Role Playing - 2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sunlight slanting through the blinds wakes me. I didn’t dream, which is a relief; I thought I might spend the night tossing and turning over everything. It’s nine-thirty am and I’m supposed to meet Cecil before long. I want to rest a little longer, though. I’m glad I emailed work last night and scheduled a sick day.

At ten o’clock, I finally get out of bed. After three bottles worth of medications, I take another shower for good measure; I hate meeting Cecil looking like a train wreck. He is refined in a way I probably will never understand. Well-educated, well-trained, well-read, everything. His appearance is deceiving at times, but his tone and obvious command of any stage makes him what he is: a master.

I give in and decide I will need to drive to meet with Cecil; his choice in establishments indicates he wants me close enough to the theatre that if I choose to accept, he could give me all the details right then. The rest of the cast will audition. I seem to be the only one immune to auditions in Cecil’s theatre. I don’t mind, I just hope I am that damned good, at least for this role.

I wait for eleven-thirty. Leaving before the appointed time puts me in a small bar with barely any money and the temptation to have a drink. I don’t need to drink today. I think, by all rights, I have earned it, though – my child is dead, the woman I was in love with gave me an STD, and I am contemplating the support group meeting that starts at three o’clock today. Recreation Centre: HSV/HPV Support Group. The literature about the support group says confidentiality is a must. Who am I going to tell I have been there, much less who the other attendees are? I have no desire to advertise what happened, but I know that I have to talk to someone other than Cass. The bitch. I was too kind to her over this. She deserves more spite, more anger. I blame not having the energy to fight.

I gather my cell phone from the floor and ignore its constant vibrating.

In the underground garage, I locate my oldest friend, and place a careful hand on the hood. She’s been here forever and I neglect her. I care more for my car than Cassie now. I suppose that is a good thing. She betrayed me and I have no room for betrayal.

I insert the key in the ignition and the car hums to life, sputtering and near death, but she still starts. I thank the million little gods for that small relief. The Hourglass is only a few blocks away. Silence greets me as the engine hums and my finicky CD player spits the disc inside out onto the gear stick, and instead of trying it again, I just throw it onto the backseat. I am tired of this old car: a poor piece of machinery that killed two motors and a transmission.

Parkwood Court is a small street in relation to the city. The one good thing about it is that it connects to all of the main highways. Lucky for me, I can get anywhere I want within thirty minutes if traffic is good. I’d be an idiot if I thought fate was looking out for me, especially after the last two days. I make a right and then a quick left, moving down East Fulton Drive. Fulton Drive is the main thoroughfare for the city. North, south, east and west coalesce at the city center, which is Fulton Square. Traffic is thankfully light enough and I arrive on time, though just barely. At least Cecil knows punctuality is not one of my strongest points. I am always on stage by the time the curtains open. I don’t like all the makeup anyway, it makes my face itch. I feel lucky Cecil has kept me this long.
Street-side parking is nowhere in sight, but there is a small parking deck less than a block away and I pull in, finding a space immediately. Small miracles can happen. At least a new job means I don’t have spare time to think about my problems. I wonder if this new production will be anything like the last. In the last show, characters marched across stage wearing bundt cake pans and funnels as helmets. I wonder what we will wear this time.

I head over to the Hourglass, stopping to look in a store window on the way. All around me is Cassie. Many of the toys in the display window are ones manufactured and created by her two older brothers. Her family owns a large toy company and she is the Senior Marketing Director for Thorneberg Works. She travels most of the time trying to sell the products to new customers, which usually means out of the country. Japan, Norway, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, Germany, France….

I don’t dwell long when I look at my watch and see time is slowly ticking by. Upsetting Cecil when he has an offer is never a good idea, so I run, like the good little boy I am, to make it on time. Inside, the Hourglass looks no different from the last time I was here over a year ago. It is full of smoke from the cancer sticks of patrons and employees, and smells like stale beer. I quickly scan the darkened room for Cecil and don’t see him at the usual table. Typically, when we meet here before a job, he occupies the large booth in the back so he can spread all the information out. I wonder where he is. Tom, the owner of this wonderful establishment, flashes his toothless grin and points at me. I shake my head and shrug my shoulders; I don’t understand.

“He means turn around, boy,” Cecil drawls. I hate that expression. He makes it look malicious, but Jenna’s dark brown hair pops up behind him, and she puts her hand on Cecil’s arm.

“Cecil, play nice. You don’t want to scare away your best actor.”

I smile. Jenna protects me from her dour husband and I don’t mind. The two make an interesting pair, to say the least. Cecil always pulls his long, black, shiny hair back into a tight tail at the nape of his neck. His skin is ‘creature-of-the-night’pale, but it makes for a great vampire at our annual costume ball and fundraiser. He’s tall too; I guess around 6’3”, which to my 5’10” is huge. Underneath his black garb, he’s muscled, though not like a body builder – more like something Da Vinci could have appreciated. Soft masculinity - that is what I like to call it. He isn’t feminine, but he doesn’t look like he injects steroids either. His long nose is hooked on the end slightly, surrounded by high, sharp cheeks. Evidence of pockmarks mars his skin; I assume he dealt with acne when he was younger.

Cecil has his eyebrows sculpted like many of the others in the performing arts, even though he isn’t a performer. Overall, he is an attractive man. His overbearing personality makes him hard to deal with sometimes, but I feel like working with him makes me stronger. I have learned a lot from him.

His wife, Jenna, is a whole other story, though. Jenna is quiet and compassionate, always trying to train emotions into Cecil’s succinct, anger-filled personality. Jenna wears her hair short and doesn’t bother with frills. No nonsense and honest, she makes a great partner to Cecil. The brown hair that covers her head is always well-groomed and tidy, unlike my own sandy mess. Her voice is soft and caresses the eardrum like a calming parent. Sometimes she can talk for hours about nothing and anything, but keep her audience enraptured. I wonder if that is what I do when I am on stage.

Jenna and I are about the same height. She always dresses impeccably and I admire that. I guess that is the beauty of coming from money, though. Her only true flaw is a permanent limp in her left leg; she says it is from a car accident years ago. I tried to ask more about it one time, but she shrugged and changed the subject.

I turn to face the contrasting pair and Jenna pats my arm in a gesture of understanding, but I wonder if she really does. Cecil can’t treat him the way he treats us on stage.

“I see you made it on time. Barely,” Cecil snips.

“Yeah, so what’s up?” I ask, hoping that this won’t take long.

“We are starting a new production and only have a little less than two months. You have work to do and we cannot stand here idly and chat. I am going to show you where your research must be conducted,” Cecil says.

“Lead the way.”

“Good to see you, Ryan,” Jenna says, patting my arm again.

“You too, Jen. Do you know where we are going?”

“Just let him tell you.”

I nod. There is no use in arguing.

“Get a move on, Archer. We don’t have all day. Unlike you, the rest of us have things to do.”

I scowl. If he is going to be a prick today, I can be, too. I am not in the mood for his shit.

“Yes, sir!” I snap, saluting him.

We pile into their expensive car, and once we are en route, he starts to explain my assignment.

“The play we are doing is a little bit different than anything we have ever worked on before, but I need to know if I have your full cooperation before we get started.”

“Details?” I ask.

“I know you are as straight as they come, Archer, but this a homosexual-themed play. A few of the well-off queens of the city requested you. So, tell me, can you step outside of your comfortable heterosexual box to do a full run of this thing?”

At first, I am surprised. Usually, an all-gay ensemble is cast for these types of productions. It gives strength to the gay community by giving them prominent positions of power. Why was I requested for this?

“What will I have to do?” I ask. I need to know what I am getting into before I say yes.

“You will be very close to other male actors. Skin to skin, kissing, touching. Can you handle that?” Cecil asks, his face twitching with irritation. Jenna steers the car calmly.

Can I do that? I mean, I have wrestled with men before, but I am going to play a gay man, so intimacy would be necessary. I need to convince a completely new crowd of people, a whole community of people. Can I do that? Do I have it in me to step completely out of my comfort zone in order to make this work?

I don’t have Cassie anymore, so I don’t have to worry about whether she will be jealous of my on-stage lover. Could it hurt me to explore new avenues of art? I mean, I can always make sure they know I’m not gay. Would it matter? I think I need this, though, I need to renew myself and this might be the only way to do it. I think I can do it…

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“Good. I thought you might say that. Here’s the deal. Every night you will be required to check in with Isaac, the owner of nightclub where you’ll do your research. You are to observe, converse and learn intimacy with men in this setting with Isaac. He’s a very professional young man and will not push your boundaries physically.”

I snicker. This man sounds like someone molded after Cecil’s own black heart.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Archer?”

“Will we have to kiss?” I ask. I don’t know if I want the answer to that. Moreover, why am I working with this Isaac guy?

“It would be a good idea to get used to it. Remind yourself that you are being requested to do this.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No problem. Now, look ahead. You are using this club for research,” Cecil says and points towards a large building towards the edge of town. “I want you to watch everything. Movement, touches, everything. Study your role because the rest of the characters will be auditioning with you starting next week. And you better be ready to show me why you are getting the best part in the show.”

I can’t believe it. I wonder how many men will audition for this part.

Cecil hands me a few booklets, including notes on past productions and my role. The name ‘Nat’ is circled with red ink. This is who I will be for the next few months. My role is a young boy who is a whore to an older man. I have to wonder if this is the most compelling and hardest role; is that why I was chosen for the part?

“Isaac is expecting you at nine o’clock when the club doors open. He wants to show you around before it gets busy. Can you remember how to get here?” Cecil asks.

“Yes, I can find it. Thank you.” If I am honest, I don’t know if I like the mess I am getting myself into, but I have to admit doing something new intrigues me. Could this play be the catalyst that sends me rocketing forward in life? Is this the chance to change my outlook on things, the chance to learn about truly living?

I can only hope that this is a chance for something new. I don’t expect anything, but maybe that is for the best. Jenna drops me off at my car and I wave before getting in, but I hear Cecil’s southern accent calling my name.

“You have all access to the club. Any drinks you purchase are covered, just put them on the theatre’s tab. They’ll know. Also, don’t let Isaac upset you, he can be… difficult sometimes.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Anytime. I will see you next Monday at eight o’clock. Auditions begin then, and I expect you to observe punctuality for a change. There is a lot of funding coming in for this production, if you can’t show up on time, don’t show up at all.”

“Right. Thanks again.” When we arrive at the Hourglass, I get out and stand by the car. I wave to Jenna as they drive away, wondering what this will be like.

***

I make my way home and wait until it’s time to head over to the City Park Recreation Center. The flyer said to come straight in and to put on a nametag, but I am not sure if I wanted to tell everyone who I am yet. I don’t know these people and I have no idea how many will be there and recognize me. If I go with honesty, they may welcome me. I hope they don’t call me brave, I can’t stand to hear that when bad things happen. You shouldn’t have to be brave, you have every right to be upset about the news your sexual life is about to change forever. Risking the rejection that is common with misunderstandings and even then, you never know who will spill your dirty little secret.

Do I really want to expose myself this way?

I fight my own conscience for a while and remind myself that I don’t have to share my story yet. Sometimes just knowing others are dealing with the same thing makes hard times easier to deal with. If I am honest with myself, I need to be around others who understand. I mean, how can I understand this if I don’t talk about it? I need this. I don’t care if it seems weak.

When I arrive at the old recreational facility, I walk through the black-rimmed glass doors and go straight in. There is a young woman, with short, dark-brown hair and brilliant blue eyes who smiles, welcoming me. A nose-ring gleams in the fluorescent lighting and I smile in return. I always thought body piercings were somewhat sexy. I walk straight ahead, following the voices from the back of the building. I stop at the closed door, though. There is laughter from within and I wonder if I can belong here. My chest is beginning to feel tight; I don’t know if I want to do this anymore. I don’t know if I should do this anymore.

Ahem.

I hate that sound. I turn around and see a young man with long, silvery-blond hair. He is tall, taller than I am, and built well. The only way I can describe him is beautiful. His features are soft, but his face is screwed up in a sneer that reminds me of Cecil.

“Are you going in?” he asks, shifting his weight.

“Er, yeah, I think so,” I say, glancing at the door, then back at the man.

“Well, don’t think about it too long, looks like it hurts,” he says and smiles.

“Sorry,” I mumble. He just insulted me and this is the first time I have ever seen this man.

“We don’t bite… much, and only if you ask,” he says, extending his hand. “Isaac Miller.”

“Ryan. Ryan Archer.”

“Nice to meet you. First time?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Oh no, I started this group.”

He winks and pushes the door open around me, and I feel his warm, sculpted body press against mine. A shiver runs down my spine as I try to get away, but he pushes me through, pressed against me.

Isaac forces me into the room, and I back away as soon as there’s room. I shiver again, unsure what I’m feeling. The strong press of emotions weighs heavily on me like cinder blocks. I take a step to steady myself.

Now that I have room to breathe, I look around. In the center of the room, there is a circle of chairs, and on the back wall, a table stands, littered with pamphlets and snacks. Like an ass, I am standing by the door that Mr Isaac Miller shoved me through. The others are quiet. They are watching me like a hawk, and I wonder if I should even be here, when a very strange-looking woman makes her way to me. She almost seems like a man. She has a sharply angled face, but obviously, she has breasts. They are huge, hiding underneath her crisp black blouse. I don’t know what to do. I want to run, but Isaac Miller has already seen fit to include me in this little group without my permission. I suppose it might not be too bad, but as a matter of principle, I don’t like my choices taken away.

“Hi, I’m Marie,” she says, extending her hand. Her voice is sultry and low. I wonder if she is a smoker the way her voice cracks. I take her hand, it can’t hurt. It’s a simple gesture of greeting.

“Ryan Archer.” I smile, pretending to be happy to be there.

“Come on, Ryan. Since this is your first time, no pressure to talk about what happened. All right?” Marie asks. I wonder if I can trust these people. I follow her, unsure why.

Isaac stands in the back, rifling through something on the table, but then he heads towards the rest of the group and I finally take a seat. Before he finds a seat, I notice he has two cups in his hand and he stops, holding one out to me.

“Sometimes it’s nice to have an escape route,” he says softly. I don’t really understand what he means, but I take it, feeling slightly uneasy. What if he drugged it? Then of all things, he sits down beside me. One of the other guys across the room looks at me for a long time, then scowls.

The guy I am trying to hide my face from has sandy-brown hair and he’s athletic. He has a soft face, but I can tell by the “burn in hell, newbie” look that he wants me out of here. I wonder why. I didn’t make Miller sit beside me.

One of the young women stands. Her hair is black as coal and shiny like glass. She is stone-faced and looks like a pug. I don’t know why I’m bothered about what she is wearing, but the paisley dress does nothing for her soft complexion. I guess she is the “leader” of this group, but didn’t Miller say that he started this group? I don’t dare ask him; I guess he has his reasons for not saying. Not asking doesn’t mean the burning desire to ask isn’t there, though. This is driving me nuts. I have been here less than ten minutes and already I want to get the hell out.

“OK, welcome, everyone. My name is Parker; I am the moderator of this group. Just so you know you are in the right place, this is the City Park Recreation Center HSV/HPV support group. HSV is the Herpes Simplex Virus and HPV is the Human Papillomavirus. As you all know, these two diseases go hand-in-hand and I would hate for our new fella to be in the wrong place.” She turns to look at me and I nod. I’m not sure if I have a voice at the moment, so I just look at the pug-faced woman, unable to speak.

I forget I am holding a cup with some kind of over-sweetened pop and Miller clears his throat. I fucking hate that. I look at him as he raises his cup slightly, and I just stare at him, wondering what in the hell he wants. I shrug, and then it dawns on me. The bastard. He knew. I turn away, feeling more irritated than I probably should, but I drink the fizzy liquid to wet my parched throat. I don’t drink much; I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me, especially Miller’s. I don’t know why I feel so scrutinized, I shouldn’t. Hell I shouldn’t be that uncomfortable, I am used to people staring at me. I’m an actor!

“Right, who would like to get started?” Parker asks, scanning the other faces in the group. The sandy-haired guy is still eyeing me, but what am I supposed to do about that? I hope he doesn’t think I am taking over his territory or something, that isn’t my plan. I am here for the same reason as everyone else.

I hear the rustling of clothes beside me and turn to see Miller standing and nodding his head at Parker. It was like a strange club with secret hand gestures. I didn’t understand what was going on at all. Miller walks towards the table for the second time and starts talking.

“I have been a member of this exclusive little club for ten years,” he says, stopping to pour another cup full of the sticky pop. Club, what club? “Everyone knows me, even our new beauty, so I will spare introductions.” He sighs. I wonder if this was boring for him. Ten years, maybe he’s been telling this story for ten years.

“My first lover was a straight man. He was dating a girl, but I can’t remember her name now. For about two years, they were together, but she slept around as much as he did with me.” He scoffs and comes back to the circle; his shoulders are visibly tense, and it isn’t hard to tell he’s never gotten used to telling this story.

“Anyway, we had sex, because he knew I was gay. He just wanted to see what it was like. He didn’t know his little whore had been sleeping around without protection, so she brought him the gift that keeps on giving.” His voice cracks with anger as he says the words. I wonder exactly what he means by “the gift that keeps on giving.”

“He knew he was infected, I found that out later, but his excuse was he didn’t know it would hurt me.” Miller takes a sip of his drink; me, I am fidgeting madly. I don’t know how he was able to tell this story to so many people without breaking down. I am uncomfortable hearing it. It feels like I am invading someone’s private thoughts and I don’t like it.

“So at fifteen, I experimented with a straight man and came out of it with herpes. Wonderful news to my parents, I assure you. Not even a private doctor could keep from informing them; it was the law, he said. I mean, now that I think about it, it wasn’t worth it, none of it was, but I can’t change that now. It’s been three years since I was in a relationship and I’m starting to get quite lonely. I am not actively pursuing anyone, though; I would rather not deal with the rejection. I am not used to rejection,” he shrugs, looking at everyone. They are obviously familiar with this story.

This man is brave, even if he is only telling this story for my benefit. I have to respect that. If his goal is to make me uncomfortable, he does it well, because I want to claw my way out of the exit at this point.

“Isaac, tell us what happened. How did your last lover take it?” Parker asks, looking at both of us. I don’t know why she looks at me, but I take a sip of the drink, silently praising Miller for his foresight. Yes, he was right; sometimes it is nice to have an “escape route” as he called it. Why is he doing this?

This is a depressing meeting, even if we all have something in common. I hate it, I want out. Then I hear Miller again, this time he seems a bit steadier.

“I had my first real relationship with an older man and he took good care of me. The only reason we parted ways is he got sick. Prostate cancer. Go figure, an incredible pleasure centre for the gay man and it betrays him,” he says, chuckling. Isaac is nervous, that much is clear. “Anyway, he didn’t have herpes, but he didn’t care that I did either. We used protection and oral sex was very limited, but we made it. Somehow, we still had incredible sex and he taught me a lot about life.”

“Do you regret how things happened?” Parker asks. Her face softens, and I can’t help but take another drink.

“Regret? I regret it everyday, but I can’t change it. I just accept it and hope to find the love of my life, someone accepting of this curse and me.” I watch as he brings the cup to his lips and downs its contents, smashing the fragile plastic in his powerful hands.

“But you can honestly say that there is happiness to be found, even if you have genital herpes?” Parker asks him. I try to size Parker up, but the woman is an enigma. I can’t tell if she really cares or if she is only asking him these questions for my benefit.

“Yeah, happiness is relative, though. One can, in theory, lead a healthy sex life and have an open, honest relationship with a person even after being blessed with this disease.” I can hear the venom pouring from his lips. It almost makes me sick to think this handsome man supposes so little of himself. Maybe it is all an act. Does cynicism really help? I mean, I can probably hate Cassie for the rest of my life, but I don’t see how it can help me. I want to understand his venom, but I haven’t been with anyone but her, and this is so very new to me.

“Alright, Marie, do you want to share?” Parker asks. Her pug-face shakes when she turns her head and I have to turn away, but I wish I hadn’t. Miller and I lock eyes, and I feel trapped. Arctic blue eyes tear into my soul and I want nothing more than to get away. I need to get away, his gaze is so intense I feel like a prisoner, even more so than when he sat beside me. Then I hear it.

Ahem.

I grit my teeth and look up. The sandy-haired man is still glaring. I shrug; I don’t want Miller. Was the other man staking a claim to the striking blond man? I don’t really know how these things work. I mean, Cassie used to get jealous when I would have a “love scene” on stage, but then I would take her home and fuck her senseless. She knew I belonged to her, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Now I wonder if all the jealousy was because she was cheating on me the entire time. How can she not speak to me? I need answers. In addition, if this guy’s expression is anything close to Cassie’s, I know I don’t like it. The dirty blonde with wavy hair stands, she introduced herself to me already, that I remember.

I just watch and listen; I have nothing to say really. I take another sip of my drink and realize only ice clanks against the clear plastic, and I hear a snort from beside me. I am not going to give him the satisfaction of turning and looking. I refuse to!

As I am trying to hide the fact that I have embarrassed myself, I check my watch. I nearly hop out of my seat with excitement as it reads four o’clock. At least now I can leave, as long as they don’t try to detain me. I don’t know if I honestly want to be detained by this group any longer than I have to be. Maybe I am just feeling insecure, but I wonder now if it was a good idea to show up here at all. All I learned was two other people’s stories, and I don’t know how that is supposed to help me.

“We are out of time this week, but I want to encourage everyone to return to the next meeting. We are going to discuss coping and the emotional pitfalls of herpes in a sex-driven society,” Parker says.

Emotional pitfalls? What in the hell is she going on about? I ignore it as she bids everyone a good afternoon. Not paying attention, I walk straight into Mr. Miller himself. He turns with a wide grin and chuckles.

“Watch where you are going, Archer. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were coming on to me.”

What? Is he nuts?

“In your dreams, Miller.” He just smiles. I feel a shiver travel down my spine and turn away.

“See you again, Archer?” he asks. I don’t know if I want to answer him or not.

“Yeah, I guess.” No sense in hiding it, I may not have liked the group this time, but I at least owed them another chance.

“Good.” That is the last thing he said before he turns around and starts conversing with the sandy-haired man that spent the entire meeting glaring at me.

I start to leave and he stops me again, this time grabbing my arm as I walk by.

“Hold on a second, Archer. I want you to meet someone. Archer, this is James,” Miller says, his eyes appraising me.

I stick my hand out to shake James’s, but he turns his nose up and snorts. How becoming.

“Well, nice to meet you, too. I have to be somewhere; see you next time.” Miller finally takes his hand off my arm, but I feel like it was his way of giving me permission rather than my own necessity to get away.

I hear James raise his voice, but I ignore it and head out the painted wooden doors. I don’t have anything to do but get myself ready for the excursion to the club, and I think I am going to need some time to get used to this idea. I don’t think I truly understood what I was getting into when I signed on for this.

***

At the appointed hour, I head to the outskirts of town to find the club. I arrive early enough to find a mostly empty parking lot. I’m lazy, so if I don’t have to walk all the way from the edge of town, I am even happier. When I drive up, I am not really paying attention, but now that I am here, I can honestly say that I am impressed. The building is like a miniature castle. This Isaac guy must have spent a small fortune building this place, because it could easily be mistaken as a Romanesque estate. Parapets line the top of the second story and hewn, square stones rise from the foundation. Large columns rise high on each side of the club entrance with velvet ropes guiding the way.

There are only a few windows scattered across the eastern side of the building, but they seem to be restrooms, because they are the only rooms with steady light flowing from within. If I had to wager a guess, the tower housed Isaac’s personal office, but I could be wrong. I knew nothing about this place, but I am about to get a crash course. I suddenly feel very alone in a foreign world and contemplate backing out.

It isn’t as if I haven’t seen naked men before. Communal showers in college made sure that I was very familiar with a man’s body, even if I didn’t want to be. I pluck my courage from somewhere and head to the doors. There are two large men outside dressed in short, leather shorts and leather bandoleers criss-crossing their chests. They are very well-built; I am sure they are security, to make sure that no one causes any trouble. As I draw closer to the entrance, I notice a small booth with a red awning and head straight for it.

The woman seated did not look very happy, but I muster my best smile and greet her.

“Name?” She has an accent, but I can’t place it. Though after giving her a good once over, I see the slanted, almond eyes and olive skin of some sort of Asian mix. Her hair is purple, which I find endearing. Inside her pretty mouth, I see a tongue ring dancing across her teeth.

“Ryan Archer,” I say.

“Go on in, Isaac will be with you later,” she says. I wait; I don’t know what Isaac looks like, how am I supposed to know how to find him?

“H-How do I know it’s him?” I ask, feeling shy suddenly.

“He’ll find you, love. Trust me, you are the only straight man here.”

I want to feel insulted, but then again, that is why I am here. She smiles at my expense, but I let it slide. The two goons open the doors and I step inside. I must say, the outside does not do this place justice. It looks like I just stepped onto the set of a psychedelic music video. Lights flash everywhere and a large wall of water falls to the floor, pooling in a large basin that stretches about twelve feet. At the bottom, the foundation of the pool looks like glittering dragon scales. The effect is incredible.

Further to left, past the pool, there is a large trophy case and photos of various drag queens. A banner above the trophy case, in bright green lettering on silver reads, Come get your Drag-on. There are large banana plants scattered in the entrance and it was then that I realize the plants’ arrangement is to look like wings. To my left is a door with another guard. It is black with silver lettering reading Dungeon Access. Below the letting is a small notice in white that says, No one under twenty-one years of age permitted.

To my right, a hallway leads to the loudest, bass-filled house music I have ever heard. I don’t recognize the song, but I follow it and find an incredible sight. In the back of the room is a large stage, full of pillows, cushions, poufs and couches, each with a different color of the rainbow. To my right is a large bar, with lots of stools and a huge array of alcohol-lined, glass shelves.

The dance floor is in the middle of the room, and giant speakers lie on the ground, pumping the vibrating tunes all around. To the left, there is an extravagant spiral staircase with green ribbons wrapped around the banister.

I walk up to the bar first, and order a beer, letting them know I am on the ‘Jocker’ tab. Once I have my simple bottle, I head up the spiral staircase. It seems never-ending, but once at the top, I am impressed. A lounge/loft overlooks the stage. There are tables and plush couches arranged and even another bar on the left side of the room. The parapet design is low enough to see the dance floor below, but also to prevent falls. There are more red velvet ropes between the gaps of the parapet, and I love it. The décor in this place is impressive. A large mirrored ball in the center of the dance floor glitters all around and smoke machines issue sweet wisps at random intervals.

I stand watching as couples dance, expressing their desire for one another in a rhythmic way. Males dance with males, women with women, and even some male/female pairs, but they were few and far between. The most interesting group by far is the trio at the corner of the stage, stroking one another’s hair softly and whispering in one another’s ear. I watch how the various men walk, some with soft sways to their hips, while others are less obvious. All of the “gay-dar” stereotypes spring to mind, but in here, one could never tell. It isn’t long before I realize I am no longer alone in this large balcony and decide to take a seat, just observing.

Time passes quickly as I enjoy the music and the laughter of those around me. Around eleven, I am starting to wonder if this Isaac will ever show, when I feel a pair of strong hands on my shoulder and a whisper in my ear.

“Nice to see you again, Mr Archer.”

Aside from the cologne that assaults my senses, probably something like Tommy Hilfiger, I recognize the voice. It can’t be. I turn and see those arctic blue eyes, and silvery blond hair falling around sharp features.

“You’re Isaac?” I stare, wondering if he knew when he met me earlier and that’s why he acted the way he did.

He smiles. “I am.” Isaac Miller is going to be my teacher. Jesus. “All right, now, why don’t I give you the grand tour?” I shudder, though whether it was from the smile, or the irony, I’m not sure.

I stand and follow him down the stairs, back towards the entrance. He moves behind a red curtain that I didn’t see when I came in and I follow. There is a door with a keypad; he quickly enters a code, and it buzzes, opening to a staircase. We stop on the first landing and I follow him to another door. He knocks three times and it opens. A young, sexy woman with too much eyeliner and not enough clothes greets us. She has on a pair of headphones and runs back to the turntables to change the music. When I look to my left, I see a large pane of smoky glass that overlooks the entire establishment.

“Wow.”

I couldn’t help it. I was impressed. Isaac, no, Miller has taste.

“I take it you like it?” he inquires, with one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, this is nice.”

“Good. This is my DJ, DJ Triple Play.” I look at him for a moment questioning, but he doesn’t say anything. He raises a hand dismissing the question on the tip of my lips, and turns to face the woman.

“This is Ryan Archer. He’s here to learn about how to be a gay man for a play. I want you to give him access to this room if he needs to observe and ask questions.”

She simply nods and he turns to leave. I can only follow.

We start up the stairs again and stop on the next landing. He points to a set of double doors. “Those are the private rooms. We don’t need to go in there tonight. They are only full on the weekends.”

I nod and follow as he takes me up one more flight of stairs and we stop. The door says, Isaac and below it, Office. We walk in and instead of caring about the décor, I take the offered chair across from his desk.

“I know it’s late so I won’t keep you long.”

“OK.”

“Good. Tomorrow I will introduce you to some of the old faces around here and we start teaching you a little bit. However, I am going to say most of what you will learn comes from observation. You actors are a strange bunch, but I will give you free reign. The only limited access is the Dungeon because it is an exhibition hall of sorts. My customers know they can trust me, and I will not betray that, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I think we will get along swimmingly!”

“Right. OK, well it’s midnight and I do have a life outside of acting, so I think I am going to go home for now.”

“Have a good night, Mr Archer.”

I debate. I don’t want him always calling me Mr. Archer. Nevertheless, I don’t want him to think us on a first name basis. I have to give in; I don’t want everyone looking at me as if I am some caged animal on display because he calls me by my surname.

“Call me Ryan, OK?”

“Good, Ryan. I'll see you tomorrow evening. Come straight to my office at nine o’clock. The code for the door downstairs is 47222. If you forget, it spells Isaac.”

“Thanks.”

I shake his hand, which lingers longer than I like but ignore it. I leave feeling more confused than I did at the support group meeting. What is this man’s deal?