by Judson, Tom
I heard the bathroom door close and footsteps padding softly toward the bedroom. “Are you ready,” asked Scott from the other side of the door. “I’m in bed,” I answered. A pale, delicate hand reached in the door and turned off the light from the switch on the wall.
The room was now totally dark.
I felt the covers being drawn back and the whisper of a body sliding into bed. Scott reached over and began stroking my stomach, his hand traveling up to my chest. Then I felt breath on my face as Scott brought his mouth to mine and placed a dull kiss on my lips. He slipped his tongue in my mouth and left it there, waiting for me to take control.
Just then I felt the first flush of the Viagra. I’ll get through this, I thought.
Scott climbed onto my dick and began to fuck himself. I tried to focus on the physical sensation. Neither of us made a sound; the entire experience was silent.
By the time he returned from the bathroom with a wet towel to wipe the cum from my stomach I had started to fall asleep. He thanked me and turned on his side, facing away from me. Sliding closer I positioned myself behind him and draped my arm over his soft, toneless body. I reached my hand up to tug his ear but overshot my mark and felt a coarse, straw-like substance that I realized was his hair. I quickly lowered my hand and tried not to shudder as sleep finally overtook me.
Sometime later I was awakened by the sound of the bedroom door opening. The darkness of the room told me it was still the middle of the night. A crescent of light crept in from the hall through the open door as Scott’s silhouette returned from the bathroom. “Sorry I woke you,” he said as he slid into bed.
I mumbled something in response and closed my eyes again. In a moment I felt a hand on my thigh. Oh, no. The only thing worse than morning sex is middle-of-the-night sex. I sighed to myself and realized that for a thousand dollars the guy was entitled to more than just one quick fuck.
There was still enough Viagra in my system to give me a quick erection when Scott began to stroke my penis. I put my hands behind my head and attempted to conjure up something sexy enough to make my hardon last through the blow-job. Scott lay on his side, masturbating as he sucked my dick, and soon I indicated with my breathing that I was close to orgasm. He pulled his mouth away and I shot on my stomach as he reached a climax.
After cleaning up I handed the towel to Scott and turned on my side away from him. He pulled the covers up and settled in for sleep.
And then he sneezed.
My eyes snapped open in the darkness. Was Scott coming down with Mark’s cold, or had they switched places in the night?
“Scott?”
“Yes?”
“You okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay. G’night.”
I lay there wondering if I had just had sex with the other twin. Not exactly how I had hoped to fulfill that fantasy of mine, but interesting, nonetheless. Of course, there was the issue of whether they were getting something for nothing. I’m not a multiplex, after all; you can’t buy one ticket and then sneak into the movie next door. I tried—and failed—to imagine how I might raise the subject, and then let the notion slip out of my head into the black night.
A gentle pressure on my shoulder awakened me as Scott (Mark?) stood over me to say that breakfast was waiting down in the kitchen. He was already showered and fully dressed. I rubbed my eyes and mumbled that I’d be down in a few minutes as I watched him close the bedroom door and leave the room.
The twins were whispering to each other as I entered the kitchen. They were not dressed identically this morning. One of them put his cup down on the granite countertop and walked to the coffee pot.
“Coffee, Gus?”
I nodded yes and watched as his delicate hands lifted the pot from its holder and tipped it to pour the steaming liquid into a fresh cup, which he then handed to me.
“Half and half and sugar on the table…”
I sat at the table and selected a muffin from the woven straw basket full of baked goods. The towel lining the basket was of the same blue-striped cotton as the tablecloth. The twins then joined me at the table, one sitting on either side of me. Mark (Scott?) poured orange juice into three glasses before distributing them.
I lifted the glass, the parallel rings etched into the surface creating an alternating smooth/rough sensation in my hand. I looked from one identical face to the other and raised my glass in front of me. After a moment’s pause I toasted them; “Vive la difference,” I uttered, and swallowed the tangy liquid in one gulp. Mark and Scott looked at me and then at each other and then they drank their orange juice.
The men stood in the entryway as I pulled away from their enormous house. The double door was fully open to allow them to stand side by side and they waved to me before turning back inside. I watched in the rear-view mirror as the two halves of the door swung closed and met to become one complete unit.
My mind mulled over the previous evening’s events as I approached the Holland Tunnel in the light Saturday morning traffic. Sailing through the tollbooth as the sensor read my pre-paid tag I looked up and caught a glimpse of the twin towers of the World Trade Center just as my car entered the tile-lined tunnel that would take me to Manhattan and home.
RECOUNTING THE ABBOTTS
With Apologies to Ruth Draper...
Hello?... Well, good morning... Oh, my, it was a fantastic night. I was a participant in the 2005 George Abbott Awards for Excellence in the Theater presented to Rob Marshall, Kathleen Marshall and Harvey Fierstein! I'm still recovering. Not even out of bed yet, to be honest. You know how these benefits are; fun but exhausting... Details, details, it is all about details with you, isn't it? Very well, I'll be happy to tell you about the evening. Well you know, we opened the show with that charming “Wilkommen” from “Cabaret” that Robbie choreographed. A slightly shorter version, of course... What? Yes I dragged out the old alto sax for the occasion. Thank god there was a reed in the case. I haven't played it since last fall... No, my dear, we had one rehearsal a few days before. Yes, just the one... It's called "professionalism", darling. You wouldn't know about that... Joking... I'm joking! You know I have the ultimate respect for your cruise ship work... So demanding, all that rolling as you come out of the Panama Canal and all... Yes, I do remember hearing all about your rendition of “Memory” while wearing taps. Legendary, really. Anyway, darling, the evening closed with a bunch of us gypsies singing “So Long, Farewell” because, well, I'm sure you know, Robbie and Kathleen Marshall's first job in the theater was playing two of those charming Von Trapp children in Pittsburgh... Yes, Pittsburgh... Kathleen? Well, my dear, she never looked lovelier. I've always thought she resembled a younger, more lithe Tammy Grimes. So much like Tammy, don't you think?... Yes, I suppose you would have to add “but sane” to that list. You are wicked. We do love la Grimes, though, don't we? Simply worship her... Now, where was I? Oh, of course, the finale... we had one very quick rehearsal just before the event to stage the number... Come again? Oh, about three dozen of us, I suppose... Yes, it was like the Von Trapps had gone Mormon or something! Row upon row of pivot-step-march-march-march... Who was in it? Well, you know those gypsies; lots of faces one recognizes, but one is never sure from where. There did seem to be one large group who all knew each other or were in one show together or something. I don't really know because they kept to themselves... Oh, I tried, darling. You know me: a regular Pearl Mesta when it comes to a meet-and-greet... No, they just weren't having me... Oh, now stop! There were not more Tony Awards than brain cells among them. No, I won't have you speak ill of dancers... Well, because it's just too easy, that's why... Well, yes, we were invited to the event as guests, not just as the entertainment. It was interesting going to a job in my suit and carrying my casual clothes to wear in the number, rather than the other way around... Oh, it's too true; one simply wants to take a tray of canapes and make the rounds. Yes, it's in one's blood I suppose. Ah well... Black tie, of course... Mostly just your basic tux. A question
able waistcoat here and there, perhaps... Me? Well, no, I don't own a tux anymore, I'm afraid... That Calvin Klein suit. You know the one... Yes, it's fantastic... No, no tie. A shimmery black t-shirt... Three dollars from the Salvation Army!... What's that?... Yes, I am very Sharon Stone that way... Of course I made the rounds! I'm capable of mingling and talking with new people... A lovely fellow named Shaun.... An old friend, Bill, whom I hadn't seen in ages... Yes, of course you know him, I forgot! Oh, I don't know, puppets or something. Oh, and that divine William Ivey Long. You know, he dressed me in “Cabaret”... “Undressed” me in “Cabaret”? Well put, my dear, considering those costumes... Yes, of course he is doing "that movie". Had just come from his final fitting with Nathan Lane, in fact... Oh, come on, you know Nathan and Matthew are doing the film... How's that?... No, I think I'll live without being one of a hundred singing Nazis.... Oh, it's so true; there's that whole set of chorus boys who can shuttle back and forth between “The Producers” and “Sound of Music.” So lucky for them really. Blondes, you know... Dinner was fantastic, although I only had a bite or two as we performed afterwards... Now, you stop! Only two glasses before the show... White... Well, yes, we did just have the one dressing room. It was an event facility, after all, not a theater. Most congenial, really. At one point I was brushing my teeth in the john and that lovely Donna Murphy stuck her head in to ask if I had seen her shoes because she had left her underwear in them... No, I didn't ask if they were her second pair. None of my business, really, was it?... Yes, I was! I swear!... Briefs... White... Anyway, I'm sitting there sucking on my reed and who should come through the door but Chita!... Yes, she looks amazing... I don't know, a hundred at least, I should think... Looks fantastic, though... Oh, and that girl with the teeth from “Princess Diaries”... I know, but you should hear her sing! A revelation!... Yes, our opening number was sensational. Oh, and just who do you think was our Emcee for “Wilkommen”?... No, not even warm... I had suggested that charming RuPaul, but she hasn't worked with either of the Marshalls... Oh, I'll just tell you. Scott Ellis!... Yes, you do so know Scott. He started out as a chorus boy and now he just directs every other show on Broadway... What's that?... “Hope for me yet”? So droll of you, darling. How was that audition, by the way?... No? Pity. Anyway, Scott: Well he just directed “12 Angry Men” and “She Loves Me” and “1776” and just about anything else you can think of!... He's a doll. Adorably nervous about performing again but flawless... Yes, it went off without a hitch. Robbie was at the center table with Renee and John C... yes, both from the “Chicago” movie... No, she didn't have that awful black hair like she did at the Oscars... Oh, you're so right! Between the hair and the up and down weight she'll be bald and saggy if she's not careful. But so precious! I adore her! Really... Well no, you couldn't say I know her... Well no, I didn't exactly meet her. The crowds and all. I know how that can be so I gave her her space, as they say... Yes, I'm sure she appreciated it... Well, actually, Chita performed “Nowadays”... Unbelievable, I know! One by one she was joined by friends and co-workers of Robbie and Kathleen... Well, Lenora Nemetz for one!... Yes, Lenora!... Looks better than ever. You know the Lenora legend, don't you?... Yes, it is true, because she told me herself... No, it wasn't Chita, it was Gwen. Lenora stood by for both of them in the original “Chicago” in '75. During previews Gwen had an injury, but Lenora had never rehearsed... No, not one rehearsal! So Bobby--such a loss!--personally came out on stage before the show and asked the audience to root for her... She was spectacular, of course! Anyway, after that they gave Harvey his award... Droned on and on, as a matter of fact. Not nearly as funny as he is onstage... What?... What's that?... No! Tell me you're joking! Harvey Weinstein, not Fierstein?!... The motion picture fellow?... Now that you mention it, they did make a couple of Disney jokes I didn't quite get. Well, my dear, that does explain his expression when I told him how much he was missed in “Hairspray”... Now, stop! You're just being mean, now. "I could be a dancer," indeed!... The finale? Charming. Charming! The whole lot of us made it to the stage and did the number as if we'd rehearsed for days... Yes, darling, “professional”... Can we please not go through that again?... Thank you, dear... Afterwards? Mayhem, just as you'd expect. A little mingling, a little networking. Oh! And I met that queer fellow.... Yes, I know most of them were, but I mean from TV... No, just cable... You know, that show you love... yes, that's it! “Carson”, that's his name. So charming, so down to earth. He swears he never goes out, but I've seen him myself about once a week for the past six months... Yes, the entire evening was thrilling and I'm thrilled I was asked... Yes, totally exhausted. Oh, hold on darling, can you? I have a call coming in. I'll be right back............. Dearest, I must run. I completely forgot I'm having lunch with that dreamboat from “42nd Street.” No, the tenor!... Oh, don't congratulate me yet! What?... Oh, yes, au revoir to you, too. Oh, how I envy you your French!... Yes, I swear I'll give you all the details. Even though you know how I hate to talk on the phone... Yes, my dear. Kisses to Derwood! Ciao!
“DID YOU HAVE A VIEW?”
To the far right of the view from my comfortable terrace here at Turtle Cottage on the island of Saba in the Dutch Antilles lies a mountain peak… [totally random aside—that opening line sounded just like Barbara Stanwyck’s bogus country life column in “Christmas in Connecticut.” You may never know if I’m even really here.) Anyway, about this mountain peak; it’s there and it’s almost always shrouded in mist. No, not shrouded so much as used as a piece of exercise equipment by the constant fog. The clouds vault over the mountain the same way car commercials used to tout the aerodynamic properties of 1970s gas-guzzlers by shooting a jet of smoke over the contours of a sedan.
This is Mt. Scenery. At 2855 feet it is jokingly (and accurately) referred to as “the highest point in The Netherlands” and hiking to its summit is de rigueur for visitors to Saba. I was a slug on my first visit to the island so I didn’t even consider a climb. But this time, with all summer to kill, I had no excuse. Yesterday I decided to make my assault.
The trail up the mountain is an oddity: most of it is either paved with asphalt or has steps cut into the stone, but it’s also a non-stop ascent and, because it’s a rainforest, the way can be very slick. The humidity encourages lush, oversized vegetation; the trees and rocks wear thick green moss like a gramma with her sweater pulled tight in the air-conditioning.
I had no intention of climbing to the summit in one fell swoop. Along the way there are brief detours to scenic overlooks and—the real point of my hike—a restaurant where I planned to have lunch.
The Ecolodge is just what the name implies: an environmentally-friendly guest house. They use solar power as much as possible, provide no phones or televisions and grow as much of their own produce as they can. They do have hot showers—if it’s been sunny enough to heat the water. You can get to the Ecolodge from an access road but the dramatic approach is through the forest. Following the pointer from the main trail you start to notice the flowers along the path gradually becoming more manicured and domesticated. Then you round a bend and the Ecolodge restaurant sits in front of you like a pavilion straight out of the Clark Gable/Jean Harlow movie “Red Dust”; wide verandas and long bands of windows with hurricane shutters propped open for shade. Inside it’s cool and dark. And nearly silent. Because there’s no music piped in the diners tend to murmur to one another rather than speak at a normal volume. Silverware clinks on china. It’s almost eerily quiet.
I imagined I was adventurer in the wild striding in for some drink and conversation; slapping my crop on the bar, my pet monkey climbing down from my shoulders to grab a banana from the bunch hanging by the door; I pull the kerchief from around my neck to wipe my sweaty forehead as I order a rum. From Thomas Mitchell.
In real life I had neither a crop, a monkey nor a kerchief. Or a rum. And the bartender was played by a young blond named Dana who spoke with the same voice and cadence as Shelley Duvall. Dana is married to the son of the founder of Ecolodg
e and she can really put together a beautiful plate of food. For me, a grilled tuna salad. Talk about your childhood wishes—you can even eat the flowers. After killing some time with my book and an after-meal toothpick, Pogo climbed back on my shoulder as I saluted Dana with my crop and left the restaurant to resume my ascent.
The higher I got, the more lush the vegetation. Snatches of Debussy played in my head that—as I climbed further into the clouds—morphed into Max Steiner jungle drums. Although I wouldn't have been surprised to spot a poorly animated pterodactyl I wasn't expecting the speckled hen that darted across my path with a Bantam rooster in close pursuit. Huh?
