Flip Mecum in New York Ch 11

Flip in New York Ch 11

They move to the coop before Michael leaves

This is a fictional original story. All characters and places are made-up; any coincidental reference to actual is accidental. All sexual activity and discussion involves persons over 18. © 2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

(Sorry: When I published Ch 10, I mistakenly put it in Erotic Couplings. You may wish to go there before reading this chapter, if you're following the story. For those who aren't following the story, Ch 10 is fairly important to the plot: Michael finishes taping Storm House with Flip's support; then Michael receives an unsolicited script for a Hollywood film and is invited to screen test for it [the script is detailed and is the base for some of what happens in the next few chapters], and Flip gets a call from Brent alerting him to the availability of a coop in the Montana.)

Michael...

My head was already thinking about Los Angeles, the city in which I had started my quest for an acting career. Sure, I wasn't entirely successful--in fact I wasn't successful at all in my own estimation. Being lured (was it really a lure or did I revel in the attention?) into the porn film industry had interrupted my quest--or maybe it was the end of my quest. I really enjoyed most of the porn filming. It taught me a lot about acting. Fuck, it was almost all acting and chemical retardants or enhancements! At least until the climax. And it had brought me Flip.

The New York stage had been "real acting"--as we were told so often in college. But two six week stints in very different plays--one a sexy drama, the second a sexy period comedy--had whetted my appetite. I was an actor. And a few critics even agreed.

The experience with Storm House--a reality TV drama--had drawn me to the possibilities and challenges of film. What you do on stage before an audience is it, the end. You don't get to "redo" that performance. But, in film, you get to try again and again, to perfect. And in reality TV you get a blend of the spontaneity of the stage and the perfectibility of film. You "grow" into a role in a stage play with each performance; the final film is the the final performance. You're not growing; you're already there.

So I was already "half-way" back to my original quest. But, it had never died. LA and the big screen were calling my name again. Why did I need an expensive coop in New York? It wasn't high on my list of needs or things that I wanted to spend time on. At least not now. But, how could I not at least look at the place that Brent had called Flip about? It was Flip's dream.

Our morning had been pretty special. And Flip was amazing. Every time he entered my body or I entered his, we were transformed into something else--a single organism that thrived on pleasure, the taking and giving of it. With the knowledge of how to take us out of this world and move us to the nirvana of orgiastic pleasure. It was close to heaven, I'm sure--if not heaven itself. Flip holds the key to that place for me, and I think I hold it for him. I never thought that I'd find anyone like him. He's a genuinely nice guy, with a terrific body and a talented cock. And he loves me!! He knows that I've got to go to California to take the next step. And he's even mentioned giving up his own career to follow. I would never make him do that, and fortunately, it is not necessary. I think I can do this, and then deal with the consequences later.

We are going to be apart for a few weeks. If by some chance, lightning strikes again, and I get to continue making films in LA, we'll find a way for him as well. If not, Broadway is also a place for me. The time in California for me will be the test. But, I think maybe we're going to go the distance--in New York or California. It's not likely that we'll be able to afford the Montana coop anyway. So I'm gonna give it everything I can--for Flip. I'm going to love it.

So, in our "new" parsimonious existence (Flip had always been the careful financial one, but now he had a goal--a down-payment.), we decided to take the subway uptown and walk over to CPW. Spring was full out in New York. New green leaves were poking out of the few trees; window boxes had the earliest tulips and the last of the daffodils; the sun was out; and, every dog walker in the city was engaged. I knew we looked good. You should have seen the stares we got as we walked hand in hand toward the Montana. Raw envy--or maybe something quite a bit earthier. I was guessing that more than one walker assumed each of us was someone they should know or wanted to know or at least might like to find in bed. But, when we entered the main door of the building, I'm sure they were trying to determine who we were.

We were on the list and were well-known to the doorman. He greeted us by name, and welcomed us to the building. (Fuck, he already knew we were moving in--even before we did? Even before we had decided?) So he called Brent to warn him we were on our way up to his eleventh floor apartment It occupied about a quarter of the floor, fronting on the park and stretching well down the south side.

For the first time, we looked at the small reception room of the building. Newer condos had flashy, large two-story receptions--that were there for only reason--to impress. This one was small but high-ceilinged, done in dark wood with little furniture. A threadbare Oriental covered the floor leading to the banks of bronze-clad elevators behind the vigilant doorman. Two red velvet covered chairs were for those waiting for rides, presumably limos. It simply reeked of very old money and class.

When we arrived, Brent was ready and anxious. He indicated that the seller of 10A was waiting for us. So we took the stairs down to the apartment, and Brent knocked on the polished mahogany door. We were introduced, talked for a few minutes and the seller left immediately telling Brent to flip the lock as he left. He wasn't going to make the cardinal seller's mistake of doing the tour and commentary.

The apartment was practically empty. Workers had repainted and the dark old wood floors had been polished. It was clearly being readied for showing. The owners had already moved. We entered a small foyer which opened into a large high-ceilinged room which occupied the outside corner--the living with a fire place and dining room, fronting on the park. The sun shone in through the six large windows filling the place with warmth and light. To the right, there was a small kitchen with a south facing window and the first of two bedrooms--once a maid's room with a small attached bath. By New York standards it was a reasonably sized room, but most would consider it little larger than a closet with a window. It'd make a good office.

And, on the other side of the living room was a large bedroom--again on the park with three windows. The bath had been remodeled into a genuine spa and was covered in travertine marble. I counted four shower heads--two in the ceiling. I could picture some interesting time in there. To us, it was palatial, clean--and probably untouchable from a financial standpoint. Not for two near-starving actors.

Brent read the statistics: corner 2 and 2, 1400 square feet, upgraded master bath and kitchen, combo living/dining; the piano, chandeliers and kitchen appliances all conveyed with the apartment; coop fees $1600 per month, asking $1,249,900. Then he added, "At that price this is an absolute steal. There'll be bids way over that if this place hits the market. And this is the most desirable building -together with its fraternal twin, the Dakota next door--for artists in the city. Artists, obviously, who had already made it. Present and past residents include Bacall, Paul McCartney and Yoko, Streep, Casals, Heifitz, Pavoratti and dozens more. There's no pool, no gym, no party rooms, or garage. But the doorman has been here for twenty years. And the coop board loves entertainers--unlike so many other buildings on the stuffy East Side.

I looked over at Flip. He was already dreaming of living here. His eyes were wide; his smile was broad; and, his brain was in another place. It was really special, I had to admit. It was a home with character, not a decrepit bachelor pad or a flashy new sterile box in the sky. But there were so many obstacles and the price seemed stratospheric to a boy who had been broke and in debt 18 months ago.

But Flip beat me to it. "We have to think about it Brent. This is absolutely at the end of our potential reach, maybe beyond it. And we learned this morning that Michael is leaving for Hollywood to film a movie with Marylyn Sleep in about a month. We still have to talk about what that means for us."

Brent's smile faded quickly. "If you're thinking goes beyond the next few hours, this place will be gone. Take my word for it."

Kirk quickly recovered, "Let's go up and eat the food we've prepared and talk this through. And, Michael, you fucker! How have you kept all of this news from me? A movie. Hollywood. With Sleep. We've been on the set together all week and you've not said a word."

"I didn't know until last night. It's a simple as that. And I don't know if I've got the part. I'm just going out to LA for a screen test."

Brent added his own take. "Michael, my boy. Let me offer a small piece of advice from someone whose family has been the business for longer than you've been alive. When someone sends you a script and pays for you to go to LA for a screen test, you've got the part. They don't issue invitations for screen tests--particularly when they're across the country and at their expense. Although you'll probably have to be in his or her bed before that's finalized. We are all big boys. We all know the score."

"How the hell did this happen? Producers don't often send out paid screen test invitations across the country."

"I really don't know. But, my agent said that the producer had been approached to buy in on Season II of Storm House."

"That's curious. I own Storm House. And I wasn't aware that we were shopping for additional money. Maybe it has to do with syndication of Season I. But, Michael, you're not in Season I. I'll find out next week." Then he laughed.

I realized that Flip had tuned out to the last part of Brent's comments. His brain was already considering the implications of what Brent had just thrown into the hopper--that the director or producer wanted my body. He mind was already back in Houston at Peacock and with Marty. But, we trooped back upstairs anyway. I guessed we'd talk about that later.

Lunch was make-your-own salads--Brent knew the rigid carb-free diets that three of us followed almost every day. And Brent offered beer or Sancerre or both. He had the wine. The rest of us had water. Soon we were at their table, enjoying the food and the company. Kirk had opened the topic downstairs; so that's where we began. Michael briefly described the plot. It was the first time all of us had heard the storyline. Kirk was right. The producer probably saw himself as the husband-producer in the film. I was going to be in his apartment and his bed before the first screen test was scheduled. My audition was going to be a real-life rehearsal of the opening segment of the film. We all knew it.

Brent was the first to speak. He wanted to change the subject and refocus us. "You all know that I stole Kirk away from the director of West Side Story. That guy, Angelo, incidentally, had brought Kirk to Broadway and was exacting payment on a regular basis. He was ticked when he learned that Kirk had moved in with me, but there wasn't much he could do. He threatened to shut Kirk out of auditions in Oklahoma!. I took care of that. Some of my clients had already committed to finance Oklahoma! which Angelo desperately wanted to direct, and he was warned. We've been together for over a year now. I know Kirk has to 'stray' from time to time. He tells me immediately when it happens. We don't talk about the details, unless I ask. And as I've said before, when I ask, he tells me everything and I get to decide the appropriate making-up punishment. It's worked for us. I'd prefer it were different. But, we both know what time it is."

"So, that's the big question. Is your relationship strong enough to permit either of you to do what is required to make it in this industry? Can you compartmentalize? Or look the other way? It won't be forever. If you can get through the next two years or so, you've got it made. You can tell any producer or director--or anyone else--to fuck off after that. But, until then, there's going to be a lot of forgiving--and making up. I'm betting on you guys."

I stared at Flip, wondering why he had been silent throughout all of this. Usually, he's the conversationalist. Flip was unconsciously thinking out loud. We had earlier both expressed our love. And love means allowing your partner to do what he needs to do to achieve success. So long as you know. And so long as it doesn't become a "thing." Did I really believe that?

"I do," I responded. Flip jolted, realizing that he had apparently once again been voicing his thoughts. Maybe it was his way of breaking the ice.

"I think I do too, Michael. You've obviously got to go to LA. This part is just too important and too good. If I say no, "don't go," one way or the other, we are finished. I can't handle that. I don't need to think about it."

Brent interrupted, "Well, I'm glad that's out of the way. Now we can talk about the coop."

Flip....

I couldn't believe that Michael and I had just had one of the most important discussions of our relationship in front of friends. And that one of them had concluded that we agreed. Had we? I decided to change the subject and so I started, "It's perfect, Brent. But, we...."

He interrupted. Before you answer, let me put something on the table. Kirk and I really like you guys. We'd love to have you downstairs. And we know that some members of this of this foursome are going to be away at times in the future. That leaves the others as companions and confidantes and as a ready-made support system. This City can be pretty lonely. And we all know the business. It's always going to be loaded with temptations--or requirements--which are always doubled when it becomes known that you're gay. I know how old you guys are. I think I know your backgrounds--at least the general picture. And I know you're both not trust-fund kids. So I didn't really think you had more than a mil in the bank to buy the coop. I'm not into torturing my friends by dangling things they can't have in front of them."

"We are not legacies, Brent. But we're not poor. I've always been careful and a saver. Right now we're both getting regular residuals from some films we made in the past." (Brent's eyes went up at that confession. Apparently, he knew already, but wasn't sure that Kirk did.) "Then we have my Oklahoma! earnings, his Storm House earnings--and the potential for residuals. And we've saved--over $200K. We are not poor."

"That's really impressive. But, I'm sure you know it's probably not enough." Then, to lighten the mood, and probably make what he was about to present more palatable, he pushed his chair back, pulled a cigar from his pocket and moved into his schtick, "Have I got a deal for you! And it won't even require you to guess the secret word."

He wagged the cigar a la Groucho. "I guess you know that my Dad left me quite a lot. And I'm doing pretty well. I like the theatre. I like investing in it. And I like investing in the people who make theatre good for me. So here's the pitch: You make the down-payment with all you can spare. I'll provide the rest, and we'll offer cash. Your monthly costs will be the coop fees to the Montana and whatever you're paying for the subsidized place will become your rent payable to me. At any time in the future, after both of you have made your fortunes, you can reimburse me for the investment, and you'll own the place. If by any chance you don't want to stay or break up, I get the coop and you can walk without any further obligations."

"Deal? Do you really need to think about it? This is the offer of the century, guys."

We were stunned. I'm sure my face lit like a Times Square billboard. But, Michael was the first to respond, "How could we refuse? I think that meeting you and Kirk may have been the luckiest day of our lives."

"No, it was the day you met each other, guys."

"Now that the business is out of the way, I want to hear about these films you guys have made. I can guess, but I want all the juicy details. That is one part of the business in which I've never had the chance to invest. Maybe I could convince Kirk...."

Kirk's frown was almost comic. And his light skin darkened. "Not on your fuckin' life Brent. All those films I made of us are for our personal collection."

"What films? And how do you know what I'm talking about?"

"You didn't know? Wait until you see how cute your butt is as it pushes up into my cock and sucks it in. It's all about the investment banker in you--suck everything in that you can and worry about the consequences later."

"I got the idea one day when I found your laptop open to a porn film. I didn't think we needed that, but was curious to see what might turn you on. Then, I recognized Michael and Flip in the scene." He paused for a just a second, "You guys are really hot!"

Then he rolled into a long series of belly laughs as Brent coughed up his wine into his empty salad plate. It was a total lie, but Brent had fallen for it. Kirk had ad-libbed the entire accusation--or had he?

It was time to shut this down. We all knew that Brent was incredibly generous. He had just proven it again.

I turned to Michael and he whispered, "Yes."

"I don't think we have to talk. The answer is yes."

So in an afternoon, we became (almost) coop-owners in the Montana. Our upstairs neighbors now knew we had been porn stars in a previous life. (I did wonder what that might portend for our future.) And headed home to celebrate. Brent had suggested that we might want to celebrate together, but I had demurred "not now." I was guessing that maybe we were in for some foursomes in the future--or maybe threesomes when one was away. But not that afternoon.

As we walked into the apartment, Michael spun me around and pulled me into a tight hug. "You always get your way. Don't you Flip?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," as I pulled his belt from the loops, unzipped and slipped my hand inside. I didn't have to reach far. He was already hard and leaking. He had been thinking about the same dessert that I had in mind, but I now had him in my fist--and in my control.

He gave in instantly. "Okay, I guess we're moving to the Montana. So my cowboy gets to buy his range in Manhattan. Congratulations, Tex."

"It's time to celebrate, Tex. Right now, I'm feeling a little bit like Trigger. I'm randy as hell. My balls are bustin'. I've been looking for a mare in heat all morning. And I'm ready to so some planting. Are you ready to take a ride? Just like the one you've just taken me on. I bet you and Brent had that all set up. I didn't have a chance. You ambushed me, Flip. And I'm going to get even. And when did you tell Brent about the porn?"

"Me? That's way too many questions for a slow boy from down south. It was Kirk who made the disclosure. He's your buddy isn't he? Did your Storm House chatter turn to porn?"

"Never. He's a good looking guy, but not for me. I like them dark and mysterious, like you. He's too vanilla."

"Good thing I like vanilla--look at you, white boy! I swear to you. I didn't ask Brent for anything. Or prompt him to do anything. I'm innocent."

"You are many things, Flip. But innocent isn't one of them. Thank god for that. I like you just the way you are--or at least as you will be in a few minutes when I'm through with you. Get out of those fuckin' clothes and mount up Roy."