DANCING ON THE TUNDRA by Bert McKenzie Copyright 2010
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any real person alive or dead is coincidental and unintentional.
CHAPTER XX
"Step, kick-kick, beat, kick-touch. Again . . ." Terry carefully executed the precision number. They went on to more and more complicated moves. By the time the audition was over Terry was wringing wet and thoroughly exhausted. "Thank you all very much. We'll be in touch." Disappointed he returned home.
"Collin's been calling for you," Wayne said as Terry entered the apartment.
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him to fuck off. I told him you weren't interested in messing with no low life scum bag who two times his lover with his wife's maid. Furthermore, I said if he had the balls God gave the lowest dog, you'd gladly cut 'em off, have 'em bronzed and send 'em to his fat-assed wife as a souvenir."
"You didn't?" Terry asked in shock.
"No. I said you weren't in."
Terry collapsed on the couch. "Thanks," he breathed with a tired sigh.
Wayne looked at him for a moment, then spoke up again. "Chester called."
"Not again," Terry whined. Chester was the young red head who introduced him to his current agent.
"You got to stop stringing that boy along."
"I'm not," he protested. "He said he wasn't interested in a relationship. He just likes to screw."
Wayne clucked his tongue. "Well it looks to me like he likes to screw with you and nobody else. If you aren't interested in him, break up with him."
"There's nothing to break up," Terry shouted angrily and stood up, heading for the bathroom. "We aren't even going together." With that he banged the door closed behind him and began running hot water in the tub.
"Well, if you don't want him, I'll take him," Wayne said, thinking about the cute red head. "It seems a shame letting all that potential go to waste."
Apparently all his hard work at the audition paid off. Later that week Terry received a call from his new agent at Wilkins and Miller. He was in the latest replacement cast of "A Chorus Line." Rehearsals were to start the next morning. His part was a small one. He played the boy with the red head band who gets cut early on. Then all he had to do was wait around till the finale. He had to admit he was a little disappointed that it wasn't a more prominent role, but he was finally dancing in the hottest show on Broadway.
In a couple of months Terry was content with his life. He was happy to have his small part in the show and he was understudying one of the major roles, busily learning the dances. The songs he already knew. Although his personal life was not the best and he wasn't ecstatically happy, neither was he dismally depressed. He tried to devote all his energy into his professional life and not think of anything else. When he did think, he felt the smooth, white blanket of the tundra enveloping his heart and soul with a chilling comfort.
Collin had finally given up on trying to see him. A man can only take so much rejection. Besides, he had his wife, his business, the maid, and several new clients sent to him by Marvin Williams, Terry's first agent. Chester was a bit more persistent. He was the one who had introduced Terry and his agent, and Chester demanded to be paid back for it with sex. Terry obliged him for a while, but rapidly grew tired of the one- sided affair. When Terry had sex with Chester, the red head was very obviously enjoying it a lot more than Terry was. When he tried to connect with his inner feelings, all Terry could see was the white expanse of snow. The sex felt good physically, and it was an enjoyable release, but it never reached down to his core. He could just as easily do without it. Eventually Chester got the message and transferred his emotions to Wayne who was more than delighted to have a hot, sexy lover on a steady basis.
When Terry needed sex he went to the baths. There he had an opportunity to sample a variety of men and experiment physically to his heart's content, but he never had to get involved. He did have lots of other chances to get involved. There were several other cast members in the show who were openly gay and obviously interested, but Terry always managed to keep his private life private. For the longest time he was a big mystery to the rest of the company. No one could figure him out, and several of the girls decided he must be asexual, not having any desire for sex whatsoever. Then one day one of the other cast members ran into Terry at the baths. The next night, it was all over the theatre, but when someone had the nerve to question Terry, he very calmly pointed out that his private life was no one else's business and had nothing to do with or no effect on his involvement in the show. From then on things went along smoothly.
At the end of six months, another cast member dropped out of the show and Terry stepped into the part of Bobby. He was now considered a principal and was given a substantial salary increase. He and Wayne moved into a nicer apartment closer to the theatre and passed their old flat on to someone else who assumed the role of George O'Malley for the landlord's sake. Chester finally move in with Wayne and the trio set up housekeeping.
After a year and a half of "A Chorus Line," Terry finally decided he was ready to move on. He still enjoyed the show, but he was beginning to find that it was too easy. He could go to the theatre, do the performance and come home without ever actually thinking about it or concentrating on where he was. Once he realized this was happening he immediately got on the phone to Mark, his agent. The man agreed to put out some feelers and make some contacts. He might be a good agent and work for an impressive firm, but Terry was a little concerned that he didn't seem more aggressive in marketing his client.
Three days later Terry was thinking differently as he was auditioning for a new musical entitled, "Le Chapeau," a frenetic show with lots of fast costume changes and based loosely on a French farce. A week later the producer called to offer him the part of the young romantic lead. He gratefully accepted and called Mark to have him work out the details. Wayne and Chester were very excited and supportive as he went into intensive rehearsals, and then a couple of months later he was on the road with a tryout tour. The production opened in Philadelphia and closed almost as quickly. Terry soon found himself back in New York, unemployed and feeling the same as he did when his first off-Broadway flop folded.
"So, you interested in a national tour?" Mark asked when he called the next day after Terry's less than triumphant return from Philly.
"I'm interested in anything," Terry replied. "I should never have quit 'Chorus Line.' At least I had a steady job."
"You willing to dye your hair?"
"Sure. What's the part?"
"I think we can swing Paul in 'Chorus Line.' You know the show. There's a company going out really soon and they're a little desperate. The guy they had just got sick and went into the hospital."
"Gee, that's too bad. What's wrong with him?" Terry asked.
"I don't know. You want the part or what?" Mark snapped.
"Let me grab a bottle of Lady Clairol and a dark base and tell me where to go!"
The next morning he was meeting with the director of the road company. "Didn't you used to be a blond?" the stage manager asked. He had worked with Terry on the show at the Shubert. Terry just shrugged. "Okay, we got ourselves a blue eyed Puerto Rican."
The company had just settled into the Hilton when Terry dug out his address book and reached for the phone. "So, Terry, who do you know in Dallas?" Randy asked. He and the other dancer had been rooming together since Pittsburgh. They got on well. Randy's easy going temperament blended with almost anyone, but he especially liked Terry because the man kept to himself, not trying to force his social life on his roommate. Randy heard from some of the other cast members that Terry was gay, but that didn't bother him. Terry was a nice guy who never put the moves on him unlike some of the other male dancers.
"An old friend I went to high school with lives here," Terry replied. As he punched the numbers on the phone Randy got up and slipped into the bathroom to take a shower. Terry was sure he was doing this more to be discrete than for any other reason.
"Hello," a familiar voice answered.
"Hi, it's Terry."
"Terry? Terry Michaelson? My gosh it's good to hear from you. Where are you calling from?"
"Right here in Dallas. We're staying at the Hilton."
"We?" his old friend asked.
"I'm here with the touring company of 'Chorus Line,'" he told her.
"Oh my gosh. Virgy and I were going to go see that. I can't believe you're here. Can you come over for dinner?" Paula seemed genuinely excited.
"Sorry. We've got early call all week. But I thought maybe we could meet for lunch."
"Wonderful. I'll meet you tomorrow at noon at your hotel. I can hardly wait to see you."
The next day Terry got a call around 11:45. "Terry?" Paula asked. "I'm downstairs on a house phone. I almost never got your room number from the desk. When did you shorten your name to Michaels?"
"A couple of years ago," he said. Hanging up, he grabbed an elevator and headed down. His friend was waiting for him in the lobby. She was still living as a man, dressed in a conservative business suit. When she spotted Terry get off the elevator, she looked past him then glanced away without recognition. He walked up to her, smiled and said, "Hi, Paul."
She glanced up at the stranger before her, and then her mouth dropped open in shocked surprise and recognition. "Terry! What happened? You look so . . . so Mexican."
"I'm playing a Puerto Rican in the show," he said with a smile. "Don't I get a hug?" She immediately jumped up and embraced her friend. They then went to the hotel coffee shop for lunch.
The restaurant was typical of most hotels, over priced and under staffed, but it allowed them time to visit and catch up while they waited. Paula pulled out her wallet to show Terry snapshots of Virgy and the babies. Just as had been planned, they adopted children, a boy and a girl, twins who were now almost two. The children were incredibly cute, but Virginia on the other hand had grown heavy. In fact, the photos made her appear fat and slovenly. Paula seemed a little embarrassed by the pictures of her spouse, but she couldn't be prouder of the kids.
"So tell me about your life," she demanded. She confessed that his brief Christmas cards had barely kept her posted. She knew he was doing well from the letters she got from her own mother who still lived next door to his folks. Terry quickly filled her in on the highlights of his life since her wedding in Minnesota.
"So what's with the suit?" Terry finally asked. "You look like Mr. Executive. Surely you didn't dress up just to have lunch with me?"
"I am Mr. Executive," she replied with a laugh. "Virgy hated my being on the road all the time. Well, with the babies and all, I finally took this job with Greve's Freight Lines."
"So you gave up truck driving?"
"Had to. Virgy put her foot down . . . right on my freedom. She said she was too worried about what trouble I might get into. Like she actually thought I'm gonna pick up some chick and take her to a cheap motel . . ."
"Sorry," Terry said sympathetically.
"Yeah, me too. Sometimes I'd just love to throw away this stupid suit and tie and climb behind the wheel of a big rig. I'd just take off . . . maybe go out to California, strip off all my clothes and lie on a nude beach." Terry watched her quietly, noticing the misty film that momentarily clouded her eyes. "So what about you?" she suddenly asked, trying to change the subject. "How's your love life?"
"Non existent," he answered with a grin.
"Well at least you're in the right profession to meet guys like yourself. Aren't most actors and dancers gay?"
"No," he corrected her. "There might be a slightly higher number or maybe they're just not as closeted because it's more accepted. But I still have to be a little careful who I go to bed with."
"Yeah, but times are changing. I don't think there's near as much prejudice as there use to be. Why, even one of our drivers is openly gay. In fact, if I thought I could get away with it . . . but Virgy won't hear of it. She's too far in the closet to ever be able to deal with that."
The luncheon engagement ended all too soon. Terry had to dash off to the theatre and Paula had to return to work. They made quick plans to meet for a drink after Thursday's show.
That Thursday Terry felt especially on target with his performance. When he broke down and wept on the director's shoulder before the end of the show he had real tears in his eyes, something he hadn't experienced in many months. After the final bow he quickly washed off the makeup and changed into some comfortable jeans, then met Paula and Virginia at the stage door. The three of them went to a little restaurant just down the street and visited for a short time.
Virginia dominated the conversation with talk of her husband's career and their children. Anyone eavesdropping would think she and Paula were Mr. and Mrs. Perfect America. During most of this Terry noticed Paula getting restless and uncomfortable. Finally, when the woman came to a pause in her monologue, Paula jumped in. "Terry doesn't want to hear about this stuff, Honey. Why don't you let him tell us about what he's been up to."
"Well, excuse me," she retorted, the thinly veiled acid dripping from her words. "I hadn't realized I was boring the big time actor with my unimportant little life."
"No, I'm not bored," Terry answered quickly. "I find your unimportant little life fascinating." He meant it as a joke, but it fell flat.
"Please," Virginia replied. "Tell us about your exciting career. For example, why would a nice looking boy like you want to dye his hair and pretend to be a spic?"
"Well, it's getting late and we've got a baby sitter at home," Paula interrupted.
"No, I want to hear all about your openly gay friend and the men he goes to bed with," Virginia continued, her voice raising enough to turn heads at the nearby tables. "I bet this touring business is lots of fun. You can have sex with different guys all over the country."
Terry smiled frostily. "Well, my my. Look at the time. We must do this again in another ten years or so." He stood up and shook Paula's hand warmly, then turned and left, walking back the two blocks to his hotel. Meanwhile Paula and Virginia went back to their little, suburban, ranch house, arguing all the way.
When he finished the tour, Terry immediately signed on with a tour of "Annie" playing the villain, Rooster. With the number of children in the show, it was a much more diverse cast than his previous tour. Once again the show played Dallas, but this time he carefully avoided any contact with Paula or her family. He halfway expected that they might come to the show and be surprised to see his name in the program. But if they did they never made any effort to contact him either.
As the second tour wound to an end Terry got a call from his agent telling him of an audition for a non-musical comedy. It was called "Bridgette and Bagels" and was a British satire dealing with the religious differences between two families whose children fall in love and get married. It was kind of a worn out premise, but it had some nice plot twists and exceptional writing. Terry read for the part of Murray, the young lead and quickly got a call from his agent that he got the part. "I don't suppose they'd go for a blond Jewish boy?" he asked, disappointed that once again he'd have to continue dying his hair.
The show had a very brief out of town tryout, then moved right into the Helen Hayes Theatre. It got rave reviews and Terry became something of a mini-celebrity being invited on several local talk shows. Unfortunately, despite the critical acclaim, the production just didn't draw at the box office. It ran for about six months, then finally closed.
During this time Chester and Wayne broke up. Terry was so involved with his show that he never really got the whole story. He assumed it had something to do with the fact that the red head was too much of a playboy for Wayne's taste. Wayne seemed to be slowing down as he grew older, and wanted a monogamous relationship. A short time after the break up, Terry heard that Chester had died. Wayne seemed inconsolable and retreated into himself. Terry tried to bring him out, but he simply refused. Then one day Terry discovered Wayne's lesions.
"So who's the new guy?" Terry asked thinking that Wayne's moodiness and his frequent absences from the apartment meant he was again dating and becoming involved.
"What new guy?" he asked, darting a cold look at Terry.
"I'm not stupid. I can tell a hickey when I see one, even on skin as dark as yours." He pointed to the discolored spot on the side of Wayne's neck. The black man jumped up and ran into the bathroom. Terry suddenly felt very odd, as if something was terribly wrong. He got up and walked slowly to the bathroom, looking in the open door. Wayne was standing in front of the medicine cabinet, staring at his image in the mirror that covered it. He seemed to be trembling. "Wayne, what is it? What's the matter?" Terry asked.
"Shit," his friend said in a voice that seemed to be shaking with fear and barely held in place by monumental effort. He turned slowly to look at his friend. "Shit, Terry, I'm gonna die."
Terry tried to laugh, but he had an odd sensation that Wayne wasn't joking. "Don't be silly. Despite what my mom might have said, nobody ever died from a hickey."
"It's not a goddamned hickey," he said, grabbing the sleeve of his sweater and yanking it up. "Look!" There were several discolored splotches on his forearm.
"Wayne, what did you do to yourself?"
The black man slowly crumbled, collapsing down to sit on the toilet. "I thought maybe it was just a bruise or something, but it just kept getting worse. Now it's spreading."
"What is it?"
"AIDS," Wayne cried. He began to sob uncontrollably.
"AIDS," Terry breathed. He had heard about the disease but had never really had any experience with it. It was still new to the culture. He had heard that it was contagious and that it was incurably fatal. That was all he really knew. For a moment he stood there, looking at his roommate, a silent fear running through his mind. Could he catch this from Wayne? Should he run from the room? But then his heart went out to his friend. How could he desert this man who had been such a part of his life for these past several years. He disregarded any fears he had, dropped down on his knees and hugged his roommate, letting the black man cry on his shoulder.
When Wayne's emotions were finally spent, Terry helped him to his feet and walked with him back to the living room. They sat together on the couch, holding hands. "Are you sure about this?" Terry asked. "I mean, how do you know that's what it is? Have you seen a doctor?"
"Where the hell have you been?" Wayne asked, his anger spilling over. "Don't you know what's going on? People are dropping dead all over the place. It's called the gay plague and there isn't any cure. Didn't you ever wonder about Chester?"
"He died of pneumonia," Terry answered. It suddenly occurred to him that young, healthy men don't usually die of pneumonia.
"I saw him in the hospital. He looked awful. He lost most of his hair and he had these splotches and sores all over his body. He only weighed about sixty pounds." Wayne began to cry again.
"We'll go to a doctor," Terry said. "We'll fight this thing together." He forced Wayne to get cleaned up and go with him to see the doctor.
They went to Dr. Talbot, the man who had taken care of Terry when he pulled a leg muscle some months back. The man was very kind and sympathetic. He took Terry aside and gave him some literature to read. "He has Kaposi's. It's a rare form of skin cancer, but we're seeing a lot of it in these cases," the man said. He assured Terry that there was little at the present that could be done. There were some experimental treatments with interferon, but nothing much had been successful. But Terry should be alright if he took some minor precautions. Dr. Talbot assured him that the disease seemed to be spread primarily through sexual contact and not casually. He then asked Terry about Wayne's other sex partners.
For the next couple of weeks Wayne wanted to go back to work at the restaurant, but Terry put his foot down, insisting that he stay home. In reality, Wayne's boss who heard about the situation through the gay grapevine had already called Terry to tell him that Wayne was fired. Terry didn't want to crush his friend so he kept the news to himself. And soon, Wayne seemed to be just too tired to even think of working.
Apparently there was a lot of fear being generated by what appeared to be a rapidly spreading epidemic. It was quickly learned that the infecting organism was a viral element that was passed through bodily fluids as in sex or contact with contaminated blood. It was just incredibly bad luck for the gay community that the disease made its first major in-roads there. The promiscuity partly caused by the lack of a legal legitimacy for gay relationships helped further the spread of the illness which suddenly loaned fuel to the fires of fundamentalists who called it God's retribution. "Why shouldn't this happen to the gay community?" Terry thought. "After all, every other social oppression has already been tried on us."
Wayne was admitted to the hospital the same day that the Tony nominations were announced. Terry brought him a copy of Variety showing "Terry Michaels" circled in red felt pen. "Oh, Jesus, Terry," he gasped from behind the oxygen mask. "I hope I can get out of here by then. I've never been anywhere as fancy as the Tony's. I'd sure like to see you get up there on stage and win it."
Terry just laughed. He said the whole nomination must be a joke. After all, "Bridgette and Bagels" had closed long enough ago that no one would remember his performance. But Wayne just shook his head and clucked his tongue like always when he disapproved of what Terry was saying. "At least my folks will be able to see me on TV," Terry told him. "You know how they always zoom the camera in close on the losers just before they announce the award." . "What are you going to do about your hair?" Wayne asked as he tried to raise his hand to point. Since the show closed, and Terry became involved with Wayne's health, he had let it go. It had now grown out enough to look like a skunk, dark brown with a shocking stripe of blond where he parted it.
"Maybe I'll create a new fashion statement," he laughed.
Terry was standing backstage, waiting to go on in the scene that the cast had recreated from the show for the Tony telecast when Mark slipped up beside him. "What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised to see his agent. The man gave him a hug, and Terry thought it was for luck in the scene. Then Mark whispered the news about Wayne. The lights came up and the scene began. The only way Terry could hold on was to concentrate on the tundra. The ice was deep and thick, chilling his heart and soul into calming numbness. He delivered the rapid fire dialogue with stellar brilliance, moving his face in all the contrived expressions he had used so many months before. The audience in the house laughed, and Jennifer, the girl he played opposite, seemed to look at him with a shade of undisguised respect. Then the curtain dropped again.
Last year's winners stepped up to the mike. "And for the best actor in a comedy, the winner is . . . Terry Michaels for Murray in 'Bridgette and Bagels.'"
Terry walked unsteadily up the stairs and crossed the stage, the eyes of the audience as well as the eyes of the TV cameras staring at him. He hugged the girl in the white chiffon gown and kissed her cheek as she handed him the shiny statue. He stepped to the mike and glanced out at the house, tears in his eyes, but not just because he had won. He tossed a charming smile to the camera and then glanced up toward the light bridge hanging from the end of the balcony. "I'd like to thank everyone for this honor . . . and I'd like to dedicate this award to my friend Wayne. Buddy, I know you're watching this . . . and I just want to say thanks . . . for all your support and friendship . . . and I'll miss you." The tears began to slowly trickle down from his eyes as he turned to walk off stage.