Flash Mob Page 7

  "That's not like you at all." Thom wasn't being judgmental, he just stated a fact that Jericho wasn't ready to admit to be true.

  Not any more. He wasn't going to be like that anymore. Jericho lit a cigarette to buy himself some time.

  The two men sipped their coffee in silence.

  "So, why have you come in search of me?" Jericho turned toward his friend. "I know how much you hate this spot in the park." A hint of venom dripped out of Jericho's words. He felt where this conversation might be headed and didn't want to talk trash about the man he was falling in love with.

  "I've started to think you sit here just so I won't bother you." Thom stuck out his lower lip in a playful way, an attempt to lighten the suddenly dank mood that was growing between them.

  "Maybe I do," said Jericho, his own lips curving up into a smile despite his apprehension. He suddenly wanted to kiss Thom. Not romantically, exactly, but his feelings were strong. Jericho realized in that moment that he missed the sexual company of men. This break he was on because of Billy was taking a toll on him. He wondered why he was being faithful to a lover that didn't yet exist. Thom and Jericho had a past, a history. It felt easy and comfortable being together. Jericho thought that if Thom leaned in, they'd just kiss and that would be it. A small kiss between them wouldn't really mean anything and it would certainly alleviate some of his sexual tension.

  Thom didn't notice Jericho's slight head tilt. Jericho righted his head and planted his feet firmly on the asphalt path, once again resolved to be faithful to his dream lover.

  "Well, your…house guest came to see me last night. Actually, he came into my bar with a group of twirlies, all from your show, I presume."

  "So." Jericho didn't want to appear interested, but he could tell by Thom's tone that there was news about the boy. His heart skipped a beat. Having been a dancer, Jericho considered defending the unknown dancers that Thom had called twirlies, but didn’t want to have that argument with him again.

  "He pulled me aside to ask my advice." Thom waited for a response, but didn't get one. "About you."

  "Me?" Jericho continued to play dumb, his pulse increased. This infatuation was making him feel young again. He wondered if Billy had passed Thom a note for him. Check "yes" if you like me.

  "He's into you, Jericho. He wants you. He's confused about why you haven't made a move on him. He's afraid to make a move on you. You hold his fate in your manly hand."

  Jericho held up a hand: "This old thing?" he asked with a southern accent. He hoped his attempt to cover his emotions with a little humor worked. While he hadn't made it as an actor himself, that didn't mean he didn't have some talent in that arena.

  Thom slapped Jericho's hand down. "We're talking about the fragile ego of a very young, incredibly hot man. You should have a bit more respect." He spoke in his own version of a proper southern belle.

  Jericho smiled at his dramatic friend. He missed their time together, but between Thom's new bar and Jericho's show, there wasn't much hanging out. For some reason, Jericho remembered his grandfather, long dead. One of the old man's favorite phrases was "I've got ties older than you, boy, what do you know about life?" Jericho had ties older than Billy Lake. Hell, some of those ties had been given to him by Thom.

  "I know it. I know it," said Thom, bringing Jericho back to the moment. "I've grown all silly and sentimental about these young men. They come in, night after night, looking for love, settling for one-night sex. Acting happy, but really miserable inside. Just like us way back when."

  "Yeah, now we're just outwardly miserable," Jericho said. He tried to make his comment sound playful, but the conversation was bringing him down.

  "I'm serious, Jer. Seeing it night after night has made me more…aware." Thom paused. "Listen, I don't really care one way or the other if you sleep with this kid. Young cute twirlies are a dime a dozen in this city. But, I do think you should talk to him about it, let him know how you feel."

  "So, he turned you down last night?" Jericho asked looking square into Thom's eyes in an if-looks-could-kill moment.

  "Well, yes, he did. But that's not my point." Thom blushed a little and turned away.

  "Admit it; it's partially your point." Jericho didn't break his eye contact. Rage welled in him at the thought that Thom had propositioned Billy. How could his friend be so insensitive?

  Thom pushed at Jericho's shoulder to force him to look away. "Okay. Okay. Listen if you want this guy, tell him so. If you don't, well, others do. He could be on the prowl with the rest of them. That's all I'm saying."

  The Delacorte Clock started its hourly nursery rhyme. The bear twirled. A monkey danced. Jericho took a deep breath. He knew Thom was just being Thom. How could he know that Jericho really wanted the boy if Jericho never said anything about it? How could anyone know that he was in love with Billy Lake when he hadn't even admitted that to Billy? Still, Thom was supposed to be his best friend. Friends just didn't go after each other's desires.

  "Oh, I've got to get the hell out of here before I slap a kid," said Thom as another rope bound troupe made their way to the zoo entrance. He stood up. "I miss spending time with you."

  Even in this uncomfortable moment, Jericho felt a bond with Thom. "Once this show is mounted I'll have my days free again," said Jericho. He tried to make his voice calm, even friendly, while his rage throbbed below the surface.

  "Maybe a vacation together. We haven't done that in years." Thom kissed each of Jericho's cheeks. All he wanted in that moment was to escape.

  "Could be fun…" The words slipped out of Jericho's tight lips.

  "Fuck. I can't take this fucking clock. Call me." Thom was again oblivious to another passing end-of-the-rope teacher's glare. He walked away, through the middle arch that supported the clock, his hands over his ears. Jericho was glad to see his friend go. He hadn't felt so hurt by him since their romantic breakup decades ago.

  He opened his journal, ready to curse at Thom on the soft pages. Barry's card slipped out. For a fleeting moment he thought about the investment banker he'd reconnected with on the street a few weeks ago; he absently tucked the card back into the pages of his journal and removed the top from his fountain pen.

  * * *

  Aamil sat hunched over his workbench. Small sparks popped as he soldered wires to transistors. The work was delicate. Too much solder and the wires wouldn't conduct electricity; too little and the wires might come loose. He started at a loud bang on his door. Aamil sat up straight, scared and angry. Scared any time there was a knock on the door; angry because the sound had caused him to screw up the last wire.

  He waited. The shadow of feet was easy to see from the rather large gap at the bottom of his door. They weren't his boss's shoes.

  Bang!

  Again, a fist and a single hit on the door. The TV was on, making it obvious that he was home.

  Aamil got up and slowly approached the door. He hoped, during the ten foot journey, that the banger would give up.

  Bang!

  "Who is it?" Aamil asked through the door.

  The stranger had his hand over the peep hole. There was no answer.

  "I'm not opening the door if I don't know who it is. Move your hand."

  There was no response.

  Aamil realized he'd stopped breathing. For a very brief moment he feared that he'd never be able to breathe again. But, his need for oxygen won and he gasped for air. He'd been told when he initially arrived in America and was first in the apartment to never open the door for anyone who didn't use the proper code. There were two. The first was a short knocking series that involved seven raps in a pattern. The second was the phrase "As you requested." The stranger hadn't offered either of these. Aamil softly reached his hand up to the door and slid the chain lock into place. Next, he reached for the long metal pole and positioned it between the notch in the door and the plate in the floor. It would take a battering ram to open the door now. He waited, occasionally forgetting to breathe, all evening long as the shadow of
feet remained outside his door and the bangs came sporadically.

  Eight

  Mondays. The theater community loved their Mondays. For most, it was a day off. Because of the rehearsal schedule, Billy had all day Monday and an extra half day on Tuesday before he had to back for rehearsal. He'd tried to sleep in, but here it was, eight in the morning, sun streaming in the windows, and, while he'd remained in bed, he was wide awake.

  After a few paychecks, and Jericho's prompts, Billy had money in his pocket and in the bank. He felt good about that. He liked that there was some cash set aside for later. Although, after reading the classified ads in the Village Voice he'd need a substantial sum to get his own apartment. No more roommates, no more shares. I want a place of my own, even if it’s a small studio. His only hope was that Jericho would let him stay until he had enough savings. With every paycheck, he feared Jericho would cast him back out on the street. Of course, the director hadn't ever brought up the topic. He'd told Billy he could stay as long as he needed to, he'd even given him key; but, Billy knew there had to be a limit to the man's generosity, especially since there wasn't any trading or bartering going on in the boudoir.

  Billy rolled over in bed and looked out the window at the brownstones across the street. "Why doesn't he want me?" he asked his pillow.

  He loved the soft cotton of the sheets that entangled him. The warmth of the light comforter was, well, comforting. It had shocked him that Jericho lived in such a modest place. The apartment wasn't modest by chorus-boy standards, but Jericho was one of the revered directors and choreographers in the city, had been for Billy's whole life. Yet, here he was, living in a three bedroom apartment in Chelsea. Sure, Chelsea was fashionable now; but, it hadn't been when Jericho took on the lease. The apartment was large compared to those in the modern buildings, with high ceilings and hardwood floors, but still, modest. Billy knew that Jericho bought the space when the building went co-op a few years before. All the same, he'd always envisioned that those who were famous, those who were the shining starts of Broadway, lived in big penthouse apartments, like the ones he'd seen on the sitcoms and in movies. That they had servants and Central Park views.

  Billy wanted to get up to pee. He'd been holding it since he woke up. But, he didn't feel like getting dressed. He also didn't feel like he could wander around the apartment naked. Jericho did tell him: "Make yourself at home." But, there's a limit to that type of behavior when you're a houseguest. He'd only really need to pull on his boxers or a pair of sweat pants to stay within the realm of decorum, but that seemed like too much effort on this day-off morning. Such little covering also wouldn't hide his morning hard on. For that he'd need a shirt, too. It all felt too complicated, so he held his urge.

  The boy picked up his script. Being the understudy for Billy Lawlor, he had to learn all of that character's lines, blocking, and choreography. The dancing and blocking weren't a problem, but the words, memorized words weren't Billy's strong suit. He read them over and over. He just couldn't seem to get them down. The words Billy Lawlor spoke seemed to just hang out there, alone, undefended. So, the chorus boy did the next best thing, he memorized everyone's lines from all the scenes Billy Lawlor appeared in. Billy figured he'd sort it out later if the off chance occurred and he'd actually have to perform the role.

  He couldn't hold it any longer. Billy got out of bed, his dick pointed the way. He pulled on sweat pants. If he ran into Jericho, they'd just have to deal with the morning experience. Billy opened the door, turned the corner and ran right into Jericho, literally poking him with his dick.

  "Well, good morning to you, too!" exclaimed a surprised Jericho.

  "Ah…mmm…morning," said Billy, stunned that what he'd just thought had happened.

  "Where are you taking that?" Jericho asked with a chuckle and a sparkle in his eyes.

  "Morning piss hard," Billy said, comfortable with his body, uncomfortable with his emotions. "Unless you've got a better idea," he added. He really did want Jericho and they both had all day off from work.

  "Well, why not have your morning piss first," said Jericho playfully.

  Both men tried to read the other's actual intention, as if they didn't think they knew what the other wanted.

  Billy was the first to break that exercise. He really did need to pee and he'd waited so long that he might not make it the few feet down the hall the bathroom. "I'll do that," he said. He reached the bathroom and shut the door. His dick was so hard he had to sit to pee, embarrassing, but better than spraying all over the room. He sat and waited for his body to calm down enough to release his urine.

  "I can't believe that I hit on Jericho," Billy whispered to himself, still waiting to pee. Think about something else, he said in his head. Rivers…lakes…Niagara Falls…naked lesbians doing it…That was the thought. His dick softened just enough to urinate. The flow started erratically, but increased in volume and velocity.

  He finished what he needed to and debated a shower. No need, he'd taken one before bed after rehearsal last night. Billy pulled up his sweat pants, washed and dried his hands, and left the bathroom. Jericho wasn't waiting for him in the hall.

  Billy walked slowly down the hallway; looked into his own room, empty; looked into Jericho's room, empty. Disappointed, Billy went back to his room and grabbed a pack of smokes before heading into the kitchen. That's where he found Jericho, sitting at the table reading the paper. Smoke curled up in the shaft of morning sunlight from the cigarette that'd become a constant in Jericho's lips.

  The boy poured himself a cup of coffee and topped off Jericho's cup.

  "Thanks," Jericho said absentmindedly.

  Billy sat down at the table and took a section of the Times. The two men read the paper in silence, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Both were avoiding the near-miss conversation from the hall.

  "Big plans for your day off?" Jericho asked as he folded the Arts and Leisure section back to its original shape. He took the opportunity to admire Billy’s hard, solid, hairless chest. The guy was in great shape and the past few weeks of dance rehearsals had erased the little, barely visible love handles Billy hated and Jericho had found endearing. They’d been little more than two slightly loose folds of skin on Billy’s otherwise perfect frame, yet the boy was overly embarrassed by them.

  Billy looked up from the Apartments for Rent classifieds. Everything listed was out of his price range. "I don't have any plans. Some of the guys are going out to Fire Island for the day, but that just sounds exhausting to me. The train, then the ferry, then partying all day, then getting home and having to work tomorrow."

  "You're not on the schedule until Tuesday afternoon," Jericho said. "You'd have time to recover." Jericho had a flash of Fire Island memories, getting stoned and drunk, dancing till dawn, and rushing back to rehearsal from the train station, smelling of sweat, beer, grass, and sex with no time for a shower. Good times.

  "Yeah, but then I'd be off schedule for a few days." Billy felt like an old man when he said that.

  "Well, you know what's best for you," said Jericho. His tone changed. He longed for just a moment to be a young chorus boy who could spend his day drinking and dancing on Fire Island and be back fresh and with enough energy for a day of rehearsal.

  "How about you?" Billy asked, hoping Jericho would say he'd like to spend the day in bed together.

  "I'm having lunch with the costume designer and then dinner with the lighting designer," Jericho said, unfolding the Metro section.

  Billy would be on his own for the day. He'd also have the apartment to himself. It might be nice to just stay home and read, listen to music, watch bad daytime TV.

  "Sorry I won't be around to keep you company," said Jericho. It was almost like he’d read Billy’s thoughts about a quiet day at home.

  "You don't need to entertain me, although I'd enjoy that." Billy feared he was becoming too forward. He looked up at Jericho. The director's head was down, reading, but he had a smile on his face. "Listen," he waited for
Jericho to look up, which he did. "I know me being here is an inconvenience. I just want you to know how much I appreciate your kindness. And, I also want you to know that I'm looking for a place, but I want a place of my own. I need to save up a few thousand dollars to do that, you know, and—"

  "Billy, you're welcome to stay here as long as you need to. I know it takes time to save up money to move. You're not an inconvenience. I like having a handsome young man living in my apartment." Jericho looked Billy in the eyes as the color started to rise from Billy's neck to his face. "And, I like your little innuendos, too." That did it. Billy's dick was hard and he could feel the burning blush of his face. "Actually, I'd love to have a naked romp with you, Billy Boy. Your cute as shit. But, we're working together. I don't want anything to come between me and my show. After we're up and running…"

  Jericho smiled at the embarrassed boy for a moment longer. He could see them in bed together. He enjoyed a quick fantasy about what he'd do to this boy once he gave himself permission. It was a nice vision, one that continued to sustain him through his choice not to jump on the boy and take him right there on the kitchen table. He dropped his eyes back to the article about a copycat Flash Mob that hadn't gone well at NYU.

  Billy sat in stunned, embarrassed silence. Jericho did want him. Jericho was turned on by him. That was wonderful. Jericho had called him Billy Boy, which thrilled him. He liked that name. He'd had a lover who called him Billy Boy whenever he was about to come. Yet, he'd also heard stories about Jericho's past. He was always showing up everywhere with some young, handsome man on his arm, but now, no one. And, he had Billy at his fingertips. Jericho was okay with him needing time to save money to move out. But, now there was a huge elephant in the room. The sexual tension he felt wasn't only his own. It belonged now to both of them. He wanted to…what? He didn't want to move out now. He wanted to stay. He'd definitely end up in Jericho's bed. There was no question about that now. It was like he had a date, it just wasn't for another six or seven weeks. Wait, Jericho had said after the show opened. Did he mean open for previews or actually, review-in-the-Times open? Previews opened in a week. The small print of the classified ads blurred. Billy felt like he might pass out.