits, of
course. At best, they could be called tacky chic. At worst they were,
well, horrid.
“We shouldn’t comment on our clients’ taste,” Joel scolded him.
Friends since elementary school, they moved to New York together,
right after Larry broke up with Dwayne.
Larry took the note. “I apologize—” He’d worked at Five Points
Catering on and off for almost two years now. It was a nice steady
gig between acting jobs.
Joel adjusted his tie and whispered, “You’re right, though.
These are terrible. But we still shouldn’t say it, at least not here.
We’ll be like the good Southern gentleman we are.”
Larry brightened. “We’ll talk about them when their backs are
turned?”
“Absolutely.” Joel looked around. “You know the bar we just shut
down?”
“The satellite bar from the lobby?” Larry likewise looked around.
No guests were near them; everyone was in the dining hall and
dancing. “We moved it into the back already.”
 “Great, meet me there,” Joel said and left to take a turn through
the event. Larry went in the opposite direction, checking all the
stations at the buffet, making sure everything was in order.
“I’ll be back in five . . . or ten,” Larry told Nancy, an older server
who worked with them occasionally. A career waitress, her 401K had
taken some hits of late and she picked up the odd shift.
“Save me some amaretto,” she groused in a gravelly voice not
unlike his mother’s. It reminded Larry also of Brenda Vacarro. Or
Kathleen Turner.
“You got it, Nance.” He aimed a finger like a gun at her and
made a pew-pew sound.
“Kids,” he heard her say as he walked away, and he knew as
sure as he lived that she was rolling her eyes.
“They look like overblown, badly photoshopped Glamour Shots,”
Larry told Joel. After making their martinis, they’d gone back to
talking about the function, as waiters would.
“The absolute worst,” Joel agreed, raising his martini glass.
They clinked them together.
“Promise me that you will not do anything like that when you
walk down the aisle,” Larry said. The prospect of Joel marrying his
boyfriend grew more real every day, though the engagement wasn’t
official and no date was set.
Joel’s eyes went wide. “I don’t think Her Royal Highness would
allow that.”
“When is Astrid’s coronation?” It still amazed Larry that his best
friend’s boyfriend was the prince of a sovereign nation. It definitely
kept things interesting. They were always flying off somewhere,
playing gay mystery archaeologists, and Larry helped pick up the
slack at work.
“It’s in May. I’ve already put in for the time off.” Joel finished his
martini and set it aside. “Is that okay?”
Larry looked at him in surprise. “Oh, you mean with me? Yes,
you do what you want. I love playing event coordinator when you go
out of town.”
“You’ve really stepped up. I appreciate that.” Joel patted Larry
on the back. At six-foot-four, Joel was only a little taller than him.
People often assumed they were brothers. Not that he understood it.
Joel had an olive complexion and dark hair, compared to Larry’s pale
and blond. He chalked it up to their closeness.
“Lord knows there’s not a whole lot else going on.” Larry sighed.
“I haven’t had a real acting job in ages, and the last big thing was in
a chorus.”
“Oh yeah, that off-Broadway musical version of Always,” Joel
said and managed a weak smile. “That was different.”
“‘Different’ is doing a lot of work in that sentence. How it even
got that far was only due to the high-money backers. It was terrible,
but it was a job.” Larry took another sip of his cocktail. Per old
restaurant tradition, they allowed themselves one shift drink.
Joel turned to him, an arm resting jauntily on the bar. “Why did
they cast that lead? You would have been so much better.”
“Thank you, I think so, too.” Larry grinned, lifting his glass in
salute.
“It’s too bad he couldn’t sing. Or dance.” Joel noshed on the
olive from his cocktail. “Or even act, really.”
“He was a soap opera actor with a following.” Larry rolled his
eyes and added, “He had a cachet.”
“If that’s what they wanted, they should have gone with
Chandler Massey.” Joel swirled the vodka around in his glass. “He’s
got that handsome, athletic blond thing, like you.”
“And he’s got an Emmy,” Larry groused. “Always was a
nightmare, closed after a week.” He sighed again. “Oh well, it’s
another line on the résumé. At least my work with Five Points lets
me pay my union dues.”
“Any luck finding a new roommate?” Joel asked.
Larry could tell from Joel’s tone that he still felt bad. It wasn’t as
if he’d left Larry in the lurch, but they’d lived together for over
fifteen years between New York and New Orleans. Joel’s moving out
was an adjustment for them both. His best friend since their
childhood in New Orleans, Joel was his touchstone. His leaving left a
hole in Larry’s life.
He decided not to talk to Joel about the latest gossip from
home. It cut him to the core, hitting all his insecurities. Here he was,
about to be tossed to the curb by his agent, and now his biggest
humiliation was being thrown in his face by his cousin. It was too
much to take in at the moment. Though he was still considering
asking Joel to go to New Orleans with him, Larry didn’t want to
rehash it at work or bring his friend down.
Joel was so happy lately, still in the honeymoon period in his
relationship with his Prince Charming Frederick. Whatever else, Larry
did not want to harsh his best friend’s mood; he loved him too
much. Besides, Joel would learn soon enough anyway. Just get
through the night, then go home and have a good sulk.
“Yes, Mark Elmer is moving in,” Larry said firmly. “I’ve told you
this. Relax.” He gave Joel a friendly push in the shoulder and a wider
smile than he felt.
Joel let out a breath. “That’s nice. I like him.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Larry agreed. A salesman with Five
Points for almost six months, Mark was learning the event manager
side of the business now and was around their same age. Larry
barely knew the man, save for that he made money for them and
was reliable. Not bad qualities in a roommate.
Joel’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at it. “And that’s Boromir.
Scheiße.”
“That would be Groom Two, right?” Larry asked. Joel started
giving each client a nickname, a habit he picked up from his
boyfriend, along with cursing in German.
Joel ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Yes. Groom One is
—”
“Faramir, I remember,” Larry said. “They really do look too much
alike.”
“They do.” Joel nodded. “It’s odd.”
“It’s very odd,” Larry agreed. “Please, never let me do that.”
“‘Roger, roger,’” Joel said in a metallic voice and straightened his
tie again.
Larry immediately recognized the quote from Star Wars. “God,
you’re a nerd.”
“Takes one to know one.” Joel grinned and stopped before he
walked out of the door. “Ooh, that reminds me. How is Gregg?”
 “Who?” Larry asked as off-handedly as he could manage.
Joel’s eyes went wide, and he stepped back to his friend and
poked him in the chest. “The guy you’re dating?”
“Oh no, that ended last week.” Larry finished his drink. Please
leave it alone, JoJo.
“No, not again. I really liked Gregg.” Joel frowned and put a
hand on Larry’s shoulder and squeezed.
Larry picked up their martini glasses and put them on the bus
tray. “Well, I’m glad that one of us did, but I may have a date this
weekend.”
Joel tittered. “Really? Before you go home for Christmas
vacation?”
“Of course, why not?” Larry waved a hand in the air. “I look at it
as doing my part to spread Christmas cheer.”
“By spreading your legs?”
“So help me, I will slap you, Joel McIntyre,” Larry warned him
with a slight smile. After adjusting his suit, doing his best James
Bond, he walked away.
“I know you like to keep your dates surface level, because of He
Who Will Not Be Named.”
Larry paused for effect and looked back over his shoulder. “You
really are such a massive nerd.”
“One day we’ll find a man for you. Mark my words,” Joel called
after him.
That made Larry snort. “Never!” But the bravado lay surface
deep. Joel knew well what happened with Dwayne years ago.
Though it did put Larry off of relationships, and settling down in
general, he still dated. But he was not now, or ever, “looking for a
man.” No thank you.
However, the news from home about his ex and Charlene
nagged at him. Sitting on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, it
reminded him how alone he was, how alone he felt. Especially now
with Joel partnering up and moving on.
Damn.

❖
The event ended after dusk, with everything cleaned and
transported back to Five Points Catering’s storage. Tired, Larry took
the L train alone to Brooklyn, getting off at the Lorimar Avenue stop.
He pulled his jacket tighter around him as he walked up the
sidewalk, slick with snow, to his building.
Arriving at his ground-floor home, he hung up his coat and
quickly found his new roommate, Mark Elmer, unpacking boxes in
Joel’s old bedroom. After calling out, “I’m home,” he let Buttons, his
Yorkshire terrier, out for a quick bit of business in their small back
yard. It was too cold and the snow too deep, so the dog did not
linger.
After grabbing two beers, he then went to greet his new
roomie. A pang bit at his stomach as he walked through the living
room. Gone were the maquettes, the posters, the action figures, and
all the sci-fi memorabilia his best friend loved so much. And now
someone else was moving into Joel’s room. He couldn’t help the
slump that took over his body.
Shaking it off, he reminded himself, No, we’re happy for Joel.
We ARE. And we like Frederick. Don’t be picayune. Pulling up to his
full six-foot-two, he forced a smile and knocked on the doorframe of
Joel’s—Mark’s—open room.
“I’m glad to see that you made it.” Larry came in and sat the
beers on the desk in Mark’s new room, then gave the dark-haired
man a one-armed bro hug. Once a few inches shorter than him,
Mark returned the quick embrace patting Larry’s back with strong
arms. The apartment was warm, so he was in short sleeves, showing
off his smooth russet, reddish-brown skin.
Nice build and a firm back. Meow.
“Yeah, got all my stuff in one trip, too.” Mark pushed his glasses
up higher on his nose and went back to unpacking.
“I noticed the moving van outside.” Larry handed him one of the
beers and leaned against the doorframe. “But still, that is some
feat.”
“I’ve had a bit too much practice moving lately.” A twinge of
sadness colored Mark’s voice. “My last couple of roommates never
really worked out. They kept finding boyfriends or lovers and moving
in with them.” He took a long swig of the beer and set the bottle
down.
“I think this’ll work out.” Larry gestured between the two of
them. “I may date a lot, but I’m not the settling down kind of guy.”
“So I hear.”
Larry arched an eyebrow and gave Mark a quirky smile. “Oh
really?”
“Oh my god.” Mark froze. “I am so sorry—”
Larry chuckled and waved a hand. “Relax, it’s fine.”
“No, really, I apologize,” Mark said. “It was just idle chitchat.
You know how queens can be.”
“Mark, I said it’s fine.” Larry chuckled. “I’ve spread half of those
rumors about me myself.” Not true, but Mark didn’t need to know
that.
His new roommate narrowed his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes, I really am not the marrying kind.” Larry stood straight
and struck a heroic pose. “Love ’em and leave ’em Larry, that’s me.”
Aiming his thumb at his chest, he put on his game face and winked,
trying desperately to sell it, though as with Joel earlier, the bravado
was shallow.
Truthfully, he was worn out. I’m tired of it, tired of being alone,
and tired of putting on a front. A Madeline Kahn line from Blazing
Saddles popped into his head, and he chuckled despite himself.
“Let’s face it, I’m pooped.”
After he got the news from his agent, he was desperate to go
home to New Orleans. He wanted nothing more than to rest up and
recharge his batteries. Now he was going to have to put up with
Charlene and Dwayne at the requisite gatherings—alone. It really
brought his holiday spirit down. Normally, he loved the season.
While he didn’t feel like he needed a man, having one around
would be nice at the moment. Someone to take home with him and
meet his pushy mother. Larry was not looking forward to the third
degree she was bound to give him. She was more ready for him to
settle down than he was.
“Okay . . .” Mark squinted at him as he put folded shirts in a
chest of drawers. “Well, I really hope this does work out. My sister
worries about me.”
“That’s Shelly, right? And does she live in the city?” Larry leaned
against the doorframe again and took a big swig of beer. He only
knew Mark a little and was curious to know more.
“Yes, she just got engaged.” A big smile lit up Mark’s face,
transforming it. “I like her boyfriend—fiancé—Dan. He’s a good guy.”
“Five Points is coordinating their wedding, right?” Sometime
next year, if he remembered correctly. A lot was going on in the new
year. I need that acting job.
“Sort of . . . maybe. It’s very small. My mother passed a couple
of years ago, so we’re keeping it to immediate family.” Mark pulled
tchotchkes out of a box and set them on a bookshelf.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Larry said. Poor Mark. That has to
be tough. “But I promise, we’ll do right by Shelly. Five Points takes
care of family.”
“Thank you. By the way, I like this apartment a lot. It’s a really
nice place. Lots of space.” Mark looked around critically. “Two-
bedroom, one-bath with a backyard and living room? How did you
guys even swing that?”
“We were very lucky. We knew someone that lived in the
building.” Larry ran a hand through his shaggy blond mane. He
needed a haircut before he went home. “A friend of ours used to live
here, Josie. We took over the place when she decided to move back
home.”
“Of course. That is how it works in New York.” Mark took a swig
from his own beer. “You’ve been here ten years, right? That’s a good
long time in one apartment.”
“Yeah, it’s affordable and the landlord likes us. Well, she likes
me.” Larry blew air on his fingernails and rubbed them on his shirt.
At a side-eye from Mark, he added, “She does, I swear. She’s even
come out to several of my plays.”
Larry’s Yorkie, Buttons, came in and sat by Mark’s feet. Bending
down, he took a moment to scratch the dog’s head. “I love your
dog.”
“Thank you, and he likes you,” Larry said. “It’s always a good
sign when a dog likes you . . .”
 “Well, dogs like people generally.” Mark opened up a new box.
After taking out some books, he put them on his bookshelf. “The
thing is to avoid people your dog doesn’t like.”
Larry thought about that for a moment. “You’re absolutely
correct. My mom had a Labrador retriever when I was a teenager—
she always has a Lab—but this one, Annie, she liked everyone
except my ex. In retrospect, I should’ve paid closer attention to that.
She was definitely onto something.”
“Where’d you get the name Buttons?” Mark regarded him
seriously.
“Animaniacs. Joel and I loved that show.” Larry grinned.
“I knew it!” Mark high-fived with him, then went back to work.
“Again, I really appreciate this. Not only did my roommate leave, but
the landlord wanted to hike up the rent on my old place. I was
fucked. I had to leave.” Mark let out a heavy breath.
“We’re rent-stabilized here, so we’re all right.”
Mark raised a finger and gave him a big smile. “And the landlord
likes you. You truly are blessed.”
“Your mouth to God’s ears,” Larry said softly and knocked on the
wood molding around the door. He didn’t feel particularly blessed at
the moment. “Do you have any other family in the city?”
Mark started digging into another box for the rest of his books.
“No, just my Shelly Belly. You?”
“Only Joel. We grew up together. He’s practically my brother.”
Larry smiled. “Now, I will be gone for Christmas, and he’ll take care
of Buttons.”
Mark’s head jerked up. “I can do it, if you like. I mean, I’m
visiting Shelly and her fiancé for the holidays, but they both live in
the city, so I’ll be here or at work most of the time.”
“Uhm, well—” He looked down at Buttons watching him with his
sweet face. He wasn’t sure. Mark seemed like a good guy, but . . . I
hardly know him. “I hate to put you out.”
“It’s not a problem. I love dogs. We always had dogs growing
up,” Mark said. “My mom loved Maltese. They’re great lap dogs.”
I’ll ask Joel to check in on him, if I need to. And I’ve got that
webcam by Buttons’s kennel. “Okay, thank you. I really appreciate
that.” Larry bobbed his head. He liked this guy. He’ll be a good
roommate.
“Where’s home again?” Mark asked as he broke down the now-
empty box and set it aside. “I’m sorry if you already told me.”
“No problem.” Larry waved a hand. “I never remember who I
told what to, so I feel like I have the same conversations over and
over again with people.”
“Tell me about it,” Mark agreed. “I think it’s the curse of being in
the service industry.”
“I am from New Orleans, in an area of town just outside the
French Quarter. Marigny, born and raised.”
“The Big Easy? I’ve always wanted to go visit the twenty-four-
hour party city.” Mark pulled several framed photos out of a box and
placed them on his chest of drawers. “Though I’m not sure I could
actually live there.”
“I understand that. The twenty-four-hour party can get very old.
I’m glad I left.” Larry looked down. Though it was true, he felt
ungrateful for saying that out loud. It seemed disloyal, even if he still
considered leaving there to be one of the best decisions he ever
made. Especially after the way everything went down with Dwayne.
Too many hard feelings there eclipsed the good.
Mark glanced over at him. “Really?”
“Yes, I had a lot of growing up to do, and living there in the
bosom of my family? It wasn’t happening.”
“You have a lot of family there?” Mark asked.
“My family is kind of a fixture in the Marigny, for better or
worse,” Larry said, then clapped his hands. “All right, I will leave you
to it. I’m going to study and then hit the hay. I have an audition in
the morning.”
“Good lu—I mean break a leg,” Mark said and waved goodnight.
Buttons followed after his master.
 Chapter Three
Almost There

Joaquín Tapia walked into the condo fresh from his morning run, out
of breath but energized. He loved the city in wintertime, with the
store windows decorated for the holiday season, the people rushing
to and fro with their packages, all bundled up against the weather. It
was delightfully cold, and snow covered the ground. A fresh layer fell
overnight and had yet to turn to slush. Though that was already
close to happening, it was still a pretty commute to Central Park this
morning for his run. The park itself was gorgeous, picturesque under
a clear blue sky.
After a quick shower and change, he walked through the hall
and into the dining room. His older brother and roommate, Enrico,
sat at the dining table, having breakfast with his partner Jaime.
“Could you sit down for a moment with us?” Enrico asked as he
ate cereal out of a bowl. Jaime drank a green smoothie of some
sort. She was juicing and doing a daily half-day fast at the moment.
“Okay.” Joaquín looked from one to the other and saw an odd
look in their eyes. Something’s up. He didn’t know what it could be.
Things had been so good with them of late. Joaquín dropped his
messenger bag onto the sofa, then came back to the dining room
table and sat down.
Enrico took a deep breath. “You know I love you, Quino—”
Joaquín looked heavenward. “No good conversation starts out
that way.” He’s going to play big brother again, isn’t he?
“But . . .” Jaime interjected. She was not only Enrico’s fiancé but
a longtime friend of Joaquín’s as well. Assigned male at birth
(AMAB), Jaime was nonbinary and gender fluid, though she normally
presented and lived as a woman. “You need to do something. It’s
been a while since your last job.”
“Are you worried about my money? You know, I do have some.”
Once upon a time, Joaquín had a recurring role on a small sci-fi
series. As such, there were regular residual checks coming in. Not a
lot, and he wasn’t wealthy by any stretch, but they helped offset his
living expenses. Well, mostly.
“No, we’re not worried about money. We’re worried about you.”
Enrico finished his cereal, put his spoon down, and pushed the bowl
aside. “We know you have money.”
“We also know you,” Jaime said and cocked her head to one
side. “And you are never happy unless you’re working. This moping
around isn’t good for you.”
“I’m not moping.” Joaquín crossed his arms in front of him.
“Are you going to your therapist?” Enrico asked. His brother was
well aware of his battle with depression. Joaquín appreciated his
watchful eye, even as he occasionally resented it.
He scowled. “Yes, and I’m on my meds. Thank you very much.
And by the way, I’m not moping—I’m not,” he protested firmly. “I’m
going to auditions. I’m taking acting classes. As a matter of fact, I
even have an audition today.”
“I hope it’s not another bit part on a TV show.” Jaime rolled her
eyes. She was a pro at that. “You deserve better than that.”
“I don’t know about that, but it is work.” He shrugged, trying to
sound as casual as he could. In truth, he was going stir crazy. I
really do need a job. And the audition today was more than the
usual; it meant a lot to him, a real step forward. So far, he’d refused
to talk about it out loud, even to them. Don’t jinx it! It was a silly
superstition, but he held to it.
Enrico looked at his phone, then back up at him. “You know you
could come work at Five Points.”
“I thought you didn’t want me underfoot.” Joaquín put a hand to
his chin, giving his brother a petulant pout.
“Don’t do that. Don’t stick out your lower lip. I’m not Mama. It
doesn’t work with me. You can work there without us working
together,” Enrico said. “More importantly, it will give you something
to do between jobs. Keep you busy.”
“Another out-of-work actor playing cater waiter?” He aimed a
sharp eyebrow. “Thanks anyway, but pass.” Pulling out his own
phone, Joaquín quickly glanced at the screen for messages, then set
it facedown on the table.
“All right, but we want you to do something.” Enrico leaned
back in his chair. “Think about it, will you? At the very least, Five
Points would give you something to anchor to here in New York.”
Joaquín stared at his brother blankly. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been moving back and forth between here and LA since
your TV show ended two years ago,” Jaime said. “You couch surf
with friends in LA, and then you live with us when you’re in New
York.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Joaquín chuckled.
“You know that’s not the case,” Jaime said. “We love you living
here.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” The corners of Enrico’s eyes crinkled.
“But we do think you should pick one coast and set down a few
roots, at least for a while.”
“Ricky, I go where the jobs are. That’s all,” Joaquín said. Both
Enrico and Jaime raised eyebrows at that, and Joaquín sat back and
crossed his arms. “It is.”
The truth was a little more complicated, of course. Since his
breakup with his boyfriend Luke Miller months ago, he felt better not
being tied down. Single life was fun . . . ish. Besides, a moving
target was harder to hit. Or to hurt.
Still, his older brother’s words stung. Too close to home. Which
was probably why he automatically retorted with the diminutive of
Enrico’s name. He hated it. So of course Joaquín loved using it.
“When you’re an actor, you have to be flexible and go where
things take you. That, and I enjoy traveling,” Joaquín continued.
“Maybe if you were in one place full-time, you’d be able to find
steady work.” Enrico leaned forward, resting his forearms on the
table.
 “The real money’s in LA,” Joaquín said pointedly. Why are they
on me? Am I really moping? That was not what he wanted. He
thought he was doing well—all things considered. Granted, he was a
little sad that things ended as badly as they did with his ex, but
moping? Yuck.
“You have money. You’ll be fine,” Jaime said. “We’ll be fine. And
from what I read, film and TV has never been more active in New
York than it is right now. Even shows that shoot in Vancouver are
cast out of here. A lot of actors live here full-time and still do TV and
film work. You can stay here, have a home, and still act. Maybe even
date someone regularly.”
“The last thing I want to do is settle down,” he scoffed. He was
still dealing with the fallout from his last relationship. It was a big
reason why he came back to New York last month. It still stung.
After everything they shared, Luke couldn’t even break up with him
in person. Actors.
“Be that as it may, maybe you could give it a real try here,”
Jaime continued. “Don’t simply visit, but make it a home for a while.
I think you’ll be happier.”
“That’s our big concern,” Enrico said. “And also Mama and
Papa’s. You don’t seem happy and we all want you to be happy.” He
reached over and squeezed Jaime’s hand. “This is the second time in
six months you’ve lived with us. Maybe it’s time to stay. You keep
talking about wanting a career in theater. Well, then take the leap
and stay here. Work for that career you want. Broadway is here.”
“I’ll think about it,” Joaquín mumbled, “Ricky.” He wanted to say,
You don’t know me, but they did. Even though he didn’t like it, he
knew they had a point. “So you’ve talked to Mom and Dad about
this?”
“Of course I have. And many other things. They’ve already left
on their Christmas Cruise with Alex’s Aunt and Uncle,” Enrico said.
“Mom wants you to call her. And don’t call me Ricky.”
“I will—” Keep calling you Ricky, Joaquín thought with a smirk.
“I saw that.” Enrico pushed a lock of his long, dark hair off his
forehead. “You’ll be at the party tonight?”
 “I thought that was a Five Points thing.” Pulling out his phone,
he checked the messages again, then slid the phone back into his
pocket.
“Well, you did work there last summer—” Jaime cut in.
Joaquín raised a hand. “I helped out on one job in an
emergency.”
“And you live here,” Enrico said. “And you need to get out
more.”
“A party in your condo is not getting out.”
“Quino, I’m not not inviting you. Will you be there?” Enrico
strummed his fingers on the table.
Joaquín asked, “What’s this for anyway?”
“It’s our annual Christmas party,” Enrico explained, gesturing to
the large tree in the living room. “We’ve got events coming up and
we need to do it early. Some years, we hold it in the week between
Christmas and New Year’s. This year we are busy, so we’re doing it
before.”
“Then yes, I’ll be there. I love a Christmas party,” Joaquín said
and stood up. “Okay, unless there’s anything else, I’m out.” He gave
Jaime a kiss on the cheek and started for the door. “Later, Ricky.”
“Don’t call me Ricky!”
“What are you doing all the time in your room anyway?” Jaime
turned to watch him go. “Not that it’s our business, of course.”
“Studying.” Joaquín threw his scarf around his neck and
buttoned up his coat.
Enrico’s eyes went wide. “Studying? You?”
“Thanks, Ricky.” Joaquín scowled as he left.
As the door shut, he heard, “Don’t call me—”

“Thank you, love. That was great,” Anthony Perot, the casting
director, said. “Now do you think you can do it without the shirt?”
Joaquín pushed out his best Hollywood smile and a happy,
“Sure.” They always wanted to see him without his shirt, whether or
not it had anything to do with the script. But in this case, he was
prepared for it; he knew ahead of time they would ask this. By
Equity rules, they weren’t allowed to on a regular audition, a
regulation put in place to avoid abuse, but with the Union’s approval,
they could ask it in callbacks.
In this case, it actually did fit the script. The show he was
auditioning for was A Streetcar Named Desire. The plan so far was
to have a flash of full-frontal nudity right before the blackout at the
end of act one, right before Stanley raped Blanche—offstage. I hope
it’s only a flash.
Joaquín was fine with nudity, even his own. Too much, though,
and it might make the show about the nudity. Less was more. He’d
also spend a lot of time onstage in an undershirt, like Brando.
Joaquín worked out with a trainer, preparing specifically for this.
As he pulled off his shirt, he realized he still didn’t like it. It felt
cheap. When he was on the sci-fi TV show Cassandra, there were
lots of shirtless scenes. He never got inured to it. With a sigh, he
unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. Underneath he wore a singlet,
an A-shirt, also called—
“A wifebeater?” Anthony gasped, a hand on his chest.
“It seemed fitting.” Joaquín looked up from under thick, heavy
brows. Brando wore one famously in the movie version of the play.
Iconic.
Anthony caught his glance. “And a smolder.” He leaned down
and whispered to his associate Trisha, who sat beside him.
“Uh-huh,” she agreed absently. “Very nice.”
Joaquín immediately liked her. Nonplussed, she was obviously
an old pro. Probably seen too many shirtless actors so far. Though
this was his fifth callback, and no one else—at least no other
Stanleys—had been in the waiting room. Is that a good sign? He
wasn’t sure. This was also scheduled over a week ago. Maybe they
were here other days.
Then again, Joaquín never saw any of the other actors up for
Stanley. Everything so far was set up by his agent. No cattle car
auditions for this show. Apparently the producers worked from a
short list of people they were really interested in. It was an honor
just to make it. True, his little bit of celebrity usually earned him a
chance, but that was it.
“Can we start again from the top?” Anthony gestured with his
hand. “Without the shirt, of course.”
Of course.
On his way home, Joaquín took a detour and headed
downtown. The callback went well. They liked him. This could be it.
Getting off the subway at Greenwich, he strolled through the Village
with a spring in his step.
He loved this neighborhood, more so in the summer with its
outdoor cafés and shops, but found it picturesque in winter as well.
Decorated for the season, most of the shop windows were festive
and sparkled. All of the brownstones had railings trimmed in garland
and wreaths on their doors.
The Village reminded him for all the world of a small town, a
little city within the big city. It pulsed to its own rhythm. When he
got his own place—maybe this summer, if it went well and he got
the show—he was determined to move down here. Summer. He
made a silent prayer as he passed New York University and headed
toward Broadway.
The street’s name wafted through his mind like a breeze. It was
magic. Broadway.
Spying the Village Commons Bookstore with its signature red
awning, he then checked his watch. Plenty of time to browse. And
he did have research he wanted to do for the part.
Walking in the store, he saw a large Christmas tree made of
multicolored books sitting on a rectangular stand, which was also
made of books, at the front. Strands of garland with red bows were
strung throughout the store, and wreaths adorned all of the pillars.
Between the holiday shoppers and the massive inventory, space
was at a premium. Making his way through the aisles, Joaquín
browsed until finally finding the biography he was looking for. He
turned and headed over to the theater section.
“Oh you . . .” a deep voice said in a frosty tone.
Joaquín looked up from the selection of plays he was perusing
to see a familiar face. His stomach fluttered and the heat rose to his
cheeks when he saw Lawrence Fonteneau, one of Enrico’s
coworkers. They dated briefly last summer.
“Hello, Lawrence,” Joaquín said. Did my voice drop when I said
that?
Sharp, and funny, Lawrence was definitely his type. That he was
tall, blond, and good-looking didn’t hurt, either. His expressive face,
with its prominent nose and chin, was perfect for an actor. Joaquín
couldn’t stop a smile from breaking across his face.
His mind drifted back to when he met him this past summer at
a rooftop party here in the Village. The party was Joel’s boyfriend’s
grand gesture, and Lawrence was there. In fact, he helped set it up.
Lawrence still looked more like an athlete than a theater actor.
Solid. He had some scruff on his face now, a trendy faded beard
only full near the jaw. Damn, he looks so good.
“You know you can call me Larry,” the big guy said as he picked
through a nearby stack. He already had several books under one
arm.
Unf. Love a man that reads, he thought. “But I prefer
Lawrence.” Of Arabia. Joaquín smirked. He’s got that young Peter
O’Toole thing going on. Quirky and mesmerizing . . .
Larry picked up a used play paperback and, after a quick look,
tossed it back, grumbling, “What are you even doing here?”
Joaquín stopped and looked up at him again. “I’m in a
bookstore, Lawrence. What do you think I’m doing here?”
Lawrence was being snappy, not that he blamed him.
Unceremoniously, Joaquín bailed on a date with him last summer,
and the taller man took exception to it. Joaquín got cold feet; that
was all. Fresh off his breakup, he found he liked Lawrence a lot more
than he was ready for at that moment and got spooked.
Remembering that, he wilted. He did apologize, but Lawrence iced
him out.
“You never seemed the type,” Larry said with a polished smile.
He was not one to pass up a chance to snark, and Joaquín always
enjoyed their back-and-forth. Larry continued, “I never thought
reading was your thing. Isn’t video more your specialty?”
 “I can read,” Joaquín shot back. Clutching his book to his chest,
he added dramatically, “I love knowledge. In fact, I yearn for it.”
“So I see.” Larry eyed the book in his hand and reached over to
snatch it. Joaquín moved to grab it back, but with a laugh, Lawrence
darted away. “What is this? Huh. Gentleman Caller: A Biography of
Tennessee Williams. Why are you reading this?” Larry squinted at
him.
“I’m not,” Joaquín lied as he yanked the book away from him. “I
grabbed it off the table. It looked interesting. You got a problem
with that?” Why is he so bitchy? Their brief flirtation ended amicably
enough—or so he thought. True, he could have handled it better, but
this sounded bitter. Where was it coming from?
Larry searched Joaquín’s eyes. “No, I just . . . It’s nothing, never
mind.” The taller man was sweaty and defensive. It was a new look
for him.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Joaquín asked. “You look stressed.”
Lawrence took a deep breath. “I apologize. I had an audition
this morning—a callback.”
“How’d it go?” Joaquín was curious. Though he only knew Larry
a little, he’d never seen him off like this. He was normally so
confident, almost arrogant.
“Who knows?” Larry snorted, walking down an aisle, talking
over the rows of books. “When I think I did good, I never hear
anything, and when I think I tanked it, I get hired.” He raised both
hands in the air.
“I dig it.” Joaquín bobbed his head, following on the other side
of the stacks. Auditions were tricky and expectations and desires
clouded any rational appraisal. “So? How do you think it went?”
“I tanked it.” Larry punched the air and smiled smugly. “God, it
was terrible. Maybe the worst audition I’ve ever had.”
Joaquín couldn’t help but laugh and held up his hand. “Fingers
crossed.” He let out a deep breath. Do I say this out loud? He
thought it was unlucky to talk about a job before it happened.
Taking a breath, he went for it anyway. “I had an audition earlier
today myself. I’m a little nervous about it.”
 “What’s it for?” Lawrence eyed the Williams biography. “Is it for
Streetcar?”
“Oh, no. No, it’s not,” Joaquín lied and held the biography
tighter. He didn’t want to tell him what the audition was for. Larry
was a bit of a theater snob and Joaquín was a lowly TV actor. “Oh,
you know me . . .”
“More sci-fi? Or is it another TV procedural?” Larry asked
skeptically.
“Yeah, you know it,” Joaquín mumbled, his stomach churning.
God, I want this job. “Playing a dead body. No real acting for me.”
“Exactly.” Larry nodded, picking through a stack of used plays.
Joaquín gave him a glare. When Larry looked up, his eyes went
wide when he saw his face. The big man put a hand to his forehead.
“I swear, I did not mean that the way it sounded. I’m having an off
day. I apologize again . . . I should probably leave, quit while I’m
ahead.”
“It’s okay. I get it,” Joaquín said with a little sigh. “I need to go,
too. Take care.” With his book in his hand, he walked to the front of
the store and the cashiers.
“All right, take care,” Larry called after him. “And break a leg—
it’s for luck.”
Joaquín stopped and turned, giving Larry his best glower. “I do
know some things, Lawrence.” Wow, he just keeps putting his foot in
it. What a tool.
 Chapter Four
Wild Heart

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Enrico asked Larry from his
position on the couch. Both men and Mark, the newcomer to their
group, were all at Robert’s condo in the Village for Movie Night. It
was a once-a-month event when their mother hen, Robert, gathered
all of his ducklings to partake in queer or queer-related cinema.
Attendance waxed and waned over time but picked up of late
with the winter weather. An evening in with friends was just the
ticket.
“I’m going to Five Points Catering’s Christmas party,” Larry said
with a tight smile as he sat down next to him, a bowl of popcorn in
hand. All he really wanted to do was stay home and sulk after his
garbage audition today.
Not only was the casting director late getting back from lunch,
making everyone wait, but when Larry was delivering his
monologue, baring his soul in an emotional performance, they cut
him off with a phone call. If they weren’t interested in him, why did
they even ask him back? It all felt so hopeless.
Then they asked him to take his shirt off. Knowing it was
coming didn’t make the request easier. He worked out and did yoga
every day, but he didn’t have the ripped look he feared they wanted.
Then, to top it all off, he ran into Joaquín Tapia at the Village
Commons. Someone he liked, once. The handsome, dark-haired man
blew off a date at the last minute. I was already at the restaurant,
waiting. It was the kind of thing Dwayne used to do, and it never
failed to infuriate him. It was better that we ended it before it got
too serious. Besides, Joaquín was a bicoastal actor, living half the
year on the other side of the country.
 Though he wasn’t opposed to them, after watching many long-
distance relationships fail, Larry was not in a hurry to try it out for
himself. His former roommate Joel had a boyfriend move across the
country. They tried to make it work, though ultimately it died. They
had issues beyond that, though, he reminded himself.
Tomorrow night’s event was an office thing. It was Five Points
Catering’s Christmas Party, and they were all friends, so it was all but
impossible to say no, especially during the holidays. This time of
year was about family, and his friends here were his family in New
York.
Enrico patted his leg. “Good boy.” The event was at his house,
further making it a command performance he couldn’t blow off.
Larry took a deep breath and asked, “Can I bring anything?”
He’d make a good show of it tonight, despite how he felt. His friends
were owed that at least. And as he had a whole day off tomorrow,
he could make more gingerbread Wookies for the party. Or maybe a
cake. Ooh, I could make a rum cake.
“Just bring yourself and that chipper little attitude.” Enrico
nudged him, a twinkle in his eye.
“That was mean.” Larry chuckled and pushed back. “Bitch.”
Enrico was a good man. Too bad about his brother. Still peeved from
Joaquín standing him up on their date, Larry broke it off. Joaquín
apologized, but before Larry could even entertain a second thought,
the man up and left town. He flew back to the west coast, ending
the matter.
He’d liked Joaquín, but Larry knew it was his own fault, a little
self-sabotage. That realization still smarted. Seeing him today was
not only awkward—it hurt. He let out a quiet sigh. Another bit of
drama he absolutely did not need at the moment. Pushing his
woolgathering aside, he made a decision. Larry was definitely
making Wookies for the party.
“Now, why on earth wouldn’t you want to go to the Five Points
party?” Robert brought over a bottle of Blauburgunder, a Pinot Noir
from the little Germanic country of Etreustein. He handed Larry a
glass. “Here, you need this, brighten up that sour mood of yours.”
 “I know I’m the new guy at Movie Night, but why is your mood
so foul tonight?” Mark took a glass from Robert. “Thank you.” He
rolled the wine around in his glass before taking a sip.
“I’m sorry,” Larry said with a wince. “It’s your second night as
my roommate, and I’m here being a pill.” The last thing he wanted
was for Mark to regret moving in with him. He needed a roommate
and the money coming in to make rent.
“He had an audition today,” Robert volunteered as he shared a
knowing glance with Enrico. “He always gets like this after an
audition.”
Mark’s mouth formed a perfect circle. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”
“It was my fifth callback, and I think I might actually have a
shot at it,” Larry said, taking a deep breath. “It’s off-Broadway, but
there’s real money behind it. If all goes well and it gains a following,
it moves to Broadway.”
Mark’s eyes were wide. “That’s wonderful. What is it? What’s the
play?”
“A new take on Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Named Desire,”
Larry said as dismissively as he could. He didn’t want to get into it,
fearing that the more he talked about it, the higher his hopes would
soar, followed by the inevitable crash.
“Ooh, I love that play,” Mark said and munched on some
popcorn.
“And that is what we’re watching tonight. Nothing compares to
a wet Marlon Brando in a wifebeater.” Robert fanned himself.
We are? Larry stared at him. So much for not getting into it. Oi.
“You said it,” Enrico agreed and took some popcorn from the
bowl. “And where’s Joel? He loves early Brando.”
“Oh, he and Frederick are at a dinner party,” Robert said. “He
sent his apologies.”
“He has some life.” Mark shook his head. “His boyfriend is
training to be the ambassador of his country, as well as being a
prince. Amazing.”
Sitting down, Robert then took a sip of his wine. “And where’s
Jaime, Enrico?”
 “Oh, she’s busy with the Christmas rush,” Enrico said and turned
to Mark. “My better half got a new job in a small bakery in Midtown
and this season is one of their busiest times all year. She’s working
six days a week and sixteen hours a day.”
“Good lord, they’d never allow that in the Union,” Robert
clucked. He, Enrico, and Joel all met when they worked at the
Halcyon Hotel in Midtown.
“It’s only for the holiday season and the money’s good.” Enrico
half-shrugged. Larry thought he noticed a tiredness to him. It was
probably rough on them.
“Is money tight?” Larry asked, concerned. Enrico never talked
about money. “I mean, business is good at Five Points, right?”
“Oh, we’re doing great at Five Points,” Enrico added cheerily.
“But Jaime and I did just buy the new condo . . .”
“That’s right. I can’t wait to see it,” Robert said. He was coming
to the Five Points Christmas Party as well. He was a fixture in their
lives, so how could they not invite him?
Larry found he was curious about it, too. Enrico and Jaime
moved uptown and into a new building on the Upper East Side. It
was a big deal to them, getting a place together. A real commitment.
Like Joel was doing with Freddie. And here I am, commitment-
less . . . It was his choice, but was it still what he wanted? He wasn’t
so sure anymore.
Larry sat in silence for a long moment, and the conversation
moved around him, buffeting him. His eyes fell on Robert’s small
Christmas tree, which sat on a TV tray on the far side of the room. I
feel like that tree, all alone in a corner.
He shook his head to clear his mood. Wow, Debbie Downer, he
chided himself. Maybe I should have stayed home tonight and not
come and brought everyone down.
Retreating into himself, into the corner of the couch, he
watched the movie in silence. Again he found Brando amazing. He
really is like lightning, intense and elemental. God, I want that role.
Stanley is so iconic. He was reminded again of how incredible the
script was, of how Tennessee Williams sat in the audience during
rehearsals for the play’s original run. Brando’s performance alone
shifted the focus from Blanche to Stanley. Legend.
After the movie, Larry helped Robert clean up while Enrico and
Mark went out on the balcony to get a breath of fresh air. Larry
pulled the handheld vacuum off the wall.
“Too bad your friend Sean couldn’t come over,” Larry said. “I like
him.” Sean lived in the building and worked with Robert years ago.
When he was free, he came to Movie Night.
“Busy at work. You know how it is.” Robert collected glasses but
stopped and looked up at him. “Duckling, tell me the truth. What’s
going on? I know when you’re upset.”
Larry stopped and thought about that. I need to talk to
someone about this. He’d been afraid to tell Joel. He was starting a
new life, and Larry wanted to support that, not drag him down. “I
really need this job—Streetcar. Actually, I need any acting job,” Larry
said. “I believe my agent is ready to let me go.”
Robert gave him a sympathetic look. “I am so sorry. That’s
tough.”
“It’s fine.” Larry turned away from him. “It’s all right. I mean, at
least I have Five Points, but it smarts, you know?” Larry grumbled as
he vigorously cleaned the couch with the vacuum. “I’ve always
wanted to be an actor, and I’m good. But I can’t get a break. I don’t
know what I’m going to do.”
Robert’s eyes searched his face. “That’s a lot, I know, but is that
all?”
Larry dropped his head and chuckled ruefully. “No, it’s not, I
guess. You know me pretty well.” He took a deep breath before he
went on “As if that wasn’t drama enough, it turns out my ex-fiancé is
getting married—this time to my cousin. Now, I’m going to have to
deal with that on my trip home for Christmas. Honestly, it’s all a bit
much. I wanted a nice escape home and now . . .” He waved a hand
in the air.
The older man came over and put his arm around him. “I’m
sorry, dear. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, there’s nothing anyone can do. It’s just . . .” Larry sighed
and plopped down hard on the sofa. “God, I feel like such a failure.
At acting, at work, at everything, but especially at love. My ex is
getting married, and here I am, all alone.”
“You are not a failure.” Robert sat next to him and pulled him
into an embrace. “Baby boy, you can do everything right and still not
get what you want. That is not failing—that is life. It happens to all
of us.” They rocked back and forth for a moment. “And you are
anything but ‘all alone.’”
“Thank you.” Larry patted the older man’s back stiffly. He
appreciated the gesture but . . .
“Oh, I forgot,” Robert sat back. “You’re not a hugger, are you?”
“Sorry,” Larry said and then looked to the sliding glass door and
the balcony. The others were still there. “Will you give them my
apologies? I’m going to go for a walk to clear my head. Then I’m
heading home. I think I need an early night.”
“Of course, duckling.” Robert followed him to the door and then
helped him bundle up. “I’ll see you at the party tomorrow night.”
“Yay,” Larry said weakly and gave jazz hands. “I can’t help but
wonder what seasonal joy awaits me there.”
 Chapter Five
Truth Hurts

“Why on earth is he even here?” Larry hissed when he spied Enrico’s

brother Joaquín sitting on the couch in the living room. He had to be
here, the moment I walked in. Larry couldn’t catch a break. It was
like Joaquín was lying in wait.
Handing Enrico the box of Wookies he made today—along with
gluten-free pastries he picked up from a bakery—he said, “Joel and
Frederick are right behind me.”
“I’m sorry. I know he gets to you—” Enrico bobbed his head in
his brother’s direction as he took the box.
“He doesn’t get to me.” Larry scowled.
“Hi, Lawrence!” Joaquín waved to him, a fake smile firmly fixed
on his face. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Okay, he gets to me,” Larry admitted. “I thought this was a
Five Points function.”
“My brother does work for us, occasionally.” Enrico gave him his
pageant smile, the one reserved for difficult guests.
“Joaquín worked exactly one function for us.” Larry pulled off his
coat, placed it on Enrico’s waiting arm, and retrieved the box. “And if
I recall correctly, he was late for that.”
“You know, a little gratitude would be nice. I helped out in an
emergency,” Joaquín said over his shoulder. “I’m staying with Enrico
and Jaime. That’s the only reason I’m here. Claws in, Lawrence.”
Jaime drifted over with a tray of full champagne flutes, and
Larry took a glass. They exchanged air kisses as well. “What are our
pronouns?”
“She/her or they/them are both fine.” Jaime smiled. “Thank you
for asking.”
 His face flushed. “I wasn’t being snarky—I understand it’s hard
to tell with me sometimes. As you’re gender fluid, I wanted to
check.”
She put a hand on his arm. “And I appreciate it.”
“That one is staying with you again? Tell me, are you trying to
qualify for sainthood?” Larry looked past her to Joaquín, and his
voice turned faux sympathetic. “What happened? Did yet another
job fall through for Mr. Hollywood?”
“Just because I have an acting career—” Joaquín started, his
voice light and amused.
“Oh, please!” Larry held up a hand as he walked through the
living room, the boxes of pastries in his hand. “An acting career? You
were a glorified extra on a hit show. You got lucky. That is not a
career.” Why did he have to be here? Joaquín was like a walking
reminder of his failures this year. He had the looks, the career, the
cachet. And he stood me up.
“We’re off and running,” Jaime muttered under her breath as
the doorbell rang. She sat the tray of champagne on the side table
by the door and answered it.
“It’s more’n you’ve got,” Joaquín mumbled as Larry passed him
on his way to the dining room. “Bitter party of one.”
“I heard that,” Larry called over his shoulder as he set the
pastries on the dining table, which was already laden with desserts.
“I meant you, too,” Joaquín chirped.
Deep breaths, Larry told himself. This week it really was one
thing after another. Cringing, he reminded himself that he had
started it, not Joaquín. It was a holiday party, and here he was,
being a bitch. He didn’t mean to go out in another bad mood, but
seeing Joaquín again was a surprise. Maybe I should’ve stayed
home.
“You know, jealousy is so unattractive,” Joaquín added, his rich
baritenor thick with amusement.
Larry couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. He’s right. Joaquin
was unmistakably enjoying this, and Larry felt a little thrill run
through him. With a start, he realized he was enjoying it, too. Huh.
 Looking around, he noted that Enrico and Jaime’s condominium
was fairly spacious. Though the décor was a little too Ikea for his
taste, it was festively decorated. Pine, apple, and cinnamon scents
drifted through the air. Probably from a diffuser. A large Christmas
tree dominated the living room. A silver artificial tree with a ’60s
vibe, it had fiber-optic lighting that changed color.
He bobbed his head appreciatively. Suits the room. To his right,
he noticed the chrome slow cooker filled with cider wassail on the
corner table in the dining room. The source of the apple and
cinnamon. It smelled so good.
Popping a rum ball into his mouth, Larry paused and stroked the
hair on his chin, ready to get back into it. If Joaquín was game, then
so was he. Their late-night phone calls back when they were going
out were always fun. They argued and debated over every stupid
thing. It was a lark, and a little back-and-forth might be the ticket to
lifting his mood tonight.
“You know, Hollywood—” he started.
“Girls, that’s enough. You’re both pretty,” Enrico interrupted,
coming back from the bedroom. “Guests are arriving and I’d
appreciate it if the two of you could get along, just for a little bit. It
is Christmas, after all. Try getting in the spirit. Either that or I will
send you to separate rooms.”
“Are they at it already?” Joel asked as he walked in the front
door with his lover, Frederick. They hadn’t even taken off their
jackets, but he caught the tail end of the exchange.
Enrico was right; it was a Christmas party. He needed to halt his
carping, or at least adjust his attitude, and save this.
“Oh, relax,” Larry chirped as he came back into the living room.
“Joaquín and I are having fun. We have our own ‘merry little war of
words’ going on. Isn’t that right?” He gave the man a toothy smile.
“Uh, sure.” Joaquín squinted at him, then shrugged. “Whatever
you say, Lawrence. I’m on my best behavior tonight.”
“Are those orders from on high?” Larry bobbed his head in
Enrico’s direction, and Joaquín nodded.
“‘Merry little war of words.’ What’s that from?” Enrico asked
Larry from the door as he took Joel’s coat.
 “Alex’s last big play, the Much Ado About Nothing remix,” Larry
said absently. “That was a good play. I miss working with him.” Their
former coworker Alex Capili left the big city for his hometown
upstate and his true love. Barf. Never let that happen to me.
Enrico snapped his fingers. “I knew I recognized it.”
“I’d like to read that,” Joaquín said from his perch. “That’s the
one from the Fringe Festival, right?”
“Are you saying you’re actually interested in theater?” Larry
arched an eyebrow. “You want to read a play? Seriously?”
“Stranger things have been known to happen,” Joaquín shot
back.
“What, like you being responsible?”
“Well,” Enrico jumped in, his head bouncing from side to side,
“let’s not get too carried away.”
“Noice.” Joaquín chuckled. “That’s a good one. You two ganging
up on me now?”
“Sorry, couldn’t let it pass.” Enrico shrugged as he helped
Frederick, Joel’s lover, with his coat.
“Why do they always argue?” Jaime gave Joel a glass of
champagne, along with a kiss on the cheek. She gave a little curtsy
to Frederick. “Your Royal Highness.”
With a blush, the auburn-haired prince kissed her hand. Jaime
turned back to Joel. “You were Larry’s roommate. Do you know
what’s up with this animosity between them?”
“We are right here,” Larry said, waving. “You can ask us.”
“That’s no fun.” Joel handed Frederick his coat and turned back
to Jaime. “It’s because Joaquín stood Larry up.”
“Now, that is very true—he did,” Larry agreed.
“I did.” Joaquín nodded.
“Cardinal sin,” Frederick chimed in with his posh British accent.
“It bruised his ego,” Joel agreed.
“Unpardonable,” Freddie said with a smirk.
Larry winced. He was being called out, albeit by friends. Taking
the piss, as Freddie would say. It was true, but it still stung. He
hadn’t counted on feeling so tender tonight, like a raw nerve. First
Joaquín and now this. Taking a deep breath, he pulled up his big-boy
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Les Juifs, à Rome, dévoués aux empereurs, forts par le nombre
et l’intrigue, s’insinuaient au Palatin, s’assuraient des intelligences
autour des Césars. Claude les avait, un moment, proscrits. Pourtant,
un papyrus le montre, dans les jardins de Lucullus, en présence de
vingt-cinq sénateurs, de seize consulaires, d’Agrippine et de ses
dames d’honneur, condamnant à mort Isidore et Lampon, deux
Grecs, auteurs principaux des progroms d’Alexandrie [193] . Quels
manèges, dans la maison impériale, suppose un tel revirement !
[193] V. Juster, op. cit., t. I, p. 125.

Beaucoup de Juifs étaient médecins, et s’introduisaient de la

sorte au sein des grandes familles. Les juives utilisaient leur beauté,
leurs artifices. Poppée, née Romaine, mais prosélyte de la porte,
saura fixer quelque temps la fantaisie amoureuse de Néron.
Les chrétiens, pour se faire place dans l’entourage du prince,
auront leur fidélité, leur mansuétude, l’ascendant des vertus
discrètes. Les Actes apocryphes de Paul racontent que les plus
intimes domestiques de Néron, « Barsabas Justus aux larges pieds,
Urion le Cappadocien et Festus le Galate » étaient des chrétiens. On
voit, dans le même récit, Paul proclamer devant César la royauté du
Christ. Une tradition déformée a peut-être constitué le fond de cet
épisode.
Paul espéra-t-il changer le cœur de Néron ? Avant que la foi
chrétienne mette à ses genoux l’antique idolâtrie et ses prêtres,
l’orgueil et la férocité des Césars, les philosophes, les mages et les
courtisanes, il faudra des générations de martyrs, d’apologistes, de
saintes femmes ; il faudra patiemment envahir, durant trois siècles,
toutes les puissances de l’État. Mais, dès le jour où l’Apôtre
rencontre sur sa route la bonne âme de Sergius Paulus, il peut
songer prophétiquement :
« Rome est à nous, c’est-à-dire au Christ. Le monde est à Lui. »
En l’an 58, dans l’année même où Paul captif allait partir pour
Rome, sur la place du Comitium, au pied du Capitole, le figuier
Ruminal, vieux de huit cent trente ans, l’arbre qui avait abrité,
croyait-on, l’enfance de Romus et de Romulus se dessécha [194] .
Puis, de ses branches mortes, des feuilles nouvelles sortirent. Les
Romains virent là un prodige, sans comprendre que Rome devait
mourir pour renaître dans la pérennité du miracle chrétien.
[194] Tacite, Annales, XIII, LVIII .
 VIII
LA PORTE DE LA FOI

Adalia — jadis Attalia — est un petit port sur la côte de l’Asie

Mineure, dans le pays qu’on appelait, au temps de saint Paul, la
Pamphylie.
Par un doux matin de septembre j’y fis une escale
enchanteresse. Il me semblait avoir déjà vu en songe, au creux de
cette anse, les maisons accrochées en rond, les rochers dont le gris
se fondait en or azuré, la vieille tour sur la butte, les murailles à
créneaux ébréchées par intervalles, un minaret pointu non loin d’un
peuplier, les terres ocreuses ou saignantes alternant avec le jaune
gai d’un champ de colza, cette oasis de fraîcheur surplombant des
rivages arides vaporisés sous le soleil, et, plus haut, la frise argentée
des montagnes aux gradins abrupts.
En quittant Chypre, c’est là, ou un peu plus à l’est, vers
l’embouchure du Coestros, que débarquèrent Paul, Barnabé, Jean-
Marc, pour atteindre, dans l’intérieur, Pergé, puis, derrière les monts,
Antioche de Pisidie.
De Paphos, on peut s’étonner qu’ils n’aient point fait voile vers
l’Égypte. Alexandrie les appelait, champ de conquête prodigieux.
Mais d’autres missionnaires avaient pris les devants. Apollos, Juif
alexandrin, quand Aquilas et Priscilla le catéchiseront à Éphèse [195] ,
connaîtra déjà les éléments de la foi ; d’où les tenait-il ?
Apparemment, d’une chrétienté formée autour des synagogues
d’Alexandrie. Or Paul se posait une règle, et, lorsqu’il le put, il la
suivit toujours : éviter de bâtir sur un terrain labouré par autrui. Il se
réservait les gentils ignorants, l’effort le plus ingrat, ou, s’il
aboutissait, le plus fructueux. C’est pourquoi, pouvons-nous croire, il
négligea l’Égypte. L’Esprit, sans doute, l’en détournait.
[195] Actes XVIII , 24-26.

Il marcha vers des peuples qu’il savait abandonnés au culte du

dieu Men (Lunus), vers ces montagnards qu’il avait vus, à Tarse,
descendre par le défilé du Taurus.
Dans son petit groupe, accru au cours de la route, le passage à
Chypre avait décidé quelque chose d’important : le miracle
convertisseur, l’attitude résolue de Paul, la prééminence de ses dons
avaient en lui révélé un chef. Désormais les compagnons de Paul et
de Barnabé sont appelés ceux d’autour Paul. Barnabé ne conduit
plus, il suit ; et Jean-Marc, au sortir de la Pamphylie, se sépare
d’eux, pour des motifs mal expliqués.
Paul reçut de cet abandon un froissement grave. Car, dans la
suite, lors de la seconde mission, il refusa d’emmener Jean-Marc ; et
Barnabé s’en irrita.
On a prêté au jeune homme la peur de s’aventurer en pays
idolâtre, dans de farouches passages où les voyageurs, au tournant
de chaque gorge, pouvaient s’attendre à voir surgir des bandits. Il
est plus vraisemblable d’imaginer Jean-Marc, attaché aux traditions
judaïques, proposant pour l’apostolat des vues que Paul ne pouvait
admettre. Paul le rabroua ; il se piqua, partit, s’en retourna jusqu’à
Jérusalem. Il devait regretter son coup de tête. Au moment d’une
autre campagne il voulut de nouveau se joindre à Paul. Celui-ci fut
sévère ; Jean-Marc était, devant ses yeux, un ouvrier indocile « qui
n’était pas allé avec eux au travail [196] ». Le reprendre dans son
équipe lui parut impossible.
[196] Actes XV , 37-39.

Plus d’un historien blâme l’Apôtre de son attitude intraitable.

Comme si nous pouvions en évaluer les motifs ! Évidemment, un
amour-propre autoritaire ne dicta point sa rigueur. Des principes
étaient en jeu dans ce conflit ; sans quoi il eût aussitôt pardonné. Il
se réconcilia plus tard avec Marc, et pressant Timothée de le
rejoindre à Rome, il lui recommandait :
« Prends Marc et l’amène avec toi [197] . »
[197] II Tim. IV , 9-11.

Marc, d’après ce langage de Paul, demeura longtemps un

subalterne, « un auxiliaire [198] », le secrétaire de l’évêque qu’il
accompagne en ses voyages, mais un secrétaire humble, intelligent
et saint, digne de consigner avec fidélité l’Évangile que Pierre lui
confia.
[198] Actes XIII , 5.

A quoi bon s’attarder sur cet incident ou s’enquérir pourquoi Paul

et Barnabé ne s’arrêtèrent pas en Pamphylie ? Ils auraient pu y faire
des disciples. Le Christ n’était pas inconnu dans cette région. Le jour
où les langues de feu descendirent, après la première homélie des
Douze, parmi ceux qui crurent, il y avait, à côté d’Égyptiens, des
Pamphyliens [199] , des Juifs du moins habitant la Pamphylie. Elle
logeait un amalgame de races et de religions. Les Ciliciens,
descendants ou continuateurs de pirates, y voisinaient avec des
montagnards du Taurus, plus ou moins fils de brigands. Des
trafiquants de tous pays s’y donnaient rendez-vous. Les Apôtres,
dans cette masse confuse, avaient chance de susciter les éléments
d’une église. Mais d’autres, c’est probable, avant eux, l’avaient
fondée ; et surtout Paul était impatient de porter la foi à ceux qui
semblaient le plus loin d’elle.
[199] Actes II , 10.

Ses compagnons et lui s’engagèrent — peut-être à la suite d’une

caravane — dans la montagne pleine de torrents, de mauvais pas et
d’embuscades.
Aujourd’hui encore les routes du Taurus gardent une sauvagerie
inquiétante, brisées en lacets rapides, se précipitant au-dessus
d’abîmes, rebondissant entre des murailles perpendiculaires qui, par
endroits, veulent se toucher. Des pitons, aiguisés en cônes, se
laissent entrevoir à l’infini derrière d’autres pitons. On conçoit que,
dans ces repaires, même après la conquête romaine, des bandes
pillardes se soient maintenues, inexpugnables.
Paul et Barnabé y passèrent sans encombre, et parvinrent, au
nord de deux lacs bleus, à Antioche de Pisidie, ville grecque,
devenue colonie de l’Empire, et centre d’une puissante juiverie.
Le jour du sabbat, au moment de l’office, les Apôtres entrèrent
dans la synagogue. Ils s’assirent, comme deux étrangers discrets,
sur l’un des bancs, contre le mur, au fond de la salle.
Le chef de la synagogue, l’archisynagôgos, récita les prières,
puis le sacristain passa au lecteur le rouleau de la Loi et celui des
prophètes. A mesure que le lecteur, de sa voix nasillarde et
monotone, avait psalmodié un verset hébreu, le traducteur, du même
ton, l’interprétait pour l’assistance en langue vulgaire. Puis
l’archisynagôgos se tourna vers les deux visiteurs dont il savait que
l’un était lévite et l’autre disciple de Gamaliel. Il les invita, selon la
formule, à commenter les textes qu’on avait lus [200] :
[200] Voir, sur cet ordre liturgique, Juster, op. cit., t. I,
pp. 369-370, et Knabenbauer, commentateur de ce
passage des Actes.

« Hommes frères, si vous avez quelque chose à dire pour

l’exhortation du peuple, parlez. »
Paul se leva ; sa main droite s’abaissa d’un mouvement solennel,
pour commander l’attention. Ce geste était, chez les juifs,
traditionnel [201] . Il y a des orateurs qui, avant d’ouvrir la bouche,
s’imposent ; et les hommes petits ont volontiers le geste plus
impérieux que les grands.
[201] Voir saint Jean Chrysostome, Homélie XXIX sur
les Actes.

Le discours de Paul, tel qu’on nous l’a transmis, est mieux qu’un
morceau fictif d’éloquence ; il donne en abrégé le type de ses
homélies dans les milieux juifs. L’accent en est grave, même
guindé ; on dirait que les voûtes de la synagogue oppriment la
vivacité de sa dialectique et qu’il se contraint à parler
impersonnellement.
Au début, l’Apôtre remémore la vocation du peuple saint, les
prodiges où Dieu a prouvé qu’il le conduisait, lui réservant une terre
d’héritage, des chefs comme David, « un homme selon son cœur ».
De la descendance du roi David il a fait venir le Sauveur Jésus, celui
dont Jean « se disait indigne de dénouer les sandales ».
« C’est pour vous que cette parole de salut a été envoyée. Car
les habitants de Jérusalem, l’ayant méconnu, l’ont jugé et ont ainsi
rempli les prophéties qui sont lues à chaque sabbat… Mais Dieu le
ressuscita… »
Et Paul ramène le texte du Psaume toujours invoqué : « Tu ne
permettras pas que ton Saint voie la corruption [202] . »
[202] Ps. XV, 10 plus longuement cité par Pierre
(Actes II , 25-26).

Les prophéties, puis le témoignage de ceux qui ont vu le

ressuscité sont les seuls arguments mis en œuvre. Paul semble
oublier qu’il a, lui-même, eu la vision du Seigneur. Pas un mot sur
Damas ni sur sa conversion. Il se présente comme le messager
d’une doctrine qui ne sort pas de lui.
« Sachez donc bien, hommes frères, conclut-il, que par celui-ci la
rémission des péchés vous est annoncée. De toutes les choses dont
la loi de Moïse n’a pu vous justifier, par lui tout croyant est justifié… »
Cette doctrine hérétique dut remuer une sourde improbation, des
murmures. Paul, sentant l’hostilité qui grondait, laissa pendre sur
l’auditoire une menace enveloppée dans trois versets d’un prophète,
la perspective du Jugement où Dieu « fera une œuvre que vous ne
croiriez pas si on vous la racontait [203] ».
[203] Citation d’Habacuc, I , 5.
 Cependant, l’archisynagôgos, ayant prononcé les Bénédictions
d’usage, à la sortie de l’assemblée, invita par politesse les deux
missionnaires à revenir le sabbat suivant. Il est permis d’induire que
leur enseignement l’avait troublé.
Au dehors, dans la rue, dans la maison d’un hôte israélite ou d’un
« craignant Dieu », Paul et Barnabé continuèrent à prêcher.
Beaucoup de Juifs et plus encore de païens les entouraient ; ils leur
parlèrent avec une telle force persuasive qu’un certain nombre,
convaincus, se préparèrent au baptême.
Aussi, le sabbat suivant, « presque toute la ville », — entendons
tous ceux qui purent entrer dans la synagogue — s’y pressa pour
écouter les Apôtres. L’affluence des païens, leur zèle vexa
nettement les Juifs. Toujours, cet orgueil jaloux, irréductible ; il est
prodigieux que, dans l’Église primitive, l’amour du Christ l’ait fléchi
vers une fraternité où les Grecs, les Barbares étaient admis au
même titre que les Hébreux.
Paul ou Barnabé exposa l’économie du mystère divin, comment
la Grâce est donnée par le sang du Christ à celui qui croit, Juif ou
gentil. De rauques interpellations coupèrent son homélie. Les Juifs
insultèrent le nom du Christ. Alors, se dressant contre les
blasphémateurs, Paul et Barnabé proférèrent audacieusement cette
sentence :
« Il fallait qu’à vous les premiers la parole de Dieu fût dite. Mais,
puisque vous la repoussez, puisque vous vous jugez indignes de la
vie éternelle, voici, nous nous tournons vers les gentils. Car tel est
l’ordre du Seigneur :

Je t’ai posé en lumière des nations

Afin que tu sois leur salut jusqu’au bout de la terre [204] .

[204] Isaïe XLIX , 6.

Ceux des païens qui tendaient l’oreille au message de vie furent

transportés d’entendre qu’il était maintenant pour eux, pour eux
d’abord, puisque Israël n’en voulait point. Il y eut, à travers le pays,
une grande rumeur. Jusque dans les huttes des bûcherons et chez
les brigands des hauts plateaux on sut que l’Homme-Dieu avait
sauvé le monde.
Mais les Juifs, outrés, excitèrent contre les Apôtres les grosses
influences de la ville, les riches dévotes qui fréquentaient la
synagogue [205] , les commerçants grecs, les magistrats, même le
monde militaire romain. Ils obtinrent que les intrus fussent expulsés
hors du territoire d’Antioche.
[205] Les femmes païennes, plus aisément que les
hommes, venaient au judaïsme, n’ayant pas à subir la
circoncision.

Paul et Barnabé se souvinrent du précepte : « Partout où vous ne

serez pas reçus, sortez de la maison, de la ville, et secouez la
poussière de vos pieds [206] . »
[206] Math. X , 14.

Eux aussi secouèrent sur les Juifs d’Antioche la poussière de

leurs sandales, signifiant qu’ils ne gardaient avec eux plus rien de
commun. Ils marchèrent vers le Sud-Est, traversant les steppes de
la Lycaonie, pays nourricier « d’ânes sauvages et de moutons à la
laine rude [207] », battu par des vents froids.
[207] Strabon, l. XII, VI .

Quand ils approchèrent d’Iconium, Paul dut songer à Damas.

Comme Damas, cette ville (aujourd’hui Koniah) adosse à des
collines brûlées ses remparts, ses tours et ses lourdes portes. Les
arbres de ses vergers sont abreuvés, comme à Damas, par les eaux
d’un torrent canalisé en ruisseaux. Iconium est, comme Damas, un
croisement de vastes routes ; c’est par là que la Galatie et la Phrygie
donnaient la main à la Cappadoce, à l’Arménie, au Pont, à la Cilicie,
à la Syrie.
Mais tout le passé d’Iconium se concentre dans un seul fait
splendide : la rencontre de Paul avec Thècle, cette étrange jeune
fille, éperdue d’amour divin, dont la figure s’anime ardemment parmi
les traits simplistes des autres femmes que l’Apôtre convertit. Thècle
nous révèle en Asie, à l’aurore de la foi, une âme pareille à celle
d’Angèle de Foligno, de Catherine de Sienne, de sainte Thérèse.
Son histoire est, par malheur, en trop d’épisodes, une mauvaise
fiction. L’auteur des Actes apocryphes, selon Tertullien, un prêtre
d’Asie, ment pour édifier, et multiplie des prodiges extravagants. Il
donne dans l’hérésie des encratites, faisant de la chasteté absolue
le fondement de la foi.
Cependant, sainte Thècle n’est pas inventée par lui. Origène,
saint Jean-Chrysostome, saint Augustin parlent d’elle comme d’une
martyre authentique. Au IV e siècle, l’aquitanienne Silvia visita son
tombeau, non loin de Tarse, à Séleucie d’Isaurie et lut ses Actes
officiels [208] .
[208] Voir Dom Leclercq, Actes des Martyrs, t. I, p.
151 et suiv.

Dans sa légende on peut discerner des vestiges de faits réels ou

symboliquement vrais. Quand Paul entra dans la maison
d’Onésiphore, il sourit et Onésiphore dit : « Salut, serviteur du Dieu
béni », et Paul répondit : « La grâce de Dieu soit avec toi et avec ta
maison ! » Puis on ploya les genoux, on rompit le pain (l’Eucharistie)
et on parla le langage de Dieu sur la continence et la résurrection.
Cet Onésiphore est-il celui même pour qui Paul chargea
Timothée de ses salutations [209] ? Il faudrait le supposer déjà
chrétien au moment où Paul vint à Iconium ; et c’est peu
vraisemblable. Mais comme cette entrée de l’Apôtre nous laisse
reconnaître la simple mansuétude et les tendresses de l’âge d’or
chrétien !
[209] II Tim. IV , 19.

Tandis que Paul prêchait, portes ouvertes, dans la maison

d’Onésiphore, Thècle, fille de Théoclie, fiancée à Thamyris, écoutait
nuit et jour l’étranger, assise à la plus proche fenêtre du logis de sa
mère. Elle n’en bougeait point ; elle était « figée dans la foi ». Et,
voyant beaucoup de femmes et de vierges introduites auprès de
Paul, elle désirait être jugée digne de se tenir en face de lui ; car elle
n’avait pas encore vu ses traits.
Mais, comme elle ne quittait pas la fenêtre, sa mère envoya
chercher Thamyris. Le jeune homme, plein d’allégresse, arrive,
croyant la recevoir ce jour même en mariage. Il dit à Théoclie : « Où
est ma Thècle ? que je la voie ! » Alors Théoclie : « J’ai du nouveau à
t’apprendre, Thamyris. Voilà en effet trois jours et trois nuits que
Thècle ne se lève pas de la fenêtre, ni pour manger ni pour boire ;
mais, fascinée dans la joie, elle s’attache à un homme étranger qui
enseigne des paroles artificieuses. Thamyris, cet homme bouleverse
la ville des Iconiens comme aussi ta Thècle elle-même, car toutes
les femmes et les jeunes gens viennent à lui et apprennent ceci : « Il
faut, dit-il, craindre Dieu, seul et unique, et vivre chastement. » Et ma
fille aussi, liée par ce qu’il dit comme une araignée à la fenêtre, est
prise ; mais aborde-la et parle-lui… »
Thamyris s’approche, empli d’amour pour elle et craintif devant
son ravissement : « Thècle, ma fiancée, dit-il, pourquoi restes-tu
assise ainsi ? Quelle passion te possède, te mettant hors de toi ?
Tourne-toi vers ton Thamyris ; aie honte. »
La mère, à son tour, vint la supplier : « Mon enfant, pourquoi
restes-tu assise, regardant vers le bas, et ne répondant rien, hors de
toi ? »
Et ils pleuraient amèrement, Thamyris qui perdait son épouse,
Théoclie son enfant, et les jeunes esclaves, leur maîtresse. Et,
pendant tout cela, Thècle ne se détournait point ; elle demeurait en
extase, ne voyant, n’entendant que Paul.
Thamyris entre en furie ; il dénonce le sorcier au gouverneur de
la ville. Paul, entraîné par la foule devant le proconsul, lui prêche
Jésus crucifié. Il est jeté dans un cachot. Mais Thècle, pendant la
nuit, ôtant de ses mains ses bracelets, les donna au portier du logis ;
et, la porte lui ayant été ouverte, elle s’en alla vers la prison. Pour
séduire le geôlier, elle lui fit don d’un miroir d’argent. Elle entra près
de Paul ; et, s’étant assise à ses pieds, elle écouta les grandeurs de
Dieu. Et Paul ne craignait rien ; et la foi s’affermit en elle pendant
qu’elle baisait ses chaînes.
Théoclie et Thamyris font chercher Thècle ; ils la surprennent
auprès du captif, la séparent de lui. Mais « elle se roulait » en
sanglotant à la place même où Paul l’avait instruite. Tous deux
comparaissent aux pieds d’un juge. La foule hurle : « C’est un
sorcier ; tuez-le ! » Thècle, ravie, contemple son Maître. Sa mère,
exaspérée, crie au gouverneur : « Brûlez cette perverse ; brûlez au
milieu du théâtre cette ennemie du mariage, afin que toutes les
femmes soient épouvantées. »
Le gouverneur, complaisant, fait flageller Paul, le chasse hors
d’Iconium et condamne Thècle au bûcher. Le feu ne la touche pas ;
elle est enlevée par un miracle, rejoint Paul qui s’est réfugié avec
Onésiphore et les gens de sa maison dans un tombeau.
La suite est un dédale de fables où surgissent quelques débris
de tradition historique.
Tout pauvre qu’il paraisse, le roman de Thècle est inestimable.
On y sent palpiter cette ferveur éperdue qui sera, plus tard, appelée
d’après saint Paul la folie de la Croix. Thècle n’est point en extase
devant la personne de Paul, elle ne s’arrête pas à son éloquence.
Mais elle boit sur ses lèvres la vérité dont, sans la connaître, elle
avait soif. Elle reçoit tout d’un coup la promesse des béatitudes ; elle
découvre « la voie [210] ». Le ciel s’ouvre ; l’Être est connu, possédé.
[210] Le mot grec qui, dans les Actes, désigne
simplement la doctrine du Christ a ce sens en effet. La
Révélation apparaît comme une voie, une méthode pour
atteindre la vie bienheureuse.

Il y aurait une grossière confusion à juger cette violence

d’enthousiasme comme une frénésie asiatique issue du même fond
que les fureurs des prêtres de Cybèle dans leurs orgies sanglantes.
C’est l’ivresse de la doctrine qui suspend Thècle aux paroles de
l’Annonciateur. Il lui a révélé deux choses : la pureté sublime et la
résurrection.
 Pour que le cœur des païens fût retourné comme leur
intelligence, il fallait, en même temps que des certitudes rationnelles,
leur offrir l’exaltation de la charité, les délices du renoncement,
l’espérance du bonheur sans terme.
Peu de légendes, au même degré que celle de Thècle, font sentir
l’incroyable enthousiasme de cette première initiation.
Sur le séjour à Iconium de Paul et de Barnabé l’histoire véridique
ne nous apprend que des choses vagues. Ils y demeurèrent un
temps assez long. Des « signes », des miracles soutenaient leur
témoignage. Ils convertirent de nombreux Juifs et des Grecs. Mais
les Juifs restés incrédules soulevèrent contre « les frères » la masse
des païens. Le peuple se divisa en deux factions : les uns étaient
avec les Juifs, les autres avec la nouvelle église. Un tumulte éclata,
et la foule avec des bâtons, des pierres, marcha vers la maison où
enseignaient les Apôtres. Ils allaient être assommés, lapidés. Ils
purent s’enfuir et se réfugièrent à cinq lieues au sud-est, en
Lycaonie, dans la petite ville de Lystres ; là, ils étaient sûrs de
trouver peu de Juifs et un pays presque barbare qu’ils ouvriraient à
l’Évangile.
A Lystres, en effet, il semble que leur apostolat s’exerça d’abord
sans être contredit. Ils purent même porter la parole — ce qu’ils
n’avaient point fait ailleurs — à travers les bourgades environnantes,
baptiser des campagnards.
Dans la ville, un miracle — un des rares de Paul que les Actes
mentionnent avec précision — leur valut une apothéose indiscrète.
Paul avait remarqué, près du lieu où il parlait — dans un faubourg
apparemment — un mendiant assis à terre, boiteux de naissance et
perclus. L’infirme écoutait de toute son âme les enseignements qui
lui promettaient la béatitude. Paul avait peut-être cité devant lui la
phrase du Seigneur [211] : « Les aveugles voient, les perclus
circulent… » Il appuya sur lui son regard de Voyant, et, de sa voix
puissante, lui cria :
[211] Math. XI , 5. Allusion aux versets d’Isaïe (XXXV ,
5-6) : « Alors les yeux des aveugles s’ouvriront… le
 boiteux sautera comme un cerf, la langue des muets se
déliera. »

« Lève-toi, tiens-toi droit sur tes pieds. »

Pierre avait semblablement crié au perclus du Temple [212] : « Au
nom de Jésus-Christ le Nazaréen, dresse-toi et marche. » Et il lui
avait saisi la main pour le mettre debout.
[212] Actes III , 1-10.

Paul s’abstient de nommer Jésus ; il ne touche pas le perclus.

Mais cet homme, instantanément guéri, se lève d’un bond, se met à
gambader, se promène. Et la foule émerveillée, ayant vu que
l’étranger avait fait cette chose inouïe, pousse des acclamations
délirantes :
« Des dieux ! Ce sont des dieux qui ont pris forme humaine et
sont descendus vers nous ! »
Ces cris retentissaient en langue lycaonienne ; de sorte que Paul
et Barnabé n’en comprenaient pas le sens. Les gens du pays
entendaient le grec ; entre eux, dans la vie commune, et surtout au
milieu d’une effervescence, ils parlaient un dialecte étrange, proche
parent, croit-on, du syriaque ou du cappadocien. Ils connaissaient la
légende de Zeus voyageant avec Hermès, hébergé par le pieux
ménage de Philémon et Baucis, à qui les dieux assurent de longues
années tranquilles. Ils retrouvèrent, facilement exaltés, Zeus en
Barnabé, et en Paul Hermès. L’extérieur imposant de Barnabé
prêtait sans doute à cette illusion ; petit, vif, guérisseur d’un
incurable, et maître des paroles persuasives, Paul leur évoqua l’agile
Hermès, dieu de la santé, patron des hommes éloquents.
Or, près de l’endroit où tonnait leur ovation, appuyé aux portes
des remparts, un temple s’offrait [213] dédié à Zeus, gardien de la
cité. On courut annoncer au prêtre la visite imprévue des dieux, le
prodige qui la certifiait. Il s’empressa de croire à cette aubaine et
disposa tout pour un sacrifice. La pompe se déroula selon les
bienséances ; taureaux blancs chargés de guirlandes, victimaires,
joueurs de flûte, acolyte portant la farine et le sel, rien ne manquait à
la fête, sinon les augustes personnages qu’on voulait encenser.
[213] Dont une inscription trouvée à Claudiopolis en
Isaurie confirme l’existence.

Les Apôtres, dès la première explosion des enthousiasmes,

s’étaient dérobés. On vint les avertir de l’hommage qui se préparait.
Un saint courroux les emporta ; en signe de douleur, ils déchirèrent,
à la mode juive, la couture de leur manteau ; ils bondirent au-devant
de la procession, clamèrent :
« Hommes, que faites-vous ? Nous sommes des hommes
passibles comme vous autres. Ces vanités impies, nous vous
prêchons de les quitter, de vous tourner vers le Dieu vivant, le Dieu
qui a fait le ciel et la terre et tout ce qui vit en eux ; ce Dieu, dans les
temps passés, laissa toutes les nations s’en aller dans leurs voies, et
pourtant, il ne s’est pas laissé lui-même sans témoignage, faisant du
bien, vous envoyant du ciel les pluies et les saisons porteuses de
fruits, rassasiant vos cœurs de nourriture et de joie. »
Les Apôtres, en improvisant cette apostrophe, n’oubliaient pas
qu’ils s’adressaient à des païens. Ils réduisaient au plus simple la
notion du divin, parlant du Dieu unique, mais sous-entendant Jésus-
Christ. Ils eurent beau dire ; les Lycaoniens exigeaient que les deux
étrangers fussent des immortels. Enfin, désabusé, le peuple se
dispersa. Déception énorme ! Il éprouvait le besoin de toucher les
dieux puissants et bons ; le Dieu qu’annonçaient les nouveaux
prophètes ne s’était jamais montré. Comment y croire ?
Quant au prêtre, il ne pardonna point la cérémonie manquée,
l’outrage fait au grand Zeus et la perte de prospérités palpables qu’il
escomptait probablement.
Sur ces entrefaites, des Juifs enragés contre l’Évangile, et
conduits par leur commerce en ces régions excentriques, arrivèrent
d’Antioche de Pisidie. Ils diffamèrent Paul et Barnabé, Paul surtout,
comme étant le plus actif des deux. Ils s’indignèrent de ses propos
trop libres sur la circoncision et les autres pratiques de la Loi. Ils
révélèrent que les habitants d’Antioche avaient dû mettre à la porte
ces bateleurs, ces gens de rien qui faisaient d’un misérable,
justement supplicié, le vrai Dieu. La foule, versatile, mal disposée,
s’exaspéra. Une bande entoura Paul dans un moment où il était
séparé de ses compagnons. On lui lança des pierres à la tête ; il
tomba évanoui ; ses assassins le crurent mort et le traînèrent hors
de la ville, pour que son cadavre fût abandonné aux chiens et aux
corbeaux. Mais ses disciples, prévenus, accoururent, le trouvèrent
miraculeusement ranimé ; il se leva, et rentra, escorté de ses
défenseurs, dans Lystres.
Le lendemain, tout meurtri encore, il se mit en route avec
Barnabé. Ils parvinrent à un gros bourg fortifié, dernier bastion de la
frontière, dans la province romaine de Galatie. Le lieu s’appelait
Derbé et se trouvait, d’après Strabon [214] , au pied des monts
d’Isaurie, en un pays farouche que les brigands du Taurus
dévastaient par des razzias. Les Juifs, semble-t-il, ne s’aventuraient
pas jusque-là, et les Apôtres, sans être inquiétés, instruisirent
paisiblement ces montagnards au cœur simple. Un chrétien de
Derbé, Gaïus [215] , accompagnera Paul à travers la Macédoine,
dans un voyage périlleux.
[214] L. XII, ch. V .
[215] Actes XX , 4.

De Derbé, ils pouvaient, en cinq ou six journées de marche,

atteindre Tarse en franchissant le Taurus. Au rebours — et l’on
aimerait savoir si l’honneur de cette décision fut à Paul, à Barnabé,
ou si la mesure fut concertée, avant leur départ, en Syrie — ils
revinrent sur leurs pas, visitèrent de nouveau Lystres, Iconium,
Antioche de Pisidie.
Méthode d’une singulière audace et fructueuse ; cette fois, nulle
violence extérieure ne paraît avoir contrarié leur action.
Dans chaque ville, après le passage des missionnaires, les
chrétiens s’étaient maintenus en une confrérie fervente qui
s’accroissait obscurément. Ils se réunissaient, le soir, dans la
chambre haute d’une maison. Leur propagande troublait peu les
cultes établis. Toute nouveauté révolutionnaire, quand elle
commence, se développe avec la complicité de l’incurie officielle.
Qui, dans le monde païen, eût alors soupçonné l’avenir de ces petits
groupes intimes où l’on adorait un Dieu sans gloire ?
Quand Paul et Barnabé repassèrent à Lystres, à Iconium, et
ailleurs, de longs mois avaient fait oublier les agitations populaires
soulevées par leur présence. Ils ne prêchèrent plus dans la
synagogue, ni sur l’agora. Ils s’attachèrent, dans l’intimité des
homélies, de la cène et des agapes, à sanctifier les néophytes, à
leur forger la bonne armure chrétienne, ce que Paul appellera « le
casque et le bouclier de la foi [216] ». Par leur propre exemple ils
démontraient qu’il faut avoir souffert pour mériter le royaume de
Dieu. Ce mystère devait étonner des païens convertis, malgré le
mythe d’Héraclès, du héros qui était monté, après douze épreuves,
dans l’Olympe. Car Héraclès avait subi la loi de son destin ; il n’avait
pas enduré en aimant ; il avait dompté des monstres, il n’avait point
dompté sa chair ; il avait cherché son triomphe, et jamais le salut du
monde. Paul portait déjà sur son corps « les stigmates du
Christ [217] ». Il l’offrait « comme une hostie vivante, agréable à
Dieu [218] ».
[216] Éphés. VII , 10-18.
[217] Gal. VII , 17.
[218] Rom. XI , 1.

Ainsi les Apôtres, dans chaque communauté, revinrent avec le

prestige des travaux accomplis, des souffrances vaincues. Ils se
préoccupaient d’y constituer un ordre stable.
En leur absence, elles n’étaient pas restées sans dirigeants.
Quelqu’un présidait les réunions, faisait lire les Psaumes et les
Prophéties, proférait sur le pain qu’il allait rompre et sur le vin de la
coupe la bénédiction qu’on appellera « l’eucharistie ». Certains
fidèles étaient chargés de distribuer le pain aux assistants, de
baptiser les catéchumènes, d’ensevelir les morts. Parmi eux, selon
les grâces de l’Esprit, se révélaient des prophètes, des docteurs ;
d’autres avaient le don de gouvernement [219] . Quelques-uns étaient
glossolales, émettaient, quand leur en venait l’inspiration, des
effusions sans suite, élans de tendresse et de joie mystique, souvent
inintelligibles pour l’auditoire.
[219] Voir Duchesne, Histoire ancienne de l’Église, t.
I, p. 46.

Il manquait encore à ces églises une succession de chefs,

capables de transmettre les pouvoirs reçus d’en haut. Chacune
d’elles était comme une vigne dont les rejets poussent en liberté, un
peu confusément.
Paul et Barnabé leur donnèrent un conseil de presbytres, tel
qu’ils l’avaient vu établi à Jérusalem, à Antioche, sans doute sur le
type du presbytérion juif. Ce conseil d’anciens, dans les
synagogues [220] , veillait à la défense religieuse de la communauté,
en administrait les biens — elle était personne juridique — la
soutenait devant les autorités non juives, et possédait le pouvoir
d’excommunier les indignes. Mais les presbytres chrétiens furent
investis d’une puissance avant tout spirituelle. Il leur incombait,
comme l’écrira Paul à son disciple [221] , « de garder le dépôt »,
d’assurer l’intégrité des mystères et des rites. Après avoir jeûné et
prié, les Apôtres choisirent dans l’église les plus aptes, et nous
savons les qualités intérieures qu’ils exigeaient. Un presbytre devait
être « un homme irréprochable, l’économe de Dieu ; ni
présomptueux, ni colérique, ni buveur, ni querelleur, ni cupide, mais
hospitalier, ami du bien, sensé, juste, chaste, attaché à la parole de
foi selon la doctrine, afin qu’il pût exhorter dans un saint
enseignement et confondre les contradicteurs [222] ».
[220] Voir Juster, op. cit., t. I, p. 142.
[221] I Tim. VI , 20.
[222] Tite, I, 7-9.
 Les Apôtres leur imposaient les mains, pour faire passer en eux
les pouvoirs transmis. Paul recommandera plus tard à Timothée :
« Ne te hâte pas d’imposer les mains à qui que ce soit [223] . » C’était
une ordination semblable à celle des sept diacres, à celle que lui et
Barnabé avaient reçue des presbytres d’Antioche.
[223] I Tim. V , 22.

Après l’élection du presbytérion, ils repartaient, « confiant les

frères au Seigneur en qui ils croyaient ». En se rapprochant de
Pergé, ils semèrent la parole dans toute la Pamphylie, et, cette fois,
ils s’arrêtèrent à Pergé même pour y fonder une église. Ils se
réembarquèrent dans le port d’Attalia, atteignirent l’embouchure de
l’Oronte et remontèrent le long du fleuve jusqu’à Antioche où ils
annoncèrent « les grandes choses que Dieu avait faites avec eux ».
Leur voyage avait duré quatre ou cinq ans, — de 44 ou 45 à 49 ;
— le périple de l’exploration n’était pas très vaste ; mais elle
configurait le plan de l’avenir. Des sept églises fondées ils savaient,
avec leur sublime confiance, que pas une ne mourrait. Et surtout la
preuve était faite :
« Dieu ouvrait aux gentils la porte de la foi. »
Faisons halte devant cette image pleine de sens. Depuis que la
Révélation primitive s’était perdue, les générations étaient vraiment
« assises dans l’ombre de la mort ». Israël serrait sur son cœur
jaloux les tables de pierre du Décalogue. Pour les autres peuples,
l’éternelle clarté ne cessait pas de luire ; mais leurs ténèbres n’en
admettaient que des lueurs brisées ou vacillantes.
Ceux qui voulaient savoir s’écrasaient contre la porte d’airain ;
l’énigme de la mort les rembarrait ; sur ce mystère de la destinée,
Socrate, le moins vague des philosophes, n’avait pu dépasser
l’hypothèse : ou bien la mort n’est qu’un sommeil sans rêve, ou une
entrée dans la lumière, parmi les sages immortels et les dieux.
A présent, le Christ était descendu chez les morts ; en remontant
victorieux, il avait pour jamais rompu la porte, et tous les hommes
pouvaient entrer. Le Paradis rouvert au genre humain, la béatitude,