Drama Queers! (17 page)

Richie picks up a dumbbell, plops down on the bench. Holding the weight in one hand, he lets his forearm rest against his meaty thigh, proceeding to crank out a set of twenty reps. Meanwhile, I try not to gawk at the blue vein bulging from the center of his bicep. Lemme tell ya, for somebody I once considered to be
thin
, Richie is pretty ripped.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he observes.

Thinking I couldn’t agree more, I reply, “What’ve you got?”

Continuing his silent count, Richie jerks his head towards the far end of the room.

An assortment of bottles and other paraphernalia adorn the counter top: a set of frosted
“Down the hatch!”
shot glasses, a miniature street lamp with the word BAR printed across its globe, a strong man sporting a handlebar mustache and a red one-piece bathing suit holding up a pint of Beefeater. On the brick wall behind, a framed mirror advertising Stroh’s as
America’s only Fire-Brewed Beer
.

Let’s see…Vodka. Rum. Whiskey. All the Usual Suspects.

Something in a Mrs. Butterworth’s-shaped bottle looks interesting:
Frangelico
.

I read the story of its legend printed in Olde English on the label. Something about some guy living three centuries ago in a hilly area by the right bank of some river. So long as it tastes sweet, and it does (like hazelnuts), that’s all I care about.

“I need a beer,” says The Sophomore, toweling himself off. Much to my chagrin, he throws on a “Who’s that Girl?” ’87 World Tour concert T-shirt and some sweats.

“Oh, my God…. Did you see Madonna at the Silver Dome?” I gush.

“Fifth row center,” he boasts, reaching into the circa 1950s Frigidaire for a bottle of Black Label…Bogue!

Lucky bastard. I been dying to see Motown’s own Material Girl since the tour of the same name in ’85, but still haven’t had a chance.

Richie lets out an
“Ahhh!”
like his hops totally hit the spot.

Personally, I don’t know how anybody can stand that shit! Whenever I used to hang out with Jack and Max back in the day, that’s all they ever wanted to drink. Me, I always preferred sloe gin and orange juice. Or at least 7-Up.

Richie calls me, “Sloe poke,” sipping my
liqueur
from a snifter. “Wanna see what’s on cable?”

The Tylers’ basement isn’t exactly what you’d call
finished
, with exposed beams on the walls and ceiling overhead. Past the pool table, there’s a color-console TV, sorta like the one the Paternos have downstairs at their house, with a tan two-seater sofa in front.

Richie’s dad works for Chrysler’s so they got all the movie channels: HBO, Showtime, Cinemax. To be honest, I don’t care what we watch so long as we’re sitting side by side as we flip thru the stations.

“Oooh…What’s this?”

The Sophomore stops on a scene of a woman getting banged from behind in what looks like an English country garden. I immediately recognize it as
Young Lady Chatterly Two
, starring some chick whose name I don’t remember, and “Nick the Dick” from
Bachelor Party
.

‘member the scene where Tom Hanks’s fiancée and all her girlfriends, including fat Wendie Jo What’s-Her-Face from
Bosom Buddies
, go to that Chippendales-style strip club for their bach-elorette party, and Tom and his all friends sneak in and pay the totally hot waiter to sandwich his schwantz between those hot dog buns? That’s the guy I’m talking about.

Me and Jack used to watch
YLC2
whenever I spent the night at his house back in junior high and they were showing it on Skinemax. If I remember correctly, the premise has something to do with Young Lady Chatterly II feeling neglected by her husband, so she seeks love and affection elsewhere. In this particular scene, she finds it with her Cockney-accented gardener, Thomas. Talk about a Total Babe! Lemme tell ya, I passed many a moment fantasizing about this guy, you know what I mean?

Stemming from the fact that I’m totally wasted (and totally horny) off two sips of Frangelico, I ask Richie, “If you were a
girl
, would you think that guy’s hot?”

He turns to look me directly in the eyes. “Why would I have to be a girl?” Then he says, “What about you? Would you think he’s hot if
you
were a girl?”

I hesitate. “I asked you first.”

Richie pulls me into a headlock, quoting
The Breakfast Club:
“‘Just answer the question, Claire.’”

In my mind, I hear Miss Horchik:
“To thine ownself be true.”

Looking up at him, head in his lap, I confess, “I totally would.”

The Sophomore responds, “I thought so,” a shit-eating grin gracing his gorgeous face.

What’s
that
supposed to mean?

“Another openin’, another show…”

Only this one’s right here in good old Hazeltucky. Not “in Philly, Boston, or Baltimo’.”

That’s a reference from
Kiss Me Kate
, a factoid I wasn’t privy to till earlier this year when Mr. Fish forced us to sing a
schmed-ley
of show tunes featuring such classics as:

“The Sound of Music” from
The Sound of Music
.

“Fiddler on the Roof” from
Fiddler on the Roof
.

And “Camel-cock”—I mean,
“Camelot”
—from
Camelot
.

Every time we got to “Anything Goes,” from (what else?)
Anything Goes
, Hal would be all like, “Give it up for La Merm!” All the while wiping his pits with his sweaty sweat rag…Bogue!

After about the bijillionth time, we were like,
“Who?”

Of course, Hal looked at us like we were all on drugs, and not just the Burn-Outs. “Don’t tell me you kids don’t know Ethel Merman?”

Soon as I heard the name, it called to mind my favorite episode from
The Love Boat
. ’member the one where Julie’s aunt, Doc’s ex-mother-in-law, Isaac’s mom, and Gopher’s mom come aboard the
Pacific Princess
to perform in a musical revue? Except each one of the old bags thinks
she’s
the star of the show. So backstage, it’s nothing but barbs and diva fits the entire time they’re together.

Well, it turns out Julie’s aunt was played by Carol Channing, the original Dolly in
Hello, Dolly!
, Doc’s ex-mother-in-law was Ann Miller, star of some Broadway show,
Sugar Babies
, with Mickey Rooney, Isaac’s mom was Della Reese, a native Detroit gospel singer, and Gopher’s mom was none other than…Ethel “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” Merman.

Anyways!

Tonight is Opening Night of
A Christmas Carol
, adapted by Lynn Stevens, based on the novel by Charles Dickens. The tension backstage is cut-it-with-a-knife thick. It’s been that way with each and every play I acted in since second semester Sophomore year. Picture a bunch of Dickensian-dressed Thespians running around exclaiming, “My lines, my lines…I can’t remember my lines!” from the old Detroit Zoo commercial…’member?

“Next!”

In addition to serving as Sophomore Student Director, Miranda Resnick graciously offered to help us with hair and makeup at each performance.

“Try not to make me look too old,” Richie begs Madame Artiste.

“You’re playing
Scrooge
, aren’t you?”

“I know…”

“Well, Scrooge is an old dude,” Miranda reminds her victim.

The Sophomore sighs. “I know…”

I can totally see where the guy’s coming from. Call me vain, but no matter what part I’m playing, I still wanna look attractive. And I totally think I do in my 19
^th
century waistcoat and ascot. At least one good thing came out of not being cast as Scrooge.

I can’t tell you how glamorous I feel surrounded by all the lights, sitting at the makeup counter, waiting my turn while perusing the program—I mean,
TheatreGoer
. Who the fuck ever decided to name it that?

Time to check out the bios…

Oh, look who’s first!

After Opening Night of every show, the Drama Queers always end up at Big Boy’s, something they been doing since long before I ever became one. I don’t know why, but all thru
A
Christmas Carol
rehearsals, Tuesday’s been bugging us to try some new place up on 13 Mile and Woodward.

Well, we ain’t going to Pasquale’s, Gunderson…So get over it!

Liza’s been going with the same guy since like 7
^th
grade at Beecher. I don’t
really
know him, but Gus graduated from HPHS in ’86 with my sister, Janelle. He seems totally cool, and Liza dedicates every song she ever sings in Chorale to him. I’m sure they’ll eventually end up married with a kid, if not several.

Okay, here’s the story…

Back when we were in 7
^th
grade Enriched English & Social Studies with Ms. Lemieux, we had a Christmas party. Well, Rakoff decided he wanted to make his mom’s special mayonnaise cake. Only instead of actually asking her for the recipe, he bought a box of Duncan Hines and added Hellman’s to it…Talk about bogue!

When I turn to the next page, what I see there totally warms my heart…

I didn’t know The Sophomore was gonna mention me in his bio.

The question is
why?

It’s not like I did something special and he owes me. So I took him under my wing, and taught him the difference between stage left and stage right. No biggie!

To be honest, I can’t figure out what’s up with this kid.

All week I been thinking about what he said to me last Saturday night:
“I thought so.”

Obviously he wasn’t surprised when I all but admitted I’m a Total Fag, but it’s not like he said he
cared
. And he sure as hell didn’t say he’s a Total Fag, too! In fact, he just changed the channel and sat there sipping his beer.

Until finally I was like, “I’m tired,” totally faking a yawn.

“You wanna go to bed?” Richie asked, not taking his eyes off Whitney Houston dancing about the screen looking for somebody who loves her…Is it just me or is the hair she’s sporting in that video totally a wig?

“Where am I sleeping?” I wondered.

“Upstairs.”

We climbed the steps leading to The Sophomore’s room.

“Upstairs where?”

“Where do you think?”

Okay…

At first, I thought maybe Richie had bunk beds, the way Jack used to at his house. This was
not
the case. Once we got up to his U of M shrine, I seen a single twin bed.

“We both can’t fit on that thing,” I decided, not wanting to put him out. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He insisted, “There’s plenty of room,” giving me a sly look. “I won’t bite you.”

What if I
want
you to?

The Sophomore stripped down to his short-shorts.

I was about to get undressed myself. Until he started doing push-ups.

The knobs of his shoulder blades.