Drama Queers!

by Frank Anthony Polito

  “How are you?” I asked, trying to focus on my bartender’s face and not his bod.

  Mike said something like, “What can I get you?” Or maybe, “What’s your poison?”

  Like I said, at the time, I never been to a bar before, so I didn’t know the first thing about ordering alcohol. I knew I wouldn’t like the taste of beer. In fact, I only ever drank one time at that point in my life, at Luanne’s New Year’s Eve party a few months prior when me and Jack got wasted on jug-wine.

  Wanna know what I ordered?

  “I’ll have a Tom Collins.”

  Now I didn’t know what a Tom Collins even was, but all I could think of was my favorite episode of The Jeffersons where Weezy witnessed a murder one Halloween…’member? The guy who did it was dressed up in a rabbit costume, and when he discovered Louise seen him, he tracked her down and held her hostage. In order to stall, and keep him from killing her, too, Mrs. J offered to make the man a drink: a Tom Collins.

  “You want that in one glass or two?”

  Obviously my request wasn’t too far fetched because my bartender barely batted an eye.

  “Um…” I responded, uncertain how to answer.

  Mike told me, “It’s Tuesday,” which I thought seemed odd because as far as I could remember, yesterday was Friday. Then he pointed to the sign above the bar.

  Saturday=Two’s-day

  2–4–1

  drinks 10 PM-2 AM

  “Oh…”

  Boy, did I feel like an ass!

  “One glass or two?”

  Again, I didn’t get it.

  “You know what?” I decided to make things simple. “I’ll just have a 7-Up.”

  Mike grinned. “One glass or two?”

  Finally, I was like, “I’m sorry…I don’t understand the question.”

  And he was like, “It’s two-for-one…You want two small drinks or one big one?”

  I laughed, but at the time I don’t think I got the sexual innuendo.

  Mike replied, “No problem, Chicken Little…You’re still young.”

  Not anymore!

  Back in 1988…

  Mike says, “What’ll it be?” turning his undivided attention towards Joey.

  “I’ll take a beer,” Mr. Palladino, the novice bar-goer replies.

  “What Kinda beer?”

  “What kinda beer you got?”

  Mike runs thru the list: “Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Lite, Miller Genuine Draft, Labbat’s, Coors, Stroh’s…You name it, we got it.”

  “I’ll take a Bud,” Joey concludes after all that.

  “Aren’t you a butch one?” Mike teases. Next, he turns to Mr. Tyler. “And for you, Chicken Little?”

  Okay, that does it!

  “I’ll take a Labatt’s…”

  There’s only room for one Chicken Little around here, you know what I mean?

  “You got it, cutie pie.”

  I hate to say it, but Mike sounded totally gay when he said that. Maybe he’s not as hot as I originally thought he was.

  “Thanks, dude.”

  Hold the fucking phone!

  First of all, in the four months I’ve known him, I never heard Richie Tyler use the word dude, let alone call somebody one. Secondly, I can not believe the way he’s blatantly flirting with Mike the bartender, right in front of me—and Joey Palladino. And third, what the hell does he think he’s doing bringing Joey to a gay bar? Sure, him and Richie can say they were doing (quote-unquote) research for their movie, but what if Joey goes back to school next week and tells everybody he saw me here?

  “I just need to see some ID.”

  A look of panic crosses Joey’s face when Mike questions him on this. Until Richie takes charge of the situation…

  “I don’t drive.”

  “Fair enough,” Mike responds. “How about you?” He turns to Joey.

  “Me?” Joey replies. “I drive.”

  “So show me your pretty picture.”

  From my post at the jukebox, I’m getting a cheap thrill outta watching Joey Palladino squirm, even though I know what’s ultimately gonna happen: he’ll take out his license, Mike will look at it and see he’s not even eighteen, and he’s still gonna serve him. He did the exact same thing with me when I first arrived tonight with Miss Peter. It’s what they do here at The Gas Station. Checking ID is a mere formality, in case the cops come in unexpectedly.

  Speaking of…

  ‘member School Teacher Guy? Soon as Joey takes out his license as requested by Mike, STG gets up from his stool.

  “While you’re at it, let me take a look…”

  Turns out, STG works for the Detroit Police Department and we are B-U-S-T-E-D.

  As if this night couldn’t get any worse!

  Magic Changes

  “I’ll be waiting by the radio

  You’ll come back to me some day I know…”

  —Sha-Na-Na

  “Another Openin’, another show…”

  HAZEL PARK HIGH SCHOOL DRAMA

  presents

  Grease

  A New 50’s

  Rock’n’Roll Musical

  Book, Music, and Lyrics by Jim Jacobs &

  Warren Casey

  Directed by Mr. Ray Dell’Olio

  March 17–19, 1988

  7:00 pm

  Hazel Park High School

  23400 Hughes, Hazel Park, MI

  Tonight was Opening Night.

  Thank God!

  The last month has been H-E-double-L, hell.

  Ever since I ran into The Sophomore and his new boyfriend, The Dago, on Valentine’s Day down at The Gas Station, I haven’t spoken a single word to either one of them. Needless to say, it made for some pretty interesting rehearsals, considering Joey’s captain of the T-Birds and all. It’s bad enough he stole my part in the play and I still have to act with him. Now he knows I’m a frequent frequenter of a homosexual establishment.

  What the fuck do I care? I’m just there to do my thing, give a good performance, and get on with my life.

  By the way, it turns out the cop who busted us just so happens to be Betsy Sheffield’s uncle. You can bet he probably told his niece how he kicked a bunch of her underage classmates out of a fag bar down in Detroit. Lemme tell ya, if word gets around school, I’m kicking the bitch’s ass—cheerleader or not.

  “Good show, guys!”

  After the performance, our new Sophomore Student Director appeared in the doorway of our dressing room. She’s a quiet little blonde named Ashley Lott. Turns out, Miranda Resnick got cast in the role of Marty, the Pink Lady who Dell forgot to add to the list. For her first role on the HPHS stage she knocked ‘em dead with her rendition of “Freddy My Love,” a song that’s not even in the movie, as far as I can recall.

  “Thanks, Ash…” Or should I have said, “Cendre,” the French translation of my nickname for her?

  Ashley, I’m told, went to junior high at Webb, but I honestly can’t say I remember her. I also heard a rumor her family’s Mormon—not something you see every day at Hillbilly High. But I know she likes Yaz, so she must be cool.

  Next, she told us guys, “Make sure you hang up your costumes, okay?”

  After the curtain call, some people have a tendency to just run backstage and throw their shit in a pile. I won’t name names (Will Isaacs and Keith Treva), but I’m not one of them. Not that you can do much damage to a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt, you know what I mean?

  Speaking of…

  I almost forgot my smokes, rolled up in my Doody-sleeve.

  The girls are sooo lucky! They get to wear all those great ’50s clothes, with the poodle skirts and saddle shoes and scarves around their necks. The coolest thing about my costume is the black leather jacket I borrowed from my brother-in-law, Ted. He didn’t want me painting anything on it, so I came up with a solution to use white Johnson & Johnson waterproof tape to spell T-BIRDS on the back. From the audience, you can’t even tell.

  “You coming to Big Boy
’s?” I heard Will Isaacs ask Ashley before she left us.

  Sadly, she replied, “I don’t think I can.”

  I had a feeling it had something to do with her religious upbringing, but I wasn’t about to ask. Leave it to Keith Treva and Will Isaacs!

  “Why not?” pried Tweedledee. “Everybody’s going.”

  “Yeah, come on!” interjected Tweedledum, laying on the guilt.

  “Don’t listen to them,” I told the poor girl. “You have a good night…Thanks again for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.” Then Ashley added, “Your solo sounded great, by the way.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I mean it,” she insisted. “You were really feeling it…I could tell.”

  It did go okay, I guess. Like I said, the Grease play is a tad different than the Grease film, which is what everybody knows and comes in expecting to see. In fact, the song I sing, “Magic Changes,” is only in the background of the movie at the dance. In the stage version, it sorta comes outta left field near the top of the show in scene three.

  Basically what happens is…We finish “Summer Nights,” then there’s a short scene. You know, the one where Rizzo’s like, “Danny, we got a surprise for you.” Then Danny and Sandy come face-to-face, and he’s like, “What are you doing here?” and she’s like, “Plans changed.” And then he totally blows her off. End of scene.

  Next thing we know, the school bell rings. In walks Doody (me), carrying his guitar. Danny’s like, “Play something Elvis,” and I start pantomiming, and singing:

  “C-C-C-C-C-C…”

  The tune itself is sorta dopey. All about how this guy doesn’t wanna hear this certain song on the radio ever again on account of it reminds him of his long-lost love, and how he can’t live without her, da-dah da-dah.

  All thru rehearsals, it went off without a hitch. Then for whatever reason, when I reached the last verse during the show this evening, I totally lost it. As in, I started bawling. I mean, not like a baby or anything. I got thru it. But there were serious tears in my eyes.

  Wanna know what happened?

  I started thinking about The Sophomore, instead of just singing the words the way I usually do. I actually thought about what they mean, and how I would feel if I was Doody for real and I lost my one true love…Sorta like what’s happened in my own personal life, you know what I mean?

  Of course, Richie wasn’t on stage during that part of the show. He doesn’t appear as Vince Fontaine till the dance contest in Act Two. So I don’t know if he even heard me singing my heart out for him or not.

  I didn’t think it would be this difficult. I thought I could push my feelings deep down inside and forget anything I ever felt for the guy. Everything about him that makes me weak in the knees.

  The way he lifts his shirt up, wiping the sweat from his lip while he’s lifting weights.

  The way he sucks on his saxophone, moistening the reed sensuously, before playing a single note.

  The way he kisses me, hard and strong as if his life depended on it.

  “Dayton!”

  Despite it being almost 9:30 at night, I discovered myself daydreaming in the dark.

  “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” I told Will or Keith, whichever one called my name.

  “Ain’t you coming?”

  It was Keith. For a second, I thought he didn’t bother changing outta his Roger costume. Until I realized he just traded his sweaty white T-shirt for a fresh one.

  “I think I’m gonna pass…”

  Early on, I decided I couldn’t go out and celebrate, feeling as miserable as I felt. The last thing I needed was to be stuck in a booth at Big Boy’s with Richie Tyler staring me in the face, reminding me what I gave up for the sake of my so-called career.

  The good news is…Faded Flowers finished filming at the end of February, so it’s not like Richie and Joey are still involved. To be honest, I don’t think they ever were, really. I know for a fact Joey’s still going with Diane Thompson, who’s playing Cha-Cha in the show. I seen them totally making out backstage before curtain. That doesn’t mean Joey and Richie didn’t do any (quote-unquote) practicing for their onscreen debut that Miss Thompson doesn’t know about, you know what I mean?

  “Let’s go!”

  From outside the dressing room door, I heard a familiar cry.

  “Brad says he’s not coming,” Keith told Richie, who popped his head in to see what was taking us so long.

  “He is too coming,” Richie replied, catching my eye in the makeup mirror.

  “Move your ass, Treva!”

  From outside the dressing room door, we heard the growl of Tuesday Gunderson. It seems she and her onstage love interest have developed an off stage show-mance. Now Keith’s totally P-whipped, as all the straight guys say.

  “I’ll see you dudes over there,” Keith told us. Then he called out, “Calm your ass, woman!”

  The next seven seconds felt like fifty.

  Me and The Sophomore, alone for the first time since we officially broke up.

  I had to stop and remind myself we were never really going together.

  “You don’t wanna miss the Opening Night party,” I told him, busying myself with the compacts cluttering up the counter, along with other various pencils, brushes, and powders.

  “And you do?” asked Richie, burning a hole in me with those piercing blue eyes.

  Damn him!

  Next thing I knew, I was following Diane Thompson and her passenger west on Woodward Heights. For whatever reason, they got 9 Mile blocked off between Hughes and I–75 due to construction. I think they’re finally putting in a much-needed left-turn lane. Lemme tell ya, it’s been a pain in the ass getting to school every day. I gotta either take 8 Mile to Dequindre and backtrack or follow the service drive down to Woodward Heights, and cut across that way.

  This brings me to where I am right now…

  A quick pause at the stop sign by Tubby’s, then blow thru the yellow light by Mobil, followed by a sharp right at Woodruff, and into the Big Boy’s parking lot.

  Great!

  Wanna know what kinda car I just pulled up next to?

  A 1979 pea green Dodge Omni.

  This would be the vehicle driven by one Mr. John R. “Jack” Paterno.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  I heard a rumor he was reviewing Opening Night’s show for The Hazel Parker, but I never expected him to hang out with the Drama Queers post-performance. Especially since we’re all still pissed at him. Thank God I stopped at Kayo’s and got a brand new pack of cigarettes.

  This is gonna be a long night!

  Up the snow-covered sidewalk I climb, past the life-size statue of Big Boy himself. He’s got a lot of nerve standing there in his red and white checkered overalls, holding that huge hamburger over his head, grinning. Doesn’t he realize the doom I’m about to face as I walk thru that door? I feel like Jessica Tate from Soap when she went before that firing squad…I wonder if they ended up shooting her or not.

  “Doody!”

  As per tradition, all the Drama Queers burst into applause the second I enter the building.

  “Why didn’t you guys grab a table?”

  Watching Audrey, Ava, Joey Palladino, and the rest of the Rydell High Ringtails huddle en masse near the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign, I don’t know what they’re doing.

  “Smoking was full when we got here,” Audrey informs me, her now-pink hair still saturated with “Beauty School Dropout” spray.

  “Fuck!”

  Ava rests a gentle hand upon my shoulder. “Easy there,” she sighs, mocking what she thinks is me having one of my nicotine fits. “A couple tables just cleared out…Shir’s setting them up now.”

  Truth be told, my cursing like a truck driver has nothing to do with our lack of a place to hang out, even though I don’t know why Elias Brothers is bustling on a fucking Thursday night. I’m pissed because I can see the exact two tables Shir’s cleaning off for us, located directly acros
s from where the Editor-in-Chief of The Hazel Parker sits in a booth opposite my favorite Varsity cheerleader—not!

  “You kids are all set.”

  Shir grabs half a dozen menus from the stack near the register and leads the way, even though none of us needs an escort, on top of the fact that I’m an employee of the establishment so I can handle seating myself. Before I sit, I decide I’ll be the bigger person and say hello to Mr. Paterno and Miss Sheffield. Except just as I open my mouth, the words barely forming on my lips, Jack totally looks away, pretending like he doesn’t notice me.

  Bullshit!

  I watch as he dumps an entire packet of sugar into his pop, making his stupid “Citron Fizz.” I’ll tell you what he’s making: a mess all over the table as the Sprite erupts volcano-style.

  Fuck him!

  If that’s the game Jack Paterno wants to play, I’ll gladly return the volley. Or serve. Or whatever the hell sports term applies here.

  “Cha-cha…Vince Fontaine!”

  The Drama Queers burst into applause as Diane Thompson joins us at our table, accompanied by You-Know-Who.

  “Sorry we’re late,” apologizes The Sophomore.

  “We had to make a pit stop,” Diane slyly discloses.

  Joey’s face lights up. “You got the supplies?”

  “You bet your sweet Dago ass we did!”

  You’d think this comment would come from Diane, but it actually belongs to Richie. Cha-Cha’s too busy being pulled onto Danny Zuko’s lap and having her face sucked off.

  A quick take reveals Mr. Paterno acting like he doesn’t see any of this either.

  Hmmm…Is it just my imagination, or does Jack look a tad jealous?

  He can’t still be carrying a torch for Joey Palladino…Can he?

  Last I checked, he was sooo into Mr. Homecoming King.

  Speaking of…

  I heard a rumor that Betsy Sheffield recently dumped Tom Fulton’s ass. But nobody knows the exact reason. I guess this would explain why Jack and Tom are no longer all buddy-buddy.