Rings Like a Bell
I.
Adonis Lounge
On Wednesday nights this bar turns into the Adonis Lounge. I have about twenty dancers coming. Lapdances, champagne rooms, shows until 1 am! a shirtless man tells us. Then, a swarm—men in nothing but their underwear and high-top sneakers. Patting each other on the back, lounging on the couches, waiting to be called up every seven minutes to dance solo on stage.
Hi, I’m Rich, a dancer says, gripping my knee. How are you guys? Maybe you’ll want to dance later? Tell us where else you dance, Rich. What else you do. Are you happy? Another club, mostly for women. These dancers are 80/20, straight/gay. I’m also a model. Hoping to book the covers for Instinct and DNA—that would be great. But I no longer have representation. My manager just wanted to party with me all the time. Which was great. Totally great. But I want to have work. You do what you have to do.
My friend goes to the bathroom and Rich gets up to leave, but first he looks at himself in the mirror. With his gaze still on himself, he asks me, Are my boxers okay? They’re a little askew. Down a few? Askew! Down a few? You’re right.
II.
The Iroquois Hotel
I don’t want this cheap beer that tastes like water. I don’t want this bed that feels like an operating table. I don’t want you to kiss me, it tastes like rusted metal. Outside I can see thousands of lights, and I am turning them off one-by-one except for Lobby. I think the concierge smiles at me as I leave, but it’s more of a feeling I get because I’m too afraid to look into his eyes.
III.
Then, the smallest shaking, like a dishwasher’s final cycle. It happens in Virginia but travels north—earthquakes ring like a bell on the East Coast an expert says. And isn’t that true of everything? An event that keeps ringing until it’s barely felt. Just part of our daily making. This, our making.
