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LUSH LIFE
by
Ritch Christopher
"I used to visit all the very gay places,
Those come what may places
Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
To get the feel of life...
From jazz and cocktails.
The girls I knew had sad and sullen gray faces
With distant gay traces
That used to be there; you could see where they'd
been washed away
By too many through-the-day,...
Twelve o'clock tales.
Life is lonely again,
And only last year, everything seemed so sure.
Now life is awful again.
A troughful of hearts could only be a bore.
Romance is mush,
Stifling those who strive.
I'll live a lush life in some small dive...
And there I'll be, while I rot
With the rest of those whose lives are lonely,
too."
Excerpted lyrics from "Lush Life"
Written and copyrighted by Billy Strayhorn-1949
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Same old rainy night late crowd at the Rustic Inn in Lower Manhattan---this was the menu for Dave Banks. The barstools were about half-filled and people, preferably couples, were sitting at the tables...the drink glasses were half-filled as well. Dave played tenor saxophone in a quartet, consisting of Rick Barrows on piano, Leo Caulfield on drums, and Ray Otis on bass. The musical group had seemingly formed itself over six months ago when the four guys met at Musicians'Local 802, each reading the want ads on the bulletin board, looking for a gig. Ahah! Jay Phillips,the proprietor of a bar, the Rustic Inn, was looking for a seasoned combo, familiar with the jazz styles of the 50's and 60's. This musical hunt was focused on the clientele Jay was seeking...an older crowd who liked jazz and usually had fat wallets...in other words, baby boomers, not yet retired but who found little to spend money on in this day and age.
Dave, Rick, Leo, and Ray knew one another from other gigs and paying jobs, although they had never played together before in one single group. Dave and Leo became friends when the two of them were playing pit orchestra for a revival of the Broadway musical, "Raisin"...the score of which was widely jazz influenced in which a saxophonist or a trumpeter got to wail in an 'ad lib' fashion. Leo was usually in demand for musicals which featured a lot of dancing because he kept a great tempo with his bass drum...something very important to choreography. Rick patterned his piano style after early Andre Previn recordings, and of course, all piano players did their best to emulate Bill Evans and Oscar Peterson. Ray's real name wasn't "Ray" but he had borrowed it from his hero, Ray Brown, probably the best jazz bassist of all time.
It was July and many of hits along Broadway had folded due to slow summertime business and so it just happened that all four were out of work at the same moment. Ray was married and had two teenage daughters which meant he had to find work soon before it was time to buy new school clothing for the girls. Leo was practically a newly-wed, married only six months. His wife, Grace, worked as a personal assistant to one of Wall Street's biggest brokers. By poolingtheir incomes, they had more than enough to live on, plus being able to bank money and invest in the hottest tips Grace "accidentally" heard about from her boss. Rick, on the other hand, was single. He had played pit piano for a dozen or so shows, mostly flops, but he could usually pay his rent by finding a solo piano gig in some hotel or piano bar.
Playing piano at a bar meant you had lots of pseudo-friends. Every guy in town who wanted to impress a girl KNEW the piano player. A customer would walk in and immediately yell a "Hey Rick!" as if he and Rick had been buddies from way back. Rick also knew that if he was to get a tip out of the customer, it was up to him to acknowledge his "friend" with a "Hey Larry", a "Hey Cy", a "Hey Mort"..."Good to see you back again!" This greeting was so fucking phony but it was a nightly chore to remember all the names AND their favorite songs if they had requested one from Rick in the past. Rick had learned to associate songs with customers and his memory was, thank God, remarkable. If a couple, either dating or married, should walk in, no matter what Rick was playing on the piano, he would immediately break in with 'their song', be it something relatively new like "The Way We Were" or an oldie like, "Manhattan", "Tenderly", or "Autumn Leaves". Rick hated prostituting his musical agenda, but these WERE good songs, and most importantly, it guaranteed him a huge tip later in the evening. There were many single women who liked sitting around the piano, so Rick never had to go far to find a lady for the evening...blondes, brunettes, red heads, fat, thin, young, old, middle-aged...he could have his pick. Yes, EVERYBODY loves the piano player.
Dave was a different animal--no one knew him intimately. He had moved to New York from Monterey, California, three years ago, but as with most New Yorkers, he really had no close friends. He'd lived in the same apartment for over two years and still didn't know the names of his neighbors in the next apartment. Dave had studied classical clarinet in San Francisco where he became aware of his homosexuality. He had led a straight life with his parents and younger brother, Tim. He had gone steady with Connie Mitchell in high school where he and Connie had lost their virginity to one another on one mad passionate night on a beach in Monterey. Connie was the only person Dave ever had sex with throughout high school. Then, the fall after graduation came and Connie made plans to move south to Los Angeles and study languages at UCLA.
Dave was all but a child prodigy playing the clarinet. He didn't know if he could further himself by studying the clarinet in college, primarily because he could probably outplay any professor who attempted to teach him. He opted to study at a conservatory in San Francisco which could easily lead to a job of first chair with the San Francisco Symphony. He knew he stood a better chance of finding employment in the music field if he had a couple of good music references on his resumé.
Dave had his last sexual interlude with Connie the night before they parted--each going his own way, one each toward Northern and Southern California. Being that Connie had been Dave's only sexual encounter, he had become rather bored with the quick five minute, in-and-out, missionary position sessions. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted to Connie, it was just that--well, something was wrong. The "thrill" wasn't there...and, he realized, it never had been.
Dave and his brother, Tim, who was two years his junior, had shared the same bedroom since they'd both been toddlers. Tim was quite popular in his school and, unlike Dave, who had one girlfriend, Tim had many. It seemed that Tim dated a new and different girl every weekend since becoming sixteen and old enough to drive a car legally. To Dave, Tim was a stud.
One night while looking for a fingernail clipper in one of Tim's dresser drawers, Dave found a box of 24 condoms. This alarmed Dave at first but what was even more shocking was that the box became emptier every weekend. Was it possible that his younger brother was getting laid that often?...and by how many girls? Dave never said a word to Tim about "the box" or what he did or with whom? But he became more intrigued by his kid brother's sexuality. For some reason, mysterious even to himself, Dave started finding ways to observe Tim...primarily in the nude. Dave seemed to have to pee all of a sudden while Tim was taking a shower. He also found a way to be in the bedroom every night when it was time for Tim to undress for bed.
Tim never suspected his brother of becoming a watchful "Big Brother" and Dave could find no explanation for his fascination of wanting to catch glimpses of Tim's penis. Dave had never been attracted to any other guys at school, not in the gym lockers or the showers. He undressed and showered with many guys without caring or noticing a thing...but TIM! This was different... a STRANGE "different". Was he lusting after his own brother? His mother, dad, and ESPECIALLY Tim would be shocked and horrified if they could read Dave's mind and the disgraceful thoughts he had concerning his own brother.
Fortunately for everyone concerned, Dave never acted upon his thoughts. Whatever he felt for Tim would remain a secret always. Dave was relieved to go away to school to get away from the temptation of his alluring brother. It was only the second week at the Conservatory in San Francisco, when Dave got a roommate, Miraslav, nicknamed 'Romko', a cellist and former resident of Croatia, that these bizarre inclinations Dave had felt toward Tim, suddenly manifested on Romko.
Romko reminded Dave of Tim, facially and body-wise. Dave began scrutinizing Romko as he had his own brother when it became time to change clothes or get undressed for the evening. Romko had similar genitalia as Tim with the same color and amount of pubic hair. This deja vu sensation was the first and only time that Dave considered that he might be gay. He not only wanted to look at the naked Romko, he wanted to touch him as well. Of course, if he did, where would that lead? Dave didn't know what he would do? He'd never seen a gay porno or read a gay story or novel. What did two gay guys do to one another? Dave was totally inexperienced with oral sex. Neither he nor Connie, had ever tried anything of that nature. Then, there was a tremendous risk of what the aftermath would be, should he touch Romko. Would Romko haul off and injure his precious cellist's hands by forming a fist and landing a blow to Dave's face? Would Romko scream and move out and then tell everyone at the Conservatory that Dave had made a queer pass at him? Dave knew that if any of this happened, he'd have to leave the Conservatory with a tarnished reputation. So, once again, Dave decided to suppress his feelings and curiosity. But, why did seeing Romko naked, arouse Dave sexually? Romko, soon became the focal point of Dave's reveries. All Dave had to do was to THINK about Romko and he would find himself with an erection.
One day Dave passed Romko in the hall at the school and didn't see him. Romko loved American men's fragrances and always wore Calvin Klein's "Obsession". Dave had subconsciously memorized the scent and by just getting one small whiff of the fragrance in the hallway, Dave found his trousers tenting in the front. This was getting to be a private problem for Dave and could soon become an embarrassing public display. Somehow he had to cope and find a solution. Living with a roommate in a two room apartment offered little secrecy, especially if the erection became chronic. Perhaps if Dave confronted Romko...? Who knows? Maybe he was experiencing a similar problem? Maybe by "talking it out" some resolution might be forthcoming between the two of them. Stranger things had happened, Dave tried to reassure himself. Irregardless, SOMETHING had to be done...and soon.
The two roommates took turns practicing each evening. It'd be a hell of a lot more fun if they could practice together. They had damn near exhausted themselves,looking in the music library for duets between clarinets and cellos, but none existed as far as they could find. So they turned to the basics, the books of musical exercises, like the Czerny exercises for piano. Of course, if they played Czerny together, one of the two would have to transpose the key since cellos are classified as a "C" instrument and a clarinet, "B flat".
Tonight Romko practiced solo in the living room while Dave, showering in the bathroom, found himself, once again, with a protruding excitement between his thighs. He masturbated under the hot spray of the shower while fantasizing about Romko. Oral or anal sex was still foreign to Dave, so he closed his eyes and had thoughts of mutual masturbation with his roommate. Even this seemed strange because he still had no concept of why thoughts of Romko could arouse him so easily.
Dave was deep in his fantasy and was rapidly approaching an orgasm, totally unaware that the cello solo had ended and his roommate had entered the bathroom, unannounced, to urinate. Dave's climax was building as he leaned his back against the shower stall wall and actually uttered, "Oh, Romko! That's it! Don't stop! Please, don't stop".
Romko, with his back toward Dave, thought at first that Dave was making a joke, telling him not to stop peeing.
"Hey, Dave! My bladder is empty! I can't pee any more," Romko replied, jokingly.
Hearing Romko's voice, Dave stopped what he was doing and froze stiff. "My God!" Dave thought. "I've been caught! What the fuck do I say to him?"
Dave wished he could take back his utterance. He tried to cover by saying, "What? What do you mean?" rather loudly.
"Peeing," Romko repeated. "You told me not to stop peeing."
"OH! OH! What I meant to say was 'Don't stop peeing and don't flush the toilet'...otherwise the shower would scald me!"
"Then why didn't you say, 'don't flush'?"
"I'm sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking," Dave replied. "Uh, if you're finished, I'll flush when I get out of the shower."
"That's fine," Romko said as he started out of the bathroom. Then he turned back to say, "I'm sorry if I spoiled your orgasm."
Dave could think of nothing to reply. He turned the water up higher and began to hum the main theme of Mozart's clarinet concerto, pretending he hadn't heard Romko's parting remark. Dave took a longer shower than he'd planned, followed by a half hour of primping before the mirror, shaving, brushing and flossing his teeth. He put on his terrycloth robe and went into the living room. Romko was in the kitchenette area.
"Hey, you want some popcorn?" Romko asked. "There's a good movie coming on at ten."
"Uh...sure! Popcorn would be great!" Dave, heartily replied. "What's the movie?"
"'The Competition' with Richard Dreyfus and Amy Irving."
"Oh, the piano competition. That's a great flick!"
"I've seen it about a dozen times and every time I keep hoping Richard would beat Amy just once."
"The chick always wins...in EVERYTHING!"
"At least in YOUR country, she does. In my country, women are still inferior to the male society...the way it SHOULD be!"
"Do I detect a glissando of male chauvinism?"
"Perhaps, but it's inbred."
"Romko, we've never had a heart-to-heart. Tell me, did you leave a lady-fair back home when you came to the States?"
"You mean a girlfriend?...A fraulein?"
"Yes."
"No, the only thing I've ever had between my legs is made of cherry wood."
"Oh! Your cello?"
"I used to call her Katrina."
"Used to? What do you call it now?"
"Don't laugh. I call it Pinocchio."
"You'd rather have a guy between your legs?" Dave asked, cautiously.
"Only if he's made of wood."
"Oh..."
"You like lots of butter on your popcorn?"
"Yes. I used to call it motor oil when I was asked by the concession girl at the movie theater."
"Motor oil is too expensive. Pure butter is lots cheaper. It's a shame that one of your Detroit scientists can't find a way to lubricate an automobile with Parkay Margarine. Can you imagine filling up your gas tank with long yellow sticks?"
"If someone in Detroit did that then all the margarine companies would send their lobbyists to Washington, D.C. and their price would skyrocket and the price of motor oil would come down."
"That's the one thing about your country I didn't believe until I moved here. All European countries say that your lobbyists control the United States."
"They're probably right in thinking that."
Romko poured nearly a whole cup of melted butter on the popcorn and came into the living room area.
"Come on, sit with me on the couch so we can share."
Dave re-tied his robe tighter, tucking his crotch firmly and joined Romko on the couch. Romko reached for the TV remote and clicked on the Fox Movie Channel. Dave was barefoot and propped his feet on the coffee table in front of them. Romko took off his shoes, and placed his socked feet next to Dave's. Their hips and thighs were touching. This caused an immediate stir in Dave's loins and he knew his secret was about to be discovered. He quickly tried to avoid embarrassment by grabbing the bowl of popcorn and placing it in his lap.
"I'll hold the bowl while you go get us a couple of cold Cokes," Dave said, then added, "Hurry, the movie's about to begin."
Romko got up in his stocking feet to go to the mini-refrigerator in the mini-kitchen. He grabbed a couple of canned sodas and return to the couch to assume the position he had left. in the few seconds Romko was gone, Dave reached into his robe and did his best to tuck his erected penis between his legs and then replaced the bowl as additional camouflage.
The movie began and soon Romko was absorbed in the story, whereas Dave could not concentrate on anything but the touch of Romko's hip and legs touching his. The two watched the film for nearly half an hour when Romko noticed that Dave appeared to being staring in a daze, looking at the floor instead of the TV screen.
"What's wrong?" Romko finally asked.
"Huh?"
"I asked what's wrong. You...uh...don't seem interested in the movie. I know we've both seen it, but I could watch it over and over and it still holds my interest."
"I...I'm watching. I...have this theme going over and over in my head."
"Would you like to play it? I can cut the sound down on the television."
"No, no, you should know about ear worms, being a musician, yourself."
"Ear worms? What's that?"
"A professor at the University of Florida coined the phrase, ear worm, for a song that keeps going over in your mind and you can't seem to stop it."
"Ear worm," Romko repeated, "I'll remember that. I seem to have an ear worm every morning when I awaken...not to mention the other kind of hard worm I also awaken with," he laughed.
"Oh...you mean..."
"Yes, I mean..."
"Can I ask you something rather personal? I mean, we're roommates and still in the process of getting to know one another."
"Sure," Romko replied, "go ahead and ask."
"We...we've been living together for a couple of weeks and I...I just wondered when, and IF, you take care of the...the hard worm?"
"You mean, when do I jack off?"
"Well, yes, now that you describe it so bluntly."
"Usually when I shower," Romko replied, "the same way you were doing when I came in the bathroom earlier to pee."
"You...you knew what I was doing?"
"Of course. I don't know why you were being so modest about it. I just hope I didn't spoil your fantasy."
"No, no...I...I was just startled when I discovered I wasn't alone in the room."
"Now, can I ask YOU a personal question?"
"Sure...turn about..."
"I...well, I think I heard you mention my name as you were stroking yourself. Did I?"
The only light turned on in the living room was the glow of the television, but in spite of the darkness, Dave was sure that Romko could see the red embarrassment on his face.
"I...I...well, there's no use lying about it. I guess I did."
"You were fantasizing about me...about US together?"
"I suppose."
"Dave, are you homosexual?"
"NO! I...I've never done anything like that in my life."
"Then why were you fantasizing about me?"
"I don't know. I've been aware of it for the past week and all I can come up with is that you remind me of my younger brother, Tim."
"You and your brother used to have sex together?"
"GOD, NO! My brother would kill me if he even knew I had thought about him that way."
"But...but you WANTED to, right?"
A long pause. "I don't know."
"Are you still a virgin?"
"Fuck, no. I had a steady girlfriend for three years in high school and we had sex regularly."
"But you are a virgin when it comes to gay sex?"
"Hell, yes!" Dave said, firmly. "What about you? Are you virgin? With girls? With guys?"
"The answers to your questions are, 'no, no, and no'."
"You...you've been with a guy before?"
"Yes, I have."
"Here in San Francisco or back in Croatia?"
"Back home."
"Was it with just one guy or several?"
"A few."
"Then you didn't really feel strange when you heard me mention your name while I was showering?"
"You mean when you were jacking off?"
"Well...yes."
"Then, no. If you need some kind of image of me to help you get off, then so be it! I'll be honest and say that I've thought about YOU in the shower, myself."
"Are you serious?"
"You think I haven't noticed your good looks and masculinity?"
"Actually, no. I've never thought of myself as having 'good looks'."
"Oh, come off it, Dave, you're a very handsome guy. I can think about you in the shower and get off rather quickly."
"No kidding?"
"No kidding."
"Would it be too personal if I asked what you and your...your guy friends..did?...sexually? I mean how far did you go?"
"As far as I COULD go. I tried many different things with many guy friends. I did the same with the girls I went out with."
"Did...did you find that you preferred one gender over the other?"
"You mean, guys or girls?"
"Yes."
"I liked the guys better."
A sinking feeling hit Dave in the pit of his stomach that ran all the way to his colon. His conversation had opened Pandora's Box and he became excited, wondering where tonight's revelation would lead.
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to do...if I got a chance to--to try something with a guy."
"You just let your emotions guide you as far as you want to go."
"Even the thought scares me."
"But you ARE curious, aren't you?"
"Yes, I suppose."
"Would you like me to fulfill one or two of your fantasies?"
"You mean by having sex with you?"
"I didn't intend calling someone to join us. OF COURSE with me."
"What...what do I do? I mean..how do we start?"
"We could begin with mutual hand jobs if you like. Then see where it goes from there."
"You mean...now?"
"Sure, silly, take off your robe."
"I'm afraid my robe is hiding my...embarrassment."
"Do you think I didn't know you were hard when you sat on the couch?"
"You sat there all this time watching me squirm?"
Romko laughed, "Once or twice I almost reached into your robe instead of the popcorn bowl, but I thought you'd jump to the ceiling and try to hang there by your fingernails." Dave blushed again. "Come on, off with the robe!"
"Only if you get undressed at the same time."
"Well, I didn't mean for you to be the only one naked. I'll even take my clothes off first."
Romko stood up and immediately pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. Next he reached down and removed his socks. He turned toward Dave to be in plain view as he removed his Dockers jeans, followed by sliding his white briefs down his legs and stepping out of them. He was totally naked in front of Dave and only two feet away from him.
Then Dave rose to his feet and slowly removed his robe which could no longer hide his throbbing erection.
"My goodness! You are beautiful!" Romko exclaimed as his eyes surveyed Dave's body from head to toe.
"So are you...!" Dave replied.
Each took a full minute to the view the other, each pausing to study the others genital areas.
"Now what?" Dave asked, timidly.
"Come here, brave American boy, and let me teach you," Romko replied in a sultry manner.
Dave took one step toward Romko and Romko put his hands on Dave's upper arms and brought him close into an embrace. An electrical charge went through Dave's body when he felt his crotch merge with Romko's. He even gasped when they touched. Next Romko leaned forward, continuing the motion and placed his lips on Dave's. Dave had never been kissed before. Sure, he had kissed Connie on dates, but she had never kissed him back. Dave felt as if he were assuming the role of a woman and he had an urge to manifest his manhood and take command. Romko's kiss turned into Dave's kiss as Dave took charge and was the first to try to pry his partner's lips apart with his tongue. Romko opened his mouth wide enough to receive Dave's wet offering and as Dave's tongue slid into Romko's mouth, Dave had an emotion recall, remembering the first time he had entered Connie's vagina without a condom.
Romko's tongue met Dave's and the two oral organs slowly began to dance together rhythmically...first a fumbling minuet which rapidly converted into a torrential tango as they exchanged saliva. Both sets of arms were climbing up and down the ripples of their back rib cages. They both felt the beating tempo of the foreplay as if Ravel's "Bolero" was being pumped loudly throughout their bodies. Dave was hearing a new symphony, one he'd never heard before as his fingers danced and explored the naked body before him. Romko had heard the symphony before, but this time, it was with a different orchestra, being conducted by his American roommate.
Slowly, Romko moved his hand between the two lower abdomens and grasped Dave's penis. It felt like a clashing cymbal to Dave. Not even Connie had ever attempted to hold his organ in her hand. This was all new and, oh, so exciting. In a bashful way, Dave followed suit by gently grabbing Romko's member which now was at full staff. He reached lower to weigh Romko's scrotum in his hand. Romko followed Dave's motion only he tickled Dave's hot ball sac delicately as if he were playing a Chopin etude.
Slowly, Romko eased Dave backward onto the sofa while he knelt between Dave's legs. Dave braced himself. He knew that Romko was about to put his penis in his mouth. He tried with all his might NOT to climax. Dave never wanted this to end. Thousands of questions that Dave had asked himself were being answered in one single moment...in one solid gesture of Romko. THIS is what Dave had been missing in his life of nineteen years...and if he lived to be one-hundred and nineteen years, he would never forget this one night...this minute! He closed his eyes and exhaled a long sigh as Romko engulfed his penis. This would be the first of many nights of bliss, Dave hoped. He only wished that he would have the courage to reciprocate his partner's action when the time came later on that evening.
Fifteen years passed from that first night with Romko and now Dave was playing saxophone at the Rustic Inn in Manhattan. As he began the third and final set of the evening, he began to play, "I Got It Bad And That Ain't Good" on his alto sax echoing the way Johnny Hodges had played it so often with Duke Ellington's orchestra.
So much had happened across the years and over the miles since that "special night". It all began when Dave got a phone call from his mother, two days after "that night". She told Dave that his father had lost his job and finances were tight. Neither she nor his dad could any longer send him his living allowance if he chose to stay at the San Fran Conservatory--- Dave would have to find work and support himself.
Dave felt that all he was qualified to do was to play clarinet and there was no way in hell that anyone would hire him for that...at least not at the present. He talked to several of his fellow Conservatory classmates and one, Bill Tyner, asked if he could play saxophone as well as clarinet. Bill knew of a club in the city looking for a alto sax player for a steady gig. It would pay from three to five hundred per week, depending on how good you were.
Dave knew that the keys and fingerboard of a clarinet were the same on an alto sax. He went to the Conservatory and asked his primary teacher if he could borrow an alto from the school. The teacher agreed and Dave took the instrument into one of the soundproof rehearsal rooms and played constantly for almost a week. Then, when he felt he had conquered the piece of brass, he went to the club Bill had mentioned to try out for the position.
The only person in the club at that moment was the owner, so the audition would be a solo, literally. There was no music on any of the bandstands and the only thing Dave could play from memory was classical music. He knew that many composers had bastardized the classics, turning them into pop music. It wasn't Borodin who wrote "Baubles, Bangles, and Beads". Rachmaninoff had not composed, "Full Moon And Empty Arms", nor was Tchaikowsky responsible for "Save Me a Dream". Although Debussy had written "Clair de Lune" for piano, the melody remained constant in the pop version.
Dave stood upon the band platform, took a big breath and began to wail the Debussy opus taking full advantage of the long sustained tones, allowing him to ad lib the melody. His tone was solid and perfect. The owner of the club was taken by Dave's rendition, plus the young player was attractive and would perhaps draw a younger audience with his youthful good looks. The owner made a couple of phone calls and asked the piano player, the bassist, and the drummer to come down to the club, bring a few charts, and see how the combo worked together.
An hour later, several handwritten arrangements were placed before Dave. He could sight-read like a mechanical engineer. The four musicians, including Dave, began to play Dave Brubeck's "Take Five" and after one complete chorus, Dave was hired on the spot, starting at four-hundred-fifty dollars per week.
There was really nothing challenging about this new world. It was just a way to make money to survive, he thought. All he'd ever known was the classics. Jazz was different and required a new way of thinking through musical passages. He couldn't rely on written notes. He could easily pick up a melody after the piano player had played it through once and then the fun began---he learned to create his own sound by playing around the written chord. He could add a cadenza from a clarinet concerto and make it fit into the structure of a pop tune he was playing.
After a while, jazz almost came an addiction to Dave. He could 'ad lib' three or four choruses in a row, making each one different and was pleased when he finished the ride and got 'recognition' applause from his audience. In his own small way, in this small place, he was becoming a star. People were talking about him in other jazz clubs and dropping by just to listen to the new good-looking sax player with classical riffs. The drawback to jazz was that he was getting far away from his classical training and background. Fuck Mozart! This is where the life was! Jazz, fans, drugs, booze...who could want more? He could! He still had no steady sexual outlet and feared showing any tinge of his homosexuality...in spite of living in the gay capital of the universe. Many nights he would go to an all-night adult movie house divided into two theaters...one straight and one gay. If he felt no one was watching, he would slip in to see the latest Jeff Stryker offering. To keep from going crazy, sometimes he would let young guys go down on him in the dark. Dave never offered to reciprocate once he had climaxed. Then after the movie, he would go home alone with no one there. Chronic depression was setting in and his only source of medication was booze or white powder...but never before a paying engagement. This life was the pits!
Dave played with the group at the club for almost two years. He learned to play the tenor and soprano saxophone as well. During this time, Dave strayed from classical music AND the Conservatory. His sex life remained active with Romko, usually after he got off from work around midnight. Romko's two year stint at the Conservatory was ending. He had a job prospect with the Chicago Symphony and although he and Dave had had many nights of sexual pleasure, neither of them had ever spoken of love. They loved being together...having sex together...but that's the extent of their relationship. Romko realized from the beginning that two musicians could not stay together as love partners for a very long time. A cellist, as well as a clarinetist, had to be free to leave...to go where there was work.
When Dave left his job at the club, he worked from place to place. He joined a couple of big bands which were touring the country, advertising themselves as "The Dorsey Orchestra" or "The Glenn Miller Band". These concerts or dances were usually one niters. One got on a bus, traveled to the next town, got off the bus, played the gig, and got back on the bus again. One only got to stop to eat, hardly ever seeing the inside of a hotel or motel. Often, the band members slept in their tuxedos. They even had creases sewn down the front of their pants legs to keep the suits from looking crumpled. A musician's life on the road was quite similar to the life of an actress as Jacqueline Susanne had described in her book, "Valley of the Dolls". Once he got onto the bus, a band member popped a downer to get to sleep quicker... then an upper an hour before show time. In between the pills were bottles of gin, vodka, sour-mash whiskey, not to mention reefers of strong smelling pot or sometimes hashish. It didn't take long for one's mind to get totally fucked up, especially when one was too high to eat a meal. Soon one would lose weight and his clothes no longer fit. Being a touring band member could be a cold hard life...and the pay wasn't all that good to boot.
Dave knew that if he was to survive, he had to get out of this rat race and find other employment, so he left the touring band circuit and hitched a ride to Las Vegas where shows were booked for months at a time. Many artists such as Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme or Rosemary Clooney, perhaps Dionne Warwick, would appear for long stretches in Vegas. Dave knew with his talent...IF he got the chance to audition, he would have no trouble being hired. He was right. For over five years, he worked every night with many big stars, playing either saxophone or clarinet backing the likes of Sinatra, Martin, Davis Jr, Nat King Cole. He became well known up and down the Strip and was in demand by many band leaders. He was making big bucks, all the while trying to hide or suppress his drug and alcohol addiction during show hours.
Dave bought himself a new wardrobe and a Ford Thunderbird, his first automobile. He had his hair styled, making himself more handsome. Many rich female patrons as well as Vegas showgirls vied for his attention, but Dave always lied about his fidelity to his wife and kids "back home", wherever the hell home was. He found himself attracted to many male waiters and valet attendants at the various hotels, but he also knew that if anyone suspected his being gay, his merry-go-round in Las Vegas could come to a screeching halt. So during those salad days, he remained constant to a nightly five-finger exercise...or Daisy Fingers, his one and only love. Musicians should not, and COULD not, manage a gay lifestyle in the circle Dave chose. He was becoming rich and famous, but at the same time, he was aware of being, very, very, lonely.
Time passed with many nights of passing out high or drunk in an empty bed and Dave realized he must get out of Vegas and the atmosphere of his present situation and condition, so one night after he finished the last show at the Sahara, he went to his rented hotel suite, packed everything that would fit into his Thunderbird and set out for New York. He gave the band leader and the club manager no notice, he just left. He had over $15,000 in his wallet and thought that would be enough to survive on until he found work or established his name in the Big Apple.
What he hadn't planned on was the variance in the cost of living between Vegas and New York. Hotel rooms, even suites were dirt cheap in Vegas, whereas, a dirty one room studio apartment in NYC cost almost three times as much. He had made a hasty decision and an unthought-out move but it was too late to turn back now. He had thought it through and read many things about getting lost in "the city", living your own life where no one knew you or no one cared to know. In other words, Dave was looking for a relationship with another guy and no one would give two fucks in hell about it. He wanted someone to come home to, to be with, to share, to have loads of sex, and, yes, maybe fall in love, if that were possible.
Granted, he might have found that "someone" if he'd returned to San Gayfrisco, but the possibility of the excitement of Broadway and New York clubs seemed to intrigue him more.
Now, three year later, although he had tricked with several gay partners he'd met in gay bars, Dave was still alone with no prospect of a long-lasting relationship. He had played many jobs in many hotels, restaurants, Broadway pit orchestras and even played classical clarinet with New York Ballet Orchestra and the City Center Symphony...but even classical music bored him now. Dave had learned to express his thoughts and feelings by projecting them in the way he blew his horn. He talked to his listeners and he felt a few true jazz aficionados got his message, but only a few, and not one of them heard his true cry of loneliness.
Halfway through the third set at the Rustic Inn, three patrons entered, a woman and two men came in and sat at the table closest to the band. One of the men and the woman appeared to be a couple. The solo man at the table looked like a model. He was about thirty years old, handsome with blonde hair with lighter streaks filtering through, and even in the dark, Dave could feel a constant stare coming toward from the guy's dark eyes which were encircled by long, velvety lashes.
The next tune scheduled was "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes". Instead, Dave turned around and said to Rick, the piano player, "Change of tune. Let's do the Blane/Martin medley." Leo and Ray got the message as Rick began playing the intro.
The first eight bars of the medley was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" which got everyone in the bar's attention since it was August and the band quickly shifted into Rick's rendition of "The Trolley Song" with a jazzy upbeat tempo. The third song began with a long sustained note on the alto sax. Dave seemed to love the note and held it constant for sixteen bars before he slid into the next melody, "The Boy Next Door".
Rick didn't know who had inspired Dave, but Dave began to play with a new sound--a sound he'd never heard from Dave's saxophone. Rick had no inkling that Dave was gay or even if Dave was playing the song for an individual in the audience, but he knew something had clanged Dave's bell. The entire audience, even those sitting on the barstools, became quiet, focused on the solo musician. Whatever Dave was saying with his sax affected everyone in the room, each in his own special way. Men, sitting at tables with their wives or girlfriends, slowly moved their hands across the table to grab the hand of their loved one. Tears formed in several eyes. This was a magic, musical moment. Dave was talking to the solo man of the three and the man was listening to every note, every word, Dave had to say.
Dave finished the first chorus which was supposed to segue into "Every Time", but instead, Rick kept the feel of the moment going by playing the verse to "The Boy Next Door" and modulating into a higher key to allow Dave to continue his "monologue" and whatever he had to say to whom.
The song ended and a hush hovered over the crowd. Everyone wanted to applaud, but it was like the end of a hymn where quiet reverence seemed more appropriate. It was a moment that Rick, Leo, or Ray had never experienced on any bandstand or in any pit as long as they had been playing professionally. It was perfect crystal!----special!
Finally, Dave opened the mike and said, "At this time, we usually go into a 'goodnight' medley, but I think tonight, I'll close out the evening with a Stephen Sondheim song. I hope you like it."
Rick knew the song Dave to which Dave was referring and began a slow bouncing vamp until Dave broke in with "Hey, Old Friend". The combo played a total of six choruses, each picking up the tempo and a change of key, building to a loud resolution and climax. The crowd jumped to their feet with applause and accolades. Dave acknowledged the audience with a short bow and walked off the stand to the back of the club where he lovingly cased his instruments.
Leo looked at Ray and said, "I don't know who she was, but some lucky girl sure got Dave's attention. Man! I ain't never heard no one play a sax like that in my entire life."
Ray replied, "I felt it too. I kept looking around at the individual tables as far as I could see to find out WHO it was he was playin' to. How about you, Rick? Did you see Dave lookin' at any gal in particular?"
"I didn't spot her either...but I know damned well she was out there somewhere and Dave, sure as hell, saw her. He was fantastic! I knew the kid studied at some conservatory on the West Coast, but tonight he showed his true talent!"
"He sure as hell did," Ray said, "and THEN some."
The three remaining band members piled their arrangements together and went to the back to join Dave, but he was gone...nowhere in sight.
"He sure must've had a hot date to get out of here so fast!" Leo declared. "If I didn't know better, I'd say our saxophonist is in love."
"God, I hope so, Leo," Rick replied, "I hope so, for his sake!"
"Amen!" Ray added.
Dave had exited through the back door and walked down Houston Street toward Washington Square where he found a vacant park bench, sat down, and lit a cigarette. He replayed the past fifteen minutes in his mind, extremely puzzled by his actions and the strange effect the mysterious stranger had had on him and his music. He was certain he'd never seen the stranger before...not in the club, not at another job, not ANYWHERE. The way he felt as the stranger stared at him was baffling. Was he THAT lonely? Did the stranger remind him of some other person from some other setting at some other time? OR was it just deep seated wishful thinking, hoping he would find a guy like that some day? Someone? The man of his dreams? The whole deal had been fucking idiotic! The stranger was probably someone's husband or lover. No one with his charismatic good looks could be single or EVER strike up a conversation with the likes of him. And a relationship? Never happen, buddy!!!
It was the last week in August and the weather was usually sultry on a night such as this...but suddenly there was a tinge of an early autumn breeze in the air, causing Dave to feel a chill and he shivered slightly, mostly from the breeze, but primarily from the nervous ordeal he had just experienced. He had thought himself into a seriously depressed mood. Autumn was approaching, to be followed by a cold New York winter. Even the trees in the square reflected Dave's attitude and demeanor. Soon their leaves would finish changing colors and fall to the cobbled and brick surface below.
Dave pondered whether he should go home and get drunk on that bottle of Tanqueray or snort a line and get high. He wondered if he could face another lonely Christmas and winter in New York? Should he go back to Vegas, or home to his family in Monterey, whom he hadn't seen in almost five years, or even back to San Francisco. The chilly snip in the air made him think of Florida. He'd never been there and he knew he could find work on South Beach or in the Keys this time of the year.
He flipped the butt of his cigarette as far as it would go, not caring if he was seen by a NYPD blue uniform and risked a fine. He stood up to head back to his apartment. He could either walk twenty blocks or take a taxi. He opted to walk. As he turned to walk back across the square, he saw a man approaching him. "My God!" Dave thought to himself. "It's him! The stranger! What the fuck is he doing out on the square alone?"
It appeared that the guy was not passing Dave, but walking directly toward him.
"Hello," said the stranger.
"Uh...hi," replied Dave.
"You're the saxophonist...Dave, isn't it?"
"Well, yes."
"I'm Clay...Clay Lawson." Clay stuck out his hand toward Dave.
Dave took his hand and said, "Please to meet you, Clay. You already seem to know my name."
"I...I asked the bartender at the Rustic Inn."
"Oh?"
"Yes, he told me that sometimes you go to the square to unwind after you've played. I...uh...asked him directions to get to Washington Square and he told me that as well."
"You...you don't live in New York?" Dave asked.
"Not at the moment, but I'm considering moving here. I work at the Cole Institute in Briarwood."
"That's the AIDS hospital, isn't it?"
"Yes, but I work in the ER there with acute care."
"Is that where your family is now?" Dave cautiously asked, while at the same time fishing for information.
"Oh, no! There's just me. I have no family. That's one of the reasons I'm thinking about moving."
He's single?, Dave thought. "It's a great city but it has its drawbacks, I'm sure you've heard about."
"You mean I would be more alone here than I am in Briarwood?"
"Something like that."
"Ha! Don't kid yourself...alone is lonely anywhere. How about you? Do you have a family here in New York?"
"You want me to go back and get my ax and play you a chorus of "Lonely Town" to prove it."
"I waited for you to come back into the club when you finished your set. Rick, the pianist, told me you had left. I came to the Rustic Inn with a doctor I'd gone to med school with and his wife."
"That was the couple at your table?"
"Yes."
"You said, 'med school'. Are you a doctor then?"
"Let's say I have a diploma that reminds me I am."
"I'll bet you're a good one. I mean with your looks, I bet you have lots of women patients."
"Oh, yes," Clay laughed, "and some of them actually have illnesses."
"I know if I were a woman, I'd run to you for a breast exam once a month!"
"You seem to know a lot about my clientele," Clay joked. "My daily routine balances itself with Pap smears and breast exams and only one in about a hundred turn out positive."
"You must get your fill of 'copping quick feels', if you don't mind my joking about it."
"And then some."
"Clay, I'm just a bit curious. Why did you come all this way to find me? I'm sure it wasn't just to compliment my playing."
"No, it was that song you played...the Judy Garland number, "The Boy Next Door". Please pardon my impertinence, but the whole time you were playing, I had this peculiar sensation you were playing it for me."
"You're not impertinent at all. A lot of my 'fans' think I play 'just to them' and I'm flattered that my music reaches into their inner souls."
"Then I feel foolish. You...WEREN'T playing just to me?"
"I didn't say that. It's just that...OK! MAYBE I WAS!" Dave confessed. "It always helps me to play better if I 'talk' to an individual through my music."
"I seemed to get a message...maybe misconstrued, but I felt as if I was 'the boy next door'. Is that a possibility?"
"All right, you want to know if I'm gay and was making a pass at you? Is that it?"
"Being truthful...yes."
"And if I WAS?"
"Then it would be MY turn to feel flattered."
Dave scoffed, a slight laugh, "Now I feel like you're making a pass at me."
"And IF I were?"
"Then I'd suddenly feel an urge to take you into my arms and kiss you...THEN WHAT?"
"Are you brave enough to try?"
"And get my neck sliced open by some scalpel you have hidden in your pocket?"
"I'm a surgeon, not a slasher....so why don't you take a chance?"
Dave's curiosity and emotions had built up so heavily, it was almost worth getting his neck slashed only to hold this guy in his arms for ONE second. He looked deeply into Clay's eyes for a danger warning and saw none, then proceeded toward him and embraced Clay and kissed him with a power and affection he'd never felt before. Dave felt himself happily drowning. Clay responded by putting his arms around Dave's back and they held each other tightly, their psyches blending.
Neither of them held any reservation about two men kissing under a street lamp in front of passers-by. There was no way of knowing who needed the other more. But somehow in this whole wide world, the two of them seemed to find what each had been searching for...all their lives.
"My God, Clay, this feels wonderful! And I mean that literally---full of wonder!" Dave said as the kiss broke.
"To me, too, Dave."
"Now it's MY turn to be impertinent..would you come home with me and spend the night?"
"Is it far?"
"Not very---we can walk or take a taxi."
"Let's take a taxi! I'm sure it's quicker."
They looked at each other one more time before the second kiss which followed, enveloping them in a glowing mist. Suddenly, Dave stepped back and yelled, "TAXI!!!"
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(To be continued in "Lush Life-2".