Confessions of a Transylvanian (11 page)

Every cast has its own particular set of callbacks and Deerfiel
d’
s was no different. Where these lines originated I could
n’
t tell you, but we picked and chose from the best. No two Rocky shows were the same, callback-wise, nor should they be. I
t’
s a free-form audience ritual and it constantly evolved. Good lines would come and go, some would be timely and then...not so timely. When they reached their sell-by date, they were abandoned. Also, there were
n’
t any rules about callbacks. If something funny occurred to you, you were encouraged to shout it out. Maybe it would stick. Maybe not. You never knew.

Still, it did
n’
t hurt to know what the basic callbacks for this cast were so that you could join in with everyone else.

So I listened.

And learned.

Another thing you need to know about Rocky tradition: what to throw. Or, in some cases, squirt.

The following audience-participation moments have evolved over the years and have become fairly commonplace at every Rocky show. Each show develops its own traditions, of course, but here are the basics:

When Ralph and Betty come out of the church after their wedding, throw rice. (Some people brought, and threw, entire
bags
of rice. What else you gonna do with it?)

When Janet gets out of the car to walk to the castle in the rain, put a newspaper over your head, mirroring her. This is a good idea, because at the same moment, you are supposed to:

Pull out your squirt gun and shoot water into the air until it is empty. Some people shot the squirt gun at
one another
, but I gotta tell you: Tha
t’
s just childish. Grow up, people.

When Brad and Janet begin singing “There’s a light…” in this scene, pull out a lighter, spark it up and hold it high.

Later, when Dr. Scott bursts through the wall and Brad yells, “Great Scott!” throw toilet paper. (Get it? Scott…toilet paper? I know, high-larious.) By the way, when you throw it, you should try to toss it so it unravels as it flies through the air. This is a skill few can master. I have seen grown men who can chuck a roll of toilet paper in the air and do it in such a way that the goddamn cardboard tube would land in your lap. It should be an Olympic event, really.

In the dinner scene, when Frank says, “A toast,” throw toast in the air. Most people forget to
bring
toast and they just throw bread instead. Now ask yourself: Why throw bread? The man said
toast
. Throw toast or nothing. Sheesh.

And, finally, when Frank-N-Furter, in his song “
I’
m Going Home,” sings “Cards for sorrow, cards for pain,” throw playing cards in the air.

And those are the basics. Rice, water, newspapers, lighter, toilet paper, toast and cards. Show up with those, yo
u’
re fine.

Back to the evening at hand:

The only truly memorable thing about the rest of the night was getting a front-row seat to the Floor Show finale. On screen, the song “Do
n’
t Dream It, Be It” ends with an orgy in the swimming pool. All of the characters jump in the pool and spend a few minutes kissing, groping and clawing at each other.

The previous week, when I first attended the live show at the Ultravision, I could
n’
t really see what had happened once they all dropped to the floor. This time, I was right up front and could see that, as suspected, what happened on the screen happened on the floor of the theater as well: These scantily clad youngsters, who had been dancing about in their underwear, wound up in a flesh-pile that would have made Hugh Hefner blush. It was a sight to behold. Also, it was the only part of the show I could not imagine doing...and yet, I could not imagine wanting to do anything else.

Minutes later, it was all over. The credits ran, the lights came up, the audience cheered and then headed for the doors. This cued the clean-up crew (meaning the Transylvanians) to spring into action. Steve and I, with about five or six others, jumped up and got to work, directed by Doc, our new drill sergeant.

As I loaded up the wheelchairs and pushed them back to the storage area, it occurred to me: I now had two Rocky shows under my belt. One as an audience member, and one as an actual part of the cast.

And with that first night on stage at last behind me, one question remained:

What next?

5

Fantasy Free Me

T
he show was over, so I figured it was time to get home. After all, it was around 2 in the morning and
I’
d been up since dawn, had gone to school, spent the afternoon freaking out about the night ahead and then attended and performed in a midnight movie showing. To most people, tha
t’
s a pretty full day.

These were
n’
t most people.

Now that the show had come down and all their friends were in the same place, it was time for this cast to have a bit of fun.

I caught wind of this as I was shuttling props back and forth.

“You coming out?” asked Cheryl.

“Out? Out where?” My ears must have shot up. Was there a party? Were we heading over to the beach? What was the Rocky cas
t’
s idea of a post-show get together?

Cheryl filled me in: “W
e’
re going over to Denn
y’
s. We meet over there after every show. Get something to eat. Cast meeting. That kinda thing.”

I was stunned.
Denn
y’
s
? This was where the glorious Rocky after-party was scheduled to take place? Really? Sitting around a diner eating open-faced tuna sandwiches and cottage fries?

It was, to say the least, a bit of a letdown. I had expected...I do
n’
t know...naked Jell-O shots or something. Hookah pipes and raunchy videos. Not onion rings.

As disappointing as it sounded, I felt compelled to check it out. There was always a chance that “going to Denn
y’
s” was really code for “strip poker and whip-its,” so why not have a look? Quick as I could, I finished up storing the props and sets backstage and caught a ride with Steve over to the restaurant. At the very least, it would finally be my chance to meet and talk with some of the people I had only seen on stage.

Now, I do
n’
t know how much experience you have hanging out in late-night eateries, but one of the best things about Denn
y’
s (perhaps the only thing, come to think of it) is the fact that they are open twenty-four hours a day. This, by process of elimination, made it the ideal option for a Rocky post-show gathering.

I ca
n’
t imagine what the management of the place must have thought of this gang of freaks when they first walked through the door but, surprisingly, the Rocky cast turned out to be a late-night manage
r’
s wet dream. Here was a group of people who showed up
hungry
, did
n’
t shirk when it came to tipping and could not have been a friendlier bunch to have in your restaurant in the wee small hours.

All anarchy-loving, free-wheeling, bohemian-ness aside, we were a very well-behaved group. Nothing was destroyed, no fights broke out and, thinking in terms of pure dollars and cents, we were a group of thirty people (a number of whom suffered from a severe case of the munchies) showing up right in the middle of the night shift. Wha
t’
s not to love?

By the time Steve and I joined up, the Rocky cast was on a first-name basis with the entire staff.

When we walked in, we were directed to the back of the restaurant where the Rocky group had been provided with what amounted to a private dining room. About ten tables had been shoved together end-to-end forming one long banquet-style table (not unlike Fran
k’
s dinner table in the movie). Most of the principal cast members were already gathered and, since only Transylvanians are expected to do the grunt work, Steve and I were the last to arrive.

Donny, as cast manager, was holding court, taking care of cast business. He had a natural authority and, either because of the respect h
e’
d earned from his fellow cast members or the fact that it looked like he could rip off your arm and pick his teeth with your nails, he was given everyon
e’
s utmost attention.

Steve and I took seats toward the end, furthest away from Donny. I sat down next to Tony, the bearded, pre-show loudmouth who had played the Criminologist in the show. He introduced himself to me brusquely and then quieted down for the weekly meeting.

The actual business of being a cast manager basically involved (a) checking with the cast for any problems, (b) making sure the assignments for the next show were clear, (c) collecting dues, (d) enforcing rules, (e) welcoming new cast members and (f) ensuring the general smoothness of the Rocky ride.

Donny got right to it:

He was looking ahead to the following evenin
g’
s Saturday night performance. There were to be no new assignments for this show, cast-wise. Everyone who played the roles earlier that night would reprise them the next day. But in running through the cast by name, I was finally able to figure out who was who. For that first month at the Ultravision, the regular (le
t’
s call them “A-list”) cast was as follows:

Frank-N-Furter – Mark

Brad – Ron

Janet – Jackie

Riff – Kenny

Magenta – Andrea

Columbia – Sunday

Eddie – Donny

The Criminologist – Tony

Rocky – Barry

Dr. Scott – Donny, again

Floor Show Brad – Russ

Floor Show Janet – Iris

Floor Show Rocky – Jeff

I tried to commit all their names to memory, but it took about a week or so to finally get them all straight. It took even longer to introduce myself to the whole gang. I did
n’
t want to appear too eager, for one thing, and for another…they were incredibly intimidating. Part of me was afraid that I would blurt out something like, “You guys are
so awesome
,” or something similarly lame. Remember, I told myself, the word of the day was “cool.” Gushing at them was
n’
t going to get me anywhere. I was in the end zone. Best to pretend
I’
d been there before.

Dues were collected (I forked over my initiation fee), a few complaints were dealt with and either dismissed or addressed. Then it was our turn.

“W
e’
ve got three new cast members tonight. Stand up if yo
u’
re here.” We did. “This is Tracey, Steve and Jack. Make
‘
em feel welcome.”

“Go fuck yourselves!” was offered by someone, to general laughter. We smiled and sat down. It was pretty much the welcome we had expected.

After Donny wrapped up the meeting, I chatted up Tony a bit, who introduced me to his buddy, a guy named Tom. Tom worked as a full-time member of the crew and was solely responsible for running the spotlight, an extremely important job. He and Tony seemed like old friends and both were about four to five years older than the rest of the cast. I pegged them to be about 23 or so, a good seven years my senior.

They were polite enough, I suppose, though they did
n’
t seem in the least bit interested in me. No “where do you go to school?” or “did you have fun tonight?” chit-chat. They were too busy recounting the bits that had gone wrong or right during the show that evening. As I took in their conversation, I tried to get a bead on who they were and where they were from.

Tony was pretty easy to peg. He had a New York vibe that was practically pouring off him. As Brooklyn as the day is long. Loud, brash and extremely quick-witted, he had an answer for everything, this guy. And he always got in the last word.

Tom, however, was another story. This guy did
n’
t have four words out of his mouth before I knew exactly who he was. See, Tom was a rarity in those Southern climes: He was a native. Born and bred in South Florida, no question about it. I would have taken good odds that he had never set foot outside of Dade and Broward counties. Well, okay—maybe a day trip or two to Disney World. But this guy had never traveled north of Lake Okeechobee,
I’
d have bet my life on it.

The two of them had the kind of back-and-forth banter that only comes from long acquaintance. And while Tom may have lacked Ton
y’
s razor-sharp tongue, he seconded everything his friend said with gusto. They were quite a pair.

Steve and I did
n’
t say much in our little corner, but the table did
n’
t suffer from any awkward silences. They were talkers, this group. No one lacked an opinion or seemed completely satisfied unless they had weighed in on whatever topic was being discussed.

Most of the commentary had to do with busting one anothe
r’
s balls. If someone had made a mistake during the show, they were now catching hell about it. Or a prop had been missing and the resulting fiasco had
ruined the show
for this or that person. Nothing was too trivial not to bitch about, so the fight was joined every couple of minutes on a new topic.

The principals held court, with a primary focus on the two girls from the “Science Fiction” duet. The Columbia half of the pair, a girl named Sunday, was the smaller, more caustic of the two. And while Tony had impressed me with his quick-wittedness, this chick was the Speedy Gonzalez of repartee. She was tossing out zingers without inhibition, laying her fellow cast members low with each remark. If she had
n’
t been so smoking hot, they probably would have thrown her out a window.

The other one, though, was the one I could
n’
t rip my eyes off of. This was Andrea, the A-list Magenta, and the second pea in the “Science Fiction” pod. She was
n’
t as incisively pointed with her commentary as Sunday was, but she had the foulest mouth of any girl I had ever seen. She used the word “fuck” like most people use conjunctions and she spoke with such unflinching authority that the idea of butting heads with her was utterly terrifying. I sincerely hoped that she did
n’
t notice me staring at her the whole night, but I could
n’
t help myself.

Between them, these two projected an unmistakable message: In case anyone was wondering, they were the rulers of this little kingdom and the rest of the cast members were expected to treat them accordingly. If you did
n’
t (and some clearly did
n’
t), you had to be ready to lock horns.

Fascinating as it was to watch the group dynamic develop, I really could
n’
t stay for long. It was already approaching 3 a.m. and I had
n’
t expected to be out much later than 2. I was both itching to get home and unwilling to leave. Finally, Steve offered me a lift and that settled it. I did
n’
t want to go but, hey—this was to be the first of many nights, right? No harm in heading out early for once (if this could be considered “early”). We paid our check and started for the door.

Sunday, who did
n’
t miss much, spied us making our way out. “Look at these pussies,” she called out. “First day on the job and they skip out while the night is still young. Wha
t’
s the matter? Your mommas waiting up for you?”

Everyone turned our way. It was like getting hit with a spotlight, having this girl call attention to you. Steve and I froze in our tracks.

“Yeah, I...” I started. How did you answer that? “
I’
ve gotta go. See you tomorrow?”

“If yo
u’
re lucky,” she shot back. “Good night, ladies.”

Andrea remained quiet, her eyes tracking the two of us as we made for the exit.

I did
n’
t live that far away, so Steve and I only had a few minutes to recount our own impressions of how the night had gone before we arrived at my place. We were in agreement: It had been better than w
e’
d hoped and we wanted more. We also seemed to be in total harmony when it came to our opinions of our fellow cast members.

Sunday and Andrea, we concluded, were as terrifying as young girls were capable of being. Donny, on the other hand, seemed totally approachable and very cool. Tracey, the other rookie that night, was adorable and we both hoped that sh
e’
d come back the following night, too.

Steve mentioned he had met a guy earlier that evening named Russ who had made a big impression. Somehow, I had missed out on running into him. According to Steve, Russ was a real character and, from his brief experience with him, he appeared to be one of the most unusual, if friendliest, guys in the cast. Steve could
n’
t really elaborate, but promised to introduce me to Russ the next night.

We pulled up in front of my pitch-dark house and I got out of the car as slowly and quietly as I could. It being the middle of the night, the entire neighborhood was ghostly quiet. Every footstep I took sounded deafening. I crept in by the back door, tiptoed into my bedroom and slid silently into bed.

The clock on the nightstand said 3:24. I had been up for nearly twenty-four hours. Oddly, though, I did
n’
t feel in the least bit tired.

Which was why, thirty seconds later, it surprised the hell out of me when I fell crashing into a deep, restful sleep.