Page 59 of C*cky Best Friend

Chapter Twenty-Five

Logan

Stuart owns a couple of lofts in Midtown Manhattan for new talent flying in to do a temporary show.

I’m rooming with five other guys, the 1800 square-foot space partitioned off. White walls are scuffed from what look like rehearsals, unfortunate dance blunders permanently etched into drywall. I can tell by the slant of some, the height of others, in the way they dig in.

There is a pinewood kitchen island where we make breakfast in the morning before what will be our first rehearsal. The apartment comes complete with everything you could possibly need in the kitchen. It’s a mishmash of styles which gives the impression that performers have left bits and pieces from their stays, behind over the years.

I pick up a silver-plated butter knife, twirl it in my fingers before placing it next to a copper fork in the utensil drawer.

Looking up in time time to see Elliott throw a banana at me. “Catch!”

As I peel, the memory of Marion reprimanding Samantha when she was eating one of these our other first day, returns. I take a big bite, frowning to myself.

Johan bounds out of his bedroom, another of the new cast members. He’s been flown in from a show in San Francisco I found out last night. “How did you sleep?”

I ask, “Me?”

“Yeah, I know how Elliott slept. Don’t I, Elliott?”

He gets a wink in response.

I chuckle, throwing the peel in the garbage, “That was fast.”

“What, you think I have to romance him first? This show could close tomorrow. And I know cool when I see it.” Johan opens the refrigerator for orange juice. “Where are Terrence, Joel, and that other guy?”

Elliott pops a crêpe into his big mouth. “There’s no coffee left.”

With everything he’s got, Johan screams.

Under my breath, I mutter, “That’s the proper response,” as I head for the shower. “Don’t worry, they’re bringing back more for everybody.”

He screams again only this time in ecstasy.

“What if I told you that coffee is bad for us dancers?” Elliott asks.

Johan counters, “Do you want me to stop fucking you?”

“Coffee is so good for us. It’s like vitamin C, only healthier.”

As I close the door I hear Johan dryly announce, “That’s better.”

This is the smallest bathroom I’ve ever seen and there are piles of mostly empty shampoo bottles, hotel soaps, little plastic containers those body gels use.

There’s a stack of fresh towels on a shelf above the toilet that could rival the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“Come on, honey. You’re not the only one who needs a shower!”

Casting a glance to my reflection, I shake my head and turn on the faucet. “I’m going to use all the hot water.”

“You better not!”

“Wait and see.”