The following short story contains adult situations, themes, and language.
A LITTLE JAZZ, Copyright 2021 by Alexandra Y. Caluen. All Rights Reserved.
A duet, not a love song
May 2006
Andy Martin kept his smile on as they took one last round of photos. Then everybody was busy getting out of costume, removing the worst of the makeup, and breaking down the show. It didn’t take long; their only real prop was the piano. He laughed at the last round of bitching about the heels and the wigs. Said his goodbyes as people started heading out, with hugs and ‘let’s get together soon’ and – at least on his part – no intention at all of doing that. Watched their Billy Flynn, his dying friend Robbie, leave the theater. Supported by his boyfriend, that cute stylist Jade. Age and illness were obvious now that the stage lights were off. Robbie might make it to the end of the year, might not. At least this benefit earned enough to cover his deductible, and his out-of-pocket. It really piled up when a person had cancer.
“How’re you doing?”
Andy turned his head at the question. It was his co-star Mark Valance, Roxie to Andy’s Velma. “We pulled it off.”
Mark nodded, half-smiling, acknowledging the dodge. “Some of the others were heading over to Canter’s. They asked you, right?”
“Mmm, yeah. I need to start detaching. You going?”
“No, I thought.” Mark stalled for a second. Tried again. “I wondered.”
They were alone now, dressing room empty; not even an echo remained of the last person to go out the back door. Andy gave Mark a long, thoughtful look. “You want to go somewhere and talk?”
There was a suggestive pause before the last word. It was all Mark could do not to start talking right there. He was so used to not talking, but it got harder every year. And doing without everything else was making him crazy. “Could we? Maybe my place?”
“Yeah, definitely. I’m over in North Hollywood these days.” Mark grimaced; Andy laughed. “Yeah, I know, it’s a schlep and a half.”
“Guess we’re extra lucky we got you to sign on to this.”
Andy shrugged, picking up his gym bag and looking around to make sure he had everything. “It was for Robbie. Am I following you?”
“That works. There’s room for two cars at my townhouse.” He glanced at Andy, produced an apologetic shrug. “Sounds fancier than it is.”
“Don’t worry about it. If buying a place ever sounds like a smart thing for me to do, I’ll be all oh let’s go to my condo.” Some people wanted to put down roots; up to now, Andy hadn’t. Buying the wrong place anywhere was a life sentence, anyway; he still didn’t know Los Angeles well enough to guess what the right place would be.
Not too much later, into Brentwood, through the gate, and safely parked, Andy followed Mark into the townhouse. Dropped his gym bag beside the couch in Mark’s office, observed the display of theater memorabilia, and turned to his host. Mark was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Not in a way that said ‘I’m undecided’ but as if this was the only way to keep himself from reaching out. Andy crossed the short distance between them. Took Mark’s wrists in his hands and pulled them away from his body. Stood a scant two inches away, still holding those wrists down by their hips. “Was it driving you nuts watching the rest of us hook up all over the place during rehearsals?”
Mark let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed, laughing. “Oh my God.” It hadn’t been all of them, of course. Jade was with Robbie. One of their showgirl/murderesses had some personal shit going on; he flirted with everybody, but nobody tried to close the deal. Their Mary Sunshine was an asexual cabaret artist. And their Matron Mama Morton had been married for over a year. He and his husband were among a few local gay couples who’d traveled to Massachusetts, returning to preach the gospel of the promised land and show their wedding video to everybody who would sit still for it.
“How long are you going to keep doing this?”
Mark opened his eyes. “I don’t know.” He knew what Andy meant. ‘This’ was ‘staying in the closet,’ and he’d been doing it all his life. “The thing is, I get a lot of auditions out here.”
Regrettable, on the personal level, but this was apparently not a window of opportunity Mark could afford to miss. Or to fuck up, by being open about who he preferred to fuck. Andy nodded. “You deserve more.”
“We all do.”
“What do you want?”
“Jesus, Andy. Is this okay? Can we, will you –”
Andy cut him off with a hard kiss that rapidly turned hot and hungry. No wonder; Mark was starving. Had been starving himself for years. Some indefinite amount of time later Andy eased back. His leg remained between Mark’s, thigh pressed against his erection. “Where’s your bed?”
“Upstairs,” Mark said, breathless.
“You have supplies?”
“Mm-hmm.” No questions, no clarifications. Mark would take whatever Andy could give him. “I wish.”
“I know. We’d be good, I think. But you know me.”
A silent nod. They’d known each other for years. There was no chance Andy would accept a secret-lover kind of deal, watching from the sidelines while Mark played it straight. Taking women to the industry affairs. Lying. Mark told himself not to think about that now. Located his hands, took one of Andy’s, and led him up the stairs. A few minutes later, everything they might possibly need was on top of the nightstand and they were naked in bed. God, it was great to be skin to skin with someone. Taller than he was, whippet-thin and strong, body hair present and accounted for everywhere except his upper chest. They’d all agreed that nobody would really notice leg hair under the fishnets, but chest hair above the flapper dresses would be a bridge too far. “The way you did ‘I Can’t Do it Alone’ absolutely killed me,” Mark murmured against Andy’s skin. “So fucking sexy.”
“Well, I wasn’t about to do any goddamned gymnastics in those goddamned heels.” Andy had played Velma’s Act of Desperation for laughs, miming certain tricks in a throwaway, half-assed manner while also producing high-intensity, high-velocity tap work. All while constantly invading Roxie’s personal space, letting the audience draw their own conclusions about what, exactly, he was proposing not to do alone. Suggestive body language, touching, nuzzling into the blonde Roxie wig. He’d seen the resulting goosebumps on Mark’s fair, freckled skin. “You know the whole reason I’m in L.A. is to avoid actually breaking a leg onstage.”
Mark thought hazily that he might come back to that later. Right now he was heading for Andy’s dick, which lay like temptation on his belly. Drooling a little, slightly musky, both of them still wearing performance sweat. “You smell so good.”
Andy heard the slurred mutter, felt that hungry mouth close on his cock, and did his level best to lie back and think of Broadway. Otherwise he was going to blast off in no time; there was nothing like being handled by someone who really wanted you. Mark kept getting distracted: oh, but what about these balls. These thighs. This navel, these nipples. Kept returning to Andy’s cock, starting to whimper and squirm with the intensity of his own arousal. Andy, drifting in a delicious haze of enthusiastic touch, pulled himself together. Made a soothing sound, wriggled himself around, got a hand behind Mark’s knee and tugged him into position.
“Oh God!” It was stifled – it’s difficult to enunciate with a dick in your mouth – but Mark’s exclamation was clear enough to make Andy laugh. That was also stifled, because he had a mouthful of Mark’s dick now. Their brief check-in while getting naked, plus knowing Mark hardly ever had sex with anyone, convinced him to break his own rule about condoms for everything. And he did love giving head naked. Especially to someone who was so into it he’d completely forgotten what he was doing a few seconds ago. Still absent-mindedly hanging onto Andy’s dick, one arm wrapped over his thigh, his own body tense with imminent climax, moaning.
Andy made an encouraging sound, twisted enough to get some weight on one elbow so he could use both hands, started playing with Mark’s balls. Mark’s vocalizations changed pitch. Ratcheting up, shorter and sharper, increasingly desperate. “Go ahead,” Andy said, smiling around his mouthful.
Mark didn’t hear the words so much as the meaning. Felt the minor change in the way Andy was holding him and responded to it like a dance step. Hips rocking, fucking into Andy’s mouth, hearing a pleased growl and feeling a hand clamp tight on his ass. Seconds later he was coming. Body heaving, gasping, totally out of control. As the waves of climax ebbed, he felt Andy’s tongue pressing, then his throat working as he swallowed. Mark twitched and made some kind of noise; Andy laughed.
Gradually Mark realized two things. First: he’d abandoned his own attempt at fellatio. Second: he’d thrown one leg across Andy’s neck and had the man pinned under his crotch. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” He shifted back, carefully.
Once he had air and space, Andy adjusted his jaw and said, “No problem. That was totally fucking hot.”
“I want to.” Mark didn’t finish the sentence; his mouth was full again. Andy seemed even bigger and harder. His hand went into Mark’s hair, and he started talking.
“Fuck, yes, baby. Oh my fucking God. That’s so good. Yeah baby. Jesus yes. You’re so fucking hot. Right there. Mmm fucking Jesus that’s it you’d better oh my fuck fucking hell are you fuck!!”
Mark had his eyes closed, nose pressed into Andy’s pubic hair, taking that climax deep in his throat. It’d been years since anyone came in his mouth. Might be years before anyone did again. This would be a good memory, to get him through to next time.
After a minute to rest, they reorganized themselves. Sitting up against the headboard, discussing the fact that they were both hungry and thirsty. Mark didn’t want Andy to go, so he offered to fix something. Andy didn’t particularly want to go, so he pulled on his jeans and followed his host downstairs.
It was after midnight. Mark threw together a big ham and cheese omelet, with whole-wheat toast on the side. They talked about the show, doing the closing-night analysis the way the others probably had at Canter’s. After a while, back in bed, they talked about themselves. About Andy’s choice to give up a twenty-year career on stage before injury forced him out, and about Mark’s choice to leave New York, post-divorce, and try to make it in Hollywood.
Andy looked across the pillow, seeing the gleam of Mark’s eyes in the darkened room. “You ever think about going back?”
“Jesus, all the time. I’ve been out here four years and not much has been happening.” He’d been getting work, enough to buy this place and keep hope alive. The Tony nomination and the Obie award felt like forever ago. “I figure I’ll give it a couple more years. If I can get something regular on TV, or a movie role that gets noticed.”
“Who knows, maybe someone saw your Roxie Hart and thought, that’s the guy we need.” They both snickered. An all-male one-night benefit version of ‘Chicago’ wasn’t prime material for a casting reel.
Mark edged a hand over, touching the back of Andy’s. “I really appreciate you doing the show. We might not’ve pulled it off if you hadn’t signed on. I know you had misgivings.”
Andy sighed. “Not so much misgivings as mixed feelings. You know I love being on stage. But I need to keep it in the rear view, I think, because this kind of thing? Where someone comes and says we want you, specifically? That doesn’t happen. I mean, it happened this time and I had fun with it but I don’t want to be wishing and hoping for another thing like this. I need to leave it alone. Do my new thing.” He was working as a commercial photographer now, and it was nothing like being on stage, but at least it was still creative.
“Don’t want to go home to Miami, huh.”
“Hell no. I mean, my folks would love it and I’d love being around my family. But on the other hand everybody there knew Andy the dancer, and he’s retired. I don’t want everybody going oh, remember that time. I want them looking at my new stuff with an open mind.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Mark’s voice was soft. A minute later he was asleep.
They’d already discussed what to do on Sunday. Hadn’t come to any real decisions. Andy’d already mentally given himself the whole weekend off, so if morning came and Mark didn’t want him to go, he’d probably hang out. Maybe he’d take some pictures. The camera was in his gym bag, and Mark was a good model. He dozed off pondering that half-formed plan.
He woke up hard as rock again, with Mark’s body warm against his. God, he loved waking up with someone. They were both sufficiently awake to make eye contact, communicating certain intentions. A few minutes to freshen up, and they were back in bed.
Mark was feeling greedy. He hardly ever got a chance to spend the night with someone, or to have sex more than once with anyone. He was not inclined to set any limits or specify any boundaries. But he couldn’t help tensing up when Andy started making certain moves. He steadied his breath, telling himself if anybody could make this good, it’d be this guy. He’d be fine. Andy wouldn’t leave him hanging. Wouldn’t hurt him.
“Just a, hold on.” Andy moved back, settled on his heels, stared at Mark. “You’re not into this.”
Mark pushed up onto his elbows, twisted his neck to look over his shoulder. “No, it’s fine, I can –”
“Mark, for fuck’s sake. There’s a million other things we can do.” Andy’s hands were still on the other man’s legs, slowly stroking up and down each calf. “You should’ve said something.”
Mark rolled to his back. His face felt hot; he must be blushing. He was definitely embarrassed. “I wanted you to do whatever you want to do.”
“Well, great, but I don’t want to do something you don’t want to do. There’s a word for people who do shit like that. So how about this instead.” He reached over to the nightstand for the lube. Squirted some into the palm of his hand, then shifted up. Straddling Mark’s thighs. He was half-hard now, enthusiasm having waned as he became aware of Mark’s discomfort. Mark wasn’t hard at all. Andy made a tsk sound. “Don’t let people do things you don’t like, baby.” He wrapped his lubed hand around his own dick while he leaned down to kiss Mark. Let his knuckles brush against the other man’s cock, which got back in the game pretty fast. Andy smiled against Mark’s mouth. “There you go. Want to get in here with me?”
“Mmm, God, yes.” Mark felt Andy’s long fingers gather him in, both of them in that one hand. Hot elastic flesh, slippery grip. He rocked his hips. Andy did the same, holding his hand still as they both fucked into it. Mark added his hand. They were kissing again, deep and sloppy and toothy. “Mmm, God, yes.”
Andy didn’t stay all day. That would be too much like ‘boyfriends,’ which wasn’t a place they could go together. They showered; Mark fed them again; Andy cleaned up the kitchen; he took a few pictures of Mark, mostly in the home gym. Then he got his shit together to go. They both said they’d like to stay in touch. Both knew it might not be very often. They lived fifteen L.A. miles apart, separated by the Santa Monica Mountains, long working hours, and Mark’s need to appear straight. “Hang in there,” Andy said before he backed out of the garage. “If you ever decide to say, you know, fuck it and come out I’ll be really happy for you.”
“I know you will. Thanks for this.” Mark didn’t add ‘I can live on this for a long time.’ Instead he watched Andy get clear of the garage, then bend to wave through the window. Mark waved back. Stood there in the sun, wondering how long he actually would have to live on that. Wondering how long he could keep living with the lies, doing things he didn’t like.
Wondering how long he should.
THE END
Want more?
Read about Mark’s Fuck It Moment in
Andy’s story continues in EXPOSURE.
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A LITTLE JAZZ Copyright 2021 by Alexandra Y. Caluen. All Rights Reserved.