Between Boyfriends (15 page)

“Thank you, that’s so sweet.”

“All my friends in school cut our hair just like yours after the Olympics.
I
even got blond highlights.”

“The next time I see Dorothy Hamill I’ll have to tell her she’s not the only one whose hairstyle inspired a generation.”

After that I attacked Paul Wylie and got his autograph, then I was attacked by Oksana Baiul, who said I reminded her of her childhood friend, Boris, who had died mysteriously in a sheep-herding accident back in the Ukraine. Her bodyguard apologized (which I had a feeling he did often), then led Oksana, who was staring at me and chanting something under her breath, into her waiting limo. It would be a very long time before I ate lamb again.

“Where in the sodding hell is he?” Gus asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “He told me he’d meet us outside the stage door.”

“Well, I have an early meeting tomorrow so I have to beg off. Tell the bugger he made the Brit proud.”

“Will do. And we’ll see you next week for your birthday bash.”

“I’m going to leave too,” Flynn said. “I have a conference call with Tokyo tomorrow and I have to prepare. Those people are always a day ahead, you know. I’ll call Linds tomorrow and tell him how wonderlicious he was.”

“Brian, it’s late, why don’t you go home,” I said.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“That’s all right. I have to figure out what happened to Lindsay and I don’t want to keep you up all night.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know if Sebastian’s dick was right.”

“Okay. I had a great time.”

“Me too. But that’s nothing unusual with you.”

We kissed under the lights of Madison Square Garden, causing some drunken Long Island businessmen to titter, but we didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let some boozed-up, poorly dressed accountant from Ronkonkoma force me back into the closet. As I watched Brian walk down the street Lindsay finally made contact via a text message:
MEET ME IN THE BASEMENT. THE SECURITY GUARD HAS YOUR NAME. HURRY!

All caps! How exciting! It was in wacky moments like this that I longed for a cape, knee-high boots, and a sidekick so I could transform into my favorite superhero, Electra Woman. She was athletic, smart, and had gorgeous hair—she was everything a homosexual hoped to be. Channeling my inner EW, I stealthily opened the stage door and bumped into the stomach of the jimongous security guard whose evil villain name would be Dr. Securitron. Wishing my trusty cohort-in-crimefighting, Dyna Girl, were there to watch my back, I told Dr. Securitron my name and although it was clear that he wanted to stun-ray me into submission and keep me prisoner in his secret evil villainy lair, he let me pass through. I followed the signs down to the basement and with each step my rush of excitement was turning into feelings of trepidation. Had Lindsay pissed Dick Button off one time too many and was
he
now being held prisoner in the bowels of Madison Square Garden with his hands and feet bound by jaunty bow ties? Had he publicly condemned Rudy Galindo’s new eatery and become the victim of his wrath? Or was he trying to lure me into a four-way with Vladimir and the hairy Frenchman? With the steely determination of EW I pressed on in search of the answers and shortly found myself standing in front of the basement door.

Tossing back imaginary, yet well-coiffed, blond supertresses, I turned the doorknob and braced myself for what evil was lurking on the other side of the door. When I entered the room I was crestfallen to see that it was actually a dressing room and that it was empty. Where was Lindsay? Without a crime to prevent would my superhero status be revoked? When I closed the door I saw that Lindsay had been hiding behind it. I also saw a different kind of evil.

“Why are you naked?”

“You have to help me get hard,” Lindsay said.

He was standing with his black stretch pants pushed down to his calves, his shirt was rolled up to his pecs, and his hand was wrapped around his flaccid penis. It was the first time I had seen Lindsay in the buff and although I approved of his well-toned ice-sculpted physique, it yanked me back to reality and all kitschy thoughts of Electra Woman, Dyna Girl, and their evil nemeses were destroyed in one heartbreaking instant.

“I have told you repeatedly I will not have group sex with you!” I searched the room for his partners in this ice sexcapade. “Do you hear that, Vladimir, you ain’t getting any from me!”

“I’m serious! You have to help me get an erection.”

“Why didn’t you text Sebastian? He lives for stuff like this. And he knew something indecent was going to happen, his dick was twitching all night.”

“I don’t want Sebastian touching my dick, he’s got cooties. I need you.”

“Lindsay! I am not going to touch your dick. I mean, no offense, but what the hell’s gotten into you?” Then I saw it and I rephrased. “What the hell’s gotten on you?”

From what I could tell Lindsay had gotten his dick tattooed. The artwork looked to be a series of Chinese characters in black ink that ran up and down the length of his penis. I could only assume that it spelled out SUCK ME OFF in Mandarin.

“It’s not a tattoo,” Lindsay said. “It’s a Sharpie!”

Lindsay was often exasperating, but this was extreme even for him. My confusion apparent, he composed himself and explained that during the pre-taping he discovered that one of the Fox cameramen was our friendly neighborhood Fuck Counter. His real name was Donald and he’d been doing behind-the-scenes camera work for years. They were pleasantly surprised to meet each other once again and reminisced about the sex party where they had initially met, which got them aroused and so they gave each other quick blow jobs in Dick Button’s dressing room. Just before Lindsay was to make his entrance Donald had to run backstage to switch cameras, one thing led to another, and suddenly Donald was sucking Lindsay’s dick again. But then the sucking stopped and Lindsay smelled something strong like video-head cleaner. He assumed Donald was taking a whiff of poppers, which Lindsay would have loved to do, but he knew it wouldn’t be wise if he had to perform a three-minute routine in front of a packed house in about thirty seconds. But he was wrong, Donald wasn’t sniffing poppers, he was writing on Lindsay’s dick with a Sharpie.

“He wrote his phone number on my cock,” Lindsay said. “Isn’t that sweet?”

“He couldn’t find a Post-it?”

“I don’t think a Post-it would stick to my dick.”

“So you almost screwed up your chance to rejoin the skating elite because Donald couldn’t punch his number into your cell phone?”

“Oh wow, we never thought of that,” Lindsay said.

“Well, maybe if you were thinking more and sucking less you would have.”

“Stop badgering me and get me hard!”

“I told you already, I am not getting you hard.”

“You have to! Right now Donald is on a flight to Hawaii to cover some stupid golf tournament and I have to call him when he lands so he knows that I’m interested. If I don’t call he’ll start counting thrusts up some sarong-wearing tiki boy’s ass and stay in paradise forever while I become angry and bitter like Karen Black in that TV movie where she turns into the tiki warrior with really bad teeth.”

“Have you ever thought about hooking up with Oksana Baiul? I think the two of you would have a lot in common.”

“Oh my God, it’s working. My tirade got my dick hard.”

It was true. Lindsay’s dick was starting to grow and thicken and I couldn’t believe I was actually standing there watching his dick grow and thicken.

“Am I hard enough so you can read the numbers?”

Dutifully, I squatted and started reading Donald’s cell phone number. I tried to concentrate on the task and not on the fact that I felt as dirty as a Korean whore relieving herself in a trough. “Nine-one-seven.” With his free hand, Lindsay punched the numbers into his cell phone.

“Go on.”

“Three-one-eight. No wait…three-one-three. I think it’s a three, but I’m not sure. All your jerking off smudged the numbers.”

“Sorry, I was trying to jerk dry, but I can’t help it, I have a juicy cock.”

“I do not need to know that!”

“And when I skate I sweat. Does it smell funky down there?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve been breathing through my mouth!”

“Don’t freak out on me now, Steven! Are you sure it’s a three? From here it looks like an eight.”

“It’s a three!”

“Four more numbers, that’s all I need to start my life with Donald.”

I ignored the absurd Lindsay-speak and continued. “Okay, four-seven…no, I think that’s a one.”

“Get closer!”

About an inch from Lindsay’s graffitied dick I was certain. “It’s definitely a one.”

“Keep going.”

“And then…um…it’s a two.”

“What’s the last number, Steven!? The last number?”

“I can’t tell. Your dick is all shriveled again.”

“No, no! Steven, you have to help me.”

“I’m trying, but it’s all scrunched up.”

“Tweak my nipples. That’ll get me hard.”

“Lindsay, it’s nothing personal, but I feel very uncomfortable tweaking your nipples. I feel uncomfortable just saying it.”

“It’s just a nipple! Don’t be such a prude.”

I scrunched my face up into my best Lorna Douglas expression conveying the threat of vengeance. “You owe me, Wilde!”

Closing my eyes, I twisted Lindsay’s left nipple.

“That’s it, Steven, play with my nipple. Yes! Oh yeah, twist it, baby.”

“No sex talk!”

“Sorry, but you are really good. Brian is one lucky boy.”

“And you will be very unlucky if Brian ever finds out about this.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret. Okay, I’m hard. Get down on your knees and do your job.”

Back down in squatting position, I was able to read the last number. “It’s a five! His number is nine-one-seven, three-one-three, four-one-two-five. Now please pull up your stretch pants.”

“Yes, Lindsay, please do pull up your stretch pants.”

We both turned around at the same time to see Dick Button himself staring at us, wearing the cutest red and yellow striped bow tie and holding a video camera. As Lindsay attempted to cover himself, Mr. Button informed us that he had overheard Lindsay and Donald in his dressing room earlier so he borrowed a camera and paid one of the interns to tape Lindsay while he was commentating, thus capturing the Wilde Boy’s dalliance on video.

“Excuse me, Mr. Button,” I said. “Is my face by any chance on that video? FYI, I am a huge fan of yours.”

“Don’t worry, I’m only interested in having leverage against Pewter Boy.”

I steadied Lindsay so he didn’t topple over and listened as Dick told him his terms. He didn’t want to hear a disparaging word about him or the figure skating community from Lindsay or else he would release this video to the media. And if they weren’t interested he would invite the cast of
Stars on Ice
to his home and have a private screening in his media room.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Lindsay said.

“Just try me. I
am
men’s figure skating, bucko. Your renegade days are over. Do I make myself clear?”

Fighting the urge to strangle him with his own neckwear, Lindsay merely replied, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Lindsay’s pale complexion was replaced with something crimson. “Yes…Mr. Button.”

“That’s better. And Steven?”

“Yes, sir? Mr. Button, sir?”

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

I blushed. “No, sir, the honor was all mine.” My cheeks were still a bit flushed after he’d left. “He’s
so
not a dick.”

“I will not take orders from him!”

“Okay, but if you piss him off and he has you kidnapped and his hired goons write a ransom note on your ass in Magic Marker, do not call Electra Woman to transcribe!”

When I got home it wasn’t too late and I was too excited so I gave Brian a call. Color me a deep shade of surprise when an older woman answered his cell phone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number,” I said.

“That’s all right, honey, who’re y’all lookin’ for?” said the Southern-accented stranger.

“Brian Oldsboro?”

“You don’t have the wrong numbuh, sugar,” she drawled. “Brian’s my baby boy.”

That nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’d felt when Brian canceled on me to help out Rodrigo returned. If Brian’s mother was answering his cell phone that meant she was in town. And if she was in town why didn’t I know about it?

“Hey, Steve, is everything okay with Lindsay?” Brian asked after he’d come to the phone.

“Yeah, he was, um, just tied up backstage with reporters and stuff,” I stuttered. “When did your mother get to town?”

“A few days ago. Remember I told you she was swinging by on her way to Europe? She pushed up her schedule so she came a few days early. She leaves for Hungary tomorrow.”

“G’night baby. Your Mama’s bushed.”

“’Night, Ma.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize her itinerary had changed,” I said, desperately trying to sound nonchalant and not too much like my mother.

“Personally I can’t wait until she gets on the plane,” Brian whispered. “Rodrigo and I have had enough of entertaining her.”

In my mind I saw a cardboard box being ripped open and several hundred red flags fall to the ground. I shut my mind off and ignored the image. “Rodrigo’s been showing her around?”

“Yeah, didn’t I mention his crisis?”

“Briefly.”

“He was going to take her to that new sushi place in the East Village, Raw something or other, but they couldn’t get reservations and she was dying for really good sushi and when my mother is dying for something she has all the Southern charm of a lynch mob. I had to pull some strings with our PR people, but they finally got us into Nobu at the Seaport.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize that Rodrigo’s crisis was really your mother’s crisis.”

“But tomorrow she’ll be halfway across the globe. Life will be crisis-free again.”

I started to pace back and forth in my bedroom, head down, eyes focused on the hardwood. “So I guess I won’t get a chance to meet her.”

“No, she’s got to leave early. Trust me, you’re not missing a thing.”