The End of Billy Knight

by Ty Jacob

  On Thursday afternoon he was working out at home and trying not to think about Freddy – the latex gloves he wished he hadn’t put on, the small kiss he wished he’d given him – when the phone rang. As he picked up the receiver he was hoping it was Kerry, but it was Sasha, calling from Cougar. She had good news. “Steve watched the footage, and he loves it!”

  Mike tried to sound happy, but it felt like the movie didn’t matter. Sasha explained how at first Steve had scolded her for kicking out Günter and then complained because what he’d wanted was sex in a gym, not a boiler room, but in the end he admitted that he really loved what she’d done, that the premise of two guys sneaking off to fuck in secret was hot, that she’d captured some really great sex.

  “He’s really happy with our work,” she said, and went on without pausing for breath. “We have to go out tonight to celebrate, a fancy place. Something special. We’ll go to the Ballroom in West LA. The food is beautiful and the waiters are delicious. My treat. I’ll drive.”

  “Sure, Sasha,” Mike said. “Sounds great.” Mike was uncomfortable in nice restaurants; he wasn’t used to them. Still, at least it would be better than staying home and worrying about his appointment tomorrow, about Freddy, about Kerry.

  Sasha barely heard him and continued rambling on. “I’ll come home early and change. The Ballroom is classy. You put on a nice shirt with a collar and those sexy black pants that show off your ass. I’ll go in man-drag and wear a suit.”

  It was strange going out with Dale dressed like that. It seemed almost unnatural, like everybody should be staring, but nobody did. For once, going out together, they almost blended in. Dale’s suit was dark grey. His only nod to drama was a purple paisley ascot and a shiny black cane, which he insisted on taking. Mike had tried to talk him out of the cane because it made him think of Freddy, although he didn’t say so.

  The restaurant had linen tablecloths and a fountain in the middle of the room. Even though it was called The Ballroom, there was no place to dance. They served Argentinian food, there was a white candle on every table, and tango music played quietly. Mike had a hard time pretending that he was happy, and he sensed that he was letting Dale down, like his own worry was quickly becoming a black haze over them both.

  Dale was holding open the menu and saying, “You order anything you want,” when he looked up at Mike, shut the menu, and said, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it here? We’ll go somewhere else. Where do you want to go?”

  “No, Dale. It’s fine.” Mike looked around the room, at the carved stone fish on top of the formal fountain, at the handsome waiters with red bowties and cummerbunds, at all the rich people everywhere. “It’s great,” he said. It’s fantastic. I’m okay.”

  Their waiter interrupted then, standing at the side of their intimate table for two, and Dale said something in Spanish. They ordered, and the waiter left. Then Dale looked back at Mike. “You’re obviously not okay. What is it?” He leaned forward, put his hand on Mike’s. A woman at the next table looked over. She had large diamond earrings, and she stared at Dale’s hand on top of Mike’s. Dale turned and glared at her until she looked away.

  “It’s that guy I mentioned,” Mike said. “Kerry. He hasn’t called me back, and he wasn’t at work last night.”

  Dale’s face fell. “Oh, is that it?” He began staring at the fountain. “Why did you say his name was Joe? At first, you told me his name was Joe. Why?”

  Mike didn’t have the words to say why he did it, to explain how his first instinct was to try to keep Kerry for himself, and at the same time protect Dale, protect Sasha. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Dale sighed. “So you haven’t heard from him at all?”

  “No.”

  “Well, easy come, easy go, right? The boy is obviously a flake. Don’t you worry. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Mike forced a smile. “Thanks Dale.”

  The waiter came back with a bottle of Chardonnay Dale had ordered, and he made a big show of presenting the bottle to Dale, then opening it and setting the cork down, pouring Dale a little taste. Dale picked up the cork and inspected it, then tasted the wine, gave an assertive nod toward the waiter, and said, “Gracias.” Only then did the waiter pour them each a glass. Watching Dale, Mike thought it was an amazing performance. It looked as if Dale ate in places like this every day, as if he had an entire closet full of dark suits at home – instead of brightly colored sequined dresses, feather boas, and pink track suits.

  “Now,” Dale said, “ I want no more talk of that Cory boy.”

  “Kerry,” Mike said.

  “Whatever.” Dale lifted his glass. “This is a celebration, and I propose a toast. To Sasha Zahore and Billy Knight, the dynamic and inseparable duo, bound for greatness. Long may they live.” Dale shook his head as though flipping back hair he didn’t have, and looked off into the distance with such melodrama that Mike laughed, happy to see Sasha still poking through the suit.

  It wasn’t until the end of the evening that Dale obviously became frustrated. By then he’d driven them back to Orlando Avenue and was dropping Mike off in front of their building before finding a parking space. Mike got out without saying anything, turned and started to shut the car door.

  “Hellooo,” Dale said. It was an annoyed voice, as though he were calling out to Mike across a great distance. Mike turned back, leaned down and looked into the car. Dale shook his head and said, “How about saying, ‘Thanks for a great night, Dale?’”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He felt awful. He’d let Dale down again. “My head is somewhere else. Thank you.”

  “What the hell is it with you tonight? Are you that hung up on your stupid stripper? Is that all this is?”

  “He’s not stupid, and it’s not just him.” Mike looked down the street. A car pulled up behind Dale.

  “What is it then?” Dale said.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry. Thank you for tonight.” He shut the door and walked up to the building.

  Once inside he went straight to the sheets and blankets that he kept on the floor in the corner, and he began making up his bed on the couch. He brushed his teeth and was just starting to undress when Dale came in and sat down on the couch, on top of the sheets and blankets.

  “Stop.” Dale patted the couch. “Come here and sit down. Talk to me.”

  Mike had already taken off his shoes and one of his socks and was standing in the middle of the room, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked. Dale seemed so worried, sitting on the couch in his ridiculous purple ascot, so genuinely concerned.

  “Sit down,” Dale said again.

  Mike didn’t move. He felt the weight of all the fear and sadness he’d been carrying around with him ever since that guy came inside him in that hotel room in Cincinnati. Standing there, one foot bare and the other still covered in a black sock, he began to cry. He was amazed by the sudden force of his own tears, and tried to push them back, but they were unstoppable.

  “Baby, baby,” Dale said, and got up off the couch to give him a long, tight hug.

  Mike put his head down on Dale’s chest and let go. He sobbed. He felt Dale’s hand stroking his hair, heard Dale’s voice saying “What? What? It’s okay. Sshhh.” Dale’s shoulders moved back and forth, rocking him gently. Mike clung to the sock in his hand as he cried.

  Dale pulled Mike toward the couch and said, “Come here, baby. You sit down.” Then Dale went to the bathroom, brought out a box of tissues, and set it on the coffee table. He reached into Mike’s hand and took the sock. “You talk to me,” Dale said. “You tell me what it is.”

  Before Mike knew what was happening, he was telling Dale everything – about the guy who beat him in Cincinnati, about how much it hurt, about how scared he was when the guy came inside him, how he’d been feeling so afraid for the past three months, about his HIV test, about the appointment to get the results tomorrow. But it didn’t stop there. He began going on about Kerry, how Kerry didn’t know, how nice it was when
Kerry had held him in his bed, how great Kerry was, how Kerry’s dream was to travel around Europe, and how much he didn’t want to get sick because he secretly hoped to be able to go with him. In the wild blur of it all, he even mentioned Freddy, how scared he was now that he too was going to die. He’d never spoken a word of any of this to anyone, and it came tumbling out.

  Dale put his arms around him again. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  Mike found himself muttering words without thinking about Dale’s feelings. “If I’m positive, Kerry won’t want me.”

  “Shhh,” Dale said, and Mike heaved.

  When his tears and words finally ran dry, Dale leaned back and looked him in they eye. “My darling Michael, I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this around inside you all this time. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  Dale’s hand touched his knee.

  “Listen,” Dale continued, “I’ll go with you tomorrow. I’ll call in sick. I’m in Steve’s good graces now. I’ll go with you to get your results. You don’t have to do all this alone, you know.”

  Mike liked the idea. He sniffed and nodded. “Thank you.”

  Dale pulled several tissues out of the box and held them out. “Dry your eyes. No matter what happens tomorrow, I’m here.”

  Mike had for so long felt that he was alone in the universe that it was almost unreal to have Dale sitting in front of him, holding out tissues. He took one.

  “There, there,” Dale said. “Buck up, little fighter.”

  Mike smiled.

  “You like that?” Dale said. “My mom used to say it all the time. Buck up, little fighter. It’s a good expression. But you have to be careful not to get the B and the F turned around.”

  Tears still in his eyes, Mike thought about the letters and started to laugh.

  “See what I mean? Terrible,” Dale said. “You don’t want to say that to someone when they’re down.”

  “No, you don’t.” Mike looked at the sheets and blankets beneath them.

  “You’re scared tonight. You sleep in my bed.”

  Mike shook his head, said, “No.”

  “No funny business. Scouts honor.”

  “You were never a Boy Scout, were you?”

  “Well, once I wanted to bake brownies with my sister’s Girl Scouts troop, but my mom wouldn’t let me. Does that count?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Okay then. Cross my heart and hope to, er, well… I promise. We’ll sleep like sisters. No groping. I give you my word as a gentleman and a lady.”

  He looked at Dale carefully, and then nodded. He believed him.

  “Can I just put my arm around you?” Dale said. “While we sleep?”

  Mike paused. “Okay. Like sisters”

  Although he normally slept in his underwear, he put on a T-shirt and sweat pants before he climbed into Dale’s comfortable bed later that night.

  Dale was wearing a pair of enormous pink pajamas. “Made them myself,” he said.

  Mike fell asleep quickly, lying on his side next to Dale, his back to Dale’s warm stomach, Dale’s arm wrapped around him. It surprised him how safe he felt.

  All night long Dale kept his promise, and in the morning they both put on jeans and tennis shoes and walked over to the Lighthouse Café for brunch. Over bacon and eggs, Mike said, “If I’m positive, I won’t be able to be in Steve’s movies.”

  “Steve’s movies?” Dale asked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  Dale waved something away with his hand. “If I’m positive, if I’m positive,” he said, mocking Mike tenderly. “We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get there. I for one wouldn’t tell anybody if you were positive. Anyway, you just might be negative.”

  Afterward, they wandered in and out of shops, killing time before the appointment. They began walking down Melrose, and Mike realized they were headed in the direction of Westbourne Drive, where Kerry lived. He decided not to mention it.

  Dale stopped to look in a shop window at some dresses and sighed dramatically, “So many frocks, so little time!” Then he put his hand on his forehead and leaned back as though about to faint, turning to see if Mike was watching. Mike saw that Dale was trying to entertain him, to put on Sasha and make him smile. In front of another shop Dale said, “Let’s go in,” and inside he bought Mike a pair of sunglasses, making him try on different styles to see which looked the best.

  “It’ll be your birthday present,” Dale said. “Only I get to choose.” He selected a pair of mirrored aviator frames. As they walked out he stopped to look at Mike again and said, “You’re the most beautiful man in the world.”

  “Thanks, Dale.” Mike felt incredibly fortunate to have this fat, unattractive man at his side, caring for him, buying him things, and taking care of him.

  “I’ll teach you a game,” Dale said as they continued along the sidewalk. “It’s called Husband Hunter.” He explained the rules.

  “You take turns and you have three chances. When your turn starts, you look at the first man who passes us by. You have to decide instantly if you want to marry him. Think carefully because you’ll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. Before he passes us by, say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ If you say ‘no’ to the first and the second man we see, then you’re stuck with the third – no matter how nasty he is. Even if he’s ugly and has scabs on his nose. Then it’s the other person’s turn. The winner is the one with the hottest husband.”

  They played over and over, laughing as they walked. Once, on Mike’s third chance, a tiny little man with an egg-shaped head and enormous, furry eyebrows walked by, talking to himself and spitting. It was all Dale and Mike could do to hold off laughing until after the man had passed. Dale said, “Ooo, just think of the honeymoon you two will have. You and his big eyebrows.” When it was Dale’s turn, a beautiful bodybuilder approached, and Dale was about to say “yes,” but at the last minute the man turned and walked the other way. “Noo!” Dale yelled. “My dreamboat has gone!”

  After that it was Mike’s turn again. The first man was as fat as Dale and Mike said, “No way,” without hesitation. Then he paused, hoping the sharp rejection hadn’t hurt Dale. When he saw the second guy he couldn’t believe his good luck. There, walking toward them down the street was Kerry. Mike turned to Dale and whispered an emphatic “yes.”

  Mike walked up to Kerry and said, “I always see you on the street.” He felt simultaneously happy and nervous, and was overwhelmed with relief when Kerry smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips and a hug.

  “You’re going to start thinking I’m some common street whore,” Kerry said. “And not a highly trained, professional dancer.”

  Mike reached out and touched his arm. “Where have you been?”

  “I went to Vegas. It was sort of last minute, with a client. We drove back this morning so I just got your message today. I called you right away, just now, and left a message on your machine.”

  “Mine,” Dale said. Mike and Kerry turned. “You must have left a message on my machine. It’s mine.”

  Dale seemed to be glaring at Kerry, but Mike couldn’t be sure. He took a step back to include Dale in the conversation. “Sorry. Kerry, this is my friend Dale. You know, I live at his place. Dale, Kerry.”

  “Yes,” Dale said.

  Kerry nodded coolly. “You’re Sasha.”

  “Well, she’s me.”

  “I think I’ve seen your show at the Lucky Pony.”

  “Many people have. They love me.”

  There was an awkward pause, a kind of tension. There were no polite smiles, no signs of friendliness at all.

  Mike turned to Kerry and said, “Pascal was pretty bent that you weren’t at work the other day.”

  “I figured he’d be upset, but I made four times the money with this guy in Vegas.”

  Dale stepped forward, put his hand down firmly on Mike’s shoulder. “Baby, we’re going to be late for that appointment.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

/>   “So sorry, Kevin,” Dale said. “We’re off to the beauty parlor. I’m getting Mike here a pedicure. I’m getting one too, of course. Then facials. It’ll be hours.”

  “It’s Kerry,” Kerry said, and he turned to Mike. “Beauty parlor?”

  “Um, yeah,” Mike said.

  Kerry looked surprised. “Are you working tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Me too. If I still have a job anyway. See you then?”

  “What about tonight?”

  “I have another job.”

  “Okay.” Mike wanted to touch Kerry again, but Dale was standing close, his large hand still pushing down on his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow night then.”

  It was Kerry who leaned forward, gave him another hug, and in doing so pushed Dale’s hand away. Mike felt the edge of Kerry’s lips kiss him awkwardly on the ear as Dale watched.

  Dale grabbed Mike’s arm and began pushing forward. “Now, now. Off we go. Bye bye, Cory!”

  When they were out of earshot, Mike said, “His name is Kerry.”

  “Whatever,” Dale said.

  “And beauty parlor?”

  Dale shrugged. “Sorry. It was the best I could do on such short notice.”

  “Kerry knows I don’t go to beauty parlors and get pedicures.”

  “Would you rather I told him where we’re really going?”

  Mike winced and fell quiet for a moment, then said, “He’s going to feel my feet and wonder if you were lying.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Mike said nothing.

  “Well, then,” Dale said. “It’s simple. Keep him away from your feet. Oh, sorry. I guess that’ll be tough when your ankles are behind his ears.”

  Mike hit Dale softly and smiled. “You’re just jealous.”

  Suddenly Dale stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring Mike in the eyes. A woman behind him had to swerve to avoid walking into him. Dale was oblivious. He looked as though he were either angry or in pain. “Yes,” he said. “I am jealous. You’re a genius for figuring that one out.”

  Mike knew he’d made another mistake, but he had no idea what to say. He moved closer to Dale, put his hand in the crook of his elbow, nudged him forward down the street. “Dale,” he said, as if more words would magically follow. He tried desperately to think of something that would make Dale feel better, make himself not feel guilty for liking Kerry, but there was only an empty quiet. He leaned in toward Dale as they walked, squeezed his arm gently, but he said nothing.