by Ty Jacob
There was an awkward pause. Kerry said, “I’m not sure if I’ve just been insulted or complimented.”
“Complimented, doll. Complimented. Really, it sounds like you know a lot about working out. You should be teaching Billy and working out together on a regular basis.”
“Good idea,” Mike said. He didn’t understand why Sasha was encouraging them to spend time together, but he liked it. It was a nice birthday present, better than the sunglasses Dale bought him earlier. She must have changed her mind about Kerry.
After Tony came back and served the drinks, Sasha proposed a toast. “To new friendships.” Everyone clinked glasses. She turned briefly to Kerry and said, “Kerry, Burt’s headed off to Europe next month.” Then she turned to Mike.
Kerry and Burt began to talk.
Sasha began asking Mike what number he was going to do first, which costume, which music. He answered slowly, half listening to Kerry and Burt. It was clear from the bits Mike caught that Burt was an experienced traveler. Kerry was asking question after question. At one point a quiet song started and Mike could hear Kerry ask, “What’s it like, seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time?”
Mike turned away from Sasha to hear the answer.
“Magical,” Burt said. He lifted up his gin and tonic. “Paris is like stepping inside a painting. The city was never bombed, you know. So it’s still beautiful. I have an apartment in the seventh. I spend six weeks every summer there, and also a couple weeks throughout the year.” He took a long, slow sip. It looked like a very expensive gold watch, and it was a thick, gold wedding ring.
“What’s the seventh?” Kerry said. A few more customers walked by and sat down at tables near the stage.
“The seventh arrondissement. Paris is divided up that way. It’s a nice area. The only problem with my apartment is that you can’t see the Eiffel Tower very well. The problem is that it’s too close.”
“Too close?” Kerry was leaning in toward Burt now, laughing lightly. “Your complaint about the view is that the Eiffel Tower is too close?”
“Yes. But it’s still very nice. As I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Yes, I can imagine.”
“Kerry,” Mike said. “Aren’t you up next?”
Pascal was standing by the bar, looking in their direction. When Kerry looked over, Pascal nodded.
“Well, a boy’s gotta work,” Kerry said, standing up.
“Yes, indeed he does,” Sasha said.
Since Kerry didn’t do costumes, he just walked up on stage as his music began to play, wearing the acid-washed jeans and yellow Ocean Pacific T-shirt he’d arrived in. Sasha cheered almost as loudly for him as she usually did for Mike, and Mike took it as a kind of endorsement. He looked over at Burt, who was watching closely as Kerry danced. Already he had a bad feeling about Burt. He didn’t like him, wanted him to go away, wished Sasha hadn’t brought him.
Sasha said to Mike, “He is really a beautiful man, your friend Kerry.”
Mike nodded.
“Yes,” Burt said softly. “He is.” Then suddenly Burt let out a loud, piercing whistle, just as Kerry began unbuttoning his jeans.
“That’s some whistle,” Mike said, covering his ear. He pointed to Burt’s wedding ring. “You’re married.”
“Am I?” Burt looked at his hand. “Thank you.”
“Does your wife go with you to Paris?”
“Billy,” Sasha said. “Don’t pry.”
“It’s okay Sasha,” Burt answered. “No, Billy. She stays home. We have an understanding.”
Mike turned away. The two old lechers from the bar moved down to a table near the stage. When Kerry was down to his G-string, one of them held up a five-dollar bill. Kerry stepped off the stage, danced over, and let the lecher stuff the money into his G-string. Then he gave him a five-dollar dance, but he backed away a little early, when the lecher began stroking Kerry’s tattoo. Burt whistled again. He was so close that it hurt Mike’s ear.
When Kerry was done, Mike went backstage to find him.
“I’ll take it,” Kerry said when Mike walked up to him.
“What do you mean?” Mike asked.
“You said you do porn, take it our leave it. I’ll take it. I mean I accept it. I’ll try to accept it. Just because it’s not for me doesn’t mean it’s not for you. I’m sorry I keep fucking up.” Kerry stood there in his jeans now, shirtless, all long arms and flat stomach, remorseful smile. “Maybe I’m a little jealous too.”
“Jealous?”
“Of course I am. Cute guy like you, and you’re spending so much time with that fat old hag instead of me.”
“Kerry.” Mike was stern.
“Oops. I should say, ‘with that distinguished older gentle… ah, gentleperson.’”
“She’s not that old.”
“She’s fat though.”
“Kerry.”
“Sorry. See? I can’t help myself.” Kerry put out his arms. “Forgive me?”
To Mike, Kerry’s arms felt like two wings opening, and he walked in. Kerry’s skin, still warm from dancing, wrapped around him. Mike took a deep breath, filled himself with Kerry’s faint, musky cologne, his fragrant sweat. “I don’t like Burt,” he said.
Kerry shrugged. “He seems like a nice enough guy.”
“Did you see his wedding ring?”
“Yeah. And his watch. He’s loaded. I’d love to see his apartment in Paris.”
Mike poked Kerry in the side. “I bet you would.”
Later that night, after Kerry and Mike had both danced several sets, Sasha and Burt got up to leave. Sasha gave Kerry and Mike big hugs.
Burt said, “Kerry, are you busy later? After you’re done here?”
Kerry paused. It looked like he was about to accept Burt’s invitation.
“Sorry, Burt,” Mike interrupted. “Kerry and I have plans.”
“Oh.” Burt said, not even glancing at Mike. He was looking only at Kerry. “Maybe another time, then. How can I reach you?”
Kerry went to the bar and wrote his number down on a napkin, then came back and handed it to Burt.
“Excellent,” Burt said. I’ll call you.”
Sasha pulled on Burt’s arm. “Time for the old folks to get back to the rest home.” She looked at Kerry and Mike. “Where are you two young’uns headed tonight? You’ll be finishing off the birthday celebrations with gusto, I expect?”
“Don’t know where we’re going,” Kerry answered. “Maybe just back to my place.” He put his arm around Mike.
“Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sasha said.
Mike smiled. “That doesn’t rule out a whole lot.”
“Smart ass. You probably won’t be coming home tonight, then?”
To Mike, this felt like another endorsement, like Sasha was accepting the fact that he was going to be in Kerry’s bed all night long. “Yeah. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Okay, but you two be careful. Kerry, please take good care of my boy for me.”
“I will,” Kerry said.
She looked back at Mike and shook her finger in the air. “Play safe. And no dilly-dallying all day tomorrow, Billy. I’m making Sunday dinner. Roast pork. I expect you home for dinner by five.”
Mike looked at her warmly, rolled his eyes and smiled. “Yes, Mother. Whatever you say.”
27. Country Cousins
DALE WAS GRATEFUL that Mike was home in time to set the table. He’d been nervous, thinking maybe Mike wouldn’t show for dinner, but then suddenly there he was, yelling out, “I’m hungry! Let’s eat!” as he walked in the door.
Everything started out fine. They sat down and ate, talked, laughed and sipped Chardonnay. Mike was in rare form, telling stories about johns he’d had years ago: a Cincinnati fishmonger, a man in a pink bunny costume.
Sitting there at that small kitchen table together and sharing that meal mattered to Dale, in a very important way, although he couldn’t say exactly why – other than the obvious fact that he loved b
eing with Mike. The evening was everything it should be. There was nothing fantastically raunchy about it, or extravagant, nothing terribly exciting at all. Just the pork he’d thrown in the oven with some potatoes, some vegetables, followed by an easy dessert, apple crumble because he knew Mike liked it. Comfort food. It was a simple Sunday dinner, but it was grounding and good.
Over dessert Dale said, “Mike, there’s something I haven’t exactly told you about our Muscle Party scene. Nothing bad. I mean, not for you at least.”
Mike looked at him, concerned. “What?”
“Well, I’m not getting credited as Sasha Zahore. The only way Steve would let me do it was if he could credit me as Cliff Hardman.”
“But you directed it as Sasha. I saw you.”
“Tell that to Steve. Anyway, if I didn’t agree to being listed as Cliff then Steve wasn’t going to let me direct, and then I couldn’t have gotten you a part. So really, I did it for you.”
“Oh, Dale.” Mike stood up, walked around the table, and hugged Dale from behind. “Thank you.”
After dinner they moved into the living room and sat on the couch. It was then that Dale opened a second bottle of wine. Perhaps that was his first mistake. He’d left his advance copy of Country Cousins sitting on the coffee table. Perhaps that was his second. He’d planned to watch the movie at some point later that evening, in preparation for selling it at work the following day. The box cover showed two shirtless young men in cut-off denim shorts, red bandanas around their necks, sitting on hay bales.
Dale and Mike sat on the couch talking a little while longer, and then Dale finally said, “Do you mind watching this together?” He picked up Country Cousins. “Cougar’s newest film. It’s business.”
Mike paused, then said, “Sure.” He smiled. “We’ll watch it like sisters.”
Initially they enjoyed talking about the movie, noting which models had strong oral technique and which guys they’d personally like to jump in bed with. Dale pointed out a couple of flaws. There were too many long, drawn out insertion shots, too many strange cutaways to farm equipment.
“It’s not perfect,” Dale announced, “but I think Sasha can sell it.”
Mike nodded. “Of course she can. Check out the dick on that guy.”
The sex got hotter and they kept watching and then finally both fell silent, focusing on those young LA boys pretending to be farm hands having sex.
Everything was fine until Dale pulled out his dick. After all, he thought, what was a little jack-off together, between sisters?
Mike immediately got up, went into the kitchen, and started doing the dishes.
Dale finished himself off alone, feeling the emptiness of a sad orgasm. Then he wiped himself up and fast-forwarded through the rest of the movie. Mike never came back out. Eventually Dale went into his bedroom and shut the door, without even saying good night.
The following morning Sasha sat at her desk, dreading the thought of getting on the phone to sell Country Cousins. She had such a bad feeling associated with that movie now, the lonely orgasm it had given her. But the movie was going to be released soon, and the calls had to be made. The merchant list sat on her desk next to the box cover, and she knew she would be on the phone most of the day.
There was also a 1:00 lunch appointment with Edward Derwood, who owned the Backstreet Theatre and Video Shop in Chicago, and who was in LA on business. Steve expected her to sell Edward at least 20 copies of Country Cousins, and also wanted her to get Edward interested in screening Cougar’s big circus flick when it was ready at the end of the year. The studio didn’t make a lot of money from theatre screenings, but it was good publicity and drove up video sales later on – which was where Cougar turned its profit.
She tried to escape her thoughts of last night by calculating how many copies of Country Cousins she could sell altogether. The standard porn movie only sold about 2,000 tapes. But at $50 each, that came to $100,000 in sales. Movies by solid directors usually sold about 5,000 tapes. If you had a big star like Luke Champion, you could sell as many as 20,000 tapes, but that was rare. She hoped to sell 4,000 copies of Country Cousins in total. Of course it wouldn’t all happen today, but that was her goal. Sasha always had goals.
The sales of Banging Billy were disappointing. Stunning Productions hadn’t done much in the way of marketing, and so far the film had sold only 1,000 tapes. Lately she’d begun taking matters into her own hands, giving pitches for Banging Billy while she was selling her Cougar films. Steve would be furious if he found out, but she didn’t care. It was something she had to do.
She glanced over at the merchant list, all the places that sold Cougar films across the country. It was an unbearably familiar list. She’d been calling these same damn numbers for almost four years now, building relationships, cultivating vendors. Although the owners changed every now and then, and the occasional video shop or adult bookstore would close or re-open here or there, for the most part the list stayed the same and the routine never changed. She made the call. She said she hoped business was going well. She asked about something personal – maybe she checked her notes to remember the name of the person’s partner, or maybe she just asked about the weather where they were. Finally she made the pitch and recorded the sale. In spite of her initial enthusiasm, it no longer seemed to matter if she was selling hot gay porn or no-nonsense kitchen knives. She wasn’t cut out for a desk job. She was bored.
When she thought about what she wanted, what she really needed to be happy, it was simple. There were only three things. She wanted more time to do drag shows. She wanted to direct one full-length studio film after another, in her own name, or at least the name she’d chosen for herself. And finally, she wanted Billy.
Sasha wanted this young man in a way that she’d never wanted anybody her entire life, not simply as a friend, or a fuck buddy, or even just some common lover, but as a profound companion in all things – from sex and love to play and food, absolutely everything. Inside her there was an ache in the shape of him, a feeling like a void where her lungs should be, or her heart, some kind of vacuum that became stronger the longer she didn’t have him the way she wanted. This feeling of excruciating lack was so profound that she imagined if she couldn’t stop it or fill it she’d actually begin to collapse, to crumple back onto herself, like an empty milk container with the air sucked out.
If, of her three desires, she could only have one, she would choose Billy. She would choose the young man she’d made dinner for last night, who slept on her living room sofa week after week, who so often lay exposed in the mornings with the sheets kicked back, wearing that adorable white underwear, fast asleep inside all that beautiful skin. There was no question it would be him.
Yet she didn’t want to be forced to make the choice. She had three wishes damn it, and she wanted them all to come true.
Ever since she was a little boy, she’d been steadfast in the conviction that her life was her own kind of fairytale, a story she could create with her own two hands, any way she wanted. The possibilities had always seemed limitless. But in recent days – it was terrible to admit, but true – she was beginning to doubt herself. Things weren’t going according to plan. She hated the fact that she’d be listed in the Muscle Party 5 credits as ‘Cliff Hardman.’ The very thought of it made her skin crawl. There was only one thing more disappointing than that name. The exclusive directing contract Steve should have obviously handed her after seeing her Muscle Party work had never materialized.
Slowly now, she began to realize something as she sat at her desk, something she’d never allowed herself to consider before, and it was like leaning over and looking down into a great chasm. She felt a kind of vertigo. But there it was, one horrible, undeniable fact: it was entirely possible that she could spend years working toward her goals and never achieve them.
She began flipping the pages of her desk calendar until she came to the small red ‘x’ she’d drawn in the corner of the 18th of May 1989, marking her secret. Not
even Billy knew, and it was less than four weeks away now. A tiny twinge of self-doubt and fear ran through her. The ‘x’ marked the day she would turn forty. Could it be that her peak was, in fact, behind her?
Steve’s voice came barreling in from the hallway, and she looked up just as he turned the corner. She turned the calendar pages back quickly, away from that small red stain.
“Why are you keeping Billy Knight from me?” Steve said. He stood in front of her desk with his shoulders squared off, a stern look on his face. “Why haven’t I met him yet?”
“Well, good morning, Mr. Logan. And how are we today?”
“There are no contact details on his Muscle Party contract. Günter says he lives with you. Is he home now? I’ll call him.” He stepped over to her phone and picked up the receiver. “What’s the number?”
Leaning over her, she could smell him, an adamantly masculine combination of deodorant and cologne. “Just a minute,” she said. “Billy’s not there. He’s a very busy young man. Have a seat. Let’s talk.”
He remained standing, holding the phone in his hand. “I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Billy Knight.”
She looked away and fell silent. Was this the start of it? Was this the place where Billy’s path diverted from hers, and he began to become a success without her? Was this the point where he began to leave her?
“I have to meet him,” Steve said.
She forced a smile. “Well, you certainly do have a bug in your britches.”
“I want to offer him an exclusive.”
“Oh, really?” She raised her eyebrows. An exclusive contract meant that Billy would be paid well, and wouldn’t have to struggle for work. Cougar Studios would take care of him, would nurture and promote his career. It was a rare opportunity any model would jump at. “And what are you going to offer me?” she said. “I want to talk about my future as a director with Cougar.”
Steve finally set down the phone. “I never made any promises. Your scene for Muscle Party was a one-off. I want Billy. If you don’t put me in touch with him, I’ll find him another way. Günter told me where he works. I’ll track him down myself if I have to. But it won’t make me very happy. It’d be a real CLM on your part.”