This is a story about a continuing relationship between two men in New York City. It includes explicit homosexual acts. If you are underage or find such material distasteful, please read no further.
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The people and events in the story are totally fictitious, but actual locales are used to add realism.
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Copyright 2015 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
AT FIRST SIGHT
by Macout Mann
IV
I continue to work at Asti. Wilbur is busy with his projects at NYU, and he teaches one section of Basic Economics. We often play from midnight 'til we're exhausted. And on Monday nights we sometimes go to the opera. Sometimes to the weekend matinee Philharmonic concerts.
I want to share my earnings from Asti with Wilbur. He says no. "You might want to take some more voice lessons," he tells me. "Put 'em in your bank account."
Christmas comes. I know Wilbur is an Episcopalian. "Nobody who's not a Whiskeypalian can live in Gross Pointe," he once teased. "Just kidding. More Romans there than anything else."
As I said before, I am not much for religion. My father is a Christian who stays away from church whenever he can. My mom is a Southern Baptist with a southern vengeance. I fell away when I learned that folks like me, dudes who like dudes, would go to hell, no questions asked.
Wilbur goes to church every Sunday, but he has never offered to take me with him, so I am a little surprised when he offers to take me to Christmas Midnight Mass. "We'll go to the `Smokey Virgin,'" he says. "It's called that, because there's so much incense it hangs in the air all week. It's one of the highest churches in the country. If you can handle it and want to take more, maybe on Easter I'll take you to St. Bart's, where I'm a member. It'll seem low protestant by comparison."
The Church of St. Mary, the Virgin is on 46th Street, just off Times Square. Passing by at street level it doesn't really appear to be a church at all. Once inside it's something else. It's about half the size of a football field the ceiling is eight or nine stories over your head. The service is spectacular, despite the fact that to me it doesn't seem all that Christmassy.
Afterward we come back to our place. Wilbur has bought a bottle of VSOP Cognac to celebrate the holiday with. I have taken some of my bank deposits and splurged on a Longines watch for him. He relies on his cell phone for the time, but I think guys ought to have a handsome watch. My dad gave me a Longines when I graduated from high school, and it's still one of my proudest possessions. Doesn't vary a second a year.
Wilbur gives me a gold signet ring, embossed with my initials. "I didn't think your folks would take to your wearing a wedding band," he laughs.
About three o'clock in the morning we hit the sack. Fortified with just enough brandy, we fondle each other's jewels. That leads to serious lovemaking. After we have deposited our more intimate gifts in each other's mouths and asses we drift off to sleep.
"Our first Christmas together," Wilbur whispers as we both lose consciousness.
Miracles do happen. Mine comes on New Year's Night. We're not nearly as busy as we were last night of course. It's fairly late. I sing my other aria, "Largo al Factotum" from "The Barber of Seville." In addition to the repeated "Figaro...Figaro," it also has some spectacular Italian tongue twisters in it, and always gets a good round of applause.
At one of my tables is a middle aged couple that I haven't paid a whole lot of attention to. As I am refreshing their coffees, he complements me on my voice and asks, "Jack, can you say `Bravo, bravissimo,' three times fast?"
I manage, and he says, "Very good. Have you ever done any Gilbert and Sullivan?"
"No sir, I haven't."
"I have been engaged to form a new professional group that will start off by doing Gilbert and Sullivan at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. I haven't found anybody who can do the patter songs. We'll open with "Pirates of Penzance." Could I interest you in auditioning for the role of Major-General Stanley?"
"Why...yes sir, I believe I would."
Ronald Maxwell gives me his card, and we arrange a meeting. I can hardly contain myself. The Brooklyn Academy is one of the most important musical venues in New York. I can't wait to tell Wilbur.
Running through the streets of the East Village in the middle of the night is not always wise, but I do it, arriving at St. Mark's Place in record time.
"Break out the booze," I say. "We've got to celebrate!"
I show Maxwell's card to Wilbur. "American D'Oyly Carte Opera Company," it says.
"Nothing like shooting for the stars," Wilbur proclaims.
"I just hope when I get there, the place really exists," I say.
The address turns out to be a loft building on West 23rd Street. On the fourth floor an office door says, "American D'Oyly Carte Opera Company, Ronald Maxwell, Producing Artistic Director." I knock, am admitted, and find Mr. Maxwell and Arnold Cousins, the company's musical director and conductor, inside. He is about sixty, bald and a bit rotund.
They explain that the company is being initially being financed by a Wall Street tycoon, who had loved Gilbert and Sullivan as a child and feels that the operas deserve to be seen by a wider, younger audience. It is the plan to open at the Brooklyn Academy of Music's Harvey Theatre, and if the production is successful, to later move to a midtown Manhattan theatre. Other Gilbert and Sullivan operas will also be staged, beginning with "HMS Pinafore" and "The Mikado." National tours are also envisioned. Yeah, they're shooting for the stars, just like Wilbur had said. They've made arrangements with D'Oyly Carte in London to use the name and to have access to the company's extensive archive.
I'm given the third degree about my training and experience. Cousins, a Brit, seems disappointed that it has been mostly collegiate. Maxwell points out that if I prove to be capable, I'll be less expensive than a more experienced performer, and he adds that he was very impressed with my performance at Asti.
We move into an adjacent loft, which will be the company's rehearsal hall. It already has a seven foot grand piano in place. Cousins says that he has brought the piano score for "Largo al Factotum" and we can begin with that. I do my damnedest, and they both seem pleased. Although I have never done "Pirates," I am familiar with the patter song, and sing with gusto, ending with,
"In matters metaphysical, both animal and mineral,
"I am the very model of a modern Major-General."
We do it again faster, and I demonstrate that I can handle tongue-twisters not only in Italian but in English.
Cousins then wants to test my acting ability. I read a scene from "Pirates" with Maxwell. Then they set up an improv situation, which I play out with Cousins. I am someone who is lost, trying to get help from a guy who is very much enjoying making my life more miserable.
They thank me and tell me they'll be in touch.
Nearly a month goes by. I had practically forgotten that I had even auditioned, when I get a call from Ronald Maxwell. I will play Major-General Stanley for a salary more than double what I am taking home from Asti. Rehearsals will begin in late April.
Wilbur and I celebrate, not only with champagne but with cum.
The folks at Asti are pleased at my good fortune and tell me that they will gladly take me back, if the gig doesn't work out and they have an opening.
And Wilbur does invite me to the Easter Service at St. Bartholomew's. It is on Park Avenue, right next to the Waldorf. We have brunch afterward at Peacock Alley.