by Ty Jacob
There was a very straightforward choice in front of him. He could accept that Mike was gone, or he could fight it. It was that simple.
Long ago Dale had come to understand that what he lacked in talent, he made up for in tenacity. He would not give up yet. Although perhaps it was true that he couldn’t make Mike love him, maybe, just maybe, he could somehow make Mike need him. If someone needed you, did it really matter whether or not they loved you? If they needed you they’d come back. They’d stay.
If they needed you, it might feel just a little bit like love.
44. A Shocking Proposal
MIKE’S NEW BEDROOM at Nick’s place wasn’t as nice as his old one. It was smaller and the one narrow window didn’t let in much light. He’d been to Nick’s place a dozen or so times before, when they’d gotten drunk and fucked, and it felt strange in the first few weeks to not be there for sex, to not be taking off his clothes in Nick’s bedroom.
Very quickly they established new patterns, as roommates. They came and went at their own times, occasionally chatted over morning coffee, swapping bleary-eyed stories about their clients from the night before. Every once in a while they went to the gym together. They rarely hung out at home with each other, and they never had sex anymore. It was very clear that they were not boyfriends. Nick brought home a lot of guys. Mike would sometimes wake in the middle of the night to the sound of Nick’s headboard banging against the wall between their rooms.
Mike didn’t bring guys home. He hadn’t done that since he’d broken up with Rafael. Now, if he picked a guy up in a bar they went over to the other guy’s place, or went to the baths. He didn’t feel like bringing anybody home unless it was an actual boyfriend. He laughed at himself. He was becoming conservative. He was practically a prude.
For over two weeks Dale didn’t return Mike’s calls, in spite of the multiple messages Mike left on Dale’s machine. The first few days were especially unnerving, not knowing for sure if Dale ever made it home after he’d disappeared. Mike was tempted to stop by and check, but then he asked around and someone said they’d seen Sasha at Cougar. Just knowing that made Mike feel better.
Then finally, walking in the door after the gym on a Wednesday afternoon, he found a message on his machine. “Helloooo Billy! Sasha here. It’s Hump Night tonight at the Lucky Pony. I’m doing something special. It’d be great to see you there. Kiss, kiss!”
Sasha had been appearing at the Lucky Pony every Wednesday night now for over fifteen years. On the rare occasions when she couldn’t perform, the younger drag queens tried to fill her shoes, but only Sasha was synonymous with Wednesday at the Lucky Pony – so much so that a couple years ago she’d managed to convince the bar owners to market the evening as ‘Hump Night with Sasha Zahore.’ Now posters tacked up around LA and quarter-page ads in the gay rags promoted the night with a big picture of Sasha front and center, go-go boys around her like angels in the air.
Even if her directing career was on the rocks, Sasha’s position as the main attraction at Hump Night was secure. In fact, her fleeting notoriety as a director had actually helped to boost her reputation with the Lucky Pony regulars. She was multi-talented – a modern Renaissance woman.
Mike set down his gym bag now and checked his calendar. He had a job that evening with Trent Conner, a big Hollywood action star who was deep in the closet, but there would be plenty of time to get to the Lucky Pony afterward. Trent was always so excited that he came too soon.
Mike called Sasha back at Cougar right away, but she didn’t answer. He left a message. “Hey Sasha. Great to hear from you. I’ll see you there.”
That evening, he managed to make Trent shoot his load in record time – ten minutes, all over the action-hero-sized bed in his private Malibu Beach House. It wasn’t even 10:30 by the time Mike had driven out from under the ‘June Gloom’ fog that covered the coast in late spring and early summer. He headed directly toward West Hollywood, to the Lucky Pony.
Sasha was still up on stage, smiling and lip-synching with three go-go boys behind her. The people in the audience were laughing a lot, every time Sasha tripped and acted like a clumsy clown or batted her eyes at an especially hunky guy in the crowd. Mike watched carefully. Her shtick hadn’t changed in years, but it worked. Everyone here loved her. At least she had this.
Just before her last song, she made an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, Sasha’s going to do something a little different tonight. Hold onto your hats, ‘cause this fat bitch is gonna sing.” Suddenly all the multi-colored stage lights went black, and a single spotlight illuminated her face, causing her silver sequined gown to sparkle. “This is a song called ‘I walk a little faster’ by Blossom Dearie,” she said. “She’s of my faves. I’d like to dedicate this song to Billy.” The music started. It was slow. Mike was surprised there were no pre-recorded vocals coming out of the speakers, just the melancholy notes of a piano. When Sasha opened her mouth in front of the hand-held microphone and her very own voice came out – mellow and surprisingly nice, if just a bit rough around the edges.
But instead of filling the stage with her usual camp energy, as she sang she seemed incredibly sad. It was a slow song. She sang about wanting to see the man she loved, about always hoping that he was just around the next corner. She added humor only once, when she began stumbling on her high heels as she sang about banging into things, about falling. But even the stumble was subtle, almost half-hearted compared to how she normally flailed about, and rather than evoking outright laughter from the crowd, it just made people smile with a kind of heartbroken sympathy.
The song ended on a sad refrain about her futile hopes of seeing her lover. It was somehow – in spite of the campy drag, in spite of the shabby bar – deeply moving. She performed with such emotion that when the song finished it left behind a stunned, powerful silence. A glass clinked at the bar. Then all of a sudden the audience broke into cheers and applause. Sasha took an uncharacteristically tiny bow, said absolutely nothing, and disappeared behind the tattered silver streamers at the back of the stage.
Mike waited. The lights came up and dance music started. Ten minutes later he saw Sasha walk out the door at the side of the stage and begin moving toward the bar. She’d changed costumes and was now wearing a white dress with a long purple cape and a blond bouffant wig topped with a tiny gold crown. She towered above everyone, and the crowd parted in front of her as she walked.
Every once in a while someone put a hand out to touch her and say something – a compliment no doubt, some kind of adulation – and she would give a coy look, say something that made everyone around her laugh, then she’d move on. Mike smiled as he watched her from the other side of the room. She was so much better at being famous, in her own small way, than he was.
At the bar her Cosmopolitan was already waiting for her, and the bartender pointed over toward Mike. When she saw him she beamed, raised one hand in the air and waved dramatically, then began hurrying over. Everywhere she went people stepped aside.
“Darling, so good of you to come!” She kissed him on the cheek and gestured wildly into the air. “Uh! There are so many people in here tonight, a girl practically has to grease her thighs just to make it across the room.” Gone was the melancholy of the song. She was back to being herself.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Mike said.
She sighed. “You know you’re always on my guest list.”
Mike didn’t know how to talk about the song she’d dedicated to him. “You haven’t been returning my calls,” he said. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know. We get by.” She looked around the room.
“Have you advertised for a roommate yet?”
“You don’t waste any time, do you? Go right for the jugular. Well, Roommate schmoomate.” She tilted her head back, opened her eyes wide, and spoke in a thick accent, “I vant to be alooone.”
“You know I can’t pay rent at two places forever, right?”
“Jesus, Billy.” She shook her head
and looked irritated. “I know that.”
They stood in an awkward silence for a moment.
“You sounded nice,” Mike said. “I was surprised you really sang.”
“Well, the old girl still has a few tricks up her sleeve.”
Mike laughed. “I’m sure you do. How’s Earl?”
“Earl? Haven’t seen him.”
“No, of course you haven’t.” Mike smiled knowingly. He didn’t want to humiliate her. He just wanted to her to understand that he knew, that he forgave her. “For some strange reason Earl thinks I don’t pay my rent. He told Nick all my money goes up my nose.”
“Well, imagine that.” She looked up at the disco ball hanging above the dance floor.
“Where do you think he could have heard such a thing?”
“I wouldn’t have a clue.” Her face shifted then, and she looked at him closely. “The world is a mysterious place, Billy. Things happen all the time and we don’t know why. Things we can’t change. Try as we might.” She looked away quickly.
Mike dropped the subject. He decided to let her have her pride.
Directly in front of them, two guys climbed onto the stage and began dancing shirtless. They had to be in their early twenties, laughing and beautiful, both wearing body glitter across their chest and back. They were dancing to some new song Mike didn’t know.
Sasha smiled sadly. “Have you ever worn body glitter?”
“No. I can’t say I have.”
“Everybody should wear body glitter at least once in their life.”
“They look so young,” Mike said. “What are they, twelve?”
“How many years have you been in porn now?”
Mike shrugged. “Eight.”
“Good God. You know in porn star years you’re, like, fifty-six or something. You’re ancient.” She laughed playfully. Then she smoothed her dress across her hips as though she was preparing a speech. “Billy dear, I appreciate that you’re concerned about people becoming bored with you.”
“Well – ”
Sasha put up her hand. “Shush. I need to talk to you about something. I need to talk to you about a movie.”
“Oh, Sasha. I said no.”
“Wait. I’m not done. This is something different.” She cleared her throat. “Billy dear, you’re always looking for that new thing to do, trying to keep the interest of your bug-eyed little fans, right? Well, let me tell you, I have the perfect thing.” She paused for dramatic effect. “How would you like to do a bareback film?”
“What?” Mike leaned back a little.
She began speaking quickly. “We’ll change the name of my Western, call it Riding Bareback. We’ll still use the Texas ranch. The opening shots will be of you and some hot top horseback riding – without saddles, of course – and heading off into the fields someplace, where you both hop off your horses and Mr. Top immediately pushes you down and fucks you bareback in the open air.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Well, no. Mark my words, bareback is the wave of the future. We’ll be in the vanguard. Sure, it’s only low-budget renegade stuff today, but mark my words. Before you know it, bareback will be huge. Huuuge, I tell you. It’s the next big thing.”
“I’m not having unprotected sex.”
“But of course we’ll have all the models tested.”
“That’s no guarantee, and you know it. It takes a while for the virus to show up. What’s wrong with you? You’ve always demanded safe sex. Are you high?”
“Oh, Billy, don’t be silly. The times they are a-changing. Adapt and evolve, or become a dinosaur. There’s a market for this now.”
“Sasha, I’m not about to risk getting sick for a fuck flick. Besides, you know as well as I do that it’s career suicide. The big studios are all against it. Suggesting I do your movie bareback makes me want to do it less, not more.”
“Baby.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re not as young as you used to be. You really do need something new. We could do an entire series of bareback films. We could even do Banging Billy 3: Billy goes Bareback! It could totally revitalize your career. You’d have everyone’s attention.”
“I don’t need to revitalize my career. My career’s fine. I have everyone’s attention. You’re the one without their attention.”
“No need to be nasty, doll. Listen, your career might be fine now, but how much longer until those young glitter boys over there take your place?”
Mike looked over at the young guys dancing. He shook his head and set down his beer. “I don’t need to hear this. I didn’t come here to have you tell me I’m washed up and need to start getting fucked bareback.”
As he walked across the bar and toward the door, he heard her yelling to him from behind, but he just kept moving.
45. Another Little Job
AFTER HER LAST set, Sasha went directly to Pinky’s Boy Bar and settled herself comfortably onto a barstool. She’d left her crown and purple cape back at the Lucky Pony. Her white dress looked crisp and bright against the wood of the bar, and the fabric picked up the pastel tones from the Christmas lights over the pool table.
She hated the way Billy had stormed out. She was an idiot for even asking.
Dave, the bartender, walked over. The man was in his early sixties now, close to retirement she supposed. He was almost completely bald, and still had his signature open collar with two silver chains. It would be a sad day when Dave left Pinky’s. “The usual?” he said.
“Yes, Dave. Thanks.”
As Dave turned to mix her drink, she looked around the room. The place had definitely gone downhill. Nothing had been done with it since she first brought Billy in eight years ago. Still, the place was full of the same familiar mixture of sellers and buyers. Two brawny men in very tight jeans were playing pool. A couple of skinny twinks lurked nearby. Sasha didn’t care about any of them. She was looking for one person in particular. She wanted Earl.
“Here you are, Sasha,” Dave said, setting her Cosmopolitan in front of her. She smiled to herself. Having a Cosmopolitan at Pinky’s was a bit like eating caviar at McDonald’s.
“Dave, have you seen him?” she asked.
“Yeah, he’s here.” Dave looked around the small bar. “Must be in the john.”
“Did you get a chance to watch him after I left him here that night?”
“Of course. You know I’m good for my word.”
“And did he end up talking to that Nick Demachio?”
“Yes, he did. They were sitting here at the bar, talking about your boy Billy. Nick looked a little upset at whatever it was Earl had to say.”
“Good. Thanks, doll.”
“Anytime Sasha, for you.”
Dave turned away to reach for a bottle. Sasha continued scanning the room.
When she’d hired Earl to do that teensy-weensy job, she’d felt somewhat hesitant. After all, years ago he’d proven himself so unreliable. She was still a little bitter about Appalachian Ass, which could have been so good, but in her more magnanimous moments she recognized that the loss was equally Earl’s. The big-biceped banjo boy could have been a superstar, could have shot straight to the top. In spite of her initial concern over hiring him again for anything, clearly he’d come through just fine this time. It didn’t take much. Only 50 bucks and a few drinks.
While Sasha was sorry to be reduced to spreading lies about the man she loved most, she now realized that getting Billy back would require much more just a little fib or two. This was why she needed Earl again. Just one more time. It had to be Earl. She didn’t know anybody else who was desperate enough to do what she wanted done.
Finally, there he was standing at the back of the room, talking with another working boy. One of the tragedies of Earl was that he was still wearing mesh tank tops now after all these years. Tonight’s version was purple. Sadly, his biceps were no longer the most beautiful in Southern California. They’d gone a bit soft. His face had also become slightly gaunt. The poor boy was livin
g a hard life now. Even so, every once in a while you could see hints of his former glory.
She winked and waved him over to the bar. He said something to his friend and then began walking over to her alone. She suppressed her urge to offer fashion advice and instead gave the barstool next to her a lively slap, indicating exactly where she wanted him to put his ass.
“Earl, doll,” she said, and she gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “I have another little job for you.”
46. The Color is Blue
IT WAS NOON when the phone rang. Mike had just woken up, and he fumbled with the receiver. As soon as he said hello, Dale’s voice launched into an apology.
“I’m so sorry, Mike. I’m just so stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking last night. I’ll never ask you to do a bareback film again. I was silly to even think it.”
Dale sounded so sincere that Mike didn’t know how to respond. Dale continued talking.
“I’ll start looking for a roommate right away. And of course your career doesn’t need to be revitalized. I know that. You’re not washed up. I really am so sorry.”
Mike hesitated, then he said, “Thank you.” He was stunned by Dale’s total turnaround, and he wondered what had caused it.
Dale cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m going to a party this weekend, and wondered if you’d like to join me. Let’s try this again.”
“I don’t know, Dale.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You don’t know if you want to see me?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Good. I promise I won’t even mention making a movie. The party’s at Rob Lessing’s mansion up in the hills. Big Hollywood director from way back. Queer as a three-dollar bill. Wants drag queens and porn stars to give his little soirée some color. Half of gay LA will be there. You’ll come with me? Please, baby? So I don’t have to go alone?”