Date: Sun, 6 Jun 2010 06:51:06 EDT
From: BertMcK@aol.com
Subject: Dancing on the Tundra, 7

DANCING ON THE TUNDRA
by Bert McKenzie
Copyright 2010

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to any real
person alive or dead is coincidental and unintentional.

CHAPTER VII

     "So Terry, you going to the cast party?" Wayne asked as the
boy stepped out of the box office and locked the door.  Wayne was
the house manager for the evening.  He was a tall, thin black man
dressed elegantly in a midnight blue velvet tuxedo.  At the
moment he sat on one of the lobby couches and waited for the show
to end.

     "I'm not in the cast," Terry replied, stating the obvious.

     "That doesn't mean anything," the house manager answered.
"Anybody who worked on the show is invited to the party.
Besides, it's become a tradition that cast parties are generally
open to the whole theatre department.  And of course lots of
people bring guests."

     "Well . . ."

     "Go get rid of your deposit and come on back to visit.  You
can keep me company through the show, then we can ride together
to the party."

     "Alright," Terry finally agreed, then hurried up the stairs
to the office to drop off the money and paperwork.  A few minutes
later he was sitting on a couch next to Wayne, telling him all
about the experience with Father Schmidt.  The house manager was
a very good listener.  His soft brown eyes set in a dark, hazel-
nut complexion seemed to put one completely at ease.  Terry never
had very much contact with people of different races or
nationalities.  While not segregated, his grade and high school
had only one or two blacks in the whole enrollment.  He thought
that he might be uncomfortable around them, but Wayne certainly
proved that wrong.

     "Don't worry about him.  He's just an asshole," the house
manager said in response to Terry's story about Father Schmidt.
Terry drew back for a moment, not knowing how to react.  He had
always been taught to respect the clergy, no matter what.  They
could do no wrong.  Now this kind, sympathetic stranger was
calling a priest an extremely disrespectful name.  Wayne smiled
innocently.  "Well, he is."

     Terry gulped a deep breath of air.  "Yeah, I guess he is,"
he admitted softly.  No lightning bolt struck.  No ominous rumble
of thunder could be heard.  The priest was only a man, and in
this particular instance not a very good man.  "Yeah," Terry
laughed as a big smile spread across Wayne's face.  "I guess he
is at that."

     The show played without an intermission and ended fairly
early.  Terry kept discretely out of the way while the audience
filed out of the theater and gradually made their way from the
building.  Wayne smiled and wandered through the crowd, being the
charming public relations person.  He chatted with several of the
regular theatre patrons as well as some of the college
administrators as they came into the lobby.  Terry watched his
charming and easy manner with envy.  He wished he could be more
like Wayne and less socially inept.

     He was about to grab his jacket when a deep voice spoke to
him.  "You're Terry Michaelson," it said, more of a statement
than a question.

     Terry turned to see Dr. Baker, the head of the theatre and
speech department standing nearby.  "Yes, sir," Terry said
uncomfortably.  He couldn't imagine how this important man would
know someone as lowly and insignificant as he.

     "Betsy has told me what a hard worker you are," the man said
in his booming bass voice.  He had a face seamed by character
lines and crowned with silver grey hair that ringed his balding
head like a laurel wreath on a Roman emperor.  "Why don't you
drop by my office some time next week.  I like to get to know the
freshmen coming in and welcome them to the department."

     "Thank you, sir," Terry replied.  He was pleased to hear
that Betsy thought enough of his work to mention him to the
department chairman.

     Eventually the crowd thinned out, then finally vanished.  A
lone security guard came through with an oversized key ring to
lock up the building.  Wayne turned out the lights in the lobby
and locked the house doors, then they slipped through the empty
auditorium and out the stage door.  A cold wind had risen from
the north and Terry pulled his jacket tight around him.  "Where
to?" he asked.

     "Where's you car parked?" Wayne asked as they stood close to
the building.

     "I don't have a car," Terry said in surprise.  "I live in
the dorm."

     "Well now how are you gonna give me a ride to the party if
you don't have a car?"

     "But I thought you said . . ."

     "Never mind," Wayne said in dismissal of the issue.  "We'll
just have to walk.  Come on."  He started off across campus at a
brisk pace, his collar turned up to the cold.  Terry shrugged and
then followed his new friend into the dark.

     It was a ten minute walk to an old Victorian house west of
the campus.  The building had belonged to an older family in its
younger days, but in the recent past it had been broken up into
two apartments, an upstairs and a downstairs.  Apparently theatre
people occupied both levels since the party seemed to be freely
distributed between both with people continually running up and
down the interior stairs.  Wayne and Terry started on the lower
level, but after a short time Wayne disappeared up the stairs
with a group of others.

     Terry felt totally overwhelmed by the party.  The small
rooms seemed to be crammed with people, most of whom he didn't
know.  As he stood nervously in a corner the cast of the show
began to trickle into the building.  Everyone was talking and
music was blasting from a stereo.  The whole environment was
almost more than he could stand.  Terry decided to leave and head
back for the dorm.  He quickly gulped the last of the beer in the
plastic cup that had been thrust into his hand on his arrival,
set the cup on a table and started for the door.  He had just
about made it when Sandy caught him.

     "I thought you weren't coming," she shouted over the noise.
He recognized her as the usher who had invited him earlier in the
evening.  He just smiled in reply.  "Where's your drink?" she
asked as she noticed that his hands were empty.

     "I haven't got one," he shouted back.

     "Well come with me."  She grabbed him with her free hand and
began to lead him through the densely packed bodies, being
careful not to spill the plastic cup of beer she carried or burn
anyone with the cigarette that protruded from her fingers on the
same hand.  They threaded their way to the kitchen which held a
huge silver keg in a tub of ice.  Sandy grabbed another plastic
cup and held it under the tap which was operated by the man who
played Sancho Panza in the show.  They then wandered back toward
the main room again.  The two finally found an empty corner by
the stairway near the front door where they could sit.

     "So why'd you change your mind?" Sandy asked with a
coquettish smile.

     "Wayne talked me into coming," Terry admitted.  The smile
immediately disappeared from the girl's face.  She turned away
from him and began to watch others enter and leave the room.
Terry felt strangely uncomfortable.  "This is some party," he
said with a smile when Sandy looked back in his direction.

     "Right.  Oh, hi Bill."  She jumped up and chased a tall,
attractive man into the crowd, disappearing from view.

     Terry took a couple of sips of beer.  He had to do something
with the cup in his hand even though he hated the taste.  He
nursed it slowly and watched the others in the room.  No one
seemed to take any notice of him.  After what seemed an eternity,
he finally emptied his cup, then looked around for a place to
dispose of it.  Seeing nowhere better, he put it on a small table
near the stairs, then made his way toward the door.

     "Terry, I'm glad you made it," Betsy said as she and a thin,
bearded man entered.  "How did things go tonight?"  She grabbed
Terry by the elbow and started to fight her way back toward the
kitchen.  "Terry, this is Jake.  Jake, Terry," she said over her
shoulder by way of introduction.  Jake, the man with the beard
nodded and docilely followed them through the crowds.  "I can
sure use a beer," she said as they stumbled into the kitchen.
"Jake?"

     "Sure," he replied from behind Terry.

     "Terry?"

     "No thanks.  I really have to be . . ."

     "Three beers, Charlie," she called out to a different man on
the tap.  Terry wondered what had become of Sancho Panza.

     Once they each had a full cup, Betsy led the two men back
down a crowded hallway.  "Now tell me everything.  Did the books
balance?  Were you sold out?"  Terry quickly assured her that
everything went fine, then he started to tell her about the
incident with Father Schmidt when a door beside them opened.
"Oh, good," Betsy said.  "A place of peace and quiet."  She
stepped in and Terry followed, continuing his story.  He looked
around in shock, suddenly realizing that they were in the
bathroom.  "If you have to go that bad I guess I can wait," Betsy
said.

     "No, no, that's okay."  He quickly stepped back into the
hall and the door closed behind him.  He saw Jake staring
directly at him curiously.  "I didn't know that was the
bathroom," Terry explained lamely.  The two stood next to each
other, sipping their beer in silence while the party continued to
wage around them.

     In a couple of minutes the door opened and Betsy rejoined
them.  "Now what were you saying?" she asked.  Again Terry
started to tell her about the priest but she interrupted him.
"It's too noisy down here.  Do you want to go upstairs?"  Terry
didn't know how to respond so he just shrugged his shoulders.
"Did you bring your pipe?" she asked Jake who nodded.  "Then
let's go."

     The three fought their way to the front door, then turned to
climb the staircase that descended right next to it.  It was a
difficult job to make it to the second floor since the stairway
seemed to be covered with people.  Whoever couldn't find a place
to sit downstairs had decided to sit on the steps.  Sometimes
there was just enough room to squeeze by if a foot was placed in
a crevice between two bodies, and sometimes they had to
completely step over a body and a stair step as well.  Toward the
top a man was sprawled out, the only place to step being in a
small space directly between his thighs.  As each one of them
climbed past he reached up to feel their legs.  Terry almost fell
when the man surprised him by pinching his backside as he stepped
over.

     "It should be quieter up here," Betsy said as she led them
to a closed door.  She opened it and a cloud seemed to waft out.
Terry was immediately engulfed in the sickeningly sweet stench of
burning leaves.  They stepped into another living room which was
not nearly as crowded as the room downstairs.  A large circle of
people sat around the perimeter and chatted quietly as they
passed several homemade cigarettes from person to person, each
one taking a deep lungful of the smoke.  "Room for us?" Betsy
asked as the three entered.  The circle of people managed to make
room and Terry found himself sandwiched between Betsy and the man
who had played Don Quixote.  "Now what were you saying about the
tickets?" she asked as they settled themselves on the floor.

     Before Terry could answer the man beside him took a draw on
the joint that was coming around, then passed it to him.  Terry
didn't smoke and never really had any desire to.  He certainly
had never had any experience with marijuana.  He sat holding the
rolled cigarette in his hand, staring at it.  "Smoke it or pass
it, man," Jake encouraged from Betsy's other side.

     Terry carefully handed the joint to Betsy who took a deep
pull and held her breath while handing it on.  She gave Terry a
curious look when he passed the burning leaves on to her.  "I'm
trying to cut down," he said.  This seemed to bring giggles and
laughter from everyone in the circle.  They didn't seem to be
laughing at him, but rather at the joke he had unwittingly just
made.

     As the giggles died out Terry finally managed to tell Betsy
about the priest and his tickets.  "We had those as a no-show on
Friday," she said, stating something that Terry had already
explained.  "What an asshole.  Just because he wears a funny
collar he thinks he's God."

     Another roach managed to make it into Terry's hand.  He
again passed it on feeling even more uncomfortable than before.
"This is really good weed, man.  You ought to at least try a
hit," Don Quixote told him.

     "Thanks but I have to go to the bathroom," Terry replied as
he handed it on to Betsy.  His stomach was beginning to revolt
from the three huge cups of beer.

     "Just down the hall, second door," Don Quixote told him with
a glassy stare.  Terry stood up and slipped into the hall.  "Or
maybe the third door," the man said, not even realizing that
Terry had gone.

     Terry stepped down the hallway to the second door.  It was
pulled closed but not shut tight, and the lights were off in the
room.  He reached his hand in to feel on the wall for a switch
and found it, flooding the darkened room with light.  Instead of
a bathroom, Terry was standing in the doorway to a bedroom.
Unfortunately, the room was not empty.  On the bed, two partly
clad people had been making out.  As the light came on they
sprang apart and glared at the intruder in the doorway.  It took
Terry only a split second to realize this was not the bathroom,
and only a moment more to realize the couple on the bed were both
men.  One of the men was the actor who had played Sancho Panza.
He was sprawled on the bed with his shirt off and his pants
pulled down to his ankles.  The other man was clad in only his
undershorts.  Terry mumbled, "Sorry," and quickly flipped off the
lights, pulling the door shut again.  As he stood in the hall it
suddenly occurred to him that he knew the other person on the
bed.  It was his former roommate, Gary.

     Terry ran down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the
door behind him and leaning against it.  Even here at a cast
party the perversion had followed him to again taunt him and make
him uncomfortable.  He stepped over to the sink and realized his
body was trembling.  Turning on the cold water, he splashed it on
his face, then sat back on the lid of the toilet, taking deep
breaths.  He knew it was time to leave and all he wanted to do
was quietly slip out of the house.

     Terry opened the door and stepped back into the hall.  As he
was about to walk down to the stairway the door just down from
him opened and out stepped Gary, now fully clothed.  Terry
quickly turned to jump back into the bathroom but as he did so a
thin, long haired girl slipped by him and into it, slamming the
door shut in his face.  "Damn," he said quietly under his breath,
then turned.  Gary was standing right beside him.

     "What's the matter Michaelson?" he said in a low, controlled
anger.  "Is this the only way you can get sexual satisfaction?
By ruining my love life?"

     "I . . . I'm sorry," Terry said as he backed into the closed
door.  "I didn't mean . . ."

     "You didn't mean to tell everyone in the dorm that I'm a
faggot?  You didn't mean to make it impossible for me to live
there?  And now that I meet someone nice you didn't mean to scare
him off?"

     "I said I was sorry," Terry answered, his own anger starting
to build.  After all, he didn't ask for this pervert to come to a
theatre party and bring back all the old feelings he was trying
so hard to escape.

     Just then the bathroom door opened and Terry stumbled back
into the girl as she tried to leave.  "If you guys want to fight,
can you at least let me get by?" she snapped as she stepped out
of the way causing Terry to fall back into the room.

     "Sorry," he mumbled.

     Gary pounced on the opportunity, jumping into the bathroom
and slamming the door shut.  "Is that the only word you know?" he
asked sarcastically.

     "What do you want me to say?" Terry asked from his position
on the floor.

     "I just want to know why."

     "Why what?"

     "Why you spread rumors about me?  Why you tried to ruin my
life?  I never did anything to you."

     "For your information I only told two people about . . .
about . . . you know.  One was Mother Barry and one was Brent.
Brent told Stewart and I guess it went from there."

     "Stewart?" Gary said, his whole demeanor changing.

     "And you're the one who started it by doing that in our room
while I was trying to sleep.  And as to meeting someone here, I
was looking for the bathroom.  If you want to do that stuff, why
don't you do it someplace else?"  Terry was so angry he was
shaking as he climbed to his feet.

     Gary was suddenly silent.  He looked stricken.  "I guess I
owe you an apology," he said slowly.  "I thought you told
everyone and it was Stewart."

     At the change in his attitude Terry began to cool down as
well.  "Well, I'm sorry.  If I didn't say anything to Brent,
Stewart wouldn't have known."

     "He'd have known," Gary said quietly.  "Who do you think I
was doing it with that night in our room?"  Terry's mouth fell
open as he dropped down heavily on the edge of the bathtub.
"Man, what a jerk.  And all this time he blamed it on you."  It
was all too much for Terry.  He felt completely overwhelmed.

     Suddenly a loud pounding came on the door.  "If you girls
are done in there I gotta pee," a man's voice said.

     "Give us a second," Gary called back.

     "I better go," Terry said as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

     "You okay?" Gary asked.  "You look a little green."

     "I'm just not used to drinking beer," Terry confessed.

     "Come on.  I'll take you back to the dorm.  My car's
outside."

     "No, I can walk," Terry protested as his stomach began to
revolt again.  "I just need some air."

     Gary helped Terry out of the bathroom.  Don Quixote stood
impatiently on the other side of the door and rushed in as soon
as they left.  Terry could hear the water splashing in the toilet
bowl and realized the man hadn't even bothered to close the door.
The two boys walked down the hall and then climbed down the
stairs which seemed to be a considerably harder job than going up
had been.  As Terry finally made his way out of the house the
building began to sway and the ground beneath his feet started to
move.  He lurched sideways but his former roommate caught him and
guided him down the walk to the old grey Chevy.  "I think I'm
gonna be sick," Terry said as he felt his stomach begin to spasm.
Gary helped him to the curb and held him while he vomited into
the gutter.  When he finally quit retching Gary handed him a
handkerchief to clean himself up, then helped him into the car.


     The movement of the vehicle disoriented him and he thought
he was going to throw up again so he closed his eyes and tried to
think of something else.  He concentrated on the ice and snow,
picturing the unblemished perfection of white.  The next thing he
knew, he was lying back on a soft bed and Gary was tucking him
in.  "Sleep tight," the boy said, "as if you had any other
choice."

     "Gary," Terry called, reaching out to grab his former
roommate's arm.  "Thanks, and I'm sorry everything got so messed
up."

     "I guess it's not your fault," a voice said close to his
ear.  "Now go to sleep."

                            *   *   *

     "Terry Michaelson," a loud voice called.  "Terry
Michaelson."  Terry opened his eyes and realized he wasn't dead.
His head throbbed, and he smelled like he really needed a shower,
but other than that, he was in one piece.  "Terry Michaelson,"
the voice said again.

     "Yeah?" he answered.

     "You have a visitor in the main lobby."

     It was the intercom.  He sat up and looked around to realize
that he was in the bottom bunk in his own dorm room.  He didn't
remember how he got there, but that certainly was where he was.
He slowly climbed out of bed and the room seemed to move so that
he had to grab for the bed post.  It was then that he realized he
was nude.  He hadn't remembered taking his clothes off, much less
getting into bed.  Terry stumbled to the wall and pushed the call
button on the intercom.  "Yes?" the box responded.

     "Who's my guest," Terry asked, his mind still in a fog.

     There was a brief pause and he could hear voices talking in
the background, then the main voice came back.  "A Paula Brown to
see you."

     Paula.  She was coming down for the show.  This must be
Sunday.  But she wasn't supposed to be there until noon.  "Tell
her I'll be down in a couple of minutes."  He quickly grabbed a
towel and wrapped it around his waist, then opened the closet to
grab some clean clothes.  Paula must be early.  She wasn't
supposed to be there yet.  He glanced at his clock radio on the
desk.  It said 12:07.  Terry took the clothes and dashed out the
door and down the hall to the bathroom.

     As Terry showered, the gravity of the situation occurred to
him.  He must have slept through his alarm.  That meant that he
had missed Mass this morning.  He had overslept and missed church
altogether.  He was a little surprised that Brent didn't come to
wake him.  Now he would have to go to confession.  At the thought
of confession he winced.  That was always a painful experience.
He could never bring himself to tell the priest about a lot of
what he had done that was sinful.  He had never told any priest
about sex.  It was just too humiliating.  And now he had to go
just to say he missed Mass.  Then Terry realized that the priest
on campus who would hear his confession was Father Schmidt, the
same man who had treated him so badly the night before.  Terry
wondered if Father Schmidt would go to confession and tell about
the way he treated the boy in the theatre box office.  Terry
decided right then and there that he was no longer going to
confession.  It just wasn't worth the emotional pain.

     He stepped out of the shower, dried off and dressed as
quickly as possible.  Then he headed back to his room to hang up
the damp towel.  As he stepped back into the hall he saw Brent.
"Are you okay?" his friend asked as he approached.

     "Yeah.  I just overslept.  Paula's waiting for me
downstairs.  Why didn't you wake me for Mass?"

     "Because I was at the jail," Brent replied.

     "What?"

     "Stewart caught that queer coming out of your room last
night," the boy said.  "I guess he must have snuck back into the
dorm because he forgot something.  Anyway, he started a fight
with Stewart and then John down the hall hit him over the head
with a pot he made in ceramics class.  Well, somebody called the
cops and John got thrown in jail.  I went down to try and get him
out."

     "My God, was anybody hurt?"

     "Just that queer.  They had to take him to the hospital,"
Brent said with a smile.

     "They took Gary to the hospital?  Is he okay?"

     Brent suddenly looked suspiciously at Terry.  "What do you
care?  He gave Stewart a black eye and a bloody nose.  The damn
faggot was coming out of your room.  He might have been stealing
your stuff."

     "Anything Stewart got I'm sure he deserved," Terry said
angrily, then turned to walk down stairs to greet Paula.