Drama Queers! (4 page)

Mom always brought us a special treat on bowling night. I don’t know why, but no matter what kind, candy
always
tasted better coming from a vending machine. This time, I got a Hershey bar and Janelle got a Kit Kat. Nina and Brittany were already asleep so they were shit outta luck.

After we took our bath, Mom tucked us both into bed together.

“Next time you go shopping,” I whispered, so as not to wake up Nina or Brittany in the bed beside us, “will you buy me a Shaun Cassidy record?”

Mom sat down next to me, looking like she didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. “I might…If you tell me who Shaun Cassidy is.”

“He’s just this boy on TV,” I replied, adding, “Janelle thinks he’s cute.”

Mom smiled, looking at my older sister. “Then how come Janelle isn’t asking for his record?”

Coming to her baby brother’s rescue, she replied, “We can share it.”

Mom kissed my forehead. “Don’t forget to say your prayers.” She pulled the blanket up so that it barely covered my ear before turning out the light, making sure to leave the door open a smidge.

Dear God
, I prayed, eyes closed, hands folded together beneath my chin.
Bless Mommy and Daddy and please don’t let them fight anymore…Bless Janelle and Nina and Brittany…And Grandpa and Grandma Dayton and Grandpa and Grandma Victor
…

Who else?

Bless my teacher, Miss Langton, and all the kids in my class at Miller Elementary in Center Line, Michigan. Even Jeffy Morgan who picks on me sometimes
.

Now for the important stuff…

And please God, if you think about it, next time Mommy goes to Kmart’s, maybe you can remind her to buy me a Shaun Cassidy record. The one with “Da Doo Run Run”—I mean, “Da Doo
Ron Ron—
okay? I promise I’ll be extra good and I won’t fight with my sisters anymore. Especially when we’re in your house…In the name of your Son, amen
.

Lo and behold, a few days later when I got home from school, guess what I found?

Propped up on my pillow, the full-sized face of Shaun Cassidy stared back at me from the cover of his self-titled debut album, hand behind his head, a smile upon his lips, wearing the cutest little white hat cocked to one side. Hard to believe that was over ten years ago…God, I’m getting old!

How fitting was it that the first part I’d be auditioning for at Hazel Park High would be Curly McClain, opposite the role of Laurey Williams, first made famous in
Okla-homo!
—I mean,
Oklahoma!
—by Shaun Cassidy’s mother, Shirley Jones?

“What’ve you got for us today?”

Us
being Mr. Dell’Olio and his Sophomore Student Director, a girl I knew from Ms. Lemieux’s 7th grade Enriched English & Social Studies at Webb, Claire Moody. They both sat scrutinizing me from the front row of the auditorium. First I had to perform a monologue I prepared on my own, and if Dell liked what he saw, he’d ask me to sing and/or read from the script.

“I’ll be doing a monologue from my fav-rid—I mean,
favorite
—movie,” I told him, hitting the
T
, my voice trembling with fear. I wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my khaki pants, hoping they didn’t leave a stain.

“Good, good,” Mr. Dell’Olio replied. “What is it?”

With the utmost confidence, I answered,
“Somewhere in Time
, starring Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeves—I mean,
Reeve
.” I always get that wrong!

Dell nodded and smiled, making a note on his clipboard. At that point, I never had him for a teacher, but he seemed like a nice guy. And
The Skeleton Walks
turned out pretty good earlier that fall so I been wanting to work with him ever since.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

I stared down at my topsiders, took a deep breath, in and out. I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I imagined myself as Jane Seymour, with Christopher Reeve (no
S
) watching me from the audience.

“The man of my dreams has almost faded now…”

Personally, I gave an awesome audition. And I must have, because after I finished my monologue Mr. Dell’Olio asked, “What’re you gonna sing?”

“Um…”

The only song I could find the sheet music for was “Too Young” by Jack Wagner. You know, Frisco from
General Hospital
. Because I never been in a musical, I didn’t know the first thing about auditioning for one. All I knew was I needed to prepare sixteen bars.

“Sounds good,” Mr. Dell’Olio said all smiles. “Liza will play for you…Again, whenever you’re ready.”

Sporting her signature spider, Liza Larson smiled at me from behind the piano down in the pit. Back then, I didn’t know her very well. Like I said, we would later become buddies once I got brave enough to smoke out on Skid Row.

“All set?” Liza asked me.

I took a deep breath and listened as her fingers began working their magic.

“Hello, love, it’s been way too long…”

Boy, did I sing my butt off! I reached notes I never hit practicing in my bedroom. My pitch was perfect. Sad to say, I didn’t get the part.

At least not the lead, Curly.

This guy, Jake Czyzyk, got it just because he was a
Senior
—and he was totally hot.

Wanna know what role I did get cast as?

Curly’s sidekick, Will Parker, opposite Audrey Wojczek as Ado Annie. Thank God by the time the show went up, we totally got along. The cool part was…I got to sing two songs, “Kansas City” and “All Er Nuthin’,” twirl a rope,
and
do a tap dance in cowboy boots. I looked pretty cute doing it, too, if I do say so myself.

Not bad for a Sophomore who never
really
acted before, huh?

“Your
other
left!”

The following Wednesday, me and Rob Berger are up on stage, during 5
^th
hour. We’re working on a scene from a play called
Brighton Beach Memoirs
. You know, by Neil Simon. He’s the guy who wrote
Barefoot in the Park
with Robert Redford and Jane Fonda. Dell picked it out for us. I didn’t realize the play starred Ferris from
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
when it premiered on Broadway in 1983. Until I opened up the script, and there he was: Matthew Broderick as Eugene Jerome…So much for stage actors not being stars!

“For Pete’s sake…This isn’t rocket science.”

I watch as Mr. Dell’Olio literally slaps his furrowed forehead. Meanwhile, all the other Drama Queers stare at us in silence.

“You said ‘move to the left’ didn’t you?”

Poor Rob Berger…He looks like he’s gonna bust a nut he’s so confused right now.

“My left, your right!”

Rob looks at me.

I look at Mr. Dell’Olio for clarification. “You mean,
stage
right?”

Stage left. Stage right. Up stage. Down stage.

Sounds easy, huh? Try being the one up there taking direction. Especially when your director is screaming out your blocking at you.

“Just
move
, Berger,” Dell orders, “and say your line while you’re doing it…Got it?”

Rob mumbles softly, “Got it.”

You’d think Mr. Dell’Olio would know what he’s doing by now. He’s been teaching Drama for how many years? And prior to that, he worked as a professional director Off-Off Broadway in New York City. It’s not our fault some Russian guy, Stanislavsky, decided back in the late 1800s that
stage right
meant the actor’s right and not the director’s.

“Is it Christmas Break yet?” Dell asks aloud, to nobody in particular.

“Seventy-eight more days,” a voice responds from somewhere in the void.

“Thank you, Audrey!”

“No problem, Dell.”

That’s Aud, always being a smart-ass!

I look out to see her slumped down in her seat next to Tuesday Gunderson, both girls trying not to chuckle at mine and Rob’s expense.

“Whenever you fellas are ready,” Mr. Dell’Olio says to us now. “Preferably sometime before I retire in the year 2007.”

In the scene, me and Rob play brothers: Stanley and Eugene. Stanley’s eighteen and Eugene is fifteen, which is perfect casting if you ask me. I don’t look the least bit my real age (seventeen) and Rob looks like he’s at least twenty. Must be the mustache…and the fact that he’s had pubes since he was twelve!

The only thing is, Stanley and Eugene are
Jewish
. Not that I got a problem with Jewish people, I just don’t know any. The closest thing you get to a Jewish anything in
The Friendly City
of Hazel Park is when the cross-country team has a bagel sale.

“From the top?” Rob asks, looking in my direction.

“You got the first line,” I remind him.

“Oh…”

Not that he’s not a cool guy, but you can probably imagine why Rob Berger’s a Varsity athlete. As hot as he may be, he isn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch, you know what I mean? Surprisingly, he’s a fairly decent actor—for a jock.

We been in Dell’s Drama class together since Junior year. This past spring, he played the role of Dr. Orin Scrivello, DDS in
Little Shop of Horrors
to my Seymour and Liza Larson’s Audrey. Picture Rob in a black leather jacket sucking on that nitric oxide. H-O-T!

Poor Audrey…She desperately wanted to be Audrey, but Dell decided to go with a blond, like in the movie. Not to mention the fact that Audrey is more of a character actress. This is why she ended up playing Chiffon, one of the three street urchins.

“What are
you
doing here?”

I remember asking Rob this when I saw him at the auditions.

“You think I can’t act just because I’m a jock?” he joked.

The second he flashed that fucking grin of his, I was smitten.

Of all people, I never expected to see Rob Berger trying out for a play, least of all a musical. Back in junior high, he never did anything artistic. He didn’t sing in Choir or play an instrument in Band or even take Creative Academics with Ms. Lemieux. Now of all a sudden, there he was…From Total Jock to Drama Queer!

Only Rob Berger is far from being a queer of any kind as far as I can tell. Sure, he’s popular, and we already established how hot he is, but like I said, he’s a Varsity football player. How come he doesn’t have a
girlfriend?
In fact, I’ve known Rob for over five years now, and in all that time I can’t remember him ever going with anybody.

He did bring this one girl, Katy Griffin, to the 9
^th
grade Carnation Dance. She used to play trombone and sat next to me in Band all three years at Webb, but I always thought Katy might be a lesbian so she doesn’t count.

“Hold!”

The second we finally get rolling, Mr. Dell’Olio starts screaming at us again. Personally, I thought the scene was going good. So far I didn’t drop a single line.

Too bad I can’t say the same for Rob.

“Are we doing something wrong?” he asks, more to me than to Herr Director.

“Yeah, Dell…What’s up?” I wonder. “Do we totally suck or something?”

“You’re fine, Dayton,” Mr. Dell’Olio replies. “I can’t say the same for your partner.”

Rob’s face goes raspberry-beret-red. “Sorry, Coach.” Frustrated, he kicks at some nonexistent fuzz on the lip of the stage.

What’s happening in the scene is…Eugene is playing with his football when Stanley enters, all freaked out. He just got fired from his job for disrespecting his boss, this German Nazi-type guy who naturally must
hate
Stanley since he’s a Jew, and vice versa. Being a comedy, it’s pretty funny shit, even though Dell’s taking it super seriously.

“Berger,” he says to Rob, sounding like a dad about to have the (quote-unquote) talk with his firstborn son. “Tell me something…”

Rob looks up without saying a word.

“What’s your motivation?”

After a slight pause Rob asks, “What do you mean?”

Dell loses it. He throws his arms up in defeat. “How many days till Christmas Break?”

“Seventy-eight,” Audrey pipes up from the Peanut Gallery. “You already asked.”

I can’t help but laugh when I see Dell shaking his head, looking like he can’t take much more. Really, he’s not a crabass. He just can’t resist acting all dramatic. In fact, he’s just as much a Drama Queer as the rest of us. Except he’s not a homo, he’s totally married.

“In the
scene
,” Mr. Dell’Olio says slowly, trying a new tactic, “what is your motivation?”

Rob repeats, “What’s my motivation in the scene?”

I think he thinks if he stalls, the answer will come to him.

Poor Rob…I can’t stand to see him suffer. Not with Audrey and Tuesday and all the other Drama Queers sitting in their seats scrutinizing him as he starts to sweat. Where’s Mr. Fish with his rag when you need it?

“He means, what do you
want?
” I whisper, trying to talk without moving my lips, à la Laverne DeFazio from
Laverne & Shirley
.

Rob’s face lights up. “Oh! What do I want?”

“What does
Stanley
want?” Dell corrects.

“What does Stanley want?” Rob repeats, like it’s finally starting to sink in. “Beats the hell outta me.”

Thunderous applause!

Finally, the bell rings, signaling the 2:00 PM end of Advanced Drama, putting both me and Rob outta our
Brighton Beach Memoirs
misery…

“Good scene, you guys.”

Audrey approaches from the aisle, her long red hair swaying behind her back. I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not.

“Seriously,” Tuesday snorts, bringing up the rear. “You’re a really good actor, Berger.”

“Thanks,” Rob mutters, avoiding eye contact with the ladies.

Tuesday looks at me, forgetting I’m also standing there. “You too, Brad.”

Rob hops off the stage. “Later,” he tells us before making his way towards the box office in the back corner.

I can’t help but notice the way Aud watches Rob’s every move. In fact, Tuesday practically drools down the front of her maroon Flaggots—I mean,
Flag Corps
—windbreaker till he disappears thru the EXIT doors into the front lobby.

“Lucky you,” Audrey sighs, “getting to work with Mr. Varsity Football.”

“Yeah,” echoes Tuesday. “You sure are lucky.”

I agree, “Yeah…”

What else am I supposed to say in response to their remarks?
Now if he’d only make out with me
.

After an awkward moment of silence, Audrey asks, “Wanna help me and Tuesday with our scene sometime?”

“I’m free on Saturday,” I offer, since I don’t have to work at Big Boy’s till the evening and I got nothing else going on during the day.

“Awesome!” exclaims Audrey.

I never noticed she’s got a space between her teeth when she smiles, just like a certain football-playing Lesbian—I mean,
Thespian
—we know.

Tuesday parrots, “Yeah, awesome!”

The girls are working on
The Effects of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds
. Back in the ’60s, it played Off-Broadway. They also made a movie version with Paul Newman’s wife, Joanne Woodward, which I never seen.

Audrey plays the crazy mom, Beatrice, and Tuesday is the daughter, Tillie, who’s all into science and shit. So far they’re doing a pretty good job, but if you ask me, the play’s totally fucked up. The mom
kills
the daughter’s pet rabbit for chris’sakes, you know what I mean?

“We can hang at my house,” Aud informs us. “My mom’ll be at work.”

I’m about to follow my classmates’ lead and get my ass moving to 6th hour French III Independent Study when Mr. Dell’Olio stops me on the stairs leading down from the stage.

“Good work today, Dayton.”

I can feel my face matching my hair as I humbly tell him, “Thanks.”

I don’t know why, but I’m a little embarrassed by Mr. Dell’Olio’s praise. I mean, I certainly wanna do a good job. I live for the day others will laud me for my acting ability. Except right now, I don’t know what else to say. So I just stand there with a stupid smirk.

“You’re a natural,” Dell flatters, patting me on the back. “I’ll see you at auditions, won’t I?”

This semester we’re doing
A Christmas Carol
. You know, by Charles Dickens. Same guy who gave us
A Tale of Two Cities
and
Oliver Twist
. The first one, we read in Mrs. Malloy’s English Lit, the other, I seen the musical years ago. Auditions are coming up the second week of November.

“I’ll be there,” I confirm.

I can’t say I read the script yet, but I watched the movie of
A Christmas Carol
on TV when I was little. I heard the boy who played Tiny Tim is now Artistic Director at Meadow Brook Theatre out in Rochester…God, he must be ancient!

I’m still not sure what part I want. Sure, Scrooge has got the most lines, but I don’t see myself playing an old man. Being that I’m a Senior, I’m sure Dell will cast me in one of the leads…Why wouldn’t he, if I’m such a natural?

“What’s up, Fox?”

In the commons outside the auditorium, I run into Shelly Findlay—I mean,
Shellee
Findlay. I keep forgetting her and a bunch of the other Varsity cheerleaders officially changed the spelling of their first names. Karla Carlson is now
Karlah
and Melody Carnes is
Mellowdeigh
.

Don’t ask!

Me and Shellee go way back to 7
^th
grade at Webb. We used to be in Band together, but like a lot of the junior high Band Fags, Shellee dropped out once we got to high school, which is a damn shame if you ask me because she was a very talented
flautist
.