SPLASH ON THE SCREEN
SPLASH ON THE SCREEN
Jack Scribe
Warning: The following story may contain graphic descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such material, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your jurisdiction, then read no further. This multipart story is primarily about romance and relationships between men. Any reference to actual persons, living or dead, is only to enhance the fictional nature of the story and does not suggest a particular sexual orientation.
Special acknowledgements to David from the Lakeview area of Chicago and Brad from Denver for providing diligent proofing and editing of the story.
If you have any comments or suggestions for the author, feel free to write me at jack.scribe@gmail.com. I love feedback and communication with readers. Support Nifty!
Part 7, FAMILY EXPANDS
DOUG
Sam Barron had brilliantly executed the game plan to bring Brent into the mainstream consciousness of the Hollywood community. Although the majority of the American public still thought of 'Brad' as the cute guy on "Friendships," the 'suits' at the studios, actors, directors and the entertainment journalists were aware that this new actor was becoming a very hot property in the most respected American thespian arena: the Broadway theater. This was like enjoying the bouquet of a hand-warmed Grande Champagne Cognac after devouring a light soufflé.
While the play received very positive reviews, The New York Times' two-paragraph rave of Brent's acting caught everyone's attention. On the set of my film, Ed Norton, a closet east coast patrician and Yale graduate, openly remarked that he wanted to meet this new Broadway star and maybe do something together in a movie. He didn't know that 'Brad' and I were friends.
Since the brunch with his dad and sister, Brent had gotten together with Ty Williams for dinner a couple of times. At Café des Artistes, Brent said that the owner did handstands when the two arrived for dinner. The other diners actually offered applause when they recognized Brent. I told him that this was not difficult to understand due to the print and TV public relations blitz that Sam organized. George Lang, the restaurant owner, was probably also elated that CAM had arranged for the opening night party to be held at his East 67th Street venue.
Brent and I continued to have our physical telephone conversations. We each became adept at role-playing when devising short dick-in-hand plots. The Wednesday evening before I would leave for New York, we calmed down and, after wiping our bodies of spent spooge, seriously talked about the weekend.
"You sure, Doug, that you don't want me to meet you at JFK?"
"Babe, I'm taking the 'red-eye.' American flight 10 gets in at 6:30 fucking a.m. I'll take the AirTrain to Penn Station and grab a cab to your apartment. If we're on time, and baggage isn't screwed up, I should be there around eight. Maybe we can have breakfast when I arrive?"
"I got just the place, not far from the apartment, called 'District' in the Muse Hotel. The omelets are fantastic. You got plenty of warm clothes, Doug? It may get pretty cold this weekend."
"Yeah, I picked up a good thermal jacket at Ross last weekend. It was dirt cheap 'cause no one here thinks about buying a warm coat."
"Great. We'll be able to walk around town. Bring your Dodgers cap. That'll raise a few eyebrows," Brent said with a laugh.
He ran down the rest of the itinerary. Brent, his dad, and I would have an early 'get to know each other' dinner Friday evening at Joe Allen's. He had arranged to have a table next to the play poster and his picture displayed on the wall. The restaurant was midway between the apartment and the theater, allowing Brent to walk a short distance and be in the theater at 7:00 p.m. for makeup. He hoped that his dad and I might have a few at the bar after he departed.
Saturday, his dad, Pam and I would attend the performance of the play and go out for late supper afterwards at the "21" Club, a premiere celebrity dining spot for over 75 years. Sam Barron's office made the reservations and mentioned whom the young actor was, in case the Maitre d' was not up on the current theater actors.
"But, Doug, Sunday is just you and me. I figure after we wear out our dicks, a light breakfast in the apartment is in order. I'd love to see the latest show at the Museum of Modern Art in the afternoon and maybe some Chinese take-out later?"
"Hon, I'm in your hands until the big, silver bird brings me back to L.A. Monday afternoon."
"And I'm in yours...and any other body parts you have in mind." Brent actually growled in an imitation of a dog.
"Down, Rover. You sound like a bitch in heat," I laughingly replied.
"Horny, lover. I can't wait to see you."
"Ditto. See ya in 30 hours."
*****
You forget what a mass of humanity can do in tight spaces like New York. With just one large suitcase on wheels, I was constantly dodging and turning to miss the continuous tide of citizens surging through the exit gates at Penn Station on their way to work. It was 7:45 a.m., and I was freezing my balls off while hailing a cab.
I'm sure that a guy with a suntan, dark glasses, L.A. Dodgers cap, and a suitcase was a dead giveaway that I wasn't local. 'Fuck,' I cursed to myself, 'I've got to buy a pair of gloves.' Just then, a cab pulled up and I tossed my suitcase in the back before easing in. Mohammad something or other impatiently looked at me to speak.
"545 E. 46th Street, driver." There was a verbal grunt as the cab lurched forward into traffic. 13 blocks and $15.00 later, the cab pulled up in front of Brent's apartment building. Coming out to greet me was the doorman.
"Yes, Sir. Will you be staying with us?" he said, as I got out of the cab and pulled the suitcase to the curb.
"Good morning...um...Miles," I said with a smile, noticing the name badge. "I'm in for the weekend as a guest of Mr. Williams." Beneath the tough façade, most New Yorkers were generally nice and helpful to strangers.
"Oh, yes. Brad left me a note that you'd be arriving. You're Doug Di Marco?"
"Yes, Doug Di Marco, who's freezing his buns off," I replied, offering a gloveless hand. "I'm just a wuss from L.A. who's not used to winter."
"Well, come on in and warm up, Mr. Di Marco." Miles shook my hand and grabbed the suitcase. I followed him into the warm, spacious lobby. "We're all very proud of what Brad's doing at the theater. I'll call him immediately."
"Thanks, Miles. By the way, the name's Doug." After a moment on the house phone, he smiled and motioned me to follow him.
"I'll show you to the elevator. You'll be staying in 4012." When the elevator arrived, I slipped Miles a 'fiver' and thanked him for the assistance. When I landed at the 40th floor, the elevator doors parted and facing me was my buddy...my friend...my lover...my other half, dressed in corduroys, sweater and stocking-covered feet.
"Hey, babe. Welcome to the Big Apple," said Brent. We went into serious lip lock as soon as I got out of the elevator. Pulling away, he continued, "Jeez, Doug, it's great to see you in person. My left hand is wearing out." We both laughed as he led me to the apartment door.
"Just so that's the only thing worn out. I hope you stocked up on Chapstick and Wet, 'cause all of our oral cavities are going to get a good workout," I said, as we entered his studio apartment.
Brent closed the door and leaned in for a more passionate, long kiss. "Take off your jacket and cap. I just want to look at you for a moment." I did as requested, and Brent tossed them to the nearest chair. He pulled me forward for another physical welcome, kissing me on the forehead, cheeks, eyelids, and neck before landing on my lips. Our tongues became reacquainted with each other.
"We've got a lot of time to make up, baby," I said, with a loving look into his beautiful eyes.
"That will happen. Right now, you've got to decide whether we go out for breakfast right now or get freshened up with a shower. I don't want to influence your decision, but the shower is very large." Brent smiled and winked.
"I think that an omelet could wait for a few minutes," I replied, taking off my shirt.
"Let we help you with the boots." Brent was down on his knees and quickly unlaced the boots before pulling them off. As I unfastened my belt, Brent unzipped the jeans and immediately fished out a very willing cock. "Hey, friend," he said, addressing my arousing penis. "I've really missed you." He leaned in and kissed the glans before he pulled down my jeans and briefs. Standing, Brent removed his sweater and eased down the cords.
"Hey, Mr. Commando, that looks very appetizing." After we both stepped out of our pants, I reached down and massaged his very hard meat. "I'm ready for that shower. But we'd better get you out of those socks." I repeated Brent's moves by kneeling down to free his feet of the socks and taste a little of the coming attractions. I licked a few drops of pre-cum before rising.
We walked, hand in hand, to the bathroom. Brent turned on the water and regulated the temperature. I marveled at his hard buns, narrow waist and muscular back as he entered the shower first. I reached down and ran my finger from his low-hanging balls, past the perineum, and ended up at his rosebud. I playfully poked around the entrance.
With the water gently washing over our bodies, Brent turned and pressed us together. "These two were made to be mates," he said with a dreamy look as he took both of our hard cocks in his hand and adjusted them upwards to rest together against our stomach area. "Just like us." We went into a very wet kiss...wet, in more ways than one.
"I've missed this, Hon," I huskily said to Brent.
"Babe, this is what I've missed," he replied, handing me a bottle of Wet. "I want you inside me...now. Just prep and work me a little. It's been a while since anything but my finger has been up there." He adjusted the water flow and angle as I coated my digits with lube and tenderly opened him up. When he nodded, I slicked my dick and slowly entered his hot interior. "Oh, yes...oh fuck...yeah."
Knowing that there was ample hot water, we didn't turn off the shower. While lovingly plowing my blond lovers' hot ass, I reached over and grabbed his hot, leaking dick and jacked him in time with my strokes. "Like that, babe? Like my hot cock making love to you? Ready to feel my hot cum shooting up your ass...ahhh...ohhh."
"Bring me home, fucker...lover...oh, shit, I want us to...ahhh, yes...cum..." he yelled as his sphincter tightened around my flesh piston. I slammed into home run as he shot a powerful rope of cum that splattered the tile wall. We both discharged several smaller shots before I stopped and leaned into his back while my dick started to return to a restful state.
"That's what I call a welcome," I said as I kissed Brent's neck. Pulling out of his re-invigorated ass, I turned him around for an embrace.
"Oh, babe, I've missed this," Brent replied, with a few tears in his eyes. Without saying anything else, he smiled and grabbed a bar of soap. "And now, let's get ourselves cleaned up." For the next several minutes we shampooed each other and scrubbed our bodies. After the final rinse, we stepped out and toweled each other dry.
After dressing for the day, I said, "Brent, I've definitely worked up an appetite. Ready for breakfast?"
"Buddy, with you, I'm ready for a lot of things."
*****
BRENT
I instructed Doug on how to dress in layers to keep a person warm. After the late breakfast, we took a cab to Lord and Taylor on Fifth Avenue to buy Mr. L.A. a warm pair of gloves and a toboggan scarf in blue and gold UCLA colors. The rest of the day consisted of a long walk up Fifth Avenue with a long stop by Rockefeller Center to watch the skaters on the outside rink.
Arriving at the stately Plaza Hotel on the corner of 5th and Central Park West, I ordered a couple of dogs with everything from one of the venerable street vendors. At noontime, the temperature was in the high-thirties with a bright winter sun that made the outside comfortable. There had not been any snow for three weeks, and the solar rays accentuated the winter brownness of the sleeping grass, trees and other plantings. We sat on a bench along the promenade in Central Park and washed down lunch with Cokes.
"Since we're up this way, I'd love to do something I've only seen in movies," Doug said with a twinkle in his eyes.
"As much as I'd like to, it isn't advisable for two guys to play 'smash mouth' while making love on the park bench." I winked and blew him a subtle air kiss.
"Naw, we can do that later. That, and much more," he laughed and continued, "What I would love to do is take a horse-drawn carriage ride through the park."
"No problemo. The carriages and the drivers are on Central Park West across from the Plaza. It's around 1:00 p.m. After taking a 45-minute ride, we can cab back to the apartment for a little snuggle time before we meet Dad at the restaurant. I made reservations for 5:30 p.m."
"You don't mind? It's probably a little too touristy for a crusty New Yorker, but I think it's pretty romantic, lover."
"The only thing crusty about me, Doug, is my towel after we've had one of those conversations." We smiled, as I lightly punched his shoulder.
We found an available carriage that was driven by a young man about our age. He was tuned in that we were more than just visiting tourists and was very helpful in sharing the landmarks in the park. He winked when he offered a blanket for our laps. "You guys might like keeping your hands and anything else under there warm," he said with an understanding laugh.
"Thanks. We'll keep everything warm, and I promise no mess," I answered with a grin.
We passed Tavern on the Green, Sheep Meadow, Strawberry Fields, the Carousel, the Central Park Zoo and Wollman Rink before returning to the point of origin. We both thanked him and offered a very generous gratuity as we got out of the carriage. The driver tipped his hat and said, "Thanks, guys. I might add that you two make a great couple. I only hope I can find what you two have."
We returned to the apartment around 2:30 p.m. and immediately stripped down for a nap. He understood any playtime would occur later in the evening, in that I wanted to reserve energy for the performance at the theater. I set the alarm for 4:30 p.m., and we drifted off to a fitful nap in our comfortable spooning position, with my chest to his back. He wiggled his butt into my crotch until my dick was positioned in his crack.
The alarm loudly woke us. Doug rolled over to maneuver a face-to-face embrace and kiss.
"We've got 45 minutes to get ready and leave. It's only a five-minute walk, but I want to get there early. Knowing Dad, he'll be very punctual. I want us to spend as much time as possible together at dinner to break the ice."
"You think he'll be okay with us? I don't want anything to go wrong when we meet."
"He's genuinely interested in getting to know you. He's apologized a couple of times about his reaction to...well, you know. Just go with the flow, Doug."
We showered without exploration, shaved and dressed in casual jeans and sweaters. At 5:20 p.m. we arrived. I waved at Joe Allen, sitting at a corner of the bar, as the host led us, menus in hand, over to the table I had requested. Framed glossies of George, Margo and me ran vertically on the left side of the play's poster. We took off our jackets and hung them around the backs of the bentwood chairs. I left on my hat.
"Fuck, Brent, talk about ego-stroking. I see why you asked for this table," Doug said, in a friendly, goading fashion.
"It's tradition. Joe Allen's has done this for years. In another room is a tongue-in-cheek display of play posters whose productions have bombed and closed." I looked around and nodded at a few familiar actor faces that were also in for an early dinner before going to their theaters. Broadway was a very small, close community of professionals. I became aware, early on, that everyone was tuned in to the gossip of the day.
A preppy, up-tempo waiter came over and asked for drinks.
"You wanna beer or cocktail? I'm sticking to Pellegrino. Dad usually drinks Dewar's and soda."
"How about two Dewar's and soda, plus a Pellegrino," Doug ordered. The waiter confirmed the three drinks and departed.
"I love the look of this place, Brent. This definitely has the look of 'show biz' heaven," my lover replied. The main dining room had posters displayed from every production on Broadway and the stars' glossies in frames.
"Yeah, this place really massages the ego. The tourists lap it up, that's for sure. Joe's been here for over 40 years with this formula." Looking at the front entryway, I saw the familiar figure of Dad checking his overcoat at the coatroom. "Doug, Dad's here," I concluded as I rose from the chair. Doug did the same. My father smiled broadly and walked over in his usual, confident manner that I had always observed and admired as a kid.
"Brent, son, I've thought about this meeting all day," he said, hugging me tightly. "And you're Doug Di Marco? Ty Williams. I'm really happy to meet you."
"Same here, Mr. Williams. Brent's told me how you're back in his life. I know he's very happy," Doug answered, as the two shook hands. Although Dad had a vise-like grip, Doug gave it right back while he smiled.
"Name's Ty. Maybe someday it'll be Dad?" he said as we all sat down.
"Here are your drinks, gentlemen," said the waiter, returning to the table. "Are you ready to order?"
"Give us just a few minutes. Just so you know, I've got to get to the theater by 7:00 p.m.," I answered with a smile.
"Don't worry, Brad. I'll get you out on time." The waiter returned my smile as he went over to another table.
"Let me lay down all the cards, face up, Doug. I'm sure you know all about what happened five years ago. I reacted badly because I had never been exposed to gays so ah...intimately. Finding out that my only son was gay was a big shock. Brent's sister was on my case from day one after Brent took off, but I just couldn't deal with it. But, last year, I found out my new partner at work was in a long-term gay relationship of 19 years. Between those two, I got an education about accepting people different from me."
"Oh, shit, Dad," I mumbled, about ready to lose it.
Dad grabbed my hand and concluded, "I never stopped loving Brent. Until he came back into my life, I didn't know how to open up my heart again. Long and the short of it, Doug, I love my son very much and hope to get to know the guy in his life as another son." Dad smiled, as I noticed a single tear forming in the corner of his eye.
"Uh, Ty, your son and I had a similar meeting with my folks last year. They love Brent as their own. I guess we both have two dads now. I'd like to know you better. Maybe you can take some vacation time and visit us in L.A.? The condo will be ready this summer."
"I'd like that very much. In the meantime, Brent and I can make up for those missing years while he's in New York."
The waiter returned and took the food order. We all ordered small Caesar salads and grilled chicken main courses. At Joe Allen's, the simpler the food the better.
As we were finishing dinner, the waiter came up and gave me a note. I opened the folded paper thinking it was probably from some friend wishing me well. I kept a smiling expression on my face as I read it:
"Dear Brent,
Looks like you've come a long way since we were together in Memphis 2 years ago. I sure would like some of your friendship here at the Plaza Hotel Sunday night. Meet me at the bar in five minutes to talk.
Charlie"
I stuffed the note in my pocket and looked around. I didn't recognize anyone from my past. 'Fuck,' I thought, 'it's bad enough that this would come back to bite me in the ass. But to have this happen when Doug and Dad are here?'
"Anything wrong?" asked Doug.
"Naw, just a fan who wants an autograph. He's polite enough not to come over to the table. Guys, I gotta hit the head. I'll see the fan after that and get this all out of the way," I said, as I got up and walked back to the men's room.
Standing at the urinal, I blankly stared ahead as I forced the first steam of piss out. I heard the door open and felt the presence of a man next to me and heard a zipper. "Brent, this place is even better than the bar. No one else is here, and I get a chance to check out that beautiful meat again."
"Hey, pal, what's your problem?" I answered, as I held my hand over my cock to block a view. "You a stalker or something?"
"No, Brent...or, should I say Brad? Just a former client that would like a taste of what you've got between your legs, again. And maybe more." I listened carefully at the words before I replied.
"You say we met in Memphis? I don't recall you. When was this?"
"To be exact, it was June 15, 1995. I was Charlie Jones visiting from New York. We met at the Peabody."
"I was in the Navy then," I replied as I snaked my dick back in my jeans and zipped up. Looking at him for the first time, I vaguely remembered this guy as a banker down on business. He was a fairly average-looking guy, a little overweight, in his early 40s, wearing slacks and a sweater. "I had a pretty active social life and met lots of people. That was then, this is now. I have no desire to get together with you."
"Brad, I don't want to pressure you. Let's just say that I don't think that you'd like the gossip to hit the newspapers and the entertainment talk shows. Play ball with me, and we'll keep everything quiet," he said with a lascivious, evil, superior grin.
I had to think fast and come up with a plan. "Okay, Charlie. Here's what I'll do. I've got to get to the theater right now. I'll meet you at the Oak Room Bar at 7:00 p.m. Sunday night. Deal?"
"Deal, Brad. I'm glad you're thinking straight. Well, maybe not straight," he replied with a smirk and laugh. I nodded and went back to the table. I noticed 'Charlie' put on his coat and leave.
"Guys, I've got to run to the theater. You guys stay and have a few drinks on me. I've got a house account. Doug, could you come out to the front door? I need to ask something of you. Dad, I'll see you after the performance tomorrow night." I grabbed my coat and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
Doug and I gathered at the front door away from the bar. "What's the deal, babe?" Doug asked. "What can I do for you?"
"The note was from a former client. Says his name is Charlie Jones and that I was his date at the Peabody on June 15, 1995. He wants a freebee Sunday night at the Plaza, or he'll spread around my past to the newspapers."
"Holy fuck, Brent. What can I do?"
"Call Tan Man in Memphis. Let him know what's happened. I need to know what the guy's real name is and his work here in New York. I've promised to meet him Sunday night at The Plaza Hotel in the Oak Room Bar at 7:00 p.m. I need to know whom I'm dealing with and figure out a game plan. Maybe 'T' will have some ideas?"
"You got it. I'll call as soon as your Dad and I finish here. Don't worry."
"I'm not worried. Just concerned and want to nip this situation in the bud...fast."
"Okay, Brent. I'll see you back at the apartment tonight. Love ya." He took my hand and warmly squeezed it. Doug smiled and looked into my eyes, and I felt protected.
"Love ya, right back," I replied before walking out the door.
TO BE CONTINUED