Another Ordinary Guy by Hankster

Another Ordinary Guy
by: Hankster

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Chapter 1

The young man had just passed his eighteenth birthday. He got off the bus in New York City’s Port Authority Building, and hesitated for just a minute. Then with resolve, he threw back his head. His long straight hair swished around his neck, and he walked away from the bus. After all, it was his decision to move to New York. It was not something that he had been directed to do. In all his teen age years, everything he did had been planned for him. Those days were over; over for good. Yes, this was his decision to make, and it was his life which could be affected by that decision, for the good or for the bad.

All he had with him was a knapsack and a small tote bag, not much for a man about to embark on his life journey. All his friends back home in Red Bank, NJ told him he was crazy.

“You can’t even drink in that berg until you’re twenty-one,” his best friend Joey complained.

“You could get killed in that Godless city,” his mother whined.

But he knew why he chose New York. It was a huge, busy city, with millions of people. He could become anonymous in this city. He could get lost in its crowds, and nobody would recognize him or know who he was. To further protect his privacy, he chose not to live in Manhattan. Instead, sight unseen, he rented a three room, furnished apartment in Long Island City, Queens. It was on the top floor of a high rise and it offered a view of the river, and the New York City skyline (or so the ad read.) A short subway ride from the apartment would land him in midtown Manhattan. He stopped and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper and began to read. The building manager had given him directions, and now he needed to find the right subway line.

He saw a policeman ahead. The officer was just standing there, doing nothing, but he was eyeing every person in the terminal as if they were all hardened criminals. He seemed ready to pounce on anyone for the slightest infraction. The policeman’s demeanor terrified the young man, but he stood tall and approached the officer. When he asked where he could find the subway line to Queens, the policeman smiled broadly, and in a very friendly voice, he directed the young man to what was to be the beginning of his residency in New York City.

The boy told himself to get over this unwarranted fright and suspicion. He had travelled all over the planet, and he knew intellectually that he was a man of the world. Furthermore, in spite of all the bad press, New York City was one of the friendliest towns in America. He knew that to be a fact because he had been here often enough before; but his life was different then. He simply could not, should not, make comparisons.

Somehow, in spite of his fears, and following the building manager’s explicit directions, he found his new home. Mr. Siwirski, the manager/super, told him to ring his apartment bell when he arrived. He said that he would give him the lease to sign, and his keys, after he gave him first and last month’s rent, and a security deposit.

“You sound kinda young,” Siwirski had suggested on the phone. “Are you sure you can afford the rent?” The super didn’t really care. It was a month to month rental, and he was protecting himself very well, but he felt that it was his duty to ask.

All the young man replied was, “Yes, I can.” Siwirski was satisfied.

“I’ll walk you through the apartment,” Siwirski said after they introduced each other. “We’ll take an inventory, and check to see that everything is in working order. That’s how you’ll leave it when you go, or you’ll lose your security deposit.”

“That’s fine,” the young man said, and Siwirski handed him the lease. He signed it in triplicate: Enrique Alberto. He prayed that Siwirski did not realize that he was the famous Ricky Albert, formerly with the world renowned, and insanely successful boy band, The Sons of Song. If Siwirski had any inkling that he was in the presence of a celebrity, he gave no indication of it.

After the walk through, Enrique signed the inventory sheet and the attestation that everything was in good condition, and in working order. Siwirski gave him a copy of the documents and he finally left. When the man was gone, Enrique sighed with relief, and went about unpacking his knapsack and tote bag. He hung up, or stowed his meager belongings, and put both empty bags on the shelf in his closet.

The apartment had two windows, one in the kitchen and the other in the bedroom. He could make out the tops of some of Manhattan’s tallest buildings from the bedroom, but for the life of him, he did not get a “river view.” He stood still in the center of the living room and he looked around. The place was shabby but clean. To the young man it looked like a palace. The kitchen was tiny but it contained a small table and two chairs.

The furniture in the apartment was old, but not offensive. Enrique closed his eyes and sighed. How quiet it is, he thought. How heavenly. He looked all around the apartment smiling broadly. There was nobody there but him; nobody to lay out his life for him. It was his turn to take the helm, and steer toward his own destiny.

Enrique was a born entertainer. Before he had mastered any language, he would grab a wooden spoon, pretend it was a microphone, and sing for his parents and two sisters, whenever and wherever he felt like it. Usually it was in the living room of their small cottage in Red Bank, near the New Jersey shore. But it could just as well be in the kitchen, or in his parents’ bedroom.

His elementary school put on two talent shows a year, and Enrique was always the first to sign up. Not only did he sing up a storm, in Spanish and English, but he shook his hips sexily to Latin melodies. He was so cute and everybody fussed over him.

The Sons of Song had come into prominence when Enrique was about nine years old. They were a group of five boys between the ages of twelve and sixteen. When one of them reached seventeen, he had to retire and make room for someone new. From the time he was ten years old, it was Enrique’s dream to join this group. A few months before he turned twelve, Enrique badgered his father to take him to Manhattan to audition. Auditions were held every January in the recording studio where the band recorded their myriad of hit songs.

Enrique’s father had no choice but to give in to his son. If not, there would be no peace in the household. He actually prayed that his son would not be accepted. His prayers were in vain. Four months after his audition, Enrique became Ricky Albert and joined the group.

The next four years were brutal for Ricky. He had no idea what he had let himself in for. He and the other boys were schooled by tutors. Ricky sorely missed his BFF Joey Carson, all his other school friends, and his Little League baseball games, but he was doing what he wanted to do, and it gave him much pleasure. He didn’t realize it, but he had been turned into an automaton. Every aspect of his life was regulated…when to eat, how to comb his hair, what to wear off stage, the costumes to wear onstage, memorizing new arrangements to old or new songs, learning choreography, even though the lad had never danced, being told when to eat and what to eat, being forced to go to interviews with the media, and on talk shows late at night.

Ricky had forfeited his youth. Still he was not unhappy. His hours on the stage were the happiest of his short existence. He got to travel and perform all over the world. Adoring fans swamped the group wherever in the world they were. Ricky was rich beyond his wildest dreams, but he was only given $100 a week by his parents. They had set up a trust fund for him, which he couldn’t touch until his twenty-first birthday.

Girl fans were particularly voracious. The young teeny-boppers besieged the band. The older boys had more sex than even they cared to handle. At first Ricky was immune to all this, but when he was pushing fifteen, he and his band room-mate, Ben, entered their hotel room after a concert. They were exhausted and just wanted to sleep. As soon as they were undressed, a young girl emerged from under one of the beds. She was almost naked herself.

She grabbed Ben and pulled him onto a bed. “Come on,” she yelled to Ricky, “join the fun.” Ricky panicked. He had no interest in what was about to happen, but he was trapped. Ben dropped his shorts, and when Ricky saw his hard, nearly full-grown cock, he was instantly aroused.

The three romped in bed for a couple of hours, rolling over each other. Ben kept trying to grab the girl’s tits, and Ricky tried rubbing against Ben, pretending it happened accidently as part of the sex play. At one point, to his delight, he was able to brush Ben’s cut cock with the palm of his hands. Both boys fucked the girl and she was satisfied. She got dressed and left.

Ben went into the bathroom to clean up and Ricky followed him. Ben began to giggle and he asked, “Wasn’t that the greatest?” Ricky didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if it was fun or not.

After that, Ricky realized that he had no interest in these girls. Occasionally a young male fan would beg for an autograph. Ricky could tell from the boy’s eyes that he wanted more than an autograph, but Ricky could not oblige him, even though he wanted to. Wherever they performed, Ben was his room-mate. Ben was always inviting girls to their room, and Ricky was pressured to pretend to be something he wasn’t. This was a major factor in his growing unhappiness. As much as he yearned for male sex, his circumstances forbade it. Until he could have sex with another boy, he considered himself still to be a virgin.

He lost his male cherry to a full grown man at a Christmas party held in the home of one of the band’s record producers. The man was high on heroin or cocaine, Ricky didn’t know which. During the evening he took Ricky’s hand and led him into a bathroom. He locked the door behind him and started fumbling with the boy’s belt. Ricky was breathing hard. He helped the man lower his pants and the man went down on him. Ricky came after just a few strokes of the man’s tongue. The stranger swallowed all that Ricky had to give, and left the bathroom. Ricky returned to the party in just a few minutes. He hadn’t even been missed. He was feeling so good about what had just happened that when he was offered a screwdriver, he took it. It was his first taste of hard liquor. After one sip, he discreetly discarded the remainder.

Ricky’s visits home were very rare. He hardly saw his family, but he spoke to them often. He realized that the only time he was truly happy was when he was on the stage. The rest of the time he might as well have been in a concentration camp. He had only signed a four year contract, and as his sixteenth birthday approached, he gave notice that he would not be singing with the band during his sixteenth year. Everyone in the band, and the producers, were very upset with him and begged him to stay, but he could not be dissuaded. He was determined to be an ordinary guy once again.

Ricky returned to Red Bank where he became Enrique again. He finished his last two years of high school with all his friends. He tried to fit in, but his school mates treated him differently, and he found himself somewhat of an outsider. He didn’t miss the discipline of being a Sons of Song member, but he missed the extraordinary life he had led. Most of all, he missed performing on the stage.

The only true friend he had, who stuck by him through thick and thin, was Joey Carson. They had gone to nursery school, day care, and pre-K together. They had discovered masturbation, and exploration of their bodies, together, but when Ricky left (abandoned him, Joey believed), it was over. When he returned, they were still buddies. They hung out together, shot hoops together, went to the beach together, and on very rare occasions they double dated, but intimate moments together never happened again. Unfortunately for Ricky, Joey was a genius. While Ricky was performing, Joey completed high school in three years. At sixteen he was entering his sophomore year at Rutgers University. Fortunately for Ricky, he came home every weekend, and they spent all their time together.

During his last two years of high school, Enrique got featured roles in the high school musicals. In his junior year, he was Curly in Oklahoma, and even permed his straight black hair for the role. In his senior year he played Lt. Cable in South Pacific. He was offered the lead, but he begged to be Cable, so he could get to sing a song, which he considered to be an anthem, ‘You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught.’ Enrique was appalled by any prejudice whatsoever, religious, racial, and of course, sexual orientation.

From this experience, which gave him back some of the old pleasure he had felt as a performer with the band, Enrique decided that he wanted a career on the stage. Musical theater stars were rarely recognized by the public, and that suited him just fine. He had not yet discovered that his calling was to compose and sing his own songs as a recording artist. It would be a few years before he came to realize his destiny.

The day after graduation, he moved to New York, more specifically to the Borough of Queens. He already had an agent, but he decided that he would just chill out for a couple of days, and enjoy his solitude before trying to get work.

Once settled in his apartment, he decided that he’d better get to a supermarket and buy some staples. He called his parents on his cell to let them know that he was all right, and that he was going food shopping.

“Be sure to buy milk, Enrique” his mother instructed. “It’s good for you.”

Ricky chuckled as he hung up. He was Ricky again, but to his mother he would always be Enrique. He wondered if he shouldn’t change his name legally to Ricky Albert. After all, his life was about to change again (in more ways than he could dream of.)

Just as he was leaving his apartment, a man got out of the elevator and headed for the apartment next to Ricky’s. When he spotted the boy, he smiled at him and held out his hand.

“Hi,” he said. “I guess you just moved in. Welcome to the neighborhood. My name’s Red Walters.”

“I’m, Ricky Albert.” The two men shook hands warmly, and Ricky took a good look at Red. He had no idea why he would be called Red. His hair was sandy blond, and thinning. Ricky figured Red was about thirty years old, and he was very good looking. He had a great body and obviously used the gym a lot. His eyes were green, his nose was slightly pugged and his chin was strong. He had once been a stunner, and still was.

“Hey kid,” he said. “You can’t possibly have food in the house. I’ve got left over Chinese in the freezer, and there’s more than enough for two, even maybe three. How about joining me for dinner, and we’ll get acquainted?”

Ricky really preferred to enjoy his new found solitude, but he didn’t want to be rude either, and Red obviously had no clue who he was, so he said. “Gee, that’s very nice of you. I have to go out and buy some staples for breakfast. When I get back, I’ll wash up and be right over.”

“Fantastic. It’ll be nice to have company for a change.”

When Ricky knocked on Red’s door, Red yelled to let himself in. The apartment was much the same as his, including the furniture. Frankly, Ricky was surprised that a thirty year old man was living in a furnished apartment. It was like Red could read his mind.

“I’m a drama teacher,” he explained. “I started my job at The High School for the Performing Arts last semester, right after I blew in from Toledo. Until I know where I want to live, I rented this little cave. It’s cheap and convenient. Who knows, I might even stay forever.” He laughed when he said that.

“Sit,” he said pointing at the little table for two, which was a duplicate of Ricky’s. He poured won ton soup into two bowls on the table. Then, before sitting down, he took a plate of Chinese spare ribs, four egg rolls and a bowl of chicken with cashew nuts out of the microwave, which was sitting on his counter top. Miraculously, he made room for all this on the tiny table. The table had two dinner plates and flatware already on it.

“Help yourself! Eat,” Red ordered. “If we don’t finish it all, I’ll have to dump it.”

Ricky hadn’t eaten for hours, and he was really hungry. He and Red did indeed dig in.

“This is really good,” Ricky said.

“Sure is. Now what brings you to this humble abode?” Red asked. “Before you answer, please don’t tell me that you are one of the million good looking dudes seeking a career in the theater. As handsome as you are, you don’t have a chance.”

Ricky laughed inwardly. His name would open doors, but he wasn’t about to say anything to Red just yet.

“I’m afraid you guessed it. I’m one of those.”

Red groaned. “What do you do besides acting?” he asked.

“I sing and dance a little.”

“Well, that’s a plus.”

“Where are you from?”

“Down the shore,” Ricky answered being non-specific.

“Where’s that?” Red asked.

“It’s easy to see you are not from these parts. Around here nobody says, ‘I’m going to the beach’ or ‘down to the seashore.’ They simply say, ‘down the shore,’ when referring to the New Jersey beaches. I guess it’s a colloquialism.”

“So you’re from the New Jersey shore someplace. Thanks for the geography lesson. I never stop learning from my students either.” Ricky was glad that Red added the word ‘either.’ He wasn’t one of his students, and didn’t want to be. The new Ricky was an independent sort.

“How come your name is Red?” Ricky asked. “You sure don’t look like a Red.”

“My mother’s maiden name was Redmond, and that’s my real given name. Anything else you’re curious about? I did say we should get acquainted.”

“Yeah. How come a good looking man your age isn’t married or in a relationship?” Are you divorced or something?”

Red didn’t answer the question. Instead he said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. If you’re free tomorrow, why don’t you audit my drama class?” I teach five classes a day. The first four are English Literature and English Composition, but the last class at 2 PM is Drama. We’re rehearsing ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’ right now. Have you ever seen it or read it?”

“Yes, I saw the film once at a film festival. It was just so-so for me.”

“That’s because nobody filled you in on the deeper meaning of the play. You see Edward Albee was gay. Many people believe that the story is really about two gay couples. When you are aware of this, the dialogue is so much more powerful. My class is studying the play using four boys to read the main roles. Of course, it’s just a class room exercise. We would never actually stage it that way.”

“And you can get away with that in a high school?” Ricky asked.

“Probably not, but half the boys in the school are gay, and nobody is going to complain. At least I hope not.”

“Is that the answer to my question then? You’re not married or anything because you’re gay?”

Red just smiled back at Ricky. “You are also, aren’t you Ricky?”

“I am not entirely certain, but I think I am.”

“Would you like to test the waters and make sure? With me? Tonight?”

Ricky had intended on leading a gay life in New York. He had not expected it to be so soon.

“Yes. I’d like that very much, but I’m going to take a rain check. I haven’t ever, since I was twelve years old, until this day in my life, lived or slept alone in a room. I don’t want to wait another day for so rare an opportunity. I know you don’t understand, and you probably think that I’m crazy, but we’ll have to wait for a little bit. I’m afraid that in the immortal words of Greta Garbo, “I want to be alone.”

“You’re right,” Red said. “I don’t understand, but you are very worth being patient for.”

He wrote an address and room number on a piece of paper and handed it to Ricky. Here’s the address of the school, in case you don’t know where it is, and this is the room number of my drama class. The class starts at 2 PM and ends at 2:50.

“Maybe we can do something after school lets out.” He winked as he walked to the door to see Ricky out. “I’d like to prove to you that some things improve with age. If you get lonely during the night, just knock on the wall and I’ll come running.”

As Ricky left, Red leaned into him and kissed him softly on the lips.

To be continued...

Posted: 06/22/12