Boys of Two Cities

by Zack

  “Now,” Janice began the moment they were out on the sidewalk, strolling slowly past mown lawns and neat front paths, “you must tell me all about your trip to Rome and London. And why haven’t you called me?”

  Gil made excuses of having to find work and gave her an edited account of his months away. He tried to avoid it, but Janice persisted in taking his hand, and so they walked like two chaste lovers. Half an hour out, they came to a rare shady spot under a clump of Australian Box trees. A service road between two blocks made a natural arbor, and someone had thoughtfully planted a bench under the shade.

  “Let’s sit for a bit before going back,” Janice suggested.

  Gil lowered himself beside her, chewing his lower lip. They were out of sight of anyone passing on the sidewalk. Janice slipped her hand onto his thigh. “Gil, you’ve been a stranger since you got back, and one postcard from Rome…” She tapped his thigh punitively.’

  “Jan—”

  “You met someone over there!”

  “I—”

  “Well, I’m not surprised. You know how gorgeous you are.” She went sisterly, weaving a hand under his elbow and linking arms. “I thought we were pretty special.”

  Gil felt sick to his stomach, and wished to God he hadn’t eaten the damned repeating scallions. “We… had some good times. I—”

  “Who is she? Are you still in touch?”

  “Don’t get shrill, Jan. Anyway, it’s not like that.”

  “Shrill… I’m not. But what should I think? You barely write, you don’t call, not even after you got back. And you’ve been strange all day.”

  Gil blew a low whistle. “It’s not like we were engaged or anything, and it wasn’t easy calling from London. I didn’t even call my Mom and Dad more than a couple of times.” A low rage began to build in his chest. He did not want it to take over, but while a part of him felt hot, another remained icy cold. And in his head, a voice told him that he wanted to be honest. Janice was a nice girl and she didn’t deserve to be left dangling. Trouble was, he had no words to describe the situation, other than the bald truth. It had all seemed so easy in London, surrounded by others like he had become. But faced, here in America, by a girl with expectations of him, it felt almost impossible.

  She shook his arm, still trying for a light tone. “C’mon, Gil, out with it. What is this girl like; what’s her name? Spill.”

  Slowly, he turned to face her. “You want the truth?”

  Her eyes flicked agitatedly between both of his. He was aware of the pain she must see there.

  “You’ve always been straight with me, Gil.”

  That made him laugh, although it came out more as a burst of nervous chokes. “You’re right. I was always straight with you.”

  Janice waited impatiently.

  Gil hung his head so his forelocks fell over his brow and formed a halo of shining light where the sun caught the fringe. “There’s no other girl.” Even under the loose shirt, he felt she must see his chest palpitating. “There was…oh, shit. There was a guy, though.”

  Janice looked as though unsure she had heard correctly, he had spoken so quietly. He could not look at her.

  “What do you mean, Gil? A guy…?”

  “Exactly that.” Then he did look up into her puzzled eyes. “A guy! I love another boy. I’m gay. There, now you know the truth.”

  Janice fizzed with incredulity. “You? But, you were never that way before, not with me and, hah, not with some other girls as I heard tell of.”

  “I never did anything much with any girls at school or college.”

  Janice let go his arm and sat back as though to peer at all of him better. He knew he didn’t look happy. “You’re telling me you’re into dick, right?”

  He sighed. “Don’t put it like that. It’s cheap.”

  “Whattaya mean, ‘cheap’? How have you treated me? We had… something going. You said you would be coming back for me.”

  Gil chewed at a fingernail. “I dunno. I changed. No. I guess I didn’t exactly change, it must’ve always been there in me, but I never admitted it.”

  “But…you don’t look like a fag at all.”

  “And what exactly do fags look like?”

  “Oh c’mon. You’ve seen them up on Santa Monica Boulevard or at the beach in Venice, mincing about.”

  Gil thought for a moment. “Yeah, some do act that way, all camp and queeny, but most don’t. I should know now. In Rome, in London, in New York I met so many gay men who don’t look, act, or talk at all the way people say they do.”

  It was Janice’s turn to vent a sigh. “You’re not yanking my chain, are you? No. I can tell by your look.” She relented slightly. “So what made the change, or not-change happen?”

  He sat back and looked up at the dull sunlight filtering through gaps in the leaves, pulling a pack of Chesterfields and a lighter from his shirt pocket, which she hadn’t noticed before. Gil gave her a rueful grin. “Another bad habit I picked up in Europe—not that I smoke much. Just now and then. Oh, it was a few things, but mostly a guy called Mike Smith. English, same age as me. He was on the Rome shoot and we got to be friends and then…it turned to something else…bigger, better.”

  “Jeez, you’re crying!”

  “I’m sorry. Shit.” He took a drag on his cigarette, and then dashed the errant tears from his eyes and cheeks. “It’s all ended anyway. He fell for another guy and asked me to leave. So here I am, back in the U.S.A., cruising gay bars, looking for…what?” He shook his head. “Still, at least I got some decent work to go to next week.”

  Janice reached out a hand tentatively and softly stroked the side of his head. “What about us?” she said quietly.

  He looked around. “Can we be friends? I need a friend.”

  “Arrgh, Gil.” She took her hand back and then gave him a mischievous grin. “I suppose I could always get one of those, whatchacallems, dildo things…a strap-on, or something.”

  It made Gil laugh. “It wouldn’t do it for me. I have a phobia about those things. Maybe I’ll even get around to telling you why one day.”

  Janice resumed a grave look and shook her head to clear it. “Hmm, this is going to take some time for me to get my head around. You’re really not kidding, I guess?”

  “It’s no joke, Jan. Sometimes I wish it was, but I’ve accepted it’s the way I am. Here,” he reached into his pants back pocket and pulled out a small photograph to show her.

  Gil saw a strikingly handsome young man with very dark hair and brows, glinting eyes caught in the camera flash, and a generous, smiling mouth set between round cheeks. He didn’t know how Janice saw it. “I didn’t know I had it, but I discovered it tucked into a pocket in my suitcase the other day. I don’t know why I didn’t throw it in the trash, really. But somehow I couldn’t. Maybe because, perversely, the pain of looking at what I can’t have any longer is better than nothing.”

  “He’s a looker, all right,” Janice handed the picture back.

  “Oh yes, he’s certainly that. I was happy with my English mate, until he changed his mind. And a mate, that’s what I want most. I’m not much up for the gay circuit really, so I want a real relationship—not that we didn’t have a bit of fun on the side now and then.”

  “My, you really have been at it.”

  Gil looked up at her. “I’m sorry, truly. I let you down, but I couldn’t let you go on thinking, well, you know…”

  She gave an eloquent shrug. “Okay. I’ll be your friend,” she said simply.

  The sun came out from behind a small cloud. Gil gave her a pale smile of gratitude. “I guess we’d better head back before Sam and Jason think I’ve eloped with you.”

  Janice took his hand again as they returned, and Gil was happy about that. He suddenly felt like a weight had been lifted from him…one at least.

  As though she heard his thought, Janice asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve said anything to your parents?”

  “Chrissakes, no. Shit, that’s a tough one. Th
ey’d never understand.”

  “You don’t know that. I’m trying to.”

  “You’re my age. We’re more flexible.”

  “They’ll have to know one day, won’t they?”

  “Maybe, but that’s a long way off.”

  Janice thought for a moment and then asked, “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

  “No, not really. There’s the guy got me the job, I knew him from Rome. He was over there with the Hollywood camera crew. Lives over in Blair Hills. He’s a good friend and, yeah, we’ve done a few things. But you don’t wanna know about that.”

  Janice smiled. “I might…”

  “Fuck off. I’m not telling you.” He laughed lightly, stepping up the pace home. Janice seemed easier with it all as well, for which Gil was very grateful. Someone else he could now talk openly to.

  Her next comment made him crack up. “I suppose I could say you laughed gay-ly.”

  The futuristic looking car wobbled badly as the crane lowered it to the roadway. Shouts and imprecations came from several spots as the take was aborted. “The fuckin steam canisters never fired!” screamed the fuming first assistant director. “And what the hell’s wrong up there?” he yelled up through a bullhorn at the crane operator. “Goddamned thing’s supposed to look like it’s landing, not doing a fandango in some Acapulco lap dancing bar!”

  A crackle of walkie-talkie discussion ended with the first waving his arms at the widely dispersed crews manning three cameras. “Okay, fellas, take a break for twenty while we reset.”

  Jeff unlimbered himself from his seat beside the Panavision camera and beckoned to Gil, who was standing on a corner of the street the movie had taken over for the shoot. Gil weaved through the artfully scattered detritus of a collapsing civilization and joined the older man to walk off the outdoor set. “How’s it going, my humpy li’l gofer?”

  Gil grinned happily. “Just fine, Jeff. This is the first few minutes I’ve had to actually see what’s going on, and as usual it looks like it’ll never turn into a finished movie. What a mess!”

  “Looks good through the viewfinder, though. And better when the lab boys wipe out the wires holding up the vehicle.”

  Jeff led them away from the hubbub, around a corner into a smaller side street where his camera supply truck was parked alongside several others. He unlocked the door of the vehicle, climbed up into the dark windowless interior behind the driving cab, and flicked on a small light. Gil followed him up, and they both settled down on a narrow bunk bed that acted as emergency accommodation when roughing it out on location.

  Jeff wasted no time in taking Gil into his arms, and the boy sank down with him in a lingering kiss. There was insufficient time to do much, but they quickly unzipped and began jerking each other.

  “I heard something more about our mutual friend this morning,” Jeff said, “From one of the dope-fiend production boys who pretends he has contacts in high places. I reckon he’s little more than a dime-packet dealer, but…jeez, you start lubing up real fast.”

  “It’s the way you handle me,” Gil murmured contentedly as he enjoyed the feeling of Jeff’s meat reciprocate to his rubbing fist. “What’d he tell you?”

  “Rosen has a big deal going down, so the grapevine has it, and it’s headed for London. Don’t know when, but soon. And the word’s out that he’s creaming off the top big time. If he does that—” He snapped finger and thumb eloquently without interfering with his stroking Gil with the other hand.

  Gil thought about Mike, hoping that he was in the clear. But then, he would be. He had nothing to do with that side of Rosen. “Mmm, I’m getting damn close.”

  They speeded up, each eyeing the other’s cock. Jeff threw his head back and Gil saw the first jizz bubble up. Instantly, he bent down and took the load in his mouth, sucking up Jeff’s spicy seed. “Hah! That was quick!” He sat back, out of breath, licking his lips. “Oh shit, I’m going now.”

  Jeff also bent to hover over the boy’s erupting cock, dropping his lips around it, as Gil came explosively.

  Then they kissed again, guzzling each other’s cum in a slow tongue-twisting slurp. When they broke apart, Jeff leaned back on the metal wall, nursing his still hard dick. “It’s a pity we can’t manage this every day.”

  “You’d drain me.”

  “That’s the general idea.” Jeff winked lasciviously. “Oh, well. Better get back to it. Tuck yourself in,” he warned. “A gorgeous kid like you walking out on the set with his dick hanging out, it’ll bring the movie to a standstill.”

  “As if…” Gil chuckled.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tuition in Sex

  We don need no educayshun…we don need no thought control…no dark sarcasm in the classroom…

  Mike’s unit was running the second camera on a bunch of school kids isolated in a cluster at the center of a darkened sound stage. Strong overhead lighting beamed straight down on their heads as they mimed to the harsh playback. A shadowy figure by the doors caught his attention, waving at him. He loped over. “There’s someone outside to see you.”

  The bounce went right out of his steps as he emerged into the connecting hallway and saw who it was.

  …teacher, leave those kids alone…HEY!

  “James. What are you doing here?”

  “Outside!” The American turned on his heel. A few yards down, a door led out onto one of many narrow alleys between the Pinewood sound stages. The air felt fresh after being inside. Mike shivered, but not from the sudden chill. Rosen was clearly not in a good mood to have come all the way over from Shepperton. He followed him a few feet around the far corner. It was a dead end, mostly filled with trash bins and a large dumpster. As he came round the corner, Rosen whirled and pinned him to the wall.

  “The fuck—”

  “Shuddup. I’m gonna ask you something, and you’d better tell me the truth or, so help me God, our little deal’s off.”

  “Ask me what?” Mike shot back defiantly.

  “I wanna know who you been talking to who you shouldn’t.”

  Mike thought he was referring to Gil. “I haven’t spoken to him.”

  Rosen growled out, “Who?”

  “Gil.”

  “No, you shit for brains. Who have you talked to here?”

  “About what?” Mike shouted. Rosen wiped the spittle from his cheek, then took a firm grip on Mike’s collar, choking him.

  “About my business. I’ve had a tip off that someone near to me has been spilling beans he shouldn’t. What have you said to Mundy?”

  Mike suddenly shook himself free and stood up to the American producer. “Well, it’s not me. I haven’t said anything to Gerald, I haven’t even seen him, and I don’t even know what business you’re going on about. Shit, but you’re paranoid, James. All I talk to are the guys on the crew, in production, and that’s it. And nothing at all to do with you.”

  Rosen quieted down but continued glaring. Then he stuck his forefinger into Mike’s chest. “Okay, Mikey-baby. For now. But if I trace this leak back to you, you will regret it for a long time before you finally succumb. And your pretty little blond bombshell…well, I’ll find him too.

  …all in all, you’re just another brick in the wall.

  Mike felt mentally wrung out when he got back to Swiss Cottage and physically fuming. He knew Rosen was no…rose…but he had no idea what else the guy was up to, although the suspicions were growing. All that snow in his hotel room. He hopped across the Atlantic frequently in his jet, which made transporting…stuff…a pretty simple matter. He had no idea how you got things through U.K. Customs, but no doubt money talked anywhere.

  A seriously early start on set that morning—so the school children could be released within the allowed time limit—at least had the benefit of his getting home at a reasonable time in the afternoon. Mike parked “Horny” a door down from his parents’ house and walked the fifty-odd yards to his own apartment. Then he spent the better part of an hour in the bath tub, recov
ering from Rosen’s sudden appearance. He had only just got out when the doorbell shattered the peace.

  “Shit. Who’s that going to be?” he cursed out loud.

  He wrapped a bath towel around his waist and ran fingers through his damp hair before stumping across the living room and into the long hall. The fuzzy shape on the other side of the stained-glass door light gave no hint as to the visitor’s identity. Whoever it was, it didn’t look like his young brother William.

  “Oh, sorry…”

  Mike opened the door wider. A flaming redhead stared back wide-eyed. Young Ben looked embarrassed as he took in the still dripping, near-naked body presented to him.

  Mike leaned against the doorjamb, while holding his sagging towel together with the other hand, aware that the bump of his cock must be visible in the soft fabric. “Will isn’t here.”

  “Ah…” Ben shuffled edgily from foot to foot, looking this way and that nervously.

  Mike noticed with amusement the boy’s shifty eyes snatching sneaky glimpses.

  “Well…actually, I was hoping to see you,” he went on hurriedly. “I saw Will earlier and he told me he was sure you wouldn’t mind…” He tailed off uncertainly.

  “Really?” Mike drawled.

  Ben looked down at his shoes. “Yes, I…” He looked up again, blushing appealingly. “I was just wondering how the film was going and whether you’d met any of Pink Floyd,” he finished lamely.

  I should tell him to get lost. Mike clicked tongue against palate, and stood aside. “Better come in then. I’ve been on show long enough.” He gave the boy a thin smile. What’s he really after?

  Ben grinned back, obviously relieved, if still embarrassed, and stepped around Mike into the hallway. Mike closed the door and ushered him into the living room, waving vaguely at the dilapidated sofa. “Be a minute putting something on.”

  He left Ben settling on the seat’s edge and crossed the corner of the hallway into his bedroom. He was still feeling hot from the bath and—truth be known—a bit wicked. He had already sensed Ben’s undefined interest so he opted for the short khaki safari shorts with cuffs he often favored at home, no briefs, and a tight white T-shirt. He left his tangled hair as it was, content with running a hand again quickly through its dampness.