Drama Queers!
Page 20
Turns out, not only is my character gay, he’s also fucking his Best Friend!
Despite my original apprehension, I was totally geeked at the thought of playing opposite Richie Tyler. Not because I still found him incredibly attractive, even though I did, but because everybody knows he’s a very good actor—for a Sophomore.
So long as he didn’t have a problem playing my secret gay lover, neither did I.
“I’m cool with it,” Richie informed Claire when posed with this question.
“Spiffy,” she replied, adding, “You two make a beautiful couple.”
The script wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected. Especially the relationship between my character, Ryan (a Senior), and Richie’s character, Noel (a Sophomore), who become involved after Claire’s character, Amanda (also a Senior), and Ryan break up.
Too bad Amanda soon realizes she’s pregnant with Ryan’s baby and wants him back. What sucks even more is when she drops by Ryan’s house to give him the news…and finds him in bed with Noel!
NOEL
That was the best.
RYAN
No, you’re the best.
They share a sensual kiss.
RYAN (CONT’D)
I love you, Noel Jordan.
NOEL
I love you, Ryan—
A KNOCK on the door.
AMANDA (O.S.)
Ryan?
Ryan and Noel freeze, caught in the act.
Busted!
Swallowing her pride, Amanda turns and goes, determined to raise the baby on her own, vowing never to tell Ryan he’s the father. To top it off, when she tells her friends, Jenn and Mary Beth, what she’s found out, the girls confess they’ve known the guys were gay and secretly a couple all along, thereby betraying Amanda’s trust.
Quelle scan-jul!
I had a feeling this part of the storyline came from Claire. Her writing was always a tad overly dramatic…But in a good way!
Years ago back at Webb, Claire collaborated on a short story with Carrie Johnson and Jack about some teenaged runaway who becomes a prostitute and falls in love with her pimp. Too bad their teacher, Miss Shelton, caught them passing it around during Social Studies, and threatened to have Mr. Grant read it aloud in the cafeteria during lunch—same as he did with Shellee Findlay’s Dear Bobby love letter.
“Nice work, everybody.”
After we finished the read-thru, Claire went around the room asking for any questions or comments.
Audrey chimed in. “How does Mary Beth feel when she finds out Ryan is gay and in love with Noel?”
“Good question,” Rakoff replied. “How would you feel if your Betht Friend came to you and told you the exact thame thing?”
Aud’s eyes fell on me a moment. “If Brad came to me and said he was in love with another guy…I wouldn’t give a flying fuck.”
Everybody chuckled, even though we could all tell for once Audrey wasn’t trying to be funny.
Rakoff said, “That’s exactly how Mary Beth feels about Ryan.”
“This is a good script, you guys,” Ava complimented them, sounding as if she might actually enjoy acting in it.
“Totally,” I concurred. “I can’t wait to start filming!”
No matter how much it might suck getting naked with and kissing Richie Tyler, this was indeed the opportunity of a lifetime. How many actors in Hollywood were willing to play gay characters that weren’t totally stereotypical? Imagine the kind of praise I would get for taking on such a challenging role.
For the sake of my future career, I had to do it.
This explains why I’m pulling up to Richie Tyler’s house at 7:45 PM on a Friday night to pick him up for our date…
No, I’m not being facetious. Me and Richie Tyler are going out to dinner—as a couple.
Mr. Klan recommended a restaurant down on Woodward called Backstage after Moody and Rakoff suggested we explore the world of (quote) gay male subculture (unquote). Of all people, Mr. Klan would know where we should go. Like I said, the guy’s over thirty-five and he’s never been married. “Do a diagram, figure it out.” (Paula Poundstone)
“You’re cool with this?”
Before we head into the restaurant, I ask Richie this question.
“Shut the fuck up…It’s research, remember?”
He holds the door open, even though I’m older so I should be the one doing this for him. Once we’re inside and we take our seats at a candlelit table for two, I make sure I pull his chair out…Who knew gay dating could be so confusing?
The place is actually sorta cool, decorated in a Theatre theme, with posters and Playbills covering the walls from various Broadway productions. Above our table hangs a showcard from something called Torch Song Trilogy. I can’t say I ever heard of it, but some guy named Harvey Fierstein wrote and starred in it, along with Estelle Getty, better known as Sophia Petrillo from The Golden Girls…Did you happen to see her in Mannequin with Andrew McCarthy? I didn’t realize she isn’t such an old bag for real.
“Would you gentlemen care for a cocktail?”
That voice!
Our waiter sashays up to our table, dressed like a proverbial penguin, wine list in hand. I immediately recognize him and his flippy hair.
“Hello, Aryc.”
‘member the snotty cocktail server from The Gas Station? The one me and Miss Peter can not stand. He sure looks different without his biker shorts and tank top. Like I said, he’s a Total British B-I-T-C-H, but once he sees it’s me sitting with Richie the Babe, Aryc becomes my new Best Friend.
“Oh, my goodness…Opie!”
Richie gives me a look, as if to say, Who the hell’s Opie?
In return, I shoot him a silent stare, hoping he’ll realize we do not wanna engage this guy more than we have to. Then back to Aryc, I say, “Actually, it’s Brad.”
“And who do we have here?” he inquires, fixing his colored contacts on my date.
“Richie…Aryc. Aryc…Richie.”
The Sophomore nods and smiles. “Actually, it’s Rich.”
Aryc squeals, “Oh my! Isn’t he butch?” Then he turns to me, ear-to-ear grin. “You two aren’t dating, are you?”
Great!
The last thing I need right now is Aryc outing me to Richie Tyler.
Not that I’m ashamed of who I am or anything, but this dinner date is all about business, you know what I mean?
“As a matter of fact…We are.”
Those words did not come outta my mouth.
That was all Richie Tyler doing the talking.
I don’t know what he’s up to, but the expression on Aryc’s prissy puss is priceless.
“Tonight’s our anniversary,” Richie brags. He takes hold of my hand, sending a thrill from my fingers thru my spine. “Two months.”
I think back to our first meeting, that day in early November. Richie can’t possibly remember the exact date we met, two months and four days ago…Can he?
“Congratulations,” says Aryc, not sounding the least bit sincere. “I’ll be back to take your order in a jiff.”
After our server slinks away, I attempt to retrieve my hand.
Richie won’t let go. “Research, remember?”
My heart goes from zero to sixty in no seconds flat.
Whatever you say!
I can’t even tell you what I eat for dinner. Or what we talk about. Or whose idea it is for us to continue the date by moving on to The Gas Station…
“You sure they’ll let me in?”
“As long as you’re with me,” I assure Richie after we park my car and make a break for it. I just hope Nancy’s working the door tonight.
Sure enough, as we approach the front of the line, there Jabba the Hutt sits.
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
I assume she means Sean. “’member? He moved to LA.”
A quick glance at Richie reveals he doesn’t look the least bit fazed at Nancy referring to my having a boyfriend. In fact, I think all he’s concerned
with is getting inside where they keep the booze.
Nancy bellows, “I told him I wanted my Powertool tape.” She takes my five bucks, marking my hand with her Sharpie. “Next!”
The Sophomore steps forward.
“Where’s your ID?”
“I don’t drive,” he confesses, not sure what else to add.
“He’s with me,” I interject, hoping that’ll do the trick.
It doesn’t.
“How old are you?”
A true Drama Queer, Richie turns to me for direction.
“Sixteen.”
This I tell Nancy, even though I know she shouldn’t care that he’s really fifteen. There’s underage kids running around Heaven and The Gas Station every weekend. Why should tonight be any exception?
Mrs. Ed shows us her horse teeth. “Robbing the cradle, eh, Brad?” Nancy accepts Richie’s cash, marks his hand with a big black X, and says, “No drinking, I mean it…The cops catch you in here, I’m pleading the fifth.”
Whatever…
“Hello, handsome…What can I get you?”
‘member the totally hot bartender with the bare buff torso, army fatigues worn with combat boots, and the six-inch dyed-blue mohawk? Soon as we belly up, Mike’s all over Richie…Why do the beautiful people get all the attention?
“What are you drinking?”
Richie looks to me, uncertain. For the first time since I met him, The Sophomore seems outta his element. You wouldn’t think so judging by the way all eyes undressed him the second he walked thru the door.
“I’ll take a Labbatt’s,” I answer, even though I can’t stand beer so I don’t know why I ordered it. Nervous, I guess.
Richie concurs, “Make it two,” totally avoiding Mike’s eye.
“You got it, Stud.”
What the—?
“Somebody sure does like you,” I say, feeling a tad jealous. Usually I’m the one on the receiving end of Mike’s affection.
“You think?”
“Totally.”
I watch as Richie watches Mike bend over and retrieve two green glass bottles from the refrigerator, his round bottom aimed in our direction. Is it just me or is Richie Tyler checking out another guy? For my sake, I can only hope!
“Two Labatt’s…”
Mike pops the caps off and offers us the cold ones. I give Richie three crumpled dollars. He gives the bills to the bartender, along with a few of his own.
“’s on me,” says Mike slyly, refusing the money.
How many months have I been coming to this bar, and never got a free drink? From now on, Richie Tyler is coming out with me every Friday night.
“Cheers,” I toast. “To Faded Flowers.”
Richie remarks, “To Noel and Ryan.”
“To Ryan and Noel,” I correct, taking a sip…Bogue!
Richie shrugs, “Age before beauty.” Then he downs his beer in one big gulp.
Smart-ass!
At that moment, one of my absolute favorite tunes starts to play.
“Oh, my God…I love this song.”
Those words did not come outta my mouth.
Again, that was all Richie Tyler doing the talking.
Lemme tell ya, this kid is full of surprises tonight.
I’m like, “You do?”
And he’s like, “I got the cassette for my birthday in September.”
“September what?”
“7th…I’m a Virgo.”
I’m like, “You’re kidding?”
‘member what I said about meeting somebody with the same astrological sign, and immediately bonding with them in a spiritual way? Not only do I find out Richie is an Erasure fan, but he’s also born three days (and two years) after me.
I have to ask him, “You know what this song’s about, don’t you?”
“Duh!” Richie replies. “A boy tells his parents he’s a fag, and they disown him for it.” From the way Richie makes this comment, I can’t tell if he’s being sympathetic to the boy in the song’s plight or mocking it. Regardless, the next words outta his mouth comes as a total shock: “You wanna dance?”
I’m like, “Do you?”
And he’s like, “Noel and Ryan dance, don’t they?”
“At the Prom,” I remind him.
This is the most pivotal scene in the Faded Flowers script.
After getting caught in bed by Amanda, not only do Ryan and Noel decide to come out, they also make their relationship official by attending the Prom together…So what if they’re ridiculed as the laughingstock of the school? They still got each other.
“We should probably practice, shouldn’t we?” suggests The Sophomore.
He takes my hand, leads me to the dance floor. Disco lights reflect in his crystal blues as we slow-dance the night away—no matter what song the DJ plays next.
Around 2:30 AM, we arrive home at Richie’s house in Hazel Park…
Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler are away at another bowling tournament so he won’t get in trouble for coming home late.
“Did you have fun?” I wonder, not wanting the night to ever end.
“‘That was the best,’” Richie replies, quoting from Faded Flowers.
Picking up my cue, I respond, “‘No, you’re the best.’”
And then, as the script says…
They share a sensual kiss.
Research, remember?
His lips feel so soft.
His breath tastes so sweet.
His skin smells so sexy.
‘member the scene from Somewhere in Time when Elise McKenna, aka Jane Seymour, spends the afternoon traipsing about Mackinac Island with her soon-to-be lover, Richard Collier, aka Christopher Reeve (no S)?
After meeting on the steps of The Grand Hotel, E & R take a horse drawn carriage ride, waltz arm in arm along the shores of Lake Huron, followed by a rowboat excursion out to the lighthouse. Upon their return to the isle, Richard walks Elise back to room 117, where she attempts to put the brakes on by offering her hand, thanking him for “the most pleasant ah-fter-noon.”
But Richard Collier is having none of it. He didn’t travel sixty-eight years not to even make it to first base. Despite declaring she must rest before her performance in the play that evening, next thing Elise McKenna discovers, she’s handing over her key and allowing her pursuer to cross the threshold of her boudoir…Where they will talk, “just for a moment or so.”
Yeah, right!
It may be the year 1912, but the look in Elise’s eye says she understands full well exactly what she’s in for. Still, she plays it coy, remarking, “What did you want to talk about?” in her posh, British accent, once Richard closes the door behind them, shutting out the rest of the world.
Take note how she positions herself, ever so demurely against the doorframe. Imagine the thoughts running thru Miss McKenna’s mind as her Superman utters nary a word, his X-ray eyes never losing site of their focus, as he sidles up close.
“Oh, my God…What’s happening?”
The firm grasp of his hands upon her shoulders.
The tender caress against her cheek.
The delicate way he lifts her chin.
Her words may deny it, but her body burns with a desire she has never known…This is exactly how I feel the moment my Richard presses his lips to mine.
My life will never be the same.
Welcome to the Jungle
“You can taste the bright lights
But you won’t get them for free…”
—Guns N’ Roses
“Start spreading the news…”
Look out New York City, Brad Dayton est arrivé!
You can bet Moody and Rakoff pitched a bitch when I told them I wouldn’t be around this weekend to rehearse Faded Flowers. Like I’m gonna skip the biggest audition of my life when I been planning it for months. Besides, it’s not like we still don’t got two more weeks before we start shooting.
Wanna know what I love most about NYC so far?
The people.
Outside LaGuardia, I stand smoking a cigarette, waiting for the bus to transport me to Manhattan. I’m surprised how warm it is here. When I boarded the plane this morning at Metro, it was twenty-two degrees and snowing. Now it feels a balmy forty with partly sunny skies. I heard somebody say something about it being on account of New York is located on the ocean…Who knew?
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a tad freaked out having to find my way all by myself. For the bijillionth time, I reach deep into my pocket for my directions, scratched out on a piece of scrap paper.
Express bus from LAG to GCS
S train to Times Sa
1/9 to Houston
I don’t know why I’m worried. If I get lost, I’ll just ask somebody. Despite what I been warned about New Yorkers not being friendly, how bad can they really be?
“Does this bus go to Grand Central Station?”
After almost getting on the Q33 to Queens, I turn to the Hispanic-looking woman sitting on the bench beside me at the stop. I swear she’s carrying as many babies in her arms as she’s got bags at her feet, all of them dirty-faced and fat and totally adorable. The babies, I mean, not the bags.
The look she gives me says, How dare you talk to me, you Midwestern gay-boy? “No speak English.”
Well, how should I know?
Ten minutes later, a bus rolls up, large and blue. With the words GRAND CENTRAL prominently displayed on the light-up sign above the windshield, it’s gotta be the right one…I hope.
Back in Detroit, we rarely ever take the bus anywhere. In fact, I think the last time I rode one was back in 10th grade when me and Max hopped the SEMTA up John R to see The Legend of Billie Jean at Oakland Mall. This was before any of my friends could drive and feels like sooo long ago.
Like Rosa Parks from my native Motown, I make my way towards the back of the bus. There’s not a seat to be found amongst the natives and other tourists en route to their final destinations.