The Tea Room

 

The tea room was full as usual. It was 10 ‘o clock p.m.; just the right time to pick up.
I usually went to their place but could use my own flat if need be.
I’m Terry by the way and I’ve been doing this for the last four
years since I was sixteen. Brooklyn isn’t the easiest place to grow
up, and after flunking all my exams at high school, I started
tricking. I’ve had plenty of tricks, or clients to give them their
proper title, and managed to stay out of the clutches of the cops
apart from one or two minor skirmishes. There were some sweaty guys
in tonight, hunks I suppose, plenty of muscle in their tank tops, and
denim jeans packed with ass.

 

I nudged my way in and combed my hair in the mirror on the tea room wall. I have thick, dark
blond hair, blue eyes and a slim body, not as many muscles as some of
these big guys but I’m strong enough. Anyway I get no complaints. I
keep coming all night, do A and O and always wear a condom. Ever
since AIDS hit in the eighties me and my friends are very health
conscious. We have to be. We may live on the edge but we want to
survive. A couple of the big guys at the urinals started to talk and
soon hooked up. They left together. I was still combing my hair. It
was an art I had perfected. I could do it for twenty minutes, just
eyeing them all up in the mirror, seeing if I could get a trick.

 

Then someone came in I was definitely interested in. He was about my age, dark, black hair
with brooding good looks - my perfect man. He spoke first.

“Hi,” he said, “you got the time?”

So I put my patter into operation. “Why no, but I’ve got a big clock back home.”

“I’ll come right along with you then.”

Once out of the tea room he asked me to go to his place; so we did. He asked the price
and I told him it was fifty dollars. I usually only did an hour for
that but this guy was so hot I’d have stayed all night.

 

* * *

 

Father Donohue knocked on the front dor of 12A Abraham Lincoln Flats. Aiden, Terry’s
neighbour, could hear him. Aiden was Terry’s friend, a bit older
than him and probably quite a lot wiser. He didn’t like Terry
tricking but it wasn’t his life, he could only listen when Terry
got into trouble, give good advice, then cool off. Aiden stepped into
the hallway.

“Oh hello, Father Donohue. I think Terry is out.”

It was ten o’ clock in the morning and from what he could gather Terry had been out all
night again.

“Can you tell him I called? His sister Angela asked me to see him.”

“Sure thing, Father.”

Father Donohue was attached to the church of Our Lady of the Mystical Rose. Just then
Terry appeared in the hall. Aiden retreated quietly back into his flat.

“Oh I’m glad I’ve caught you,Terry. Angela asked me to call.”

“Did she?” retorted Terry, already suspicious of his sister’s well-intentioned interference.

“Come in, Father.

 

They both entered Terry’s rather bargain basement flat. There had been no money to
spend on luxuries and it was all a bit sordid. Terry pushed his dog
Chuckles off the sofa to make room for the cleric.

“Angela is worried about you, Terry.”

“Well she needn’t.
I can look after myself.”

“There are a lot of bad people out there, Terry, believe me. She thinks you may encourage
the wrong types.”

“That’s my business, Father. I know good guys.”

“But the way of life, Terry, what can it bring but unhappiness?”

“I’m busy, Father. I think you better go now.”

“Christ’s door is always open, remember that, Terry. I only want the best for you. If
you have any worries please come to me.”

“Thank you, Father. I will remember.”

Father Donohue was bundled out of the flat and Terry quickly lit up a spliff. Christ,
whatever next. They’ll expect me to grow wings. This is all about
money and survival. What does Father Donohue know about anything?

 

* * *

 

I approached the tea room about the usual time, any earlier and you’d see really young
guys, ten, eleven, twelve, just looking for trouble. I didn’t go in
for that sort of thing. It wasn’t my scene. Eric was in; he was an
older guy, about fifty, and I’d done him a few times, but I
wouldn’t say anything tonight; see if any new tricks appeared. I
wasn’t in five minutes and a rather swarthy guy appeared, about
thirty, denim waistcoat and jeans, a cigarette butt hanging from his
mouth. He came over to me straightaway. “I’ve been watching you,”
he said.

“Oh,” I said. “I haven’t noticed you before.”

“I see you in the street, walking your dog on Madison.”

“Oh I see, fancy tricking?”

“Why not. Come to my place. It’s on West Side.”

We wove our way through the streets. Electric light spilled out of the still open cafes and
bars. We arrived at the guy’s pad about 10.45 p.m.

“I’ve got something special I want to show you,” he said. “It’s my trophy room.”

 

It was a room full of weaponry: samurai swords, daggers with jewel-encrusted hilts, guns,
plenty of automatics, Smith and Westons, all sorts. This was a bit
scary. I thought of Father Donohue’s words, you encourage all
the wrong types; I thought for the first time he was right. I
didn’t want to do the trick. How could I get out of this? I
said,”can I go to the bathroom?” hoping against hope I could make
a getaway from the bathroom window. Once inside I locked the door and
pushed open the window. There was a drain pipe to the side of the
window and we were only one floor up thank God. I grabbed the pipe
and clung on for dear life. Just then I heard knocking on the
bathroom door. He was trying to get in. I eased my way down to the
ground and was off. I didn’t want to stop in this place. Damien, as
he called himself, to my mind was a devil with very little disguise.
I got home about midnight, as I had to cross town and there was no
transport after eleven o’ clock.

 

* * *

 

Aiden was in the hallway.

“I’v been waiting for you, Terry. Remember you said we’d have a few beers tonight.”

I had completely forgotten, as soon as I’d seen Damien. I knew I had to see Father
Donohue, but it was too late tonight. Somehow I felt threatened for
the first time in all the time I had been tricking. I told Aiden
everything and he could see I was freaked out. What if that guy came
in the tea room again? At least I knew his address, but it was
against the code to tell a priest anything about your clients. I was
torn in two. Could Father Donohue do anything to help?

 

* * *

 

I called at the church of Our Lady of the Mystical Rose about eleven the next morning.
Father Donohue agreed to see me and suggested confession. I realized
anything I said in confession would be strictly confidential so I
agreed to it and told him everything. Possibly I was being naive; I
really needed to be speaking to the police but I had sworn a private
oath never to squeal to the cops. Father Donohue advised me the best
way he thought possible, but I knew I couldn’t do what he said. It
was against all the rent boy codes. I was not going to renege. This
guy said he had been watching me which meant he probably knew where I
lived. But then why should he kill me? I was being hysterical. Maybe
he was a bad guy but I’d met plenty before and while none had been
angels none of them had had it in for me. I must go on as normal, everything
would be okay. Father Donohue said he would pray for me. I believed
some of that crap. Maybe there was a God that loved us after all.

 

* * *

 

I was not going to change my plans. I would go to the tea room as normal but tonight I’d
carry a weapon, just in case; a small handgun for protection. I
arrived at ten o’ clock and it was deserted. Where were all the
regulars? Then I realized it was mardi gras night, all the guys would
be there. Not much point in hanging around tonight. As I turned
around he was upon me. It was Damien. I went to get my gun but he
grabbed it off me before I could fire. He then withdrew a huge dagger
from a jewelled scabbard beneath his jacket and plunged it into my
heart. “I hate your kind,” he said. Blood oozed onto the tea room
floor, now the scene of murderous slaughter. A sordid, grey rat
scurried across the tiles and out into the dark of the night, my last
night on this earth. In my dying breath I wondered if Father Donohue
would break the priest’s code of the confessional. If not it would
be upto Aiden to tell all he knew. Either way that guy would just not
get away with it.