Full Frontal: To Make a Long Story Short (7 page)

The rhythmic ticking of the train wheels against the steel tracks lulled Tim into a trance, and the swaying motions of the railcar rocked him like a baby in a cradle.

Tim snapped out of his semiconscious sleep when the conductor pushed through the rear door of the car, calling out for tickets. Tim reached into his hip pocket for his wallet to get his ten-trip commutation ticket and froze when his fingers touched the neatly folded, damp Jockey shorts. Slowly he eased the wallet from his hip pocket, careful not to pull the Jockeys out with it.

The conductor punched Tim’s ticket, handed it back to him, and then continued down the aisle, calling out for all tickets. Before replacing his wallet, Tim pulled out Perry’s card. It was damp from perspiration, and the brown ink he’d written in with his home phone number was blurred, though Tim could still read it. He studied the card. Perry’s writing was extremely neat, almost perfect.

Tim put the card back in his wallet and kept it there until it turned yellow and its corners were torn and bent. He didn’t call Perry the end of the following week, even though he was back in the city for job interviews. He pulled Perry’s card out several times and even got as far as having a phone in his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to dial the number. He wouldn’t know what to say.

Perry’s picture was always in the
New York Times Magazine
, his arm around some girl in Central Park or running across the Brooklyn Bridge at dawn in a tuxedo, his tie undone. Tim even saw Perry in a swimsuit ad on the beach at St. Barts, which must have been the job he’d gotten
the day they met. Maybe if Tim hadn’t seen Perry in the fashion pages of magazines or on the posters in the subway, it would have been easier to pick up the phone and call him. Maybe.

Jacks

August 1970

T
im got the letter—you could call it an invitation—for a bachelor party to be given for his college roommate, Kevin Feeney. They’d roomed together three years at William and Mary—not very compatibly, but always politely. They got along and respected each other’s reading and studying time. But they hung out with totally different groups: Kevin was into the fraternity scene, while Tim was active in the drama club and debate society. Both were good students and always made dean’s list. Neither played music in the room when they were there together, so it had been a good mix, if a bit cold. And now here was an invitation to a bachelor party. Kevin’s fraternity brothers from Delta Chi were sure to be there.
Oh God!
Tim thought. He would be the only gay guy at this party, or at least the only openly gay guy. Even so, Kevin obviously wanted him there.

Tim sat on the sofa, rereading the invitation. How had he gotten into this? It was four years since graduation, and four years since Tim had
any
contact with Kevin. There hadn’t even been a perfunctory Christmas card exchanged. The bottom of the invitation read, “You bring the entertainment!”

Tim dropped the envelope. What entertainment? He was getting a weird feeling in his stomach. Was this some sort of setup by Kevin’s fraternity buddies? Tim was certain they all knew he was gay. The issue had never actually come up, although Tim knew Kevin had gotten a lot of ribbing about having a gay roommate for three years. But it was Tim who had the high-profile, glamorous
job at one of the most prestigious ad agencies in New York, flying out to LA, staying at The Beverly Hills Hotel, and mixing with people in the entertainment industry and even movie stars. And it was Kevin and his frat buddies who all had solid-paying jobs on Wall Street or at banks, who commuted to the suburbs every day to their perfect wives and two and a half kids. On the morning train they would discuss crabgrass and ticks. Tim couldn’t imagine anything more boring.

He picked up the invitation again, trying to understand what was expected of him. “You bring the entertainment!”
Were they expecting him to arrive with Gladys Knight and the Pips—or worse, hookers? Tim wasn’t going to fall into that trap. The venue was listed, the Hotel Manhattan on Eighth Avenue and Forty-Fourth Street in the heart of the theatre district. Tim had to laugh. The only other time he’d been to this sleazy hotel was that afternoon he’d spent with the scarred marine he met in line at the Coronet Theatre for an afternoon screening of
The Graduate.
That had been two years ago. But it now seemed that the aging frat boys had rented a suite of rooms, possibly an entire floor, probably anticipating that everyone would stay overnight before the wedding. At least the wedding itself was scheduled at Tavern on the Green the following afternoon, a far more civilized setting than the Hotel Manhattan.

Tim had been to the weddings of many of his prep school and college friends. He’d always shown up with a date, one of the girls from his acting or dance classes, sometimes even his secretary, Joyce, who enjoyed going to fancy country club receptions wearing her newest outfits from Bamberger’s. Tim always followed up with a gift in the familiar pale blue box from Tiffany’s, and “Best wishes for a wonderful, happy life!”

But this was different. This was the first bachelor party he’d been asked to attend … and to provide entertainment! He knew he had to go, but he hated the idea of a bunch of guys getting drunk and stoned—and doing whatever—the night before a wedding. To Tim, it seemed a barbaric, juvenile ritual. He was
not
going to supply hookers. He wouldn’t know where to begin to get hookers. Then he laughed out loud. He had it figured out: he would put these frat boys, those straight Wall Street types, in their place. He thought,
So
don’t mess with the gay guy!

Tim knew identical twins, Jason and Josh, who were currently appearing in the Broadway musical
Hair.
They had set up a side business where they performed as strippers at women’s bachelorette and birthday parties. They also did occasional porn videos, but Tim didn’t know if they’d ever done a live straight guy event. Tim had briefly dated Josh, the younger of the twins by fifteen minutes, but it hadn’t lasted. They had remained casual friends.

Tim thought this might be the perfect response to “You provide the entertainment!”

If the twins would do it. They had a very businesslike approach to their appearances. They were known professionally as “The Two Jacks—Jack On and Jack Off.”
They had a specific price rate card for what they would do—and not do: no touching or physical contact with anyone at the party. After all, they were performers, not hustlers. There were three levels of performance. Level one: the twins strip and jack off—price: one hundred dollars. Level two: the twins strip and masturbate and suck each other off—price: two hundred. Level three: the twins do all of the above and then fuck each other—price: five hundred. Tim knew that it had to be level three if he were to truly deliver on his assignment to provide the entertainment.

His phone call went right to the answering machine. “This is Jack On and Jack Off. Please leave a message after the beep.”

“Hi there, guys. This is Tim.” The phone was immediately picked up.

“Hey, Tim. This is Josh.”

“Great! It’s been a long time.”

“How are you?” Josh asked.

“I’m fine. You know, the same old, same old. How are you guys doing?”

“We’ve signed on for
Hair
until the end of the year, and then there are the other gigs.”

“Well, that’s why I was calling,” Tim hesitated. “Are you guys still doing private parties?”

“Yeah, when it’s a referral or someone we know. But you know how that goes.”

“Well … I have a problem on my hands at the moment,” Tim confessed.

“What?
You
have a problem? Mr. Madison Avenue?”

“My college roommate is getting married, and I’ve been invited to his bachelor party.”

“That could be interesting.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll be the only gay guy with this gang of testosterone-driven straight guys from Wall Street.”

“You’ll fit right in.” Josh laughed.

“On top of that I’ve been asked to provide entertainment. So let me ask you, would you guys be willing to do a level three at the Hotel Manhattan next Friday?” Tim could not believe what he was asking.

“For five hundred bucks?” Josh asked. “For a bunch of straight guys?”

“Well, that’s your usual fee, isn’t it? I just didn’t know if you … ah … performed for guys.”

“We did it once at a straight birthday party. The guy was turning thirty, and his friends wanted to give him something to remember his passage into middle age. It was cool. Five hundred is fine, but we usually get tips in the hat we put on the floor. And yeah … ‘Jack On and Jack Off and a Hat’
is the official name of the act.”

“I’ll pay you the five hundred,” Tim said, “and anything else you can get is yours.”

“Okay. We’ll do it. What time?” Josh asked. “We have a performance Friday night, but we’d be available later.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Fuck … why not? For five hundred and tips?”

“Okay, if you’re cool with it. The party starts at ten, so if you guys can get there after the show, say around midnight. Everyone should be stoned and drunk enough to enjoy the
entertainment
by then. Either that or they’re going to shit!”

“Sounds like fun,” Josh said. “I’ll even save a piece of ass for you.”

“Yeah, right. You’ll never change.”

“True! Not for a cute preppy like you. Where is it again?”

“The Hotel Manhattan, Eighth and Forty-Fourth, just a few blocks from the Biltmore where you’re doing
Hair.
”

“That’ll work.”

“Ask at the front desk for the Feeney party. I think they’ve reserved a whole floor. I hope so, for the sake of the other hotel guests.”

“We’ll be there at midnight,” Josh said. “It’ll be good to see you again.”

Tim hung up, not fully grasping what he’d just set in motion.

Friday was an unusually balmy August evening in Manhattan. It was going to be a beautiful weekend, and everyone with a brain would be at Fire Island or the Hamptons. Not Tim. After all, this was the summer wedding of his college roommate.

Tim arrived at the Hotel Manhattan and asked for the Feeney party.

“Eleventh floor,” the desk clerk smirked. “Have fun.”

Tim felt like he was going to his execution as he got into the elevator and pushed eleven. On the eleventh floor the doors of the rooms were all open, laughter and loud music filling the hallway. Tim thought it was good planning for the frat boys to have reserved the entire floor. There were at least thirty guys drinking beer and smoking joints. Empty pizza cartons littered the floor and coffee tables. Evidently the party had been going on for some time already, although it was just after eleven.

“Hey, Tim,” Kevin called out. “You made it!” He wrapped his arms around Tim and gave him a big hug. “It’s been a long time. You look great … as always. Everybody, this is Tim, my college roommate.”

“Hi, guys,” Tim waved shyly. “I need a beer.”

“In the kitchen,” Kevin pointed. “A full cooler.”

“So, Tim,” Kevin teased. “Are
you
the entertainment?”

“No such luck. The real thing will be here in a little while.”

Tim did his best to mingle with the crowd of straight guys, who for the most part were very friendly. By this time most everyone was high, so Tim thought,
What the hell? Just be up-front and join in the fun.

The two Jacks arrived right on schedule. Without acknowledging anyone, they set up their boom box music and began to dance. The guests looked a bit stunned, and Kevin let out a wild shout. “You fuckin’ did it, Tim! I don’t believe it!”

The twins put on a blaring Dianna Ross “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” tape and began to dance. The rest of the guys, including Kevin, started to move clumsily, like straight guys, to the rhythm coming from the portable cassette player, not sure what this was all about, but caught up in the music. The twins slowly peeled off their shirts and hurled them to the guys, who wrestled to catch them. The twins’ bodies were smooth and flawless, and they had long, silky, straight dirty-blond hair. Of course they did—they were in the cast of
Hair
.

The hat was placed on the floor in front of the boom box. The guys caught on fast and started putting ten and twenty-dollar bills in the hat, howling “Take it off!” As if on cue, the twins in unison dropped their jeans, revealing the jock straps they were wearing. The guests were now in a frenzy, and the tip hat was overflowing with bills. Soon the jock straps, too, were flying into the crowd. The twins were absolutely nonplused and continued their act. Kevin, clearly dumfounded, looked over at Tim, his jaw dropping.

They advanced to level two and then level three as the music got louder with Gladys Knight belting out “If I Were Your Woman
.
” The twins had clearly done this act before, and they now focused only on each other, oblivious to the cheering, raucous crowd of straight guys. When they got to the sex part of the act, a few guys left the room, but the ones who were really stoned and drunk didn’t. Instead, they started jerking off. The hat was now completely covered with money.

When the act was over, the twins bowed and waved to the guys, slipped on their jeans, and pulled fresh T-shirts out of their gym bag, where they stuffed the hat full of money.

Josh put his arm around Tim. “Thanks, buddy. This was fun.”

“You guys are something else,” Tim said, amazed at what had just taken place.

“Any time for you, kid,” Josh said, giving Tim a kiss on the lips. “Just a little encore.”

The other guys cheered and howled, clapping wildly. The twins waved again and left the hotel suite.

Kevin came over to Tim and put his arm on Tim’s shoulder, giving him a playful hug. “Well, you certainly did it!”

“I wanted to do something a little different.” Tim laughed. “I’d better be going.”

“Thanks, bud. See you tomorrow afternoon, assuming I can get up.”

Tim began to leave and the other guys broke into wild applause and wolf-whistles. They had obviously enjoyed the …
entertainment!