Band Fags! (21 page)

I've got this cowlick in the front of my hair, just above my left eyebrow. Whenever I'm stressed out, I frantically begin twirling it. Which I'm totally doing right now. I should've never told Brad anything about the way I've been feeling. I should've kept it a secret. Till I knew for sure.

Then Brad says, “You know, Jack…Maybe Joey feels the same way about you.”

“Maybe you should just stay out of this,” I politely inform him.

“Have you ever thought of that?” he asks, hopeful. “Maybe you should just come right out and ask him…Otherwise you're never gonna know.”

Yes, I have thought of that. But I'm not going to come right out and ask Joey if he's a fag, let alone if he wants to get It on with me. Even if he does, we can never be together. We can never be “boyfriends.” That'll never happen. Not in this Day and Age…Especially not now with my Mom thinking she knows what's up.

And what if I do ask Joey and he tells me he's
not
a fag. He'll be pissed at me for ever thinking such a thing about him. Or worse—what if he says he
is
but he has no interest in me whatsoever? Then what would I do? I'd just about die! Which is why I'd rather not know. I'd rather just keep things the exact same way as they were before today.

“Joey is not a fag,” I inform Brad matter-of-factly. “And neither am I, okay?”

“But—”

“But what?” I challenge.

“What about what you said,” he attempts to remind me, “after I told you about my Giant Barbie Head?”

Leave it to Brad to bring that up! Why can't he just forget I ever said anything? Why can't he accept that it's my life and I'm the one who gets to decide how I am…And I say I'm not
like that.

“I've gotta go,” I announce. Then I hang up, immediately punching Joey's Grandma's number into the key pad with my thumb. Wait till he gets a load of this!

“What's up?” says Joey, ever cool.

“Oh, nothing,” I reply. “Except my Mom thinks we're both Total Fags.”

I proceed to recap the entire story for him, going back to the Alyssa phone call the other night when my Mom pulled a Benedict Arnold, up till the point where I told her she's totally FOS. As in “Full of Shit.”

“What're we gonna do?” Joey asks. “Your Mom must hate me.”

“I don't care,” I say. “
I
like you and that's all that counts.” I wait for Joey's response, listening to his silent breathing on the other end of the line. God, I wish he were here on Shevlin and not over on Carlisle, half a mile away!

Finally Joey says, “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” I reply.

“If it wasn't for me,” he insists, “you wouldn't be having this problem with your Mom.”

“She's the one with the problem,” I inform him. “It's got nothing to do with you.”

Then Joey says the one thing I've been dreading…“Maybe we should stop hanging out together.”

“No!” I practically yell, wanting to shake him by the shoulders. “That's the last thing I want right now.”

“Just for a while,” he adds. Though I get the feeling he doesn't mean it. I get the feeling this is
The End of Jack & Joey.
Like he's breaking up with me or something.

I choke back a sob. “Can't you see this is exactly what my Mom wants?” I'm so angry right now, I could spit! I pray Joey's not going to stop being friends with me all because my mother is totally overreacting.

“Well, I can't come over your house anymore,” he points out.

“Yes, you can.”

“How? Your Mom's gonna have her ear up to the door the entire time, making sure we're not fucking around.” From the way Joey says this, I can't tell if he
really
thinks there's a reason for my Mom to be concerned. Even though we've still never done anything, we've gotten pretty close.

Just last weekend, Joey was over watching WWF wrestling—which, believe it or not, I'm seriously starting to like—and inevitably, we began rolling around on the floor together. You know, trying out some moves.

“Get off me, you Chump!” he grunted.

“Who you calling a Chump?” I groaned. In spite of having a good six inches on me, I managed to get Joey into a firm headlock. “How you like that?”

He pulled at my forearms, trying to pry himself free. “You think you're so tough, Paterno…Don't you?”

“I don't
think,
Palladino…I know!”

“Oh, yeah? I'll kick your ass…”

With one gigantic heave, Joey flipped me onto my back. Then he climbed on top of me, pinning my arms at my side beneath his knobby knees. “You give?”

“No fucking way!” I told him, struggling to break free.

At which point, Joey reached back behind him…

Sunshine smile.

Forcing my legs forward, knees folded against my chest…

Cherry lips.

With one hand, he held my arms above my head…

Chocolate eyes.

Breathing in the pine-scented wonderfulness that is Joey Palladino, I tilted my head back, spinning. With his face close to mine, Joey pressed his hips against my ass. Like he was about to…
You know.

“Hello?” I hear Joey say, “You still there?” From the other end of the line.

I shake off the memory. “Not for long…I'm coming over.”

To which he replies, “Um…”

“Um, what?”

Joey pauses a moment before saying, “I don't think you should.” Which is pretty much the equivalent of plunging a dagger into my chest.

“You don't wanna see me?” I ask. A little melodramatic, I know.

“Would you shut up?” he teases. “I'll see you tomorrow at Lunch.” Then Joey says, “Good-bye,” and hangs up.

My heart goes dead.

One down, two to go!

I can't even believe there are only three more weeks left of my first year of high school. I don't imagine being a Junior will feel any different from being a Sophomore. Except for the fact there's going to be a new breed of Hillbillies roaming the Hallowed Halls come September. It'll be nice not being on the bottom of the Social Totem Pole. Though it'll also be kind of strange no longer seeing Cheri Sheffield's or Alyssa Resnick's shining faces.

Fortunately, we're ending on good terms, me and Alyssa. We spent one final Lunch together in the cafeteria on Friday. Though we didn't exactly have a whole lot to talk about…

“Did you read
Arnold
this week?” she asked me over the non-twitching meatloaf.

“Nuh-uh,” I replied. “I don't think I've read it since Tommy won the Biology Award for his anatomy project.” At which point, Arnold presented him with a saliva gland. (Gross!)

“That was disgusting!” Alyssa laughed so hard she almost shot chocolate milk through her nose. Then we pretty much ran out of conversation…Till she came up with, “How's your Mom?”

“She's good,” I replied. Thankfully she's been staying out of my business since the whole scan-jul with her and Joey and the letter. Which Alyssa didn't mention having anything to do with. And being my usual nonconfrontational self, I didn't bother bringing it up.

Two days later, I get the strangest phone call from Brad…

“Hey, Jack…What's up?”

“Nothing,” I answer from my end of the line. Which isn't exactly true.

I'm lying on my bed about to browse through a magazine I found at my Aunt Sonia's yesterday when I went over for a cookout. Of course, I don't tell Brad it happens to be a copy of
Playgirl.

I don't know what possessed me…considering after the whole incident with my Mom and Joey and the letter, I've pretty much concluded that I'm not
like that
. But when I discovered it lying facedown in the magazine rack in Aunt Sonia's bathroom, I decided maybe I should borrow it. Just to be certain. So I stuck it down my shorts and got the Hell out of there!

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Brad asks.

“No…” Even though I was planning to thumb through
Playgirl
before taking a shower, it can wait. “What's up with you?” I hear what sounds like a radio blaring the “Hot Hits” of WHYT in the background.

“Just getting some sun,” he tells me. Which is typical Brad. The minute the mercury hits the 70° mark, he's outside with his Speedo on. It doesn't matter if it's Mostly Sunny or Partly Cloudy, Brad will spend the entire Summer Vacation between the hours of 10:00 AM and 2:00 PM in pursuit of the Perfect Tan. What he doesn't seem to realize is…as a redhead, he doesn't tan—he burns. Unlike me with my Dad's olive complexion, I only have to be outside for twenty minutes and I'm totally dark. Not that I'm bragging or anything, 'cause I'm just stating a fact.

“How's your weekend?” I ask, not sure what else to say. It's been a while since Brad and I talked.

“Good,” he replies. “How's yours?”

“Good.” I turn
Playgirl
facedown on my bed. I can just imagine what Brad would say if he knew I was even contemplating looking at
Arnold “Commando” Schwarzenegger Unveiled.

“Before I forget why I called,” Brad begins after a brief silence, “I got some pretty exciting news…” Then he trails off.

I take this as my cue to say, “Oh, yeah…What?”

He pauses dramatically. “Have you ever heard of Stonewall?”

“As in ‘General'?” I reply, wondering what the Hell the Civil War has got to do with anything.

“Not Stonewall Jackson, Jack,” Brad groans. Like I'm a Total Idiot. “
The
Stonewall.” Which he pronounces “thee.” “It's this totally famous gay bar in New York City…I can't believe you've never heard of it.”

“Why would I?” I ask. Though I can imagine why he thinks I should.

“Because you're Mr. Know-it-All, aren't you? Duh!”

Just because I've been a straight-A student for yet another year doesn't mean I know everything. Which is exactly what I tell Brad.

To which he tells me, “Whatever.” Then he says, “I've been doing some research and guess what I found out?”

“I don't know…What?”

“Well, a long time ago in like 1969,” he shares, “there was this
huge
riot…I think it had something to do with Judy Garland getting shot.”

Even though I don't know how many times I've already told him…“Judy Garland died from a drug overdose, 'member? They found her dead on her toilet.”

Brad scoffs. “Anyways…All these gay people were hanging out at The Stonewall,” he continues. “You know, like that chick in Chekhov…They were in mourning for their lives.” Again with the Dramatics! “Well, I guess they got carried away or something, 'cause the police raided the joint and everybody got arrested.”

“So…?” I reply, wondering what the Hell Dorothy from
The Wizard of Oz
has got to do with anything.

“So…Every June there's a big celebration to commemorate the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots,” Brad announces. “And guess what the date is?”

I roll my eyes, shake my head, stating, “I have no idea…” Though I can imagine why he thinks I should.

“Go on!” Brad cries. “Take a
wild
guess.”

The only date of significance in June I can think of is…“June 27
^th
?” Only because it's my birthday and it's coming up in less than two weeks…
God, I'm getting old!

“Isn't that an amazing coincidence?!” he squeals. Then soberly he adds, “It's too bad you're not gay after all.”

To which I've got to ask, “Why?”

“You were born on the gayest day in History…How cool is that?”

I'm thinking,
Not very
. Though I don't tell Brad this.

“You know…” All of a sudden Brad is Mr. Eager Beaver. “Maybe you and I can go to New York at the end of the month…For your birthday.”

“Why would I wanna do that?” I can't help but wonder.

“Because it'll be fun,” he replies.

Yeah, right…I can just imagine spending my 16
^th
birthday surrounded by a bunch of Total Fags and Drag Queens. No, thank you! So I tell Brad, “There is no way our parents are gonna let us go to New York City by
ourselves.
”

“Why not?” he asks in typical naïve Bradley Dayton fashion. “I'm thinking about moving there to pursue my acting career after I graduate…I'll just use it as an excuse.”

“Oh, Brad!” I sigh. “#1—We're
only
15 years old.” Going on 16, but still…“#2—You should move to
L.A.
if you wanna pursue an acting career—especially if you wanna be on
Days of our Lives
'cause that's where they tape it.” At 3000 W. Alameda Avenue in Burbank, to be precise. “And #3—Why would I wanna go and celebrate the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots when you know I'm not
like that?
”

“Because I'm
like that,
” he reminds me, “and supposedly you're my Best Friend.”

We sit in silence a moment, connected by a series of wires running between two small suburban cities, our friendship coming to an end. At least that's how it feels. I honestly wish I could be spontaneous and carefree the way Brad is. But I have to look out for my future. How will I ever be a Famous Writer someday if everybody thinks I'm a Total Fag?

Finally I say, “I'm sorry…” Truly meaning it.

“Don't be sorry,” Brad replies. “Be happy you don't have to go running off to New York, Jack…Just so you can be yourself.” Then he hangs up.

I don't see or talk to Brad again till June 27
^th
when I decide to throw myself a Sweet Sixteen party…

Actually, I'm surprised he even shows up. Especially when I make him pinky-swear-promise he won't tell Luanne about it on account of she's
not
invited. The last thing I need is her coming around trying to make me all confused again. But all my other friends are on the Guest List. Audrey and Max. Betsy and Cheri Sheffield apparently are both Up North at their cottage somewhere in a town called Beulah so they can't make it. Alyssa said she'll try to stop by. But I'm not counting on it.

Unfortunately Joey said, “Thanks, but no thanks,” when I called with his invitation. After the whole thing happened with my Mom, he and I officially stopped seeing each other outside of school—which just about killed me. It doesn't help that “All at Once” by Whitney Houston is a favorite of Alan Almond, the DJ on WNIC's
Pillow Talk.
Which I've been crying myself to sleep with every night before going to bed.

At first, I was pissed…I told Joey not to let my Mom's overactive imagination destroy our friendship. But he said he wouldn't feel comfortable coming around anymore, knowing how it would make my Mom worry. In fact, Joey hasn't been over since the day I got the letter from her over two months ago. And now that school's out for the Summer, I'll probably never see him again.

I also invited Ava Reese and Carrie Johnson from Sophomore Symphony, along with Marie Sperling from my 3
^rd
hour Geometry class. In case you don't remember, she's the girl I know from Webb who totally reminds me of Kristian Alfonso. Too bad Marie's
still
going with that Jock Jerk, Tom Fulton. Remember the so-called friend of Max's who used to say shit about Brad and I being Total Fags and probably still does? Of course, I couldn't say no to her when she called asking if she could bring Tom to the party. Marie's a Total Sweetheart. Tom Fulton does not deserve her!

Pretty much your typical Jack Paterno Boy/Girl party—more girls than boys—we end up sitting around my parents' basement listening to music, eating snacks, and drinking this concoction my Mom made out of Hawaiian Punch and Vernors. Too bad there's no alcohol in it! All of which eventually leads up to the traditional game of Spin-the-Bottle. Though it doesn't end up being nearly as much fun as the time we played it at my Halloween party last Fall. I don't know if it's because there isn't anybody I really want to kiss or what. All I know is…Marie Sperling is totally hilarious. Talk about putting the
I
in “naïve!”

“How do you play Spin-the-Bottle?” she asks when the idea first comes up. Totally serious.

To which Brad replies, “Um…First you take this bottle, Marie…Then you set it on the floor and
spin
it!” Then he laughs, as do we all.

Like I've said, Marie is a totally great girl. Pretty, smart, funny. But she's a little clueless about some things. Not that I'm saying she's dumb, 'cause she's totally not. She's just very innocent. You should see the look on Tom Fulton's face when Marie's spin of the bottle lands on me for the third time and we have to French kiss. Let's just say, he's not too pleased!

Leave it to Max…His gift to me is a copy of the August 1986 issue of
Playboy.
Which is exactly what I wanted—not! Though Playmate Ava Fabian, whose Turn-Ons include:
men in uniforms, whipped cream, massages, flowers, big fluffy pillows, ocean,
does look pretty good in her centerfold spread. But maybe that's because it's very tastefully done and she's not spreading her legs or anything disgusting like that. She's also got small areolas which, I believe I've already mentioned, don't gross me out.

The majority of the rest of my Summer I spend taking Driver's Education…

For six weeks, every Monday through Friday, I have to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the Butt Crack of Dawn in the Choir Room of Hillbilly High. We're talking 6 o'clock in the freaking AM. Why I signed up for the first course of the day, I have no idea. You'll never guess who my instructor is. I'll give you a hint…He was one of my teachers at Webb. No, not Mr. Grant. Remember Algebra Man, aka Mr. Bond? Thank God he left the cape at home!

Other than the fact that I'll finally get my license at the end of it, the good part of the experience is…spending time with Betsy Sheffield who signed up for the exact same slot. In fact, I don't think I'd have
any
fun if it wasn't for her. Every day we sit side by side, cracking up at this woman in our class named Ella. I'm not even exaggerating when I say…Ella has got to be
at least
60 years old.

Not only does she appear to be a little on the slow side…She's also dangerous! This became evident the day we all took to the back parking lot where they set up the driving course. Ella proceeded to wipe out half a dozen orange cones before steering her Renault Encore up onto the sidewalk where she almost plowed down some Sophomore riding a scooter! Which is why Betsy and I decided our official Driver's Ed. '86 theme song is “You Be Ella,” sung to the tune of Run-D.M.C.'s “You Be Illin'.” (Dog Food!)