"Bill, what time do you need to meet your parents?"
"Huh," Billy was lost between the kisses and cold air. "Oh, nine."
Hank leaned forward. "Please be back for us at seven."
"Have a pleasant evening, sir," said the driver who drove away as soon as the car door closed.
Billy pulled Hank tight and wrapped his arms around him. They continued to kiss on the street as the doorman, who had resumed his post, politely and professionally ignored them. Billy enjoyed the feeling of another tight-bodied man against him. While they kissed, tongues exploring each other's mouths, Billy pictured Hank, tuxedo clad, framed by those red curtains. He knew, no matter how this all turned out, that image, more than any other, would always define how he would remember his first date with Hank Miller.
The kiss ended. "Come on, I want to get naked with you before the night ends and the driver returns." Hank led the way up the few stairs to the entrance.
The doorman opened the door. "Welcome to the Waldorf," he said with a smile as Hank palmed him a $20 bill.
The young men started removing their jackets and suspenders while kissing on the elevator ride to their penthouse suite. Once inside the room, they continued kissing and undressing, not removing their lips from the other until they were naked together on the bed, their clothes a messy tangle on the floor, their bodies a tangle with each other and the sheets.
They didn’t speak, but instead, began exploring each other’s bodies. They touched and tasted every inch of skin the other possessed without care or concern. They weren’t making love, but instead simply becoming one with each other. There were moments when neither knew which arm or leg were the others. In the midst of this libertine adventure Hank moaned; Billy looked deep into his partner’s eyes. With a few more undulations, both men exploded come into the tight space between them. They pulled tighter to each other, again sharing passionate, lingering kisses.
As the night evolved to morning, Billy’s stomach growled. Both men laughed. Hank rolled away from Billy, who kept pace with his lover and spooned tight into his back, his dick growing hard and pressing once again into the comfortable heat of Hank’s ass.
Hank, while easily allowing Billy to enter him, picked up the phone receiver and hit a button. Billy held himself pushed tight into Hank, while Hank placed a breathless hearty breakfast room service order. As he rolled to push the phone back into its cradle, Billy followed on top of him and gently, yet rhythmically, fucked Hank, who whispered, “You’ve got fifteen minutes,” in reference to how long it would be before breakfast arrived.
Billy didn’t speak, instead wrapping his arms tight around Hank. He only moved his ass enough to keep his dick in motion, and kissed his lover’s sweaty neck. “I’m ready,” Billy whispered through his kisses. Hank pushed his ass higher to meet Billy’s thrusts.
“Come for me,” whispered Hank.
He collapsed in light convulsions on top of Hank as a light rap sounded at the door. Neither man wanted to move, but as if on cue, Billy’s stomach again grumbled long and low. He began to pull out of Hank, whose ass followed as long as possible to keep Billy’s dick in place, but finally had no choice but to allow its release. Billy rolled over onto his back and, as the rap grew louder on the door, Hank rolled out of the bed, found his footing, and went to the door to let the room service delivery in. He didn’t bother to cover himself, but answered the door naked.
A handsome young man in tight black pants, a gold brocaded jacket, and small hat pushed the cart into the room. He didn’t outwardly take notice of the two handsome, sweaty stars, instead saying simply, “Good morning.” He rolled the cart to the couch and handed the plastic folder that contained the check to Hank.
Hank signed the bill after adding a large tip to the total.
“Very good, Sir,” said the guy as he unconsciously adjusted his crotch and headed for the door. When it closed, both Hank and Billy burst out laughing.
Sixteen
Naked, still in bed, Billy and Hank sipped room-service coffee and devoured croissants as the sun began to peek through a slit in the heavy drapes.
"It's going to be a long, fucking day," said Billy. He set his cup back on the tray and stretched his arms out high. Hank leaned into him and kissed his side, just below his armpit. "Oh, I think we need to stop. I've got enough time to take a quick shower and meet the driver downstairs."
"Why can't your parent's find their own way to the airport? Then we could just stay together in bed all day." Again he kissed Billy, this time closer to his nipple while gently running his finger around the large bruise on Billy’s stomach. “I could kill the bastard for doing this to you.”
Billy ignored the comment. "Are we going to see each other again?" Billy asked as he gave Hank’s hand a playful shove away from his middle.
Hank hesitated. "Yes, Bill," he said, the playfulness gone from his voice.
"So, there's no need to wear it out in the first night." Billy stretched again. "Shower," he said, rolling out of bed. His body was sore. His head pounded a bit from the evening's Champagne. He turned to his companion, "are you coming, or what?"
Hank leapt out of the bed and chased Billy into the luxurious bathroom. While the shower heated up, the two men kissed passionately, hands groping and grabbing whatever stuck out on each other.
* * *
Jericho woke. He listened. No snoring from the other bedroom. No water running. He lay in bed, waiting, hoping the boy would return from a jog, knowing that Billy wasn't out jogging. It made sense, of course, that the two young men would be attracted to each other. Hell, everyone was attracted to those two boys. They were tall, thin, chiseled, and talented. They were both stars and would continue to be for a long time to come. And, they were gorgeous tuxedo clad in Sardis. Seeing them together, it was impossible not to think of 1925 and the Great Gatsby. It just made sense that they'd discover each other. Jericho rolled over in bed and lit a cigarette. He realized he'd waited to long to tap Billy Lake.
"And, here you are, old man," he said aloud to himself, "pining away for a boy you'd just use for a few weeks and let go. I know. I know. You only wish you'd taken advantage of the opportunity before it passed by." Jericho tapped ash off of his cigarette, the cherry glowed. He rolled the tip around in the ashtray forming a sharp, red-hot ash. "You've got a lot to be proud of this morning, old man. You're new show is a hit. Advance sales will go through the roof today. You've turned Angie and Billy into stars. You've given a lift to the forgotten Don Carrusone playing Julian. You've had an opportunity to work with one of your favorites in the woman playing Brock. It's all good."
Jericho sat up and tamped out the cigarette blowing the smoke from the last drag toward the ceiling. "So, why do I feel like crap? Answer me that."
It had been a long time since Jericho had had a conversation with himself. Since the boy moved in, in fact. He didn't like to walk around muttering like one of those crazy people so common on the streets of New York. He'd restrained himself, but there was no point now. "There's no point in being sane now, not when I'm alone."
He stood up and padded to the bathroom. Jericho picked up Billy's bar of soap and smelled it. It was the boy's scent. The harder he worked, after he returned from a jog or in the middle of an intense dance rehearsal, that smell wafted around the boy like a pleasant cloud. He was the only guy Jericho had ever met who smelled better the more he sweat. "Amazing stuff, this soap."
"Hey!" said Billy from the open bathroom doorway.
"Hey." Jericho softly replaced the soap in its container. "How was you're night?"
"How do you think? Shit, Hank is a hottie. And, he's a really nice guy. I have to admit that for some reason I didn't expect that."
"Have you set a date?" Jericho tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but the question had a bite to it.
"We're not lesbians, Jericho. No U-Haul for us for at least a few weeks." Billy grabbed his toothbrush and sidled up to Jericho at the sink.
"Do you mind,
I want to brush my teeth. Unless you're not done in here?"
"No, no, do what you need to do." Jericho backed out of the room into the doorway, watching Billy in a wife-beater T-shirt and tuxedo pants rapidly brushing his teeth, creating a thick foam around his mouth. "Are you meeting your parents this morning?"
"Yeah," Billy lisped through a mouthful of toothpaste froth. He spit in the sink and then rinsed using water cupped in his hands. "In about a half hour. We're having breakfast with Angie and her parents and then I need to get them back to the airport."
"Why don't they just take a cab?" Jericho asked, watching Billy dry his face and hands on his wadded up T-shirt. He noticed Billy's soap scent had been replaced by something musky; he could smell the sex on Billy and wished that was what his own sheets smelled like this morning.
"They won't do it. They feel they need their hands held and I promised to hold them. Least I could do to get them here for opening."
"Well, you were already gone with that boy, but I'm rather sure they had a good time. Angie's parents are wonderful. They took good care of your folks." Jericho tried to emanate a guilt tone, but it failed.
"That's great. It's what they said they'd do, take care of my parents." Billy tried to slide past Jericho
“What happened here? Did he hit you?” Jericho turned Billy to face him.
“Huh?” Billy pulled away and went into his bedroom. He didn't close the door behind himself.
“Where did you get that bruise?” Jericho shifted from one doorway to the other.
“Oh, I had an altercation on the street yesterday. Nothing serious.” Billy stripped off his pants.
“Are you sure?” Jericho wanted to push for more details, but couldn’t help losing his train of thought as he greedily watched the boy strip down out of the remains of his tux. Billy didn't have any underwear or socks on. Jericho wanted to ask about that, or at least make a joke, but he really didn't want the answer, which was incredibly obvious. Of course those boys had sex. Maybe he left behind his underwear as a prize. Maybe they were still tangled in the sweat soaked sheets.
Billy wasn't phased at being watched. Everyone seemed to watch him undress now. In his dressing room, here at home, last night with Hank. The thought of Hank made him swoon a little, but he quickly recovered.
"Are you going to get any sleep today? You've got a show tonight," said Jericho. His bitchiness turned to mother-hen-ed-ness
"Okay. That's enough. Yes, I'll get a nap this afternoon. We left so early that I'm not to hung-over, so that's a good thing. A few hours sleep and I'll be perfect for tonight."
Billy's burst of anger shocked them both.
"Ah, youth," Jericho said in an absent way.
"Is there any coffee? I could really use some coffee." Billy’s tone had softened back to normal.
"No," said Jericho. That "no" pleased him in an odd way.
"Well, then I've got to run. I'll grab a cup at the corner." He thought for a moment as he slipped his feet into his sneakers. Billy tucked his wallet into his front jeans pocket and then grabbed a headshot from the box on the dresser. He quickly signed the picture to the owners of the coffee shop. He'd promised it weeks ago. As he exited the room, he slowed his pace and kissed Jericho on the cheek. "See you later, okay?"
The heat and passion between them was gone. Jericho had missed his opportunity to have the boy in the way he wanted, the way he'd hoped. Now, when they had sex, and he still believed they would have sex some day, it would just be a romp. Billy wouldn't feel love toward him. It was obvious that Billy had fallen in love with Hank. No way around that truth now.
* * *
Billy sat between his parents in the hired car, his knees nearly touching his chin.
"I didn't want to bring this up over breakfast, Billy. Angie and her parents have been so wonderful to us. But, what happened to you last night? We looked and looked for you. You weren't there. You missed dinner," said Mrs. Lake.
"Leave the kid alone," said Mr. Lake. "It was his big night. I'm sure he was off to another party."
"Mom, don't ask questions unless you want to know the answers." He didn't mean to be short or curt with his mother, but he was feeling fatigued. He'd been up for more than 24 hours now. Billy knew he'd hurt Jericho's feelings, that was obvious from the exchange earlier that morning. He’d snapped at Jericho, which was something he’d never done before. He also felt guilt for abandoning his parents the previous night, although he didn't realize how guilty he felt until now.
"Oh. Daddy said he thought he saw you at the bar with a young man. The man from the airport. The man you stopped by our table with," said Mrs. Lake acting like she didn't know what had happened, pushing her son for an answer.
"That was Hank Miller. We had a drink together and left."
"Is he in your show, too? He didn't look familiar to me," said Mr. Lake. "I didn't get his autograph."
"His what?" asked Billy, confused.
The car entered the Lincoln Tunnel and Mrs. Lake gripped her son's arm. "You're father got the autographs of all the people you work with. Every single one of them who had a picture in the program."
"Almost everyone," said Mr. Lake. He pulled the Playbill out of the small travel bag on his lap. "Everyone's, but yours." He offered the yellow and white 42nd Street Playbill to his son.
"He spent the entire evening after dinner going from table to table. He became quite the spectacle." The car swerved a bit. Mrs. Lake dug her nails into her son's arm.
"Well, it seemed important to me," said Mr. Lake. The older man pulled a pen out of his top pocket and handed it to his son.
"Really, Dad? You did that?" Billy asked as he gently turned the pages in the shadowing tunnel. There, near each picture, was a signature. Billy turned back to the page with his own headshot, took the pen, and signed his autograph. As he clicked the pen closed his eyes misted up. Billy clicked the pen again and added above his name "To Dad, with Love." "Here you go, Dad," he said.
"Thank you, son."
The three were silent in the car as they left the tunnel. Mrs. Lake lightened her grip. Billy's arm had an imprint of her hand.
"I've got to tell you, Bill, that was the best damn show I've ever seen. Now you know I'm not much into your theater and such, but I had the time of my life. At first I thought it was because you were there, on stage, looking good, dancing with all those pretty girls. But, I realized that wasn't it. Well, it was part of it. I felt a great sense of pride and a little sorry that I've never supported you in all this singing and dancing stuff. But, there I was, feeling proud of you, actually had tears in my eyes at one point. But, then, something strange happened. I stopped seeing you as my son, as William Lake, Junior, and started seeing you as Billy Lawler. I saw everyone as their characters, not as someone else's son or daughter. Quite remarkable."
Billy and Mrs. Lake were used to Mr. Lake's rambling style of speech. What neither had heard before was emotional support come out of the man's mouth. Everyone was silent. It was the only way to absorb what had just happened.
"I saw you kiss that man at the airport, that Hank from the bar. I'll do my best to accept that about you, too. Your mother's been telling me for years about that, about that part of your life. She said you told her you were that way in high school. I just never believed it. Now, I know that you're never moving back home. I accepted that last night." Mr. Lake turned his face from the window toward his son. "I love you, boy. I'm so proud of you I can barely contain myself."
If the three hadn't been scrunched in the back seat of that Town Car, Billy and Mr. Lake would have hugged. In the tight quarters, with his parents taking up more than their fair share of back-seat space, Billy took his knee being patted by his father's thick hand as enough. Billy placed his own hand on top of his father's and for a moment, just before they turned into the airport, his father let his hand rest beneath his son's.
* * *
Billy waived to his parents as they entered the security check point leading to the gates
. He'd thought his father would have continued on his emotional rant, maybe offered the hug that was lacking in the car, but that moment had passed.
Just before she boarded, his mother asked him to stay at the airport until their plane departed.
Billy found a coffee shop and ordered the largest cup they had. He purchased a magazine from the newsstand. He sat on an uncomfortable chair and tried to read, but immediately felt himself start to doze off. This would never do. He couldn't take the chance of falling asleep at the airport. Billy was tired from the combination of performing his show, great sex, no sleep, not to mention the emotional trip to the airport with his parents. He considered his options and decided to chance leaving his parents alone. He knew they were already at their gate. The departure board said the flight was on time. Billy went outside and smoked a cigarette. He gave up the fight and got in line for a cab.
He gave the taxi driver Jericho's address and slumped in the back seat. He watched the other cars. He gazed out at the bright blue sky and thought over the words his father had said. It was the first time he could ever remember his father saying he was proud of him.
Billy considered the Playbill with all those signatures and for just a moment he was sorry he had left the party. He'd have to admit, if even just to himself, that he'd given up on his father, on his parents. While it was so important that they came to the opening night, he never thought that they'd get it, understand him. Yet, that's what had happened. Somehow, his parents crossed over. He'd impressed his father. And, he’d missed seeing the metamorphosis because he was off on a hot date with a man.
The cab entered the Lincoln Tunnel. Billy thought of his mother's fear of passing through it. His father seized that opportunity of slight darkness to speak of his feelings. The world had shifted for William Lake, Jr. Hidden in the shadows of Lincoln Tunnel, Billy cried. Not a sobbing breakdown, but a small cascade of tears dripped from his eyes.
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