I'm back. Every few months I start to miss Aidan and Billy, start seeing them in shopping malls and in my dreams. The only way I can stay in touch with my boys is to put together another installment - resurrection by fiction, in a way. If you're new to "Fifteen" I'll risk offending you by stating the obvious: begin at the beginning.
Anyway, if my little saga of teens in revolt strikes a chord with you (or even if you just want to tell me not to quit my day job), by all means write. It means a lot to me. And loyal readers will attest that I am extraordinarily dutiful about writing back. pijito52@aol.com
XXIX
There are no second acts in American lives. - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Fitzgerald didn't know me. - Aidan Michael Maguire
About twenty minutes later, Manley ushers Billy and me from the waiting room into another, smaller room off the main corridor. He's carrying a laptop and a bottle of Dasani, more reporter than cinema auteur.
"Make yourselves comfortable, boys," he says, pointing to a semi-circular couch. The room is windowless, and despite the hum of the A.C., it feels tight and airless. He pulls up a folding chair next to the end table, fires up the laptop, and inserts a disk.
"I don't normally work like this," he says. "But then again, this isn't a normal shoot. Tell you the truth, I've got butterflies. Been a long time since I cared enough to feel nervous. You guys okay?"
"Yes," I say, though it doesn't quite sound like my voice.
"Sure, Manley," Billy adds, but I don't believe him. He's shivering or trembling, I don't know which.
"What I said before, I meant it. I only want to do this if you're ready. You tell me no go, it's no go. I shake your hands and send you back to wherever you came from."
"Why, Manley?" Billy wants to know. "You've seen us. You've seen all kinds of shit, I'm sure."
"That's the problem: I've seen too much shit. It's pretty much all shit. Not you guys. Not you."
He clicks PLAY. The images on the monitor are stark and unforgettable. Two punk kids mugging for Vernon's digicam. Manley pauses on a kiss.
"Look. That's not porn. That's something else. It's not Art exactly, though it's got this Las Meninas thing going on. Timeless. Frozen moment. Suspended animation. It's not porn, I know that much." Manley's voice trails off as if he's aware that he's talking to himself.
"Hit PLAY," Billy offers.
"Silly boy." Manley's bright smile opens the room up. He releases the image, and suddenly Billy and I are watching ourselves go at it, an epic instant replay of the other day's madness, a tangle of sinew and sweat bathed in a golden light two shades too dark for nature. There's no soundtrack - just Billy wheezing next to me and Manley choking back a sob. I don't want to look, but I can't tear my eyes away. Billy's holding on to me. It's like we're trying to land through wind shear.
Mercifully, after a few minutes, Manley stops the show. "That's not porn," he says for the third time. "Vernon couldn't have known it. He's just a technician. He was in the right place at the right time. Lightning in a bottle, the motherfucker."
"What's wrong, Manley?" Billy, child of light, is sensitive to the darkness.
"Nothing's wrong, Billy. That's what's wrong. Your little audition is the perfect storm. I can't watch it as a director. There's nothing left for me to do. I guess what I'm thinking is, you guys have already made the movie I've wanted make all my life."
"So we'll do a sequel!" Billy exclaims. "It's not like me and Aidan are one and done. Shit, we're just figuring it out. We can do it better. Like T-2 or the second Matrix. Like the Godfather."
Manley's laughing, of course, in that twinkly, avuncular way, but I see him in a place Billy's never been to, a place he'll never have to visit if the gods decide to smile on him. I'm in it, of course, and I'm just 16, but then my heart's always been old. I understand these things, this nostalgia, or whatever it is. The bird on the wing. The way my childhood keeps waving goodbye from the back of the bus.
"No, boys. I don't think so. Doesn't feel right." Manley clasps his hands behind his head and sighs. "Thanks just the same. I mean it."
XXX
Billy and I just sit there, not sure what we're supposed to do next. For the moment, Manley's not going anywhere. He looks stunned, wounded, as if we'd just run over his dog.
Then it's my turn to weigh in. "Manley? Please lock the door."
"I don't think so, Aidan. Really. I appreciate the offer. We wouldn't be filming in here anyway. We'd be using the set rooms. They're wired. The stuff's all there. Outside shooting we do on the boss's farm in Lexington."
"Lock the door, please," I repeat. This time he obliges. "Okay, so we're not filming. I'm good with that. I'm better than good. I'm relieved, actually." Billy pulls away from me in confusion. I grab him and pull him back. "But we owe you, man. And besides, I like you. You're a . . . you're a nice person." Wherever is this little speech coming from? I'm not usually so sentimental.
He coughs a bit, then catches his breath. "Well, thanks, laddie. I don't hear that too often around this place. I mean, fuck it, I don't ever hear it. But y'all don't owe me a damn thing. If anything, I owe you boys. I guess it's never too late for an epiphany. The child is father of the man and all that jazz. So just how strange is all this shit?" I suppose he intends this question rhetorically. Suddenly, I leap up and unbutton my shirt, throw it on the floor like I'm some junior varsity Chippendale. Without pausing for dramatic effect, I slip out of my shorts and fling them against the wall. I slide down my boxers and kick them viciously to the side. I'm naked, of course, my already swollen dick arcing out into space like a lunar probe. "It's all too strange, Manley. Too strange." It doesn't sound like me talking. I'm using this sexed-up voice I didn't know I had in my arsenal. "The movie's for all the guys, I guess. The guys out there. The bad daddies and the pervs. I want to do this for you, Manley. Just for you. An offering. A blessing. For the vault. For posterity. For the movie you never got to make." I must look like the biggest fool on the planet, but I'm going to go through with it. I'm going to seal this moment in amber so Manley can take it home with him to put next to the bedstand Bible and the picture of mom. "Billy," I exhort. "I love you. Now take off your clothes!"
My boy is freaked, but he obeys. When he is naked, I pull him towards me so that our bodies are aligned. Even in my madness, I'm conscious of symmetry, of the contours, a sculptor posing his models. Our kiss is protracted, tautened tongues parrying. I feel Billy's boner mashing into mine, but I'm not quite ready to release him. I steal a glimpse at Manley, still seated, shaking his head. He's seen it all, but he's never seen this.
Then I go to my knees, a supplicant at the altar. I take Billy's cock in my hand, caress it like a holy icon, squeeze a drop of communion juice from the gumdrop glans. I trace the circumference, round and round, gently furrowing the dark circumcision scar with my index fingernail. Billy's going apeshit, moaning and groaning and laughing, his muscles twitching and contracting, in full seizure mode. My breath upon the peehole could make him explode - I'm that powerful. I could will him to orgasm, abracadabra, with a flick of my tongue. But then, power is also holding back, as love is waiting - forever, if need be.
"Jesus, Aidan. What the fuck? Where's this coming from?" Billy's not mad, trust me, but he's trying to regain a bit of relinquished control. Not gonna happen, I tell myself. Not gonna happen.
"I love you, fool. I love you more than I love God." That's not something I've ever thought, that I could love a boy more than God, and it's certainly nothing I could have said aloud. But in this little chapel at the porn studio, I'm testifying to the rapture, to the absolute surrender of the heart to a force greater than life itself. I stand up and bury my tongue in Billy's waiting mouth.
"Oh Lord. Stop!" This time it's Manley under my spell. He can walk out any time he wants, but he doesn't want to, not really. "This can't be good for my heart." At least he's still laughing, though I'm hearing tears in his quivering voice.
"Come here old man. Come here. Aidan and Billy can fix you right up. Your heart's gonna love it."
He approaches like a naughty schoolboy to the teacher's desk, embarrassed in the extreme, but curious beyond measure to find out what awaits him. Billy defers to me. This isn't in any playbook he's ever studied.
He doesn't resist when I yank down his pants. I guess I know why Manley did porn. He has a magnificent penis, an old man's penis, veiny and thick, and balls that hang low in their hairy sack. He's not as long as me, that'd be freaky, but he's fatter, and like me, he's uncut. I jack him a few times and he's as hard as he's going to get. I open wide to take him in, vaguely aware that he tastes different than Billy, a little mustier, a little riper, more organic. I suck up on his foreskin, pulling it back over the head, then pinch it tight with my teeth. He shudders and grabs my shoulders for stability. I hold his throbbing dick in two hands, look up into his frightened eyes, and say, "better?" Then I'm back at it, oblivious to the pounding my throat is taking. Miraculously, I'm breathing fine, no gag reflex, no hesitation at all in my ambition to give this man something to remember. Manley is sweating, convulsing, speaking in tongues. He could stroke at any second, I think, but he's too far-gone to care, and I could call it euthanasia when the cops came. I go down to the root, bury my nose in his pubes, then slowly pull back until just the head, again hooded, is in my mouth. I feel the surge burst from his aching balls and travel the length of his shaft, and precisely at that instant I set his dick free. He squirts my face a couple of times, then several more thick droplets ooze out. I take his rapidly deflating cock again in hand, and lick him clean under the foreskin. Again I ask: "better?" This time he says, no longer hiding the tears, "much better. Much better." The child indeed is the father of this man.
The rest is pretty blurry. It's mostly Billy and me, and when we're going at it, nothing gets in the way, not the furniture, not gravity, not our silent witness, drinking it all in. We're acrobats, contortionists, even. One minute I'm bending Billy over the couch, rubbing my dick furiously up and down the crack in his glorious ass, the next he's wrestled me to the carpet and is force-feeding me his own angry soldier. This time I finish him off and swallow his offering with a resounding smack of the lips. When my turn comes, I close my eyes, vaguely aware that two tongues are working along the shaft, that one set of teeth is nibbling away at my prepuce while another teases my scrotum. They've got me arching my back like a Rumanian gymnast as I try to postpone the inevitable, that singular sensation any sane man would gladly die for. Finally I can't hold back any longer and I open my eyes and look at my love and tell him now, Billy, now, and after a few gentle strokes, I shoot these big sticky bombs of eternal energy all over the place. My dick twitches for thirty seconds. It's another minute before I can find my voice, and then the only thing I can think to say is "Wow!"
I'm learning that sex isn't over when it's over. You don't just push STOP and EJECT, you know, put your clothes back on and get back to business. It takes time for the nerves to climb back into their casings. It takes time for the soul to stop pounding, even when the heart rate has stabilized. I guess that's why they always show guys lighting cigarettes after sex. There's nothing left to say, so something has to fill the vacuum.
Billy breaks the silence. "Manley," he asks, "who are we? I mean, I'm not sure I know who I am any more." Why is he asking the old man, I think, and then it occurs to me that I've got the same question and nothing like an answer.
"Lots of kids fuck around," he says elliptically. "Younger than you." His eyes roll back into his head for a few seconds as if he's trying to find just the right way to complete his dissertation. "You guys fuck around, sure. But you're playing a totally different game. You speak another language. You sing a song only angels can hear. Fuck. Listen to the old faggot." He inhales deeply, then exhales a sigh for the ages. "What you are Billy, what you are Aidan, is truly, deeply, purely in love. I've never seen anything like it. I know I've never felt anything in 57 years like what I've felt emanating from you two. Sounds like bullshit, I'm sure, but I think you guys are the spirit of Love itself. And as to what you're doing at fucking BeauTown studios, well, I guess the gods sent you to teach an old cynic a lesson. I'm gonna retire tomorrow, work on a real screenplay, learn digital art, some shit like that. I mean it. And it's because of you."
I'm looking at this man I met a few hours ago, and I don't know, he makes me feel right again. I see him compromised in his nakedness, gaunt, pot-bellied, knobby kneed, hairy as a Yeti and really old, and yet I know he is beautiful.
"Well, what do you say fellas? I'm going to take care of some paperwork, then I'll drive you home."
"We don't live here. In Louisville." Billy whispers.
"I know, buddy. Nobody who works here lives here. It's just an expression. I mean I'll take you wherever you need to go. Look, I know you're running. You have to be. There ain't a house big enough for the both of you, not in the America I know." Suddenly modest, he slips on his pants and shirt. He walks over to Billy and plants a kiss on his cheek. "You're a beauty, Billy. A stark raving beauty. Now get dressed. Let's blow this taco stand."
Then he pulls me toward him. "As for you, Aidan, I don't know what to say. I think I'm in the presence of greatness, and what does a nobody like me say when he's in the presence of greatness? I don't know: maybe 'I'm gonna miss you most of all'? Sorry for getting so Wizard of Oz on you." He kisses me on the cheek, too, but not before he gives my clumsy dick one last tug. "You could be a star, Aidan, but I swear I'll hunt you down and kill you if you even think of it. Get dressed and meet me in the waiting room."
XXXI
We drive in silence through the twilight, past horse farms and roadside taverns. Mist rises from the cooling bluegrass. The air smells sweet and vegetal. When we hit the city limits I tell Manley to drop us off at the Denny's by Memorial Park. If I'm hungry, then Billy must be famished.
Manley smiles as we get out of his Eldorado, but he understands as we all do that there's nothing left to say.
Billy and I eat quietly and deliberately. I order a grilled cheese, fries, and a bowl of tomato soup - comfort food for the wayward boy. Billy orders the left side of the menu, pausing only to slurp down his Dr. Pepper and stare out the window at the traffic passing by. If I had a guess, I'd say he's thinking what I'm thinking: wonder how things are in the Glade? He's trying to decide if we should go home, after all. He's thinking, as I'm thinking, that maybe they'll just let us be, that maybe our love is as mighty as Manley says it is, so strong that nobody can touch us, so tough it can withstand a thousand hostile glances. He's thinking about school and soccer and the prom. He wonders, above all, if he can ever be a kid again, just a stupid kid with dreams and plans and this odd gay boyfriend he loves more than life.
"Not gonna work, Aidan. They'll never let us." The telepathy of love.
"No. Probably not."
It's five blocks to the hotel. The streets are dark and shadowy, but less intimidating than last night. Billy puts his arm around my shoulder, and we weave back and forth like drunks, kicking stray cans and singing "Let's Get Retarded!" to the nearly full moon perched like an old silver dollar above the tallest trees in the park. I see the Lexus under a security lamp in the motel parking lot. My mom's Lexus, Virginia plates. There's a cop car a few slots away, and I have to believe the cop it belongs to is with her, standing watch somewhere nearby. I don't say anything to Billy, but I know immediately I'm not going to run. We've been caught, and I'm wondering only how it took her so long.
XXII
"Hi Mom. I guess you found us." I don't know if Billy's more shocked that she's sitting in our room or that I didn't tell him so that we could make a run for it.
"Darling, I knew I would, sooner or later. We've got resources, you know, or at least that's what the authorities told us. Billy Nolan, you're looking wonderful."
"Thanks, Mrs. Maguire. You're looking pretty good, too."
She's so calm. It's like I've brought a playmate home from school. She's going to tell us to wash up, then feed us a plate of cookies. "I've got so many questions for you both, but they can wait. Just tell me you're okay. That'll do for the moment."
"We're fine, Mom. Really. I wanted to tell you."
"I made him do it, Mrs. Maguire. Don't be mad at him."
"Nobody's mad, Billy. I'm just relieved."
"Where's Dad? Where are the Nolans?" I'm hoping they aren't hanging around in the coffee shop, waiting to bust up the mother and son reunion.
"I came by myself. I told your father it was the best way to handle things. For once, he let me make the decision. Billy, dear, Byron called your folks. They're still trying to figure things out but they're waiting for you."
"Figure out what?" Billy asks. "It's pretty obvious isn't it? They found out about me, and I decided I could do better without them. With Aidan."
"Honey, they're confused. I know they love you. We're your parents. Of course we love you."
"I guess you've figured out I'm gay. Right, mom? Is Byron sulking around the house? Wondering if he should have signed me up for martial arts camp back in 7th grade?" This is a new tone for me. Then again, life on the road has toughened me. "Look. I love Billy. He's my boyfriend. You're going to have to get used to it."
"Aidan. I'll get used to it. Your father will get used to it. The Nolans will get used to it. But we can't even begin to until you come back to us."
"It's been awesome, Mom. It's been like Huck Finn, except that the boys are faggots. It's been a real, you know, learning experience. Bet you didn't know I had any survival skills, did you? I got us here, Mom. All by myself. I worked my game. Aidan the Dork, Master of the Known Universe."
"You can tell me all this later, darling. I want to know everything, I do. But I'm really tired, and I should talk to Officer Quinn. Tell him we're going to be okay."
"The cop in the parking lot? Officer Quinn? Were you going to have us arrested?"
"Of course not. But I didn't want you to run. You're not going to run again, are you?" She's really sad and I'm pretty tired, way too tired to run, so I say, "Mom. It's over. We're coming home. Tell Officer Quinn there's a happy ending. Tell him you've got your little boy back. And his cute little boyfriend." For the second time today, Billy shoots me the "you're fucking nuts" look, but I know he's grateful and secretly happy.
"Mom. We've paid for the room. We'll stay here. Are you at the Shedrow, too? Nice facility. AAA Rated. Byron would approve."
"No, Aidan. I've got to find a place."
"Well, we'll be here in the morning. I promise."
"Aidan?"
"Yes." She's pleading.
"We're fine. We're not running."
"I do love you, my son."
"I know you do, Mom." She stands and grabs her purse, brushing invisible lint from her Ann Taylor pantsuit. She freezes for a moment at the open door, unsure for an instant whether she should close it behind her. That does it for me, that look, the look of mothers throughout time who fear they may never see their child again. I say, "aw, just a sec, Mom," and I walk over to her and hug her close to me, stroking her back until all the sobs have dissipated.
We're going home.