Another Chance | Barry & Richie
@notevilmaybe
“Give me another chance.”
“Barry, did you even read the script?” Mr. Cousineau shook his head, looking incredulously at Barry, standing on stage, looking as if he’d gotten in some kind of fight recently. “Sit down. Right there. You read that script,” Gene pointed to the chair behind Barry on the stage, “you make it your Bible. I cannot help you audition for something you clearly don’t care about.”
Richie smiled a little, hearing Gene Cousineau berate some poor actor as he came down the aisle. Just like Richie remembered. He wasn’t sure if Gene would remember him, he’d taken a handful of classes after UCLA, but after going back to Derry, Richie was attempting to revisit old haunts, find himself again. Maybe taking Gene’s class would help with that. Hell, he had the money and he was famous enough that he was sure Gene would jump at the chance to use him and if nothing else pretend he remembered him from ages ago.
“Aw, give him a break, Mr. Cousineau,” Richie glanced to the tall guy on stage, looking to the older man in the front row. “I’m sure he’s not that bad. Hell, I’d cast him. But Trashmouth Tozier sets a pretty low bar anyway.”
“Richie Tozier!” Gene gave a wide, horrifically faked smile, and laughed, “I guess the fun’s just beginning!” Richie returned the smile, pointing at the man and shook his outstretched hand vigorously. How fucking Hollywood. “To what do I have the honor, Mr. Tozier?”
“I was hoping to take your class again, Mr. Cousineau. If you’ll have me, of course. I know I nearly sank my audition over a decade ago, but... for old time’s sake? I’d be happy to audition again. Hell, I’ll read with--” Richie jerked his thumb towards the stage, his eyes finally landing on Barry with actual clarity. He paled, suddenly feeling sick, thought managed not to barf all over his old teacher.
“Oh, no, no, no, Rich, I wouldn’t dream of it!” Gene patted Richie’s hand and arm as he moved past him. “I still take cash up front. I’ll go get the books.” Cousineau disappeared up the aisle and into his office. Richie was already moving towards the stage. That had to be him.
Richie hadn’t realized how much he had missed his twin brother until now. He’d numbed out that pain with alcohol for the most part when he’d gone MIA and after years the pain faded away. Richie had let Janet convince him Barry had to be dead. Dad still believed his son was alive, still contacted people trying to find out, but usually came up with nothing. He refused to declare him dead and at Christmas and Thanksgiving it was a topic not to be discussed. Even Janet had stopped trying to convince Wentworth. Her kids would quietly bring the subject of Uncle Barry up with Richie, but no one else. She had three boys, curious and sensitive, and Richie gave them the answers he hoped satisfied them enough not to bring it up to Dad or Janet. Richie just didn’t want to deal with Janet’s berating or Dad’s disappointment. But holidays never ended without some argument between Richie and Janet, especially after Barry’s disappearance.
“Barry? Fuck me running,” Richie muttered and felt his throat tighten. He jumped up on stage and pulled the other man into a tight hug. “Jesus fucking Christ, man. We thought you were dead. Fuck. Barry,” Richie didn’t care why he was here taking an acting class. He didn’t care why he hadn’t contacted any of them. Richie had his own dry spells of not talking to Janet for months at a time. Although this was rather different.
