DANCING ON THE TUNDRA by Bert McKenzie Copyright 2010
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any real person alive or dead is coincidental and unintentional.
CHAPTER XV
"Get your lazy ass out here," Wayne shouted as he stuck his head in the bedroom door. "Or don't you want to hear your notices?"
Terry had gone to the cast party but then he snuck out early when the director began to get handsy. He had no intention of meeting the man after the party for the private celebration mentioned in the card that came with the roses. The party itself seemed more like a funeral than a celebration. Word got around quickly that two of the critics walked out during the intermission. It was pretty obvious that the show was not well received. Only the producer and director seemed to be in fine spirits, laughing and joking as if they had given birth to a smash that would run for years.
Terry slowly got up and stumbled around trying to find his jeans while Wayne watched in amusement from the door. "So why are you being so modest? Eighty people look at your bare white butt every night. I don't think I'm going to swoon at the sight of your genitalia."
"I'm shy," Terry said with a sly smile as he pulled the denim up over his hips and zipped up the fly. "So what's the news in the papers?"
Wayne had already been out and picked up a couple of the dailies. "Now this one's good," he said as he read from the folded newspaper in his hand. "'Six Months is aptly named. That is about how long the first act seemed to last. I didn't stick around for the spiders.'"
"You call that good?" Terry quipped as the two of them walked out to the kitchen where Wayne had already brewed a pot of coffee.
"It's better than this one," Wayne replied as he passed another paper to his friend.
Terry read, "'The review of this show has already been published. Just look up dismal in Roget's Thesaurus.'" He looked back at his roommate. "Well, so ends my theatre career in New York."
Wayne wasn't paying any attention as he was still reading one of the other vituperative reviews. He suddenly glanced up, a big grin spreading across his dark face. "Sugar, you just got to read the whole thing. Look here." He handed the paper over, pointing to the second paragraph of the review he had quoted.
"The anorexically thin dancer showed potential talent. Somebody please put some clothes on him and put him in a real show."
"You see? He liked you. You showed potential talent."
"So what's 'anorexically thin' mean?" Terry asked, not really sure if he was complimented or not.
"You know. Anorexia. He means you're too skinny."
"And you think this is good?"
Wayne shook his head. "He said you showed potential talent. He said you should be in a real show."
"I thought I was in a real show," Terry argued. "After all, I get paid tonight."
"Well, I'll find out next weekend if it's real or not," Wayne said. That was when he had tickets.
That evening Terry walked into the theatre to be greeted at the door by the stage manager. "We close this weekend," he said. Terry then went to the dressing rooms to find the rest of the cast in equally low spirits. It was incredibly depressing to know they were in a flop that would barely run one week. At least Wayne would get to see the show, even if he was attending the final performance. Slowly the others began to get made up and dressed. Terry sat at his mirror and went through the motions, preparing for the show. The play began and slowly wound its way to the conclusion when everyone could finally go home.
Terry slipped out of the stage door and found a short, bald man smoking a smelly cigar, waiting for him. "Hey, kid. I caught your act tonight," the man said.
"Thanks," Terry replied instinctively, then he realized that the man had not actually paid him a compliment. He also felt oddly cheapened by the referral to his part in the production as "his act." It made him sound like a third rate vaudeville performer.
"So I hear this turkey folds at the end of the week."
"Yeah," Terry replied, walking quickly away from the obnoxious little man.
"Wait up, kid. I want to talk with you."
"I'm sorry but I've got a ride to catch."
"Hey, you need a ride? I got a car."
Terry had been as polite as he could. Now he decided it was time to try New York rudeness. "My mother told me never to accept rides from strangers."
"Wait a minute, kid," the man said as he tried to keep up with Terry's rapid pace, huffing and putting as he jogged along. "You got me all wrong. I want to talk business with you."
"Business?" Terry asked, stopping short and almost causing the little man to collide into him.
"Yeah, business. You've got a pretty good looking body and . . ." Terry turned and immediately started walking rapidly down the street. "Now where you going?" the little man whined and again started to pursue him.
"I'm not a hustler," Terry said over his shoulder.
"And I ain't no trick," the man yelled back. "I'm a theatrical agent." Again Terry stopped, almost causing another collision. "What I wanted to say was I saw your reviews and they weren't half bad. I don't know how you landed in this piece of crap but I'd be interested in representing you."
Terry apologized for his rude behavior and immediately thanked the man for his interest. The little man handed him a business card and told him to drop by his office the next day. He then stuck the cigar in his mouth and turned to walk off down the street. "Thank you!" Terry shouted again after him and dashed off in the opposite direction.
When he got home he immediately told Wayne the news. It was a real roller coaster. From the bottom of being in a show that ran only one week, he was lifted up to the heights by the offer of having his own agent. He knew this could only mean good things. He was certain an agent would help him get jobs that were closed to him before. Wayne, on the other hand, interjected a note of sobriety. Who was this agent? What agency did he work for? Wayne pointed out that he could be a worthless exploiter just trying to take Terry for whatever he could get.
The next morning Terry showed up at the office of Bremen and Williams Talent Agency. It was located on the seventh floor of an older and smaller skyscraper uptown and well away from the theatrical district. The building appeared shabby but the individual offices were shabbier still. A secretary sat in the outer office that was reached by entering a door with a cracked, frosted glass window which read, "Breme n lliams" in gilt paint. The outer office had a tile floor of small black and white hexagons that reminded Terry of an old barber shop. The receptionist/secretary was a plump older woman with a dyed blond beehive hairdo and way too much makeup. The bright red lipstick contrasted with the rose shade of the two circular splotches of rouge on her puffy cheeks. She stubbed out a cigarette in a dirty ashtray as Terry walked in, then looked up at him with beady little black eyes under thick swatches of green shadow and black arches drawn on for eyebrows. "May I help you?" she asked in a thin voice that didn't seem to match her bulk.
"Yes, I'm here to see . . ." Terry quickly glanced at the card in his hand. ". . . Mr. Williams."
"Your name?" she intoned in a bored voice.
"Terry Michaelson."
"Terry Michaelson to see you," she said as she pushed down a button on a small box on her desk.
"I don't know any Terry Michaelson," the voice growled back from the box.
"Mr. Williams doesn't know any Terry Michaelson," the woman repeated in the same thin monotone.
"He . . . he gave me his card and asked me to come by today," Terry said. He was in shock. He couldn't believe he would be so summarily dismissed. "He saw me in 'Six Months on the Floor with Spiders' last night."
The woman again depressed the button on the intercom. "This guy says you asked him to come in today."
"What's his name?" the voice asked. The woman again repeated the name. "I don't know any Terry Michaelson," the man replied in the exact same tone as before.
"He says you saw him six months ago in a floor show with spiders."
"No, that's the name of the play and it was last night," Terry said angrily. He was becoming more and more frustrated over the situation.
"Oh, wait. Is he the skinny kid who danced naked in that turkey in the Village?" the voice asked.
"Well are you?" the old lady asked trying to arch her already impossibly high pencilled eyebrows.
"Yes," Terry admitted with a smile, happy that he was finally remembered. He was too relieved to be upset over the less than flattering description.
"Send him in and get me a standard 84-87."
"Right through that door," the woman said, pointing at yet another door with a frosted glass window.
"Come in, kid." The bald man from the night before welcomed him as he sat behind a messy desk that looked like it was purchased form an army surplus store. He puffed on his smelly cigar. "Sit down. What did you say your name was?"
"Terry Michaelson."
"Yeah, of course. Listen, Terry. You got an agent?" Terry was about to answer but the little man kept on talking, not giving him a chance. "Of course not, a kid like you just starting out in the business. Besides, what agent would let his kid do a piece of schlock like that? I say if it smells like shit, looks like shit and tastes like shit, chances are you'll find it in the crapper. You follow me, kid?"
"Well . . ." Terry was a little overwhelmed by the man's fast pattern of speech. He felt a little like a rube about to be taken by a slick carnival barker.
"So you got pictures? You got a resume?"
"Oh sure." Terry held out the folder containing his resume and 8 x 10 black and white photos he had from college.
"Not bad. Not bad," Mr. Williams said as he moved the cigar stub back and forth in his mouth. "So kid, you like dancing naked in a turkey?" The man suddenly stopped his study of the resume and stared intently at Terry.
"Well, no, I guess not."
"Good. Means you got ambition. Truth is you started on the bottom. That's where I get 'em all. Scrape 'em from the bottom and give 'em a boost up the ladder till they think they're all too damn big for Marvin Williams. You know Joel Grey? You know Jerry Orbach?"
"Yes," Terry said in awe.
"Me too. So kid, you got anything lined up after this turkey folds?"
"No."
"Great. Rose," he suddenly yelled as he jammed his finger down on a button on his intercom. "Deaf as a post. Where's the hell's that 84-87?" He looked back at Terry and again began to work the cigar in his mouth, chewing on it as he spit out the words around it. "Deaf as a post. Dumb old broad. Standard contract, kid. You get 85 percent, I get 15 plus fees for extra work such as new photos, resumes, and other crap. I also get a finders fee per job. Okay? Now . . . what the hell did you say your name was again?"
"Terry Michaelson," Terry answered for what he felt was the hundredth time.
"No ring. No flash. Make it short like Rock Hudson. Now there's a man's man. Michaels. Rock Michaels. You a member of Equity, Rock Michaels?"
"No," Terry admitted. "If our show ran any longer they were supposed to . . ."
"Okay, I'll fix that. Rose, where the hell's . . ." At this point the old lady came in carrying some papers. "Kid, take these and fill 'em out, then drop 'em back by here tomorrow. And here, sign this one. It's a prelim binder so somebody else don't snap you up." He threw several forms at Terry, then held out the binder and a pen. "I'll have you in a job by next week. I'm really good. You wait and see. Meanwhile, go have some fun. Don't put all your energy in this turkey about spiders. It ain't worth it. See ya tomorrow, Rock Michaels. Now get out of here. I gotta make some calls."
Terry took the forms and quickly exited the little office. Even before he was out the door Marvin Williams was again screaming for Rose on the intercom. Terry quickly left the office building and caught the subway back downtown to the restaurant where Wayne worked. He was doing the lunch shift and so they planned to go out together for the afternoon, shopping and exploring the city, in search of adventure as Wayne put it.
"So what's the story on your new agent?" Wayne asked when he got off work and grabbed Terry by the arm. As they chatted Wayne deftly steered his friend down the street and finally onto a bus. They traveled for several blocks before getting off again as Terry described the offices of Bremen and Williams causing Wayne to laugh as he told about little Marvin Williams screaming for Rose in the intercom.
"So where are we going?" Terry asked as he finally finished his story about the agency.
"We're not going anywhere," Wayne said as he pulled open a nondescript silver glass door which appeared as a mirror on the outside but a window from the interior. "We're already here."
"Where are we?" Terry asked. "I mean where exactly is here?"
"Would you just relax and enjoy?" Wayne admonished. "I promised you an adventure this afternoon and now you're going to get one." He dragged his friend down the dark, narrow hallway to a tiny glass window at the end. An older man in a red shirt sat behind the window, looking like a ticket seller in a movie theater box office. "I have a guest. We just need two lockers," Wayne said to the man behind the window and slipped a crumpled bill under the glass wall along with a laminated membership card. The man quickly checked the card and then slid it back with some change. He then pressed a button which caused a loud buzzing at a solid wooden door next to the booth. "Come on," Wayne ordered and pushed Terry through the door which he held open. Inside the hallway ran past an open counter that was part of the little box office. The man in the red shirt placed two white, terry cloth bath towels on the counter, then dropped a brass key on an elastic band on each towel.
"What is this place?" Terry asked in confusion.
"The baths, now would you come on," Wayne answered as he grabbed one of the towels and tossed the other one at Terry. He again grabbed Terry by the arm and pulled him out, into what looked like a big locker room. The walls were lined with grey, metal lockers and long, wooden benches painted blue were placed in the center of the room between the tiny metal doors. The only main difference between this locker room and one in a gymnasium was the absence of tile. The floor was covered with a flat maroon carpet.
"Baths! Wayne what are we doing here?"
"We're going to have a good time. You're gay and you live in New York City. It's about time you started enjoying yourself and acting the part."
Terry was confused by this statement. "Acting what part?"
"The part of the urban gay. Now find your locker and take your clothes off." Wayne had opened the metal closet matching his key number and began to strip, hanging his clothes inside.
Terry shrugged his shoulders and began to follow suit. In a few minutes they were both naked with bath towels wrapped around their waists. "Now what do we do?" Terry asked naively.
"For a college educated white boy sometimes you're awfully dumb," Wayne remarked as he showed Terry how to slip the elastic band holding the key over his wrist. "Now we go in search of excitement, adventure and pleasure. Just don't get too worked up. It's afternoon and this place doesn't really get going until after eleven."
Wayne led Terry out into the larger room that had a giant screen television and several comfortable looking lounge chairs. The TV was showing reruns of "Leave it to Beaver" with no one watching. Wayne next led Terry to a narrow stairway that ascended. On the upper level was a long, narrow hallway that stretched out before them. There were doors on both sides of the hall with numbers on them. "You can rent these rooms for $10 a night," Wayne explained as he led the way down the hall. Most of the doors were closed, but as they walked along, they passed one or two that were standing open. Terry glanced inside one to see a tiny cubicle barely large enough to hold a mattress on a wooden platform which functioned as a bed. On the mattress sat a fat old man, totally nude and slowly masturbating himself. He grinned a welcome to Terry, but the two moved quickly on down the hall, leaving the man alone in his room.
"Terry," Wayne whispered as he stopped short in front of him. "You go on and explore while I have some fun with that one." He pointed to a well built, middle aged man leaning against the frame of an open doorway just ahead. He had one leg cocked up on the wall which caused the towel cinched around his waist to gap open and show just a hint of his ample genitals. As Terry watched, Wayne strolled up and paused by the man, then reached out and gently ran his hand over the stranger's chest. The man dropped his leg and stepped back into the open room. Wayne followed him in and the door closed leaving Terry alone in the dimly lit hallway.
For a while he toyed with the idea of returning to the locker room, retrieving his clothes and going home. But he was already here; he might as well continue to explore. Terry wandered on, following the hallway until it opened out on a large shower room. There the carpeting disappeared and the floor became damp cement. An attractive older man was soaping up and rinsing under one of the communal shower heads as Terry walked through. On the opposite side of the room it narrowed back to the carpeted hallway surrounded by the cubicles. Terry eventually found himself back at the stairway where he had begun.
Climbing up to the next floor, Terry found more private cubicles, restrooms, and a weight room equipped with barbells. One of his more interesting discoveries was the orgy room, a much larger cubicle without a door, containing two queen sized mattresses lying side by side on the floor. As Terry looked in he saw about five men all working together in an interlocked daisy chain. He continued on till he came to another large but dimly lit room with a small movie screen at one end. There were a number of overstuffed pillows and bean bag chairs in the room and a film was being projected on the screen showing two men screwing under the trees of what looked to be a national park. No one else was in the room at the time, so Terry dropped down on one of the bean bags, enjoying the feel of it as it molded to his body contours.
As he watched the film, another man entered the room. He was tall and extremely skinny with very pale, white skin. He wore black plastic framed glasses and had short cropped black hair, giving the impression that the young man was a nerd. The newcomer seemed terribly nervous and Terry thought he probably felt out of place without his pocket protector and mechanical pencils. This image brought a smile to Terry's lips. The man, seeing the smile took it to be an invitation and sat on a pillow next to Terry. "Is it a good movie?" he asked as he glanced up.
"I don't know. I guess," Terry answered and fixed his eyes on the film.
"You want to join me over there?" the man asked and pointed to what looked like a fitting room in a clothing store jutting out from the wall. Before Terry could reply the man stood up and walked over, opened the door and stepped inside. He pulled it shut behind him. As he did so the older man Terry had seen in the showers entered the room. He glanced around, then made a line for the occupied closet. He stepped up to the door and dropped his towel. It was then that Terry notice the hole cut in the door at crotch level. The older man grabbed two handles that were mounted high on the door just for this purpose, then pushed himself against it, his genitals meeting the hole. As Terry watched he began humping the opening until he finally groaned in ecstacy. He then quickly stepped back and grabbed his towel, leaving the room in a hurry.
The closet door opened and the skinny man staggered out and dropped back on the pillow beside Terry. "You were great," he said. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Terry mumbled and tried to concentrate on the movie screen.
"You got a great body, kid," Marvin was saying. "That's part of what it takes in this business. Use it."
"But I don't want to do pornography. I'm an actor and dancer."
"What pornography? What are you talking about?" the little man asked as he chewed furiously on the end of his cigar. "I'm simply asking you to take some photos in the nude. It's art, not sleaze. I'm a legitimate agent. I don't do no smut."
"Okay," Terry argued, "so why do you need 'art' pictures of me. I've got the resume shots and composites."
"What are you nervous about? You danced all but buck naked in that show about the spiders with eighty people a night looking at your tally whacker. Now you suddenly get shy?"
"I'm not shy. I just don't see the purpose . . ."
Marvin interrupted him. "Kid, you let me worry about purposes. That's my job. You just be at that studio at two o'clock sharp. Now get out of here and let me get to work."
Terry showed up at the photography studio at ten minutes till two and was escorted into a dressing room by an attractive young woman who served as a receptionist. She looked at the information that was written on a clipboard and then told him to strip down. "Collin will call you when he's ready," she said, then left.
Several minutes later a knock came on the louvered door. "Mr. Michaels, let's go." Terry nervously stepped out to be greeted by a handsome man dressed entirely in black from his shoes to his turtle neck. "I'm Collin Waters," he said as he extended his hand and clasped Terry's in a firm grip. "I see from your order that Mr. Williams, your agent wants some full body nudes. This way please."
The man in black led Terry into the studio proper. He then positioned Terry on a wooden stool and pulled down a grey, textured backdrop behind him. Next he spent some time adjusting the bright lights which reflected off of what looked like white umbrellas. "Okay, I think we're ready to begin," he said as he picked up his camera. "Can you sit up a bit and relax?"
Terry had slumped forward, folding his hands in his lap. "I'm a little nervous about this," he said as he sat back on the stool.
"Don't be," the photographer replied. "Think of me as your doctor. I've seen hundreds of nudes, men and women." He began to move around and snap pictures as he spoke. "Tilt the chin up. Good. I've seen and photographed it all so you've no reason to be nervous with me. Raise your left shoulder. Now turn full front on the stool. Okay."
Terry began to relax a bit with the easy conversational style of the photographer. He even managed a smile or two. "That's nice," Collin said as he continued to snap the shutter. "Now put both hands behind your head and arch the back." Terry balked, but as Collin persuaded he finally complied. "You've got a nice body, Mr. Michaels. Very photogenic. Spread your legs just a bit. That's right. We need to get a least a couple of shots showing that big dick of yours." Terry blushed but did as he was instructed. "You're a dancer?"
"Yes," Terry said, then added a question. "Do other dancers always have full body nude shots?"
"The ones that Williams promotes do," Collin answered. Next he removed the stool and talked Terry through some poses.
In an hour they were through. "Thanks," Terry said as he walked back to the dressing room. "You made me feel comfortable doing this."
"Thank you," the photographer replied. "You're a natural. I don't know when I've had such an easy shoot. In fact, to show my appreciation, can I take you out for a drink. You were my last schedule for the day and I expected this to run at least three hours."
"I'd like that," Terry said as he closed the louvered door. He quickly began dressing as he looked forward to getting to know this handsome man better. "He must be gay and interested in me," Terry thought happily to himself. He could feel the vibrations that the photographer was sending out. "Maybe I'll finally have a boyfriend."
He stepped out in his street clothes and found Collin waiting for him in the outer office. They were just about to leave, the photographer's hand resting comfortably on Terry's shoulder when the pretty young receptionist called out. "Collin, your wife's on the phone."