I Want Out of the Circus, part 3
I Want Out of the Circus
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
There are some men that hang around the playhouse. They're not customers, but they don't have a share in the profits like Patrick does. Pete says they're friends of his, but "friends" can mean a lot of things to Pete.
Spencer sees them hanging around and finally works up the nerve to ask Siska about them. Siska is quick to explain:
Andy is an anarcho-communist and he is heavily involved in pretty much every anarcho-communist organization in the city. He's a political activist that Pete met back in the '20's. He gives speeches to the disenchanted masses. He's good at talking people into letting him use their presses to print his pamphlets, which he presses into a person's hand for free.
Every couple of weeks, Siska says, Andy comes around with a new speech and some more pamphlets. Everyone gets excited, and Andy talks about human dignity and how we wouldn't be whores anymore, and then Pete comes around and yells at Andy and we go back to work and they go get a drink. It's like a tradition. He can't get rid of Andy, though, because Andy's the one who checks us for diseases every Sunday, regular, and no one but someone like Andy would check us over for free.
Huh, Brendon says.
Yeah. Sometimes he takes us to rallies. Siska's eyes sparkle. Rallies are swell. Sometimes they have to get broken up by the cops. Those are aces.
No one quite knows exactly what Joe does. He's a dealer, that much is obvious, but the boys have spent many an afternoon discussing the how's and the why's and the who-for's. Rumor has it Joe has connections in the Mob. Which Mob, no one is sure. The boys all know that their circus of a bordello is owned by the infamous Lucky Luciano via several under-bosses, but it's a subject of heated debate as to how tightly he controls what goes in and who comes out.
I heard of this gang, the Purple Gang. There was a newsreel from Detroit. I bet you anything the Purple Gang is the one Joe's with, the Butcher says.
Why d'you say that?
The Purple Gang-- Butcher pauses for dramatic effect-- is Jewish.
A kike Mob? Bullshit. The rest of the boys laugh.
Even if the Jews did form their own Mob, who says Joe's one of them? William says. Just because he's a Jew doesn't mean they'll take him.
No, no! It's got to be like with the guineas; you can only join up if you're one of them.
The debate ends only when the evening's duties demand their full attention.
-----
Somehow, it's not until the second week that Brendon gets roughed up by a customer for not keeping his mouth shut.
Will? Brendon gets nothing but low grunts from William's stall in reply, so he tries again. Will, I-- I got hit. Bad.
I'm busy, William calls with cold dismissal in his voice.
Can you-- my face feels-- he rasps pathetically.
Busy, William repeats himself more emphatically. Brendon hears the stall's other occupant warn William to stop talking so much. Brendon would stop; he doesn't want to get William in trouble, but his face feels like it's visibly throbbing. It's tender and Brendon is almost positive it's gone red. His side aches, his arm twinges where the customer yanked it back, and he promises himself that he'll go and see Andy as soon as he can. He has the rest of the night ahead of him, and he really needs a cold compress or three before his next customer.
Sorry, sorry. Just, Siska said I should get a rag, but I don't--
Aladdin's stall. Soak one in the barrel out back. William rushes his words and Brendon rushes away, but he still hears the ringing slap of flesh on flesh as William gets his reprimand.
Brendon finds a rag that's somewhat cleaner than the others and slips out the side door to soak it in the rain barrel. On his way out, he catches a glimpse of the show. Spencer and Brent are in the show at the moment, and Brendon sees enough to know it's a sex show. Brent and Spencer are dressed as ragged parodies of a copper and a show girl, respectively, and for a given value of 'dressed'. Brent has Spencer on his hands and knees and is driving into him, wearing that half-masked expression that has been solidifying on Brent's face like congealing bacon fat since Brent's first night in the show. William says it's normal, what Brent's doing, and that it will happen to all of them sooner or later. He trotted out some psychology terms like coping mechanism and voluntary repression that just baffled most of the boys, but he'd eventually made his point.
Spencer raises his head just enough to catch sight of Brendon slipping back in with the cold compress pressed to his eye. Brendon cuts his eyes to the floor and keeps them there until he gets back to the stalls.
-----
William makes a joke the next morning about matching black eyes. He assures Brendon that the mysterious Andy made the men pay an extra ten cents-- the damaged goods tax, the boys call it; they only get it when Andy's around to check for said damage-- that'll every cent of it be for Brendon and William, but Brendon's breakfast sticks in his throat and his stomach churns whenever he looks at William's bruised face.
-----
If Andy's around, Sundays are inspection day for the boys. He fought in the last year of the Great War and befriended a medic, so he's the closest thing to a doctor the boys have.
Andy tells Ryan a story one Sunday about legalized prostitution during the Civil War. Andy disapproves of prostitution on principle, but he says that inspections are the only way to prevent an outbreak of venereal disease. Ryan laughs at the part about the two hospitals.
Brendon is the only one in the playhouse who prays on Sundays. He has a cross carefully crafted from scrap metal hanging over his patch of hay and says his prayers every night. It infuriates Ryan. When Brendon prays, Ryan folds his arms and levels a blank, absorbing stare at him from across the stall until he's done praying. Brendon couldn't articulate why, but it doesn't make him want to stop praying. It makes him want Sunday to come more than once a week.
-----
Ryan's the first to learn to just do what he's told, to keep his head down and roll with whatever's thrown at him. Spencer follows Ryan's lead, and then Brent accepts it as well, and it's only Brendon who can't seem to understand that there are things that aren't allowed anymore.
Brendon can't seem tamp down his natural curiosity or buoyant spirits. Other people try to do it for him.
-----
William has a secret. He slips out of the playhouse at strange times of the day and returns with the smell of someone else on him. Pete would put a stop to it, except that it doesn't seem as though Pete has noticed. A lot of things escape Pete's notice, as long as the boys turn in their twenty cents a turn on a regular basis.
All the other boys notice; William's a cuddler, and when he's that close it's real easy to smell a stranger on him.
Brendon's curiosity burns; he can no longer distinguish between his innate exuberance and the spark of defiance that flames self-righteously in his chest.
Stop playing at being Sherlock Holmes and leave me alone, William says, flouncing off with his mysterious bundle in the direction of Pete's office.
Brendon vows to find out William's secret, no matter what it takes.
-----
The third day of her stay, Vicky T goes up to Pete's office. None of the boys see her come down, and she doesn't show up the next night, or the night after that, or the night after that.
What happened to Vicky T? Brendon asks Pete on the fourth day without Vicky T.
We don't get many girls that stay, Pete says.
Why do the boys stay and the girls leave? Wouldn't it be the other way around? Brendon presses. Pete cuffs him. Brendon stumbles sideways in surprise, holding a hand to the side of his face, but Pete is unapologetic.
Kid, you talk too much.
----
Brendon dangles his feet off the edge of the stable wall, sneaking sideways glances as he tells Ryan what happened. Ryan shrugs.
I don't know what you're complaining about. Pete told you not to ask questions.
Brendon sticks his tongue out and hides the twinge of hurt.
Well, a little smack isn't going to stop me from finding things out, Brendon declares. He slides off the stall and pretends he doesn't hear Ryan snort softly and say, idiot.
----
We get a lot of boys because it's much more dangerous for boys to be out whoring on their own, Siska explains. He switches the straw from one side of his mouth to the other. Brendon hugs his knees and asks,
Why?
I don't know, Siska sighs. Look, if you want a sociological discussion, go talk to William. He was at university for a few semesters. It's something about how when times get hard, things get harder for the people on the edges. The way I see it, the only thing further on the edge than a boy whore is a darkie one. Siska averts his eyes. There used to be a fella here, Travis. He was a mulatto. He and William were-- Siska glances around. There's no one in sight. He worries at the straw with his teeth. They were, you know. Close.
What happened?
Bad stuff.
What bad stuff?
Look, it's not-- Jesus, it's not something you talk about, okay? Siska protests, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He stands, brushing off his trousers as he backs away from Brendon. You really have to stop asking so many questions. You'll get hurt.
Did he--
No. No. We're going to stop talking about this, now. Siska turns and flees before Brendon can get another word out.
-----
One day, Ryan gets a letter. He opens it in the dining area, and some of the other boys crowd around, trying to sneak a peek. Attracted by the commotion, Spencer wanders over.
Who's it from? Bert asks.
Who knows you're even at this address? Quinn asks. Ryan is still gripping the letter in clammy hands, staring blankly at the page, so Spencer answers for him.
He sent a letter to my aunt the week we joined up. She thinks we've joined a little acting company, he explains bitterly.
Ryan looks up from the letter when his numb brain registers Spencer's voice.
Spence, he says in the smallest voice Spencer has heard him use in years. Spencer bends in to catch what he's saying. Ryan's next words are so soft that even from two inches away Spencer has a difficult time making them out. No one else hears a thing.
Spence, my dad died, Ryan whimpers.
Spencer herds Ryan out of the dining area and into the stalls, bolting the short door shut behind them.
-----
Pete lets Brent replace Ryan in the show, and gives Ryan the night off. Spencer bribes Siska into taking over his customers so he can be with Ryan.
-----
Spencer has to let Brendon and Brent in to sleep after they're done in the show; he can't very well kick them out of their own stall. He warns them in no uncertain terms, though, that Ryan is not to be disturbed.
This means only that Brendon will wait until Spencer's asleep to cuddle up behind Ryan. No matter how gentle Brendon's show partner is, Brendon can never force himself to relax enough to make the penetration anything less than unpleasant. More often than not, it edges toward painful. Brendon has taken to standing at mealtimes to spare his ass the pain.
A night with a new stage partner has Brendon feeling sore all over; Brent fucks differently than Ryan. After the first set, Brendon found himself actually missing Ryan on-stage. Offstage, he tries not to remember that and concentrates on settling himself against Ryan in a way that aches the least.
I just want to go back to when everything was normal, Brendon breathes into Ryan's neck. I just want to go home.
We don't have one, Ryan tells him, shrugging Brendon off. Go back to your own bed.
I don't have one, Brendon says. Ryan shoves him. Brendon rolls onto his back, wincing.
Don't get clever, Ryan snaps. You-- just stop, okay. This is getting old, this- this damsel in distress act. No one's going to rescue us. So just- just stop. You're not some heroine in a goddamned penny dreadful.
I never-- Ryan whirls around, blinking furiously.
Just leave me alone!
Brendon spends the night curled tentatively against Brent, who snores and doesn't smell as nice as Ryan, but who will nonetheless throw an arm around Brendon. And tonight, Brendon tells himself, that's really all he needs.
------
You haven't given up, that's the thing, Spencer explains later. You still think we're going to make it out, that there's some way we can come through this in one piece and have something waiting on the other side. You pray every Sunday. You haven't accepted that this is all we're going to get, and he can't stand that. Ryan's used to getting things taken away from him, okay? Ryan's got nothing left for them to take away.
Ryan's got us, Brendon protests. I'd- We'd never leave him. Spencer shakes his head.
That's not exactly up to us anymore. We can't do anything about it. He can't do anything about it. He can't be the hero anymore, because he's nothing. And he's not used to that.
Ryan's always a hero, Brendon mutters defiantly.
----
Brendon watches from the shadowy corridor as Ryan sobs into Spencer's shoulder. Spencer's saying something to Ryan, but Brendon can't quite make out the words from his position in the hall. All he can hear is Ryan's choked snuffling and the bass rumble of Spencer's voice.
In my experience, people don't cry when they're hurt or scared or upset. They cry when they're overwhelmed, William opines. Brendon jumps, caught.
No one asked you, Brendon grunts unhappily. He folds his arms over his chest protectively. He's feeling defensive in a way that has nothing to do with getting caught spying.
At last, you've learned something! William laughs meanly. Brendon wishes he had the guts to take a swing at William's face.
-----
Patrick looks up as Pete saunters in, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Pete reeks of alcohol, but his voice is as sharp as ever when he clapps Patrick on the shoulder and asks, What's the good word, Pattycakes?
There is none, Patrick sighs, tossing the pen on top of the accounts in defeat. He takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. We're not gonna make it this month.
Nuts! There's no way we're behind on the grind. Pete flicks the cigarette aside and comes over behind Patrick. Patrick feels Pete's hand warm and heavy on his shoulder as Pete leans across Patrick to check the accounts himself. Pete's breath runs past Patrick's cheek with a whoosh every couple of seconds, so Patrick doesn't need Pete's tightened grip on his shoulder to know when Pete's spotted how much they're in the red. Okay, okay, so we're a little behind.
This is bad, Pete, Patrick says.
A hundred or so behind, Pete continues, tuning out Patrick. That's not so bad.
Pete, it's bad.
Patrick can see the wheels turning in Pete's head as clear as day, but he has no idea where they're spinning off too. All Patrick knows is that he's not going to like it.
----
Brendon has qualms about the whole having-sex-with-multiple-strangers thing, but it's a part of the job and everyone has to do their turn. They do it in shifts, since the circus does a show a day. Every other day one groups of boys are in the show, performing acts off a list. Not all the acts are explicit sex; one of the boys, Mike, is educating Brendon in the mysterious and bendy ways of exotic dancing. Brendon is eager to learn any routine that will spare him the ache of penetration, but, to his great disappointment, Butcher has declined to teach him the mysterious and bendy ways of fire twirling.
On the off days, it's not so exciting. As the economy goes from shit to shittier, fewer and fewer men come to the pornocircus, leaving those on stable duty with more and more free time.
To pass the time, Ryan has begun to pester William to teach him what William learned at university. When William tires of expounding on philosophy and psychology, he sends Ryan away and Ryan returns to pester the other boys with his new knowledge.
No one ever calls us men. Have you noticed that? Ryan prods Brent. Brent has sprawled prostrate on the floor of the stall they share and is trying to sleep.
Well, we're not, Brent replies, shrugging into the straw.
You are, Ryan argues. I am. Brent shrugs again and Ryan presses his point. They keep calling us boys because it's a symbol of our inferiority.
You're right. Can I go to sleep now? Brent groans.
This is important!
Why, though? We're here, aren't we? Brent counters in exasperation. Ryan has no answer to that. We're some weird kind of prostitute, Brent adds. How much respect do you honestly expect?
Basic human dignity would be nice.
Yeah, well. We all agreed to this, okay? So please shut up with the fallen-woman stuff. I mean, this whole thing was your idea in the first place. Brent rolls over onto his side so Ryan can't see his face. I'm going to go to sleep.
------
William licks up the side of Tom's cock and curls his tongue around the tip. Tom is already leaking pre-come and William grins to himself before taking Tom into his mouth.
Tom's hand stops petting William's hair and grips a handful of it, tugging William further down onto Tom's cock. William brings a hand up to the base to keep himself from choking and hollows his cheeks. This elicits a breathy groan from Tom that has William's dick jumping against the fabric of his dress.
William's good at this. It is, after all, his job. It doesn't take long for William's talented mouth to bring Tom to a loud orgasm. William sucks Tom through the final bursts, then leans to the side to spit demurely.
Dollface, you're aces, Tom moans with a voice ragged around the edges as his breathing slowly returns to normal. William kisses the tip of Tom's dick. Tom shudders. His hands release their vice-like grip on William's scalp and he smooths his hands through William's hair. He pulls William up and they kiss languidly for a few minutes, each savoring the feel of the other.
Mine, William purrs.
I hate this part, Tom sighs as he hands the goods over to William. William slips him the money and hauls him back in for a searing kiss. I liked it better the old way.
This way we can meet up safely, William points out.
Well, I am grateful to Pete for sending you out to meet me every couple of days. Tom grins. Did he ever ask you why you were so eager to be the carrier boy to the infamous Johnny Lee's operation? Because I can tell you, Boss Nelson was curious as anything when I volunteered so fast.
William kisses the tip of Tom's nose.
Pete has no idea about the two of us.
That's funny. Neither does Nelson. Tom nuzzles William's neck in the one spot that makes William shudder in delight. We're a regular Romeo and Juliet, aren't we? Tom chuckles.
William would make a smart remark incorporating a Shakespeare quote from that very play, but he's far too busy having Tom suck on his tongue.
-----
Does it ever bother you? Brendon asks Ryan. What we do? Does it-- are you ever ashamed?
It's just a job, Ryan says. Just a job. Ryan's posture is hunched and tight. Brendon can't help wanting to touch him.
Oh, Brendon says in a small voice. He reaches tentatively for Ryan's arm. I just thought that--
No, you didn't, Ryan snaps, shaking Brendon off. You're just a repressed, spoiled little altar boy who got thrown into the real world and can't stand that some of us are used to it. Ryan storms off.
Spencer finds Brendon later and curls a soothing arm around Brendon's shoulder.
He didn't mean it, Spencer apologizes.
Yes, he did.
-----
Ryan doesn't mind. It's just a job, he tells himself, just a job. He doesn't care much when it's his turn in the stables. He hasn't gotten anyone terrible yet; mostly his customers are just formerly rich men who are angry and despairing at the loss of all kinds of freedom. Ryan thinks of them as the men the Crash destroyed. He gives them relief and control for ten minutes at a time; they give him fifty cents a turn. He gets to keep twenty cents for himself and gives the rest to Pete. Pete pays for all their food and lodging and sometimes manages to get them alcohol, so Ryan doesn't mind.
It's just another job, he tells himself, matching the rhythm of the words to the rhythm he's getting fucked to.
-----
William shuts the side door quietly and exhales like he's been holding his breath all night. He transfers a cloth bundle from his left arm to his right and spins around, knocking right into Brendon.
Jesus! William squeaks. You scared me.
Why do you always come in late after you go out? Brendon asks. Where do you go? William's bundle bulges strangely and Brendon reaches out to prod at the lumps. What's this? William slaps his hand away.
Questions, Brendon, William cautions tightly. He knocks Brendon in the shoulder, hard, when he passes. Burning with resentment and unsatisfied curiosity, Brendon watches William stalk up the stairs to Pete's office. He vows to himself to find out where William goes, and what William has in his bundle.
-----
I like the newsreels better than the movies, Spencer says once.
I know, Ryan agrees. I don't want to be coddled by a shallow pantomime populated by personifications of society's supposed values.
You need to stop talking to William so much, Brendon says, hooking his chin over Ryan's shoulder.
It's better than talking to you, Ryan replies as he elbows Brendon off. Brendon slinks away to the other side of Spencer.
I like the newsreels because they have all the gangsters, Spencer says.
We can go see a movie with gangsters in it, if you like, Ryan offers.
No, it's not--I mean, that'd be Jake, but it's not--I like the newsreels because fellas, real live people, they're doing those things.
Sure, sure, Ryan agrees. Spencer narrows his eyes; Ryan's looking over at Brendon.
-----
Whenever a few boys feel they have enough nickels and dimes to part with thirty cents' worth, they go to the movies and spend most of the newsreel admiring the gangsters. The way back to the Playhouse from the movie theater is inevitably fraught with heavy discussion of Mob knowledge. Who's who and what's what and who got bumped off by whom--every detail from the newsreels is rehashed half to death. Spencer in particular is utterly fascinated by the gangsters.
You want to meet one, Brendon guesses.
Oh, he wants to do more than meet one. Ryan smirks.
Spencer! Brendon gasps in exaggerated shock and promptly ruins the effect by giggling. Bet you'd like to handle a mobster's tommy gun, huh, Spence? Brendon waggles his eyebrows suggestively while William leers. Siska, Mike, and the Butcher all hold their sides, laughing fit to burst. Ryan laughs so hard he has to cling to Brendon to stay upright. If he holds on a little longer than is strictly needed, Spencer doesn't say anything.
Spencer tells himself he can't begrudge Brendon that.
-----
I'm a little worried about Brent, Brendon begins hesitantly, braced for Ryan to shut him down. Ryan doesn't disappoint.
We're not talking about this right now, Ryan replies with steel in his voice.
We never talk about it, Brendon grumbles mutinously. It's been going on the whole summer, but no, let's not talk about it.
Ryan shoulders roughly past him on the way out of the empty stall.
-----
((This business futzes everyone in the head, sooner or later, Patrick once confides in Brent and Brendon, watching as Ryan stands off against Pete. Pete, it futzed sooner.
What about you? Brendon asks. Patrick reaches over and smacks Brendon across the mouth.
Shut up, kid, Patrick murmurs, slinging an arm over Brendon's shoulders for a half hug.))
-----
Brendon isn’t learning like the others. He keeps getting cuffed for talking back or asking questions or just plain failing to shut up.
Ryan and Spencer and Brent watch him pepper Mike with questions about where William goes in the afternoons.
Stop asking, Mike warns Brendon. You keep pestering people, Pete’s going to hear about it.
Does Pete know where William goes?
I don’t think he gets it, Brent says.
He’s going to get himself killed one of these days, Spencer agrees. Ryan is silent.
-----
No one will give Brendon any information on William’s daytime outings. He’s getting shut down at every turn and it frustrates him. After Andy takes him aside and tells him in no uncertain terms that he’d better stop asking around if he wants to keep his balls, Brendon decides to stop sniffing out clues from other people and go after William himself, just like in the detective novels his older sister used to read.
It is in this way that Brendon finds out that William's secret is named Tom Conrad.
Part 4
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
There are some men that hang around the playhouse. They're not customers, but they don't have a share in the profits like Patrick does. Pete says they're friends of his, but "friends" can mean a lot of things to Pete.
Spencer sees them hanging around and finally works up the nerve to ask Siska about them. Siska is quick to explain:
Andy is an anarcho-communist and he is heavily involved in pretty much every anarcho-communist organization in the city. He's a political activist that Pete met back in the '20's. He gives speeches to the disenchanted masses. He's good at talking people into letting him use their presses to print his pamphlets, which he presses into a person's hand for free.
Every couple of weeks, Siska says, Andy comes around with a new speech and some more pamphlets. Everyone gets excited, and Andy talks about human dignity and how we wouldn't be whores anymore, and then Pete comes around and yells at Andy and we go back to work and they go get a drink. It's like a tradition. He can't get rid of Andy, though, because Andy's the one who checks us for diseases every Sunday, regular, and no one but someone like Andy would check us over for free.
Huh, Brendon says.
Yeah. Sometimes he takes us to rallies. Siska's eyes sparkle. Rallies are swell. Sometimes they have to get broken up by the cops. Those are aces.
No one quite knows exactly what Joe does. He's a dealer, that much is obvious, but the boys have spent many an afternoon discussing the how's and the why's and the who-for's. Rumor has it Joe has connections in the Mob. Which Mob, no one is sure. The boys all know that their circus of a bordello is owned by the infamous Lucky Luciano via several under-bosses, but it's a subject of heated debate as to how tightly he controls what goes in and who comes out.
I heard of this gang, the Purple Gang. There was a newsreel from Detroit. I bet you anything the Purple Gang is the one Joe's with, the Butcher says.
Why d'you say that?
The Purple Gang-- Butcher pauses for dramatic effect-- is Jewish.
A kike Mob? Bullshit. The rest of the boys laugh.
Even if the Jews did form their own Mob, who says Joe's one of them? William says. Just because he's a Jew doesn't mean they'll take him.
No, no! It's got to be like with the guineas; you can only join up if you're one of them.
The debate ends only when the evening's duties demand their full attention.
-----
Somehow, it's not until the second week that Brendon gets roughed up by a customer for not keeping his mouth shut.
Will? Brendon gets nothing but low grunts from William's stall in reply, so he tries again. Will, I-- I got hit. Bad.
I'm busy, William calls with cold dismissal in his voice.
Can you-- my face feels-- he rasps pathetically.
Busy, William repeats himself more emphatically. Brendon hears the stall's other occupant warn William to stop talking so much. Brendon would stop; he doesn't want to get William in trouble, but his face feels like it's visibly throbbing. It's tender and Brendon is almost positive it's gone red. His side aches, his arm twinges where the customer yanked it back, and he promises himself that he'll go and see Andy as soon as he can. He has the rest of the night ahead of him, and he really needs a cold compress or three before his next customer.
Sorry, sorry. Just, Siska said I should get a rag, but I don't--
Aladdin's stall. Soak one in the barrel out back. William rushes his words and Brendon rushes away, but he still hears the ringing slap of flesh on flesh as William gets his reprimand.
Brendon finds a rag that's somewhat cleaner than the others and slips out the side door to soak it in the rain barrel. On his way out, he catches a glimpse of the show. Spencer and Brent are in the show at the moment, and Brendon sees enough to know it's a sex show. Brent and Spencer are dressed as ragged parodies of a copper and a show girl, respectively, and for a given value of 'dressed'. Brent has Spencer on his hands and knees and is driving into him, wearing that half-masked expression that has been solidifying on Brent's face like congealing bacon fat since Brent's first night in the show. William says it's normal, what Brent's doing, and that it will happen to all of them sooner or later. He trotted out some psychology terms like coping mechanism and voluntary repression that just baffled most of the boys, but he'd eventually made his point.
Spencer raises his head just enough to catch sight of Brendon slipping back in with the cold compress pressed to his eye. Brendon cuts his eyes to the floor and keeps them there until he gets back to the stalls.
-----
William makes a joke the next morning about matching black eyes. He assures Brendon that the mysterious Andy made the men pay an extra ten cents-- the damaged goods tax, the boys call it; they only get it when Andy's around to check for said damage-- that'll every cent of it be for Brendon and William, but Brendon's breakfast sticks in his throat and his stomach churns whenever he looks at William's bruised face.
-----
If Andy's around, Sundays are inspection day for the boys. He fought in the last year of the Great War and befriended a medic, so he's the closest thing to a doctor the boys have.
Andy tells Ryan a story one Sunday about legalized prostitution during the Civil War. Andy disapproves of prostitution on principle, but he says that inspections are the only way to prevent an outbreak of venereal disease. Ryan laughs at the part about the two hospitals.
Brendon is the only one in the playhouse who prays on Sundays. He has a cross carefully crafted from scrap metal hanging over his patch of hay and says his prayers every night. It infuriates Ryan. When Brendon prays, Ryan folds his arms and levels a blank, absorbing stare at him from across the stall until he's done praying. Brendon couldn't articulate why, but it doesn't make him want to stop praying. It makes him want Sunday to come more than once a week.
-----
Ryan's the first to learn to just do what he's told, to keep his head down and roll with whatever's thrown at him. Spencer follows Ryan's lead, and then Brent accepts it as well, and it's only Brendon who can't seem to understand that there are things that aren't allowed anymore.
Brendon can't seem tamp down his natural curiosity or buoyant spirits. Other people try to do it for him.
-----
William has a secret. He slips out of the playhouse at strange times of the day and returns with the smell of someone else on him. Pete would put a stop to it, except that it doesn't seem as though Pete has noticed. A lot of things escape Pete's notice, as long as the boys turn in their twenty cents a turn on a regular basis.
All the other boys notice; William's a cuddler, and when he's that close it's real easy to smell a stranger on him.
Brendon's curiosity burns; he can no longer distinguish between his innate exuberance and the spark of defiance that flames self-righteously in his chest.
Stop playing at being Sherlock Holmes and leave me alone, William says, flouncing off with his mysterious bundle in the direction of Pete's office.
Brendon vows to find out William's secret, no matter what it takes.
-----
The third day of her stay, Vicky T goes up to Pete's office. None of the boys see her come down, and she doesn't show up the next night, or the night after that, or the night after that.
What happened to Vicky T? Brendon asks Pete on the fourth day without Vicky T.
We don't get many girls that stay, Pete says.
Why do the boys stay and the girls leave? Wouldn't it be the other way around? Brendon presses. Pete cuffs him. Brendon stumbles sideways in surprise, holding a hand to the side of his face, but Pete is unapologetic.
Kid, you talk too much.
----
Brendon dangles his feet off the edge of the stable wall, sneaking sideways glances as he tells Ryan what happened. Ryan shrugs.
I don't know what you're complaining about. Pete told you not to ask questions.
Brendon sticks his tongue out and hides the twinge of hurt.
Well, a little smack isn't going to stop me from finding things out, Brendon declares. He slides off the stall and pretends he doesn't hear Ryan snort softly and say, idiot.
----
We get a lot of boys because it's much more dangerous for boys to be out whoring on their own, Siska explains. He switches the straw from one side of his mouth to the other. Brendon hugs his knees and asks,
Why?
I don't know, Siska sighs. Look, if you want a sociological discussion, go talk to William. He was at university for a few semesters. It's something about how when times get hard, things get harder for the people on the edges. The way I see it, the only thing further on the edge than a boy whore is a darkie one. Siska averts his eyes. There used to be a fella here, Travis. He was a mulatto. He and William were-- Siska glances around. There's no one in sight. He worries at the straw with his teeth. They were, you know. Close.
What happened?
Bad stuff.
What bad stuff?
Look, it's not-- Jesus, it's not something you talk about, okay? Siska protests, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He stands, brushing off his trousers as he backs away from Brendon. You really have to stop asking so many questions. You'll get hurt.
Did he--
No. No. We're going to stop talking about this, now. Siska turns and flees before Brendon can get another word out.
-----
One day, Ryan gets a letter. He opens it in the dining area, and some of the other boys crowd around, trying to sneak a peek. Attracted by the commotion, Spencer wanders over.
Who's it from? Bert asks.
Who knows you're even at this address? Quinn asks. Ryan is still gripping the letter in clammy hands, staring blankly at the page, so Spencer answers for him.
He sent a letter to my aunt the week we joined up. She thinks we've joined a little acting company, he explains bitterly.
Ryan looks up from the letter when his numb brain registers Spencer's voice.
Spence, he says in the smallest voice Spencer has heard him use in years. Spencer bends in to catch what he's saying. Ryan's next words are so soft that even from two inches away Spencer has a difficult time making them out. No one else hears a thing.
Spence, my dad died, Ryan whimpers.
Spencer herds Ryan out of the dining area and into the stalls, bolting the short door shut behind them.
-----
Pete lets Brent replace Ryan in the show, and gives Ryan the night off. Spencer bribes Siska into taking over his customers so he can be with Ryan.
-----
Spencer has to let Brendon and Brent in to sleep after they're done in the show; he can't very well kick them out of their own stall. He warns them in no uncertain terms, though, that Ryan is not to be disturbed.
This means only that Brendon will wait until Spencer's asleep to cuddle up behind Ryan. No matter how gentle Brendon's show partner is, Brendon can never force himself to relax enough to make the penetration anything less than unpleasant. More often than not, it edges toward painful. Brendon has taken to standing at mealtimes to spare his ass the pain.
A night with a new stage partner has Brendon feeling sore all over; Brent fucks differently than Ryan. After the first set, Brendon found himself actually missing Ryan on-stage. Offstage, he tries not to remember that and concentrates on settling himself against Ryan in a way that aches the least.
I just want to go back to when everything was normal, Brendon breathes into Ryan's neck. I just want to go home.
We don't have one, Ryan tells him, shrugging Brendon off. Go back to your own bed.
I don't have one, Brendon says. Ryan shoves him. Brendon rolls onto his back, wincing.
Don't get clever, Ryan snaps. You-- just stop, okay. This is getting old, this- this damsel in distress act. No one's going to rescue us. So just- just stop. You're not some heroine in a goddamned penny dreadful.
I never-- Ryan whirls around, blinking furiously.
Just leave me alone!
Brendon spends the night curled tentatively against Brent, who snores and doesn't smell as nice as Ryan, but who will nonetheless throw an arm around Brendon. And tonight, Brendon tells himself, that's really all he needs.
------
You haven't given up, that's the thing, Spencer explains later. You still think we're going to make it out, that there's some way we can come through this in one piece and have something waiting on the other side. You pray every Sunday. You haven't accepted that this is all we're going to get, and he can't stand that. Ryan's used to getting things taken away from him, okay? Ryan's got nothing left for them to take away.
Ryan's got us, Brendon protests. I'd- We'd never leave him. Spencer shakes his head.
That's not exactly up to us anymore. We can't do anything about it. He can't do anything about it. He can't be the hero anymore, because he's nothing. And he's not used to that.
Ryan's always a hero, Brendon mutters defiantly.
----
Brendon watches from the shadowy corridor as Ryan sobs into Spencer's shoulder. Spencer's saying something to Ryan, but Brendon can't quite make out the words from his position in the hall. All he can hear is Ryan's choked snuffling and the bass rumble of Spencer's voice.
In my experience, people don't cry when they're hurt or scared or upset. They cry when they're overwhelmed, William opines. Brendon jumps, caught.
No one asked you, Brendon grunts unhappily. He folds his arms over his chest protectively. He's feeling defensive in a way that has nothing to do with getting caught spying.
At last, you've learned something! William laughs meanly. Brendon wishes he had the guts to take a swing at William's face.
-----
Patrick looks up as Pete saunters in, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Pete reeks of alcohol, but his voice is as sharp as ever when he clapps Patrick on the shoulder and asks, What's the good word, Pattycakes?
There is none, Patrick sighs, tossing the pen on top of the accounts in defeat. He takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. We're not gonna make it this month.
Nuts! There's no way we're behind on the grind. Pete flicks the cigarette aside and comes over behind Patrick. Patrick feels Pete's hand warm and heavy on his shoulder as Pete leans across Patrick to check the accounts himself. Pete's breath runs past Patrick's cheek with a whoosh every couple of seconds, so Patrick doesn't need Pete's tightened grip on his shoulder to know when Pete's spotted how much they're in the red. Okay, okay, so we're a little behind.
This is bad, Pete, Patrick says.
A hundred or so behind, Pete continues, tuning out Patrick. That's not so bad.
Pete, it's bad.
Patrick can see the wheels turning in Pete's head as clear as day, but he has no idea where they're spinning off too. All Patrick knows is that he's not going to like it.
----
Brendon has qualms about the whole having-sex-with-multiple-strangers thing, but it's a part of the job and everyone has to do their turn. They do it in shifts, since the circus does a show a day. Every other day one groups of boys are in the show, performing acts off a list. Not all the acts are explicit sex; one of the boys, Mike, is educating Brendon in the mysterious and bendy ways of exotic dancing. Brendon is eager to learn any routine that will spare him the ache of penetration, but, to his great disappointment, Butcher has declined to teach him the mysterious and bendy ways of fire twirling.
On the off days, it's not so exciting. As the economy goes from shit to shittier, fewer and fewer men come to the pornocircus, leaving those on stable duty with more and more free time.
To pass the time, Ryan has begun to pester William to teach him what William learned at university. When William tires of expounding on philosophy and psychology, he sends Ryan away and Ryan returns to pester the other boys with his new knowledge.
No one ever calls us men. Have you noticed that? Ryan prods Brent. Brent has sprawled prostrate on the floor of the stall they share and is trying to sleep.
Well, we're not, Brent replies, shrugging into the straw.
You are, Ryan argues. I am. Brent shrugs again and Ryan presses his point. They keep calling us boys because it's a symbol of our inferiority.
You're right. Can I go to sleep now? Brent groans.
This is important!
Why, though? We're here, aren't we? Brent counters in exasperation. Ryan has no answer to that. We're some weird kind of prostitute, Brent adds. How much respect do you honestly expect?
Basic human dignity would be nice.
Yeah, well. We all agreed to this, okay? So please shut up with the fallen-woman stuff. I mean, this whole thing was your idea in the first place. Brent rolls over onto his side so Ryan can't see his face. I'm going to go to sleep.
------
William licks up the side of Tom's cock and curls his tongue around the tip. Tom is already leaking pre-come and William grins to himself before taking Tom into his mouth.
Tom's hand stops petting William's hair and grips a handful of it, tugging William further down onto Tom's cock. William brings a hand up to the base to keep himself from choking and hollows his cheeks. This elicits a breathy groan from Tom that has William's dick jumping against the fabric of his dress.
William's good at this. It is, after all, his job. It doesn't take long for William's talented mouth to bring Tom to a loud orgasm. William sucks Tom through the final bursts, then leans to the side to spit demurely.
Dollface, you're aces, Tom moans with a voice ragged around the edges as his breathing slowly returns to normal. William kisses the tip of Tom's dick. Tom shudders. His hands release their vice-like grip on William's scalp and he smooths his hands through William's hair. He pulls William up and they kiss languidly for a few minutes, each savoring the feel of the other.
Mine, William purrs.
I hate this part, Tom sighs as he hands the goods over to William. William slips him the money and hauls him back in for a searing kiss. I liked it better the old way.
This way we can meet up safely, William points out.
Well, I am grateful to Pete for sending you out to meet me every couple of days. Tom grins. Did he ever ask you why you were so eager to be the carrier boy to the infamous Johnny Lee's operation? Because I can tell you, Boss Nelson was curious as anything when I volunteered so fast.
William kisses the tip of Tom's nose.
Pete has no idea about the two of us.
That's funny. Neither does Nelson. Tom nuzzles William's neck in the one spot that makes William shudder in delight. We're a regular Romeo and Juliet, aren't we? Tom chuckles.
William would make a smart remark incorporating a Shakespeare quote from that very play, but he's far too busy having Tom suck on his tongue.
-----
Does it ever bother you? Brendon asks Ryan. What we do? Does it-- are you ever ashamed?
It's just a job, Ryan says. Just a job. Ryan's posture is hunched and tight. Brendon can't help wanting to touch him.
Oh, Brendon says in a small voice. He reaches tentatively for Ryan's arm. I just thought that--
No, you didn't, Ryan snaps, shaking Brendon off. You're just a repressed, spoiled little altar boy who got thrown into the real world and can't stand that some of us are used to it. Ryan storms off.
Spencer finds Brendon later and curls a soothing arm around Brendon's shoulder.
He didn't mean it, Spencer apologizes.
Yes, he did.
-----
Ryan doesn't mind. It's just a job, he tells himself, just a job. He doesn't care much when it's his turn in the stables. He hasn't gotten anyone terrible yet; mostly his customers are just formerly rich men who are angry and despairing at the loss of all kinds of freedom. Ryan thinks of them as the men the Crash destroyed. He gives them relief and control for ten minutes at a time; they give him fifty cents a turn. He gets to keep twenty cents for himself and gives the rest to Pete. Pete pays for all their food and lodging and sometimes manages to get them alcohol, so Ryan doesn't mind.
It's just another job, he tells himself, matching the rhythm of the words to the rhythm he's getting fucked to.
-----
William shuts the side door quietly and exhales like he's been holding his breath all night. He transfers a cloth bundle from his left arm to his right and spins around, knocking right into Brendon.
Jesus! William squeaks. You scared me.
Why do you always come in late after you go out? Brendon asks. Where do you go? William's bundle bulges strangely and Brendon reaches out to prod at the lumps. What's this? William slaps his hand away.
Questions, Brendon, William cautions tightly. He knocks Brendon in the shoulder, hard, when he passes. Burning with resentment and unsatisfied curiosity, Brendon watches William stalk up the stairs to Pete's office. He vows to himself to find out where William goes, and what William has in his bundle.
-----
I like the newsreels better than the movies, Spencer says once.
I know, Ryan agrees. I don't want to be coddled by a shallow pantomime populated by personifications of society's supposed values.
You need to stop talking to William so much, Brendon says, hooking his chin over Ryan's shoulder.
It's better than talking to you, Ryan replies as he elbows Brendon off. Brendon slinks away to the other side of Spencer.
I like the newsreels because they have all the gangsters, Spencer says.
We can go see a movie with gangsters in it, if you like, Ryan offers.
No, it's not--I mean, that'd be Jake, but it's not--I like the newsreels because fellas, real live people, they're doing those things.
Sure, sure, Ryan agrees. Spencer narrows his eyes; Ryan's looking over at Brendon.
-----
Whenever a few boys feel they have enough nickels and dimes to part with thirty cents' worth, they go to the movies and spend most of the newsreel admiring the gangsters. The way back to the Playhouse from the movie theater is inevitably fraught with heavy discussion of Mob knowledge. Who's who and what's what and who got bumped off by whom--every detail from the newsreels is rehashed half to death. Spencer in particular is utterly fascinated by the gangsters.
You want to meet one, Brendon guesses.
Oh, he wants to do more than meet one. Ryan smirks.
Spencer! Brendon gasps in exaggerated shock and promptly ruins the effect by giggling. Bet you'd like to handle a mobster's tommy gun, huh, Spence? Brendon waggles his eyebrows suggestively while William leers. Siska, Mike, and the Butcher all hold their sides, laughing fit to burst. Ryan laughs so hard he has to cling to Brendon to stay upright. If he holds on a little longer than is strictly needed, Spencer doesn't say anything.
Spencer tells himself he can't begrudge Brendon that.
-----
I'm a little worried about Brent, Brendon begins hesitantly, braced for Ryan to shut him down. Ryan doesn't disappoint.
We're not talking about this right now, Ryan replies with steel in his voice.
We never talk about it, Brendon grumbles mutinously. It's been going on the whole summer, but no, let's not talk about it.
Ryan shoulders roughly past him on the way out of the empty stall.
-----
((This business futzes everyone in the head, sooner or later, Patrick once confides in Brent and Brendon, watching as Ryan stands off against Pete. Pete, it futzed sooner.
What about you? Brendon asks. Patrick reaches over and smacks Brendon across the mouth.
Shut up, kid, Patrick murmurs, slinging an arm over Brendon's shoulders for a half hug.))
-----
Brendon isn’t learning like the others. He keeps getting cuffed for talking back or asking questions or just plain failing to shut up.
Ryan and Spencer and Brent watch him pepper Mike with questions about where William goes in the afternoons.
Stop asking, Mike warns Brendon. You keep pestering people, Pete’s going to hear about it.
Does Pete know where William goes?
I don’t think he gets it, Brent says.
He’s going to get himself killed one of these days, Spencer agrees. Ryan is silent.
-----
No one will give Brendon any information on William’s daytime outings. He’s getting shut down at every turn and it frustrates him. After Andy takes him aside and tells him in no uncertain terms that he’d better stop asking around if he wants to keep his balls, Brendon decides to stop sniffing out clues from other people and go after William himself, just like in the detective novels his older sister used to read.
It is in this way that Brendon finds out that William's secret is named Tom Conrad.
Part 4