by Ty Jacob
He stood in front of the full-length mirror that was the only attempt at furnishing this room, and he looked at the costume. Dale could sew. Every seam was perfect. The pale yellow material caught the light and almost seemed to shimmer. This outfit had been from Mike’s most recent Cougar movie, Bullfight. He’d played a matador who was pursued and eventually conquered by a large, bullish man. Sewing costumes was the only part Dale played in the making of the film. A new young guy named Larry Gear had directed. Dale never complained. He took what work he could. Lately, it seemed he had resigned himself to the fact that his career as a professional director was over.
“Billy, you’re on.” One of the guys that worked in the bar was standing at the changing room door. “Follow me.”
Mike grabbed his red cape, and the guy led him down the hall to a tiny doorway at the side of the stage. Mike had reached the point in his career where he could tour on his own. Billy Knight’s name alone was enough to draw a crowd now, and he appeared at gay bars and sex venues across the country about once a year.
Although he made good money from dancing fees and the tips guys shoved into his jock strap, the real money on tour came from the dates his agency in LA arranged for him in every city. Clients now paid $600 an hour for Billy Knight. After his agency and the local agency both took their share, Mike still walked with two thirds of that. His daily rate was $1,500 and his weekly rate was $5,000. But in spite of all the money coming in, Mike just wanted this tour to be finished. He was tired of dancing, tired of turning tricks. Still, the money was like golden handcuffs.
Out on stage, the bar manager yelled out to the crowd. “Let’s give a big round of applause for Billy Knight!”
Everyone was cheering and clapping as Mike walked out, then the music started. It was a disco flamenco song that a DJ friend had mixed especially for the tour. Mike waved the red cape around and people whistled. He followed the music, tried to look like he was having fun. He knew this act like the back of his hand.
He’d already taken off the jacket and was unbuttoning the shirt when he first noticed the tall blond standing in the back by himself, leaning up against the bar and drinking a beer. The guy was hot, and in fact looked a bit like his old boyfriend Kerry. As Mike danced he kept looking back at the guy. The crowd continued to shout and cheer. Of course that couldn’t really be Kerry, since the last he had heard Kerry was still living as a kept man in Paris. In fact, he was so certain it couldn’t be Kerry that he’d already slipped off the ruffled shirt, the black dance shoes, and the long black socks before he realized it actually was.
That tall blond, the one standing in the back of this bar in South Beach watching him dance, was Kerry – the man of the soft, slow fucks and the greenish-blue ankh on his hip. Mike was surprised at how happy he suddenly felt. He was at the part in his routine where he started waving the cape around again, draping it over his body, but the entire time he was doing it he kept staring off toward the back. He couldn’t stop himself no matter how hard he tried. Some of the guys in the audience actually turned around to see who he was looking at. Kerry just kept looking back up at him, smiling.
The music ended and the bar manager came out again carrying the microphone. Mike walked over, bare-footed and shirtless but still wearing the yellow brocade pants. He made sure the audience got a good view of his ass. Somebody whistled. Standing next to the manager, he tried not to think about Kerry, tried to concentrate.
This was the brief interview part of the show, which Mike never really liked. He put up with it because he had to. Everybody wanted to hear the porn star speak, like some tea-drinking chimp on television. They always asked the same questions. What sort of sex do you enjoy most off camera? What kind of guys are you attracted to in real life? He knew enough not to answer truthfully. The point was to convince all of the guys in the audience that they could have you, that they could be the kind of guy you’d go for. You had to fulfill all of their fantasies at once. It had become a kind of game with Mike: how much could he make the audience want him, how many guys could he get desperately aching for him at once? It was the only thing that relieved the monotony of these tours.
He answered broadly, said that he was into all kinds of men, that he really just loved cock and as long as a guy had one of those he was good enough for Billy Knight. If he answered right, he could make the audience laugh. He’d learned that much from Sasha. People liked to laugh. But the key was to smile and flirt with as many guys in the audience as you could, to make them feel like they themselves were desirable, like they had something special that even you, superstar Billy Knight up on stage, really liked.
After the manager was done with the interrogation and after a couple more questions from some guys in the crowd, the music started up again, and Mike did his second number. This time he finally slipped off the tight yellow pants and danced in just the red jock strap. He waved the cape around again and the audience cheered, but the only thing that mattered was that every time he looked toward the back of the bar, Kerry was still there.
When the music ended, Mike ran back stage and threw on his biker gear for the next number as the manager made some announcements. Then he ran back out again. It went on like that for almost an hour, changing costumes four times. The shows always involved a lot of running around, dancing, working up a sweat. Tonight, after every costume change, he checked again to make sure Kerry was still there. It felt good to see him each time, although he wasn’t sure why. Kerry had been such an asshole. It didn’t make sense to be happy to see him.
For his last number he came out dressed as a sailor, but when he looked toward the back, Kerry was gone. There was just empty space where he’d been, and an empty bottle of beer on the bar. As the music started, Mike scanned the crowd, checking to see if maybe Kerry had come up to the front or moved to the side, but he was nowhere. The music thumped, but Mike no longer wanted to dance. He wanted to run off stage, out into the streets in that stupid white sailor outfit, looking for Kerry. As much as he’d been surprised at how happy he’d been to see Kerry, he was absolutely astonished at how terrible he felt now that Kerry was gone. Still, after all these years, after Kerry had abandoned him so abruptly, why should he even care?
He pushed the thoughts away and began to dance, eventually stripping down to his sailor underwear. He had to. Everyone was watching. When it was over the bar manager came out and asked a few more questions. When’s your next movie coming out? What city are you appearing in next? Then finally the manager said, “Let’s give another big hand to Mr. Billy Knight!” and everyone clapped and cheered and Mike was free, waving and smiling and walking off the stage as quickly as he could.
Kerry was waiting in the changing room. He looked incredibly self-assured, as though he had a right to be there. Mike walked in carrying the sailor suit bundled up in a ball in front of him and wearing just the white sailor briefs, a red anchor embroidered across the back. All over the floor the other costumes were sprawled out. Immediately Mike felt torn between wanting to hug Kerry and wanting to tell him to get the fuck out, but the conflicting feelings were so equally strong that they cancelled each other out. He was left just staring, holding the sailor suit in his arms.
“Hey there,” Kerry said.
Mike didn’t answer, didn’t say hello. What could he possibly say?
“You look great,” Kerry added. “I heard you were in town, so I came to see you.”
“You live here?” Mike’s voice was cool.
“Yeah. Been in South Beach a couple years now.”
“A couple years.” Mike repeated, watching closely.
“Yes. And it’s been eight years since I saw you last. I’ve counted.”
“Is that really how long it’s been since you dumped me in Exposé that night? When you just walked out?” Mike didn’t know where the words were coming from. A moment ago he had been happy to see Kerry.
Kerry stared at the wall, then the floor. “That was a mistake.”
“A mistake.”
Mike set the sailor suit down on the floor. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to change.”
“Go ahead.” Kerry gave a small, tentative smile. “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen. By the way, that anchor on your ass looks great.”
“Get out.”
“Listen, Mike. I want to talk.”
Mike felt everything tipping toward anger. “I wanted to talk eight years ago, Kerry. Eight fucking years ago. But you had to go. No warning. Nothing. You just left.”
“Mike – ”
“Don’t make me call security. I get stalkers like you all the time.”
Kerry looked hurt. “I’m not just some fucking stalker.”
“What are you then?”
“I’m your friend.”
“Bullshit, Kerry. You lost the right to call yourself that a long time ago.”
“I was afraid you’d talk me out of it,” Kerry said. “That’s why I left so badly, why it was so abrupt.”
“Really?” Mike thought about how quickly he’d moved out of his place with Dale, about the reasons why.
“Yes, really. When Burt asked me to go with him to France. I was afraid you’d talk me out of it if I told you. You know I’d always wanted to go. And then out of the blue there was somebody saying he’d take me there, pay for everything, and give me a place to live. How could I say no?”
Mike had the feeling that absolutely no time at all had passed. It could have been only a matter of minutes since that night at Exposé, and now their conversation was picking up from the point they’d last left off, here in another changing room, in another city. He pulled his jeans out of his gym bag and started putting them on. Nothing had changed. He still cared a lot about Kerry, and he was still very angry.
“It was a mistake,” Kerry said.
“You already said that.” Mike zipped up the jeans. Kerry’s body was so close. “When did you figure it out, that it was a mistake?”
“A while ago. But it hit me again just now when I saw you on stage and my heart sank.”
Mike paused, looked back at Kerry, slipped on a T-shirt. “Where’s Burt?”
“He traded me in for a younger model and finally kicked me out. That’s when I came to South Beach.”
“Serves you right.” Mike pulled his gym shoes and his socks out of the bag, leaned against the wall, and started putting them on.
“I suppose I always knew that he’d get rid of me some day.”
When Mike reached for a shoe, Kerry picked it up and handed it to him. Mike looked up at Kerry, took the shoe, and put it on.
“Are you busy now?” Kerry said.
“Yeah, I’ve got a date.” Mike started shoving all his costumes into the enormous gym bag.
“A client?”
“Yeah.”
“Cancel.”
“The guy booked two months ago. He’s paying six hundred bucks an hour. The agency expects me to show up. I’m not about to cancel for you.”
“Please?”
Mike looked up at Kerry. “You show up out of nowhere, corner me here in the changing room and expect me to drop everything like that? You’ve got some fucking balls.”
Kerry smirked. “I always thought you liked my balls.”
Mike finished shoving things into the bag.
“It’s just that I want to see you,” Kerry said.
Mike zipped the bag shut, ignoring him.
“How much longer are you in Miami?”
“This was my last show here. I’m here tomorrow, working. Then I fly out the next day.”
“Where to?”
“One night in Fort Lauderdale, then back to LA.”
“You have any free time tomorrow?”
Mike stood up. He almost felt like he was going to cry. “Kerry, I was really upset when you left. You fucking broke my heart.”
“I’m so sorry, Mike. It was a mistake.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You hate me.”
Mike said absolutely nothing. He tried to push away his feelings.
“I just want to meet for coffee,” Kerry said. “That’s all I want. Maybe a drink.”
“I’ve got clients to see.”
“You can’t be scheduled twenty-four seven. Come on. Coffee. That’s all.”
Mike took a long breath. He could tell Kerry to leave and he’d never see him again. Or they could meet, somewhere, and just talk. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up. “I’m staying at the Adonis Guest House on 14th Street. Call me there tomorrow at three. We’ll see.”
“Okay. I will. Thank you.”
“Now I have to go find the manager and get my money, and then meet my client.”
“You know. You’re still wearing that sailor underwear with the anchor on your ass. What’s the client going to think?”
“Who knows? He might like it.”
“I do.”
“But I’m not going home with you, am I?”
“No, but you should be,” Kerry said, and he stepped forward. For a split second Mike thought Kerry was going to kiss him, but instead he just said, “Talk to you tomorrow.” Then Kerry smiled and walked out.
The next day at 3:00 Mike made a point of not being in his room. He lingered at the clothing-optional pool, sprawled out naked in the sun, and managed to wait until 3:15 before wrapping a towel around his waist and returning to the room. When he called the front desk, he was relieved to find a message from Kerry, but forced himself to resist calling back. He sat down on the bed and turned on the television. He wanted the phone to ring again, wanted Kerry to be so intent on seeing him that he wouldn’t give up after just one call. Ten more minutes went by. Mike was about to break down and call when the phone finally rang. It was Kerry.
“Hey there,” Kerry said. “I thought I’d missed my chance.”
“I was out.” Although he was trying to sound indifferent, secretly Mike was thrilled.
“You’re a busy man. Do you have time for coffee now?”
“I’ve got another job tonight. The driver’s picking me up at seven.”
“But we can meet now, can’t we?”
“Okay.”
They met at the Seascape Bar and Grill at Ocean Drive and 12th Street, right across from the beach. Mike was there first and was already sitting at a table drinking an iced tea when Kerry walked in. Mike’s chest tightened. It hadn’t entirely hit him the night before, how much more attractive Kerry was now, how much stronger his once-lean body had become. He’d actually improved with age, appeared more solid and steady, as though he’d become more fully himself.
Mike didn’t stand. He just watched as Kerry came over and sat down at the table. He felt awkward, like some high school kid on a first date, not sure what to say.
When the waitress came over, Kerry pointed to Mike’s iced tea and said, “I’ll have what he’s having,” and then they sat in almost total silence until she brought it. They looked out toward the ocean. Mike was afraid they’d start fighting if they talked. Kerry’s iced tea arrived and conversation started slowly, full of long pauses.
Kerry asked how Mike’s tour was going, and Mike said fine.
Mike asked how Kerry had liked Paris, and Kerry said fine.
“My French got pretty good,” Kerry said.
“Say something to me in French.”
“Tu me fais fondre.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You make me melt.”
Mike broke into a smile. “You learned how to be cheesy there too?”
“How’s LA?” Kerry asked. “What are you doing?”
“Same as always. Working. Making movies. Seeing clients.”
“Your movies are all over Europe. You’re a big star.”
“You never liked me doing porn.”
“I’m over that now.”
“What do you mean?”
Kerry shrugged. “I was a kept man for years. What right do I have to judge?”
“You must be mellowing in your old age.”
&
nbsp; “Maybe I am,” Kerry said, laughing good-naturedly. “But you’re as old as me.”
“What are you doing now?” Mike asked. “For money?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“Try me.”
“I sell real estate.”
Mike almost choked on his iced tea. “No way.”
“You’re looking at a certified real estate agent. I just bought into this business here in South Beach. I had some money saved by the time Burt dumped me, so I did this course, got certified, and got set up here. I’ve been selling Miami real estate for over a year and a half now.” He smiled. “It’s not so different from hustling.”
“You’ve gone straight.”
“So to speak.”
“What’s it like?”
“It’s great. I’ve got these ads running now that have my picture. Call Kerry. The gay boys in Miami love it, and the housewives too. They all want me to be their agent.”
“And you’re selling stuff?”
“Left and right. Houses, little deco apartments. Miami’s hot now. Everyone wants a place in South Beach. I’m socking the money away.”
“Jesus. I never would have thought you’d be selling real estate.” Mike played with the straw in his iced tea. “Do you miss hustling?”
“No. Not for a minute. The money’s not as easy. But I feel like I own myself.”
“I’m getting certified to be a personal trainer,” Mike said.
“Really? Why? You want to quit porn?”
“I don’t know. I’m just interested in learning what you need to know to be a trainer. I like the gym. I think I could do it.”
“You could totally do it. Are you still living with Dale?”
“No.”
“Good. He was bad news.”
Mike gave Kerry a stern look. “He’s still around. He’s like my family.” It was one thing for Mike to feel frustrated with Dale. It was an entirely different thing for anybody else to speak against him – especially Kerry, who had no right. “At least Dale has never disappeared on me.”
“I’d tell you I made a mistake, but you told me not to say it again.”
“I’m living with Nick now.”