The following story is a work of fiction set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to accurately reflect persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If sexual scenes involving male to male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this by law.
"Long Distance Love" 01 (M/M oral) WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Terribly pressed for time, Clay dashed about his dressing room. 'Props... where are those damned scissors!' Then from the door comes the fickled voice of fate, "Dahling, are you looking for these?"
"John, I don't know what I'd do without you. I'll suggest you for the position of props-master, when it becomes available." After a quick deposit of the scissors, into the pocket of his suit jacket, Clay gives John a quickie hug, then head out the door. "Ouch! John!"
"Hee hee... just had to jog your memory, Clay."
"For?"
"I 'am' the props-master. However, I know you'll never let me forget that you got me the position, Clay," John winked.
"Not!" But Clay's actual thoughts were, 'when did that come about?'
"Clay, what has been keeping you?" The famous Broadway stage manager and director, Michael Fabreve shouts.
"Sorry, Michael," the actor tried to smooth it over, "my zipper got stuck."
"Hmm. Let me guess. John Post?"
"Okay, I forgot where I put the scissors."
"Clay, you'll be the death of me yet, misplacing props. I should double John Post's salary for having to put up with your memory, but don't mention that to him." Michael watches the hot actor swivel across the stage. 'If I were ten years younger,' he wishes, as his crotch gives a small indication of his feelings for the hot actor.
Clay proceeds to sashay on stage, curtains closed.
"It's about time you got your ass out here, Clay." Mattin della Croix, waiting in his typical stance, hands on hips, remarks in the nastiest disposition.
"Look, Mattin, I'm not in the mood for it, so don't fuckin' start!"
"Whew! Such language for a gentleman? Then again maybe you aren't one?"
"You've been on my back ever since you missed the part for the lead. If you don't like being billed as a 'co-star', then just walk."
"Gentlemen," Michael steps in, "what is the problem here?"
"No problem, Michael," Clay states. "I'll be back in a second. I've forgotten a prop."
Mattin stands there, smiling. Michael tries to convey an understanding with the second lead, "Listen Mattin, there's millions stashed in this show and Clay is the best man we've had all season. If it comes to where putting his best foot forwards means axing a member of the cast, then take my word for it, it can and will happen. Do you get what I'm saying, Mattin?"
"Perfectly, your worship."
As Michael walks away, Mattin gives him the finger. He turns and says, "Just to let you know, Mattin, I've got eyes in the back of my head!"
Not knowing what to say, Mattin cleared his throat and pretended to fix something on the parlor table.
"Don't let Mattin get to you, Clay," Jason, the finest makeup man in the business, tells the young, twenty-seven year old star of the grand stage. "We all know that you are ten times better an actor, plus a streak of jealousy runs through Mattin's veins."
"Thanks Jason. I appreciate your remarks. Can you put a little less shadow below my eyes, please?"
"Clay, how am supposed to make you long ten years older, if I make you look younger?"
"Sorry, Jason. Okay. I shouldn't complain about the best makeup man in the business." As the usual, Jason gives Clay two firm rubs on the shoulder, as his sign of thankful affection.
"Curtain call in five minutes," Fess, a young guy with sleek headphones about his ears, gives Jason, sticking his head through the crack in the dressing room door.
"No problem. I'm almost finished with the 'old man'!" Jason sighs, half joking, half serious.
"I'm glad you say that in jest, Jason," Clay replies, like Jason, a whimsical pattern crossing his face.
"Look, Clay, you're only twenty-seven and in the height of your career. Don't be in such a hurry to find Mr. Right."
"I know Jason and I appreciate your words of wisdom."
"Well, don't forget that I'm still single and available."
"Yes, but by your own principles it wouldn't be right, if in any right and honest mind, I went after a handsome, ah, 'erect' guy as you, accompanied by the deep affection that makes up a 'marriage'."
"Hmm, you take any more wisdom from me, Clay and you might just wind up a wise old geiser like meself!"
"Not when you've told me over and over, to keep the faith and hope...."
Then completing the lines, Jason says, "...and you'll find your love, Clay."
"Thanks Jason. Thanks for being there when I need you."
"You're quite welcome, you know that Clay. Don't forget our bargain, now."
"I know Jason. Whenever Mr. Right comes along, ask if he's got an older brother!" The two laughed, Jason pinching Clay's cheek, then having to remodel the smudge in the makeup.
"Curtain call in two minutes!" Michael grabs the door, as Fess makes his exit. "Guess who's in the audience tonight?"
"Do we get this information free or do we have to pay for it, Mike?"
"Jason, are you insinuating?"
"Last time it cost 'me' paying for the drinks!"
Clay is enjoying his eavesdropping. After all, along with Fess and some other backstage crew, Michael and Jason have been like family to him.
"The very idea, Jason!"
"Hee heee.. guess I shouldn't complain, Michael, since you've landed me a job, making up the most handsome man on Broadway!"
"I told you Jason," Michael goes for his zipper, "you can get on your knees anytime to thank me."
"One minute!" Fess calls out, then disappears.
"That Fess is such a pest," Clay reports to the two, a bit on pins and needles, as his role nudges near 'breaking a leg.'
"Hey, never complain about a hottie like Fess.. young and so... hmmm...."
"Michael, let's face it. The only youngsters we turn on around here are each of us."
"Just for that, Jason, you're buying the drinks tonight!"
"Um, Clay are you coming or do I have to alert your understudy?"
"I'm coming... I'm coming, Fess. Keep your shirt on."
"For you, Clay, I'd strip it."
"Jason, hand me that bottle, 'need something throw it at Fess!"
However, Fess heeds the warning, "I'm outta here!"
"So, whom is this famous director out in the audience, Michael?" Clay asks.
"The one and only Francisco Caramallo."
"Francisco Caramallo!" Jason belts out, instantly readjusting his crotch.
However, Michael targets Clay, "I figured you would be happy about that news?"
Clay looks in the mirror to fix the fake stache, "Look, Michael, it's not that I'm not grateful. I know Caramallo is supposed to be this young, good looking, talented, well known and gay, producer, but that's not what I'm looking for in a relationship. I'm looking for the natural 'guy meets guy'. Not a put up?"
"I know, Clay, but it doesn't hurt for me to try to play cupid once in awhile, does it?" Michael said.
Jason sees the tender father-son talk coming on.
"You know I've had your best interests in mind, since your mom and dad passed on," Michael continues his paternal lecture.
"Michael, you've been great for me, both as a professional and on a personal basis. Both of you and Jason have been more than a guy could ever want as both work partners and friends. I'll never forget everything you guys have done for me."
"Yeah, yeah. Keep making our heads swell, Clay," Jason replies for both.
"It's true and I also know how many times you've wished you could get into my pants, but...."
"Say no more, Clay. Stop that talk, before you make Jason jealous. We've got enough of 'them' around here."
"Are you being real, Michael?" Clay said, watching Jason approach Michael.
"Yep, he is," again Jason supplies the dual answer, putting his arms around Michael.
"That's great! I'm so happy for both of you!"
"Nope! No hug... I don't think Jason would fancy reapplying an hour's worth of makeup," Michael cautions Clay.
Jason feigns in a boiterous response, "You've got 'that' right, buster!"
"Right, but just to let you know, I'm overwhelmed with happiness for the two of you."
"Of course. And we'll always be looking out for our boy, too."
"We. That sounds mighty nice coming from you, Michael."
"Thanks. I'm sure Jason has the same message."
"Clay, I've got your understudy here, shall I send him out to the wings or?"
"You've forced my hand, Fess." Clay takes his understudy by the arm, pulling him into the room, while he makes his exit.
"Forceful, isn't he," Robert Palmieri states, smiling. Fess comments, "I can be too, Rob."
"Oh, by the way, Michael?" Clay gets one more dib in.
"Clay, I thought you were on your way..." The complaint is registered by Fess.
"I'm going Fess. Um, where is this dignitary of stage and screen sitting?"
"I knew you'd come around, Clay. Michael says he's in center, mezzanine. Look for an older guy sitting next to him. I think his dad is with him."
"Ready, Rob?"
"Oh no you don't, Fess! I'm going," Clay replies, the threat of instant replacement lingering over his head.
Rob confides, "As much as I'd like to be in Clay's shoes, I've enjoyed being his understudy. Acting like him, is like being inside of him. Ever feel like that, Fess?"
"Oh? And where does that leave me, Rob?"
Michael and Jason laugh, as they watch the twenty-five and twenty-six year olds depart from Jason's studio. Looking up, Michael sees his reflection in the mirror. "Guess I better let the young guy go. This body is aging by the minute."
Jason replies, "Nothing that a little makeup can't handle, Mike."
"Makeup! Huh!" Like at end of a movie, where the wench gets the pirate, Michael takes hold of Jason and puts him in a lip lock.
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For the eighty-fifth time, the curtain rises to the beat of the pit orchestra. An instant applause greets Clay, as he robustly walks to center stage.
"Thank you... thank you!" He says, mouthing out the words, as the orchestra makes use of the vamp, after the segue to Clay's first song. While taking numerous bows, Clay's eyes are centered on the center mezzanine, several rows back, then combing every row, seaching to the pit. 'Rats! No young guys with an old man'. Clay regains his composure, as his character, Simon Church. The orchestra, Under the direction of Milton Rossini, finally reaches the introduction to "Many A Night". Clay clears his throat, away from the remote mic. As he sings through the lament, he gestures of how a broken man, torn by the loss of a loved one, goes through the same, monotonous evening by the fireplace. There's one place in the song, where he holds his first very long note for about twenty beats, much like Streisand would, showing no sweat. Looking upwards, like the other eighty-four times, he directs his attention to the balcony seat.
On his first night, replacing Orlando di Mazolla, an older woman sat there. It's the first time anyone had ever come backstage to greet him, with the prospects of meeting an older man. Michael thought he would stand by, in case he would have to dial 911. She more than happily greeted the young man under the older man's skin!
"and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh many a night like thiiiiiiis!"
A long applause followed the tenor's amazing control of breath, as the 'E flat' permeated the theater. Unlike other nights, instead of going on, 'Simon', Clay Hawkings, threw the conductor for a loop, for the first time ever, causing him to tap on his music stand and take the vamp. The woodwinds noticed Milton's angry face, as he had to flip back a page of the score, as well as the string section. They already had their bows in place. As in sequence, they ripped their bows away from their stringed instruments, turned the page back, then settled their bows back on the G string, playing the rarely used vamp. Then, without warning, they had to return the page forward, again lifting their bows. The scene actually played out as more a comedy, the audience giving the orchestra a round of applause. Clay broke from his character, joining in on the applause, going to the edge of the stage and reaching down, took the conductor, Milton's hand, shaking it and gestured for him to take a bow, the orchestra carried on with the thirty-two measure vamp. When Milton turned round, on his podium, to face his orchestra, Clay requested of Milton, "Take it from the top!" Clay, in the moment of impromtu, didn't give Milton much of a choice, walking off stage and then making his grand entrance once again. It became one of those flukes that happens with live performance. By all means, the audience never regretted hearing an encore of 'Many A Night', with Clay holding that long 'E flat', longer this round. Clay, being in an extremely giddy mood, held his finger up to Milton, gesturing, 'wait a minute', while he held that 'E flat, then improvising, taking it up a whole step, down a half step and then returning to the original pitch, right on to the closing coda. The audience went wild. Milton stood on his guard, but Clay motioned for continuation. For everyone, the orchestra, conductor, Michael, Fess and all others involved with the production, plus it's audience, made this a 'night to remember'.
During the intermission, just about every backstage hand poked their head into Clay's dressing room, telling him what a great improvisation he rendered, literally taking the control of the show, out of the director's and everyone else concerned with production. He even had a rare mid-show encounter from Milton Rossini, the conductor.
"Hawkings, I first wanted to stick my magic wand where the sun don't shine, however, I have never received so many comments on how professional the orchestra reacted to your out of the ordinary manoeuver."
"I guess I should take that as a compliment, since I'd much rather 'sit down' and eat my dinner!" Clay giggled
Carrying on his thought, Milton suggests, "Clay, why don't we work something like that into every show."
"I'd much rather keep it spontaneous, Milti, that is if you can handle it!" Clay looked for a response at the inpertinent remark.
"Ahem!" Milton raises his baton; magic wand.
"Besides, it keeps you on your toes, Milti."
Milton clears his throat once more.
"Might just be a violin bow, instead of my magic wand, after the orchestra hears that we need more rehearsals to cover your ass, Clay?"
"Listen, between you and I, Milti, if you really 'like' to stick it, check with Jason and Michael."
"Jason and Michael?" Milton questions.
Clay suggests, "That kinky thing you have of putting things in guy's asses?"
"Those two are into that type of thing?" Milton asks, mind wide open for discussion, at the mention of the rare form of entertainment.
"Oh yeah, Milti. You will never meet two more kinkier guys than them."
Along with the bright personality, Clay could out act anyone when trying to impress an individual. Then later laugh his ass off, putting something over on them. He chanced Jason and Michael being a bit angry at him with the after fact of Milti's assplaying inquiry, but knew they had a good sense of humor about themselves. Who know's maybe they would like Milti's hidden talents!
"How about singing 'Man Without A Country', Clay?" Milton suggests.
"I can't believe they cut such a beautiful song from the show," Clay replies.
"Would be nice to tuck it in at the end."
"Do I get to stand on a soapbox?"
"Better than that. Come stand on the podium."
"Podium? Your territory, Milti?"
"Sure. Perfect setting, with the curtains drawn."
"What about you?"
"Clay, let's fact it. 'You are' 'Long Distance Lover'. When you're gone, the show closes."
"No, that's where I have to intercede. Robert Palmieri is a fine actor, not to mention gorgeous!"
"He'll never be you, Clay."
"Nobody can be anyone but themselves, Milti."
"You're too smart for your age, Clay. So, what about the song?"
"Sure. I love giving people more than what they bargained for. The ticket prices are steep enough. Most likely the fault of having to pay the music director all those big bucks!"
Milton answers Clay's accusation, direct, "They want quality, they have to pay for it!"
Clay laughs, putting his arms around the older man, hugging him.
"Well, I better get back to the 'band', before you start rusting my baton."
"Band, Milti?"
"You know what I mean Clay. And thanks for the tip on Michael and Jason!"
Clay wondered if Milton had chatted with them yet.
"Curtain in five minutes, Clay."
"Thanks Fess."
"No, thank you."
"For?"
"Keeping Rob as your understudy."
"Why? Is he thinking of going anywhere?"
"No. But he loves how you have fun on stage. Like you, he can be a free spirit, leading your audience on and creating such an ambivalence, then making the recovery. It's the unknown that makes things exciting for all of us. Well, I just wanted to let you know that you are thought a lot of by Rob and myself."
"Thanks Fess. You know, for a pest you're a pretty nice guy."
"Were you really going to throw that water bottle at me?"
"Hmm.. not sure. Try pestering me some more and we'll have to see."
"Oh by the way," Fess turned back, after almost closing the door, "did you see Caramallo and his Uncle?"
"Uncle? I thought Michael said his 'father'?"
"Haa haaa.. that's Michael for you. No, his Uncle Marc, Marc Ambergini."
"Why does that name sound familiar?"
"Marc Ambergini of Ambergini Associates, who are footing the bill for 'Long Distance Love'?"
"The big benefactor?"
"Yup," Fess returns, patting out a rhythm on the doorframe.
"I hope they liked the improvisation."
"Calm down, Clay. I'm sure they loved the audiences antics, as much as your's. Um, three minutes, okay?"
Clay thought about it. 'Benefactor'? However, like the free spirit he is, he would not let anyone deter him from being himself. He wouldn't want to be anyone else, unless an acted out personality. Doing a mirror check, Clay exits his nest, heading for left stage.
"By the way, did you see him?"
"Michael, I think you have me on a wild goose chase."
"Huh?"
"Every little moment I've had, my gazes have turned up zilch."
"Could be my informant is wrong. Hmm, strange is that, because Buddy has never given me a false tip."
"Buddy, Michael?"
"Buddy Hachett. We grew up together."
"Hey, I've got to go, before Fess busts a nut. Tell me later, Michael."
"At least I know you're in the market, Clay."
"Let's say, like you Michael, I'm not getting any younger. Besides, maybe I'm in the need for a change."
"Change? You're not thinking of leaving the show, are you Clay?"
"We'll talk later. Milti will be tearing his hair out, if I don't get out there."
"Hee heeee.. I think he's missing a few from 'Many A Night'!"
Clay only heard the tailend of the reply, as Fess literally pushed him out onto the stage. Right then and there, he thought he spotted an older gentleman, seated with a young man, though he couldn't be sure, with a spot shining in his eyes. So, after singing his duet with Mattin, 'Life In The Fast Lane' and the ballad, 'A Guy's Gotta Have Friends', plus the other four actor's singing their numbers, the show came to the closing. After the curtains closed, some began to rise from their seats.
Clay stepped out on the stage, a character without makeup, showing his true identity. However, he wasn't alone. Robert Palmieri stood at his side. Even though there had been four curtain calls, the audience noticing the pair, began their rousting applause. Clay sat down at center stage, Robert copying the motion. Milton stood to be outfoxed. The two men, lead and understudy sat back to back.
"What gives, Clay?" Milton asked, as the theater became silent.
"We're sharing the spotlight." Then right from his perch, Clay announces to the theater-goers, "Ladies and gentlemen, my understudy, Robert Palmieri. I would like to share the spotlight with a most beautiful song, originally cut from the show, 'Man Without A Country'. If your response is great enough, maybe they will throw it back in!" Rob didn't get as much applause as Clay, but he cheerfully accepted their kind response. Clay summoned Milton to charge up the orchestra with the introduction to the song, with Clay's last direction, "no cuts, Milti". Many of the orchestra members smiled. It had been a favorite for them, too. Plus, to get to see the lead and his understudy do an impromtu number is rare.
Originally 'Man Without A Country' had been a bit on the political side, with some homosexual overtones, plus being a full twenty minutes in length. It had originally been written for a lead and a man in a co-starring role. Mattin booked, even before the last curtain call, so this gave Robert a chance to show his stuff, along with his fine physique.
A short time into the song, the two do a slow strip. Robert helps Clay with the buttons on his shirt. In turn, Clay strips his singing partner's tee shirt up and off over his head, rendering the two barechested. Unethical for theater goers, for this type of performance, however appropriate, audience members, male and female, applaude and whistle.
The duet came off without a hitch. It's as if it were written for the two men. As a total surprise for Clay and Rob, Milton got even by providing the introduction to 'Many A Night'. Taking the hint, the two reprised 'Many A Night'. When the sustained 'E flat' appeared, Clay bowed out to far right stage and let Rob take the extended note, complete with cadenza. Clay entered back into the number, the last couple of beats, providing some harmony, then the two beat it to the last bar. Even Milton and the full orchestra stood, to add their round of applause, along with the audiences. So what if the show went on for an additional forty-nine minutes.
"You two were sensational!" Fess called out, hugging Robert, after a quickie kiss. The rest of the stage crew thought the same, crowding around the two and congratulating them. Totally unlike a backstage studio, some of the musicians appeared, instruments still in hand, to pass on their words of good will. There became so many at hand, that the stage became an informal reception area.
"Michael?"
"Yes, Jason?"
"I don't think we should wait until the closing performance to break out the champaynge."
Michael agreed and tearing Fess and some of the other crew away from the crowd, the two headed for the 'lockup'. Milton picked up on seeing Michael and Jason leave together, so headed off in their direction. He caught up them with down in the bowels of the theater pit.
"Fess, you take the stemware," Michael dictated the order. Before long, just Michael and Jason remained at the lockup's metal grid.
"Oh, Milton! You scared the hell out of me!" Jason bellowed, turning to see him.
"Good, we needed an extra set of hands. Here, Milton," Michael dictated, thinking his presence had been a good nature manner in which to offer his help.
"Nice cage there, don't you think men?" Milton asked the two, whom were each carrying two bottles of champaynge, walking up the stairs ahead of the music director. Their minds on other things, they just kept up the pace.
For Milton, he figured a slight hint would throw a ray of light on letting them know he was interested in some kinky play, when exiting the cagey lock up. He tried holding the box a little lower than his cumberbund!
to be continued...
Copyright 2005 T. Chase McPhee All Rights Reserved.
Not to be republished without
the author's prior consent.
dont strike a fault, unless you can admit you've slipped..T Chase McPhee