Anything Could Happen (10 page)

So what did he say to the strangers next to him?

Were these amateurs like him? Professionals? He had no way of knowing.

He felt the tickle of a drop of sweat as it rolled down his side. God. This sucked. It was enough to make him want to leap up and run out of the room. He was about to do just that when Guy walked into the middle of the circle of chairs.

“Afternoon, everybody, and thanks for showing up. First things first. I want to make sure you are here for
Tearoom Tango
and not
Good People
. Both are fine, and I welcome you to it. But they are decidedly different plays.”

There was some laughter. Austin swiftly felt like there was some joke he’d been left out of.

“You got that right,” said Jennifer.

“Jennifer here is directing
Good People
and will be taking auditions starting in… about an hour?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Yup. But I had to see what was going on in here.”

“And that’s Jennifer—fingers into everything.”

“They don’t call me Producing Artistic Director for nothing,” she said.

“And thank God the Pegasus has her. She is
the
main reason the Pegasus has such a good reputation.”

“All this flattery today.” She laughed and winked at Austin.

Guy stood for a moment, looking in the faces of the actors around him. Then he nodded. “Well damn. I expected at least a few of you to leave. It’s surprising how illiterate some actors can be.”

More laughter.

“Okay, then,” he continued. “You all know this is a gay play, right?”

Austin froze. Felt himself blush as surely as he’d felt it the other hundred times he’d blushed in Guy’s presence. Gay? The play was gay?

Guy began to walk around the circle of chairs. “Or maybe it isn’t gay. What it’s really about is men who are lost, men who are afraid, men who are addicted, men who need
something
visceral to feel alive. Some of them find a sense of… reality in what they do in this play. Of feeling real. Of ego. I’ve known a few straight men who don’t care where they get their blowjobs. It makes them feel alive to have even a man suck them off….”

Austin’s feelings of reality faded further away. What? What was Guy saying? Blowjobs? What?

“
Tearoom Tango
is about anonymous sex between men in public restrooms.”

What? What?

“I am sure you all remember, or most of you do, a few years back when George Michael was arrested for ‘lewd behavior’ in a public restroom. The story varies if he was alone or if he was having sex with someone, but it doesn’t matter. Mr. Wham! is—or was—addicted to public sex.”

Austin’s stomach lurched. Sweat broke out across his forehead. What the hell had Guy asked him to get involved in? Public sex? Sex in public? In a bathroom? Sure, he’d heard of it, knew the stories told of the rest stop about a half hour outside of Buckman. But he had never quite believed it. Men really had sex in public restrooms? He sure hadn’t seen any sign of it when he’d stopped at that selfsame rest stop on his way to Kansas City. Nothing more than a few sentences scrawled on one wall in one stall.

Guy continued around the circle, looking into each man’s face. “There are all kinds of reasons why men engage in what is potentially such a dangerous practice. Some just need to get off and don’t care how they do it. Some find their identity in being nothing more than a sex toy. Only feel real when they’ve got a cock in their mouth.”

Austin’s mouth fell open, and then he quickly snapped it shut, begging the Universe that no one had seen him do it. What might they think?

“Some feel they aren’t worth anything, that they aren’t worth more than being just an outlet for the pleasure of other men—a cum-dump, they call it. Sex like that can be degrading—and maybe they feel they should be degraded.

“It can also be liberating. Telling the world to fuck off and indulging their sexual needs and not caring what it thinks. But like anything—drinking, drugs, gambling, food—it can be extraordinarily addictive and it can
destroy
.” When his gaze locked with Austin’s, it was like his eyes were bottomless. Not milk-chocolate brown, but black holes.

As Guy walked on, all Austin could do was wonder. What did that look mean? He couldn’t help but think he saw sadness in the man’s eyes. A deep sadness.

“I saw
Tearoom Tango
at the Fringe Festival a few years ago in New York, and fifteen minutes into it, I knew I wanted to do the play. Knew I wanted to present my interpretation of the story.” He stopped in the middle of the circle of actors and heaved a deep sigh. He grew by inches with his indrawn breath and seemed to shrink twice that with his exhale.

“I think this show is important. And I think its time has come.” He nodded emphatically. “There are six characters. The Cop, The Loner, The Married Guy, The Romantic, The Slut, and The Kid. They’re all quite different, despite the tribe to which they all belong.”

Austin closed his eyes. Oh God. What had he let himself in for?

“I’ve asked a few of you here myself. For those I would like you to just do a cold reading from the script. The rest of you can do your prepared monologues, and we can see what part might be best for you.”

The one thing Austin was grateful for in the next moment was that he was not called first. After all, he was one of those who had been asked to read for a particular part. What was it again? The Kid? Yes… The Kid.

“Asher? I am seeing you as The Cop.”

The big man next to Austin gave a grunt and stood.

“I don’t want to give you any direction at this point. Just read. We’ll see what happens.” Guy started to hand the muscle man a script, then paused. “I will say that it is unclear just who The Cop is trying to convince in this scene. Us. Or himself.”

Asher nodded and took the script. It was apparently open to his part. He looked over it a moment. Two. Nodded again. Closed his eyes. Opened them. He stood up, sauntered into the middle of the circle, tilted his head—
looked
at each of them.

“I’m sure some of you have seen the scribblings on toilet stall doors or on the wall above the urinals,” he read. “Not the limericks or the phone numbers of women who can show you a good time, but the other graffiti. Sometimes it’s just two words. ‘Date? Time?’ This is usually a good indicator that you are relieving yourself in a t-room. The
T
stands for
toilet
. It’s got nothing to do with old ladies sipping Earl Grey while a symphony sedates them into their later days. In here, beverages generally aren’t served. Exact location is not important. Let’s just say it’s an average men’s room at your very own neighborhood park, truck stop, government building, university campus, Walmart….”

The actor’s voice was strong, powerful. He read the words as if he’d read them a hundred times before—as if he instinctively knew what was coming next.

How is he doing it
? Austin wondered.

“Huh. Can’t believe it’s still empty.” Asher looked around the room, a curious/surprised look on his face, and Austin almost found himself
in
that rest stop outside of Buckman. He could picture it. Smell the piss.

“Just as well.” Asher pretended to light a cigarette. “I’m sick of this fuckin’ job. This is why I became a cop?—to chase a bunch of cocksuckers out of the park every night? I don’t know why they even bother havin’ us come out here. They’re never going to stop it. They send in crews to paint over the graffiti and it’s back in a couple days. Like cancer. Why do they even fucking bother? I’ve busted guys only to see them back in a week….”

The words faded away at that point. They became lost in the roar in Austin’s ears. He closed his eyes. The words were powerful. And they were about sex. About sex and how much trouble it could get you into. And boy, did he understand that.

Use it
, came some inner voice.
You know the trouble sex can get you into. How it can ruin you
. Hadn’t that been what Guy said this was all about?

The thought was what made him able to stand when it was his turn.

“Y
OU
’
RE
The Kid, Austin. Young. Pretty. They all want you. You’re powerful. You know it.”

What happened to “no direction”?
Austin wondered, and he reached out and took the script Guy handed to him. Like Asher, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, forced everyone to disappear—it was only him and the words on the page.

You can do this
, he told himself.

He cleared his throat.

“’Sup?” he read. “Name’s uh—well, whatever. I been comin’ here for I don’t know… a while now.” Austin took a breath. “Since I was a kid. Like fourteen or somethin’. Get out of the city for a while. I mean, we’re
in
the city, but we’re not, ya know?” He swallowed hard.
Keep going. Don’t let them see how scared you are
.

“When I first took off I came to this exact fuckin’ park. I couldn’t believe all the dudes out here getting’ off ’n’ shit. It was awesome.” He smiled. Winked. Tried to imagine what The Kid was feeling. “And, shit, when I walk in I’m always the main attraction!”
God, what would that be like?
“Was from
day
one
. They even give me shit. One guy paid me a hundred bucks ’cause he wanted to drink my pi….” Austin’s eyes went wide.
What? Drink what?

He looked up. Guy’s eyes were on him. In fact all eyes were on him. He saw Jennifer watching and his stomach clenched and he knew he didn’t want to embarrass Guy.
I’m all he’s been talking about! Shit. Fake it. Skip the word. Pretend it’s part of the script.

“A hundred bucks,” Austin cried. “That’s more money than I ever had in my whole life. I end up surrounded by eight or nine guys, rubbin’ me down, strokin’ my cock….” Austin gulped. Cock? Eight or nine guys stroking his cock? Was he really supposed to say this out loud? And in front of an audience?
Keep going!

“What the fuck? I got a nice dick,” he continued. “You wanna see it?” Then froze again. Shit, was he supposed to…. Relief hit him when saw the directions called for him to only begin to open his pants, that he was supposed to stop before then. So he did it. He unsnapped his pants, made a move to start unzipping them. “Oh, yeah.” He stopped. “Not here. Right.” He snapped them up again. “You’ll just have to come by sometime. I’ll definitely make it worth your while. These dudes love the hell outta me….”

Austin stopped. Suddenly saw himself in front of a room full of people. Saw his uncle in the front row. Saw his grandparents sitting next to him.

He looked toward Guy.

I can’t
, he thought.
I can’t
. He saw Jennifer standing there, her expression unreadable. Looked at the men around him.

“I can’t do this, Guy….”

Guy’s brows came together. Those eyes seemed to grow even darker. “Sure you can.”

Austin shook his head. “You want me to say this stuff in front of people? Strokin’ my dick? Tell people I’ve got a nice one?”

Guy shook his head. “Not
you
, Austin. The Kid’s. You’re an actor. You know it’s a part. It’s not you….”

Austin looked around the room. Saw the faces of the other men who were preparing to try out for the play. Saw instead that first row of an audience and his grandparent’s faces as clearly as if they were really there.

He turned back to Guy and shook his head. “No, Guy. I can’t.” For some reason, tears sprang to his eyes. “Maybe I’m not an actor after all. ’Cause I can’t do this. I can’t.”

And with those final words, Austin ran from the room.

“H
OW
’
D
it go?” asked Uncle Bodie as Austin sped through the living room and straight to his room.

A moment later there was a knock. “Austin?”

Austin didn’t answer, which was stupid and he knew it.

“I take it that it didn’t go well?”

He doesn’t deserve to be ignored
, Austin thought and went to the door. He opened it only a few inches. “Sorry, Uncle Bodie. I just need time alone, okay?”

“Of course. But maybe leave the door open a crack? Unless, of course, you’re going to….”

Oh God. Only Uncle Bodie
…. “Sure. A crack,” he replied, and did just that. The narrowest possible crack. Then he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he was being such a drama queen. Knowing suddenly that this was exactly what being a “drama queen” was all about.

Why had he been so embarrassed? No. Why had Guy even suggested he audition for that play? A play about public sex? Had his new friend really thought he could stand up in a room full of people and say something like “eight or nine guys, rubbin’ me down, strokin’ my cock….”? How could anyone? Who could have written such words?

It was only then he realized he still had his copy of the script. He picked it up, glanced over what he’d read and the next page or so. Saw the line “I’m like God here. They get on their knees and worship at my cock.”

Holy shit. He would have been expected to stand on stage and talk about men worshipping his cock?

He fell back on the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. Worshipping. Cock. God. He closed his eyes, and immediately the image of Todd’s erection sprang to his mind. So beautiful. Slim and gorgeous and pulsing with need. And his balls had been so hairy. Sexy. And when he had finally taken that erection in his mouth, had anything as erotic ever happened to him? He’d wanted to fall onto his knees in front of his friend.

Worship. Oh God. That is what The Kid was talking about!

But to stand in front of God knew how many people and talk about that? Admit it? Say such personal and private words?

Impossible.

Plus, was there any doubt his grandparents would come to town to see him in a play? There was no frigging way he could let them see him in such a show, hear him saying such words. They accepted him. As amazing as it was to think of, they accepted him, accepted that he was gay. But to talk about worshipping cock? About letting a man pay him to drink his…?