Drama Queers!

by Frank Anthony Polito

  “I know you better than anybody else,” I remind him, “but until you can admit the truth about who you really are—not just to me but to yourself—I don’t think we can be Best Friends anymore.”

  And with that, I fling open the accordion-fold and walk out the door.

  Forever…?

  Dress You Up

  “All over, all over

  From your head down to your toes…”

  —Madonna

  I love dressing up.

  As far back as I can remember, it’s always been a thing with me.

  Not just like in costume, but like playing Dress Up.

  Being the only boy in a family of four kids, you never got much of a choice in the games you played growing up. At Dayton’s Depot, there weren’t a whole lot of toys back in the ’70s. Or in the ’80s, for that matter. Like I said, Dad worked for peanuts as a Troy cop, and Mom didn’t earn squat as a stay-at-home housewife. I guess when you got four mouths to feed in less than six years, food becomes more important than Fisher-Price.

  Hence the Tickle Trunk.

  Mom totally stole the idea from Mr. Dressup. When we were little, me and my sisters watched the show every morning at 10:30 AM on channel 9 from across the Detroit River in Windsor, Ontario. Mr. Dressup is sorta like Sesame Street, except it’s just this one guy named (what else?) Mr. Dressup. He’s probably in his 50s, and he’s got a couple puppet friends—a boy named Casey, and a dog, Finnegan.

  Mom used to say I looked like Casey because he’s got red hair, too. If you ask me, the kid always creeped me out since he’s just this plastic head with a mouth that doesn’t move attached to a cloth body. For the longest time, I thought Casey was a girl. He sure as hell sounded like one. And poor Finnegan is a fucking mute, so that was even freakier!

  But Mr. Dressup is an awesome guy. He’s always telling stories and cracking corny jokes, and singing songs like “Down by the Bay,” and “Wheels of the Bus.”

  This is where the Tickle Trunk comes in…

  Every once in a while, Mr. Dressup would break out this huge red-orange trunk decorated with these ’60s-style decal flowers. From inside, he’d pull out these costumes (a bear, a snowman, maybe a dragon), and he’d dress up in them, putting on a show for Casey and Finnegan and all the little girls and boys out in TV Land, like me and my sisters.

  Maybe I got my desire to perform from watching Mr. Dressup, now that I think about it.

  Maybe he’s the reason my life has taken this turn down Drama Queer Lane.

  Maybe Mr. Dressup is the reason I started dressing up in my mom’s clothes whenever I got the chance.

  That didn’t come out right, did it?

  What I’m taking about is the Tickle Trunk—I mean, our Tickle Trunk. The one my mom made for me, Janelle, Nina, and Brittany.

  Janelle I already mentioned a few times. She’s nineteen and she’s got a boyfriend—I mean, fiancé—Ted Baniszewski. He’s twenty-one, drives a Camaro, and works up at Country Boy’s on 9 Mile. In fact, Ted got me my first job working there as a busboy back in 9th grade, even though I hated it. He’s a good guy, that Ted. In fact, he looks a little like Robby Benson from Ice Castles. Him and Janelle started shacking up after she graduated from HPHS in ’86, much to our Southern Baptist churchgoing mother’s dismay. Did I mention Janelle’s got big boobs and she’s totally hot?

  Number two sister is Nina. She’s not a redhead like the rest of us, lucky her! She gets her coloring more from Mom’s side of the family. Nina’s fourteen and a 9th grader at Jardon, the Special Ed school in Hazel Park next to Webb. I guess technically they’re both in Ferndale, but that’s a whole ’nother story!

  Yes, it’s true, we do go to Hazel Park Schools, but we do not (repeat, do not) live in Hazeltucky. Like I said, the Daytons live in Ferndale, which is almost just as bad, but not quite. At least it’s not Detroit, you know what I mean? Still, it’s close enough since Dayton’s Depot is only four blocks north of 8 Mile on the corner of Wanda and Webster. Back in the day, it used to be a store. Not like a Party Store-store, more like a small grocery store.

  I’ll never forget the first time Dad took us to see it back in the late ’70s after our house in Center Line burnt down. I remember thinking it was sooo glamorous because the huge, sunken-in family room, which used to be the main part of the store, has super-high ceilings with these great old chandeliers. And three bedrooms—two downstairs, one up. Thank God I got my own. Being the only boy outta four kids doesn’t always suck.

  God bless her heart, Nina was born premature with a slight trace of cerebral palsy. She’s been in and out of the hospital for years, and had a ton of operations to replace the shunt in her head from having water on the brain. I love her to death! Sure, she’s a tad slow, which makes things hard for her, and for Mom. This is why Mr. Dressup was such a great show for us all to watch together.

  Number three sister, Brittany, is in 8th grade at Webb, so that makes her thirteen. Talk about cute! “As a bug’s ear,” like Grandma Victor always says. Maybe I’m prejudiced because she’s my baby sister, but Brittany Dayton is bound to be a real heartbreaker someday. How can she not? She totally looks like our mom, except she’s got our dad’s red hair and freckles, same as me and Janelle.

  Back to the Tickle Trunk…

  Mom knew how much us kids enjoyed watching Mr. Dressup get dressed up in the costumes he pulled out from his Tickle Trunk. So one day, she goes up to the Goodwill or the Salvation Army or some other secondhand store in Royal Oak somewhere. This is like 1979–80, and remember, the Daytons are dirt poor. We can’t even afford to shop at SS Kresge’s, let alone Kmart’s.

  And what does Laura Victor-Dayton find at the thrift store?

  This huge trunk that not only does she buy, she also paints red-orange and decorates with these ’60s-style decal flowers she got from God-only-knows-where.

  Somehow, a good portion of Mom’s own wardrobe wound its way into the Tickle Trunk where me, Janelle, and Nina, and Brittany (once she got older), would fight to the finish over the finest. Of notable mention: the white cotton Country Girl peasant dress accented with embroidery, the groovy orange and blue horizontal-striped mini-dress with mini-belt, and the beige two-piece polyester pantsuit. Of course, none of these fit any of us in the least. This is why I always preferred the mini-skirts since they came all the way down to the ground on me.

  And don’t forget the shoes.

  My favorites included: a pair of avocado open-toed sling-back pumps with matching leather bows on the front, and these rust-colored cloglike platforms with a cork sole that had to be at least three inches thick. On more than one occasion, I almost killed myself making my way down the steps into our sunken-in family room wearing them!

  Or how can I forget the bright red faux-leather knee-high Wonder Woman boots? All shiny with thick wedge heels and full-length zippers running up the inseams. Me and Janelle used to take turns pretending we were Princess Diana sporting those things…And each and every item magically appeared from inside the Dayton family Tickle Trunk courtesy of Laura Victor-Dayton herself.

  Thanks, Mom!

  So tonight I’m going to a Halloween party.

  Not a party-party, like the ones Jack used to have in his parents’ basement where we’d always end up playing Spin-the-Bottle and Truth-or-Dare. In fact, this isn’t even a real party.

  Me and my friends are getting dressed up and going to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

  Wanna know who I’m going as?

  Columbia.

  The tap-dancing groupie-friend of Dr. Frank-N-Furter, and alleged lover of Meat Loaf—I mean, Eddie—originally played by Little Nell.

  Imagine how difficult it is finding a gold sequined tailcoat with black sequined, unnotched lapels, and matching top hat with black scrunched hatband. Thank God there’s this costume shop, Lynch’s House of Sequins, up on Dequindre and 11 Mile. You can bet the nondescript middle-aged woman working behind the cash register thought I was a Total Freak asking if she could
sell me a black sequined bustier with flat sequins (not cup) in a man’s size 38…Luckily, I don’t have to wear a wig since Columbia’s got the same haircut as me—short in back, longer on top, and red.

  One day about a year ago, Jack called me up and was all like, “Oh, my God…We must see this movie!” He started rambling on and on about how his 28-year-old coworker (Corrine? Collette, maybe?) told him all about this totally great musical from the ’70s. “Everybody in the audience gets up during the middle of it and acts it out.”

  Well, when I heard that, I knew I had to see it. I wanna be an actor, don’t I? I should experience these things. Too bad Jack could never get his friend (Colleen!) to take us. We had to wait till we were seventeen and could purchase the tickets ourselves. So I decided to celebrate my birthday on September 4th of last month by going to see Rocky Horror out at Lakeside Mall.

  So far I seen the Picture Show seven times—once a week for the past two months, except on the night of the Homecoming Dance. That’s the problem. They only show it on Saturdays at midnight, which is part of the reason Jack only went with us the one time for my birthday. He always works till 11:00 PM on weekends, so he’s too tired to do anything. (Persnickety!)

  “Be careful driving.”

  Mom kisses my cheek, after Nina snaps a Polaroid of me and her and Brittany with the camera we bought Mom for last Mother’s Day.

  “I will,” I promise, checking my lipstick one final time in the side of the toaster.

  Brittany cries, “I wanna see!” when Nina starts shaking the photo into focus.

  “No fighting,” Mom warns. “Or it’s off to bed.”

  Good luck! These girls are pumping so much glucose thru their veins from all the Mary Janes and SweeTarts and candy corn they scored tonight, they ain’t never gonna sleep.

  The four of us gather in a small circle, awaiting the finished product.

  “Don’t you look pretty?” Mom beams once our image has materialized. She’s not even the least bit embarrassed to be observing her 17-year-old son looking like a transvestite from transsexual Transylvania.

  Personally, I think I look good as a girl. Sizing myself up in the white plastic square, I’m amazed at what a little lipstick and mascara can do to transform a boy. Not that I’m one of them gay guys who wants to be a woman or anything. I’m perfectly content with what I got between my legs.

  “You look pretty too,” Nina tells Mom, who blushes.

  “I look old,” she groans, even though it’s not at all true.

  At forty-one, Mom is as gorgeous as ever. Sure, she’s gained some weight since my favorite picture of her with the cat’s eye glasses and bouffant hairdo was shot back in 1964 when she graduated from the other HPHS—Highland Park High School. That’s what happens when a woman has four kids before she turns thirty!

  “No drinking,” Mom warns. “You hear?”

  Feeling the flask of fuzzy navel strapped to my freshly shaved thigh, I secretly cross my fingers. “Never.” Boy, do I hate lying to my mother!

  It’s been a while since I walked in three-inch heels and I forgot the degree of difficulty. As I stumble down the back porch steps, I almost crash into the cream-colored ’68 Valiant parked in our driveway. Leave it to my dad to give me a car that’s two years older than I am. I can’t complain, I’m just happy I finally got my driver’s license. Surprisingly, it only took me three tries to pass my road test.

  Climbing inside, I take care not to snag my stockings in the process. Leave it to my dad to give me a car with a busted dome light. With my key, I feel around for the dashboard ignition. After finding the hole, I fire up a glamorous Virginia Slim Light 120 that I bought special for tonight’s festivities, and away I drive.

  First thing I do once I buy my movie ticket is hit the concession stand…Well, the second thing, after I look around the empty mall for the rest of the Drama Queers I’m supposed to meet here by 11:45 PM.

  My heart races for the finish line as I step up to the register. Why am I so nervous about buying a stupid pop? Because I got a bit of a crush on the dark-haired Chaldean guy with the bulging biceps working behind the counter, that’s why! His name tag says: JERRY, even though I’m pretty sure that’s not his real name. I think it’s Ahmed.

  Wanna hear the funniest thing?

  Jerry looks up from behind the cash register where he stands in his cute little uniform: dark polyester vest over white dress shirt with matching bow tie. I can’t see the pants, but I imagine they’re super tight and his ass looks totally hot.

  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.

&
nbsp; 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?