“Red-leather-yellow-leather.”
Time for some warm-ups!
“Rubber-baby-buggy-bumpers.”
Luckily, I’m not the only one making a fool of myself.
“She-sells-sea-shells-by-the-sea-shore.”
Oh, the cacophony backstage, with thirteen teenaged actors plus one 9-year-old, all dispersed in various corners, running thru an array of tongue twisters and other vocal exercises.
“Five minutes!”
Miranda pops her head around the flat I’m standing behind, scaring the bejesus outta me.
“Thank you, five…” I reply, holding my racing heart.
Why is it that every time I’m about to go on, I gotta pee?
Hopefully we got a big house tonight. The non-musicals are always a harder sell, you know what I mean? From what I can hear beyond the curtain, the auditorium sounds pretty full. I can’t make out any specific voices, but I know Mom, my sisters, and Grandma Victor are all out there, probably in the front row. They never miss an Opening Night. My dad, on the other hand, is a totally different story. He hasn’t been to a play of mine since I started my Drama Queer career…I didn’t bother inviting him to this one.
Both Ava Reese and Carrie Johnson said they were coming tonight, and afterwards they’re gonna join me and Audrey up at Big Boy’s for the post-show celebration. Normally, I wouldn’t wanna hang out someplace I work, but Shir always saves us our usual tables in the smoking section by the salad bar, and she always treats us right no matter how rowdy we may become.
“Places, please!”
Why is it that every single time I’m about to go on, I crave a cigarette?
Crossing stage right, I take a seat at my (Bob Cratchit) desk. I say another silent prayer, hoping I don’t forget my dialogue, and more importantly, that none of my fellow actors do!
Richie follows suit, taking his place center stage. Only he doesn’t look at me as he’s now totally in-character. Did I mention how hot he looks, even as a crotchety old geezer?
Squeak!
The squelch of the sound system sends a shiver up my spine.
Tap-tap-tap!
Below the hem of the curtain, I see a familiar pair of brown suede shoes. Once I regain my hearing, I recognize the sound of Mr. Dell’Olio’s voice on the mic…
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”
I can picture Dell standing out front in his standard gray plaid suit, balding head nervously nodding, giving his customary curtain speech. I do my best to tune it out. Until he gets to the part where he reminds all the friends, family and faculty, “This is what our kids should be doing!”
Meaning, staying outta trouble by putting on plays, as opposed to off somewhere smoking cigarettes (no comment!) and/or doing drugs or God-only-knows-what-else…Having S-E-X, maybe?
Da-dah da-dah.
A thunderous round of applause indicates that Dell has at last stepped out of the spot.
Lights fade.
Here we go…
Cue music.
“Hark the herald angels sing…”
Curtain up.
God, I gotta pee!
Last Christmas
“This year, to save me from tears
I’ll give it to someone special…”
—Wham!
My dad hates me.
Okay, maybe he doesn’t hate me (I hope not), but I always felt this way, ever since I was little. In fact, sometimes I think I’m the reason my parents ever got a divorce, you know what I mean?
Maybe it’s because at age two, I wet the bed.
Maybe it’s because at age four, I was scared of the dark.
Maybe it’s because at age six, I wanted to be a girl.
I mean, I didn’t necessarily want to be a girl. But being the only boy in a family of four kids, I tried my best to fit in. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it was confusing sometimes. When you see your three sisters all asking Santa Claus for a giant Barbie head, why would you possibly care about GI Joe?
When Dad wasn’t busy walking his beat, he spent all his time down at Wayne State studying for his degree in PE. At home, it was always just me, my mom, and my sisters. Bradley and the girls.
This one time, when I was like nine or ten, Dad was off at either work or school, leaving poor Mom stuck at home with me, Janelle, Nina, and Brittany…
“Let’s play Beauty Parlor!”
Guess who unanimously decided this for everybody else?
I’ll never forget the hair dryer Mom used to have. Not a blow dryer, like by Conair, but an actual hair dryer you put on top of your head and sit underneath in rollers. Made out of a light bluish purple plastic-y material, the thing reminded me of a shower curtain. It wasn’t big or bulky like the ones Wilma and Betty use on The Flintstones. It was totally collapsible, with its own little matching faux-velvet carrying case.
Of course, I got to sit there and watch my three sisters take turns getting their hair Wella Balsamed, and wound in pink plastic sponges, before Mom placed the purply-blue hair-dryer-hat on each of their curlered heads. I distinctly remember crying out at the injustice of being a boy, watching Mom tuck the hair dryer away on the tippy-top shelf of the hall linen closet.
“I want a turn!”
Wanna know what Mom said?
Not Bradley, you’re a boy…Boys don’t put curlers in their hair or sit under hair dryers.
In typical Laura Dayton fashion, she looked down at me, all smiles. “Honey,” she said, “You’ve already got curly hair.”
“So does Janelle and Brittany!” I wailed, pointing out the obvious.
As far as I was concerned, Nina was the only one with hair in need of enhancing…And she was only like six or seven, so who cared what she looked like?
Next thing I knew, there I sat, hair dryer crown atop my tiny head. The thing weighed a ton, and the motor on top roared in my ears.
I watched Mom disappear a moment, returning with her Kodak Instamatic 126 camera. She removed her wire-framed glasses, held it to her face, and told me, “Say cheese!”
This is what I assume she said. I still couldn’t hear her.
A spectrum of stars shot out with the pop of the Magic Cube. Patiently, I waited for the timer on the Amana Radarange to ding so I could witness my results.
I looked exactly the same.
At least I thought I did.
Mom had a different opinion.
“Don’t you look beautiful?” She held her pink plastic hand mirror-mirror up where I could see myself. “Doesn’t Bradley look beautiful?” she beamed, turning to my siblings.
I remember 5-year-old Brittany suppressing a giggle. “He looks like a girl.”
“He does!” Nina agreed, totally cracking herself up.
That’s okay, it didn’t bother me. I thought I looked glamorous.
Mom turned to Janelle. “Go find your church dress…The red one.”
Next thing I knew, there I stood, looking exactly like Little Orphan Annie.
“The sun’ll come out…”
I knew all the words by heart and sang the entire song for them.
I remember thinking Andrea McArdle was sooo cute when I seen her the year before on The Captain Kangaroo Show. When Christmas rolled around, you can bet I asked Santa to bring me the Annie Original Broadway Cast recording on 8-track.
“You’re only a day a-way!”
My audience of four burst into applause. Mom snapped another picture, first of me solo, then one of her four girls, fresh from their Beauty Parlor makeover.
We gathered around the full-length mirror in Mom and Dad’s bedroom, posing as Annie and the other little orphans living “The Hard Knock Life” in 1930s “NYC.” Too bad Mom could never afford to take us to see the show when it played the Fisher Theatre downtown.
Just then, we heard the back door open…
“Honey, I’m home!”
Immediately, me and the girls ceased our infernal singing. We looked at Mom all like, What do we do?
; Without saying a word, she ushered her only son into the bathroom, closing the door behind us, locking it. Looking down at me, she held a finger to her lips, giving me the international sign for “Shut the fuck up.” I’m kidding! Mom would never say the F-word, she’s a Christian.
On the other side of the wall, we could hear Dad’s footsteps as he made his way from the back door, past my vacant bedroom, and into our orange Brady Bunch kitchen.
“Laura!”
He called from just outside his and Mom’s room where Janelle, Nina, and Brittany still remained, awaiting his arrival.
“Daddy!” they cheered in gleeful unison.
I could picture the girls throwing themselves at our father, wrapping themselves around his thighs, pleading to be picked up and coddled, all the while helping their only brother bide his time while their mother stripped him of his Little Orphan Annie dress.
Mom spun me around and went to work on doing just that. I could sense her frustration as she tugged forcefully on the stubborn zipper.
“Damn!” she cursed under her breath.
You can bet this was the first (and last) time I ever heard Mom swear.
Knock knock!
“It’s locked,” Mom told Dad, even though he could obviously tell since the door wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he jiggled the handle.
“What are you doing in there?” Dad demanded.
“What do you think I’m doing in the bathroom?” Mom gave another yank on the YKK, but to no avail. She twirled me back around, whispering, “Arms up.”
I obeyed her instructions, feeling quite the whirling dervish…Whatever the hell that is!
“Laura?”
Mom sighed, sounding totally frustrated. “Give me a second, okay?” Like a banana, she peeled the dress over my head with one quick motion. “Inside,” she ordered, pulling back the pink shower curtain.
I loved the sound the plastic rings made when they clinked together. But I still had my Superman Underroo bottoms on, the ones I wore to the Central Freewill Baptist Halloween party, my red bedspread tied around my neck. Imagine the horror when Lefty Kerr (the bully) noticed the little flap in front and informed everybody, “Bradley’s wearing underpants!”
As much as I wanted to protest, I followed Mom’s lead. I knew the second she turned on that tap, the water would come cascading down, totally flattening out my Little Orphan Annie ’do…Too bad I had no other choice than to hop on in.
“Damn it, Laura!” Dad swore loudly from the safety of the other side. “What are you doing taking a shower now?”
The world around me darkened as Mom shut me in. The water felt a tad too hot, I looked like I peed myself, but still my big concern was not quenching my coif.
“All right, James…” Mom unlocked and opened the door. “You can take your turn.”
“Why is the shower still running?” Dad’s voice grew louder as he stepped inside the room. “You know how expensive our water bill’s gonna be?”
This was a constant discussion between Mr. and Mrs. Dayton as of late. If it wasn’t the H2O, it was the heat. If it wasn’t the heat, it was the “electricity, e-lec-tri-city!” (School House Rock)
“Little Brad is taking a shower,” Mom reported. She used to call me this sometimes, since my grandpa Dayton is also named Bradley.
I heard my dad cry out, “Son!” He used to call me this sometimes, and still does…on the rare occasions that I see him.
I tilted my head back. The warm water splashed against my bare body. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be taking a shower for real or what.
“Hi, Daddy!”
I picked up the blue bar of slippery soap. I loved how fresh and clean it smelled, and the fact that they called it (quote) the eye opener (unquote).
Beyond the pink plastic, my parents’ shadows put on a show.
“I’ll leave you to your business,” Mom told her husband.
He replied, “I’ll wait till Little Brad is done…A man needs his privacy.”
Next thing I knew, they departed, leaving me to myself.
Looking back, I’m not sure if Dad meant that I needed my privacy while taking a shower or that he needed his in order to pee. I hate to think my own father would think I might try to sneak a peek at his willy while he took a whiz.
It didn’t help when six weeks later, Mom asked Dad to pick up the pictures she recently dropped off for developing at Perry’s…
“Aren’t your daughters beautiful?”
From behind her post at the film-processing counter, the saleslady complimented Dad. One by one, she flipped thru the photos of James and Laura Dayton’s wonderful family: Christmas morning…Easter morning…The Hazel Park Memorial Day parade.
“They most certainly are,” Dad boasted with paternal pride.
“Oh, my…I didn’t realize you had four!”
Neither did Dad.
Sure enough, there they were in full Focal color after a night of playing Beauty Parlor with their mother. Janelle, Nina, Brittany, and…
Who’s that other one in the middle wearing the red dress?
You can bet Dad let Mom have it when he got home.
“Damn it, Laura!” he cursed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Upstairs, me and the girls played with our giant Barbie heads. We had a pair. One, Santa brought the girls two Christmases ago. The other, Mom got special for me—much to my father’s dismay. I shared mine with Brittany.
“You can’t go dressing our son up like he’s a goddamn girl!”
As per usual, we pretended we couldn’t hear our parents fighting down below. Instead, we continued with our Barbie makeovers, unable to take in Mom’s response. She always argued in hushed tones.
Whatever the outcome of that particular fight, it didn’t stop Mom from reading the headline in the Free Press a few weeks later:
HOLLYWOOD SEARCHES MOTOWN
FOR LITTLE ORPHAN.
Yes, it seemed somebody was making a movie version of Annie, starring Carol Burnett as “I love you, Miss Hannigan,” and some guy I never heard of, Albert Finney, as Oliver “Daddy” Warbucks. They were coming to Detroit as part of a nationwide casting call, looking for the star.
“I think we should go,” Mom told me, not even aware that I had any aspirations of becoming an actor one day, because I don’t think I did at the time.
“But Annie is a girl,” I remember telling her, even though she already knew that.
“So…?” Mom replied, ever the positive thinker. “It’s acting…What difference does it make who plays the part as long as they can sing?”
I loved Carol Burnett! Me and Janelle used to watch her TV show with Mom every Saturday night, cuddled up together on the couch. My favorite episode of all time has gotta be the one where they spoof Gone With the Wind…’member? Went With the Wind, featuring Carol as Starlett O’Hara, Harvey Korman as Rat Butler, Tim Conway as Brashley Wilkes, and Vicki Lawrence as the maid, Sissy, with special guest star Dinah Shore as Melody Hamilton.
I’ll never forget the first time we saw Starlett swoop down that staircase wearing a curtain rod round her shoulders. We were cracking up sooo hard, we almost peed our pants.
The thought of having the chance to work with Carol Burnett would be like a dream come true.
But what about Dad?
Thankfully, on the day of the audition, I came down with a bug of some sort.
“Mom, I’m sick…”
“No you’re not,” she informed me in typical Laura Dayton fashion.
Why did she always think I was lying whenever I made this claim?
“Feel my forehead,” I insisted, not faking it.
Mom clicked her tongue and fetched the thermometer. Five minutes later, she retrieved it from my mouth and sure enough, my temperature was Rod-Stewart-103…Another song I love-love-love!
As much as I wanted to go, as much as I knew I could totally play Little Orphan Annie in the movie version starring Carol Burnett and Albert Finney, I kept thinkin
g about how pissed Dad got when he saw the pictures of his only son all dolled up in a little red dress.
The expression of disappointment on Mom’s face was too much to bear. The last thing I wanted to do was let her down. Yet somehow, I think she realized we probably shouldn’t take our chances at making Dad even madder.
“Maybe next time.”
The reason I bring all of this up pertains to what happened last week after Opening Night of A Christmas Carol…
As you probably know, by the end of the story, Scrooge is redeemed. The Three Spirits show him the way and all is fa-la-la-la fine and dandy come Christmas morning. Even if the Ghost of Christmas Present did skip an entire page of dialogue in scene five.
In the moment (as we say), I sorta felt sorry for Tuesday Gunderson. I mean, she’s a Total Geek and all, but she’s still a nice girl. Once she realized what happened, the look of panic on her pimply face was punishment alone for fucking up.
Thankfully Richie is a pretty good ab-libber—I mean, ad-libber.
All he had to do was look at Tuesday and say, “Do you mean to tell me, Spirit…?” And then he just fed her the line she forgot and got everything back on track. What can you expect from amateurs?
Once Tiny Tim chimed in with his “God bless us, every one!” and Miranda Resnick cued music and lights, the curtain closed. Immediately, Will Isaacs and Keith Treva (who else?) started hooting and hollering the way they always do after a performance has concluded.
“Today!”
As the soon-to-be elected Thespian of the Year, I knew I had to take charge of the situation and get everybody in line for curtain call.
The Sophomore stepped center stage, extending his hands to either side.
Audrey took the left. “One down…Two to go!”
I must say she looked awesome in her flowing white Ghost of Christmas Past gown, but the baby powder she put in her hair made me wanna hack up a lung.
Suppressing a cough, I stepped up to Richie’s right.
“I’m not holding your hand,” he wailed in disgust. “Psyche!”
Drama Queers! Page 16