Designer Baby

by Aaron Elias Brunsdon

  Jarrad and Jayson stayed together for over five years, but in 1999 their relationship came to an end. Jayson was single once again, now one of fashion’s most influential people, and an eligible bachelor prime for the picking. Single gay men in town wanted the opportunity to meet the suave, sophisticated gentleman. He was a good catch, the perfect boyfriend for the right candidate – and I just happened to be single at that time.

  I had left my hunky barman Kendal after nearly six years and was now running the top gay nightclub in Sydney. My circle of friends included A-listers and other glamorous people. Stonewall Hotel was very popular and, believe me, I played the part of host with the most rather well as Stonewall’s licencee extraordinaire. I mean, what could be better for a pumped 27-year-old than to be known as the licencee of the most prominent dance venue on the strip? My name was synonymous with GAY, my ego so huge it was bursting out of my Lycra tops. In all honesty, I had never met the man and the name Jayson Brunsdon, though familiar, wasn’t all that important to me at that time. Besides, I was in no great hurry to meet or jump into a new relationship. I wanted to have some fun and play the field because there was no shortage of dates or one-night stands in my world. This all changed when love came unexpectedly knocking down my door.

  3

  Charlotte’s Hens Night

  Sometime in February 1999, a good friend of mine, media television personality and gay icon Charlotte Dawson, contacted me. I had known and met Charlotte several years earlier when I first started working at Stonewall. She was introduced to me by my then public relations manager, a six-foot-two Kiwi transgender named Ricca Paris. Ricca was once a showgirl and knew Charlotte in the early days from Auckland, New Zealand. Ricca was performing at a drag bar called Staircase, a known haven for the like and their straight friends. The synergy between the two was instantaneous. They had many things in common, one of which being their love for the gay community. That February, Daws (the nickname her close friends called her) rang to tell me she had accepted a proposal from Olympics silver medallist swimmer Scott Miller and they were to be married shortly, in a lavish wedding.

  I adored Charlotte and we remained close until her death in 2014. She was born in Auckland, New Zealand. Her biological mother, a teenager at the time of Charlotte’s birth, put her up for adoption and she adjusted well with the Dawsons, her adoptive family. She grew into a lanky and extremely beautiful teenager, with cheekbones to die for. The ambitious, extroverted 16-year-old Charlotte joined Ford Models in New York. Her career boomed and she started doing the Paris, London and New York catwalk shows. She became one of the early “supermodels”, before the term was known. Not only toweringly tall, she was a natural beauty. She had the look magazine editors desired for their pages and the face international fashion designers sought for their catwalk. When her short-lived modelling career was over, she moved to Australia, around the same time as I did – in the early ’90s.

  Not surprisingly, the articulate and sweet Charlotte landed the job as fashion journalist on the Today Show. Her career took off further when she became the style editor for New Idea, with her own weekly column in the magazine. The column covered fashion, glamour, parties and people – easy for Charlotte as she herself was part of the glamorous “in” crowd. Charlotte’s in crowd was made up of a group of fashion designers and likeminded artists and celebrities. Among them was Jayson Brunsdon, creative director at Australia’s leading fashion brand, Morrissey. Jayson, a brilliant illustrator, also illustrated the fashion drawings in Charlotte’s column.

  I was ecstatic to hear Charlotte’s matrimonial news. She was a genuine and loyal friend with a heart of gold – an honest, kind and sincere woman, extremely witty and had a wicked sense of humour. I was happy she had met her one true love in Scott. Everyone who knew Charlotte had only wonderful things to say about her.

  One afternoon, she rang to ask a favour. She wanted to have her hen’s night at the Stonewall. She was a regular presence there; her love for the GLBT community made her an icon for them. One could be forgiven for forgetting that she was not gay, as so many of her friends were. She was a gay man trapped in a woman’s body and we were drawn to her like magnets. She was the Judy Garland of our time. She was also an active patron of HIV/AIDS prevention causes and over the years had worked tirelessly fundraising for the dreadful disease, one which destroyed several of her close friends. I was ecstatic she had chosen my club for her party.

  “Yes, please, have your hen’s party here,” I said excitedly.

  I promised her the second floor cocktail bar exclusively for her guests. She wanted me to fill her bachelorette party with her favourite drag queen performances and she would ensure Sydney’s crème de la crème and celebrities from the fashion industry’s attendance. She would make it a media spectacle. Stonewall would be thankful for the coverage. In any case, I was happy to do this for Charlotte, scheduling the party for April Fool’s Day 1999.

  It was truly the most unforgettable night, the night of many nights I personally will never forget. Many who were there would remember the energy that filled the room – the coloured spotlights that decorated the camp cocktail bar, draped in colourful rainbow silk satin fabric, the makeshift stage with a microphone and large cut-out polyfoil letters glittering centre stage which spelled the name “Charlotte”. The room was packed with hundreds of her guests – several of them close women friends and associates, but the rest of the crowd were predominantly gay men, female impersonators and drag queens, eager to celebrate Charlotte’s last days of maidenhood. It felt like a mini Mardi Gras party.

  In the mix were several fashion designers, including Jonathan Ward, Stuart Membery and Peter Morrissey – who was rumoured to be designing the highly anticipated wedding trousseau – along with celebrities, magazine editors, makeup artists, hairdressers, entertainers, actors and models.

  Jayson, who had also been invited, was standing at the bar, having a conversation with Charlotte and Marilyn Koch. Marilyn was celebrity hairdresser Joh Bailey’s business partner, a woman well-known for her matchmaking skills. The conversation was about Jayson’s recent break-up with Jarrad Clark, now known as “Australian Fashion Week King”, and of being single and playing the field.

  “I am not really looking,” Jayson said. “If it happens, it happens. I am enjoying the time out. Six years with Jarrad was great but I have never not been in a relationship.”

  “You’re single, ha! And I am about to walk down the aisle with Scott, how’s that for irony?” said Charlotte.

  “Well, what you need is a good Jewish boy, one to look after you, Jayson,” Marilyn, of Judaic faith herself, comments.

  At that point in time, I happened to enter the bar, clad in the tightest velour opaque shirt and tight black Versace jeans. Both Charlotte and Marilyn noticed me from afar.

  “And here’s one eligible good Jewish boy for you.” Charlotte waved from the other side of the bar, inviting me over.

  “Yes, Aaron Elias. I call him ‘Lah’, he’s from Singapore originally. Do you know him?” she asked Jayson while making her presence known to me. I made my way to them. “Lah” was the lovable term she used for me because of my “Singlish” (Singapore English) accent. Singaporeans commonly add “Lah” to the end of every sentence to spice things up. In the early days it was difficult to get the Singaporean out of me.

  “No, I don’t, but I have seen him around and he’s pretty hot. Will you introduce us?” said Jayson.

  “Sure. You might just be in luck, he’s single at the moment. Not for long though,” Charlotte said.

  When I get to them, I greeted and kissed Charlotte and Marilyn, and they introduced me to Jayson. I realise it’s clichéd to say it was “love at first sight” but those who have experienced it know what I mean. Something in him that night hit me like a tornado – captivated and bewitched by his presence, his piercing blue eyes gleaming at me in the dark bar, I was hooked in seconds, struck by Cupid’s arrow. Truly, he was the most beautiful man I had ever laid
eyes upon, charming and aristocratic in his demeanour. We hit it off, talking and getting to know each other. So mesmerised was I that I forgot to play hostess that night. We spent the entire night dancing and drinking, oblivious to others as if no one else mattered. We went back to his place afterwards. Both drunk, we lay and crashed. Charlotte told me later she was tickled pink watching us that evening.

  “He’s a keeper,” she stressed.

  The next morning, entangled in his arms and experiencing a putrid lingering headache, I stared at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend that he was actually lying beside me. I didn’t want to ever let go. The little I knew about him, the more I wanted to know. It felt like a new beginning had landed right here on my lap. The book was opened and I was to start a new chapter.

  He is the one, I thought to myself as I went back to sleep in his arms.

  4

  Life is Beautiful

  On our first date the following day, we went to see Life Is Beautiful at the movies. Neither of us had known it was a story about Nazi Germany, a young child and how his father protects him. I sobbed uncontrollably. Jayson looked at me from the corner of his eyes, in goofy black round-rimmed Nana Mouskouri eyeglasses, comforting me with his presence. I guess that was the breaking point.

  Several weeks later, I told him about my dream to become a father – to have children before I turn forty, and with a life partner who shared this dream. I had no idea how I was going to do this, just that I knew I wanted it to happen. I was thinking of the possibility of adoption, probably. This paternal need had been in me from as early as I could remember. I wanted him to know that this was non-negotiable and if he wanted to give this relationship a good shot he was to consider the prospect of this becoming a reality one day in the future. I realise now it was too early for any decisions to be made on his part. Imagine dropping this load so early in a relationship! On reflection, it was wrong of me to give the poor guy no chance to negotiate on such a passionate matter. Luckily for me, he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea but he remained silent at dinner, digesting the ultimatum. I think he was just feeling happy – happy we had met, enjoying the moment and progress we were making, not wanting to be bogged down with something as serious as “the children thing”, which might happen one day in a distant future. He changed the subject, choosing to talk about Tom Ford’s triumphant Gucci collection on the Parisian runway.

  We were inseparable, living in each other’s pockets. I visited him daily at his Morrissey office located close to the Stonewall Hotel and became their fit model for the menswear label. I was paid for my services in clothes from the new collection; it was a perk I welcomed, considering my job required me to be smartly dressed almost every night. I loved the opportunity to be given first pick at the sample racks and leaving with bags of clothes from the Darlinghurst studio. We were also having fun, sneaking in bottles of vodka to the office. We were downing them in plastic water bottles so the other staff members remained ignorant of our bold afternoon drinking binges.

  The turn of the century came along, and with it the Sydney 2000 Olympics. Morrissey had been selected to design the costumes for the Oceania float in the opening ceremony. Charlotte, Ricca, several drag queens and I were asked to participate by wearing the costumes on the float. For a whole year, Jayson and Peter worked on the glorious costumes. It was their time to shine on the world’s centre stage. I remember the aqua blue with navy-coloured costumes – the hand-sewn silver sequins and beaded Swarovski crystals, in wave-like sea motifs. The girls all had different variations of sexy gowns; one of them was so big you needed a second person to help the ‘tranny’ walk the three-metre-long train into the massive stadium.

  Charlotte, as usual, looked like a glamorous showgirl in a feathered gown, and there was no telling who was really showgirl or tranny. Daws loved a feather and bling too. The men were bare-chested and wore glitzy beaded pants. Renya Xydis, the “It” hairdresser and every fashion designer’s dream, did the hair. We all had big hair, some in tall mohawks spray-painted blue with a whole tube of glitter poured onto the crest. The zillion sparkles lit up as cameras flashed on our entry, the stadium’s floodlights catching all the bling, looked amazing! But the glitter stayed forever – all over our entire home, carpet floors and bathrooms. The tiny little buggers took us more than an hour to wash off after each of the two rehearsals. The opening ceremony was telecast all around the world and viewed by a billion people. It was the turn of the century and all eyes were on Australia.

  I remember the unbelievable moment as we entered the stadium on the night. I felt like a gladiator, standing tall on the massive gigantic float, the echo and the roar almost inaudible despite the 50,000 people who cheered and clicked away at us. Jayson and Peter sat in the VIP box with a complete view of everything. Later, we watched the telecast which was recorded at Peter’s place, and there I was, a full shot of me running to my pre-rehearsed spot. Trust the cameras to find me! Friends from the UK and Switzerland spotted my strut. It was my five minutes of fame.

  Jayson and I became the “It” gay couple. The nightclub licencee and the creative director of the hottest label in the country were on everyone’s guest list. We went to glamorous parties, met celebrities and socialites, had dinner with Elle McPherson, spent Christmas with Marcia Hines, and attended parties with Nicole Kidman, Naomi Watts, Kylie Minogue, Tina Arena, Olivia Newtown John and several Olympic champions, including Ian Thorpe, Michael Klim and the like.

  The Morrissey label grew stronger and the nightclub industry boomed. Stonewall was packed nightly and I was working almost seven days a week, returning home in the wee hours of the morning, sleeping during the day and waking up with enough time to visit Jayson at work before going back to work myself. It was relentless and I became exhausted from the gruelling timetable. A whole lot of grog and many late nights took their toll. Jayson and Peter would pop into the hotel’s bar after work to visit me and we would indulge in more vodka on the rocks. We would binge from three in the afternoon. Our daily drinking got out of control. I found it hard to separate my social and work life, and felt tormented by my surroundings and the easy availability of alcohol.

  By this stage, we had been dating for over a year and we still lived in separate homes. I was living with assistant and now best friend Ricca Paris, the wise and fun lady who ran the club’s activities and entertainment curriculum with me. She was Stonewall’s PR manager, filling in as compere and host some nights during the absence of a talking drag queen. As well as lip-syncing, she could talk with and be nice to hotel patrons.

  “Welcome to Stonewall Hotel, three floors packed with fun and excitement, drink up, girls,” she would say on the microphone before introducing the night’s entertainment.

  Ricca’s popularity grew and Charlotte recommended her to the superpower cosmetics company MAC to make her “the face” of its products. Ricca is beautiful, with great features and flawless makeup. You would never think of her as anything other than a woman. This was around the time RuPaul launched the song “Supermodel” and was appointed as the international face of MAC. MAC wanted an Australian equivalent. Charlotte was very generous to Ricca and almost all her new frocks landed in Ricca’s closet after one use. She pushed Ricca into the ambassadorship role many of her peers would have died for. Ricca and I lived together for many years and later, when Jayson moved in, we all lived under one roof. The three of us were a team. We went to the Cointreau Ball, to lavish parties and threw the most extravagant parties for celebrities and stars at the Stonewall Hotel. There were parties for Jean Paul Gautier, Kylie Minogue, Boy George and the Pet Shop Boys. We would theme the venue, smoking like chimneys while we transformed Stonewall. My favourite theme was the Cointreau Ball one year when Stonewall hosted its After Party. Ricca and I spent a whole week decorating every floor to the theme “Uptown, Downtown”. The very top floor club was transformed into Warhol’s factory and it had graffiti sprayed all over the walls. Warhol paintings like the famous “Campbell’s Soup Can�
� hung prominently on exits and entrances. The cocktail bar was Uptown and themed swishy to look like La Côte Basque – the restaurant Jackie Kennedy use to patronise in the ’70s. We built 3D walls which we painstakingly covered in sections with velvet fabric and gold emblems. It took hours and we didn’t sleep that week. We decked out the entire place on a meagre budget and bought all the materials for the transformation at Reverse Garbage, a recycling shop on the outskirts of Sydney that sold recycled materials. For one whole week we toiled on each floor and the ultimate creation was spectacular. Our guests couldn’t believe what their eyes were seeing, or the whole experience of entering one space from another, each one entirely different, including the music set.

  One year the theme was gypsies, tramps and thieves, and again each floor was themed to perfection. The cocktail bar was a boudoir of drag queens dressed up as classy whores. It was funny. Jayson helped illustrate the invitations or anything that required drawing and putting paint to paper. Collectively, we pulled in the crowd. In the six years we worked together, we organised more than 1,200 parties. Imagine what it was like – the place jam-packed, guests marvelling at the transformation of the venue, energy pulsating! Queues into Stonewall went for miles during Mardi Gras. You could hardly breathe inside, let alone move. It was difficult to manage or manoeuvre the crowd. The cash registers kept rolling. American tourists threw tips in US dollars to the barmen and go-go boys.