Drama Queers! (30 page)

Note to self: don’t smoke for
too
long
.

“We were in the gayborhood,” Richie continues, “having dinner at Backstage.”

You can bet this gets my attention.

“Did you try the chicken parmigiana?” Miss Peter interjects, salivating. “It’s to die for!”

I can’t believe The Sophomore had the nerve to take Joey Palladino for dinner at
our
special restaurant. Now he brings him to the very same bar we went afterwards…What the fuck is up with that?

“Tell me more about this acting project you’re working on,” says Miss Peter, lighting another Tareyton, legs crossed at the knees, all ears.

“It’s a film called
Faded Flowers
,” answers Joey, filling her in.

“After the Shriekback song,” adds Richie.

Miss Peter makes a face like she’s smelling a fart. “What the hell’s a Shriekback?”

That’s what
I
said!

“It’s a New Wave band,” Joey explains, removing his navy pea coat.

I can’t help but notice he’s all dressed up in super-tight navy dress pants and a super-tight white dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show off the little gold chain around his neck, which I’m pretty sure he got from his
girlfriend
, Diane Thompson. Where the hell is she tonight, anyways? It’s Valentine’s Day, for chris’sakes!

Miss Peter shrugs, exhaling. “If it ain’t Donna Summer, Gloria Gaynor, or Teena Marie, forget it…What’s the movie about?”

“This group of high school kids,” says The Sophomore. “One of the girls gets pregnant, two of the guys are gay…Your basic John Hughes plot.”

Again, Miss Peter shrugs, oblivious. “If you say so.”

“We’re playing the gay guys,” Joey reveals, as if there was any question. “My character is the ex-boyfriend of the pregnant girl.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Miss Peter gives her full attention. “So you break up with the girl because you’re queer?”

“No,” answers The Sophomore. “He doesn’t realize he’s queer till
after
he breaks up with her and falls in love with me.”

“Smart boy!”

Miss Peter praises Joey with a squeeze of his bulging bicep. You can bet she’s milking the situation for all it’s worth. Has she totally forgotten what I told her a mere two months ago?

‘member when I spent the night at Richie’s house and he totally called me out about being a Total Fag? Not to mention everything I confessed concerning what me and him have been doing together
physically
for the last thirty days, give or take. For all intensive purposes, Richie Tyler is my
ex
-boyfriend, and here he is at the gay bar with another guy! Or is it “all intents and purposes”? I never know exactly which one it is whenever I say it. So I just sorta slur my words together hoping nobody else will hear me say it wrong if I am.

Then Miss Peter says, “Wait a minute…This sounds vaguely familiar.” She turns to me, confused. “Weren’t
you
making a movie with the exact same plot?”

I sit up in my seat, tall and proud. “I was…”

The Sophomore insists on slamming me back down. “He quit.”

“I didn’t quit,” I defend myself, refusing to meet his gaze. “I dropped out.”

“Same difference.”

“I took over his part,” elaborates Joey.

“So now
you
two are boyfriends,” Miss Peter deduces, finally making sense of the scenario.

“That’s right,” Richie affirms with a smile. “Opie’s out…Joey’s in.”

As ABBA’s “The Winner Takes it All” comes to an end, the bar falls eerily silent.

“Be right back.”

Sliding off my stool, I dig deep into my jeans pocket, in search of some quarters. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s being in a bar without any background music. The challenge is finding something to play on the jukebox that isn’t a Golden Oldie.

“Howdy, boys…”

Outta the corner of my eye, I see Mike make his way over to welcome the latest addition to our pity party.

“Give these young
men
whatever’ll make them happy,” Miss Peter orders.

Mike grins, his square jaw working a piece of cinnamon Dentyne. “I can think of a thing or two that might do the trick.”

Miss Peter howls. “Get your mind outta the gutter, hooker!”

I choose #A-34: “Only in My Dreams” by Debbie Gibson. To this day, whenever I hear that song, it takes me back to the night I set foot in my first gay bar.

Flashback to the spring of 1986…

Me and Luanne just came out to each other. One night while sitting at Big Boy’s drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes the way we always did, we encountered our favorite waiter, Brett. A cute guy in his early 20s, tall and thin with dark hair and dark eyes, Brett always slipped us free fries on account of he knew me and Lou were both poor as dirt.

“What are you guys doing later?” he asked, refilling our cold cups with hot Maxwell House.

We were like, “Nothing…Why do you ask?”

Brett was like, “I’m meeting some friends down at this bar on Woodward…You should come by.”

He reminded me of that guy Robbie from
Dirty Dancing
, which I finally went to see by myself, by the way. ’member, he’s the one who knocks up Johnny’s dance partner, Penny, so they gotta take her to have that back-alley abortion? What a jerk!

Sadly we informed Brett, “We’re still in high school.”

“That’s okay…They’ll totally let you in.”

That particular night, Lou’s mom was on her case (as per usual), and she had to have the car back by 10:00 PM. So after we paid our bill, she took me home.

Well, I got to thinking about how much fun it would be to go Dirty Dancing with Brett at a bar, since I never been to one. Except at the time, I was only fifteen, so I didn’t even have a driver’s license, let alone a vehicle.

Wanna know what I did?

I dug out the yellow pages and called a cab, which is something you never do in the
Motor
City.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in line all decked out in my favorite jeans and turtleneck/cardigan sweater combo, waiting to fork over my five bucks.

“ID.”

The burly Bouncer Guy grunted, looking down at me. This was before Nancy’s uncle hired her (and her horse teeth) to be the Crypt Keeper.

“Um…I don’t drive.”

You can bet I batted my eyes, hoping if I looked cute enough the guy wouldn’t care that I was underage and would invite me inside.

“How old are you?”

“Um…Fifteen.” Remembering what Brett said, I figured I didn’t need to lie.

“Hand.”

The guy grabbed my paw, marked it with an
X
, and up the stairs I climbed.

“Well, if it isn’t Chicken Little…”

That’s the first thing Mike said to me from his post behind the bar. I’ll never forget he had on his uniform: military fatigues, combat boots, and no shirt. At first, I thought I couldn’t possibly be in a gay bar with a guy that looked like
him
working there.

“How are you?” I asked, trying to focus on my bartender’s face and not his bod.

Mike said something like, “What can I get you?” Or maybe, “What’s your poison?”

Like I said, at the time, I never been to a bar before, so I didn’t know the first thing about ordering alcohol. I knew I wouldn’t like the taste of beer. In fact, I only ever drank
one
time at that point in my life, at Luanne’s New Year’s Eve party a few months prior when me and Jack got wasted on jug-wine.

Wanna know what I ordered?

“I’ll have a Tom Collins.”

Now I didn’t know what a Tom Collins even was, but all I could think of was my favorite episode of
The Jeffersons
where Weezy witnessed a murder one Halloween…’member? The guy who did it was dressed up in a rabbit costume, and when he discovered Louise seen him, he tracked her down and held her hostage. In order to stall, and keep him from killing her, too, Mrs. J offered to make the man a drink: a Tom Collins.

“You want that in one glass or two?”

Obviously my request wasn’t too far fetched because my bartender barely batted an eye.

“Um…” I responded, uncertain how to answer.

Mike told me, “It’s Tuesday,” which I thought seemed odd because as far as I could remember, yesterday was
Friday
. Then he pointed to the sign above the bar.

Saturday=Two’s-day
2–4–1
drinks 10 PM-2 AM

“Oh…”

Boy, did I feel like an ass!

“One glass or two?”

Again, I didn’t get it.

“You know what?” I decided to make things simple. “I’ll just have a 7-Up.”

Mike grinned. “One glass or two?”

Finally, I was like, “I’m sorry…I don’t understand the question.”

And he was like, “It’s two-for-one…You want two small drinks or one
big
one?”

I laughed, but at the time I don’t think I got the sexual innuendo.

Mike replied, “No problem, Chicken Little…You’re still young.”

Not anymore!

Back in 1988…

Mike says, “What’ll it be?” turning his undivided attention towards Joey.

“I’ll take a beer,” Mr. Palladino, the novice bar-goer replies.

“What Kinda beer?”

“What kinda beer you got?”

Mike runs thru the list: “Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Lite, Miller Genuine Draft, Labbat’s, Coors, Stroh’s…You name it, we got it.”

“I’ll take a Bud,” Joey concludes after all that.

“Aren’t you a butch one?” Mike teases. Next, he turns to Mr. Tyler. “And for you, Chicken Little?”

Okay, that does it!

“I’ll take a Labatt’s…”

There’s only room for one Chicken Little around here, you know what I mean?

“You got it, cutie pie.”

I hate to say it, but Mike sounded totally gay when he said that. Maybe he’s not as hot as I originally thought he was.

“Thanks, dude.”

Hold the fucking phone!

First of all, in the four months I’ve known him, I never heard Richie Tyler use the word
dude
, let alone call somebody one. Secondly, I can
not
believe the way he’s blatantly flirting with Mike the bartender, right in front of me—and Joey Palladino. And third, what the hell does he think he’s doing bringing Joey to a gay bar? Sure, him and Richie can say they were doing (quote-unquote) research for their movie, but what if Joey goes back to school next week and tells everybody he saw
me
here?

“I just need to see some ID.”

A look of panic crosses Joey’s face when Mike questions him on this. Until Richie takes charge of the situation…

“I don’t drive.”

“Fair enough,” Mike responds. “How about you?” He turns to Joey.

“Me?” Joey replies. “I drive.”

“So show me your pretty picture.”

From my post at the jukebox, I’m getting a cheap thrill outta watching Joey Palladino squirm, even though I know what’s ultimately gonna happen: he’ll take out his license, Mike will look at it and see he’s not even eighteen, and he’s still gonna serve him. He did the exact same thing with me when I first arrived tonight with Miss Peter. It’s what they do here at The Gas Station. Checking ID is a mere formality, in case the cops come in unexpectedly.

Speaking of…

‘member School Teacher Guy? Soon as Joey takes out his license as requested by Mike, STG gets up from his stool.

“While you’re at it, let me take a look…”

Turns out, STG works for the Detroit Police Department and we are B-U-S-T-E-D.

As if this night couldn’t get any worse!