Aamil thought about his latest sexual encounter with Nasser. His friend had come up to his apartment in the middle of the night. The two hadn't spoken, but just got naked, kissing the whole time. They thrashed together in Aamil's small bed until both were satisfied. Well, not satisfied exactly, but at least spent. It was after the sex that mattered the most to Aamil about this latest romp. For nearly thirty minutes, the two young men laid, arms and limbs so intertwined that for awhile it was difficult to tell where one of their bodies began and the other one ended. In all his life Aamil had never been as happy as he was in those few minutes. They whispered about the plans to escape New York and find somewhere to be together. He wanted that again. He wanted that every night of his life. And, Aamil knew that the only way to even attempt to enjoy that feeling on a regular basis was to get out and get out now. They had to escape before it was their turn to deliver a device somewhere.
* * *
Their apartment filled with morning sunlight. Billy lounged in bed, smoking; the sheets were a tangled mess at the foot of the mattress on the floor. He watched Hank, naked and sexy, doing pushup after pushup. His lover's muscles flexed and rippled with each motion and Billy enjoyed the current fantasy of himself being below Hank as he pushed and pressed, like they had been twice last night.
With muscles pumping, Hank finished his set, and rolled over on his back on the floor. "You should get down here with me," said Hank through staggered breaths.
"I get plenty of exercise dancing," said Billy, exhaling smoke rings, "and fucking you."
This wasn't the first time they'd had this verbal exchange. It happened every morning since they moved in together. Living with a lover was a first for both men. They'd avoided long-term commitments until now. Each day was new now. They joked about whether toilet paper was meant to roll over the top or under from the back. Did forks go tines up or down in the dishwasher? Which side of the bed each should each one sleep on? Living in the relationship honeymoon stage, they were pleasant, they compromised on everything. For the moment, they gave in to the whims of the other, played out their fantasies together. Life was easy. It didn't matter at this moment whether things would change in the future. There was no real future. All that was important was the now.
"Besides," added Billy, "you're only going nuts about working out because of your role. You're practically naked on stage. You've got to maintain looking ripped and hot to keep all those young girls screaming for you during curtain calls."
"It's not the screaming," Hank said, hoping up off the floor and back onto the mattress. He poked Billy's side. "It's the ticket sales." He flexed his arm exposing his pumped bicep. "You're the only one I want to be ripped for now." Again he poked his lover in a soft spot on the side of Billy's stomach.
The two men gently laughed together. "Stop, you'll cause a bruise," said Billy. He pushed Hank's fingers away and rubbed the spot.
"Sorry," said Hank. He laid his head on Billy's chest. "I love you, Bill. I'd never do anything to hurt you."
"I love you, too, Superman," said Billy. He leaned forward and kissed the top of Hank's head.
The two were silent and motionless for a long time.
Billy's thoughts shifted in the moment to his morning routine with Jericho: coffee and the New York Times in that little kitchen; sexual tension that went nowhere. He hadn't actually told Jericho yet that he'd moved in with Hank, although he hadn't spent a night in Jericho's apartment in nearly a week.
While Billy contemplated his shift in living arrangements, Hank's gaze focused out the window, toward the park. He loved their space. He loved the open windows and no neighbors looking in across an airshaft. He'd dreamed for years of a beautiful apartment in an Art Deco building. Sure, it was a commute downtown. But, here in Inwood they had space. They had a park across the street. They had a rent they could afford, together.
"Hank, I've been wanting to ask you something?" Billy was suddenly his old, shy self.
"Hmm?" Hank absently stroked Billy's arm with his long fingers.
"You know this one man show I've been planning?"
"Yeah." Hank's eyes were still focused toward the treetops.
"What if we made it a two man show, the two of us on stage together? We were great together the other night at The Piano Bar." Billy held his breath. The silence between them at that instant caused Billy great fear. He didn't want to push anything too far. He also didn't want to be rejected by the man he loved.
"I think that's a super idea." Hank rolled up on an elbow and looked into his lover's eyes. "If you think I won't steal too much of your limelight." Hank went to poke Billy, but stopped.
Billy finally breathed again. "Really? You'd be interested?" His heart pounded hard now at the prospect of their show together, instead of a fear of rebuff.
"Sure. I love the idea of spending time with you on stage. And, we're hot right now, may as well make all we can of the moment. There's so much music I've always wanted to perform, but I haven't had the chance yet. Show lead stuff. Old standards. My father was a guitar player—"
"I didn't know that. You never talk about your dad," Billy said.
"I know. He was a good guy, really. He and my mother were horrible for each other. They never said anything, but I'm pretty sure I was an accident, a love child. I don't know if they tried to make their marriage work or not. All I remember from when I was a kid was the two of them fighting…" Hank's thoughts trailed off.
Billy gently pulled Hank closer. He hugged his arms lovingly around Hank's chest.
"My father left, a suitcase in one hand and his guitar case in the other. He said, 'See ya around, kid.' That was it. I never saw him again. Mom said she got a call a few years later. He'd been killed in some bar in Pittsburg. I've never known if the story was true or not."
Both men entertained images in their minds of a bar fight they'd never seen. The lapsing time filled with birds singing in the nearby trees.
"That's just what Nancy Ann said," Billy added absently.
"What?"
"Hmm?"
"Nancy Ann? What does she have to do with my father?" Hank asked.
"Oh, sorry. My mind wondered. Nancy Ann said we were both really hot right now, lots of great press and all, and that the two of us doing a cabaret would pack 'em in."
In a quick motion, Hank rolled over on top of Billy and pinned his arms to the bed. "You talked to Nancy Ann about this show idea before you talked to me? Well, now I want top billing." He kissed Billy's forehead.
"She's going to direct."
Hank put more pressure on Billy's arms. "Say Uncle."
"Uncle! Uncle!"
Hank loosened his grip, but still held his friend pinned beneath him. "Bill, I think this is a great idea. We'll use the Piano Player and how about a bass player. There's a gal in my show who is terrific. We sometimes riff together during warm ups."
"Sounds great. Next thing we know, this'll turn into some Broadway fiasco."
Hank rolled back to Billy's side. Both men were lost again in their own thoughts. It was all so easy. They fit well together. They complimented each other. Both knew, in their heads, that this relationship would last forever.
"Shower?" Billy asked.
"Sure," said Hank, "after a hundred sit ups. He got out of bed, pulled Billy along by the hand. "Both of us."
"Yes, sir," said Billy, flopping out of bed and on to the floor. The two naked boys positioned themselves within inches of each other, their feet locked under the low-slung overstuffed chair, their combined body heat about to lead to more than sit-ups. "Count 'em off," he said to Hank.
"One…two…three…"
* * *
The Blonde and the Redhead sat in side-by-side makeup chairs while two young queens applied eyeliner, blush, lipstick, and rouge. Behind them, other girls were being made up. There were a dozen models for the private fashion show.
"So, I got another call," the Redhead whispered in the Blonde's direction.
"From?" the Blonde ask
ed. "Oh, that color looks horrible on me. Don't you have something deeper?" she asked her makeup queen.
"Sara, the girl who puts together…" the Redhead hesitated. She shouldn't be talking about this in such a crowded space.
"What? Sara who?" asked the Blonde. "Oooh, that's so much better. Can I get that tube when you're done? It's the perfect shade." The queen handed the Blonde the lipstick. She shoved it in her purse.
"The Flash Mob girl," the Redheaded nearly hissed.
"Oh, I want to do the next one. I'm sure I can do the moves."
"She asked me if I had a friend, so you're in. We can talk about the details after we're done here." The Redhead watched the eyes of her makeup queen and the one working on the Blonde. She felt like she'd already said too much and was grateful when the handler came for them to dress. She stood up and checked the back of her hair in the mirror.
"I love my work," said the makeup queen.
"Girlfriend," said the Blonde into the mirror, "you did a fabulous job." She and the young man air kissed. "Kiss, kiss," she said.
* * *
Jericho picked his phone up on the first ring. "Hello?" He listened, laughed. "Yeah, I remember. It was rather awkward sex if you ask me." As Barry talked his ear off, Jericho's memories flashed back to a younger man, a different time. It felt good to talk to someone who shared at least some history with him. "Yes, I'm free all day," Jericho answered. "Wherever you want. Name it and I'm there." Jericho jotted an address into his journal. "Thirty minutes," he said. He was excited about meeting up with Barry. Jericho had a good feeling about this.
Twenty-Two
Aamil saw him approach, a dark-skinned man. He'd seen him many times before at the kebob shop.
"Aamil," the man whispered.
"Yes." He braced himself, knowing this might be the last moment of his life.
"Do you remember me?" the man asked.
His voice was very soft, yet it was the only sound Aamil could now hear. The street seemed to go absolutely silent, the traffic didn't exist.
"I do," Aamil said, looking up and down the street. No one else was in sight. He thought for a flash about the first time he'd seen the dark-skinned man. The man hadn't spoken a word to anyone, but he was there, watching everything. It seemed that, while he didn't speak, he was directing the others with little head nods and eye motions.
"Where are you going?"
"To get some food," said Aamil. It was the truth.
"We've noticed that you and Nasser are spending time together." He looked into Aamil's eyes. It wasn't a harsh or judgmental look. Aamil actually thought the man seemed kind.
"I know we shouldn't, but…" Aamil wanted to explain that the boss said it was okay, but instead he looked from the man's face down to his feet and the dirty New York City sidewalk. The shoes were unmistakable with their thick, black soles. This was the man who had been banging on his door. He focused his eyes away from the shoes, to a black spot on the pavement. Gum, he suspected, that had been walked over by thousands and thousands of feet until it was just a dark blob on the concrete.
"Why do you think you shouldn't talk to each other?" the man asked.
"I thought that was one of the rules, that we're not to ever speak to anyone unless…unless it's one of you."
"You young men never really understand." The words he spoke weren't really directed at Aamil. They were almost an afterthought. "You and Nasser are welcome to spend all the time together you'd like. Although, spending the night in each other's apartment, that is not acceptable. I think you know what I mean?"
How did they know? And, that tone he used, of course he not only knew that they'd been together, but what they'd been doing. Aamil suddenly felt hot and a little faint.
"Are you okay?" the dark-skinned man asked.
"Um…yes…of course," said Aamil. He knew he didn't sound convincing at all. He certainly wasn't convinced that he was okay. The boy did his best to recover. "Was there something you wanted, sir?"
"I wanted you to know the rules. We're pleased with your work Aamil and I wouldn't want anything to jeopardize your rise in the organization. I've got great plans for you."
Aamil listened to the man's words. There was no accent. He sounded like an American, like a New Yorker, almost.
"I understand," said Aamil. He wanted this moment to be over. His stomach growled, a combination of nerves and hunger.
"Go, get your meal," said the dark-skinned man.
Aamil turned and walked toward the kebab stand. He could feel the dark-skinned man's eyes on him. He knew he couldn't turn and look back. The boy wanted to run home, to find Nasser and tell him what had happened, but he knew he had to remain calm and cool. Aamil had said he was getting food. The man said to eat. He had to eat.
* * *
"Jericho?" Billy said after the fifteen minute break was called.
"What is it?" Jericho barked, his head buried in his journal.
"Well…" Billy started, but stopped, hurt and confused by Jericho’s tone.
Jericho looked up, giving the boy as much attention as he could muster. "What is it, Billy?" His voice was easy and soft with a hint of resignation.
"There's something I need to tell you…want to tell you…" His eyes showed fear and pain.
"What is it, Billy?" Jericho stood up and put his hand on the dancer's arm. He prepared himself for anything because the look on Billy's face indicated something bad was coming.
"I guess I should just come out and say it…" Billy looked down at his dance shoes. "Hank and I have moved in together. I can't begin to thank you for all you've done for me these past few months." The heat of the Billy's blush enveloped his entire body.
"Oh, my boy! Good for you!" Jericho wrapped his arms around Billy and hugged him tight. "I'm so happy. You guys are great together." There were so many things Jericho wanted to say in that moment, a rush of regrets filled his mind, but instead, as he embraced the boy, Jericho knew this was the end of it and with that realization came a form of release.
"Really? You're not angry or upset?" Billy pulled back from the embrace.
"Upset? No. Never. I really am thrilled for you. This is great news." Inside, Jericho wanted to scream, or cry, or express his emotions in some other violent way. He'd known this was coming, this moment, but that didn't change the fact that he felt regret and remorse at never having made a serious play for this young man. Now, his love for Billy would have to shift solely to that of a mentor, a friend. There would be no turning back or second chances.
To the casual observer, Jericho looked sincere and happy for the Billy. The boy's blush faded and his temperature cooled. But, for those few who really knew Jericho, like Thom and Nancy Ann, they'd have seen the actor styling's of the Great Jericho Taylor. He had that brave face with a slightly upturned lip. Just the corner of his lips, on the left side of his face, rose ever so slightly. Thom had never said anything to Jericho, because it wouldn't have been supportive, but it was that move, that facial tick, that Thom believed had kept Jericho from becoming the star he'd dreamed of being.
Relieved by Jericho's positive reaction, Billy once again hugged him and whispered "Thank you," into the director's ear. Their relationship was forever changed in the blink of an eye.
* * *
When the fifteen-minute break was called, a gaggle of dancers raced for the door, across the hallway, down the stairs, and outside to smoke. Together, they collectively created a cloud of cigarette smoke to rival the dust cloud that traveled with Pigpen. They formed small groups, talking and chatting outside the Lexington Avenue rehearsal studios.
Nancy Ann, with waving hands, made her way through the throng and smoke to the vendor cart on the corner. She placed her coffee, tea, bagel, and doughnut order with the elderly couple inside the cart. While she waited, Nancy Ann turned to look at the small crowd of smokers. There on the edge was that Middle Eastern boy whose name she could never remember. Next to him was the friend he brought in. Their heads were ducked close toge
ther. They weren't smoking, but talking intimately.
"It's always nice to see you." The old man lowered his head and shared a grandfatherly smile through the glass of the cart. Did you want milk in that tea, Miss?" The old man asked Nancy Ann.
"No, plain," she told him and turned back to look at the dancers. She liked looking at all the young people. There was no makeup or overdressing on rehearsal days. She liked to see what people really looked like, their young, hard bodies in comfortable dance clothes. They looked relaxed and easy. They were working, which always made people in theater happy, even if they weren't being paid. After all, they were working for the great Jericho Taylor. That could lead them anywhere. Even after just a few hours of rehearsals there was already a sense of camaraderie among the group that was obvious.
The stage manager was always amazed by the fast forming friendships that occurred during show rehearsals. It didn't matter how long they were together, a few hours or a few months. Dancers and actors quickly formed bonds. Some lasted past the show, but those were actually rare. Instead, most of them seemed to form these bonds of friendship, utilize the support those relationships provided, and, at the end of the project, they easily moved on to the next group.
In her early days as a stage manager, Nancy Ann saw this as fickle and even opportunistic. But, as the years passed, she saw the necessity of these quick forming relationships. The bonds allowed for intense work on stage. There was a safe zone created by the quick closeness, and safety was absolutely necessary for actors and dancers to continually put their emotions on the line. Something essential to great performances.
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