Between Boyfriends (28 page)

Then Laraby added, “And you must find out what kind of facials they got. Lucas’s pores have all closed up.”

I acted as if I couldn’t hear the hypocritical homosexual next to me, while I couldn’t help overhearing the hyperactive and hyperhormoned heterosexuals—my mother and Renée—behind me. Anjanette was talking the ear off of Susan Lucci’s publicist as Renée flirted with an actor from
One Life to Live
. They both sounded as if they were enjoying themselves so heartily, I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth about their companions. Susan’s publicist wore ear plugs during these functions because she was bombarded with requests from fans to be sent pieces of Susan’s wardrobe or fallen strands of hair, so the woman wasn’t hearing one word of my mother’s monologue. And the actor Renée was hot for was being written off his show next week in the worst possible way, via a
non-exit
—industry slang for when a character simply goes down to the basement to check on the furnace or up to the attic to find an old box of photographs and is never referred to again. Such an exit is usually reserved for a character the audience does not care about, played by an actor the producers do not care about. It’s cruel and unusual punishment, almost as cruel and unusual as Lindsay’s commentary.

“That one over there holding the microphone, the one with the sunglasses, and those two,” Lindsay said. “I’ve seen them all naked. And despite what outward appearances might lead you to think, it wasn’t pretty.”

As we sat waiting for the ceremony to begin, Lindsay pointed out that the boom operator, an usher, and two actors from the same West Coast soap had all attended the sex party he’d been at several months back. And they had a flabby butt, matching hairy ass-moles, and groin pimples, respectively.

“Wasn’t there mood lighting to keep things all dark and sultry so no one could be identified in the real world?” I asked.

“I have spent my life skating in dark arenas with lights blazing in my eyes,” Lindsay said. “I have excellent vision.”

“Well, don’t try to organize a reunion if my mother’s around; she’s still obsessed with your daddy.”

“Isn’t she sweet? If she only knew the spanking he gave me last night! I’m surprised I can sit down.”

Speaking of men with open sores, out of the corner of my eye I saw Sebastian two rows in front of us holding the hand of an elderly woman, none other than Lucinda Clarke, an Academy Award nominee for best supporting actress in 1962 and grandame of
Emergency Hospital
for the past thirty-five years. How in the world had Sebastian wound up as her escort? Was superfag suddenly bi?

My thought-questions were interrupted when a fan screamed out “Lucinda, we love you!” The ancient actress stood as upright as possible and waved to her admirers, causing the freaks to let loose with a shrill siren song that could have reawakened former soap starlet Meg Ryan’s career. They loved the frail and grandmotherly look; if they only knew that Lucinda was actually a chain-smoking shrew who’s had plastic surgery on every inch of her body and tried to cop a feel from every actor she’s ever shared a scene with. At that very moment her non-waving hand was freely exploring Sebastian’s ass. And he was letting her. Was Sebastian that desperate for spending money? And why was he two rows in front of me?

“How much is she paying you?” I asked Sebastian when he scurried over to gloat that he was closer to the stage than me.

“It’s a freebie,” he said. “She bought me this tux and she’s introducing me to Lincoln Smalls, the guy who plays her long-lost great-grandson who, she tells me, is anything but small.”

“So she really does feel up the new recruits?” Lucas asked.

“
Sí, sí, chica,
she makes all the new boys strip down in her dressing room. They think it’s some sort of initiation.”

“Did you have to be initiated?” Lindsay asked.

“No, I just had to massage her bunions.”

“Gross!” Flynn cried.

“Honey, when you’ve given hand jobs to eighty-year-old dicks, a bunion is like a gift from the sex gods.”

“Sebastian!” my mother cried, and I prayed she hadn’t heard the dick-to-bunion comparison. “Aren’t you using Lenny’s Christmas gift for those bunions?”

“Only once, Mrs. Ferrante, when the pain was too much to bear.”

“But he will surely have another outbreak soon,” Lindsay added. “Probably next month.”

“That’s wonderful news! I’ll let Lenny know that his gift hasn’t gone to waste.”

Renée interrupted the unnerving bunion-disguised-as-herpes conversation to announce that Lorna Douglas had arrived on the arm of Lionel Smythe, looking like the hottest May/December romance since Demi and Ashton. They were followed by Lourdes, who was being escorted by Lorenzo from the mailroom. Lindsay whispered to me that Lorenzo was the host of the sex party he’d mentioned and that underneath his suit he was wearing the most elaborate cock ring ’n’ Prince Albert combo he’d ever seen. But I finally got to trump one of his sex revelations by informing him that Lourdes’s rhinestone-studded anklet was actually a court-ordered monitor.

Lindsay’s eyes glazed over. “Do you think she’d let Lorenzo borrow it for the next party?”

After the first twenty awards were given out,
ITNC
was still empty-handed. We lost in every category from Makeup to Sound Editing to Best Original Song, which was a real surprise, because I think the lyric to our entry, “Silent Love,” which rhymes
infernal needing
with
internal bleeding,
is inspired. But we had another chance to grasp the gold when Loretta, sober and smashing in Oscar de la Renta, took the stage to announce the nominees for Best Actor.

The only person in our area who looked calm was Lucas. He really didn’t care if he won or not; he was truly amazed that he was even nominated and was extremely proud that he was becoming a better actor. The rest of us were experiencing the type of anxiety typically reserved for murder trial defendants when the jury foreperson passes the little piece of white paper to the judge.

Right before Loretta opened the envelope I heard Flynn whisper to Lucas, “I love you.” It was the calm before the storm. The next words I heard were from Loretta, who shouted, “My costar, Lucas Fitzgerald!” He had actually won. The guy who one year ago was only expected to say his lines while unbuttoning his shirt had just taken home the Emmy for Best Actor.

Renée and Trixie were the first ones to stand up and cheer and soon our little group was jumping up and down and shouting riotously and I didn’t even care that I had become one of those annoying, loudmouthed fans whose voice boxes I had wanted to rip out with my bare hands mere moments before. We were all huddled so close together jumping up and down and hugging one another that no one saw Lucas give Flynn a sweet kiss before he bounded up to the stage to accept his award from Loretta. When the crowd simmered down, Lucas began his speech.

“Thank you, Loretta, and I’d like to thank the Academy. I’ve always wanted to say that.”

The audience hahaha’d.

“Ever since I was a young boy I’ve only had a few goals. One was to become a really good actor. I don’t know if I’ve achieved that goal yet, but I hope this means I’m on the right track.”

The audience hooted.

“I want to thank Loretta, Lorna, the rest of our wonderful cast and crew, my agent, my friends…I would not be up here on this stage without you.”

The audience hurrahed.

“There’s another thing that I’ve wanted ever since I was a young boy…to fall in love.”

The audience hushed. I stared straight ahead, but I felt Laraby’s eyes boring into me like two angry lasers and I felt Flynn’s hand squeeze mine.

“And that’s finally happened. I am proud to say that I have fallen in love with the most wonderful man in the world. Flynn, I love you too.”

It was as if an immense vacuum had sucked every last molecule of oxygen out of the building. Every jaw dropped, every eye bulged, and I finally knew what it must have felt like to be sitting in the audience at the Academy Awards when Jack Palance announced, “The Best Supporting Actress Oscar goes to Marisa Tomei.”

Flynn’s hand squeezed mine tighter, Laraby’s eyes seared my head, the startled audience members looked at each other in disbelief, but through it all, Lucas smiled. He was so in love and so happy at winning an award he never thought would be his, he really had no idea of the effect of his words.

Slowly, several members of the audience started to clap. Then the clapping grew and soon the entire audience was applauding and the suburban housewives in the cheap seats at the back of the house found their voices and started screaming and shouting their approval. Over the clamor one lone voice bellowed, “We love you, Lucas!” and it somehow morphed into the chant, “It’s okay that you’re gay!” Within seconds the entire population of Radio City Music Hall, straight, gay, and undecided, was chanting, “It’s okay that you’re gay!” The only voice that remained silent belonged to Laraby.

I would deal with him later; right now I had to join in a chant to celebrate my best friend’s boyfriend. Despite the distance between them Flynn and Lucas were staring into each other’s eyes. Flynn was crying; Lucas was fighting back tears but looked extraordinarily relieved. He didn’t have to say another word, he just held his Emmy high over his head and the crowd erupted once more.

It took a while for the audience to settle down and for the ceremony to continue. And it was a testament to how thrilled I was for both Flynn and Lucas that I didn’t even care when
ITNC
lost the Best Drama award to
The Rich and the Powerful
. I felt that my show had received a much bigger prize, a place in gay history. After the ceremony we spotted Lucas being interviewed by some
Entertainment Tonight
hottie.

“That guy fucked me at the sex party!” Lindsay declared. “Twice.”

“Am I the only gay who wasn’t at that sex party?” I asked.

“It
was
a sold-out event.”

We all joined Flynn as he stood on the sidelines while Lucas was being interviewed. We huddled together and got as close as we could to hear Lucas’s responses, while not being intrusive. Well, not too intrusive. I suddenly forgot that I was a TV producer who was surrounded by daytime actors every day and instead felt like a lame member of some demi-celebrity’s entourage. I had to admit that it was fun to stand on the side and watch somebody else be glorified. I felt like my mother watching me.

“How does it feel to be the first openly gay daytime soap star?” said the
ET
hottie.

“Almost as good as it feels to be the first openly gay daytime Emmy winner.”

Every member of Lucas’s entourage laughed and applauded except for Laraby.

“Do you think that your coming out will affect your career?”

“It might, but you know, that’s not something I can control. All I can control is how I live my life and I choose to live it openly and honestly.”

Once again, everyone except Laraby voiced his approval. I noticed the volume had gotten much louder and I turned around to see that our entourage had grown tenfold. Lucas’s self-outing was turning out to be bigger than the Emmys themselves.

“Well, I have to say,” the hottie continued, “you’re an inspiration.”

“I don’t know about that, I’m just an actor.”

“You were an actor! You’re fired!”

I heard the voice, I knew the voice belonged to Laraby, but I couldn’t believe the voice was actually articulating such incredibly stupid, not to mention lawsuit-invoking, words. The
ET
hottie proved quite agile (as Lindsay probably already knew) and in seconds he and his technical crew had shifted position away from Lucas and in front of Laraby to capture the latest twist in what was quickly becoming the biggest story in daytime TV history.

“Are you firing Mr. Fitzgerald because he’s gay?”

“I’m an executive producer; I don’t fire anyone,” Laraby stammered. “
He’s
firing Lucas!”

As one unit the
ET
hottie and his camera crew swiveled to the left and zoomed in on me. Now I had become Marisa Tomei and I hoped, like her, I would find the will to speak intelligently while being stared at by hundreds of dumbfounded faces. If only my cousin Vinny were around. Luckily I found my inner Marisa before there was any bloodshed.

“No one is getting fired, especially not Lucas.”

“Steven, your job is on the line,” Laraby said, seething.

“Then go ahead and fire me, Laraby. Do it on national television so I can sue you
and
the entire network for discrimination.”

“Awwwww, shiiiiit!!!!”

That wasn’t the cry of a shocked network executive, that was the cry of a shocked Lourdes. She overheard the ruckus and joined our group at precisely the same time Loretta did. While Lorenzo dragged Lourdes to a safety zone, I felt myself leave mine. I felt passion and conviction and it had nothing to do with the fact that the
ET
hottie was inches from my face, it had to do with doing the right thing. When I spoke I spoke from the heart and, of course, remembering Flynn’s earlier comment, with my chin raised about a quarter of an inch.

“What Lucas Fitzgerald did tonight took guts. But it shouldn’t have. He simply said that he was in love, end of story. But unfortunately our society has turned love into something controversial and wrong and I for one will never take part in helping perpetuate that myth. So I urge every gay man and woman who is hiding in a closet and living in fear to follow in Lucas’s footsteps and be honest. It’s time we stopped asking for approval and started telling the truth. I’m a gay man. So what? Being gay doesn’t mean that you can’t be an excellent TV producer or an Emmy Award–winning actor. And it definitely shouldn’t mean that you’re going to get fired.”

At this point I actually paused and looked at Laraby, who shrank about three inches in response to my leer.

“In fact, the only things that are being dismissed here tonight are deception and hate. I suggest we replace them with truth and love. Because starting right here and right now it’s time that we all just let go and let gay!”