The Middle Man [A Broadway Romance]

by Gregory A Kompes

  “What has happened to you? How have you become well?”

  “Aren’t you pleased?”

  Harry placed his other hand atop ours. “I’m very pleased. But...”

  I waited for the handsome young man to speak. He remained silent for a very long time, all the while keeping his eyes locked into mine, searching. I held the contact, enjoying his slightly clammy fingers intertwined in my own.

  As we sat there, I could feel his healthy heart pumping fast. I could feel the clean air moving into his lungs and then being forced into his blood cells. His was a body of health, even with the alcohol that was merging into his brain. Harry was young, fit, and handsome. And, I once again wanted him in my bed.

  “You know I love you?” Harry began, then added quickly “And, I love Sam and Clara.”

  I nodded knowingly.

  “But, I really love you. I feel something amazing when we’re together. It isn’t just sexual...although, I’d do anything you wanted.” He offered a wry smile as color rose into his cheeks. Harry pressed on. “No, what I feel is something even greater...the only word I can find is love, but that doesn’t really seem to be a big enough word.”

  I didn’t know what to say. But, my words weren’t necessary because he continued with his monologue.

  “I think I’m like you, Duke. I see ghosts all the time. I hear voices in my head. I take long journeys in my dreams and I know they’re real. I meet strangers and famous people. I can predict the future, especially world events, storms, political races. Yet, it doesn’t bring me joy like it brings you. And, now, tonight, after you’ve miraculously been healed, you don’t seem happy. That terrifies me. If you aren’t joyous about an event like this, what does that mean for me?” By the time Harry finished speaking, tears streamed down his face.

  How did I not know about Harry’s abilities? I could usually spot another who was tuned in. But, the guy wasn’t really tuned in, was he? Harry didn’t know how to utilize his gifts. He had them and they were overwhelming him. There was so much I now wanted to talk to him about, to help him with, to share with him.

  From some drive or instinct, I pulled him over to me until he was sitting on my lap. His light frame felt good to me; his arms wrapped around me; his tears wetting my neck. Without speaking, I held him, rubbing my hands over his strong shoulders and down his tightly muscled back. I enjoyed feeling the weight of him on me. My dick grew hard beneath that weight and that embarrassed me. Here, this man was having some sort of breakdown and my sexual urges were so strong I couldn’t contain them.

  “We should talk about all of this”

  Harry pulled back a bit, looked me in the eyes again, and leaned in. We kissed. His lips tasted of salt from his tears, his tongue was dry and a little rough. Instead of being turned off by his emotional state, my cock grew hungrier.

  The kiss ended and he again placed his head on my shoulder. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered into my ear, hugging me tight to him, his breath coming in rapid bursts.

  I focused quickly on my team for advice, but, as so often happened in times of great personal emotion, they were silent.

  “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered again, kissed my neck. He reached his hands between us and began unbuttoning my shirt. “I want to be naked with you. I want to taste you and smell you and be one with you.” As he spoke he continued to work my buttons.

  I could hear the music and laughter from below. I knew that the dark, unfamiliar, deep, feminine voice I heard was Lola. Everyone there was having such a good time. And, here was I, being ravished by a handsome man with a tear-stained face, uncertain what to do.

  Where were my loyalties. I was with Sam, right? But, Sam had been poisoning Malcolm. He didn’t yet know that I knew. Why was he doing that? I’d had a crush on Harry from the moment I’d seen him. But, until I figured out my relationship with Sam, I couldn’t just fuck another boy. Of course, Sam had sex with others at the baths and the gyms. He knew I knew. Couldn’t I simply fuck whomever I wanted? Still, he never did it here in the house. Not that I knew of. Yet, this was my house. I made up the rules...

  “Stop.” My voice was soft and easy. “We have to stop.”

  “Please, don’t. Please, take me now. I want to feel sex with someone. I want to know what it all feels like.”

  I pulled him away. “You’ve never been with anyone?”

  “Silly, huh?” Back in the moment, he brushed tears from his face. “I’ve been saving myself. I don’t know for what, but saving myself all the same.”

  “Oh, Harry.” I hugged him tight to me and spoke into his ear. “I think you should wait a bit longer. It’s not that I don’t want you. I do. I’m aching for you. But, I’m with Sam.”

  “You know he fucks around on you, right?” Harry’s tone turned vicious. “He made the moves on me one night. I don’t know why you’re so loy—“

  I felt fatherly. “Dear Harry. Don’t be so bitter. I haven’t actually said we won’t ever...hook up.” I kissed him again, hard, my probing tongue forcing his lips apart and then exploring his mouth. He tasted of youth. I pulled him tighter to me, feeling his own erection poking between us. I knew that this moment, this aggressive kiss, would give him fuel for a later masturbation scene and that motivated me to kiss him a little longer. He moaned in my arms. That’s when I released him.

  “Wow!”

  “I really do want you, Harry. I just have a few things to work out before I can feel good about being with you. And, when we’re finally together, I want it to...to feel right. Do you understand?”

  Harry didn’t speak, but nodded his acceptance. He stood from my lap and again pushed his hand against his face to remove the tears.

  “Why don’t you use the bathroom up here and get yourself cleaned up. Go back down to the party. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  Just before he left my office, Harry turned back and looked at me. His energy suddenly scared me. I could now feel what he was thinking.

  “Harry.”

  “Hmm?”

  I didn’t say what rushed into my head: Don’t do it. Don’t kill yourself. Instead, I said to him: “I really do want you and know we’ll have an opportunity to be together.”

  He smiled through his sadness. I don’t know if he believed me as he turned to leave the room.

  “Harry.”

  He turned back.

  “I really do want to spend some time talking to you about your abilities, too. When the house is quiet and we can be alone.”

  He smiled and nodded to me, but turned silently and left the room.

  I sat in the chair, trying to will poor Harry to hang in there. His life was going so well. He had a Broadway gig. He’d become a star overnight. Yet, his connection and psychic experience, the lack of understanding and love was driving him to dark places.

  “It won’t do any good.”

  Sitting across from me where Harry had been was the apparition.

  “Enough!” I shouted in his direction. “I’ve simply had enough from you.”

  The ghost chuckled and his laugh sent chills down my spine.

  “What is it that you want?” I demanded.

  “To drive you insane.” Again he expressed a demonic chuckle.

  I tuned in to my team. Muriel and James surrounded me with love and I knew I was safe. Their support emboldened me, even though they remained silent about this presence. What was I supposed to do to rid myself of this tormentor? Tormentor? Was he really all that? Had I allowed him so much power over me? I shifted my thoughts and energy. I quieted my mind, closed my eyes, and repeatedly said to myself: “I hold all the power in my life. I hold all the power in my life....”

  I’m not sure how much time passed, but when I opened my eyes I was alone.

  Desiring a drink, I returned downstairs to the party. Harry was nowhere to be found. I did my best to keep my spirits up, but I couldn’t help watching Sam and wondering what he was about and how and why he was poisoning my butler.

  Chapter
Twenty Two

  Dad was sitting up in his bed watching television alone when I arrived. I entered the room and closed the door behind me.

  "Wow, you look great," he said, hitting the clicker. The sound disappeared, but the pictures of some sporting event continued.

  "Wish I could say the same for you." I sat in the chair near his bed. "Would you be willing to try something with me?" I placed my hand on his arm. With that one touch I felt the illness inside of him, churning. There was a struggle going on in his cells, a battle between the healthy ones and the diseased ones.

  My father and I had never had a truly intimate moment. We were closed to each other. He didn't understand me and I thought I understood him only too well.

  "I don't know." He was skeptical, afraid.

  We’d never had a meaningful conversation about my skills. Growing up, I remember him saying several times that the fortune tellers and palm readers we’d see at the fairs were “bunk.” I don’t know what my mother might have told him about me and the work I did. And, while he didn’t mind spending the money I gave him, which, despite our history, I gave freely, he’d never commented on its source.

  "Listen, I really can't explain it, but I had this experience when I became well. I think I can help you heal. If you want to." I slid my hand slowly down his arm, just a little closer to his hand.

  "I don't like all this touching. Men shouldn't touch," he said with recoil.

  I moved my hand closer to his, ignored the slight tug away from me. I had the advantage. He was sick, weak. Plus, he hadn’t actually pulled fully away from me.

  "I just need you to say to yourself ‘I am in perfect health.’"

  "I'm not in perfect health. I'm sick as a dog. Where's the nurse? Where's Lola?"

  "I talked to Lola last night. She agrees you should try this with me. That's why she's not here this morning." I looked deep into my father's fear-filled eyes. "You're going to have to trust me."

  He looked hard at me, then back at the television.

  "Dad, I'm pretty sure I can make you well." There I said it out loud. I admitted it, more to myself than to him, that I had this new ability. I could feel the strong presence of my team gathered around me. "I was able to heal myself." I flexed my left arm for example. “I helped Malcolm with his problem."

  "The fancy man was sick?"

  Images of Malcolm and then of Sam flashed into my head. My team quickly showed me the source of Malcolm’s poisoning. I now understood this could be easily stopped. I felt my father attempt again to pull his arm from my gentle grip. "Like you, dying." I moved my hand down to his, held his fingers lightly in my own. He didn't withdraw.

  We were silent.

  I felt his team of guides, spirits, and angels, gathering. They encouraged me to continue. The room filled with more entities. I knew this was a big job. The healing for my father went beyond the damaged and dying cells surrounding part of his heart, deeper, to the root of his dis-ease of which the illness was merely the physical manifestation.

  "I get the feeling I should try this," he said. The spirits lightened around us. My head buzzed with their excitement. "What do I need to say?" my father asked.

  His sudden change in attitude was unexplainable, but I went with him in that moment. "I am in perfect health." I squeezed his hand a little. If you say it over and over out loud it will have more impact. If you can say it like you mean it, as if you believe it, that will help even more." I lifted my other hand. I had my dad's slight fingers in both of my hands now. The disease was already fighting to hold its ground.

  "I am in perfect health," he said, his voice very quiet.

  Maybe he only thought it. But I could hear it clearly.

  "Say it again and again. Don't stop saying it," I encouraged.

  "I’m in perfect health. I’m in perfect health…" he repeated over and over, his voice grew a little stronger each time.

  I closed my eyes, set a clear intention that my father be in perfect health, felt the energy from all those spirits running through me, into him, pulling and tugging at the unhealthy cells.

  My heart started pumping, as if it was gasping for breath. The pain was excruciating. I wanted to stop. I wanted to clutch my chest, call for help. But, I could hear him, louder and louder, "I'm in perfect health! I'm in perfect health!" My guides told me to keep going; they assured me that I'd be okay.

  I knew he was healed. I could feel it as his energy shifted and his own team of guides and angels retreated some. I focused my own mantra and intention on myself: "I'm in perfect health. I'm in perfect health…."

  Time altered. I don't know how long I sat there, holding my dad's hands in my own, speaking the words. A flash happened in my head. I was silent, feeling myself restored. I breathed deeply, the air tasted fresh. My own heart began to pump easily again. When I finally opened my eyes my old man stared at me in wonder.

  "Duke, I feel terrific."

  "I'm glad, Pop."I'd always wanted to call him "Pop." That's what my best friend in grade school called his father. They laughed together a lot. They had a good time with each other. It was the type of relationship I wanted with my own father. I’d tried calling him Pop once when I was eight and he’d slapped me so hard my teeth rattled. This moment seemed like the perfect time to try it again.

  “Pop, huh?” he snapped. A moment of recognition flashed across his face. I thought I detected remorse, but then he laughed. "Son, I feel great. You can call me whatever you want."

  I enjoyed his smile. He looked twenty years younger. His pale, gaunt face was full of color now. His eyes sparkled. I tried to stand, but was too weak.

  "Are you okay, Duke?" he asked.

  "Just need to recover a little. You were…"

  "I was a goner. I was at the end. I knew, before you came in, that today was probably my last day. Now," he looked around the room. "I want out of here. I want to run up Seventh Avenue. I want to find a young woman and fuck her brains out." He hit the nurse call button, hit it again.

  I breathed deeply, listening to my team. "Pop, you need to do a few things differently if you don't want to end up back here."

  "What, I get a lecture from you on smoking and drinking now? I have to find religion now?" He started to sound like the father I knew.

  "I'm serious. I just helped you regain your life. I'd think you'd want to listen to me on this."

  "Sorry, son. I just want out."

  "Dad!" I shouted at him, got his attention. "You can smoke all you want, eat all you want, drink all you want. Hell, even fuck all you want. What you do need to do is change your attitude about how you treat other people. The pain in your heart was caused by not feeling love, not allowing yourself to be loved by others. I know you've been hurt. I know you've—"

  "Enough!" he shouted. “I don’t need a lecture.”

  "Mr. Donovan? You buzzed," asked the friendly nurse. She rushed to his side, looked at the monitor, rushed from the room.

  "They'll release you in no time," I said, getting up. I removed my hand from where it had been resting on my father’s arm and stretched. I suddenly felt wonderful.

  My father’s mood changed. He grew serious. "Won't you sit with me a little longer, Duke?"

  I was surprised by his request, but felt a strong desire of my own to leave the room, to get out into fresh air and sunshine. I turned to my team and they showed me an image of my hand leaving his arm and the energy shift that caused for him. It was wonderful to have him want me, to have him want to spend time with me, to feel that connection I’d always desired between us. But, I needed some air. "Pop, I'm going to find my friend, Dr. Sandy, and see if I can't get you out of here a little quicker."

  "Hell, I can walk out now. Go to that closet, get my clothes."

  I did as told while my father pulled the heart monitor patches from his lightly haired chest. I saw him contemplate the IV, but think better of attempting that one alone.

  Two men came into the room with the nurse. They were all babbling. I got their att
ention. "My father is well. Please remove the IV."

  "But, sir, your father is very ill. I wouldn't advise…"

  "Nonsense. You're his doctor. You're his nurse. I don't know who you are,” I said to the third person who’d entered with them. “Please remove his IV. Please call Dr. Sandy, he'll explain all of this a bit. We're done here."

  The three were silent, looking from one to another, to me, to my father.

  "Now!" my dad shouted. They responded.

  I stepped back to allow them to work, dialed Lola's cell. "He's fine." I said. "Pop, Lola will be up here in a few minutes.

  "I thought you said she wasn't here."

  "She was down on the street, smoking, waiting. She'll be up."

  The room was in chaos: Nurses, doctors, administrators coming and going. Lola bustled into the room, adding her energy to the mix. First, she shoved someone out of the way and kissed my father. Next, she shoved another person out of the way, came over and hugged me.

  "Thank you, Duke," she whispered in my ear, her perfume a blend of something too sweet and cigarette smoke.

  "You're welcome, Lola. I'm going to take off. I need some air. Now that you're here I know everything will be fine. They're going to want to keep him for observation. Just walk him out the door. Have dad sign whatever papers they require. You've got to get him out of here and fast."

  "Okay," she said, kissed my cheek, and turned to start bossing everyone around.

  I escaped the room, headed for the elevator. When the doors opened, Dr. Sandy emerged. "You did it again? Your father?"

  "Yes, please help get him out of here."

  "Tell me how you do it?" Dr. Sandy held my arm while the elevator doors closed.

  "I don't know what happens," I said, reached for the elevator down button, hit it. "All I know is that it works."

  "You'll put us out of business," Dr. Sandy said with a wink.

  "Wouldn't that be nice?" I winked back.

  Crisp air filled my lungs. I lit a cigarette. I just stood and smoked for a moment, enjoying the blue sky, the single tree with colored leaves. The hordes of people passing on the street.