Drama Queers! (9 page)

He says to me, “May I help you,
miss?
”

I’m about to reply,
Thanks, Jerry…But I’m a
guy. Until a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored glass behind Jerry’s head reminds me that I’m totally unrecognizable. In fact, from the way he’s drooling over the 36Ds I “developed” by stuffing one of Janelle’s bras with plastic L’eggs eggs, I get the distinct impression Jerry thinks I’m a
real
woman. So I decide to have a little fun with Mr. Concession Stand Man.

“I’d like a small Coca-Cola…Pretty please.”

I don’t know where the voice coming from my body comes from, but all of a sudden, I’m Scarlett O’Hara from my favorite movie of all time,
Gone With the Wind
.

“Anything else for you, miss?” Jerry asks politely, putting his English into practice.

I notice the tiny gold Camel imprinted on the cigarette tucked behind his right ear, which a lot of people in Hazeltucky might find
à propos
since the assholes are constantly referring to the Arabs as (quote-unquote) Camel Jockeys…Isn’t that bogue?

“Why yes,” I reply, still the Southern Belle. “Popcorn, please…With loads of butter.”

Jerry smiles slyly. “What size you like?”

Licking my lips, I respond, “Whatever’s the
biggest
.”

As he’s counting back my change, Jerry suavely brushes my hand with his, holding it a moment. His brown eyes meet my blues, and immediately all the blood in my entire body heads south for the winter. Luckily, my dick is smashed down and tucked between my legs or else I’d look pretty funny standing here with a hard-on popping out from my panties.

For a split second, I consider proposing that we step into the back storage room where I’ll show Jerry a thing or two…If only he wasn’t working and my friends weren’t on their way!

“You are very beautiful girl,” this guy who’s gotta be at least twenty-five tells me. “How old?”

“Twenty-one,” I lie, again just to see if I can get away with it.

“I would like to buy you drink sometime,” Jerry offers. “Would you like?”

Fuck yeah!
I nod and smile, not sure how exactly to answer his question.

“What is your name, please?” my Middle Eastern lover wonders, still holding my smooth hand in his hairy one.

“Brad!”

Quickly, I tear myself away and scurry over to where my friends have just made their entrance from the lamppost-lighted parking lot…Talk about good timing—not!

“You better wise up…”

This I sing to Liza Larson as the ever wholesome Janet Weiss. I love her pink dress with Peter Pan collar and white cardigan. What a drastic change from her usual all-black wardrobe.

“Hey, Asshole!” I shout at Zack Rakoff as Brad Majors.

He’s not quite as tall as Barry Bostwick, but he’s got the costume down: tan jacket worn over a blue V-neck sweater vest with blue and white striped shirt beneath and light gray pants with permanent-press crease. Don’t forget the tortoiseshell glasses, which are actually the ones he wears every day.

I almost don’t recognize Tuesday Gunderson in drag as Riff Raff. The bald cap and stringy blond wig covering her own stringy brown hair throws me. Even Audrey surprises me sporting an authentic-looking maid’s uniform.

“Don’t tell Dell,” she says after I ask her where she got it. “I found it backstage from when we did
The Skeleton Walks
.”

“You’re lucky,” I reply, knowing she was having a hard time finding a costume.

Doing her best Magenta impersonation, Aud cries on cue, “‘You’re lucky, he’s lucky, I’m lucky, we’re
all
lucky!’”

“‘The banister’s lucky!’” the rest of us shout, quoting the official
Rocky Horror
response.

Again, I’m glad my dick is smashed down and tucked between my legs or else I’d totally pop a boner when I see Rob Berger, as Rocky, take off his raincoat to reveal nothing but a pair of gold briefs. By the way, I don’t think they’re padded.

Behind my back, I hear somebody say, “You’re with me, baby.”

I turn to see Will Isaacs dressed in a black Elvis wig, black leather sleeveless jacket, and dark blue Levi’s, carrying somebody’s saxophone. He makes a pretty convincing Meat Loaf—I mean,
Eddie
. For the first time, being fat
isn’t
his downfall!

All we need now is a Frank-N-Furter and we’d be all set…Too bad Jack’s not here.

I think the reason he won’t come see
Rocky Horror
again is because the guy who plays Frank reminds him of his dad, and it totally freaks Jack out to see him wearing a dress and corset. Not to mention watching him do the things he does with Rocky.

It could also have something to do with the fact that ever since Jack decided he doesn’t
want
to be gay, he also doesn’t wanna be my friend anymore. It’ll be two weeks tomorrow since we had our pre–Homecoming Dance argument. I probably shouldn’t have told him I think he’s a fag, even though I totally do. Luckily, now that Jack dropped outta Band and we don’t have any classes together anymore, it’s not that difficult to avoid each other.

I suppose I should explain
why
I think Jack’s a fag.

Again, I probably shouldn’t say anything. Again, it’s none of my business. But like I said, Jack
is
my Best Friend. The fact that I haven’t talked to him once in almost fourteen days is starting to piss me off, you know what I mean?

The reason I think Jack is gay is because I know for a
fact
that he is, based upon personal past experience.

To make a long story short…

Back in 11th grade during Winter Break, Ava Reese had some people over her house. All the Usual Suspects showed up: me, Max, Jack, Carrie, Audrey. I don’t know how, but Max got a case of beer, and we sat around Ava’s kitchen table playing this stupid drinking game, Thumper. I totally sucked at it.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and who showed up to crash?

None other than…Joey Palladino.

With Diane Thompson off in Florida with her folks, I guess he felt like slumming. Eventually, we moved the party into Ava’s front room. Or the
French
room, as Max Wilson calls it. We were all sitting around drunk, with Jack and Joey practically on top of each other. Pretty soon, one of the girls suggested we play Truth-or-Dare. Next thing we knew, everybody’s French kissing Joey Palladino…Including Jack!

That same night, Jack stayed over my house since it’s only like ten blocks away from Ava’s on College. Being that he’s a Total Persnickety-Persnick, he doesn’t drink and drive, so we
walked
all the way home.

Wouldn’t you know? Dayton’s Depot was an icebox.

“What the fuck?” I remember Jack saying, upon entering my moonlit abode. In the quiet of our kitchen, I could hardly hear the hum of the refrigerator over his chattering Chiclets.

“Thank the deadbeat!”

It was totally Dad’s fault Mom couldn’t afford to pay the heating bill that month. He was late with the child support (again), and we hadn’t seen him since his annual Christmas visit six weeks prior. Grinning and bearing it, I stripped down to my BVDs.

So there we were, sitting around my room talking when Jack started freaking out…What was everybody gonna say about him kissing Joey Palladino come Monday in school? Now people were
really
gonna think he’s a Total Fag.

Da-dah da-dah.

You can bet I took this as an opportunity to press the issue and find out whether or not Jack might still have feelings for his former friend. Especially now that they swapped some serious spit. And when Jack admitted he was even more confused because he
did
sorta like kissing Joey, it didn’t surprise me at all.

Now I don’t know if it’s because we were both drunk or what, but next thing I knew, Jack asked me what it feels like to fool around with another guy. I didn’t know how to describe it other than you just gotta do it to find out.

Fast forward fifteen minutes…

There’s me, wiping myself off with an old T-shirt before stepping back into my underwear. I mean, it wouldn’t have been so bad if it only happened the
one
time. Unfortunately, this sorta thing became a regular recurrence for the next several weeks.

The big problem became that whenever me and Jack fooled around, he never seemed to enjoy himself. Sure, he totally got into it while he was down there doing his thing, but not once did he ever get off in the end. And never once did he ask me to reciprocate, which seemed sorta odd, you know what I mean?

I mean, this was fine by me. Like I said, I never felt anything more for Jack than the love of a brother. The last thing I wanted to do was give him the impression I was into him or anything. Still, I couldn’t help but feel guilty watching Jack put his clothes on and head home in the cold, like somehow I sucked as a human being because (to be blunt) I enjoyed getting sucked!

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked him every single time.

“I’m fine,” he always answered, avoiding my eye.

The next day at school, Jack barely spoke to me. I think he feared our friends could somehow tell we were having a scan-ju-lous affair. Or whatever you wanna call it. Yet come the following Saturday night, he’d drop by Big Boy’s when I got off, offer me a ride home…Where I’d promptly get off all over again!

If it hadn’t been for the herpes (simplex two) outbreak right before MSBOA Band Festival, things may never have ceased between Jack and me. Thank God Ava’s mom came up with the baby butt rash remedy to heal the cold sore on Jack’s lip. This he totally got from
kissing
me—not because of the reason you might think!

That’s about the time Jack informed me he wanted to drop outta Band because he was sick of being a Band Fag. Or so he said. Our friendship hasn’t been the same ever since.

Wanna know the best movie
ever?

Grease 2.

Not the original “Grease is the word”
Grease
with Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta. I’m talking about the sequel starring Michelle Pfeiffer and Maxwell Caulfield. You know, that totally hot guy who’s married to the old lady from
Nanny and the Professor
.

Well,
Grease 2
happens to be one of my favorite movies, right up there with
National Lampoon’s Vacation, Ice Castles
, and
Somewhere in Time
with Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeves—I mean,
Reeve
.

I’ll never forget the first time I seen it back in 7
^th
grade…

Me and Max were spending the night over Jack’s house, and we were downstairs in his basement. Jack’s dad is all Mr. Fix-it, and he’s got one end done up with carpeting, a couch and chairs, and a color TV with cable. On the opposite side, there’s this old pull-out sofabed that’s uncomfortable as hell. But me and Max used to sleep on it all the time because Jack wasn’t about to give up
his
bed upstairs. In case I haven’t mentioned it, Jack has always been a tad bit spoiled.

Not that I’m saying he’s a brat or anything. He just always seems to have whatever I don’t—an Atari, his own phone, a VCR
and
color TV with cable right in his room, you name it.

So the three of us were flipping thru the stations looking for something to watch on Skinemax—I mean,
Cinemax
—when we came across what looked like the T-Birds and Pink Ladies bopping around a bowling alley singing a song about
scoring
tonight.

“Put on MTV,” Max ordered. “41.”

He seized control of the remote and flipped back to the previous channel.

“Turn it back!” I hollered. “I wanna see what that was.”

We returned to Rydell High circa 1963, courtesy of Showtime. How come I didn’t know there was a
Grease
sequel? Me and Janelle totally loved the first one. In fact, whenever our babysitter, Sheryl Killian, babysat us and we weren’t watching
The Hardy Boys
, we were playing
Danny & Sandy
.

“I don’t wanna watch this musical crap!” Max whined. “Put something good on.”

“I thought you liked
Grease
,” I said to Jack, hoping he’d come to my defense.

“I do,” he admitted. “But I heard
Grease 2
sucks.”

Suddenly, Max shouted, “Leave it on…That chick is hot!”

This time he wasn’t talking about Boy George from Culture Club. Thankfully I was allowed to partake due to Michelle Pfeiffer’s big-screen break out as Stephanie Zinone…You know, I still haven’t seen
The Witches of Eastwick
yet.

From that day on, I was hooked. Whenever I’d see in
TV
Guide
they were showing
Grease 2
on cable, I made sure I got an invitation to spend the night over Jack’s house.

“But you’ve already seen it ten times!” he’d remind me, wanting to watch some crap TV show like
Joanie Loves Chachi
or
Square Pegs
.

“Twelve,” I’d correct, “but who’s counting?”

I was!

Sure, compared to the original,
Grease 2
is a tad cheesy, but I totally loved it.

That summer when me and Jack went to Blue Lake for Band camp, I practically had the TV schedule memorized. Anytime I knew
Grease 2
was being shown, I’d be like, “I can’t believe I’m missing
Grease 2
right now!” You can bet Jack was totally sick of hearing that by the end of those twelve days, you know what I mean?

This one scene I particularly enjoy takes place at the Bowl-a-Rama where all the Rydell High kids hang out on Friday nights, bowling, and smoking cigarettes, da-dah da-dah.

Basically what happens is…Paulette’s little (lesbian) sister, Dolores, shows up on her skateboard. She rushes inside to tell T-Bird leader Johnny, “Balmudo’s out front and he’s all alone.” Johnny, Goose, and Louis take this as their cue to kick some Crater Face butt.

They whip out their combs, light up their smokes, and make their way outside, pursued by the Pink Ladies. Only right before they arrive, the entire gang of Scorpions shows up, prompting the T-Birds to beat a hasty retreat. Except Dolores is busy dragging Davey to the parking lot, promising him, “action out front…Balmudo’s gonna get his face mangled.”

As the youngest T-Bird flies outside looking for the rumble, Davey discovers he’s been ambushed, and Balmudo’s gonna kill him…When all of a sudden, outta nowhere, this Cool Rider shows up on a motorcycle, flames spray-painted all over the body, dressed in black leather, wearing a helmet and dark goggles, and looking totally H-O-T.

Of course, nobody realizes he’s Michael Carrington, aka Maxwell Caulfield, but the T-Birds and Pink Ladies and Scorpions are all floored enough to break into song. “Who’s that guy?” they sing while he cruises his cycle around the parking lot and up onto the roof of this ’57 Chevy. Once the sirens of cop cars can be heard in the distance, Michael hightails it outta there. Johnny decides it’s time for everybody to bowl, and the T-Birds and Pink Ladies head back into the alley.

Well, Stephanie is smitten. She can’t stop thinking about the Cool Rider she sang about earlier. Paulette (played by Judy Garland’s real-life daughter, Lorna Luft), Sharon (aka Doris Finsecker from
Fame
), and Rhonda “Yo, Ritter!” (who I never heard of before or since), bring up the fact that there’s been some doubt concerning Stephanie’s (quote) loyalty to the Birds (unquote).

Stephanie, caught off guard, informs her Pink Ladies pals that maybe she’s (quote) tired of being somebody’s chick (unquote). Paulette tells her pal to relax and offers her a ciggie. As she’s trying to get the crappy matches to light, a leather-gloved hand wielding a Zippo pops into frame. Stephanie graciously accepts. When she looks up to thank her knight in shining armor, he’s none other than…The Cool Rider himself.

“Wanna ride?”

But it’s too late. The police have arrived.

Cool Rider takes it upon himself to jump over the cop car, making his escape into the night, leaving an even more intrigued Stephanie in his wake. Later, when she’s pumping gas at her father’s service station, Michael appears a second time to totally whisk Stephanie off her toes. They spend a romantic evening riding around on his Harley, and end up totally making out before a blazing sunset, the instrumental version of “Cool Rider” playing in the background. The only thing is Stephanie still doesn’t know who the guy is.

This brings me to the whole point of my analogy…

Today after school, I meet Audrey at her locker. She asked me to help her look for a monologue for our
A Christmas Carol
auditions, even though they’re only three days away. Nothing like waiting till the last minute, huh, Aud? I can never remember what number hers is, so I always just look for the door wrapped in GO GREEN! GO WHITE! Spartans paper…I suspect maybe Audrey’s college of choice is Michigan State.

“I gotta stop by the Band room and pick up my Flaggot shit,” she informs me, approaching from the far end of the empty hall between the gym and the pool.

It’s only 3:15 PM and everybody’s already cleared out, either on their way home or off to some kind of practice. At moments like this, when I get a whiff of chlorine, I realize how much I miss being on the swim team. Especially now that I truly appreciate the male form in all its Speedo-ed glory.

“Why didn’t you stop by there first?”

I sidle up closer to Audrey’s locker as she spins its dial. I’m not trying to scam her combination or anything. She’s got a great collection of Chippendales cards on the door inside, and I can’t resist sneaking a peek whenever she opens it. There’s this one body builder-type, all oiled up and flexing in nothing but a bow tie…Hot!

“Because, dipshit, I had to say good-bye to Berger before he went to work.”

It’s official…Audrey Wojczek and Rob Berger are an item.

Hard to believe, huh?

“Well, smart-ass…Why didn’t you say so?”

Now that football season is over, Rob’s got an after-school job working up at Bray’s “Home of the Ass Burgers” on 9 Mile and Dequindre. We call it that because of the giant donkey perched on top of the roof, holding a huge hamburger up with his hooves. I can’t say I ever had one, but I hear they’re sorta like the sliders at White Castle’s.

Years ago, me and Jack used to joke that one day we’d steal the ass from on top of Bray’s and hold it hostage. Maybe now that Rob’s their official burger flipper and we know somebody on the inside we can come up with a plan. Only Jack still isn’t talking to me! It’s been a month since I stopped by his house before Homecoming and we had it out. Again, I probably shouldn’t have told Jack I think he’s a fag, even though I still totally do.

The other day, I wrote a Letter to the Editor of
The Hazel Parker
(Jack) telling him how much it hurts my feelings when other kids call me a Band Fag because I literally am one. I also went on to say that I know for a fact there’s at least one other gay kid at HPHS (hint-hint, Jack) who’s afraid to be himself all because of what the other (quote-unquote) popular kids will think, and how sad I been since this kid (Jack) dropped outta Band because I miss him.

I’m sure Jack won’t print the letter, which is fine, just so long as he knows I wrote it.

“Where the fuck is that
fucking
book?”

I watch as Audrey shuffles around a bunch of shit on her top shelf, finally fetching her homework for Parenting—I mean,
Everyday Living
.

“Just wait till the baby comes,” I joke.

Starting next week, Mrs. Ireland is making Audrey and all the girls in her class carry an egg around with them 24
/7
like it’s a baby. And if anything happens to it, say it cracks or God forbid
breaks
, they fail the entire project, forever an unfit mother.

“You’re so funny I forgot to laugh,” Audrey groans, closing her locker with a slam.

Bye-bye, Mr. Body Builder!

If you ask me, Everyday Living is a totally lame class. But here in Hazeltucky, where 90% of the girls graduate, get married, and squeeze out a litter of kids by the time they’re twenty-two, I suppose it’s pretty valuable. Lord knows my sister, Janelle, should have taken that course during
her
Senior year. Did I mention she just found out the other day that her and Ted are expecting? Six months from now on May 4
^th
.

You can bet Mom was livid, but I’m pretty psyched. Janelle’s not only my older sister, she’s also a friend. All I want is for her to be happy…Besides, how cool will it be being Uncle Brad?

“Have you talked to Jack lately?” I ask Audrey when we pass by locker #1427 en route to our final destination.

“Not since Senior Breakfast.”

Last week, our entire class got together at the Kingsley Inn, this fancy-schmancy hotel out in Bloomfield Hills, for the first of many Senior Events. Me and Audrey sat at a table with Rob, Carrie, Ava, and Tuesday Gunderson. Directly across from us sat Jack and Max with Jamie Good, Shellee Findlay, Betsy Sheffield, and Tom Fulton, aka the Popular People…Now that Max also works at Farmer Jack’s, I guess he’s Jack’s new Best Friend.

“You didn’t tell me that,” I say, stopping at the porcelain water fountain outside the girls’ bathroom to slurp a lukewarm drink.

“He came up to me in the the lobby…” Audrey takes a turn, pulling her long hair back. “Me and Rob were waiting in line at the coat check.”

“Did you say anything?”

I intentionally choose not to comment on what looks like could either be a curling iron burn on the inside of Aud’s neck…or a
hickey
.

“No fucking way, the fucker!” she snarls, wiping her face. “We should totally TP his house.”

As much as I don’t wanna piss Jack off any more than he already is, it’s about time he becomes the target of an ambush. You know how many times I been dragged outta bed by my irate mother, after Audrey, Ava, Carrie, Jack, and/or Max decided the apple trees in our side yard make for a perfect place to wrap several dozen rolls of Charmin or Cottonelle or whatever brand Big Boy’s or Country Boy’s happen to be stocking in their johns that evening? More than I can count!