Drama Queers!

by Frank Anthony Polito

  “There’s a great little bookstore you should check out called Oscar Wilde’s.”

  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I don’t know much about the guy. Other than he wrote The Picture of Dorian Gray, which Mrs. Malloy forced us to read in 11th grade English Shit—I mean, Lit. I barely remember the story. Something about a guy who is sooo vain he doesn’t wanna grow old, so he pays this artist to paint a portrait of him that ages instead.

  At the time we read it in class, I didn’t realize Oscar Wilde was gay. Until Stacy Gillespie raised her hand and was all like, “Mrs. Malloy…Wasn’t Oscar Wilde homosexual?”

  Flummoxed, Mrs. Malloy was all like, “Why yes, he was.”

  End of discussion.

  The Village (as they call it), is totally cute, but totally confusing!

  With tiny crooked streets running all different directions, a person could easily lose his way. At one point, West 4th Street actually crosses West 10th. There’s even an aptly named Gay Street right across from the Oscar Wilde Bookshop, which Christopher says is like the world’s oldest gay bookstore, established in 1967, two years preceding the birth of the Gay Liberation movement.

  A few years ago, I begged Jack to come to New York with me to celebrate his 16th birthday, which falls on June 27th, the eve of the Stonewall Riots…And do you think he would?

  N–O!

  “Good afternoon.”

  A young lesbian-looking woman greeted me from behind the counter as the jingling of bells announced my arrival. Like everything else in NYC, the bookstore was super tiny. I guess there isn’t a whole lot to offer in the world of Gay Literature. The fact that such a place even exists totally amazes me. I can’t imagine ever finding anything gay-owned and operated in Hazel Park. Or even Ferndale, for that matter.

  A display marked STONEWALL BOOK AWARD-WINNERS offered such titles: The Spirit and the Flesh: Sexual Diversity in American Indian Culture, Sex and Germs: The Politics of AIDS, and The Celluloid Closet: Homosexuality in the Movies. Out of curiosity, I wondered if they had a copy of Now Let’s Talk About Music by Gordon Merrick laying around anywhere.

  Years ago, I bought a copy of this trashy gay romance novel up at B. Dalton’s in Universal Mall, all about these gay guys, Ned and Gerry, cruising about on the gay Love Boat, getting it on with anybody and everybody who comes along. Lemme tell ya, me and Jack read that book over and over (and over) till the cover practically fell off. I can’t believe he threw it in a mailbox on his way to school one morning, fearing Dianne would find it when she was snooping about, aka cleaning his room.

  “Are you looking for something particular?” Lesbian Lady inquired, a polite smile gracing her fine-featured face. Why do some women look good without makeup and others not?

  “Just these, please.”

  I decided to skip the Gordon Merrick in favor of a few black-and-white NY landmark postcards I found on a rack next to the register: Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, World Trade Center. The last thing I needed was to start reading The Adventures of Ned & Gerry and get all distracted when I had the biggest audition of my life in the morning, you know what I mean?

  “Come again,” Lesbian Lady told me after I paid for my purchase.

  “I will…Next time I’m in town.”

  I couldn’t resist letting it slip I was a tourist, as if LL couldn’t already tell by my I NY shopping bag filled with the I NY T-shirts I bought for my mom and my sisters…And Mr. Dell’Olio…And The Sophomore.

  Before I could depart, LL asked, “Where you visiting from?”

  “Detroit, Michigan,” I answered proudly, probably for the first time in my life.

  “What brings you to The City?”

  Her genuine interest took me by surprise.

  “Well, since you asked…”

  I explained all about how I’m an actor here for my Juilliard audition, da-dah da-dah…

  Wanna know what she said to this?

  “I auditioned for Juilliard…Three times.”

  This explained why she was working in a bookstore and not on Broadway.

  “How did it go?” I wondered if maybe she could give me some insight as to what tomorrow had in store.

  “Fine, I thought…The last one, I even got a callback.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign.” I tried my best to sound encouraging. “Maybe four’s a charm.”

  The woman shrugged. “Being an actor is tough…Especially if you’re a Friend of Dorothy.”

  Dorothy who?

  Outside, it surprised me to see how dark it was at only 4:30 PM. Maybe because of all the tall buildings blocking out the sun. Or the fact that New York City is on one edge of the Eastern time zone and Detroit the other, closer to Central in Chicago. Either way, it totally depressed me. I thought of Sean living it up in Sunny LA, probably hanging out at the beach with David Lee Roth and all the California girls—and the bodybuilders…Lucky!

  Down the block, I discovered a lovely little café, Les Deux Gamins. Not sure how that translates (The Two Somethings), but I decided to stop in, order a cappuccino and smoke a cigarette while I wrote out a quick note.

  1/30/88

  Dear Noel,

  Greetings from Greenwich Village! Got here a couple hours ago, did some shopping, now I’m pooped. Tomorrow’s the big day…I think I’m gonna throw up.

  Love, Ryan

  PS—Wish you were here!

  Later that evening, Christopher hailed us a cab and we headed uptown for dinner at this famous restaurant called Sardi’s on W. 44th Street right off Times Square. You might remember it from The Muppets Take Manhattan when Kermit goes in, disguised as a famous producer or director or somebody, trying to generate some hype about his musical, Manhattan Melodies…’member?

  All these caricatures of famous Theatre-types cover the walls. Fozzie takes down the one of Liza Minnelli, and replaces it with Kermit’s, causing the entire room to start buzzing about the famous producer or director or whoever they think Kermit is. Until the real Liza Minnelli shows up. Only to discover she’s been replaced by a frog…Boy, she’s pissed!

  “So what advice can you give an aspiring actor?”

  Over dinner, I decided to ask Christopher some questions. I figured since he’s been there and done it, he could offer an insider’s perspective I can’t get anywhere else on the Acting Biz…Carpe diem, and all that jazz.

  “You want the honest truth?” He pushed his half-full plate of pasta aside in favor of a Merit Ultra Light. “It sucks.” He lit up, exhaled. “If there’s anything else you can think of doing, if there’s anything that’ll make you just as happy…Do it.”

  At first, I thought he was joking around, saying the same thing everybody else keeps telling me: “It’s a hard business.” “Only a small percentage of actors actually make a living.” Da-dah da-dah. Too bad the bitter tone in Christopher’s voice made me realize just how serious he was.

  “But you been on Broadway,” I reminded him, lighting my own Marlboro Light. Around us, the din of pre-show diners made me wonder if anybody would recognize my companion from his Torch Song days. Secretly, I hoped they would.

  Christopher scoffed, “Five years ago,” fiercely sucking on his cig.

  Five years? I didn’t realize it’s been so long.

  “Well, what have you done since?”

  I watched him stab at the olives in what I think was his third martini.

  “Oh,” he sighed, “a little temp work here, a little cater-waitering there…”

  Clearly the man was not happy with his current career path.

  “What about TV?” I wondered. “Can’t you get a job on a soap?” I knew they filmed Days of our Lives in LA, but what about all the other shows like Loving and Another World?

  “Sure…I’ll just give ’em a call and let ’em know I’m available.”

  “Don’t you have an agent?” I assumed a professional actor must.

  This was the point where Christopher laid it all on the line.

  “I don’t
know if you know this,” he began, “but I’m gay.”

  Like I said, I had a feeling this might be the case, but I didn’t wanna insult my host by being all like, “Oh, yeah…I could totally tell you’re a fag.” Instead, I said, “You are?” doing my best interpretation of surprised.

  “In this business, everybody’s gay,” Christopher confided. “Actors, agents, casting directors, you name it.”

  “Well, that’s cool,” I replied, never stopping to consider. I mean, I knew Rock Hudson was gay, and I always assumed that guy from The $1.98 Beauty Show, Rip Taylor, had to be a homo.

  “The thing is…Nobody talks about it.”

  This didn’t make sense to me. “Why not?”

  Christopher lapped up his last drops of vodka. “Because if you admit you’re a fag,” he explained, signaling the waiter, “nobody will hire you.”

  Again, I didn’t get it. “Why not?”

  Contemplating the bottom of his empty glass, he commented sadly, “That’s show-biz.”

  Boy, was Jack gonna be happy!

  This was the exact same thing he said Sophomore year when I first told him I’m a homo: “Aren’t you afraid people are gonna find out about you?” As far as Jack Paterno was concerned, everybody knows famous people can’t be gay and famous.

  “What about Rock Hudson?” I remarked. “He was famous and gay, and everybody knew it.”

  “And look what happened to him.”

  At the time, I thought Jack was totally overreacting, but here was Christopher, a (quote-unquote) professional actor, backing him up.

  Now what was I gonna do?

  We sat in silence, smoking our cigarettes, waiting for the check.

  “I don’t mean to discourage you,” Christopher said sincerely, after a moment. “You seem like a nice guy.”

  I nodded and smiled, unsure where this conversation was heading.

  “You’re cute, you’re intelligent, obviously you’re talented or Ray wouldn’t recommend you for Juilliard.”

  For a second, I had to stop and think about who Ray was…Then I remembered he’s Mr. Dell’Olio.

  Christopher stubbed out his smoke. “Let me ask you a question…”

  Again, I nodded and smiled.

  “You wanna be an actor?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Why?”

  I thought long and hard.

  Like I said, it all started when Mrs. Malloy assigned us the What I Want to Be When I Grow Up paper during first semester of Sophomore English. At the time, I never considered how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. Being a C student, I didn’t think I’d get into college, let alone about what I might study.

  The only thing I enjoyed up till that point was playing my trombone, and I didn’t wanna become a professional Band Fag! Maybe le français? Sure, I enjoy speaking it, but what would I do with a degree? Teach high school to a bunch of brats and wind up like Mrs. Carey standing in front of an empty classroom? The only other thing I enjoyed doing was watching TV and going to the movies.

  Hence my decision to become an actor.

  From that moment, I began to eat, sleep, live and breathe Drama. I checked out and read all the plays in the HPHS library. This didn’t amount to many: A Streetcar Named Desire, You Can’t Take It with You, The Matchmaker, which is the nonmusical precursor to Hello, Dolly!

  I started attending the Theatre on a regular basis. Not the Fisher, downtown, I couldn’t afford it. But I took in Two by Two at Stagecrafters in Royal Oak, and saw many a show at the local area high schools: Kiss Me, Kate at Lamphere, Guys and Dolls at Berkley, and Oliver! at Ferndale, which was probably my fave.

  The lead actors did an okay job, but the girl who played Mrs. Sowerberry, the undertaker’s wife, really stole the show with “It’s Your Funeral.” Her name I’ll never forget: Miriam Shor. You can bet she’s gonna go far!

  Of course, all that happened before I ever even stepped on a stage. Once I got a taste of what it feels like to appear in front of a live audience, to hear their response to something I did, to make them laugh and possibly cry…That feeling is nothing short of magic, and one I can not live without.

  “Then remember what I said,” Christopher replied once I told him all of this.

  After everything I went thru with Jack, after all the time I spent trying to get him to come out, I promised myself I would never live my life in The Closet.

  Why do I feel like now, I don’t have a choice?

  Next, we headed over to this half-price ticket booth called TKTS, located in the middle of Times Square, between the giant Coca-Cola sign seen in all the movies and where the ball drops every December 31st on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. For $50 (plus service charge) we got two tickets to see the 1987 Tony Award–winning Best Musical, Les Misérables.

  Christopher highly recommended we see it since he knows some of the actors in the cast. The story is all about this French guy, Jean Valjean, who goes to jail for stealing a loaf of bread, but eventually rises up to become the town mayor, and adopt this little orphan girl after her whore of a mother drops dead from syphilis or something.

  I guess it’s based on a book by some guy, Victor Hugo, from like 1800-something. I should probably know this since the story takes place in France, and we know how I like all things French…Why don’t I play French horn?

  I gotta say, it totally surprised me when I found out Les Miz (as they call it), is one of the few shows actually playing on Broadway. Apparently, the term has nothing to do with the actual road. Most of the theatres are located on various side streets throughout the Midtown area.

  Regardless, the show was awesome. Afterwards, we got a backstage tour, so we could see the turntable and barricade up close. Talk about cool! I can not wait till I get a chance to appear on a Broadway stage—hopefully sooner than later, you know what I mean?

  This is where I met the guy I been hanging out with for the last two hours…

  “Where’d you go?”

  My new friend appears holding two plastic foam-filled cups, which he paid something like $4 for—apiece. Talk about a rip-off! Back in Hazel Park, you can get an entire six-pack up at Kado’s Market for less than that.

  “Isn’t it Last Call yet?”

  I do not need to be drinking anything else right now. In fact, I can’t even remember the guy’s name I’m talking to, that’s how wasted I am.

  “Not in New York,” Les Miz Guy informs me. “Bars are open till 4 o’clock.”

  Just what I need to hear!

  Actually, he’s a friend of—

  Shit!

  The guy I’m staying with…What’s his name?

  Christopher!

  The guy I’m at the bar with is an actor friend of Christopher’s.

  Speaking of…

  “What happened to Christopher?”

  I just realized I haven’t seen him in like over an hour.

  “He wasn’t feeling too good,” Les Miz Guy reports. “He said he’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I hope it wasn’t something he ate.”

  Now that I think of it, I feel a tad sick to my stomach myself. But maybe it’s from all the beer I been drinking.

  LMG shrugs. “He probably had to take his pills.”

  This confirms my suspicions: Christopher has AIDS.

  I had a feeling this might be the case.

  When I first arrived at his apartment, before heading out to the bookstore, I excused myself to the little boys’ room. Of course, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek inside the old medicine cabinet. I don’t know why, it’s just something I always do whenever I’m in a new home…Call me curious!

  Sharing the space with the tube of toothpaste, mini-bottle of mouthwash, and cinnamon-flavored floss, I found a collection of amber-colored containers. You know, the plastic prescription bottle kind with the childproof “Keep Out of Reach” caps. Only instead of familiar contents like penicillin printed on the labels, these held something called azidothymidine.


  This immediately called to mind the 1985 made-for-TV movie starring Aidan Quinn, Ben Gazzara and Gena Rowlands, An Early Frost…

  Michael Pierson (Quinn), a successful-but-closeted lawyer, learns he has AIDS after his lover reveals he cheated on him. Soon after, Michael returns home to break the news to his parents (Gazzara and Rowlands), and his bitch of a pregnant sister (some chick from A Nightmare on Elm Street 2, Sydney Walsh).

  In typical father fashion, Michael’s dad does not deal well with the disclosure. At first, he refuses to speak to his son, but eventually breaks his silence, telling him, “I never thought the day would come when you’d be in front of me and I wouldn’t know who you are.” Michael’s mother, God bless her, attempts to persuade her family to accept her offspring for who he is. After all is said and done, Michael winds up in a hospital where he eventually withers and dies.

  How’s that for an up film?

  Poor Christopher…Why does something sooo terrible have to happen to somebody sooo nice? Talk about a buzz kill!

  “I should probably get going…”

  Five hours and counting till it’s time to rise and shine for the big day!

  My original plan was to head back to the apartment right after the play and go directly to bed, “Do not pass GO, do not collect $200!” Like I said, I got my audition at 10:00 AM up at 66th Street and Columbus Avenue, and I don’t know how long it’s gonna take me to get there on the subway.

  “But it’s still early…”

  If this guy (what is his name?) wasn’t sooo cute, I would not entertain the idea of staying one second longer. Why does he totally have to be my type: dark hair, dark eyes, SWB? I think I remember him saying he’s twenty-two, which I suppose isn’t that old. Not to mention he’s got this totally sexy New York accent, which has gotten progressively thicker (and sexier) as the night’s dragged on (and the more he’s had to drink).

  Bradley James Dayton, you’re a slut!

  What about Noel/Richie back in Michigan? Not that we’re a couple or anything.

  And what about poor Christopher, dying of some fatal disease, all because he chose to be intimate with the wrong person? Not that Les Miz Guy wants to “do” me or anything.