Date: Sun, 13 Jun 2010 06:50:11 EDT
From: BertMcK@aol.com
Subject: Dancing on the Tundra, 14

DANCING ON THE TUNDRA
by Bert McKenzie
Copyright 2010

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to any real
person alive or dead is coincidental and unintentional.
 
CHAPTER XIV

     His mom screamed, threatened and cried, all to no avail. 
Terry's mind was made up and he was after all, an adult. 
Surprisingly enough, he received virtually no opposition from his
father.  On later reflection he decided this was probably
typical.  It underscored the fact that the man didn't really seem
to care about him.  The man had given up long ago and emotionally
separated himself from his son.  However, the lack of opposition
only strengthened Terry's stance on the issue.  Finally his
mother had to agree or at least give in.  He was moving to New
York to live with Wayne.

     Terry's mother just couldn't understand why her son would
want to move to New York.  It was a big, dangerous city and so
very far away.  Terry graduated and had a teaching certificate. 
He could get a nice, safe job teaching high school drama right
here in the Midwest.  It didn't matter to her that there was a
glut of secondary education teachers on the market thanks to the
military deferments that had been granted to teachers and college
students for a time during the Vietnam war.  It didn't matter
that Terry had been on seven interviews and had not received one
job offer.  All that mattered to the woman was that her baby was
moving away to the big city about which she heard such terrible
things.  And to make matters worse, he was moving there with that
swishy black boy.  It was one thing to have him for a college
roommate.  That was only temporary.  But to move to a whole
different state with the undesirable man, that was something
else.

     Terry got off the train at Grand Central Station and was
immediately greeted by his old friend.  Wayne ran up to him with
a shriek of delight and gave him a big hug.  "Sugar, it's so good
to see you!  I think you've grown prettier over the last year." 
Terry felt slightly self conscious over Wayne's obvious
attentions.  He worried at first that people might stare and
notice them, but as Wayne was quick to point out, they were in
New York.  Terry had to adjust his way of thinking.  He was no
longer in the Midwest.  They took the subway uptown and got off
on a stop only a block from Wayne's building.  The two of them
managed to drag Terry's luggage, containing all of his worldly
possessions up the three flights to the tiny apartment.  It was a
rather dingy dwelling, but considering the scarcity of affordable
flats in the city, it would suffice.

     Wayne had more or less inherited the apartment from its
previous tenant, and his former roommate, a man by the unlikely
name of Wiz.  Wiz was a gypsy, a dancer who took whatever theatre
jobs came along.  When his most recent show went on the road, Wiz
packed up and went with it, leaving the apartment and the
pseudonym of George O'Malley behind.  George O'Malley was the
name on the lease and as long as the landlord thought George was
still the tenant, she refused to raise the rent.  So apparently,
the shabby little apartment had been handed down from person to
person through a long line of false George O'Malleys.

     The apartment itself was on the top floor of an old building
and had lots of windows.  Unfortunately they all seemed to look
out on dirty brick walls of neighboring structures.  The living
room was wallpapered in a faded grey floral print that was
cracking and peeling in spots.  The room was barely large enough
to hold an old, beat up couch, an easy chair, one end table with
a short leg that needed to be propped up with a book and an old,
portable, black and white TV on a metal stand.  The living room
opened into a big, white kitchen that was almost twice as large. 
>From the kitchen were two doors, one to Wayne's bedroom and one
to the bath.

     "So I thought you said I had a separate room," Terry
observed as he looked about for a place to drop his suitcases.

     "Oh, yeah, right through here."  Wayne led him into the
bathroom.  An antique looking claw foot bathtub jutted out from
one wall.  It had a shower that was used by drawing a curtain all
around on a metal track.  There was a tiny space to slip by the
tub, and on the far wall behind it was a narrow door.  "This is
your place," Wayne said as he stepped behind the tub and opened
the door.  The small room beyond seemed to be designed as a huge
walk in closet, but had since been converted into a tiny bedroom. 
It was just large enough to hold a double bed on one wall, the
other wall containing a long rod beneath a wooden shelf,
obviously designed to hold clothes.  Several windows covered the
wall under the shelf, but they would be obscured if anything were
hung on the clothes rod.

     "Wayne," Terry said as he surveyed the room, "this is a
closet."

     "No, it's got a bed," his friend said, as if that was the
major determining factor.  "In fact, it's softer than my bed."

     "But I have to go through the bathroom and practically climb
over the tub to get in here."

     "So?"  Wayne didn't seem to notice a problem with this.  "I
guess it might be a little inconvenient."

     "So what if I want in my room and someone's in the
bathroom?"

     "Someone?  Honey, there's only the two of us living here. 
Believe me, I'll understand if you walk through while I'm taking
a shit."  Wayne suddenly brightened.  "Besides, you've got an
added bonus in here.  He pointed to another tiny door opposite
the one from the bathroom.

     "How quaint, a closet with a closet," Terry remarked as he
dropped a suitcase on the bed.

     "No, it's the roof," Wayne corrected him.  The black man
opened the door to reveal a narrow flight of steps curving out of
sight just beyond.  Terry leaned in and saw that the steps led to
a larger metal door just above.  He ventured up the stairs,
turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open.  The small,
terraced roof stretched out before him.  Terry stepped out and
looked around.  "Great, hunh?" Wayne asked from the doorway.  At
the moment great was not the description Terry would have used. 
It was just a flat expanse of space surrounded by a low wall. 
However, Terry thought it might be a nice retreat in the cool
evenings if he brought a lounge chair up, and maybe some plants. 
"We can have some great parties up here," Wayne added.

     "But you have to go through the bathroom and my bedroom to
get here," Terry protested.

     "Well, we'll think about that later."

     After he was unpacked and settled in, Wayne insisted on
taking Terry down to the Village to visit some of his favorite
gay nightspots.  They met several of Wayne's friends and some of
his co-workers from the restaurant where he waited tables.  Terry
had a great time, but was finally ready to call it a night when
his friend 'got lucky.'  Wayne gave Terry very explicit
directions on what train to take to get home and sent him on his
way.  Riding the subway late at night was a unique and somewhat
unnerving experience, but Terry managed to make it back to the
right stop without incident.  He had almost fallen asleep when he
was awakened by sounds from the rest of the apartment.  His first
thought was a burglar, and he quietly got up and tiptoed to the
bathroom door.  He opened it and listened intently.  Suddenly he
was assailed by a high pitched giggle.  In the past year Terry
had forgotten what it was like to live with Wayne.  But now the
memories came flooding back.  Wayne and some guy were laughing
together as they strolled back to the other bedroom.  Terry only
shook his head, pulled his door shut and went back to bed.

     Later during the night he was awakened by the sounds of the
shower running just a couple of feet from his bedroom door.  He
realized that sleeping through the sounds of the apartment was
going to take quite some getting used to, not to mention ignoring
the unaccustomed sounds of the big city below.  It seemed that
the traffic noised never died down.  He closed his eyes and tried
to sleep but it was no use.  He was now wide awake, so he pulled
on his jeans and opened the door to climb the stairs to the roof. 
Terry leaned on the low wall and breathed in the sounds of the
night.  He still could hardly believe that he was here in the Big
Apple.  Tomorrow he would begin pounding the pavement in search
of a real theatre job.  He had a copy of the latest Variety and
was ready to attend several cattle calls for singers, dancers,
actors and general chorus parts in several new shows.  But,
tonight the night was his.  He bathed in the excitement of the
city and his small place in it.

                            *   *   *

     A week had passed and Terry had no luck.  He was already
totally discouraged and ready to return home.  He still had his
teaching certificate.  He was sure that if he persisted he would
find a job in some backwoods public school system that no one
else wanted.  Despite Wayne's arguments to the contrary, Terry
decided he would give himself one more week.  At the end of that
time he would either have to move home or else find some kind of
subsistence job.  He was rapidly running out of money.  Wayne
kept pushing an opening for waiters at the restaurant where he
worked.  He insisted that many famous actors worked as waiters
between shows.  Terry knew this made sense, but he wasn't ready
to give up just yet.  And he saw accepting a non-theatre job as a
form of defeat.

     Then, the day before he was to decide to leave or stay and
change careers, the phone call came in.  He was offered a small
role in an off-Broadway show in the Village.  It was the part of
a dancer in a play entitled "Six Months on the Floor with
Spiders."  The title seemed to have nothing to do with the play,
and the play wasn't even a musical but they wanted a dancer who
would do interpretive movement between scenes.  It was an
experimental, avant guard, impressionistic piece about the
dissolution of marriage and rise of divorce in modern society. 
Terry excitedly accepted and planned to begin rehearsals the next
day.

     When Wayne came home that evening Terry told him the news
and they both screamed and danced for joy.  "I've been here for a
year and all I get is one lousy laxative commercial, and you're
here two weeks and you land an off-Broadway show!" Wayne remarked
with envy.  "Sugar, we are going out to celebrate tonight, my
treat."

     "No, Wayne.  I've got a job that starts tomorrow.  I can't
just . . ."

     "The hell you can't.  Don't you know most of an actor's
contacts are made in social settings.  You and me is goin' out
drinking and dancing, and a whole lot more.  Now go get prettied
up."  Terry was unable to protest.  Wayne's enthusiasm rolled
over him like a steam roller on hot asphalt.

     An hour later Terry and Wayne were sitting at a sidewalk
cafe in the Village.  Terry wanted to find out exactly where he
was going the next morning and Wayne wanted to try a new
restaurant he'd heard of.  As they ate, Wayne continually scanned
the crowd.  For the most part it seemed to be composed of an
equal mixture of young, upwardly mobile men in conservative
business suits and flamboyantly dressed artsy types in wildly
colorful clothing, loose fitting caftans or t-shirts and jeans of
multi-hued designs.  "Wayne," Terry said as he glanced cautiously
around, "I just noticed that almost everyone here is male."

     "Well of course, hon," the black man replied with an
innocent smile.  "This is a gay owned restaurant.  They cater to
our kind."  Wayne seemed perfectly happy with the situation but
Terry suddenly became nervous.  He had been in several gay bars,
most of such experiences having occurred after moving to New
York, but this was a first.  It was one thing to be in a gay bar
and quite another to be sitting at a table at a sidewalk cafe
where absolutely anyone could walk by.  Terry ordered light and
ate quickly, hoping Wayne would do the same, but his black friend
seemed to linger over his meal, making it last until darkness
descended on the street and tiny Chinese lanterns with electric
bulbs inside were turned on.  Finally, the dinner ended and the
two left.

     "Next we're going to the Cavern," Wayne announced.

     "I think I really should be getting home."

     "Don't be silly.  It's early, and besides, I have it on good
authority that a well known theatrical agent frequents this
particular establishment.  You're going to need a good agent. 
Let's go."

     The Cavern was located in the basement of a building off of
42nd Street.  It would have been impossible to spot if one didn't
know where to look.  But fortunately, Wayne seemed quite familiar
with its environs.  He and Terry worked their way to the crowded
bar and snagged a couple of beers.  They then found a padded
bench along one wall, just by the dance floor.  "So where's this
agent you mentioned?" Terry asked as they watched incredibly sexy
men whirl and gyrate past them, many wearing skin tight, colored
tank tops which showed off their perfect, gym-toned muscles.

     "You wait here and I'll go ask Troy," Wayne shouted over the
intense rhythm pumping from the speakers.  He then disappeared
into the crowd leaving Terry alone to wonder who Troy was.

     "How's it going?" an attractive young man with red hair
asked as he sat down in the spot just vacated by Wayne.

     "Okay," Terry said and glanced shyly away.

     "It's really quiet in the back room tonight.  You been back
there?" the red head asked.

     "No," Terry answered, not really sure what the boy meant. 
He wondered if the noisy, crowded bar had another room that was
quieter and more conducive to conversation.

     "You want to go with me?" the boy asked, an innocent smile
on his face.

     Terry did want to get out of the intense blare from the
stereo speakers, but he didn't want to lose Wayne.  "I'm kind of
waiting for a friend," he shouted back over the music.

     The cute young man's face fell in disappointment. 
"Boyfriend, hunh?"

     "No," Terry answered quickly.  "Just a friend."

     The young man seemed to brighten again.  "I could be your
friend," he volunteered.

     "Okay," Terry agreed, anxious to get out of the deafening
noise and looking forward to visiting with this cute guy who
seemed interested in him.  The young red head grabbed his hand
and pulled him through the crowd on the dance floor.

     "Where you going?" Wayne asked as Terry passed him.  At
first, Terry didn't realize it was his roommate.  He thought
Wayne had gone in search of someone who could give him
information about an agent.  Now here he was dancing with an
incredibly tall, incredibly thin and incredibly dark skinned
black man with a thick, bushy Afro.

     "The back room," Terry answered, hoping Wayne would meet him
back there.  Wayne's face broke into a big smile and he gave
Terry a thumbs up sign.

     It would be an understatement to say that the back room was
not what Terry expected.  There were a number of low benches
placed around the sides of a big empty room.  It was lit only
with one low wattage bulb that had been dipped in red paint.  On
several of the benches men in various states of undress were
engaged in sex, some coupling in enthusiastic passion, others
just mindlessly moving in bored rhythm as though they had nothing
better to do with their lives, and perhaps they hadn't.  Terry
glanced around in astonishment as the young man led him through
the beaded curtain and into the dimly lit room.  He gasped as the
thick smell of smoke, sweat and sperm engulfed him.  The young
man guided Terry to an empty spot along one wall and dropped to
his knees, unfastening Terry's trousers and reaching inside.

     As the boy began his fellatio, Terry was at first too
surprised, shocked and a little bit frightened to respond.  But
the young man worked with enthusiasm and proved his experience as
he began to bring Terry more and more intense pleasure.  Terry
closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.  He began to
give himself over to the hedonistic thrills his body was
experiencing from the man kneeling before him.  All too soon he
began to feel the intense and exquisite pleasure building to
climax, then suddenly and without warning he began his orgasm. 
As soon as the experience had passed the young man stood and
kissed him on the mouth.  Terry had the unusual experience of
tasting himself on the red head's lips and then the man
disappeared leaving Terry alone in the dark room with the passion
of others writhing around him.  Terry quickly did up his pants
and left the room, then the bar.

     When he was out on the dark street, he drank in the quiet
and the fresh night air.  He had experienced the thrill of
physical contact in the back room and enjoyed it, but the
pleasure seemed different when viewed after the fact from the
calm of the night.  Terry began to walk slowly down the street,
vaguely heading in the direction of the subway.  He contemplated
what had just happened.  In the past he would have fled from the
back room in terror, the minute he realized what was going on
there.  But this time he didn't.  In fact, he stayed and actually
enjoyed himself.  Every time after sex before he had been filled
with guilt.  But now, he felt no remorse over the act.  He and
the young man in the back room had both gotten what they wanted. 
No one was hurt.  So why should he feel guilty.  Terry suddenly
realized that sex was fun and natural, and for him there was
nothing wrong with having sex with another man.  He felt that at
last, in this gigantic city he could be free.  He could be free
to be himself and do as he pleased.  He no longer had to hide in
shadows and lie about himself.  Terry suddenly felt like singing
at the top of his lungs.  He was free and tomorrow he would be
starting his first job as a professional actor.

                            *   *   *

     "Do you have any problem with performing in the nude?" the
pudgy, bespectacled assistant to the director asked Terry shortly
after everyone had assembled in the rehearsal hall and paperwork
had been completed and scripts handed out.

     "Well . . . I guess not," Terry replied nervously.  After
all, he had danced in many shows in college in tights and a
leotard which showed off his body.  But still the thought of
appearing nude scared him.  This was his first big break.  He
didn't want to ruin his chances of appearing in anything else
legitimate by doing this.

     "Have you ever done a nude scene before?" the pudgy girl
asked.

     "Yes, I have," Terry answered, thinking back on his freshman
year in college and his performance in 'Antigone.'

     The cast sat around a conference table and read through the
script with the director while the set designer and assistant to
the director marked the set on the floor using masking tape. 
Terry didn't have much to do during the first few rehearsals.  He
had no lines in the show and didn't interact with any of the
characters.  It seemed that his job was to provide transition
from one scene to the next, although he didn't really see how. 
All he did was dance across the stage between each scene, which
seemed to have as little to do with the play as did the title.

     Halfway through the rehearsal period a choreographer was
brought in to work with Terry and give him the movements he was
to perform.  Then, as opening night drew close, the costumer
brought in the clothes for the actors.  Everyone wore bright,
multicolored tights and leotards except for Terry.  He wore what
amounted to transparent jazz pants and a shirt, both made out of
a sheer material.  The designer explained that this costume
symbolized man's inhibitions which he wore like clothing, but the
transparency pointed out the uselessness of such inhibitions
which did nothing to protect the inner man.  Terry thought that
basically it was just so much bullshit which allowed the director
and his assistant to get off on looking at Terry's body while
capitalizing on the recent trend in nude theatre.

     It became evident early on that the director was interested
in Terry for more than just his role in the play.  The man was a
thin, waspish person with a badly designed toupee that did
nothing to compliment his narrow, pinched face and long thin
nose.  When he wasn't working with the other performers he was
trying to get Terry alone.  Several times he would stop the dance
segments and come over to make a minor adjustment of Terry's
position, placing his hands on Terry's arms or legs and
occasionally on his shoulders or pelvis.  But as hard as the
director tried to get Terry alone, his special assistant tried
harder to be around.  She seemed to like looking at Terry, but
she also appeared to resent the way he attracted the director
through no fault of his own.  Consequently, she managed to always
be nearby, acting as a chaperon, much to Terry's relief and the
director's annoyance.  She probably would have been fired long
ago had it not been for the fact that her uncle was the producer.

     Opening night finally arrived and the house lights of the
tiny little theater dimmed.  Terry had an uncomfortable feeling
in the pit of his stomach before going on.  He actually worried
about how his part in the show would be received.  All the
rehearsals had seemed so different from the actual performance. 
He felt suddenly very open and vulnerable, dancing in front of
eighty strangers with only the thinnest film of transparent cloth
surrounding him.  He worried that they might actually laugh. 
Just as the music began a hand squeezed his butt.  "Go out there
and knock them dead with that cute little bod' of yours,
gorgeous," the director breathed in his ear.  The man had slipped
backstage to wish the cast well.

     Terry didn't have time to think or react.  His music cue
came up and he stepped out into the light, executing the first
steps of the routine he had been practicing.  He was glad to be
away from the roving hands of the director, and it was a relief
to have the anticipation behind him as he concentrated on the
moment at hand.  He slid his bare feet along the floor and
stretched out into an erotic pose.  "Where are you going?" a
nasal voice spoke up behind him as the spot light faded on him
and the lights brightened on the cast on the center of the stage. 
Terry counted to three, then slowly pulled back and turned
around, moving smoothly into the wings.  Fortunately no one was
there waiting for him.  He was afraid of running into the
director, again.  Terry quickly slipped back to the green room to
wait for his next cue.

     At the end of the show, the cast all took a bow in
character, then moved upstage as Terry danced on, bowed, then
posed as the lights blacked out.  The applause was sporadic and
unenthusiastic.  This brought on a dispirited mood of gloom,
descending upon the company as tangibly as the curtain that
dropped in front of their stage.  Terry rushed for the dressing
room to get out of his costume and into real clothes as quickly
as possible.  Much to his embarrassment, he found a bouquet of
red roses waiting in front of his mirror.  The other men in the
show trailed in, casting odd looks at Terry who quickly changed
and then tore open the card, expecting it to be from Wayne.  "A
new star is born," it read.  "Meet me to celebrate after the cast
party, Johnny."  It had come from the lecherous director.

     "Let's see this," one of the other cast members said as he
snatched the card out of Terry's hand.  "Well, well.  Now we know
why we're in a flop.  Our director was spending so much time with
the new star he didn't have time to fix the show."

     Terry blushed as the others agreed and passed the card
around.  "It's not my fault," he protested.  "I don't even like
the guy."

     Before he could say anything further the director, assistant
to the director, and producer all came bustling into the dressing
room warmly congratulating everyone on an outstanding
performance.  "What beautiful flowers," the director remarked as
he spotted the roses he had sent to Terry.  "Well, young man,
whoever they were from, you must have quite an admirer."  He then
winked as if to imply that it was to be their secret.

     "Yes, they're very pretty," the pudgy woman at his side
remarked.  "Who are they from?"

     Terry stammered for a moment, then managed to say, "A
friend, an acquaintance actually, not a very close one."

     "Well you shall have to remedy that, won't you?" the
director chimed in as the woman looked pointedly from one to the
other of the two men.