The morning air was cool and crisp. Billy could see his breath as he stretched, using the building as a brace. A young man staggered toward him giving off a low catcall filled with beer and bourbon. The soft, slurred, whistle caused a smile on the actor's face. He offered the drunk a doubletake just to be sure it wasn’t the same guy from the last time; it wasn’t. The young man didn't stop to talk, but continued his journey along the sidewalk. Billy headed in the opposite direction. The morning run had once again become a routine. With a slow, easy pace, he headed west to the river.
As his body worked, Billy's thoughts turned to the opening and his parent's arrival that afternoon from Ohio. He loved that they were coming into town for the show, but dreaded it, too. He feared their neediness, his father's silence.
Lost in his head, Billy ran right into a guy standing at a corner. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
"Fine. I'm…it's you!"
"Huh?" Billy still hadn't fully entered reality.
"What's it feel like to be a star? Does it feel like this?"
Billy felt the burning pain as the man's fist plunged into his stomach.
The world went into slow motion as Billy recognized him: Jason Arrows. Their eyes locked, testosterone and adrenaline pumped. He'd been bullied before, all through high school, by thug football players. That's why he'd taken boxing lessons his senior year, but he'd never had an opportunity to use them to defend himself, never needed to before this moment. Those hours in the ring with a coach shouting at him brought on something akin to instinct. Billy's hands came up to protect his face and with one solid shot, connected his right fist square into Arrow's jaw. "You walked out. I got the job," Billy said through his protective fists. "It feels great to be a star." He didn't know if his words made any sense. The pain in his fist scared him; he worried that he might have broken bones. The pain in his gut made him want to vomit; he could taste the bile in his mouth, but swallowed it away. He refused to double over, to let his defenses down.
They stood in silence, eyes boring into each other. The initial hatred Arrows had shown when he first hit Billy was now fear. He knew that the young kid could take him and after his greeting, he'd have every right. Jason wanted to run, but somehow he'd backed himself up against a building and Billy stood between him and freedom.
"Honey! Honey! Look, it's the kid," shouted a middle aged, effeminate man. "It's Billy Lake!" He raced up to Billy and Arrows, oblivious to the unfolding scene, and produced a pen and a copy of a 42nd Street Playbill.
His companion, another middle aged man, said: "I think we're interrupting something here." His friend ignored him.
Billy was grateful for the release from the fight. He took a step back and quickly signed the cover, keeping his eyes on Arrows. "Thanks for your support, but I've got to keep running," he said; yet, he didn't move; he watched Arrows. The four men stood, looking at each other. Billy took a step closer to Arrows, who appeared bewildered at the turn of events. "Come near me again and I'll fucking kill you," he said into Arrow's ear. Billy waited another beat, smiled at the autograph hounds, and resumed his run.
With each block toward home, the pain in his abdomen eased, although he knew he'd have a bruise. Billy debated his options. He could run to Jericho; he could go to the police. Or, he could just let it go, keep the moment to himself. Billy rubbed his right hand while running in place at a traffic light. His knuckles were bright red. He opened and closed the hand over and over and it didn’t appear that he had any broken bones. Billy skipped his breakfast stop at the corner deli and went straight into the kitchen when he got back to the apartment, relieved that Jericho wasn't around. He poured ice into a towel and wrapped it around his hand.
* * *
Billy arrived at Newark International Airport an hour before his parent's flight was scheduled to arrive. He didn't want to take any chances of missing his folks. They'd never been to New York City before and, in truth, even with their son as a Broadway star, they really didn't want to come. It was just too big a place, too overwhelming.
When Billy spoke with his mother for the third time, trying to convince them to come for opening night, he gave them an ultimatum. Well, not really. Billy wasn't that type of guy. But, he followed the rest of the "script" Don, the actor playing Julian Marsh in the show, had suggested. He begged and pleaded with his mother to convince his father that they should come. They had to come. This really was a-once-in-a-lifetime event. Sure, there would be other shows, but this was his first Broadway show opening and he was a lead. Somehow, she'd convinced her husband and their flight was on time and would arrive soon.
Billy had made all the arrangements. He hired a car to gather them up from the airport. He found a nice hotel just two blocks from Jericho's apartment. They would only be there two days. He'd pick them up, get them to their hotel, and head to the theater. They'd have two hours to freshen up and Angie’s parents, the woman playing Peggy Sawyer, who were staying in the same hotel and regular visitors to New York, would collect them in time for dinner. The two couples would have a meal together and go to the theater. The foursome would then spend the evening at the opening night party and then return to their hotel together. The next day, Billy would take his parents to breakfast and get them back to the airport. It was all they would agree to. They didn't want to sightsee; they refused to do anything in the city if they weren't accompanied by someone.
Billy paced the area near where his parents would come through security. He scanned each face, trying to remember each of his parent's features. If he somehow missed them at the airport his life would be over. He'd never be able to live down the horrible comments his parents would heap on him for the rest of their lives. He knew, if he missed them at security his mother would come back even after death to haunt him.
As he paced and checked his watch against the arrival's board a young man watched him. On the next pass, between the plastic chairs bolted to the floor, the boy caught Billy's eye. He smiled at Billy. Billy ignored him. On the next pass, the guy spoke, "Are you okay?"
"Huh?" Billy paused mid step, nearly tripping over someone's luggage.
"You look worried. Have you missed someone? Your boyfriend, perhaps?"
"Ah, no, I'm waiting for my parents," Billy said absently.
"I've seen you on 47th Street. I'm in the show across from you." He smiled bigger.
"Oh. Billy Lake," he said, extending his hand while still focusing most of his attention on the gate.
"Hank Miller." He took Billy's hand.
Hank Miller, Billy thought as he pumped the guy's hand in a tight grip that caused pain in his bruised knuckles. He'd seen him dance in tight pants, shirtless. Hot. He'd seen him entering and leaving the theater across the street, too. But, Billy was too shy to make eye contact, let alone talk to this young Broadway legend. Offering his full attention, Billy said: "I can't believe it. What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for my mother. It's my month. My sister and I swap her back and forth, a month at a time." The two men stopped pumping each other's hands, but didn't release their grip. "You?" asked Hank, his eyes locked on Billy's.
Billy could feel the blush rising at his neck. "My parents are coming in for opening night. Never been to the city before and their really freaked out." Billy realized they were still clutching each other's hands. He released his grip, but Hank continued the hold for a moment longer. Billy's face flushed.
"God, you're handsome. Single? I hope." As he spoke, Hank's eyes bore into Billy's soul.
"Ah? Oh…yes…single. You?" He'd been hit on before, of course, but never like this. Billy had never been so direct with another man. That's not really true. Naked and silent, he was very candid. But with words, that was different. Worse still, he was into this guy. He'd seen him on stage several times had fantasized about him.
"Yep, I'm single at the moment, but I'm hoping you'll change that," Hank said with a wink.
"Can we talk about this later? I don't want to miss my folks."
"I'd like that," said Hank, handing Billy a card with his number on it.
"Thanks," said Billy. He wanted to just lean forward and kiss this man. He did lean in a little.
Hank leaned forward. He put one hand on Billy's lower back and with his other raised Billy's chin and gently kissed him on the lips. Billy's knees went weak; the electricity of the moment zipped through him. For that brief moment, and it really was barely a moment, they were the only two people in the airport, on the planet, maybe even in the universe. Their brief kiss ended, but neither man moved, their faces still very close.
"William? William Lake is that you?"
Billy turned to see his mother's stern face. He turned quickly back to Hank.
"Hey," he said to Hank, "would you like to be my date at the party tonight? It's our opening. We open tonight. The party is at Sardis'. I'll add you to the guest list." Billy rambled out the words in a rush. His embarrassment was gone. He felt something new about himself, a self confidence he'd never experienced before.
"Billy!" shouted Billy's father.
"See you there. Go, before they have a stroke," said Hank. He watched Billy cross the short distance to his disapproving parents. Hank enjoyed the view of Billy as much from the back as from the front.
"There you are," said a woman with a big, floppy hat and too much makeup. "When I couldn't find you I stopped for a cocktail." She rattled an ice-filled cup.
Hank hugged his mother and watched Billy, just a few feet away, do the same to his own.
"Who is that?" Hank's mother asked. "He's handsome," she added.
"My future husband," said Hank. He didn't look at his mother. His eyes stayed focused on Billy's back as his new friend ushered his parent's through the crowded concourse toward baggage claim.
"How many does that make today?" Hank's mother asked. It was common for Hank to frequently say upon seeing a handsome young man that he'd seen his future husband.
"Huh?" he asked.
"Oh, you've got it bad for this one. When did you meet?"
"Just now." Hank continued to look after Billy even though he couldn't see him any longer.
* * *
Billy moved easily from table to table. He congratulated fellow cast members with hugs, kisses, pats on the back, and clinking of Champagne glasses. He did all he could to avoid shaking people's hands to avoid causing more pain to his bruised hand. He posed for pictures, showing his perfect smile, for anyone who asked. After each kind gesture he looked toward the door, watching for Hank. Not seeing him, he looked in the direction of the table where his and Angie's parents were seated. His dad laughed heartily, drinking glass after bubbly glass. His mother, too, looked comfortable and easy. Their dinner companions and the alcohol had put them at ease. Whatever the cause, Billy felt a great sense of relief. He'd briefly sat with them, drank a glass of Champagne with them, but was pulled away by Jericho to meet producers and backers. They'd told him not to worry about them, that Angie's folks were taking good care of them.
"Young man, excellent show tonight. I'm sure we'll have perfect reviews. And, with your story angle, every media outlet in town will cover us. Be ready for lots of interviews," a drunken producer said as he pounded Billy's back in a hearty fashion.
Jericho beamed, but noticed that Billy's attention was split between the moment and something else. Jericho had been debating all day how to finally make his move on Billy. The boy had waited, as Jerry had insisted. Now, the moment had arrived. The show was open and he could take his opportunity with the young star. Jericho placed his hand on Billy's lower back, expecting that funny, gooey-eyed expression the move always produced. It didn't happen. Billy was distracted to the point of disinterest. "What? What is it?" Jericho asked as he watched Billy's eyes sparkle toward the doorway.
"Will you excuse me?" Billy said to Jericho and the producers. He was on the move before anyone had a chance to answer. He glided across the room toward the most handsome man he'd ever seen. As he progressed, the rest of the room disappeared, even as all eyes followed Billy's beeline for the door. There, framed by the plush red drapes on either side of the doorframe stood the true toast of Manhattan, the biggest box office draw on Broadway in more than thirty years, and a drop dead gorgeous hunk of man. Hank Miller had arrived.
Billy wasn't the only one in the room to take notice of Hank's entrance. For a moment, the room fell dead silent. The quick silence was replaced by murmurs and whispers. It was well known around town that Hank Miller never went out anywhere. He was never seen around town. His photo never ended up on Page Six. He never gave interviews. Hank Miller was a beautiful, talented recluse. One of the greatest performers Broadway had ever seen. And, he was only 27 years old.
"You came!" Billy beamed at his new friend.
"Not yet, but hopefully we'll work that out later." Hank enjoyed the shock and thrill he'd caused in Billy. "Congratulations!" he said heartily and hugged Billy. The hug went on a bit longer than one might expect of new acquaintances.
"I think I've fallen in love with you," Billy mouthed without making a sound into Hank's neck. They ended their embrace and walked together out of the main room and into the bar.
"Vodka rocks," Hank said to the attentive bartender.
"Champagne," said Billy.
The two men stood, starring into each other's eyes. The rest of the world ceased to exist until the bartender returned.
"Run a tab?" the bartender asked.
"No." Hank dropped a hundred dollar bill on the bar.
"Very good, Sir," said the bartender as he picked up the bill.
"Cheers," said Billy, raising his glass. The clink of crystal rang for a succinct moment. "Listen, I know you don't do these things."
"What things?" Hank asked. He sipped his vodka.
"Go out in public; get your picture taken and all that."
"Not often. You want me to make the rounds with you? You want to be seen on my arm?" Hank generously tipped the bartender from his change.
"Well, since this is my night," said Billy, his mood shifting from sex to playfulness, "it would really be my arm."
"You're not as big a star as me, so it would really be mine," Hank said.
"Give me time old man. I'm what five, six years younger than you. My stomach is harder." Billy flashed back to the morning's run and fist fight with Arrows. He brushed the painful memory away. "My moves are fresher." Billy was wonderfully amazed at the smooth, quick words coming out of his mouth. He enjoyed their little game of cat and mouse. He wanted to be naked with Hank. Now.
"We've got plenty of time to have this argument," said Hank as he put his hand into the crook of Billy's arm. "Quick, grab your glass, we're going in."
Together, Billy and Hank returned to the dining room. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the handsome stars. Not only was the opening of 42nd Street going to prove a massive success, but the recluse Hank Miller was on the arm of Broadway's latest star. The golden boys were together.
Hank and Billy made their way over to Billy's parent's table. Introductions were made all around. As they moved away, headed to the producer's table, Billy heard his father ask: "Isn't that the guy from the airport?" and his mother's whispered response: "Yes."
As they moved from table to table, camera flashes illuminated their location. Through the whirlwind, the two men could barely keep their hands off one another. One was always touching some part of the other, like they were now tethered together.
Jericho watched as Billy and Hank made the rounds. Everyone in the room did. When Hank stopped below his own caricature on the wall, camera flashes changed the temperature in the room.
The two men arrived at Jericho’s table; he was polite, he smiled. But, inside a part of him was dying. He wanted that attention from Billy. Jericho wanted to be the one that made Billy's eyes sparkle like they were now. Jericho barely noticed that the men had left his table. He watched as Billy and Hank wandered around the dining room, as if bound to one another. How had this happened, he wondered
. When had they met? Billy had never mentioned meeting Hank. Jericho envied their easy laughter with each other and the conspiratorial whispers they shared. And, to himself at least, he had to admit that they looked good together. While he watched, like some lecherous voyeur, Jericho’s heart broke. Did the kid just use me? Was I played by a corn-fed boy? He immediately knew that wasn't the case. But, that knowledge gave Jericho no comfort. He'd created rules to a game that it appeared Billy was no longer interested in playing.
During a break from hellos and well wishes, while looking at Ethel Merman's caricature, Billy whispered, "can we get out of here?"
"Yes," Hank whispered back. "Of course, my mother is staying at my apartment."
"I'm rooming with someone, too." Billy looked crestfallen. He’d had plenty of time to find an apartment of his own and felt in this moment as if he’d failed himself. He also didn't share that that someone he roomed with was Jericho.
For the first time since he'd met Hank, Billy thought about Jericho. He looked around the room and saw the director speaking to one of the chorus girls. When Jerry looked up and toward Billy, Billy smiled a small smile. His attention though was drawn back to Hank. And, as quickly as he'd felt a twinge of regret about Jericho, it disappeared as his companion spoke.
"Come with me," said Hank. He took Billy's hand and led him out of the room and into a secluded, dark corner. He pulled Billy close, whispered, "I want to fuck you."
Billy enjoyed the warm feeling that came over his entire body. "I want to fuck you, too," he whispered conspiratorially into Hank's close ear. He'd never said those words allowed to anyone.
"Well, we can't really do that here, now can we? They'd certainly be talking about us then.” Hank lightly kissed Billy’s lips. Then whispered: “Just trust me." Hank led Billy out of the room, out of the restaurant, and into a waiting town car. When the door closed, he said "the Waldorf," and pulled Billy tight to him.
The two men kissed all the way to the hotel. They would have continued for eternity if the doorman hadn't opened the car door and allowed a rush of cool night air to mingle with his sturdy "Ahem."
Flash Mob Page 13
