"Who?" He looked up, saw the butler, pulled the sheet over his waist, barely covering his crotch. He didn’t appear embarrassed. "Oh, hello."
"Hello, Sir."
"Sam."
"Yes, Sir."
"No allergies. I would love a Diet Coke."
"Yes, Sir." Malcolm disappeared back around the door, closing it behind him.
"You've got a butler?"
"Yes. He takes care of me, cooks, tidies up between visits from the cleaning lady."
"So, that's two. Who’s the third?"
I thought for a moment, not sure what Sam was referring to.
"That makes two people who live here, you and your butler. I guess the third is a maid or maybe a houseboy who dusts and fucks?"
"I'm going to jump in the shower," I said, getting out of bed. How could he not include Aristotle in his house count? Sam followed me into the bathroom.
“Well, who is it?” He poked me playfully.
“I never said there were three people living here.”
His handsome brow furrowed as I started the shower.
“Aristotle. My dog.”
“Oh, when you said three, I assumed...”
Sam followed me in. I’d always been mixed about showering with others. I certainly don’t mind the intimacy, I love being touched. But, someone always ends up out of the flow of water. When I had my suite designed, I insisted on an elaborate combination of jets and showerheads so no one ever had to be uncomfortable.
As we explored each other’s bodies with soap, washcloths, and kisses, Sam worked his way down to his knees, and, after offering a sparkly-eyed smile in my direction, took my cock in his mouth. I grew hard to the feeling of his tongue working first the slit and head and then, he allowed my length into his throat. I leaned back against the wall and, slid down to the marble bench, and spread my legs.
Sam gently caressed my balls as he licked and sucked my shaft. With soft moans of encouragement, his fingers moved down to my ass, gently separating the cheeks and exposing my hole. His head continued to bob as he slid just the tip of a finger inside of me, massaging the tight ring of muscle there. With my climax growing near, he pushed that finger deeper into me until I released my second hot load of the morning. He pushed his head down to the base of my cock, using his throat muscles to milk me dry. I rode that amazing sensation until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
With both hands, I raise his head off of me and bent down to meet his lips, lips and tongue that tasted of me and him combined. As we kissed, he finally slipped his finger out of me. I reached for his cock only to discover it was soft and sticky.
“Sucking me off got you off, too?” I asked.
“Mmm hmmm.” He kissed me again, this time his tongue exploring my mouth.
When we got out of the shower, lunch was laid out on the large table.
"I love this robe." Sam fingered the soft silk.
"I love the way you look in it," I said brushing the back of my hand over the lapel, grazing his nipple.
"Stop that or we'll never get to eat and I'm starved." He slathered condiments onto his sandwich before taking too big a bite. I wondered when his last meal had been.
Knock at the door.
"Yes?"
"Sir, Mr. Donovan is here."
"Malcolm, come in here." The butler entered, but remained near the door. Aristotle took the opportunity and finally made his way into the room, bee-lined for me with tail wagging madly. "Hello, boy. Did you miss me?" I scratched the dog’s ears. “Which Mr. Donovan?”
Aristotle increased the viscosity of his tail wag in reply.
"It's your god damned father!" came a shout from the entryway hall below us.
"Did he say what he wanted?" I whispered as I tossed the dog a piece of meat from my sandwich.
"No, Sir," said Malcolm, matching my tone.
I got up and headed for the door. "Sam, I'll be right back. Don't hold off your lunch for me." I turned my attention back to the butler, "is there any cash in the house?"
"A few hundred, grocery money."
"You know I'm going to need it."
I headed down the front stairs; Malcolm went the other way, down the back.
"Dad," I said, eyeing him up and down. He looked frail, but put together. His shoes matched. "To what do I owe this honor? Would you like some lunch?"
"Robe at one in the afternoon. You got some slut upstairs?” My father turned his head up toward the second floor. “Some pussy boy?” he shouted.
"As a matter of fact, I do and I'd like to get back up there and fuck him so if you'll tell me why you're here…"
My father raised his hand.
"What are you going to do old man?"
With the question he fell into a coughing jag. Malcolm appeared out of nowhere with a glass of water. As my father drank, the butler slipped a wad of bills into my hand.
He handed the glass to the butler who disappeared as silently as he'd appeared.
"Here, Dad. It's all I've got in the house."
He slapped my hand; the bills scattered over the floor. "I don't need your God damned money. You'll probably need it to pay off the trash upstairs."
"Well, that's a switch, you not showing up here for cash." I turned and walked into the front sitting room, fished a cigarette from the box on the table, lit it.
My father coughed, but Malcolm didn't appear this time so he stopped. "Son, I need your help."
I sat down on the sofa and dad found a chair.
"Look, see, there's this girl, ah, woman. Her name is Lola—"
"Let me guess. She was a showgirl."
He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "How did you know that? Some of that psychic shit?"
I did my best to stifle my laugh. Being a queer psychic is an interesting combination when pitted up against my idiot, bigot father.
"Lola wants me to take her down to Atlantic City. I know you got lots of contacts and I was hoping you could set me up there for a few days in a nice suite, you know?"
"Sure, Dad. When do you want to go?"
"Today. Three or four days."
We looked at each other. I knew this was going to cost me a fortune. "Malcolm!" He appeared. "Bring my father a whiskey. And, my little book."
"Yes, Sir."
"Dad, where is this Lola?"
"I dropped her at her apartment so she could pack a few things."
She must be good for him. He was too proud to take my cash. Not only did his shoes match, but now that he was sitting I could see that his socks did, too.
Malcolm returned with a cut crystal glass of whiskey and my phone book on a silver tray. Taking the book, I got up and moved to the phone. I thought for a moment, thumbed through the pages, picked up the receiver, dialed. "Ellen? Hi, dear, this is Duke Donovan…I'm wonderful. How's that cute girlfriend of yours?"
"More fags," said my father as he downed the whiskey and offered the glass back to the butler indicating he'd like more.
I held my hand over the receiver. "Actually, girl fags are dykes, Dad. If you're going to be an asshole, at least use the proper terms of hate." I turned my attention back to the phone conversation. I looked up and Sam was standing in the doorway, fully dressed. Damn. "Well, you just tell her that she's off my Christmas list if she doesn't start treating you better…" I held up my hand, indicating that Sam should wait. "Listen, Ellen, I need a favor. My father and his lady friend would like to come down there for three or four days, live it up a bit. Can you put them up in a nice suite, feed them, you know, treat 'em like whales?” I listened. “Dad, want to see Wayne Newton?" He nodded. "Sure, that would be great. Yeah, a Champagne table. Thanks so much, dear. Yep, I'll be back down soon. I think you've got me scheduled next month. Great. Love ya!" I hung up the phone, making a mental note to call her back to put a limit on my fathers charging and spending. It would be a generous limit, but a limit all the same.
"Okay, Dad. You're all set up at Three Coins."
"Thanks, son. I owe you." The
old man hoisted himself out of the chair and headed for the door. He eyed, Sam, but didn't say anything. The door slammed announcing his departure.
"He's a piece of work," said Sam looking around the room. "Hey, wasn't there a piano here this morning?"
"Across the hall." I got up, moved to the boy, wrapped my arms around him. "You're not going?"
"Yep, got a matinee in…" he looked at his watch, "shit, in less than an hour.
"Malcolm." He appeared. "Call Sam a car."
"Sam, you're a car," said Malcolm with a smirk. I don't know why, but that silly joke always turned my staid butler into a twelve-year old.
"Why thank you, Malcolm. You're a bus," said Sam, playfully.
Malcolm took out a cell and spoke quietly. "Two minutes, Sir." He disappeared.
"There. We'll have you to the theater in no time." I kissed the boy. "What show is it?"
"The twenty-seventh revival of Fiddler on the Roof."
I enjoyed his playful sarcasm.
He kissed me. "Can I see you again?"
"What are you doing between shows?"
A car horn sounded outside.
"Getting fucked by you?"
"You got it." I kissed him again before leading us to the door. "You want me to send a car to pick you up at the stage door?"
"No, I'll find my own way back," he said giving my crotch a squeeze.
I watched as he slipped into the car and it pulled away. So he isn’t a stray after all. A man with a job, now this is a switch.
Chapter Two
"Get out!" he shouted at me with more vengeance than I'd ever heard in my life. "No son of mine is a fairy. If that's what you are, you're not my son." I looked first at my mother. She offered no aid. Next, I eyed my brother, just a year younger than me, Neil stared at his feet. I returned my gaze to my old man, gave him the finger, walked out. I was sixteen.
It didn't take long for Sam to move in. Actually, we were never apart except when he went to the theater. Our schedules meshed together seamlessly.
For the most part, when I wasn't in a romantic relationship or talking to clients, I spent my time wandering around NYC with my dog. Aristotle and I sat at a lot of cafés over the years, snacking, reading, watching people. Eventually, we'd meet a boy here or there, bring him home, spend a few days or a few weeks together before the man moved on. The dog and I would go back to our routine. So, here we were at the beginning of a new love cycle. I never worried how long it would last when it started, just enjoyed the experience.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked as he came up from behind me, wrapping his arms around me, kissed my neck.
"Watching that squirrel on the wall. Every day he makes this path back and forth from somewhere, along my wall, up that tree, back down, on to the neighbor's wall."
"It's good to have a daily routine." He kissed my neck again and I turned into his embrace.
"What shall we do for your day off?" I asked.
"Head to Paris for dinner," Sam said playfully.
"We might not make it back in time for your show tomorrow." I bit his lip. “But, if you want to try, we could certainly set off right now for the airport.” I looked deep into Sam’s eyes. They twinkled at the thought of the fantasy.
"How about lunch at the Westside Cottage and a movie?"
"Sounds like a date."
"My treat," he said nibbling on my ear.
"Keep that up and we might not make it out of the house."
"That's fine with me, too."
"Ahem," Malcolm put forth.
"Yes, Malcolm." I looked up at the tall, older man, wondering why he stayed on with me. Strait as an arrow, no interest in anything off the path, Malcolm took care of me better than anyone had my entire life. Every need, every whim was taken care of. He solved every problem without attitude or question.
"Ellen from Atlantic City is on the phone, Sir. She says it's urgent."
"Fucking old man," I said to no one, extracted myself from Sam’s sinewy arms, took the cell from the butler. "Hello, my dear. What can I do for you?" I listened to her as the others watched me. "He does those things. Please put her in a car back to the city. Give my father one more night in the hotel. He's going to order a bottle of scotch from room service and pass out, so he shouldn't be a problem." I thought for a moment. "Ellen, you're such a doll. Can I ask one more favor of you?" She of course said yes. "Please don't let him charge any, ah, company to the room and limit his further casino credit to two thousand." I could hear her typing away. "Oh, and Ellen, you girls should come up for my party next week. Sunday. Dinner's at eight." I handed the phone back to Malcolm as my mind whirled. Only a week to plan this party I’d thrown into our mix.
While a literature major at Columbia, I fell in love with Virginia Woolf, specifically her character, Mrs. Dalloway. I adored the concept of spending a day putting a party together. A woman of leisure. Of course, now, there are others to gather the flowers and invite the guests for me, but early on in my New York career, I started throwing lavish parties. At first for my clients, later for my friends and clients. And, each party day, I'd make that trip to the city’s flower district myself to gather fresh blooms, just as Clarissa Dalloway does. How silly it is to be so influenced by a character in a novel. I spent a lot of time trying to contact Virginia Woolf, but she never responded to my psychic knock at the Great Beyond’s door.
"We're having a party? I can't be here. I've got a show."
"We are now. Sorry, Sam, I just didn't think about your schedule. I'll get better at that. Malcolm, can you put together dinner for twenty for this Sunday. Fill out the guest list with the usual suspects. Leave me four open spots. Oh, wait, Sam, is there anyone you'd like to invite, to impress the hell out of?"
"I'll get a sub for my show. Malcolm?" Sam pointed to the phone, the butler handed it over. He quickly dialed and walked into the parlor. Sam randomly hit keys on the piano as he talked.
"Malcolm, I want that lamb Wellington and something very light and simple for desert. Big bouquets of flowers everywhere. Oh, can we get that round table back in the middle of the entryway. I love that."
"Sir, may I?" Malcolm's tone changed.
"Of course," I said and waited. His suggestions were always interesting, perfect in fact.
"Clara Tells is in town. She has such a lovely voice. I'm friends with her maid and I know Ms. Tells would love to attend a party here."
"Would she be willing to sing if Sam accompanied her?"
"I'm sure you couldn't keep her from singing if you tried, especially with someone of Mr. Teak's reputation."
"Is that a little smile, Malcolm? You've got a little crush on Ms. Tells."
"Not Ms. Tells, Sir, her maid," Malcolm said, a hint of color rising to his pallid face. "Shall I include her on the guest list, Sir?"
"Ms. Tells or her maid?"
Malcolm, the always together man's man flushed to the tips of his ears.
"Of course, Malcolm, please include Ms. Tells and a guest on the list. And, you may have any day off next week after the party that you'd like if you ask Ms. Tells' maid out on a date."
"Very good, Sir," Malcolm said, leaving the kitchen as Sam returned.
"All set. I've got a sub for Sunday." The boy beamed. “I can't believe I'll be attending one of Mr. Donovan's infamous parties. I can't believe I'll be finding myself on Page Six!"
"Malcolm, call the newspaper and make sure we get onto Page Six for the boy, here." I’d taken to calling Sam, “Boy,” because he got a thrill from it. I’d forbidden him calling me “Daddy,” at least in public, which included within Malcolm’s hearing.
"Yes, sir" said Malcolm from the storeroom beyond the kitchen.
"Sam, do you know Clara Tells?"
"Not personally, but I adore her. She's got this lilt at the very top of her voice that, well, I'm a fag so I can say this out loud, that little lilt makes my knees go weak."
"Well, Boy, if you'd like, I think you'll have the opportunity to accompany her here at
the party."
"Clara is coming?" Sam's eyes grew wide and sparkled like faceted crystals.
"Malcolm says she is so I'm sure it's true." My thoughts wandered for a moment, picturing the evening. "I think we need to go shopping. You've got to get some clothes appropriate for this high society event."
"As you wish," he said.
When we exited Barney’s a few hours later with our arms loaded with shopping bags filled to the brim I couldn’t help but feel like Daddy Warbucks spoiling his orphan.
Chapter Three
I sat on the Hudson River pier wondering what to do. I felt like there was nowhere for me to go. Sixteen. No high school friends. No one to shack up with. My last dollar used for a PATH token to bring me into Manhattan. I looked out over the dirty water of the Hudson toward New Jersey unsure what would happen. I felt like crying, but wasn’t. One thing I knew for certain was that leaving my childhood home felt right.
That's when Henry arrived in my life. He plopped right down on the planks next to me, as if he'd dropped from the sky.
"Hello, young man," he said. "Why don't you come home with me?"
I never turned, never looked at him. He held out his hand. I took it.
"Sir," Malcolm appeared.
"Yes?"
"Sir, there's a woman here to see you. She's rather insistent. Dressed like a tramp, I might add."
"What does she want?" I looked up from reading the announcement of my party in the daily tabloid. I focused my mind into that place where information arrives from beyond. "Oh, it's Pop's showgirl."
"To talk to you, Sir. She wouldn't say anything else."
"Oh, all right." Malcolm helped me into my robe. "Where's, Sam?"
"Replacement rehearsals. That horrible Mr. Darby has finally been replaced."
"Oh, Sam will be in a terrific mood tonight. Plan a late supper with his favorites," I said, slipping my feet into cozy slippers.
"Roast beef and mashed potatoes at midnight."
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Malcolm. Remind me to call my accountant. You deserve a raise."
The Middle Man [A Broadway Romance] Page 2