Wanna take a wild guess who it’s gonna be?
I’ll give you a hint…
He’s the totally hot Sophomore who I’m (once again) totally in love with.
If you said, “Richie Tyler,” you win the prize!
As the auditorium echoes with applause, I look over to where Richie waits with his fellow officers, arms folded low across his crotch, chest popping out even more than ever. Did I mention how hot he looks tonight? Pale pink, short-sleeved shirt, showing off his biceps, and what looks like a brand-spanking-new pair of Girbaud jeans, his white slip-on shoes, and no socks.
“Quiet, please…”
Dell does his best to calm the maddening crowd.
All it takes is a glimpse of gold.
“Allow me to introduce you to ‘Thespy’…”
Dramatic pause.
“In all my years of teaching here at Hazel Park, I’ve never been more proud to present the Thespian of the Year award to the following individual…”
Dell takes a deep breath, sustaining the suspense a few seconds longer. He looks down at his cue cards, reading the winner’s list of credentials.
“This individual has been a member of Drama Club for the past three years…”
Check.
“…has appeared in productions of Little Shop of Horrors, The Miracle Worker, Oklahoma!…”
Check.
“…A Christmas Carol, and most recently Grease…”
Check.
Over his shoulder, Mr. Dell’Olio turns to where I sit beside Gunderson, Moody, and Rakoff, as he continues. “This past February, he traveled to New York City to audition for the prestigious Juilliard School of Drama.”
Oh, my God…
“And even if he doesn’t get accepted,” Dell concludes, “Brad Dayton is one of the finest actors I’ve ever had the pleasure of directing.”
Thunderous applause!
Stepping up to the podium to receive my award, I reach out to shake Dell’s hand. To my surprise, he pulls me into a big old hug, eyes glistening. From the floor below, Jack gives me the thumbs up. Then he snaps a photo of me and my mentor for the final edition of The Hazel Parker.
“Wow.”
It’s a good thing I actually wrote a speech—just in case. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Digging into my pants pocket, I pull out the crumpled cocktail napkin, and clear my throat.
“It’s been a privilege to be a part of Thespian Troupe #4443…”
So many familiar faces…
“And to serve as President.”
Mr. Dell’Olio’s wife Bonnie.
“I don’t have to tell you how important Drama is to me…”
Carrie Johnson and Ava Reese.
“I know how important it is to all of you, too…”
My mom, my dad, my grandparents, my sisters.
“Or else we wouldn’t be here tonight.”
All except for Janelle.
Oh, my God…I just realized I haven’t told you: I’m an uncle!
Janelle and Ted finally had their baby (a week late) on May 10, 1988 at 9:03 PM. His name is Theodore James Baniszewski. He weighed 8 pounds, 3 ounces, and was 21 inches long. You should see him…He’s got the cutest little head, full of reddish brown peach fuzz, and the widest mouth…I swear he looks just like Charlie Brown.
“To quote Mr. Dell’Olio,” I conclude, “‘This is what our kids should be doing!’”
More applause, accompanied by some hooting and hollering from the likes of Will Isaccs and Keith Treva. Dell nods and smiles in agreement, turning a shade of red to rival any I seen on myself.
“I’m not gonna get all emotional here,” I promise, “but there’s an important member of Troupe #4443 who isn’t here with us…”
A hush falls over the crowd.
“She was one of my Best Friends…”
My throat feels so tight I can barely swallow.
“Her name is Audrey Wojczek…”
Many an eye tears up—including mine.
“I loved her…I miss her terribly…”
The next words out of mouth, I don’t know where they come from.
“And I want her to have this.”
Holding “Thespy” in my hot little hand the way I always dreamed of, I keep thinking about what Audrey said the night before the accident…
“Promise me you’ll stop worrying what other people think…”
Wining awards isn’t what really matters.
“…start caring about the most important person in your life…”
Not if you’re sad and all alone.
“That would be you.”
Thanks to Audrey Wojczek, I know what must be done.
“Now go out there and get that boy.”
I will!
Sitting side by side on a bench outside the auditorium, far away from the roar of the crowd, me and The Sophomore (soon to be The Junior) have a civil conversation over post-awards punch and pie…
“Congratulations.”
“You, too.”
Hard to believe this is the exact same spot me and Richie officially met exactly six months ago—November 12, 1987.
“That’s a cool thing you did,” Richie compliments. The scent of Drakkar Noir drifts in the air between us…making me horny as hell. “Audrey would be psyched to be Lesbian of the Year.”
I admit, “She’s been in more plays than I have,” downplaying the gesture. “Besides, it’s not like I get to keep the trophy.”
Talk about stupid! Giving somebody an award, then stashing it away in some dusty display case for everybody else to admire. Ah, well…Someday when I get my Tony. Or Emmy. Or maybe even an Oscar. Heck, I’ll settle for a Soap Opera Digest award. Just because I’m not going to Juilliard doesn’t mean I can’t still be on Days of our Lives!
“So what’s up?”
“Nothing…What’s up with you?”
This is me and The Sophomore trying to think of something else to say. I can’t believe we haven’t spoken since that tragic night in my bedroom back in March. Over two months ago. ’member Richie showed up at my door, drunk on wine coolers, after going to EB’s on Opening Night of Grease?
“Anything new and exciting?”
“Same shit, different day,” he reports, flashing me that old familiar shit-eating grin.
Enough of the idle chitchat.
Time to pop la question…
“You got any plans next Friday?”
Richie takes a blueberry bite, talking with his mouth full. “What’s next Friday?”
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m distracted by the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Talk about sexy! “Um…”
I down my apple cobbler with what looks like McDonald’s orange drink, which I used to love when I was little, but not so much anymore…Bogue!
“Isn’t that the night of the Prom?” Richie asks, trying to sound nonchalant.
He knows for a fact it totally is.
For the last week, the buzz in the hallowed halls of HPHS has been solely about An Evening of Elegance. Claire Moody devoted her final “Fashion Faux Pas” to PROM DOs & DON’Ts. I mean, everybody who’s anybody is attending. Why would you possibly miss out?
I’ll give you three good reasons:
1) You’re gay.
2) You can’t go with the one you love.
3) All of the above.
This explains why I ask Richie Tyler if he wants to spend the night of May 20, 1988, with me. We may not be able to attend An Evening of Elegance, but we can certainly get dressed up and enjoy a fancy dinner at our favorite Backstage restaurant.
“Why would I wanna go and do that?”
This is Richie’s response to my query, putting a dent in my otherwise foolproof plan. He finishes his pie, brushing a crumb from his cheek.
“O, that I were a glove upon that hand
That I might touch that cheek!”
“Because…”
Now I know how Jack felt when I put hi
m thru the wringer.
“Because why?”
Deeply, I inhale, letting out a huff.
“Because…” Then in one fell swoop, I spew, “I’m in love with you.”
Richie pauses a moment, taking in my confession.
Wanna know what he finally says after what feels like a year?
“I thought you’re not a fag.”
Reaching out, I take his hand, locking our fingers together tightly. “Would I do this if I wasn’t?”
With my fellow Thespians beyond the brick wall behind us, I must be totally out of my mind for doing what I’m about to do. But in the words of Phil Collins: “I don’t care anymore.”
Right then and there, I kiss Richie Tyler—tongue and all.
His lips never felt softer, his breath never tasted sweeter, his skin never smelled sexier.
“Just because you kiss another guy,” Richie reminds me once we come up for air, “doesn’t make you a fag.”
I give his hair a gentle tug, my hand wrapped round his neck. “Then I’ll have to prove it some other way.”
“What have you got in mind?”
He reaches back, grabs my wrist, getting a little rough for the first time in our relationship. Did I mention I like a man who’s assertive?
“Spend next Friday with me and you’ll find out.”
Gazing deep into my eyes, his face mere inches from mine, Richie Tyler asks the question I been dying to hear all evening: “What time you picking me up?”
7:00 PM the following Friday…
For the past three nights my poor sister and her husband haven’t gotten a lick of sleep. My nephew, Teddy, came down with a case of colic. So Mom offered to take Nina and Brittany and spend the night over Janelle and Ted’s. Originally she suggested they come crash at our house, but Little Brad offered to pay for a room at the Red Roof Inn since he never bought them a wedding present. Plus he wants to have the house all to himself this evening—just in case.
Let’s just say, I didn’t humiliate myself by walking into Arbor’s and buying a box of Trojans just for the hell of it, okay?
“Sorry I’m late…”
Richie greets me at his front door, grinning. “Don’t let it happen again.” Then he says, “Don’t you look sharp?”
‘member the $1,000 I managed to save working at The Gas Station? Since I won’t be needing it for Juilliard, I decided to invest in a new suit. Nothing fancy, just a simple double-breasted beige job I bought up at Oaktree in Oakland Mall. Ninety-nine bucks, what a bargain!
Of course, Richie looks drop-dead gorgeous in a navy number, with maize and blue striped tie…“Let’s Go Blue!”
Right away I notice his hair.
“Nice ’do.”
He’s got it slicked it back, reminiscent of the style he wore as Vince Fontaine in Grease. Considering we exchanged not a single word during the entire production, how did Richie know what the James Dean look does to me?
“My parents won’t bite,” he promises, inviting me inside.
Like I said, Richie’s mom I met at Opening Night of A Christmas Carol, and again more recently after the Drama Club awards. But his dad, I never laid eyes on a day in my life. Saying a little prayer, I cross the threshold, where it seems Mr. and Mrs. Tyler have been eagerly awaiting my arrival.
“Nice to see you again, Brad.”
Mrs. T throws her massive arms around me, smelling of Chantilly. She truly is the sweetest thing since apple pie. She compliments me on my suit, congratulates me (again) for winning Thespian of the Year, tells me how much she admires me for giving it up.
Looks like I’m scoring brownie points with Richie’s mom…How about his dad?
Other than the fact that he works for Chrysler’s, I don’t know what to expect when we’re introduced. But I prepare myself for the worst. For whatever reason, I automatically assume Richie’s dad’s going to be just like my dad: distant, indifferent, and overtly discriminating.
“Pleased to meet you, son.”
Sure, he’s got a grip like George “The Animal” Steele, but I couldn’t have been more wrong about Mr. Tyler. Physically, he appears exactly like what I expected: short, stocky, and Southern. Yet when he looks at me with his son’s same blue eyes, I see nothing but acceptance.
“Likewise,” I say, even though I never use the expression.
I don’t know what Richie’s told his parents we’re doing this evening. They must be wondering why I’m stopping by to pick their son up all decked out in a suit and tie, with him dressed the exact same way. Doesn’t it look the least bit suspect? Or do they really not care?
“Have a nice dinner,” Mrs. Tyler wishes us.
“You boys be careful,” Mr. Tyler warns. “No drinking and driving, y’hear?”
“I’ll be extra careful,” I promise. “I borrowed my mother’s car.”
Richie kisses his parents, out the door we fly, and away we go!
But not before taking a few photos…
On the front porch. By the bushes. Next to the car.
With all the attention they’re giving us, I wonder if maybe Mr. and Mrs. Tyler think I’m actually taking their son to the Prom. Of course, in that case, I would’ve brought him a corsage—not!
“Sorry about all that,” says Richie, once we’re at last on the road.
“No need to apologize,” I assure him. “Your parents are awesome.”
“Not as awesome as you.”
Isn’t he the sweetest thing?
Dinner’s a Total Blur. We get in, we order. We eat, we get out.
“Now where to?”
Like I said, Mom’s over Janelle and Ted’s with Nina, Brittany, and Teddy, so we got Dayton’s Depot all to ourselves for the evening. Once I relay this to Richie, we’re back on the corner of Wanda and Webster in less than two shakes.
“Who did all this?” Richie gazes about the family room in utter disbelief.
“Who do you think?”
Call me a nerd, but I took it upon myself to do a little decorating. I figure if we can’t physically be at the Vintage House in Fraser, we can at least pretend. After all, we’re actors, ain’t we?
My date scoffs, “Probably some dork,” totally bursting my bubble.
“What makes you say that?”
I hope Richie doesn’t really think I’m silly for wanting to make tonight Löwenbräu special. All I did was hang some streamers, and make a few An Evening of Elegance signs. Did I go too overboard by suspending a disco ball from the ceiling between the chandeliers?
“Lighten up, Opie…I love it.”
Cue lights.
Stars circling around us, I take him in my arms, holding him close. “You do?”
Cue music.
“So if you love me
Say you love me…”
Richie replies, “Not as much as I love you.”
Cue curtain.
Hard to believe how truly happy I am at this moment. Back in the arms of the one I love, ready to start a new chapter in my life, full of so much promise.
Isn’t that the thrill of the Theatre? With the beginning of each new play, we never know what to expect. Unless maybe we’ve seen the show before—and believe me, I haven’t.
This is one Drama I don’t know how it’s gonna end!
* * *
Graduation Memories
This Book Belongs to BRADLEY JAMES DAYTON
Homecoming King & Queen
Tom Fulton and Jamie Good
Valedictorian & Salutatorian
Jack Paterno and Betsy Sheffield
Lyrics
“Heartland”
FAVORITE ALBUM
Echo & The Bunnymen
FAVORITE ROCK GROUP
Tina Turner
FAVORITE FEMALE VOCALIST
George Michael
FAVORITE MALE VOCALIST
“True Colors”
FAVORITE HIT SINGLE
Tee Vee
“Designing Women”
FAVORITE HALF HOUR S
HOW
“Dynasty”
FAVORITE HOUR SHOW
“Matlock”
WORST SHOW
Flicks
“Gone With the Wind”
FAVORITE MOVIE
James Dean
FAVORITE ACTOR
Marilyn Monroe
FAVORITE ACTRESS
Berkley Theatre
FAVORITE THEATER
“Princess Bride”
“Moonstruck”
“Rocky Horror Picture Show”
MEMORABLE MOVIES
Sooner or Later
I predict
Ava Reese marries Don Olsewski Carrie Johnson marries Peter Reckell Jack Paterno becomes a Bestselling Author I win an Academy Award
Autographs
Brad,
When I met you, I thought you were a fag. Now I think your a cool guy.
Don Olsewski, ’88
Brad,
We’ve been friends since Webster, but I’m glad we got to know each other better at HPHS. I’ll never forget the good times (and sad times) and all the help you gave me in World Shit—I mean, Lit! (“Don’t get my tarp wet you sugar-high druggie”)
Love, Ava
Ava loves Don!
‘88 dominates
Brad,
What can I say? You’re a great guy and a terrific actor. I’ll never forget all the fun times—never! The “cookie in the middle,” Chorale partners, “Grease,” Bloomer State Park. Geez, I could go on forever. Never forget me cuz I sure won’t forget you!
Love always,
Jamieleeann Mary Sue Good, aka Rizzo (Betty)
Brad,
You’re a real sweetheart and I’m glad I met you back in 7th grade. You are so talented and you make the lives of those around you so much brighter. I hope to see you on a “soap” someday. May all your dreams come true.
Love, Clarissa Moody (K.I.T. 546–5670)
Brad,
Your the first real friend I ever had. Sorry I been such a dick head this year and we didn’t spend much time together (you can blame Jack!) Good luck at Julliard, if you get in. If you don’t, there’s always O.C.C. (Kidding!)
Drama Queers! Page 35