[This story was inspired by the work of another Literotica member; see link
here
. I am grateful to 2words1fiinger for granting me permission to use his characters.
NYU is New York University, which is not part of the city university system.]
*****
Hakeem Yazbek was twenty-three years old when he arrived in New York City. He grown up in Dearborn, MI and had graduated the previous year from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor with a degree in communications. But his ambition ran in another direction, for he wished to be an actor. He knew how difficult it was anyone to get a break in that field, much less became self-sustaining and, beyond that, successful. The fact that he was of Lebanese descent also weighed on him. Would his Arab ethnicity be an asset or a liability to the fickle American audiences of movies, television and the theater?
The one person in his large family who believed in him was his Aunt Rima, who lived in New York. She would should say, "Look at Omar Sharif, he did it."
He would reply, "But he actually was Egyptian."
"All right, Danny Thomas, he was Lebanese. And so is Ralph Nader." He didn't point out that the latter was not an actor, although he certainly had a flair for self-dramatization.
Aunt Rima had some specific help she could offer Hakeem. She taught graphic design at the School of Visual Arts and over the course of more than three decades had made many contacts among the more hip layers of a certain generation of New York's cultural society. As a young woman she had gotten to hang out with Warhol during the last years of his life. She had social interactions with people like Laurie Anderson, Tama Janowitz, and Patti Smith. On certain days she had lunch with Tom Wolfe and his wife Sheila at the Regency Hotel.
Hakeem had some dilemmas to solve. He thought spending some time in New York would be good for taking acting classes and maybe getting some theatrical experience. There were also advantages to being in Los Angeles and at the center of American show business.
Wherever he was, he would need money to survive in an expensive city. A lot of aspiring actors and artists waited tables or tended bars while trying to gain entry into their fields. He did have a degree, but in a field that didn't offer the most lucrative jobs.
His Aunt Rima called him one day and told him she had made some inquiries around New York. She located several older women with resources who were willing to pay to have a handsome young man be their companion.
Hakeem asked, "What exactly does 'companion' mean? That could have a number of meanings."
"Of course it does, dear, it depends on the woman herself, her own ideas of what she needs from you. You have to be prepared, be flexible."
She had already lined up a couple of prospects for him, and when he heard how much they were willing to offer Hakeem was intrigued. Perhaps he could do more than merely survive in New York; he might also build up a grubstake to get him over any career setbacks.
Hakeem not only was good looking, he worked out frequently and his body was toned and fit. He had a sort of natural charm, a low-key but easy-going personality that had given him good results with women so far.
On his aunt's suggestion he decided to come east and see what the situation was. New York was perhaps a good choice for getting started; it was less insular and less dominated by the entertainment business compared to Los Angeles.
Aunt Rima advised him just before his trip, "Never refer to these women as your 'client' when you are with them. Just the word 'friend,' if need be, is enough.
**********
His first contact was a well-known actress named Cynthia Delta-Yates. Now forty-eight, she had come out of modest background in Sheffield, England and in her first fifteen years in the business had had a sensational career. She had won a best-supporting actress Oscar and a Tony award but then had more difficult times as she passed through and beyond her thirties.
Her husband of eighteen years was the famous actor Jeffrey McDonnell, himself the son of Hollywood icon Stewart McDonnell. Jeffrey was twenty-four years older than she was, but the marriage seemed to have gone very well until the last couple of years. Now there were indications that they were actually living separately although no official estrangement had been announced.
Among their several homes in various places the McDonnell's maintained an apartment on Central Park West a few blocks north of the Dakota. This was where Hakeem would meet Ms. Delta-Yates. He was very enthusiastic about it because he had been a big fan of hers as long as he could remember and he thought she was one of the most beautiful women ever to be in the public eye.
He considered how he would get there and turned down the idea of using either a taxi or a ride-hailing service. Even though only the door staff would see it, he didn't want to pull up in a yellow Nissan or a black Toyota. Instead he arranged with a limo service to hire a Range Rover for transportation that evening.
About six on a warm afternoon in June Hakeem was let into the apartment by Cynthia Delta-Yates herself. During the their greetings, which included her offering her hand for him to kiss, she said, "I've sent all of staff home tonight so we could have the place for ourselves."
Hakeem looked her over, this woman he had seen so many times on movie screens and TV sets. He thought of a line from Philip Roth, about what it was like the first time he met his future wife, Claire Bloom, "It was like a billboard had come to life." Cynthia was tall and voluptuous, and her hair was dark, almost black. People often thought she must be of Spanish or Italian descent although she knew of no such recent connections in her ancestry.
Tonight she dressed rather simply for a movie star. She had a sleeveless blouse, a cotton skirt that ended just above her knees, and a pair of white sandals. Her thick hair was simply styled and came down just below her shoulders.
While he looked her over, Cynthia was also looking back. She was pleased with her first impression of him but than an anomaly struck her. It seemed so unlikely that she had to lean forward a bit to check again. There was a small green parrot perched on Hakeem's left shoulder. While she was staring at the bird, it said to her, "Hi Cynthia, pleased to meet you."
"Oh, you've taught him to talk."
"He didn't teach me anything, I learned it myself."
Hakeem said, "I want you to meet my avian friend, I've named him JB."
"Ok, so what does, ah, JB mean?"
The parrot answered, "For one thing, Just-a Bird." Then he squawked and made a sound like, "Ack, ack, ack."
"What are those noises he's making?"
Hakeem said, "That's the way he laughs."
"He laughs?"
"Of course I can laugh. Hakeem, tell her what JB stands for."
"You see, he can actually sing quite well, so I named him after Justin Bieber."
JB said, "Not that I really like Bieber that much, he's sort of meh, but that's the name I'm stuck with."
Cynthia was not sure how to handle the parrot situation, "Maybe later we'll hear his, singing or whatever, but meanwhile, let's have drinks. The staff isn't here, but I'm quite the mixologist myself."
Hakeem said, "Just a glass of white wine would be fine for me."
"That's great, because I'm going to have a wine spritzer myself."
JB said, "I'd like a Manhattan, please."
"A what?"
"A Manhattan. You take some rye whiskey . . ."
"I know what it is." She looked over to Hakeem for guidance.
"That's fine, he can have one."
"Okay, well then, take a seat, make yourself comfortable, and I'll be right back,"
As she got up to get the cocktails JB said to her, "I'd appreciate it if you remember the cherry, please."
In a moment they could hear her moving things in the kitchen. JB hopped down and perched on the arm of Hakeem's chair. He said quietly, "So what do you think so far; going well?"
"Oh yes, she's even more lovely in person."
JB made a whistling noise, "I'll testify to that."
In a few moments Cynthia was back with the drinks. She looked a bit confused about what to do with the Manhattan. Hakeem gestured towards a coffee table and she put it there. JB hopped over and started sipping it.
Cynthia sat in a chair opposite Hakeem but she then looked at the drinking bird. JB realized he was being stared at and said, "What's the matter, you never heard the expression, 'wetting my beak?' "
"No, I can't say that I have."
