Confessions of a Transylvanian (22 page)

This is a time-honored Rocky custom, The Naming of the Clothing. The idea is
n’
t simply to give
everything
a name. You did
n’
t name your socks, for example, or your pants. But it was customary to choose your most precious items of clothing (typically a hat or a pair of gloves) and give them a name. Kenny, for example, had a hat named Oscar. Rus
s’
s hat was Jake. My cap, worn in my Transylvanian scenes, was named Kilgore, after my favorite Kurt Vonnegut character. Everybody in the cast had a piece of their wardrobe that had been given a moniker at one time or another.

So, when it came time for me to name my own gloves, I decided to follow Kenn
y’
s lead. Since gloves are, by definition, a matching pair, Kenny had chosen a world-famous duo and dubbed his gloves Fred and Ginger.

I cast my mind around for an equally famous show-business pair and lighted on what I believed to be an appropriate choice. My new pair of Riff gloves were christened “Amos and Andy.” (The thought that this might be the slightest bit insulting or insensitive never occurred to me for a moment. And they were
brown
gloves, okay people? Sixteen-year-olds are idiots.)

Tracey, in her costume search, had much better luck than I had. She had
n’
t been forced to manufacture anything. The Janet dress she found was spot-on, much better (in my opinion) than the dress Iris wore and hers looked terrific. Trace
y’
s hat was also as close to a perfect copy as could be imagined, and her bra and slip (these are
very
important to a successful Janet) were fantastic.

I thought it might be odd for Tracey to stand in front of me, modeling her brassiere, but in actuality the Rocky experience had made seeing people walk around in their underwear as commonplace as showing off a new pair of shoes. Besides, there was nothing sexual going on with Tracey and me, and the likelihood of that ever happening was slim.

You see, Tracey had become...one of
them
.

There were a number of girls in the cast (not all, but a lot) who were totally and completely enamored with Ron. While they managed not to follow him around like devoted puppies, their willingness to become...
involved
with him could not have been more explicit if they had tattooed “Go Ahead Ron, You Know You Want To” across their foreheads. It was, frankly, a wonder that Ron had
n’
t just gone through half the female cast members like a hot knife through butter. I surmised that his prior experiences in that regard must have taught him at least a modicum of restraint.

But just a modicum. He was hardly a eunuch.

Tracey, the poor dear, was among the smitten-but-not-yet-conquered. It seemed only a matter of time, though. She was adorable.

So instead of making any moves on each other, she and I became incredibly close friends instead. When I was
n’
t hanging out with Steve, I was usually in Trace
y’
s company. We would spend all of our off-stage time in the theater on the weekends studying our respective characters, memorizing the moves, the blocking and the choreography. We had large shoes to fill in trying to someday take over from Iris and Kenny, but our thought was:

They ca
n’
t last forever.

Soon afterward, Tracey and I got married.

It was a beautiful ceremony, but then Rocky weddings always are. It does
n’
t take much planning, either. You just tell the cast manager you want to get hitched and then, later that night at Denn
y’
s, the ceremony is performed and you are forever joined in holy Rocky matrimony.

Rocky weddings are not common, but they are very special. Truth was, I knew of only a few cast members who had been married. Sunday had married Andrea years earlier, Ron and Mark were married and Tony and To
m’
s union was inevitable if they could just get over the awkwardness of calling each other “husband.”

But the minute Tracey and I caught wind of the concept, we locked eyes and knew that we were destined to become a Rocky bride and groom.

There are some ground rules, though, for the affianced couple:

When choosing a Rocky spouse, it is important to pick someone who you love dearly but—very important—who you are
not
sleeping with or even
planning
to sleep with. Rocky marriages are not about sex, petty jealousies or emotional tirades.

In other words, they are
n’
t like
real
marriages.

No, Rocky couples are all about devotion, loyalty, and the promise of a long-term, abiding and lasting friendship. Tha
t’
s what makes them so great and, of course, so rare.

I proposed to Tracey on a Saturday in March. By the following Friday, she was my wife. Russ performed the ceremony as the Denn
y’
s waitress delivered the food. He got right down to business quickly so his entrée would
n’
t get cold.

“Do you, Jack, take this Transylvanian, Tracey, to be your awful wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Good for you. And do you, Tracey, take this Transylvanian, Jack, to be your awful wedded husband?”

Trace
y’
s grin went out the door of the place, it was so wide. “I do.”

“Then, by the power vested in me by the cast of the Wild and Untamed Things of Deerfield Beach, Florida, and
'
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
,'
I now pronounce you husband and wife. Now kiss each other so I can get back to my tuna melt.”

We did. He did. Tears were shed. Congratulations were offered. Rice was withheld.

It was inside a Denn
y’
s after all. A certain amount of restraint was expected.

Donny walked up to me after the pre-show one Friday night and pulled me aside. “Lemme talk to you a second.” He motioned me to the back of the theatre. And my heart about dropped out of my body.

I had only been doing the pre-show for a couple of weeks and I was starting to think I was really getting a handle on it. Storm
e’
s monetary intake was pretty good, the virgins seemed to have a fine time and the crowds seemed nice and revved-up by the time I was done.

So as I trotted off to this little private meeting, I was filled with a sense of foreboding. Was the experiment over? Would Donny request that Tony resume his duties as Pre-Show Guy?

I was petrified.

Donny led me out into the lobby as the previews ran inside. He leaned up against the red velvet wall, lit up a cigarette and spoke to me in a low voice.

“Listen,” he said, “
I’
ve been pulling double duty as Eddie and Dr. Scott since the show opened up here, right?”

“Right. Sure.”

“Well,
I’
m about done with that shit, so lemme talk to you about something:
I’
ve been watching you and I think you might be pretty good for what
I’
ve got in mind.” He took a long drag and continued. “How would you feel about doing Dr. Scott on Friday nights from here on in? Hell, eventually you could do it every night, if you want, but for now w
e’
ll start you out on once a week. What do you think? You interested?”

Now, what Donny was so generously offering me was the Rocky equivalent of a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, I would be playing a principal role. Well, sort of. I mean,
I’
d be playing a major character, but
I’
d only be doing it once a week. There was no question that this was a step up.

But there was a downside, too. Dr. Scott, in all honesty, is not exactly the most desirable character in the world. You sit in a wheelchair most of the night, yo
u’
ve got one song, you get pelted with toilet tissue and the climax of your evening is when you reveal your sexy, sexy leg clad only in a fishnet stocking. I
t’
s not exactly the kind of thing a young Transylvanian sits up nights dreaming about.

The positives? I would have actual lines in the show.
I’
d sing.
I’
d roll around a lot (which is kind of like dancing) and
I’
d have the chance to actually work with Ron and Mark and Iris and the rest of them instead of just being the guy in the background.

In the fleeting second I had before I answered Donny, it also occurred to me that by taking on Dr. Scott, I might be blowing my chances of ever getting to perform Riff Raff. Surely some other young punk in the show would speak up and be selected to be Kenn
y’
s back-up while I whiled away my time playing the old German doctor. Saying yes to Donny would definitely be a risk.

Despite all this, the opportunity I was being offered was too huge for me to consider declining. Donny was giving up one of his two roles in the show and the guy h
e’
d chosen to step in for him was...me. It was a vote of confidence from the cast manager himself. Saying no would have been utterly moronic. So, pushing my inward concerns aside, I responded:

“Absolutely. Ca
n’
t wait.
I’
ll try to be ready in…two weeks? Ho
w’
s that sound?”

“Cool, Jack. Thanks,” he drawled. “I think yo
u’
re gonna like it a lot.” He smiled through his scary Eddie makeup at me. “Now le
t’
s go watch the opening, huh?”

Sunday and Andrea awaited us. Could
n’
t miss that.

The first time someone called my house and asked for “Jack,” my Mom wrote it off as a wrong number.

The second time, she began to grow suspicious.

And the third time, she was pissed.

Finally, she confronted my brother and me. “Why am I getting calls for someone named
‘
Jac
k’
at this house?” she asked, a trifle steamed.

My dumbfounded brother looked at me. I had little choice but to confess.

“The
y’
re...looking for me.”

My mother turned her not-to-be-bullshitted eyes toward me and held me firmly in her gaze.

“And why exactly,” she said, “would they be asking for
‘
Jac
k’
?”

I was standing on the thinnest of ice.

“I told the people at the Rocky show that...” I could
n’
t look at her as I said it. “I told them my name was Jack.”

I tensed, waiting for the coming eruption. It never came.

Rather than explode, my mother got very, very quiet. It was much scarier.

“I see,” she practically whispered. “So your name…the name, I hasten to add, that I
gave
you…tha
t’
s not good enough for you and your friends. You had to ditch it and make one up on your own. Am I understanding this correctly?”

Now I ask you, what do you say to that? Do you blurt out, “
C’
mon, Mom,
I’
m looking to get laid here. I need a much more impressive name than
‘
Kevin
.’
So I chose the most awesome, this-will-get-the-ladies-to-drop-their-trousers name I could think of.” Do you think you could really say those words to your own
mother
?