They passed men of various ages, sizes, and shapes. Many were American, but based on the languages, there were men from a variety of other countries as well.
Some of the men carried themselves with a style of the upper crust, of the more leisure class, while others were clearly working class men.
Regardless of the type of man, they mostly shared one feature: they had their eyes focused on one another. Every time a new man entered the room, all eyes turned to see who he was. Often they would look, gather the information they wanted, and then look away.
One thing that surprised Theodore—and it took him a while to figure out—other than basic transactional details between the customers and the scrubbers or other staff, there was remarkably little conversation to be heard. Occasionally men would engage one another in conversation. But for the most part, the rooms they passed through were quiet. There was one room that was a bit different—the room where two naked men were scrubbing bathers.
“Are we supposed to take turns scrubbing one another?” Theodore whispered to Martin.
“No. Those two are employees of the baths. They’re called ‘rubbers,’ and their job is to scrub you, or rub you—get it?” Martin asked with a chuckle. “They soap you up, scrub you down, and then you rinse off under the showerheads over there.” He indicated two showerheads along the wall. “Once you get clean, you can take a dip in the tank, or what some have taken to calling the ‘pool.’”
As their walking tour continued, Martin pointed out dozens of low chaise lounges scattered throughout the place, most already occupied. Theodore couldn’t help but notice the many, many sets of eyes that seemed to gaze their way and follow them as they walked. “Those are cooling sofas. You get your bath, you take a dip in the tank, and you then can lie down to cool off and dry off.”
“I can see why you need to cool off,” Theodore commented. “It is very warm in here.”
“You want a bunch of men walking around naked to be comfortable, you turn the temperature up,” Martin explained.
As they passed through one room, Martin pulled aside a curtain so they could enter a room significantly darker than the rest. It took Theodore a moment to realize the only light that reached the room was filtered through the sheer white curtain that separated that room from the one they had just left. Before Martin allowed the sheer curtain to fall back into place, Theodore would almost have sworn he saw the impossible. It had almost seemed like two of the men were sexually coupled. And then he realized—it was actually the case.
Even though he desperately wanted to look away, Theodore couldn’t tear his gaze away from the scene in front of him. Right there in the middle of the cooling room, with more than a dozen other men standing around watching, one man was orally pleasing another. Theodore was torn between wanting to be elsewhere and wanting the room to be illuminated so he could see better. He forgot how to breathe.
When Martin pulled on his arm, Theodore moved out of the cooling room with him. He desperately wanted to ask Martin a thousand questions, but Martin placed his finger against his lips, indicating silence. Theodore was confused, but he honored Martin’s request and kept his questions to himself, hoping Martin would soon make clear to him why they had to be silent.
Once they were in a quiet corner of one room, Martin whispered. “Notice everyone is quiet. Don’t engage in unnecessary chatter about anything sexual while here.”
“Why?” Theodore asked.
“Later,” Martin promised.
Martin finished giving Theodore his tour of the facility. Theodore was confused as to why Martin suddenly stopped and physically turned him toward a door.
“Martin! What are you doing?” Theodore asked softly.
Martin didn’t answer but instead reached out and knocked on the door. Theodore looked up, noticed a number 2 on the door, and suddenly understood what Martin was doing. Theodore’s eyes went wide with shock when simultaneously Martin stepped away and the door to the room opened. The man who looked out smiled when he saw Theodore and gestured for him to enter.
Theodore did not have to be asked twice.
Chapter Fourteen—The Price of Advice Ignored
AN HOUR later, Theodore left Room 2. The first thing he did was to go in search of Martin so he could tell him about his encounter. He had to wander through several rooms to finally find Martin. Theodore thought Martin would look his way, anxious to hear about his recent experience. But Martin was fixated on another man. Martin and the other man were standing merely two feet apart, staring at each other so intensely that Theodore could practically feel the heat rising from them.
Some sort of message was exchanged, because Martin and the man moved into a cooling room. Theodore remained behind. He sighed in frustration, not realizing that in the general quiet of the bathhouse, his sigh would be so noticed. A rather large, unattractive man, not much older than himself actually, was standing nearby and asked him, “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, sorry,” Theodore apologized instinctively. “Just frustrated trying to get my friend to focus on me for a second so I could tell him I’m ready to go home.”
“Too focused on his dick, is he?” the big guy laughed.
Martin had cautioned Theodore about not engaging in any conversation of a sexual nature, which most certainly was not a problem since Theodore found the subject too embarrassing to discuss with a complete stranger. Still, his innate politeness would not let him just walk away and leave the conversation. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he also didn’t have it in himself to be rude either.
“I have no idea what’s in his mind,” Theodore finally answered truthfully.
“If you don’t mind me asking, kid, you don’t look like you fit here. What the hell are you doing in a place like this?”
Theodore didn’t know how to take that question. Had the man just insulted him? If so, why? Theodore knew the statement called for a response, but he didn’t know quite what to say.
“What do you mean?” he asked the stranger, trying to fish for additional information that could help him to answer the question.
“Well, for one, you look so nervous you might jump out of your skin any second. This isn’t your kind of place, kid.”
Theodore sighed. He wanted to remain mute and to ignore the conversation the stranger was clearly trying to initiate, but the man seemed to have such an accurate read on Theodore that he just couldn’t do that. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, feeling something between shy and embarrassed. “This isn’t my kind of place. I have never been here before tonight.”
“Kid, let me give you a piece of advice,” the stranger looked around to apparently ensure no one would hear his words. Lowering his voice, he softly but sternly cautioned Theodore. “You should get dressed and go home—right now. As fast as possible. Get dressed and get out of here. Leave your friend if he won’t leave. But you should go home. Trust me. If you stay much longer, you will be very unhappy. Please, kid, this clearly isn’t where you belong, and if you only listen to one piece of advice all year long, listen to me now.”
Theodore found the man to be strange and his advice to be even more unusual. While it seemed that most of the men present were there to find someone of similar interests, this man was the only one trying to tell him to leave. Theodore could not imagine why this stranger was so determined that he should leave the bath.
“As soon as I can pull my friend away, I assure you I am most ready to head home. It’s long past my bedtime.”
“Trust me,” the odd man said before he walked away and disappeared into another part of the facility. Theodore found the conversation to be most disconcerting. If only he could get Martin’s attention, the two of them could get dressed and leave.
Theodore actually considered just leaving, but that felt too much like abandoning Martin, and he couldn’t do that. He retrieved his clothes and dressed so he could leave. Even though he could barely be still, he tried to sit down at a table in the room and look at a newspa
per someone had left lying about. He wanted just one thing: for Martin to be ready so they could leave together. Every moment he waited was sheer torture. It went against everything to leave Martin since they had come together, but the warning from the strange man had made him anxious and he wanted to go home.
At one thirty, Theodore was beyond ready to leave. He was sleepy and found the increasing number of men present to make him feel a bit claustrophobic. He couldn’t understand why, as the hour grew later—or earlier, depending on perspective—the number of men present increased.
Finally out of patience, Theodore decided that if Martin wasn’t ready, he could stay as long as he wanted.
Once he felt that he was appropriately reassembled for going out in public, Theodore went in search of Martin to tell him that he was leaving. He didn’t have to search far to find Martin, since Martin hadn’t left the room Theodore had last seen him enter. The room was darker and without illumination, so it took Theodore a moment for his eyes to acclimate to the lack of lighting.
When his eyes finally did adjust, Theodore beheld a sight that took his breath away—there in front of him, lying on his back on one of the cooling lounges, was Martin. The sheet that had covered him earlier was cast aside, his legs were upright and were resting on the shoulders of another man. And that man was…. Good Lord! Theodore could not believe that Martin was openly engaged in sexual activity, and in front of a large and eager audience, no less.
Theodore found the whole thing to be disconcertingly tawdry. He had seen Martin engaged with another man before, but that time Theodore had been the only person other than Martin and the man with whom he was occupied. But to do this in front of an audience was dangerous beyond belief, and Theodore was appalled.
For Theodore, sex was a private matter, a matter of great intimacy between two people. It most assuredly was not something that was meant to be done in front of an audience.
After watching Martin and the other man, Theodore shook his head and walked out of the room. He retrieved his outdoor coat, pulled it on, straightened his tie somewhat, and was prepared to leave.
Martin could stay as long as he liked, fornicate with as many men as he liked, but Theodore was exhausted and wanted to go home. He needed sleep. Checking his pocket watch, he was appalled to see that it was 1:43 in the morning. Theodore could not remember another time when he’d been awake so late.
Theodore had just pulled his outer coat on and had turned to walk toward the door to leave when he heard a man announce in a loud voice, completely out of the norm in the nearly silent bathhouse, “This is a raid. This is a raid. This is the New York City police. You are all under arrest. No one move until instructed to do so.”
The man, whoever and wherever he was, repeated his words as he moved from room to room throughout the bathhouse. “This is a raid. This is a raid. This is a raid.” A number of uniformed policemen were now entering and spreading out throughout the facility, each looking menacing and annoyed.
Theodore’s heart plummeted to somewhere near his feet. He felt his face grow hot and then just as suddenly grow cold. He felt lightheaded. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. This could not be happening. Theodore had never in his life been in trouble. Theodore almost passed out from shock and fear, only barely managing to remain upright.
Spying the man he’d spoken uncomfortably with earlier, Theodore noticed that this time the man was dressed as a police officer and was no longer attired in only a sheet draped over his shoulders and around his waist. Making eye contact with the man, Theodore worriedly asked, “Sir, what’s happening?”
Gone was the man’s earlier sympathetic concern. In its place was now a level of focused ferocity that scared Theodore. “Just what the man said,” he snapped. “This is a raid. Immoral and criminal behavior has been reported in this establishment and has now been witnessed by a number of officers, myself included. Everyone here is under arrest.” Lowering his voice, he said to Theodore, “Now you see why I encouraged you to leave earlier when I did. Too bad you didn’t listen to me.”
“But I haven’t done anything,” Theodore said meekly. His sense of panic did not lessen. If anything it worsened as he heard the explanation of what was happening. Theodore was quickly joined by a couple of dozen men, all attired in only a sheet, as they were herded into the big room. He was the only one who had his street clothes on. The men surrounding him were murmuring to one another to the point that the voices were a low din. Many of them looked to be as panicked as Theodore was feeling.
“No talking,” another officer shouted at them, holding up his nightstick in a threatening gesture. Most of the assembled men followed his order, but one man did not. That man was clearly quite upset about the situation and did not hesitate to share his views with the officer.
“Now see here—” he started to say.
“I said no talking,” the police officer shouted. Theodore could not believe the anger on his face. The man was furious for some unknown reason.
He and another officer started to roughly shove some of the men covered with sheets who had the misfortune of being in their way. One man was shoved so hard he hit the wall, losing his sheet in the process.
“Who said that?” the officer demanded.
“Me,” one man said boldly.
Theodore could see what was coming before it happened and simply could not believe such an act was possible. The officer who was angriest raised his nightstick and brutally brought it down onto the offending man. Theodore heard the crack of the club connecting with the man’s head. In all his years, he had never seen such a violent act. He was absolutely horrified. It only took one good connection of a nightstick to silence the man.
“Anyone else not understand?” the officer demanded. As he and the other policeman turned to move back out of the crowd, Theodore clearly heard the one say, “Fucking bunch of fairies. We’d be better off if they let us just kill ’em all.”
Theodore audibly gasped as he heard these words, but he didn’t have time to deal with them. His attention was on the injured man.
The man who had voiced his complaint had collapsed to the floor, blood pouring from a huge open cut on his head. There was so much blood that Theodore could not only see it, he could also smell it.
The air right around the wounded man had a faint metallic smell. He wondered if that was the odor of the blood or something else. Another man knelt next to the wounded man, pressing one part of the sheet wrapped around his waist against the man’s head, trying to stop the flow of blood. The injured man was bleeding profusely. The assembled men watched in silence.
Theodore was such a bundle of conflicting emotions. Part of him was speechless with terror, but another part wanted to call out for assistance, to ask loudly if there was a doctor in the house. Had the wound not been the result of an encounter with an officer’s club, Theodore would have called for an officer. But he couldn’t do that. Why in the world had a man Theodore would have looked up to and respected been so brutal because someone asked him a simple question? It made no sense at all.
The officers were back out of the crowd. “I said, no talking. The next man who utters a single word gets the same,” the angry cop threatened menacingly. “Only next time I won’t hold back.”
The wounded man on the floor was not unconscious, but he was seriously dazed. Theodore watched as he raised his hand toward his head in what appeared to be an effort to feel his wound or to stop the blood flow—Theodore wasn’t entirely sure. Whatever it was, his friend didn’t let him put his hand on the wound since he was already pressing his sheet against it.
The heat and humidity of the bath made Theodore horribly uncomfortable. He had his clothes on, including his jacket and hat, which were simply too much for the warm and moist air of the bathhouse. Sweat popped out on his forehead, his chest, his back, under his arms. He could feel the sweat start to trickle down his back in a rivulet. If he didn’t get his jacket off soon, every stitch of clothing he had on would be soaked w
ith sweat.
Had he only left the bathhouse when he was ready rather than waiting for Martin, he wouldn’t be in this situation. Martin was nowhere to be seen, which only made Theodore more on edge.
Theodore and the other assembled men listened as officers other than those who stood guard over them loudly went door to door through the facility rounding up men dispersed throughout the bath. One by one, other men, almost all attired in just a sheet, crowded into the room. There was quiet whispering, but not enough to attract the attention or wrath of the two cops guarding them.
Theodore heard someone whisper, “There’s a lot of us and only two of them. I say we rush them and get the hell out of here.”
Apparently that comment was heard, because one of the officers loudly told them, “Don’t think you can get away. All of the exits are guarded from both the inside and the outside. Nobody is going anywhere until we haul you all in. The patrol wagons are waiting just outside.”
The minutes that followed were some of the longest in Theodore’s life. One of the guards moved through them, roughly lining them up in some fashion, apparently to get a count of how many men were present. He wasn’t especially courteous or gentle in his requests. It appeared there were men in another room as well, because another officer entered their room.
“How many you got?” he asked his colleague.
They conferred, combined their numbers, and Theodore heard them agree.
“I got seventy-eight. What’d you get?”
“I got eighty-one,” another reported.
“I got seventy-five,” still another reported.
“We’re calling it seventy-eight,” the original speaker announced.
After much milling about, another officer came into the crowded room and looked one by one at the men. He studied them carefully before he ordered a few of the men to collect their clothes and get dressed. With all of them watching, those men did as instructed, quickly pulling on their clothing. Theodore watched as the officers moved a table into one common room, pulled up several chairs, and sat at the table with a large ledger book open in front of one, a man who sat with pen in hand ready to make notations of some sort.
A Night at the Ariston Baths Page 10
