Authors: Frank Anthony Polito
Bartender Guy reaches out a hand. I observe him and Lou as they perform this whole complex shake, ranging in moves from regular to soul brother to fingertips cupped together, culminating in thumb and middle finger raised to lips as they take a hit off an imaginary joint.
“What can I get you?”
“Three Labatt's,” Lou orders.
“Sure thing,” he replies with a smile. Followed by, “I just need to see some ID.”
At which point, I figure we're totally busted. But Lou proudly forks over the Fake ID she got from God only knows where. Bartender Guy looks at it, nods. Then he reaches into a refrigerated cooler behind the bar and removes three green glass bottles.
“Works every time,” Lou beams with manly pride.
I can't even believe Bartender Guy thinks for one second that the photo of the 35-year-old woman in Lou's Fake ID is really her. Though maybe it's more of a formality. That way if the bar gets busted for serving minors, they can at least say they checked ID and it was too dark to tell it was fraudulent.
“Bottoms up,” Bartender Guy tells us after he's opened each bottle with his trusty opener. And for some reason, he looks right at me when he says it! Even though the thought of drinking a beer right now totally disgusts me, I graciously accept the Labatt's that Bartender Guy slides my way.
“Cheers!” Lou toasts and we clink our bottles together and drink.
“Thanks, Mike.” Brad smiles timidly, leaving a couple dollars on the bar.
“What's that for?” I ask, having no idea.
“Duh! It's called a tip.”
I'm about to say,
How was I supposed to know? I've never been to a bar,
when Bartender Guy addresses Brad.
“Well, if it isn't Chicken Little,” he says, working his square jaw on a piece of what smells like cinnamon Dentyne. Then he says, “Who's this?” Totally looking at me again.
“This is my Best Friend,” Brad announces. “Jack.”
Bartender Guy cocks his head to one side. “Hello, Best Friend Jack,” he says slyly. Like he's totally hitting on me! “This your first time?”
To which I simply nod and say, “Uh-huh.”
There's something about Bartender Guy that reminds me of somebody. Not just from a movie or television. Somebody I've actually
seen
somewhere before. Though I can't imagine where I would've ever met a guy like him. By which I mean a totally hot one. And if I did, would I ever really forget?
I just about shit my pants when Bartender Guy says next, “I
thought
you were a Virgin.” Till I realize he means Bar Virgin. Then he adds, “I'd never forget a cutie like you.”
If I didn't know better I'd think Bartender Guy was flirting with me. But that can't possibly be the case. I mean, he's got to be at least 25 years old. And I'm just a 15-going-on-16-year-old
boy.
“Is that guy reallyâ¦
you know?
” I ask Brad after Lou ditches us to go talk to some chick she's totally hot for and Bartender Guy moves on to help somebody else.
“Who, Mike?” he answers. “Totally.”
I can't even believe a guy who looks like that is
like that.
I thought all gay guys were totally effeminate and prissy. Maybe Brad's sister Janelle is right about the Village People after all.
We cross to the other side of the room near the pool table, a series of black-and-white framed photos hanging on the wall behind us. One of which shows this totally muscular guy, with his shirt off and holding a pair of steel-belted radials, called “Fred with Tires”; it was taken by some photographer I've never heard of, Herb Ritts.
Brad lights a cigarette and makes himself look available. “Mike's what I like to call SWBâ¦Short with a Bod.”
“He reminds me of somebody,” I say, still obsessed with the fact that I can't figure out how I know Bartender Guy.
Which is when Brad replies, “He totally looks like that guy from
Risky Business
to meâ¦Only with a mohawk.”
Which is when it hits me. He
does
look like that guy from
Risky Business.
Who also happened to play a football player in that movie
All the Right Moves.
Which leads me to conclude that the totally hot Bartender Guy is none other thanâ¦Audrey's ex-HPHS football player/brother from the photo, Mike Wojczek. Though I don't tell Brad any of this. I wonder if Audrey knows. I'd hate to be the one to inform her. And how would I explain how
I
know?
By the time Mike shouts out, “Last Call!” around 1:40 AM, I'm definitely more than a little tipsy. Luckily, Lou has no problem holding her liquor and she gets us home all in one piece.
Back at my houseâ¦
I change into my sweatpants and my blue Bruiser T-shirt while Brad busies himself in the bathroom. I pray to God he doesn't wake up my parents banging around in thereâwasted! One thing I know for sure isâ¦I'm too tired to climb the ladder up to my bed. So I plop down on the empty bottom bunk below waiting for Brad's return.
After a moment, I hear him struggling with the flimsy accordion-style door. Then I hear his voice in the dark say, “Soâ¦Did you have a nice time tonight?”
I barely have it in me to speak, I'm so sleepy. Still I manage to reply, “It was okay.” Then I admit, “I felt kinda strange at first, being surrounded by all those guys.”
Brad scoffs. “What are you talking about?” He plops down on the bed beside me. “That's the best part!”
“And that weird guy asking me to dance,” I say, having a sudden flash of memory of the men-infested dance floor. Talk about being the furthest thing from a junior high Fun Night!
“You mean Bruce?” Brad laughs. “He told me he thinks you're kinda cute.”
“Gross!” I say. Though it's a little fuzzy now, I seem to remember Bruce mentioning he's 30. Which is a year younger than my Mom. “He's totally old.”
“Didn't you think Bruce was totally Mr. Klan when you first saw him?” asks Brad. He's referring to our Hillbilly High Band teacher. “I did.”
“Oh, my Godâ¦You're right!” The entire time I kept thinking he reminded me of
somebody.
At first I thought it was John Ritter from
Three's Company,
only with glasses and a mustache.
“Wouldn't that be a scan-jul?” Brad says.
I wouldn't be surprised if we did run into Mr. Klan at the bar. Like I've said, a lot of people
do
think he's a fag on account of he's over 35 and he's never been married. He also likes to tell us to “Squeezeâtheâmarble” during Marching Band practice. Supposedly so we have better posture, but stillâ¦It's kind of a faggy thing to say, don't you think?
“You don't have to worry about Bruce,” Brad assures me. “I told him you were my boyfriend.” Which totally catches me off guard.
“What'd you do that for?” I ask, not appreciating his chivalry.
“I don't knowâ¦I could tell he was bugging you.”
“I don't want people thinking I'm your boyfriend!” I blurt out.
To which Brad retaliates, “Why? I'm not good enough for you? Thanks a lot!” Then he totally steals the pillow out from under me and hits me with it. “This is my bedâ¦Yours is up there.”
“But I'm too sick to climb the ladder,” I groan.
“You're not sick, Jackâ¦You're wasted.”
“I'm not wasted,” I protest. So what if I slur my words a little?
“Whatever,” Brad replies. Then he rolls over, elbowing me in the face.
“Watch it!” I elbow him back before reclaiming the pillow.
“Get your own,” he says, tugging it away from me.
“Shut up!” I wail, yanking with all my might and hitting him in the face.
“Ouch!” He hits me back.
“Cut it out!” I hit him back.
Back and forth we continue beating on each other, like College Sorority Girls. Till I accidentally-on-purpose knock Brad onto the floor where he lands with a THUD.
“Are you okay?” I lean slightly off the bed, trying to see him. Which isn't easy considering my room is pitch dark. Which is when Brad grabs my arm and pulls me downâright on top of him.
I say nothing.
Neither does Brad.
I also don't move.
Neither does he.
It's got to be on account of we're both drunk. Otherwise, why are we still lying here like this, eyes closed, breathing as one? I keep thinking about what Brad just said a minute ago. About telling that guy Bruce I'm his boyfriend.
I mean, just because Brad's
like that
and allâ¦That doesn't mean, if I should decide I definitely am
like that
, tooâ¦That doesn't mean we should be
boyfriends,
does it?
I think I'm going to be sick.
“You can dip your foot in the pool but you can't have a swim
You can feel the punishment but you can't commit the sin⦔
âHoward Jones
I can't even
believe
this shit!
It's bad enough I've got kids at school thinking I'm a Total Fag. Now check this outâ¦
Dear Jackie,
Your probably wondering why I've been so upset for the past few days. Please understand this is a hard thing for me to talk about, so I'm writing a letter to you instead. I can't even believe this is really happening to us. I feel like we're living in a bad TV movie of the week. I keep hoping it's all a dream and I'll just wake up.
I know how you feel about Joey. Ever since he started coming over here again, I noticed you been acting different. Then I found the Valentine's Day card he gave you in your room so I figured this had to be the case.
I know what your going through right now is one of the most difficult things that can happen to a person. But you have to realize there are other people who won't feel the same way, if they know. You don't know this but my Uncle Dick was gay. When I was little, he used to bring his boyfriends over our house all the time and I could see how uncomfortable it made your Grandpa Guff feel.
Maybe this is all my fault. I had you when I was so young. Maybe I babied you too much. But please believe me when I say I still love you and always will, no matter what.
Love, Mom.
PSâPlease come to me if you want to talk.
Which is exactly what I'm about to doâ¦
“Mom!” I burst out of my room to find her in the kitchen, hands in a bowl of raw meat, mixing up a meatloaf. “What is this?” I ask, practically waving the letter in her face.
She begins sniffling uncontrollably. Her nose turns red. Tears well in her eyes. Then she loses it. “I'm sorry,” she apologizes, upset.
If there's one thing I can't stand more than disappointing a teacher, it's seeing my mother cry. But at this point, I don't give a damn. I'm totally pissed!
“You've obviously made a mistake,” I tell her, “'cause I don't know what you're talking about or why you would even think such a thing.” I can't continue letting my Mom think there's something going on between me and Joeyâ¦Even though I might want there to be.
“Okay⦔ I watch as she scrapes pink hamburger from between her wedding ring and her fourth finger. “I just thought⦔ Then she trails off.
“Thought what?” I demand to know, not about to let her off the hook so easily.
“When you were littleâ¦The way you used to⦔
“Used to what?” I ask. Now I wonder what exactly my Mom's driving at.
Maybe it's got something to do with my playing
Brady Bunch
and
Charlie's Angels
with my cousins Rachael and Rhonda when I was a kid. Or maybe my Aunt Mary told her about my Dear Diary Donny Osmond entry all those years ago. Or maybe she finds my recently revived interest in Rex Smith's
Sooner or Later
a bit reprehensible?
Nevertheless, she dismisses me. “I have to finish making dinner before Dad gets home.” Then she goes back to what she was doing before I came waltzing in and interrupted her. “We can talk about this later.” She plops the pale blob into the loaf pan and begins patting it into place.
“There's nothing else to talk about,” I inform her. Then I storm out of the room.
How long has my own mother felt this way about me? All of my life? And if so, why hasn't she said anything up till now? Why did it take my hanging around with Joey Palladino these past two months to trigger this?
Unlessâ¦
A few nights ago, I was home in my bedroom working on my homework for Mrs. Malloy's 1st hour English when the phone rang. My parents have gotten to the point where they won't answer it anymore 'cause it's always somebody calling for me or my sister. At age 11, Jodi's starting to rival me for most calls in a single day. After the third ring, I set aside my copy of
The Fall of the House of Usher
and lifted the receiver from my wall.
Before I got the chance to say anything, I heard my Dad on the other end of the line. “I think Jack's in his roomâ¦Let me get him.”
Then I heard, “Actuallyâ¦Is Mrs. Paterno around?”
To which my Dad replied, “Hold on.” Followed by, “Dianne, it's Alyssa.”
Before my Mom had a chance to catch me eavesdropping, I hung up. Even though I felt a little whatever about Alyssa calling my house wanting to talk to her, it's not like we're going together anymore so it was probably none of my business.
I continued with my homework for another twenty mintues or so. Till I started getting hungry and decided to take a break. My Dad always keeps a stash of Fritos or Cheez Balls on top of our refrigerator in the kitchen. All of which are totally off-limits to me and my friends. But I usually sneak a few when I'm home studying by myself and he never seems to notice.
I was just about to head into the kitchen when I noticed my Dad and my sister and brother in our living room. “Your show's on,” he told me when I poked my head in to see what they were watching on TV.
“Huh?” I said, having no idea what he was talking about.
“Mike Seaver,” he replied. By whom he meant Kirk Cameron. Ever since I made the mistake of growing my hair out a little, that's all I hear. “You look just like that kid from
Growing Pains.
” Which I've never even seen.
Which is why I changed the subject. “Where's Mom?” I figured maybe she was off shopping somewhere with my Aunt Mary or Aunt Sonia or something.
“She went out,” my Dad answered, digging into his front T-shirt pocket, cellophane crinkling as he retrieved what had to be his twentieth Kool since he got home that day. With a SNAP from his silver Zippo, he lit the cigarette.
I held my breath. “Where'd she go?” I asked, trying not to breathe in any of the smoke my Dad had just exhaled into the room.
“I'm not sure,” my Dad told me, totally vague. Then he added, “She'll be back.” A cloud of smoke wafted about his head. Meanwhile, my poor little brother and sister sat there, their tiny little lungs being contaminated with Cancer.
Being the nonconfrontational son I am, I said nothing else. I simply grabbed myself some Pringles and returned to my Poe.
An hour or so later my Mom came home. But did she say anything to me about where she'd been? Hell no! In fact, she barely said anything to me at all before she went to bedâearly. Which is something she never does till at least 11:00 PM. So I figured something had to be up. What the Hell could it be?
Now I know!
This afteroon around 3:30 PM, I arrived home from school. My parents recently rented one of those carpet cleaning machines from Farmer Jack's and my Dad's been a real stickler about us not tracking anything across the living room. So I entered through the back door.
“Momâ¦I'm home!” I called out. To which I got no response. Through the kitchen I went, into the hallway off the living room. I could hear the familiar voices of Springfield's Finest coming from the television where
Guiding Light
just resumed from a commercial break.
“Hello?” I said quietly, figuring my Mom was most likely napping on the couch. I poked my head in the doorway and sure enough, there she was asleep beneath the brown and gold afghan my Grandma Paterno crocheted a bijillion years ago.
The only thing isâ¦she wasn't asleep. At least not for real. Because I saw her quickly close her eyes,
pretending
to be asleep. Like I said, ever since she came home from going out with Alyssa the other night, she's been acting weird. And this time I mean, weird-weird. As in totally.
So I headed back to my room, closing my flimsy accordion-fold door behind me. And that's when I found my Mom's letter, lying on my pillowâ¦
If she's going to think anybody's gay, it should be Brad Daytonânot Joey Palladino. He's the one who acts like a Total Fag all the time. Why has she never had any concern in all the years I've been friends with him?
Unlessâ¦
“Did you tell Alyssa I went to the Fag Bar with you over Spring Break?” I ask Brad, immediately getting him on the phone.
“No,” he replies innocently. “Why would I?'
“Did Lou?”
“I don't know⦔
“Which means she did.”
I knew I should've never let Brad talk me into going out with him and Luanne that night. What's more, I should've known I couldn't trust a dyke. I'm sure the first thing Lou did after Alyssa got back from Spring Break was tell her I'm a Total Fag when all I ever said was I thought I might be.
“What's wrong, Jack?” asks Brad. “You sound totally pissed.”
“That's because I totally am!”
I proceed to tell Brad all about what happened with my Mom finding Joey's VD card and her writing me the letter. Which I read to him, word for word.
“Quelle scan-jul!”
he replies. “Have you told Joey about this?”
“Not yetâ¦But I'm going to.” As soon as I get off the phone.
“You know,” Brad starts to say, “I always kinda thought Joey Palladino was a Total Fagâ¦You know what I mean?”
“Well, he's not!” I exclaim with utmost conviction. Even though I keep remembering Joey's response to my question
What would you do if I kissed you right now?
â¦
I don't knowâ¦Probably kiss you back.
Maybe Joey Palladino
is
a fagâ¦Still, I don't like hearing Brad call him such names.
“Don't you think it's kinda weird for another guy to be giving you a Valentime's Day card?” Brad says now. Even though I know he knows the real word is “Valen-
tine
's.” Then he tells me, “I gave the one I made to my Mom.”
“That was your choice, wasn't it?” I say with a huff. If I didn't know better, I'd think Brad was a little jealous of my friendship with Joey. Even though he has no reason to be. My feelings for Joey are totally different from the way I feel about him.
“You can tell me if there's something going on with you guys,” Brad assures me. “You know I'm not gonna care.”
To which I reply, “There's nothing going onâ¦How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Are you sure?” he questions. Like he thinks I'm lying to him.
Which is why I suddenly shout, “Joey's my Best Friend for God's sakeâ¦That's it!”
To which Brad says quietly, “That's funnyâ¦I always thought
I
was your Best Friend.”
Obviously he doesn't get what I'm trying to sayâ¦So I simply tell him, “Joey's a different kinda person than you are.”
From the other end of the line, I hear him scoff. “You mean he's a Jock?”
“He's not a Jock,” I affirm. “He just likes Sports.”
“Yeahâ¦He's a Jock.”
“It's more complicated than that,” I insist. How do I explain it? “Joey likes to do different things than you do, that's all.”
“You mean he likes to go to football games and watch pro wrestling, right? Stupid Jock things like that.”
Phone balanced in the crook of my neck against my shoulder, I cross over to my desk. Buried beneath a pile of papers, I see pink and white and red sticking outâ¦Joey's Valentine's Day card.
Why did I leave it lying around like this? Did I unconsciously want my Mom to find it? Did I somehow think she'd understand?
I run my fingers across each letter of what has become to me the most beautiful word in the worldâ¦J-O-E-Y.
Then I hear Brad say, “It's probably 'cause you broke up with Alyssa right after Joey came back.” I can't even believe he's continuing to speculate about what happened with my Mom.
“#1â” I say, “Alyssa broke up with me.” I open the desk drawer and shove the card inside. “And #2âJoey moving back here has nothing to do with why it happened.” Though I realize now in a way it did. It's not like I ever meant to hurt Alyssa. It's not that I didn't like her. I just didn't like her-like her. In that way. Which is really too bad 'cause she's totally a great girl. I wish I could be the one to give her what she deserves. But I can't.
“Well, how would you like it if you were 30 years old,” Brad asks me, “and you found out your 15-year-old son was gay?” Totally taking my Mom's side.
Which is when I tell him, “I never said I was⦔ Even though I've been to a GAY bar where I've met some other GAY people, I still can't say the word GAY out loud. Especially not about myself. It's like, once I doâonce I finally slap the label on my foreheadâI'll never be able to peel it back off.
Brad says, “I thought you saidâ”
I say, “I said I thought I might be.” Cutting him off.
“Same difference.”