Flash Mob

by Gregory A Kompes

  "Come in," Billy said to a knock at the door. Nancy Ann breezed in and plopped a straw hat on his head. "Perfect," she said and breezed out as fast as she'd arrived.

  Jericho followed her out and closed the door behind him.

  Billy sat alone in his dressing room. He felt overwhelmed and excited. He'd always hated the fifteen minute call. Too much time to go to the stage. There was nothing to do backstage at this point except get distracted. Yet, sitting alone in a dressing room was horrible. He'd never done it before. Even when he was the star of the high school musicals he was always in the large, men's dressing room with the rest of the company. "So, this is what it's like to be a star, you're all alone with yourself and your thoughts in a tiny, cinderblock room," he said to his reflection in the mirror. Billy sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. He breathed deep. In his mind's eye he could see himself on stage. He could see himself taking his bow and the audience applauding wildly.

  Nancy Ann announced five minutes over the speaker system.

  "Time for me to go," said Billy giving himself a quick once-over glance in the mirror before he picked up his straw hat. He opened his dressing room door. He didn't know it, but this was his last moment of feeling lonely and alone in the theater.

  Eleven

  The Redhead and Blonde, regal in overdone makeup and slightly high hair, sat orchestra house center. They loved the theater. Both auditioned constantly for roles, but never were invited to final callback auditions for anything. Even with that disappointment, the two had a pact to see every show that opened on Broadway.

  The house lights dimmed and the girls politely applauded with the others in the audience as an announcer reminded them that this was the first preview. With humor in his voice he suggested that anything could happen. He reminded people that they shouldn't take pictures or record the show and that now would be a good time to open their noisy candies. He proceeded to announce that Billy Lake would be performing the role of Billy Lawler, replacing the expected Jason Arrows. He went on to say that anyone with a refund request would be helped at the box office.

  "Well, that's disappointing," said the Blonde. "Jason Arrows is hot. He's a movie star. I was hoping to see him live, to tell everyone that we saw him."

  "It's ironic, don't you think?" asked the Redhead.

  There was no time for an answer as the orchestra began the overture. The two women sat, gently holding each other's hands in anticipation as sounds of tap dancing joined the orchestra's strains. The curtain rose slightly to reveal only the feet and lower legs of the company, tap dancing a routine.

  Chills ran through the Redhead and she gripped her friend's hand a little tighter. She wanted to lean over to the Blonde, tell her that that moment, that opening was her all time favorite. That opening moment gave her a thrill every time she saw it. That opening moment was the reason she took tap dancing lessons. She belonged on that stage right now. But, she didn't say a word. She enjoyed both her exuberance and suffering in silence as the curtain finished it's disappearing act and revealed the company in the middle of a dance rehearsal.

  The Blonde found the understudy boy, what was his name? Oh, yeah, Billy. She found him to be hotter than Jason Arrows. He was cute. He was hunky. He was tall. He was young and datable. Billy could dance. He could sing. He was charming with a super smile. Why couldn't she be discovered, the Blonde wondered, and meet a charming, handsome man like Billy Lake. Of course, she suspected, knew really, that anyone that handsome had to be gay. But, this was her fantasy and she wasn’t about to let a little thing like the sexual proclivity of the object of her fantasy alter her desire.

  By intermission, the blogosphere revealed it felt the same as the Blonde. They all rejoiced that a before now, unknown like Billy Lake could step into a lead role as if he always had been a Broadway star. The irony of the parallels between what was happening real time to Billy was the same as what happened in theater time to Angie’s character Peggy wasn’t lost for the online audience. They all dissed Jason Arrows and predicted that he'd lost his edge as a leading man the night of the first preview of the revival of 42nd Street by letting his own understudy go on. The understudy was better than the star, they wrote. Billy Lake now belonged in the spotlight.

  But, the Redhead and the Blonde, while feeling many of the same emotions as the bloggers, didn't yet know what was being written on line. All they knew was that the show was remarkable. Sure, there was that moment leading into the Russian Tea Room when the table had been missing. The girls did their best to cover the laughter that mistake caused, serving imagery tea from an imaginary table. The audience, thrilled to see a mistake on stage during previews because they could say they had been there for it, laughed along with the girls. The scene was followed by an eruption of applause as the audience members did the only thing they could to show their approval of the moment.

  During intermission, the Blonde braved the ladies' room queue and held their restroom-line spots while the Redhead suffered the crush at the bar. She returned with two plastic cups of white wine, just as their turn at the restroom door happened. She joined the Blonde back in line. Sure, ladies behind her grumbled. Fuck them, the girls had a system.

  "Oh, good, you made it. I thought you might be out of luck," said the Blonde to her friend, taking one of the glasses.

  "Everyone is buzzing. The energy is kinetic," said the Redhead.

  "Ki-what?" asked the Blonde. But, it was their turn in the restroom and the question went unanswered.

  They made it back to their seats just as the orchestra began the Entr'acte and the houselights dimmed for Act Two. Both girls tapped their feet along with the bouncy music.

  "Did you see Amy Senteri?" asked the Blonde in an overly-loud whispered tone. "She's like right behind us."

  "No?" The Redhead turned to strain and see the up and coming newswoman several rows behind them. The two women made eye contact. The Redhead was embarrassed, but at the same time followed the TV personality's lead and smiled in kind. The Redhead turned back to the stage, glad that she could hide in the darkness of the theater.

  The women joined the audience as they fell in love with and rooted for Peggy Sawyer. They all nearly hissed at the actions of Dorothy Brock and wanted to cheer when she hurt her ankle and Peggy got her chance. They all swooned at the romanticism of Billy Lawler, wishing they had that man in their lives, knowing, of course, that he had to be gay because no straight man was that handsome, charming, and well mannered.

  While there wasn't a standing ovation during the curtain call, there was prolonged applause for Billy Lake. By some counts from the online writers, the applause in fact lasted over twelve minutes. The company just kept bowing and smiling. They looked for Jericho for some direction or to bring him out on stage, too, but he was nowhere to be seen. They went through the bows of the lead actors three times, each actor stepping forward for a moment of glory. Each time it was Billy Lake's chance to step into the spotlight the audience erupted in elated cheers. The audience applause was mingled with that of the company members. Everyone found his red-faced embarrassment endearing.

  * * *

  Jericho sat, tears streaming down his face, on his perch in the mezzanine. He couldn't believe how well it had all gone that night. Sure, there were a few technical glitches and a botched line here or there. That's to be expected. He'd made notes. They'd clean it up in rehearsals. He wasn't worried about those little things at all. This was, after all, not opening night, but the first preview. Those little issues were to be expected.

  What was most amazing to Jericho, as he again dried his face and eyes, was how perfectly cast the show was. The shift from Arrows to his boy, well, that made all the difference. Sure, the company was incredibly supportive of Billy. They were there—Jericho could see it—helping him, anticipating his next line or stage position. Billy hadn't needed any of their outward support. He was confident and landed his marks every scene. His vocals and dancing were perfect. And, throughout the entire evening, he nev
er showed fear about the situation. Anyone watching that show would never have known, except for the announcement, that Billy Lake hadn't been the one originally cast in the role of Billy Lawler.

  Jericho sat as the audience filed past him out of the mezzanine balcony. He was pleasantly surprised that none of them knew him or if they did that they didn't stop to talk to him. Maybe his wreck of a condition, with tear stained face and blotchy red nose, was enough to keep his fans at bay. What Now? he asked himself. The show was basically ready to run without him. A few more rehearsals, a little tightening and maintenance was all that was left, all that was required. For only a moment, Jericho allowed himself to think about what might be next for him. It was always such a great disappointment when a show opened. He was glad that it was done, completed, if shows ever are actually done. His role would be minimum now and he'd have a lot of free time again. A fear of once again feeling lonely crept over him. He hated being alone. He needed constant activity. Jericho had watched the newly born star on the stage. He thought about how he'd put off Billy, kept him at a distance romantically. Now that the work was done, it was time to contemplate his future with the boy. Immediately, self doubt swallowed him whole. He cared about Billy, found him sexy, too. But, all his previous relationships with young men had failed. He'd grown quickly bored with them, their age difference being too great to overcome. He feared this would be the case with him and Billy. He feared that the game of anticipation would prove greater than the reality.

  He knew he had to go downstairs to see his elated actors. He knew that he had to spend some time with Billy, let him decompress from the life-changing night he'd just experienced. Yet, Jericho sat, looking at the now nearly empty theater. In another few moments the curtain would rise again. The stage crew would do their thing. The lighting director would begin implementing changes of light position and gel choice. He knew that he couldn't wait that long. His company of actors would be disappointed.

  Jericho stood, stretched, and gave himself a mental pat on the back. He walked through the curtained doorway and followed the hall to the back staircase. He entered the stairs, walked a flight, and discovered two people violently making out. The couple stopped at his footsteps with an audible gasp. They ran from the staircase, out the doors, and away from him. "Never thought of this show as that romantic," Jericho chuckled to himself.

  In the basement, Jericho knocked on Billy's door. No answer. He opened the door and discovered Billy naked.

  "Well, come in or go out, but I'm naked here," the handsome young man said. He had an air of confidence Jericho had never seen before.

  Jericho entered, closed the door behind him. He enjoyed seeing the young man naked. "You were marvelous tonight," he said, sitting in the comfortable chair in the corner. His eyes not missing a moment of Billy's form as the actor dried himself with a skimpy towel.

  "I just couldn't wait for a shower. I can't believe how much sweat poured out of me tonight." The boy stopped toweling, picked up a bottle of water, and chugged it down in a single drink, all the while making a show of his naked, fit, muscled form to his obvious admirer. Billy thought that he may as well take advantage of this moment. After all, this may have been the opening night that Jericho had talked about. Their relationship might be about to take off in a new direction and he wanted to entice Jericho all he could. His dick hardened a little, growing a noticeable few inches. Jericho didn’t budge.

  Billy downed a second bottle of water, giving Jericho one more chance to take some action. Nothing happened. He wiped his mouth with the towel and then turned to hang the damp cotton on a rack in the bathroom. He began pulling on his street clothes when a knock sounded. "Enter," he said and turned to Jericho. "See, you should wait until you hear that word enter before you enter a lady's dressing room." He winked at his boss and patron.

  "Billy, I need your costumes," said the handsome young man who entered. Jericho was surprised that he didn't know the dresser. "Oh, shit, you're him," the guy said to Jericho.

  "I am," said Jericho. "And, you are?"

  "Jericho, stop, you're scaring the guy," said Billy. "This is Roy. And, if I get a say, I'd like him to be my personal dresser from now on."

  "I'll alert the media," said Jericho.

  "No, who do I talk to about that?" Billy asked as he handed a damp heap of costume pieces to Roy. "Sorry they're such a mess."

  "The costume mistress. She's the one who makes those decisions," said Roy who'd busied himself picking up socks and the soaked dance belt from the floor. He separated the pieces and tossed things into a grey mesh bag with "Billy Lawler" embroidered on it. Jericho watched the dresser and waited for him to smell the bag, but he didn't. "See you tomorrow, Billy," Roy said with a wink. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor."

  "Same here," said Jericho. They were alone and silent as Billy finished dressing. Jericho watched the boy's face as it shifted from playful and sly to something different, a darker emotion showed through. "What's the matter?"

  "I…" the boy combed his hair and looked at Jericho, using the mirror as a mediator.

  Jericho waited, keeping his eyes locked on Billy's.

  "I thought there would be flowers. I thought there would be something special. I mean, I walked into this role today and was, if I do say so myself, nearly perfect. Yet, nothing from anyone. Nothing from you." He flushed and sat in frustration.

  Jericho stood and moved to Billy. He rubbed the actor's shoulders and the two men maintained eye contact in the mirror. Billy roughly grabbed a tissue from the nearby box and shoved it into his eyes.

  "Come on. Pull yourself together. Let's get a drink or dinner. You must be famished after tonight's events."

  "Tonight's events? That's the best you can muster?" The tears kept coming. Billy tore another tissue from the box.

  Jericho crouched to his knees next to Billy. "Listen to me," he said sternly, but softly. "Look at me." Jericho reached up and lowered the boy's tissue-filled hands to expose his tear-stained eyes. "You were perfect tonight. You were better than Jason Arrows could have ever hoped to be. You, my friend, have, in a two-hour performance, become the toast of Broadway. You are a Broadway star." Jericho hugged Billy tight to him and whispered, "And, for what my opinion's worth, I'm incredibly proud of you."

  Billy returned from his limp emotional state and hugged Jericho back, tight. He didn't speak, but hugged tighter.

  "Okay, let's get out of here," Jericho said, as he began to rise up from his crouching position; his knees cracked as he stood. The boy rose with him, still clinging tight.

  Billy pulled back, his arms still around Jericho. He looked at Jericho's face and planted a long, hot kiss on his lips. This wasn't like the soft, romantic kiss the other night. This was a hot, full-blown, let's fuck kiss.

  All Jericho could think about, even though he fully participated in the kiss, was that the door was unlocked. It was inappropriate for this moment in time.

  Billy, into the moment, pushed his crotch tight into Jericho’s and enjoyed the sensation of feeling Jericho’s erection for the first time. He rubbed his body fiercely against Jericho as his own dick grew hard and tugged at the tight fabric of his jeans, all the while exploring his patron’s mouth with his wet tongue. Billy felt the come rising, the explosion coming, quicker than he’d ever experienced it before.

  They ended their tongue wrestling embrace, breathing heavily, pushing tighter and tighter against each other as a knock preceded the opening door.

  "Oh, good, you're still here," a female voice said.

  When both men turned toward the door it was already closed and the speaker hadn’t entered.

  "Guess we're in trouble," Billy said playfully in an attempt to cover his disappointment that the moment had been disrupted.

  "Guess so," said Jericho, trying to sound playful, too, as he pulled away from Billy.

  They both checked themselves in the mirror. Billy shoved a hand into his pants and adjusted the obvious and visible hard-on into a better, less notable pos
ition, as a fresh blush rose into his neck.

  Without speaking a word, Jericho opened the dressing room door for Billy. As the actor exited, the company erupted in cheers and applause for the new star. Champagne bottles popped and flowed. Cake was cut; flowers given.

  As the party began to play out, Billy pinched Jericho's arm. "And you just let me go on and on." It was easy to see the elation on Billy's face.

  "Needed to be said. And, I'm not one to ruin a surprise. That's important for you to know about me." Jericho kissed Billy's cheek. Now, enjoy being a star with your friends.

  * * *

  Bang!

  For the third night in a row, the stranger stood outside Aamil's apartment door. For several hours he just stood there, hand over the peep hole, banging every twenty or thirty minutes.

  Aamil made sure the locks and pole were in position. What else could he do?

  Twelve

  Aamil sat at his work bench cruising the net. The theater bloggers were going nuts over the first preview of the 42nd Street revival. Classic story of the understudy getting his break because the lead hired for the role dropped out. Post after post and comment after comment on those posts talked excitedly about the experience. Theater goers lucky enough to have been in the full house were adding their thoughts, too. Everyone was in love with the actor Billy Lake.

  The small pocket watch Aamil carried chimed. It had been his father’s; his mother offered it as a gift the night before he left for America. She’d offered it as a way to remember where he’d come from and his religious duty. It also served as a constant reminder of his mother and her dreams for him.

  He turned off the computer, rolled out his mat, and performed his religious duty. His mind battled between prayers and the online stories. He knew he could do it. He knew he could become a star, too. Well, if not a star, then at least a chorus boy. He sang well. His dancing could be improved with classes and experience. Yet, it was forbidden. He had work to do for those who knew better than he what was best, what was right.