Confessions of a Transylvanian (20 page)

This, we thought, should be pretty good. After all, they had never faced off before, Ron and Storme, and a confrontation was well overdue. It was the classic struggle: the immovable object (Ron) versus the irresistible force (Storme). We were
n’
t quite sure how this would turn out, but someone was about to be very, very sorry.

Ron smiled and gazed down at himself. “I see you ca
n’
t take your eyes off it, Storme.”

Storme barely batted an eye. “Well, who could, with you waving it in everyon
e’
s face? Wha
t’
s wrong, ca
n’
t find anyone to put it in so you have to air it out?”

She had landed a blow, you could see it. But Ron was
n’
t one to wilt under just one punch.

“Honey,
I’
d have offered it to you,” he smiled. “But I do
n’
t think yo
u’
d know what to do with it.”

This was an effective line because, as we all knew, Storme was a virgin. But if the blow landed, Storme never showed it.

Instead, she volleyed back: “What would I
do
with it?
I’
d probably give it something to eat. The poor thing looks hungry. Do
n’
t you feed it?”

The room exploded into laughter.

And that about did it for Ron.

See, Ro
n’
s strong suit had never been the witty banter. He was a man of action and when words failed him—as they did at this moment—he used his boundless energy instead. Following Storm
e’
s comment, Ron simply marched across the room and, without a word, swept Storme off her feet and into his arms. Storme, for her part, did nothing to resist. She instead looked as if she were interested to see how this scenario might end.

Ron carried her across the room, gently deposited her in a shopping cart, which for some reason was parked in the middle of the living room floor, and then disappeared into the kitchen. Storme seemed unperturbed by this development and did
n’
t even attempt to get out of the cart. Whatever Ron had in mind, she was going to let him play it out.

She was unimpressed. She was unmoved. She was unafraid.

She was also very seriously underestimating Ro
n’
s capacity for mischief.

When he returned, Ron had pulled on a pair of shorts and held in his hands a length of rope and a pair of handcuffs. Everyone in the room perked up when these props entered the stage. Things were bound to get interesting now.

Moving with a speed and utility yo
u’
d have thought impossible for a teenage boy at that hour of the morning, Ron soon had Storme tied securely into the shopping cart and had neatly secured her wrists with the cuffs. Storme was now clearly, completely and undeniably under his power.

At this point, I would expect that most young ladies in a similar situation would be frantic. Or at the very least, alarmed. Storme looked almost bored. Stoic. It was clear from her expression: If Ron thought he could get under her skin with this pathetic display, he had a great deal to learn.

For Ro
n’
s part, he did
n’
t seem in the least bit upset by Storm
e’
s lack of emotion. Perhaps because, deep down, he knew that the game was far from over.

“You know,” Storme said from the shopping cart, “tying me up does
n’
t make me want to see your dick any more than I did before. Have other girls given you the impression that it would?”

It was the final dare. And Ron took it.

He flung open the front door of the house, positioned himself behind the cart and trundled her out the door.

Down the sidewalk, down the block, Ron kept pushing. We gathered in the doorway and watched them go. When he got to the corner, he jerked the cart to his right and around the corner. No one at the party seemed inclined to follow them so we simply went back inside, a little stunned by this development.

There was a long pause.
I’
m sure that each of us was picturing where they could be at this moment, the young half-naked boy pushing the trussed-up girl in the shopping cart down the busy city street.

Finally, I felt compelled to break the silence. “Where will he take her?” I asked, to no one in particular.

Tony replied, “Who knows? Hell, we might never see her again.”

This answer seemed to satisfy everyone and we began to talk about breakfast. A few minutes later, Ron returned. He was alone and looked very pleased with himself.

After a very long, very awkward silence, Tracey finally spoke up. “Um...where is she?”

Ron was a Sphinx. He clammed up and gave us nothing. All he wanted was breakfast and brooked no inquiries as to Storm
e’
s whereabouts.

It was hours before she finally turned up and we got the whole story.

What had happened was, Ron had wheeled Storme for a few blocks, silently pushing the rattling shopping cart down the sidewalk while she prattled away at him, calling him an asshole and making it clear that she was
n’
t fazed by his behavior in the least.

Ignoring her, Ron continued piloting the cart down the street, until at last he unexpectedly veered left, crossed the Eastbound lane of the highway and steered the cart into the grassy median. A few lonely trees were placed there for decoration and Ron maneuvered the cart between them, doing what he could to hide Storme among the foliage. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, he pronounced it satisfactory and, without another word, turned on his heel and returned to the house.

And there Storme sat, like a feather in a hat, nestled among the palms, until a concerned citizen noticed her there an hour later and alerted the local law-enforcement officials that a young lady appeared to be tied up in a shopping cart, sitting placidly among the trees in downtown Hollywood. The police had responded and, without gaining very much information from the victim (despite their insistent questioning), released her from her confinement, confiscated the shopping cart
and
the handcuffs and sent the young girl on her way.

Despite this experience, when she finally strolled back through the Orphanage doorway, Storme was unbowed. She leveled her eyes at Ron and pronounced: “
I’
m still not interested in seeing your dick. Just so you know.” It was an impressive recovery but, truth be told, you really had to score this one for Ron.

However, while he might have emerged victorious in this particular battle, their karmic war was far from over.

9

And You Shall Receive It in Abundance

H
olly and I had been going out for at least a month before I finally decided to invite her to the show. She had been dying to see it but I had resisted bringing her for various reasons, all of which seemed…well, reasonable.

For one thing, I was
n’
t all that crazy about letting her watch me hop about as a lowly Transylvanian. I wanted her to appreciate my work in the show and to think that what I was doing was admirable and worthwhile. Sad to say, there was very little to either admire or deem worthy about Transylvanian work. When you slipped on the black jacket and makeup, you essentially became costumed furniture.

I also wanted her to see me play a real part in the show. It did
n’
t matter which. Something that did
n’
t involve me merely jumping around doing the Time Warp and then disappearing. I was concerned that she would arrive, watch the show and think, “This is how he spends his weekends? Looo-ser.”

My reluctance to invite her to tag along with me, however, had gotten to the point where it started to look like I was hiding something.

“
C’
mon. Why ca
n’
t I go?” Holly would plead with me.

“You can go. I
t’
s a free country and all that.
I’
m not stopping you.”

“Yo
u’
re not
inviting
me either. What is it you do
n’
t want me to find out?”

See? Like that.

“Nothing!” I would say. “I do
n’
t have anything to hide.”

“Uh-huh. Some Rocky girlfriend yo
u’
re not telling me about probably.” She was half-kidding, but the thing about being half-kidding is: yo
u’
re half-serious, too.

“Honestly, no.
I’
ve never even
looked
at another girl in the show.” This was not, of course, strictly true, but I had
n’
t
hit
on any girls in the show either, which amounted to the same thing. Did
n’
t it?

After w
e’
d had variations of this conversation for a few weeks, I finally relented.

“Okay, Friday. How about this Friday?” This was the last weekend in March and I decided I could
n’
t put it off any longer. It could be months until I actually got a chance to play one of the main characters and my delaying tactics were becoming ridiculous.

But the minute I offered the invitation, I felt like
I’
d made a terrible mistake. I was upsetting some kind of delicate balance, mixing my real life with my Rocky life.

Daytime Kevin was inviting someone into Nighttime Jac
k’
s realm. It was disturbing. A lot like making plans to go hang out with your doppelgänger. I mean, how does Clark Kent invite Lois Lane to share dinner with Superman and pull it off? I did
n’
t
have
super-Krypton speed. Would disaster ensue?

Immediately Holly got all pumped up about it. “Excellent! Friday is great!” A gleam came into her eye. “So...should I dress up or bring stuff to throw or anything?”

Oh, God. It was starting.

“No, no. You do
n’
t have to do any of that. Yo
u’
re my guest. I
t’
s not like yo
u’
re just any old person showing up. You actually know someone in the show. So yo
u’
re...different.
I’
ll tell you what, if you can pick me up and give me a ride over at about quarter to 11, we can go together.”

“Great! This is going to be
so
much fun!”

“Oh, and listen...” I was
n’
t sure how to put this.

“
I’
m listening.”

What the hell? Just tell her. “You should know, they do
n’
t call me Kevin there.”

“They...they do
n’
t?”

“No.”

She pondered this. “So what do they call you?”

“They just...call me
‘
Jack
.’
”

“Jack.”

“Yeah.”

Her brow furrowed even more. “Why would they call you Jack?”

This should be interesting, I thought. “Well, because...I told them to.”

At this, I could see that she was beginning to wonder if this was some kind of joke. Either that or my sanity was becoming questionable.

“You told them to call you Jack.”

“Yeah. Why not, right?”

“Because it is
n’
t your name.”

“Well, yes I...I know that. I just thought it would be fun. To give myself a new name, you know? A
cool
name.” Explaining it, telling her what I had done and trying to make it clear exactly why I had made the decision to re-christen myself, began to sound really, really dumb.

Which, I must emphasize, it was
n’
t.

“A cool name?”

“Yeah. Jack is cool. Not like
‘
Kevin
.’
Jeez.”

“What do you mean? Kevin is cool!”

Now, that was nice of her and all but I mean: How could I respond to such lunacy? “Kevin” is a
cool name
? Right. Sure. And “Poindexter” gets the ladies all damp in the drawers, too. Please.

“Well, I thought Jack was cooler. Or something. So when they asked, tha
t’
s the name I gave them.”

She seemed to be getting used to the idea. “Huh. Okay.” Then: “So...do you expect
me
to call you
‘
Jac
k’
?”

It had never occurred to me. What to do?

“No, of course not,” I said. “That would...be silly, right?” I mean, would it kill her to do it? “Just...do
n’
t call me anything, I guess.”

“Do
n’
t say your name. Is that the plan?”

Now I officially felt like a complete moron.

“Well, if you can avoid it, yeah. I would
n’
t want it to get out.”

“Wait a minute,” her eyes had narrowed to slits. “You mean to tell me i
t’
s not just a nickname? They think your name really
is
Jack?”

“I
t’
s...uh.” Crap. “Yeah. Tha
t’
s...yeah. Tha
t’
s right.”

“I see. Well, okay
‘
Jack
,’
” she said with a grin (for some reason, it did
n’
t sound quite right, her saying it). “W
e’
ll give it a shot. Man, this is going to be
fun
.”

Yeah, sure. So far it was a
blast
.

That Friday, just after 10:30, I heard Holly pull up in her car, a black, two-door Buick Riviera, and shut off the engine. Naturally, she did not simply toot the horn and expect me to come trotting out. No, this was a nice girl and, like most people who met my mother, Holly immediately recognized her innate coolness. So Holly parked, got out, and politely knocked on the door. Like good girls do.

I went to the door and opened it up and...

...she was
n’
t alone. Jill was with her.

“Uh...hey,” I said. (What I thought, but did not say, was: “What the hell is this?”)

Jill was Holl
y’
s best friend and, like Holly and my brother, was in the sophomore class at our school. And while I was a little disturbed to see her, it was
n’
t because I did
n’
t like her or anything. In fact, I liked her a hell of a lot.

But this was a pretty big deal for me, bringing my girlfriend to the show. Now I was supposed to bring
both
of them? Jesus.

They were an interesting pair, Jill and Holly. Jill, for her part, was about Holl
y’
s size, weight and had roughly the same build. But there the resemblance stopped cold.

In describing Holly, yo
u’
d probably say she looked like a very nice, very normal girl. Big, bright eyes. Pretty, with curly hair, an illuminating smile and a shiny disposition. She was curvy, but did
n’
t try to show off her body by wearing revealing or form-fitting outfits. Holly was too demure to be a showboat. She was attractive in a simple, lovely way and was exactly the kind of girl yo
u’
d bring home to mother. Which is precisely what I had done.

Jill, on the other hand, looked like sex on a plate. She had dirty-blonde hair that was feathered back in waves. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and when she nailed you with them, she seemed to be saying, “You ca
n’
t handle this. Move along.” She had a large nose, but not so large it would bother you. It made her distinctive. Mysterious. And from the neck down, she was a knockout and did
n’
t bother to hide it. Every stitch of clothing she wore was best described as “clingy,” but we would also accept “yowza.”

So the question that shoehorned its way into my cranium was: What in the living hell was she doing here?

“Hey,” said Holly as if it were nothing. “I invited Jill along. I did
n’
t want to sit alone in the theater, you know?”

I was stunned, but tried not to show it. To cover my discomfort, I simply blurted out, probably a little too loud: “Great! Good idea. Who goes to the movies alone, right? Come on in.” I ushered them past me.

And as she walked by, Jill whispered slyly, “Ho
w’
s it going,
Jack
?”

And in that millisecond, I thought maybe I should just die and get it all over with.

My Mom waved the girls over to the kitchen table. She had liked Holly from the first moment the
y’
d met and always enjoyed seeing her when she dropped by.

Come to think of it, most of my friends thought my Mom was incredibly cool. She did
n’
t try to be, but maybe the fact that her favorite ways to occupy the afternoon were smoking, drinking, and listening to rock and roll...perhaps this held a certain charm to my teenage friends. Besides, my mother worked as a barmaid, so connecting with people and getting them to open up to her was a skill she had honed over many years slinging booze.

At the moment, Mom was enjoying a post-shift beverage, having gotten back from work an hour or so earlier.

“So yo
u’
re finally seeing this thing, huh?” said my mother.

“Yeah,” Holly replied. “About time, right? So...what should I expect?”

“Do
n’
t ask me. I have
n’
t seen it.”

This was true. My mother, who usually showed a great interest in most everything I did, was completely ambivalent about the entire Rocky experience. She had
n’
t set foot in the Ultravision since
I’
d started in the show and did
n’
t have plans to go.

This, as you can imagine, did
n’
t bother me one bit. Separation of church and state, and all that. I was better off with her at home, minding the beeswax that was her own. Wha
t’
s more, she seemed to understand that Rocky was something that belonged to me.

Ignoring me completely, Mom said to Holly and Jill: “Yo
u’
ll report back to me if h
e’
s doing anything he should
n’
t be doing, right?”

Holly smiled. “Yo
u’
ll be the first to know.”

Jill liked this, too, and winked at me. “W
e’
ll watch his every step.”

I could hardly believe this conversation. “Mom,
I’
m going out to a midnight movie on a Friday night that features transsexuals, scantily clad girls and inappropriate sexual behavior. How much more
should
n’
t
I be doing?”

“Uh-huh,” was all Mom said. She cocked her head at Holly. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Will do.”

I rolled my eyes and we took off.

We got to the parking lot of the Ultravision just before 11:15 and the back door was already open. My fellow Transylvanians were hauling in the props and set pieces. I rushed Holly and Jill inside and plopped them down in the auditorium. I was taking a risk letting two girls in without paying, but these were the first guests
I’
d ever invited. Some of the other cast members had brought their girlfriends a bunch of times and whisked them in the back door, so I felt pretty safe in doing so.

“Be right back,” I said to them. “
I’
ve got work to do.”

“Okay,” said Holly. “Bye,
Jack
.” They both laughed.

Know why? Because it was
hilarious
.

I got to work.

I ran out to the storage closet and helped finish the load-in with everyone else. Steve saw me and said, “Hey, Jack. Where you been?”

“Sorry. My girlfriend is here tonight. We ran a little late.”

“Which one is she?” I pointed her out, making it clear which was which. “Hey, sh
e’
s cute. Good for you.”

“
I’
ll introduce you later.”