Flip in New York Ch 11
They move to the coop before Michael leaves
This is a fictional original story. All characters and places are made-up; any coincidental reference to actual is accidental. All sexual activity and discussion involves persons over 18. © 2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.
(Sorry: When I published Ch 10, I mistakenly put it in Erotic Couplings. You may wish to go there before reading this chapter, if you're following the story. For those who aren't following the story, Ch 10 is fairly important to the plot: Michael finishes taping Storm House with Flip's support; then Michael receives an unsolicited script for a Hollywood film and is invited to screen test for it [the script is detailed and is the base for some of what happens in the next few chapters], and Flip gets a call from Brent alerting him to the availability of a coop in the Montana.)
Michael...
My head was already thinking about Los Angeles, the city in which I had started my quest for an acting career. Sure, I wasn't entirely successful--in fact I wasn't successful at all in my own estimation. Being lured (was it really a lure or did I revel in the attention?) into the porn film industry had interrupted my quest--or maybe it was the end of my quest. I really enjoyed most of the porn filming. It taught me a lot about acting. Fuck, it was almost all acting and chemical retardants or enhancements! At least until the climax. And it had brought me Flip.
The New York stage had been "real acting"--as we were told so often in college. But two six week stints in very different plays--one a sexy drama, the second a sexy period comedy--had whetted my appetite. I was an actor. And a few critics even agreed.
The experience with Storm House--a reality TV drama--had drawn me to the possibilities and challenges of film. What you do on stage before an audience is it, the end. You don't get to "redo" that performance. But, in film, you get to try again and again, to perfect. And in reality TV you get a blend of the spontaneity of the stage and the perfectibility of film. You "grow" into a role in a stage play with each performance; the final film is the the final performance. You're not growing; you're already there.
So I was already "half-way" back to my original quest. But, it had never died. LA and the big screen were calling my name again. Why did I need an expensive coop in New York? It wasn't high on my list of needs or things that I wanted to spend time on. At least not now. But, how could I not at least look at the place that Brent had called Flip about? It was Flip's dream.
Our morning had been pretty special. And Flip was amazing. Every time he entered my body or I entered his, we were transformed into something else--a single organism that thrived on pleasure, the taking and giving of it. With the knowledge of how to take us out of this world and move us to the nirvana of orgiastic pleasure. It was close to heaven, I'm sure--if not heaven itself. Flip holds the key to that place for me, and I think I hold it for him. I never thought that I'd find anyone like him. He's a genuinely nice guy, with a terrific body and a talented cock. And he loves me!! He knows that I've got to go to California to take the next step. And he's even mentioned giving up his own career to follow. I would never make him do that, and fortunately, it is not necessary. I think I can do this, and then deal with the consequences later.
We are going to be apart for a few weeks. If by some chance, lightning strikes again, and I get to continue making films in LA, we'll find a way for him as well. If not, Broadway is also a place for me. The time in California for me will be the test. But, I think maybe we're going to go the distance--in New York or California. It's not likely that we'll be able to afford the Montana coop anyway. So I'm gonna give it everything I can--for Flip. I'm going to love it.
So, in our "new" parsimonious existence (Flip had always been the careful financial one, but now he had a goal--a down-payment.), we decided to take the subway uptown and walk over to CPW. Spring was full out in New York. New green leaves were poking out of the few trees; window boxes had the earliest tulips and the last of the daffodils; the sun was out; and, every dog walker in the city was engaged. I knew we looked good. You should have seen the stares we got as we walked hand in hand toward the Montana. Raw envy--or maybe something quite a bit earthier. I was guessing that more than one walker assumed each of us was someone they should know or wanted to know or at least might like to find in bed. But, when we entered the main door of the building, I'm sure they were trying to determine who we were.
We were on the list and were well-known to the doorman. He greeted us by name, and welcomed us to the building. (Fuck, he already knew we were moving in--even before we did? Even before we had decided?) So he called Brent to warn him we were on our way up to his eleventh floor apartment It occupied about a quarter of the floor, fronting on the park and stretching well down the south side.
For the first time, we looked at the small reception room of the building. Newer condos had flashy, large two-story receptions--that were there for only reason--to impress. This one was small but high-ceilinged, done in dark wood with little furniture. A threadbare Oriental covered the floor leading to the banks of bronze-clad elevators behind the vigilant doorman. Two red velvet covered chairs were for those waiting for rides, presumably limos. It simply reeked of very old money and class.
When we arrived, Brent was ready and anxious. He indicated that the seller of 10A was waiting for us. So we took the stairs down to the apartment, and Brent knocked on the polished mahogany door. We were introduced, talked for a few minutes and the seller left immediately telling Brent to flip the lock as he left. He wasn't going to make the cardinal seller's mistake of doing the tour and commentary.
The apartment was practically empty. Workers had repainted and the dark old wood floors had been polished. It was clearly being readied for showing. The owners had already moved. We entered a small foyer which opened into a large high-ceilinged room which occupied the outside corner--the living with a fire place and dining room, fronting on the park. The sun shone in through the six large windows filling the place with warmth and light. To the right, there was a small kitchen with a south facing window and the first of two bedrooms--once a maid's room with a small attached bath. By New York standards it was a reasonably sized room, but most would consider it little larger than a closet with a window. It'd make a good office.
And, on the other side of the living room was a large bedroom--again on the park with three windows. The bath had been remodeled into a genuine spa and was covered in travertine marble. I counted four shower heads--two in the ceiling. I could picture some interesting time in there. To us, it was palatial, clean--and probably untouchable from a financial standpoint. Not for two near-starving actors.
Brent read the statistics: corner 2 and 2, 1400 square feet, upgraded master bath and kitchen, combo living/dining; the piano, chandeliers and kitchen appliances all conveyed with the apartment; coop fees $1600 per month, asking $1,249,900. Then he added, "At that price this is an absolute steal. There'll be bids way over that if this place hits the market. And this is the most desirable building -together with its fraternal twin, the Dakota next door--for artists in the city. Artists, obviously, who had already made it. Present and past residents include Bacall, Paul McCartney and Yoko, Streep, Casals, Heifitz, Pavoratti and dozens more. There's no pool, no gym, no party rooms, or garage. But the doorman has been here for twenty years. And the coop board loves entertainers--unlike so many other buildings on the stuffy East Side.
I looked over at Flip. He was already dreaming of living here. His eyes were wide; his smile was broad; and, his brain was in another place. It was really special, I had to admit. It was a home with character, not a decrepit bachelor pad or a flashy new sterile box in the sky. But there were so many obstacles and the price seemed stratospheric to a boy who had been broke and in debt 18 months ago.
But Flip beat me to it. "We have to think about it Brent. This is absolutely at the end of our potential reach, maybe beyond it. And we learned this morning that Michael is leaving for Hollywood to film a movie with Marylyn Sleep in about a month. We still have to talk about what that means for us."
