Chapter 6
It was fairly early in the day, especially for theater people, but already the pavements of Manhattan were beginning to steamily reflect the heat of the sun which scorched the towers and turned the subways into sticky, smelly pestholes.
What had been a stiffly starched sports shirt when Phil had slipped into it after his shower was now limp as a 42nd Street fairy's wrist,, and as soggy as the twenty-cent pizzas he had learned to shun in the Times Square area.
"Sorry you came to the big city now?" Dan teased as Phil mopped his brow as they paused for the light to change and the taxis to quit trying to beat the lights.
"No, but I see why you said air conditioning is a must."
"Well, we'll be at the theater in a minute, and it should be cool."
They turned the corner onto the street of theaters, and stopped at a drug store fountain.
"Light coffee, large," Dan ordered when the pimply-faced youth slouched over to them.
"Coke, the biggest you've got," Phil said, swabbing his damp forehead and brushing away a strand of his blond hair.
"Someday you're going to turn into a Coke, the way you swig them down."
"A guy at a store back home said he'd heard of alcoholics and dope fiends, but never a Coke fiend, until he met me," Phil said and grinned. "I just don't like coffee, that's all."
They quickly hiked the half block to the theater and walked into the cool, murky auditorium where rehearsals were to be held since the previous show had closed a few weeks earlier.
A few shadowy figures were huddled toward the front of the orchestra section. When they approached, Dan introduced Phil to Sartain, the producer-director, and several assistants.
"You're early," Sartain boomed to Dan and nodding with a smile and slightly envious glance at Phil who had quietly shaken hands.
"I've got a very anxious young theater buff who couldn't wait to get here," Dan said and chuckled. "If he had his way, we'd be rehearsing at seven a.m.
"God forbid," Sartain growled. "Some of our precious actors would hardly be dragging themselves out of their lovers' beds and staggering home to their own at that hour. They'd be in no shape for anything but a death scene."
Dan grinned, but Phil was already staring into the shadows of the fly loft above the stage.
"Go on up and have a look around, if you like," Sartain suggested. "Just be careful, I'd hate to see you become the first accident victim and there's a lot of crap left over from the last show. Don't know why it hasn't been cleaned out yet."
Phil smiled gratefully and sprinted down the aisle and vanished behind the proscenium.
Sartain grinned at Dan and sank heavily into a chair.
"Ah, to have the energy of youth again. It's all I can do to drag my ass in here by mid-morning after a wild night with some cute young star-struck kid."
Dan sat down and set his coffee on the floor close to his feet. "The energy and the bloom are both gone too soon," he said. "Someday someone'll come up with a wonderful pill and we'll all remain young and sexy forever and ever."
"Amen. Pleasant thoughts, but not very--likely. I'd settle just for the energy to take on those tricks who come looking for a part in my plays. Absolute dolls, some of them. Ah well, we better get to work."
Dan reached for his coffee just as Sartain suddenly bellowed, "Can we have some LIGHTS, please?"
The coffee cup shook.
"Sorry," Sartain said and laughed, "but the light man we have is as good at hiding out as the actors. If you don't shout loud enough to be heard over on Sixth Avenue, he can't hear you down in the basement or wherever he hides."
Once more Sartain bellowed, and almost immediately the first bank of lights over the stage winked on, blinding Dan and the others momentarily. One by one the others came on, as did those in the auditorium.
"We don't need them ALL, Herman, just a coupla banks will be fine."
One row of lights flickered out, then there was a sudden commotion backstage.-
"Now what the--? " Sartain stopped as a wizened but agile man suddenly appeared from the wings with Phil in tow.
"This kid belong here or what?"
"What's the--? "
"Caught him flipping light switches. You know as well as I do nobody ain't allowed to work lights lessen he's union," the old man sputtered, still holding tight to Phil's arm.
The producer made his way to the stage. Not until Sartain reached him did the light man release Phil.
"Okay, son, better go back down with Dan," Sartain said to Phil, who glowered at the lighting technician, then stalked away.
Phil slumped into a seat by Dan, still seething. "Damn stupid little-"
"Now," Dan interrupted. "I know how you feel, but you did do something wrong. You could cause quite a to-do here, and the union might even walk out."
"But all I-"
"It might not seem like much to you, but think what would happen if everybody decided to flip a switch just because it was a minor little thing?"
Phil continued to scowl, refushing to comment. After a few minutes of watching the rehearsal, he got to his feet and strolled up the aisle to the back of the theater.
He explored the lobby, nodding to a handsome young actor who Was sitting on a folding chair studying a script. Then he went into the restroom.
Phil had hardly unzipped in front of the urinal and flopped his heavy dick out when the young actor came in and stood beside him.
"Hot day, ain't it?" the actor said as he pulled out a good sized cock.
"Yeah," Phil grumbled. He didn't mean to watch, but his eyes kept straying to the young actor's cock, which was slowly growing hard.
"The sort of day I'd rather stay home in bed, if there's somebody cute and cuddly with me," the actor added, flipping his now hard rod.
Phil swallowed hard, but didn't answer. His own cock was beginning to stiffen and he didn't know exactly what to do.
"Nice piece of meat you've got there," the actor whispered as he reached over and grasped Phil's now hard cock. "I love tender young cock meat."
"I-what if somebody--? "
"No need to worry. They're all wrapped up in that damned first act. We're by ourselves for a good hour, at least."
"But-"
"Hell, man, I've ripped off more pieces of ass here than you could count, but nothing as nice as this."
He squeezed Phil's cock, then leaned forward and took the head of it into his mouth and sucked it deep.
Phil sighed and thrust his hips forward so the actor could take the entire eight inches of his dick.
His heart pounded, for he knew he shouldn't be doing what he was doing, but there was a thrill to the actor's tongue action that couldn't be resisted.
As he continued to suck Phil's sensitive cockhead, the actor unbuckled his trousers and slipped them down. Then he suddenly came up off Phil's spit-wet cock and turned his buns toward it.
"Shove it in, hard," he whispered. "I want you to drive me up the wall with that pile driver prick."
Hesitantly Phil aimed his throbbing, glistening cock at the actor's gaping asshole. As soon as the tip of his cock touched the winking fuck hole, the actor shoved himself back and Phil's cock was quickly impaled.
"Oh, yes, that feels great! Now slam your dick to me, hard!"
Phil did as he was ordered, and soon was pounding the actor's asshole furiously and without thought of any injury his fat eight-inch weapon might inflict. The actor expertly squeezed his anal muscles around Phil's cock and milked it.
Soon Phil was gasping as he slammed his dick deep into the shitty fuck hole.
"I-I'm cuming!" he cried as he splashed his fiery jism deep within the cock tunnel.
"Oh yes, I can feel it! Give it to me, all of it!"
As soon as the last drops of his hot sticky cum had been milked from Phil's cock the actor pulled away and pulled up his trousers.
Phil walked over to a basin and washed off the shit brown ass-fuck evidence, then dried his cock with a towel.
"I've never fucked in a John before," he said softly.
When he turned around he discovered that the actor had already disappeared. He shook his head in disbelief at what he had done, then pulled his trousers up and fastened his belt.
When he went back outside the actor once more was studying, his script and didn't even look up as Phil passed.
Phil explored the various side aisles and finally climbed a dimly lightly stairway that lead to a dusty, once plush box.
For quite a while he sat in the dark box, watching the rehearsal going on below. The actors still were using their scripts much of the time. Even those who claimed to have it memorized often had to be prompted.
Phil at last saw a young woman sitting just behind the curtain on the far side of the stage, script in hand, occasionally cueing the forgetful performers. From across the stage she looked hardly older than he did himself, Phil noticed.
Sartain from time to time stopped the rehearsal and complained about actors' reading of the lines. Phil smiled; it was almost like home where he often sat unseen in the light booth and listened to the director bellowing at actors who continued to yawn and ignore his directions.
The sudden thought of home was a sad one, for Phil still could feel that dreadful little man's firm grip on his arm and the spitting angry comments as he had been jerked away from the light board.
He almost wished he had never accepted Dan's offer to come to New York. Back home he would be in charge, he would be the one to scream should anybody else touch his light board. He felt terribly helpless and unneeded as he sat watching the rehearsal.
Finally he got up and went back downstairs, then found his way through an exit hallway to the backstage area. He momentarily thought of apologizing to the lighting technician and thus perhaps becoming friends. He stood for a moment in the backstage shadows.
Just in front of him was 'the script girl, who continued to prompt the performers. Phil glanced around and saw the crotchety lighting man dozing in a caneback chair beside the lighting panel. Perhaps it wasn't an opportune time to approach him, Phil decided. He moved slightly to get a better view of the stage and one of the boards beneath his feet creaked slightly.
Probably nobody else heard it, although to Phil it seemed screamingly loud. He froze momentarily. The script girl glanced around, smiled and returned to her concentration. The light man failed to halt his snoring, and the drone on stage continued.
Phil sighed and relaxed. He occasionally glanced longingly at the light board and the sleeping sentinel, but did not make a move to disturb the old man. There would be better times, he decided.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he heard Sartain's booming voice call out as the actors came to the end of a scene. "Okay, it's lousy, but let's break here for lunch. Try to have some life in you when you get back, okay?"
Hie cast began to disappear, and Phil started toward the stage and the steps leading back to the auditorium. The script girl looked up from her notes and smiled.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"It's okay, but-well, I'm not used to just standing around doing nothing."
"It takes time, I guess, but those are the unions for you. They'd probably scream if we had a fire and turning on a light meant saving the theater.
They'd want a union man doing it." They both laughed.
As they chatted, Phil saw Dan and Sartain approach. Both nodded to the script girl and she started to excuse herself.
"Don't go, why not eat with us?" Phil blurted out. "It's okay, isn't it?" he added, turning to Dan. Dan nodded with a grin and a wink to Sartain.
"Certainly, if she's in the mood for the Automat or something exotic like that."
"Well?" Phil said, turning back to the girl.
"Sure, I was just going to grab a sandwich somewhere, but with two handsome gentlemen offering to escort me, that suddenly sounds very boring."
The lunch passed swiftly, with conversation mostly between Dan and the girl, who finally realized that they had not been introduced and after telling Phil her name was Elaine Levy, added that, "I know all about you two, even if you don't know a thing about me."
Dan blushed, but realized that Elaine was teasing and even if she did know completely about their relationship, could care less.
Elaine, after watching Phil eat silently as he listened to their conversation, turned her attentions to him as they walked back to the theater, and since Phil was intrigued by her job, she invited him to sit with her, although she admitted, "I'll show you how to become bored with theater in a hurry."
Elaine picked up the bulky notebook containing the script and the many scribbled notes concerning stage directions.
During the breaks in the rehearsal they continued their conversation on various aspects of theater, although usually it was Phil expounding on one of his pet theories and Elaine occasionally gently adding her own views.
Finally the rehearsal was over, and Phil and Dan walked with Elaine to her uptown subway entrance, then crossed to the downtown stairway.
"She's nice," Phil volunteered as they plunged down the stairs into the steamy subway station.
"I'm glad you've found someone to talk with, and someone who doesn't have to slap your hand for trying to help," Dan said somewhat absently, as he still thought of the play and rewriting that would have to be done that evening.
Phil blushed at the reference to the lighting incident.
"I-I'm sorry about this morning. I didn't mean any harm. I'm just so used to flipping on the lights I forgot."
"I know you've apologized, but you've got to be extremely careful around the theater. It's not like back home."
"I know that, but-"
"No buts about it. Sartain could've kicked you out this morning. We've got enough problems without having the union on our back. That second act just isn't playing well at all."
The argument mounted as they entered the apartment and even a cool shower failed to calm their heated tempers.
As Dan banged dishes in the kitchen, Phil sat with unseeing eyes looking out the window. He had never seen Dan in this mood before. Tears welled up, and he fought for self control.
Perhaps he should just leave Dan alone for a few hours to wrestle with his problems. He recalled that Sartain constantly stopped rehearsals through the afternoon, with long conversations with Dan and the actors following. And everybody seemed to have such glum expressions as they left.
Everybody, that is, except Kip Ralston, Phil reflected. Kip never seemed upset by even the most heated argument over a line, a bit of action, a situation that wasn't developing.
Since that first night at the Times Square bar, the actor had been quite friendly, without the not-so-subtle hints that he had something on his sly mind other than casual friendship. Phil remembered Kip's joking, "come up and see me sometime" comment made late in the afternoon. He had flounced over in a ridiculous imitation of Mae West and everybody had laughed.
Perhaps a visit with Kip would be fun, and give Dan time to cool off, Phil thought. He glanced over his shoulder. From the sound of banging utensils, Dan must still be upset.
So quietly Phil slipped out of the apartment and, once he was downstairs, he pulled a slip of paper from his wallet with Kip's address.
Determinedly, without looking back to see if Dan had missed him, Phil set off at a brisk pace for Kip's apartment.