The End of Billy Knight

by Ty Jacob

  “I’ll leave now,” Kerry said.

  “That’s it?”

  “Pascal already knows it’s my last night.”

  Mike stood facing Kerry, his water bottle on the bench between them, his clothes still on the floor where Tony had left them. “You mean you told the fucking owner of the bar before you told me? I had no idea you were such a goddamned coward. Or such a fucking asshole.”

  “Take care of yourself, Mike.” Kerry stepped closer, reached out across the bench and put his hand on the side of Mike’s neck, rubbing it gently. Mike smacked it away. Kerry turned, fully dressed, bag in hand, and walked out into the bar.

  “Fuck you, Kerry! Fuck you!” Mike was shouting wildly at a disappearing blue shirt, but at the same time he was feeling an overwhelming desire to run forward and wrap his arms around that patch of expensive blue cotton, to stop what was inside it from getting away. He imagined bolting through the door beside the stage and into the bar in his jock strap, running up to Kerry as he was probably kissing Burt hello. But what would he say when he got there? And why would he want to chase a man who was leaving him this way?

  When he turned and saw that Kerry’s locker was empty, the lock gone, he shut down, went blank. He didn’t cry. Instead, he slipped into a kind of autopilot, where everything was tucked away. He was at work. He held it together. He moved deliberately, so the air would not shatter. He walked over to his clothes and picked them up off the floor – a pair of short denim cut-offs, his flannel shirt with no sleeves – and threw them in his locker. He put the water bottle in his gym bag, pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, put them on slowly, in silence, feeling mechanical, empty. He wanted to get to Sasha. She would comfort him, hold him. She would make him feel safe.

  He put on his tennis shoes and walked to the door at the side of the stage so he could peek into the bar. Already there was no trace of Kerry. The teddy bears and lechers were talking and drinking, ogling the other strippers who were leaning against the back wall. Tony was serving two young guys some drinks. Pascal stood by the bar, laughing about something with the bartender. Nobody seemed to notice the emptiness in the room. It was as though Kerry had never been there, had never existed at all. Somewhere out on the streets of Los Angeles, Burt was probably even now driving Kerry back to a big house or a nice hotel somewhere, telling him what to pack.

  Mike stepped backwards and let the stage door swing shut. It felt like he was watching himself from a spot in the ceiling. There he was, stepping back into the changing room, picking up his gym bag, grabbing his car keys, moving out the back door and into the parking lot. Then he was stepping into his old blue Nova, pulling out onto Sunset Boulevard, and pointing his headlights in the direction of the Lucky Pony. Everything quivered as he drove. The streetlights passed him one by one.

  31. Old Fashioned

  AS THE FLUTE intro started and the lights came up, Sasha stood in the middle of the stage. She was wearing an enormous white satin hoop skirt, covered with lace and pink ribbons. Her blouse had puffed sleeves, white satin to match the skirt, and pink ribbon at the shoulders. Her brunette wig was done in ringlets and dainty bows. This was her new number, and she began mouthing the words as Ella Fitzgerald sang, “I’m Old Fashioned.”

  She batted her eyes, trying to look quaint. She held her hands together behind her back and swiveled her body to the right and to the left as demurely as her large waist would allow. After the first lines, the rhythm picked up, the melody started, and she pulled out a frilly pink folding fan.

  She knew that behind her the two shirtless dancing boys were already jumping out through the silver streamers and approaching her on either side. She had sewn their black satin shorts herself, and had found their black bow ties at a second hand shop in Burbank. It was a well-known fact that satin shorts and bow ties were all the costume a dancing boy ever needed. When their muscular bodies appeared in front of her, she pretended to be shocked at the sight, putting her hand to her chest and leaning back melodramatically. Mock palpitations ran through her, and she fluttered the fan as though she were about to faint. The boys caught her just as she was collapsing, and they propped her back up again, smoothing her dress. Then suddenly all three of them were happily doing synchronized dance steps. Step, shuffle, step, spin.

  The trumpets blared and one of the boys pulled the pink fan from her hand, replacing it with a long black riding crop. She looked at it as if she didn’t know what it was but, when the boy leaned over in front of her, she gave him a light smack on the behind and then gave the audience a wicked smile. Both boys abruptly spun behind her and pulled at her blouse. The Velcro she’d sewn down the back made it come off easily.

  Underneath was a shiny black leather bustier with a bodice that was tight around her protruding stomach. Below her waist, the lace and ribbon of the hoop skirt clashed wonderfully with the bustier. She had hoped to appear in this moment as a fantastic hybrid – Little Bo Peep the Leather Dominatrix – and now, as the audience cheered in front of her, it seemed it was a complete success. She smacked the crop into the palm of her hand, just as she’d done a few moments before with her little pink fan. The crowd cheered.

  The music crescendoed and the boys came up behind her, pulling at the last line of Velcro so that the hoop skirt fell down around her legs in a spectacular cascade of white satin. The transformation was complete. She stood in black leather hot pants, fishnet stockings, and amazing, six-inch high, black patent leather stilettos. If she fell she was sure to break an ankle, but the effect was dazzling, and entirely worth the risk.

  She slapped her thigh with the riding crop and pushed both boys to the ground. One went down on his hands and knees in front of her, while the other wrapped his arms around her right leg. The song slowed to the closing lines and she batted her eyes again, bringing the act full circle, acting quaint and trying to look as innocent as possible.

  After the last notes of the flute faded, she could barely hear herself yelling “thank you” over the applause and whistles. She bowed four times before finally slipping behind the silver streamers at the back of the stage and heaving a sigh of relief. It had worked. They loved her. She may be sad and lonely, but at least she still had this. She told the dancing boys to stay put, and she went back out for one final bow on her own.

  She was thrilled to see Billy in her dressing room when she got there. She was still high from the performance as she whirled in and gave him a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

  “Well, hello baby!” she said. “What a nice surprise. Better than a dozen roses waiting for me. Now, quick, untie me. I can barely breathe.”

  The back of her bodice was laced tightly and tied at the bottom. She could reach it herself, but she wanted to be close to her Billy. She turned around and felt his hand near the base of her back, untying the string. The bodice loosened.

  “Ugh! How I suffer for beauty. I’m like a stuffed sausage in this thing. Now unzip the shorts, baby.” She felt his hand slide down her backside. “Oh, you’re an angel.”

  Unzipped and untied, she felt the blood rushing back. She took off the shoes, then the bodice and the hot pants. It didn’t matter if Billy saw her there in her large underpants and padded bra. This was who she was. She left the wig on. The bows and ringlets made her look cute.

  “The crowd loved my new number!” she said. “How they cheered! It was fantastic. Did you see it?” she asked.

  “I caught the end,” Billy said. “You were great.”

  “Oh, go on, flatter me.” She turned around again, gestured to the clasp on her bra, and said, “Be a doll, won’t you?”

  He struggled to unclasp it.

  “Jesus Billy, you’re hopeless with a bra. No experience, I suppose.”

  She reached behind her back and undid it herself, turning to expose her waxed chest, the saggy flesh of her man-boobs, her belly protruding over the flesh-colored underpants. She quickly slipped on her fuzzy pink bathrobe, then sat down and began taking off her rings. All of a sudden it
was clear that Billy was troubled.

  “What’s wrong? Why do you look so sad?” She set down her rings, leaned forward and put her hand on his knee.

  “Kerry’s going to Paris with Burt,” he said.

  “Oh, baby.”

  “It doesn’t sound like he’s coming back, at least no time soon. He doesn’t want me to come visit.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She stood up out of her chair and moved toward him, bending over so that she could hug him as he sat. He put his arms around her, pushed his face into her shoulder with such force that it surprised her. She held him that way for a while, awkwardly, standing as he sat, before Billy slowly pulled away. “When are they leaving?” she said. She sat back down and pulled her chair closer to Billy’s.

  “I don’t know. A couple days. He already quit his job at Exposé. He broke up with me at work.”

  “Fucking bastard. I knew there was something I didn’t like about that boy. I was trying so hard to be nice on your account, Billy.”

  “I can’t believe I was so close to him and I had no idea he was such a mother fucking prick. It’s like I was totally blinded because I cared so much about him.”

  “Don’t blame yourself.” She reached out and touched his arm. “I’m just sorry I brought Burt in with me that night, on your birthday even. Oh, if I’d known this was going to happen, I never would have done it.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “But I feel terrible.”

  “Don’t.”

  Sasha looked down. When she first told Burt that she knew of a working boy who might be interested in traveling to Paris with him, she had made it clear that if it all worked out she needed Burt to do two things for her in return. First, he was never to tell Kerry the true reason she’d introduced them. Secondly, he was to feign a certain disdain for Billy, and ask Kerry not to see him again. She had never before asked Burt for a favor, and he was happy to comply. If it worked he was going to get a beautiful boy.

  What made her feel justified now, even slightly smug, was that the entire thing had been a test of Kerry’s character. If he truly cared for Billy, he would not go. But if he could be bought, if Kerry valued Burt’s fat wallet more than Billy’s warm heart, he would be on the next plane to Paris. The answer was in the fact of his leaving.

  “That boy is obviously cold-blooded, Billy. Strictly mercenary. Boys like that don’t know how to love. He’s not like you and me. Good thing we have each other.”

  “But Sasha,” Billy said. He was leaning back in the old tattered chair next to her vanity, his legs spread wide. “I really liked him.” All of a sudden, her Billy was crying, small fits at first, then more.

  Her smugness fell away. She felt horrible. Billy was heartbroken. In the four months that she had come to know him, somehow an invisible line had grown from Billy’s heart directly into hers, a kind of reverse umbilical cord that fed her all his emotion. During the good times, his happiness filled her with joy. During the bad times, his sadness destroyed her. His tears now made her feel responsible and guilty, but these feelings were tempered by her resolute knowledge that this was in fact good for him, that she had saved him from an even greater heartache if the entire charade with that Kerry had gone on longer. She had rescued her Billy from a cruel and unfeeling monster. He must never know.

  She reached toward the counter and pulled a few tissues from a box, handing them to Billy.

  He took them and held them to his face. “I really thought it was something. He was so gentle.”

  “Oh, baby, baby. This hurts so much right now, I know. I know. Come here.”

  She pulled him forward and he came out of the chair easily, moving onto his knees in front of her and resting his head on her lap. He sobbed. She put one hand on his back and with the other she stroked his hair. She said nothing. His tears wet her bathrobe. She sat there, petting him like a small kitten, until he finally became quiet and still.

  “Billy, I have good news for you. But first I have to tell you something I’ve done that’s very bad.”

  He looked up at her.

  “I’m sorry to tell you now,” she said. “But it’s the good news that will make you happy.”

  Small strands of pink fuzz stuck to the stubble on his jaw. She brushed her hand across his face, careful not to scratch him with her long, plastic fingernails.

  He looked confused.

  “I’ve been keeping a secret from you,” she said. “I don’t know why. I’m so sorry. I was so afraid of losing you.”

  He sniffed and shook his head. “You’re not going to lose me.”

  “Oh, but when you find out what I’ve done. What I’ve been hiding from you.”

  “What?”

  “Steve hasn’t been in New York. I told him you were.”

  He leaned back slowly until he came to rest on the chair behind him. He was staring at her.

  “Billy, he doesn’t want me at all. He only wants you. I was afraid he’d take you away from me. That you’d leave me behind and forget about me.”

  “You lied to me? And you told him I was in New York? Seriously? Why?”

  “You’re a very talented boy. Steve wants to offer you an exclusive contract. He wants to make you a star.”

  Billy’s face lit up. “Really?”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “No way! Me? He wants to give me an exclusive contract? Are you sure?”

  “He gave me the contract. It’s sitting on my desk, waiting for you to sign. He wants you to come in and talk to him. Discuss your career with Cougar.”

  Billy stood up. “Sasha this is great! I can’t believe it!” He stopped and looked at her. “How long have you known this?”

  “A couple weeks. Almost a month.”

  “He told you this a month ago?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry.”

  “How could you keep that a secret? You know how much this means to me.”

  She looked down and braced herself for his anger. “I know, baby. Like I said, I was so afraid of losing you. He doesn’t have a contract for me. He wants me stuck behind that horrible desk doing sales calls for the rest of my life.”

  “When were you planning on telling me?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I’ve just been so scared.” She pulled at the tissues, dabbed her nose. “Billy, being with you makes me so happy. I’m afraid that if you become successful without me, you’ll forget who I am. After all, I’m just some fat, old slob in a dress, who can’t even direct. And you’re so incredible, so beautiful, so young. I think how much you must hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “It’s not going to work Billy. I’m not going to be able to do it. They don’t want me. None of the studios want me. I tried talking to the others again, and they all say the same. I’m not right for them. I’m just a piece of smelly shit nobody wants. I’m so scared of ending up all alone. And now you hate me too.”

  “I said I don’t hate you. You’re like my family.”

  “Really?” Her heart lifted.

  “Yes. And you can so direct. You’re great. Just look at Banging Billy, look at our Muscle Party scene. It’s all great. Everything you do is great.”

  “Steve says it’s you. He says you’re such good sex that even a monkey could direct you. He called me a monkey.”

  “A monkey?”

  She nodded, blew her nose into the tissues. “I’ll take you in and introduce you to him next week. He’s wanted to meet you for a while. He doesn’t care about me.”

  “How can he call you a monkey? God damn him.”

  “Look at me, Billy. How can anybody take me seriously?” She turned toward the mirror. Billy stood behind her. Her mascara was starting to run. Her robe was falling open. Her lipstick was smeared. She began laughing. “Ugh! Would you look at that ugly bitch! She’s a mess. Get her out of here!” Then she sighed and looked up at Billy in the mirror. “I’m going to have to butch it up if I want to succeed in this business. Maybe S
teve did me a favor calling me Cliff Hardman.”

  “Sasha, no. The problem is with Steve, not you. The problem is with the studios and all those old fags that run them. They’re fucking dinosaurs from the 1970’s. They think we should all look like the Village People.”

  “Baby, don’t forget that I was at my peak in 1970. I sucked off one of the Village People, okay? Well, come to think of it, several of them.”

  “But you’re no dinosaur. You’re fantastic, Sasha. You’re amazing.”

  “You’re very sweet. I turned forty yesterday.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have done something. Had a party.”

  “No, Billy. So help me goddess, you tell anybody I turned forty and I’ll shoot you dead.”

  “Well, happy birthday.”

  “The clock is ticking. I’m going to have to become Cliff Hardman.”

  “You are not. You’re Sasha. It’s who you are.”

  “Well, I suppose there’s one thing I could do.” She had always felt so much pride. What she was about to say was incredibly difficult. She had always made her way on her own. “You could help me,” she said sheepishly.

  “And you could have told me about that contract right away. You didn’t.”

  “I know. But I’ve told you now, and it’s not too late. I was just so afraid of losing you. I am so incredibly sorry. It was wrong.” She paused. “Please help me?”

  Billy said nothing.

  She shook her head and then began pulling off her fake eyelashes as she spoke, staring into the mirror. “You’re right. I can’t ask anything of you. I’ll figure it out myself. What am I thinking? It would be far too much to expect some old-fashioned gratitude. After all, I haven’t done anything for you, really. Just a staring role in your own movie, your first scene with a major studio, now an exclusive contract ready for you to sign. Oh, and a place to sleep and a fully stocked refrigerator. You don’t owe me anything. I’m just so selfish, out for my own glory all the time, never doing anything for you. How can you even stand me?”

  Billy sighed. “What is it? What do you want me to do?”