Band Fags! (19 page)

“About…?” I sit on the edge of my brother's bed, waiting for Brad to Drop the Bomb on Me (Baby).

“About you and Alyssa,” he answers quietly. “And me and Luanne…Stuff like that.”

I barely recognize the tiny voice coming out of my Best Friend's body at this moment. In all the years I've known him, I don't think I've ever heard Brad sound so nervous…Or so serious.

Which is why I say, “Dah-dah, dah-dah.” Hoping to lighten the mood a little.

But he doesn't take the bait. Instead, Brad soberly continues with his story. “So Lou and I were both pretty drunk by that point…And we pretty much decided we both feel the exact same way.”

“About…?”

“Well,” he begins, “at first I just thought Luanne was rambling…But then finally she looked at me and said, ‘You know what, Brad? I don't feel anything for men.' So I thought about it for a minute. Then I said, ‘You know what, Lou? I don't feel anything for women.'”

After all Brad and I have been through—the JEH
Playgirl,
“If you were a girl…?,” plotting to seduce Mr. Grant—how could I not know this about him? Maybe he's just confused. I know how much Brad likes Luanne. Maybe by telling her he doesn't like girls, he thinks he'll gain her approval.

Or maybe
Lou
put him up to it?

Maybe she told him to tell me he's a Total Fag in hopes that I'll admit I'm a Total Fag, too. Then after Brad returns with the big news, Lou can use it against me. I wouldn't put it past her. Ever since I started hanging around with Alyssa back in the Fall, I've felt like Luanne Kowalski's totally had it in for me.

Which is why I ask, “How do you know for sure?” Just to be on the safe side.

“I don't know…I just do, I guess,” he answers. “I think I've always known since I was like 7 or 8 years old.”

I watch as Brad rifles through his memory in search of the perfect moment to describe exactly when he knew he was different. His face lights up as he finds it. Then he sits down beside me on the bottom bunk.

“This one time,” he says, “my Dad took me and my sisters to see Santa Claus at the Oakland Mall. And all three of them asked for the exact same thing…A Giant Barbie Head.” He looks at me a moment, waiting for confirmation. “'member the Giant Barbie Head, Jack?”

How could I forget? It was only the best present my cousin Rachael got for Christmas 1978. In case you need reminding, the Giant Barbie Head was this bust—like a bust of a President. She had this long, white blond hair you could comb and style and fix. And on the bottom of the bust was a little tray of makeup you could put on her face…Believe me, it was all the rage.

“Well, I wanted a Giant Barbie Head too,” Brad confesses. “But I knew I couldn't ask Santa Claus for one. Especially with my Dad standing right there listening to my every word.” Then he adds, “I didn't know
why
I couldn't,” sounding surprised. “I just knew it wasn't right.”

Which is the exact same way I felt about my Aunt Mary knowing what I had written in my Dear Diary about Donny Osmond. Though I don't tell Brad this…I allow him to keep talking.

“Anyways,” he goes on. “A few days later, I'm home helping my Mom in the kitchen, snapping green beans for dinner.” His voice takes on an easy tone. Finally Brad's beginning to sound more like his usual self in telling me his Deep Dark Secret. “When out of the blue, she asks what I want Santa Claus to bring me for Christmas.”

“What did you tell her?” I wonder. Though I think I can imagine his answer.

“For some reason—I don't know why,” he admits, “I felt like I could tell her what I
really
wanted was a Giant Barbie Head…So I did.”

I can totally picture Laura Victor-Dayton-Victor totally freaking out. Being the Good Christian Woman that she is. “What did your Mom do?”

“Nothing,” Brad replies. “She just kinda smiled and said we'd have to wait till Christmas morning to see what Santa brought me…Then she said maybe she'd call up the North Pole and tell Santa what a good boy I'd been all year long, in case it might help.”

I could totally see Laura Victor-Dayton-Victor doing something like that. Standing in her kitchen, singing her only son's praises to the dial tone.

“Later that night,” Brad continues, “I'm lying in bed and I can hear my parents arguing in the next room. My Dad's shouting, ‘I am not buying my son a goddamn Giant Barbie Head for Christmas and that's the end of it!'”

“Oh, no!” I gasp in response to Brad's spot-on impression of his father. All he needs now are the wire rims and the bald spot.

“Then when Christmas morning comes, lo and behold…There's
one
Giant Barbie Head waiting under the tree with all three of my sisters' names on it.”

“But not yours?” I ask, sharing in Brad's heartbreak.

“Hell no!” He laughs softly to himself. “But wanna hear the best part of the story, Jack? Later that morning when my Dad's taking a nap and my sisters are off playing with their Giant Barbie Head upstairs, my Mom leads me down into our basement.” The stairs creak beneath his feet as he travels back in time. “With a finger to her lips,” Brad says accompanied by a gesture, “she opens the closet door beneath the stairs…And guess what's waiting inside?”

“Your very own Giant Barbie Head?”

“All wrapped up with a big red ribbon and
my
name on it,” he beams proudly. “Of course, my Mom swore me to secrecy…She said it was just between her and me and I shouldn't tell anybody else about it. And I could only play with my Giant Barbie Head in my bedroom when my Dad wasn't home and my sisters weren't around.”

“Of course,” I reply, nodding and smiling like a Total Dork.

“But still…I got
exactly
what I wanted for Christmas that year and I didn't care if I had to keep it a secret.”

I honestly don't know what else to say. It took a lot of guts for Brad to tell me something as personal as that. And I'm so glad he did.

“You don't hate me now, do you?” he asks, becoming preoccupied with his lap.

“You're my Best Friend,” I remind him. “I could never hate you.”

Brad looks up, the biggest smile on his face I've ever seen. Then he sticks out his right pinky and says, “You have to promise.”

So I do…I link my pinky with Brad's and I promise.

“Well,” he says with a sigh. “Now that I've told you all this…Is there anything you wanna tell me?”

Where do I start?

Do I go all the way back to the Donny Osmond beginning? Or
Sooner or Later
Night with Rex Smith? Do I tell Brad the gory details about all the things I used to do in Private after reading
Now Let's Talk About Music
back in 9
^th
grade? I'd hate for him to think I've been keeping secrets from him for too long…Even though I have.

So I start with, “You know Joey Palladino, don't you?”

“Oh, my God…The Total Babe from Clarkston?” Brad gushes. “What about him?”

“Well, 'member back on Valentine's Day when you and Max invited me to go to the movies with you guys?”

Brad nods. “Uh-huh…”

And then I proceed to share with him the entire story…How I think I might be
like that,
too, on account of I think I might be totally in love with Joey Palladino. How I can't stop thinking about him. Day and Night. Night and Day. How every time I'm alone with Joey, all I want to do is do
things
with him that I've never done with anybody else before.

“I'm your Best Friend, Jack…Why haven't you told me this before?” asks Brad when I've finished my rambling.

I answer, “I don't know…” Even though I do. Admitting it to myself was difficult enough. I never thought I'd be able to tell another soul that I'm not what I've been pretending to be all these years. How could I tell my Best Friend? But I'm relieved I finally have.

“You know what you need?” Brad says, ever the Machiavelli. “You need to get laid!”

Easy for him to say…Brad's the only other guy I know that's
like that.
And he's my Best Friend so that's not going to happen!

How will I
ever
find somebody to love?

I feel like a Total Ass!

Why I ever let Brad talk me into these things, I don't know. All I know is…There's no way I can go out in public dressed like this, that's for sure.

“Why not?” he asks me when I express my concern. “You look totally awesome.” Peering over my shoulder into the mirror, he sizes me up. “Untuck your shirt.” By which he means
his
shirt. Which he informed me I'd be wearing tonight. So I am.

“I don't know…” There's something about seeing myself in white rolled-up pants and a totally baggy green and white pinstriped shirt buttoned all the way up to the top and hanging all the way down to my knees that just isn't me. “I look like a Total Fag.”

“You're supposed to,” Brad tells me. “We're going to a Fag Bar, aren't we?” Then he reaches into his duffle bag and pulls out a small tub of greenish-blue gook. He picks up a plastic water-filled squirt bottle from on top of my dresser and begins wetting down my hair.

“Watch it!” I shiver at the shock, my shoulders tensing up.

Brad scoops out a dollop of Dippity Doo and begins working it into my hair, which desperately needs cutting. My head bobs back and forth under his complete control. After he finishes, I look just like the lead singer from The Cure.

“Tah-Dah!” Brad exclaims, looking pleased with himself. “
Now
you're ready…”

How he and Lou ever found out there's a bar down on 6 Mile and Woodward that would let them in, I have no idea. But they've been going practically every weekend since they both came out to each other back on New Year's Eve. And ever since I told Brad I think I might
like that
too, he's been on my case to join them. Now that I've agreed, I'm feeling a tad apprehensive.

“What if somebody we know sees us?” I worry. “On our way into the bar…Or when we're leaving.” Even though I'm pretty much certain that I am indeed
like that,
I'm not too sure how I feel about being seen out in public just yet.

“If somebody we know sees us,” Brad tells me, “then we'd be seeing
them,
too.” Then he totally switches the subject. “What time is it?”

I look at my Swatch. “10:30…When's Lou picking us up?”

“Soon as we're ready…You ready?”

My answer to that question would have to be “N-O.” Still I say, “I guess…”

Brad picks up my phone, dials, waits a moment. I hear him say, “We're ready.” Followed by, “We'll see you on the corner in ten.”

We stand in front of the mirror, primping one final time. Though there's not much more I can do considering the gel in my hair is starting to solidify. Which is why I decide I'd better not mess with it anymore. What's done is done.

After spraying me with a spurt of his Lagerfeld, Brad tells me, “I'm glad you're coming with.” I watch as he scrunches up his new hairdo—long and curly on top/short on the sides, à la Simply Red. “We're gonna have a Total Blast…You know what I mean?”

Having never been to a bar in my life and having no concept of what goes on inside one, I can only ask, “What's so great about this place, anyways?”

“You mean the gay bar?” he asks. I can't help but notice how he says the G-word now with such ease.

“Do you really like going there?”

“Oh, my God…I totally do.”

“Why?”

I sense that Brad senses I'm a bit anxious. So he does his best to alleviate my fears. “I like it,” he says, “because I can be myself when I'm there…You know what I mean? I can wear the kinda clothes I like to wear.”

Like the all black outfit he's got on right now.

“I don't have to worry about the way I walk,” he goes on, “or the way my voice sounds when I talk.”

Like that faggy-sounding guy, Clayton, on
Benson.

“And it's the only place I can go and meet other people just like me…There's no wondering, ‘Is he or isn't he?' Or, ‘Is this person gonna think I'm weird if they know I like guys?' or ‘Are they gonna hate me?'”

Which I can understand and totally relate to from past experience.

“And when I'm out on the dance floor,” Brad continues, “in the dark with the fog and the lights, surrounded by all those guys—all those
gay
guys…I can see them looking at me. And for the first time in my life, I feel attractive.” He pauses a moment, takes a breath, smiles. “I've never felt that way before, Jack…You know what I mean? Like somebody I'm looking at is looking back at me, too.”

I know exactly how Brad feels…Whenever I'm out somewhere—shopping at the Mall or, say, at Cedar Point during the Summer—if I ever see a guy I think is cute, I can never tell if he's thinking the same thing about me. And it's not like I can just go up and start talking to him the way other guys do when they see a girl they're interested in.

Then Brad says, “Up till recently, I thought I was the only gay person in the entire world…It's nice to know there're other people out there who're
like that,
too.”

Eight months ago when we started high school, if you would've told me that Brad Dayton and I would be sneaking out of my house and going to a G-A-Y bar, I would've never believed you…But that's what we do.

Why we have to climb out my bedroom window, I have no idea. Brad claims we can't risk my parents hearing us leave. Even though he knows perfectly well that it's a Saturday night and what that means with regard to my parents! It's a lucky thing I convinced them that an almost-16-year-old boy needs his privacy! Now my brother Billy sleeps in our sister's old bedroom, Jodi sleeps in front where my parents used to, and they sleep downstairs in our basement.

Twenty minutes later we're driving in Lou's car, heading south on I-75…

“Have you talked to Alyssa?” Brad reaches over from where he sits in the front seat and turns down the radio. We're listening to “Smooth Operator” by some singer named Sade. Which is pronounced “Shar-Day,” don't ask me why!

“She called yesterday,” Lou replies. “We talked for like five minutes.”

“How're they liking Daytona?” asks Brad.

“We didn't get into it.”

“How come?”

“Duh!” Lou retorts. “Because Alyssa hates me now…What do you think?”

All this week we've been on Spring Break so Alyssa's been down in Florida with Cheri Sheffield and Erin Ahrens. And Kevin Ebersole. Not that I care, 'cause I totally don't. Though I can't say the same for Luanne. Not only were Brad and I right about her being a lesbian, it turns out she's totally in love with Alyssa and has been since she's known her. Which explains why Lou's been such a Bitch to me on account of I used to be her big competition. But now that I've pretty much joined “her team,” she realizes I'm not a threat anymore and she's actually starting to be nice.

You can probably imagine how Alyssa felt finding out her Best Friend's a Total Dyke. At first she acted like she didn't mind. Like it was totally no big deal. Even though she's Miss Religious, Alyssa's not the type of person who'd turn her back on her Best Friend just because she's a lesbian. That is, till Lou confessed she also had feelings for her. That's when Alyssa started freaking out. Of course, she went and told Cheri. Who made the mistake of telling her Mom, who's even more religious than Cheri and Alyssa put together. So now Cheri's not supposed to have anything to do with Lou. Or Brad for that matter on account of he also made a confession to Alyssa. Who went and told Cheri. Who told her Mom.

And so on and so on and so on…

Which is part of the reason I feel like I'm making a huge mistake by going out with Brad and Luanne tonight. What if it gets back to Alyssa and she tells Cheri? And what if Cheri tells her Mom—or worse, her sister—and Betsy tells my entire Sophomore class? Then what am I going to do? It's not like it's something I can take back once I've admitted it. “Guess what? I really
do
like girls.” Like Dolly Parton says in
9 to 5
after they discover Mr. Hart's still alive, “I musta made a mistake…” I don't think so!

What I really want to do right now is…jump out of the car at the first stoplight and walk all the way back to Hazeltucky. But from the looks of the area we've just driven into, that wouldn't be such a good idea.

“Are you sure this is safe?”

We've exited I-75 at McNichols, also known as 6 Mile. Nothing but burnt-out buildings surround us on either side of the road. Plus a few shady looking Party Stores you'd never catch me stepping foot in. Not even in broad daylight.

Which is probably why Brad tells me, “Lock 'em!”

Which is exactly what I do. I lock my door and make sure my window's rolled all the way up. “Why's the bar have to be down here in the ghetto?” I wonder aloud.

“You mean the gay-to!” Brad quips.

“Where else do you expect them to put it?” Lou muses. “Nobody wants a place like that out in the suburbs.”

That's when I see it…My first G-A-Y bar.

“Welcome to Heaven,” says Brad with a smile.

From the looks of the nondescript gray brick building, I would've never guessed it was “a place like that.” I mean, yes, there's the 24 HOUR ADULT VIDEO next door, and the windows are totally blacked out so you can't see in. But other than that…it looks like a perfectly normal business establishment.

Dodging the pools and puddles of recently melted snow in the parking lot/back alley, we make our way to the entrance where a bunch of people—mostly guys—wait in line by a door where a beefy Bouncer Guy takes money from them after checking their IDs.

“How are we gonna get in?” I whisper to Brad as we file into place behind Luanne. Being that we're both only 15-going-on-16 so neither of us drive yet, the only IDs we have are our Hillbilly High ones. And I never ever carry mine with me.

“Shut up and follow my lead,” Brad mumbles without moving his lips.

Clearly nobody's going to be stupid enough to think either of us is 18 years old and let us into a bar. Though I have to remind myself that both Brad and Lou have been here before. So they must know what they're doing.

“Donald…How's it hanging?” Lou says to Bouncer Guy as she arrives at the front of the line.

With a black magic marker Bouncer Guy scrawls a large X on the top of Lou's hand. “That'll be five bones,” he tells her.

Lou hands the guy her $5 bill and with that, she steps inside.

“Hi, Don.” Brad offers his hand to be marked with an X. Then he pays his cover and says, “Thanks.”

That's when I'm just about to do the same. Only Bouncer Guy doesn't mark my hand with an X when I offer it to him. Instead he sizes me up. “How old are you?”

To which I don't know how to reply. I mean, I could lie and say I'm 18. Which I know is the legal age to enter a bar. Though the way I look right now dressed in Brad's clothes, I barely pass for 12.

“He's with me,” Brad chimes in, coming to my rescue.

At which point, Bouncer Guy marks my hand with an X and says, “No drinking.” Then I swear he winks at us.

“Thanks,” I tell him, forking over my own Abraham Lincoln.

And in we go…

Up a flight of rickety old steps we climb, the totally dark stairway leading to God only knows where. This must be why they call it “Heaven,” on account of it's on the top floor of the building. But in spite of the name, the bar itself resembles nothing of what I'd expect the Home of Jesus to look like. No pearly gates. No angels. It's not even white. Instead, the place is kind of a dark gray/flat black with a nondescript bar on one end and a tiny pool table at the other. Not that I'm saying it's a dump or anything, 'cause it's totally not. But the place kind of smells. Like stale beer and cigarettes. And the music they're playing is like a Blast from the Past. Don't get me wrong, I totally loved Sister Sledge back in like 1979. But it's not what I expected to hear at a bar.

Brad and I find Lou bellied up to the bar. Behind it, a rather muscular shirtless guy with a look of stern seriousness on his face fills red plastic cups from a tap. His lower body's covered by army fatigues tucked into shiny black combat boots. I can't help but notice the six-inch dyed blue mohawk sprouting from the top of his otherwise shaved head.

“You wanna beer?” Lou takes out the black leather wallet she always carries in her back pocket. My Dad's got one just like it.

“We can't drink,” I reply. “'member?”

Brad whispers, “Lou's got a Fake ID,” again without moving his lips.

I start to remind him, “But the Bouncer Guy said—” Till Lou cuts me off.

“They don't give a shit what we do in this place,” she informs me. “Just as long as we spend our money.” Then she catches the shirtless muscular guy's eye. “Michael…How's it hanging?”