Band Fags! (33 page)

From somewhere in the crowd we hear an echo of
“Ju-u-dy!”

Judy reacts, hand to ear, hearing the distant call. “And I've got my own religion…Judy-ism!”

I've got to say, she looks even better than she does on TV. And thinner. Must be that damn camera adding an extra ten pounds again! For the most part, she puts on the exact same show as the one I've seen a bijillion times on video at this point. In fact, I've watched
Women of the Night
so much, I find myself reciting Judy's jokes along with her in my head. But it doesn't matter that I already know all the punch lines. She still totally cracks me up.

The highlight of my evening comes when Judy's just about to sing “The Pope Song…”

“It's a Country and Western love song,” she informs the audience, “and you can dance to it.”

But that isn't how the joke goes. At least not when she does it on HBO. She's
supposed
to say, “And you can dance to it…'kay, Sponge?”

So I call out, “Sponge!”

Which causes Judy Tenuta to turn in my direction, literally stopping in her tracks. Our eyes meet. She looks at me—John R. Paterno of Hazeltucky—as if to say, “How dare you interrupt the Goddess? You Pig!” Then she bursts out laughing and we're off to the Rodeo!

After the show, Uncle Roy tells us we need to wait till the audience clears out. Then he'll take us Backstage to meet Judy, Live and In Person. It's a good thing Tom and I have both sobered up a little during her set. I'd hate to breathe on my new favorite comedienne with my nasty old Booze Breath!

“Come in, come in!” With a wave, the Goddess beckons for us to enter her tiny closet of a dressing room.

“Hi, Judy,” Uncle Roy says. “This is my nephew, Jack, and his buddy.” I don't know if it's just me, but…I can't help but notice how nervous Uncle Roy sounds.

“Hi, Judy,” I say, surprised that I sound the same. I don't know what it is about meeting Famous People that totally freaks me out. They're
just
people, after all.

“Are you Nephew Jack or his buddy?” Judy asks me.

“I'm Jack…This is my friend, Tom.”

Tom nods and smiles. “Hello.” Even he sounds nervous!

Giving Tom the once over, Judy coos, “Hello to you, Stud Puppet…” Then she places her Petite Flower hand on his football player pecs.

“Would you mind if we took a picture with you?” I ask, taking out my camera.

To which Judy graciously obliges. “But of course.”

Surprisingly, she's not nearly as crass, Live and In Person. In fact, she's kind of quiet and soft spoken. But when the camera turns on, so does she! She removes a couple flowers from the vase on her makeup table, sticks one behind each of our ears. Then she sandwiches herself between us, arms around my shoulders and Tom's, posing ever so seductively.

Not wanting to wear out our welcome, we only stay a few minutes. After we've thanked her for letting us worship at her feet, Judy reminds us, “You cannot possess me.” Then she presents me with a tin of “Potted Meat Product” one of her Loyal Followers must have brought her—a parting gift to remember her by.

It's after 1:00 AM by the time we get back to my house in Hazeltucky…

“Dude! Let's play Super Mario Brothers,” Tom says, getting all excited as I struggle to fit my key into the front door. Guess I'm still a little buzzed from all the Labatt's. Ever since he found out my brother has a Nintendo, we've pretty much taken it over. I don't think I even touched the game before I started hanging out with Tom. They make it way too complicated with all the A and B and X and Y buttons. Plus, it's left-handed! Whatever happened to the days of a single joystick and maybe a FIRE button or two?

“Dude! We can't,” I tell him. “My brother's in bed.”

“So what?”

“So it's his Nintendo and it's in
his
room.”

Once inside, I turn off the living room lamp my Mom always leaves on whenever I'm out. Then we sneak through Billy's room where he's snoring away and into mine, closing the accordion-fold door behind us.

“Dude! You got any beer?” Tom asks, flopping down on to my bed.

“Like you need anymore,” I answer, flopping down beside him. The only problem with having my own bedroom is…No more bunk beds. Though I haven't had to worry about it too much since I haven't had anybody spend the night in practically over a year. “Dude!” I half-whisper. But Tom doesn't respond. Because when I look over at him, I see that he's totally passed out…Snoring away!

“Wake up,” I insist. There's no way I'm sleeping on the floor just because Tom Fulton can't hold his liquor. When it comes to spending the night at Jack Paterno's house, that whole “Guest Rule” thing does not apply.

But it's no use…

As the song goes, it looks like we're “Sleeping Single in a Double Bed,” only the other way around. Which is no big deal, I've done it before with Brad Dayton. The only thing is…Tom's a lot bigger of a guy. Not only does he play Varsity Football, he plays Varsity Basketball. So he's a good 6' tall, if not taller. And he's wider than Brad, if you know what I mean. Not that I'm saying he's fat, 'cause I'm not. But he takes up more space in a muscular-from-lifting-weights kind of way…Like Joey Palladino.

God! I haven't thought about Joey in forever. Which is probably for the best. Believe it or not, I'm finally over him. Every so often, I'll think back to the night of
The Joey Kiss
and smile. But the feelings that stir in me aren't nearly as strong as they once were. They've totally lost their power. Last I heard, he's still going with Diane Thompson.

Just as I'm about to doze off, Tom rolls over. He sticks his butt into my side, totally hogging the bed—
my
bed! I try rolling over, facing the opposite direction. But now Tom's butt is sticking into my back. I'm thinking,
Come on!
I'm 5'7" tall and weigh 125 pounds, I don't need much room.

This is never going to work. There's no way I'll get any sleep like this. The only solution I can think of is…I roll over again—the other way—facing Tom so our bodies fit together. Like two spoons.

All of a sudden, it's like I'm Up North in Grayling at Hartwick Pines.

Ah, yes…The familiar scent of Polo!

Have you ever
driven
past somebody's house?

It's not like you plan to stop. You don't even actually have to see the person. But just passing by, knowing where they live and breathe and sleep is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

That's what happens whenever I take the long way home from a night's work at Farmer Jack's, exiting I-75 at 9 Mile instead of taking the usual I-696 ramp. Which leads me past Tubby's Subs and Gas 'n Go and Big Boy's, where I feel like I haven't been in forever. For a brief moment I think of Brad, wondering where he is and what he's been up to since I saw him last. But I quickly forget by the time I reach the corner two blocks down where my four new favorite letters reflect white on green…O-T-I-S.

To me, that one single word is as precious as the name of the person who resides there on that street. I'm talking about the new Love of my Life…Tom Fulton.

Not again!

How many times have I told myself, I'm not
like that,
and how many times have I found myself falling in love with another guy?! Of all people, why does it have to be him? Everybody knows you're not supposed to fall in love with a friend. Especially when you're a guy and
he's
a guy. A very Popular, very athletic, and very not
like that
in the least little bit kind of guy.

At least I think he's not…

Remember at Senior Breakfast when Tom pointed out how much fun he had the time him and Max and Brad and I all hung out together back in 7
^th
grade calling the Party Line? Now I'm totally confused! Especially after that night he spent at my house a couple weeks ago. He made no qualms whatsoever about sleeping in my bed with me. Not even the next morning when we woke up—side by side—did he make any comments or jokes. In fact, the entire time I've been hanging around Tom Fulton, he hasn't said a single word about me being a fag or called me names or anything like I remember he used to.

Which leads me to believe that maybe Tom
is
…You know?
Like that.

I wish there was some way to find out for sure. Believe me, I've tried. The other night we were looking for a last minute Christmas present for Tom to get Betsy out at Lakeside Mall—which is way far away from Hazeltucky out on Hall Road in Mt. Clemens and
way
cooler than Oakland and Universal put together. This fairly decent-looking older guy happened to pass us by. Tall, dark hair slightly graying at the temples. At which point, I pulled the old “If you were a girl, would you think that guy's hot?”

To which Tom replied, “Dude! Would
you?
” Then he gave me a look.

What makes matters worse is…Now that Brad wants nothing to do with me, Betsy's practically my Best Friend. She's definitely the person I spend the most time with, besides Max. During Lunch, we go to my house for American cheese on white bread sandwiches. On the way over we always listen to our new favorite song, “I've Got My Mind Set on You” by George Harrison, which I picked up on cassette-single. Either that or the
La Bamba
soundtrack. Back in the Fall, Betsy and I went to see the movie four weekends in a row at The Berkley. She thinks the guy who played Ritchie Valens' brother is totally hot. So do I…But I haven't told her that!

She even spent the night at my house last Saturday when her parents went out of town and she didn't want to stay home all by herself. She slept in my brother's bed, of course, and he spent the night over his friend PJ's. We had a Total Blast staying up late, sitting on my floor watching TV, eating Tostino's frozen pizza, and talking. Which was when Betsy told me how much she really likes Tom.

“You guys haven't…You know?” I asked. By which I meant had S-E-X.

“No!” she insisted. Then she confided, “I think Tom wants to.”

“He does?”

“He's a guy, isn't he? All guys wanna have sex.”

To which I told her, “I'm a guy…”

“Yeah…But you're different.” She gave me a smirk.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked, totally taking offense.

“Exactly what I said.”

I bit into my slice. I love the tiny little pepperoni cubes, but I always scald the roof of my mouth on the steaming hot cheese. Which is exactly what I did just then. “Mother F—er!” I took a swig of Mountain Dew, the lime green sweetness temporarily soothing the pain. “So are you gonna?” I pried.

“Gonna what?” Betsy asked, all Little Miss Innocent.

“You
know…
Have S-E-X with T-O-M.”

“I doubt it,” she informed me. “I'm saving myself for my wedding night.”

Which made me happy to know. I couldn't bear the thought of Betsy getting It on with Tom. Or the other way around, now that I think about it. I don't know what I'm going to do about this whole situation. All I know is…With tonight being New Year's Eve, the thought of being at Shellee Findlay's party and seeing Tom Fulton kiss Betsy Sheffield when the ball drops at Midnight…Makes me want to cry.

Did I mention I've been invited to my first Popular Party?

As you might remember…Jamie Good is on Staff of
The Hazel Parker
. And Jamie's Best Friend is Shellee Findlay. And being that Shellee and I go way back to the days of Webb Junior High when she used to remind me of “99 Luftballoons” Nena, Jamie told me of course I should come to Shellee's New Year's Eve Bash. Apparently
all
the Popular People are going to be there. Including the new Love of my Life, Tom Fulton. So you bet I'm going!

Right now it's 10:15 PM on December 31, 1987…

I'm all dressed up in the new outfit I bought at Chess King in Lakeside—black pleated pants, charcoal gray sweater with zip up mock-turtleneck collar, and black dress shoes. Max just pulled up out front to give me a ride. I decided I didn't want to drive myself in case I drink too much. Besides, I figure I might as well be a Good Friend and lift Max along as I climb up the ladder of Popularity.

“Dude! I got beer,” Max says the minute I slide into the front seat of the LeMans beside him.

“How'd you get beer?” I ask, picking up my cue.

To which he replies, “I got beer.”

Shellee Findlay lives over in Ferndale on Harris, just a hop, skip, and a jump from our old Webb Junior High stomping grounds. I know her parents are out of town so I expect the party to be a little wild. But nothing prepares me for what we see once we get to her house…Cars everywhere! Up and down the street, in the driveway, even a few parked on the front lawn. Either that or they've been lifted and placed there by some drunk Jocks. Which, in Hazeltucky, is practically considered a Team Sport.

“What the Hell?!” Max grumbles, continuing to drive down the block. We end up around the corner on 10 Mile next to the humongous hole they've been digging for years to connect I-696 to I-96 out in Southfield. Supposedly it'll be finished by 1990, but I'm not holding my breath! Of course, I'm totally psyched when Max pulls up behind the '81 Impala belonging to You-Know-Who…Tom Fulton! This prompts me to promptly get out of the car and begin crunching my way through the snow, towards the blare of Salt-N-Pepa's “Push It.”

Shellee's French Room is full to capacity with Jocks, Cheerleaders, and Vikettes—even a few Burn-Outs have made the cut. The minute Max enters the front door, twelve-pack of Bud tucked inconspicuously under the crook of his arm, we hear, “Wilson!”

The deep, masculine voice belongs to one Bobby Russell, who doesn't say a single word to me, of course. I'm a little surprised to see him here. Till I remember the “Dear Bobby” letter that Shellee wrote him back in 7
^th
grade when she was still “Shelly with a Y” and they were going together…Guess they're friends again after all these years.

“Dude!” Max says to Bobby. He pops open a beer and takes a swig. “Wha's up?”

“Nothing, Dude,” Bobby replies, his in-need-of-Visine eyes still not looking my way. “Can I grab one of those?” Then he helps himself to a Bud before asking, “Is Brad Dayton with you?”

For a minute I'm thinking,
I've got a secret, I've got a secret!
I'm almost tempted to ask Bobby if he's horny. But I would never say a word about what I know he once did with my former Best Friend. Instead, I snatch a beer from Max and make my way towards the kitchen in search of our Hostess. Or at least
somebody
I know. Betsy and Tom are supposed to be here…Where the Hell are they?

“Look you guys…”

Finally I hear a familiar voice. Unfortunately, the young girl standing in the corner by the mustard yellow refrigerator/freezer I know too well. I turn around just as she says to the group she's with, “It's my brother!”

Sure enough, my 13-year-old sister is here…I keep forgetting Jodi's a Parkerette and therefore knows a lot of the Vikette girls from various dance competitions and whatnot. Which explains why she's hanging out with Marie Sperling, Lynn Kelly, and Angela Andrews, all ear-to-ear grin and butt-wasted, her lips stained cherry red from what I'm guessing is the half-empty Seagram's wine cooler she's trying to conceal at her side.

“What are
you
doing here?” Jodi asks, surprised to see me.

Unlike her former Band Fag brother, my sister is pretty Popular in the social circles of Webb Junior High. And since she's starting as a Freshman at Hillbilly High next Fall, I take it she's getting an early jump on the Popular Party scene.

“What do you think?” I reply. Followed by, “What are
you
doing here?”

“What do
you
think?”

Suddenly our Brother/Sister Act is momentarily interrupted…

“Jacques!”

My heart drops to the proverbial pit of my stomach. Suddenly, I feel as shit-faced stupid as my sister. Only I'm drunk on L-O-V-E when I see Tom Fulton enter, looking ever so handsome in the navy blue and forest green plaid button-down I helped him pick out of the J. Crew catalogue, worn with the new pair of Tommy “Hilfinger” jeans he got last week from Santa Claus…He totally loves them on account of his name also being “Tommy.” But I haven't got the heart to tell him it's Hil
figer.

“Tommy!” I bellow, affecting my own Jock Jerk tone. Then I leave my sister to the Popular People after making her promise she won't drink too much.

“Dude!” Tommy says as I sidle up beside him. “You getting some action over there?” He takes a swig of his Magnum 40. I can't help but notice the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows. Talk about sexy!

“Dude!” I make a face. “That's my sister.”

Tom does a double take. “She's hot, Dude.”

“She's in 8
^th
grade,” I inform him, so he doesn't get any ideas. Besides, he's got his own girlfriend. Who's nowhere to be seen at the moment. “Where's Betsy?”

“Fuck if I know.” He drains the last of his beverage before letting rip the most disgusting belch. I'm guessing he had cabbage for dinner. “She got pissed at me and said she wasn't coming.”

“It's New Year's Eve,” I say, trying to sound concerned. “You want me to give her a call?”

“Fuck her!” Tom replies all cocky. Which secretly makes me jump for joy deep down inside. Not that I have anything against Betsy, 'cause I don't. But this way, I won't be the only one without Somebody Special to kiss at the stroke of Midnight.

Around 11:30 PM Tom says, “This party's lame…You wanna get out of here?” I watch as he spits into the empty beer bottle he holds. A bit of juice drips black and minty down his chin. I'm tempted to reach out and wipe it away…But I don't.

As much as I'm against smoking, I think there's something kind of sexy about seeing Tom's lower lip all fat and swollen with chew. By which I mean chewing tobacco. I also like the way the little round tin leaves a faded ring around the ass pocket on his jeans. Not to mention the sound it makes when he shakes it back and forth, thumping the lid with his thumb. I have no idea why he does this. All I know is…I love it! Most of the Jocks at Hillbilly High are all “Dippin' Dudes,” as Tom calls them. Personally, I think they're all idiots for rotting their lips away…All except my Tommy Boy, that is.

“What else do you wanna do?” I ask, feeling the effects of my third beer—or is it my fourth?—trying not to slur my words like a Total Drunk.

“We can go back to your place and hang out,” Tom suggests. “Bring some brewskis…Get fucked up.” Then he adds, “I'm still spending the night, ain't I?”

“If you still wanna,” I answer, trying not to sound too excited. I can't even believe this is happening. Am I really about to get my wish? I'm going to spend New Year's Eve with the new Love of my Life all by myself…All we have to do now is make it back to my house without getting into a car crash.