Confessions of a Transylvanian (21 page)

“Sounds good. And, uh, do me a favor.”

“Wha
t’
s that?”

“Introduce me to her friend, too.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

We finished setting everything up just in time for the audience to start trickling in. Tony grabbed the microphone and started up the pre-show. While he was doing his bit, I introduced Holly and Jill to the cast members who had, by that time, become my friends: Steve, Tracey, Felicia and Jimmy.

It was a little awkward, especially when I heard a cast member say something like, “Yo
u’
ve been going out with Jack for a while?” and
I’
d catch Holl
y’
s sidelong glance that said to me, “Jesus, you were
n’
t kidding. You really
are
‘
Jack
,’
are
n’
t you?” But the truth was, I was the most tense person in the room. Everyone else seemed to get along just fine.

Tony eventually put in a call for that evenin
g’
s virgins and, of course, I ratted out Holly and Jill. The other Transylvanians and I and pulled them up onto the stage and they offered little resistance. Neither one had been expecting this treatment but they were good sports about the whole thing. When the ceremony was over and the previews were about to begin, I sat them back down.

“
I’
ve got to get ready. Enjoy!”

“We will!” said Holly, her face lit up with excitement. “See you later!”

As I was walking back to the bathroom to get changed, I felt someone grab my elbow. I turned and found Russ walking along side me and leaning in close. He spoke in a confidential tone.

“Hey, that your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Russ. Tha
t’
s Holly.”

“Uh-huh. Which one?”

“The brunette. The other one is Jill.”

“Jill? Great name. You should be going out with her, huh? Jack and Jill.” He smiled briefly, but then it disappeared. “But seriously, is she seeing someone?”

I saw where this was going and the alarm bells started ringing. Russ and Jill? Please, let it not be so. My school world and my Rocky world would collide and there would be no going back.

Still, I had to be honest with him:

“Jill? A boyfriend? Not that I know of.”

“You do
n’
t say.” He grinned. “Thanks, Jack. Maybe you can introduce me to her later, huh?”

“No problem.”

And he took off to get ready for the show.

I wish I could tell you that the evening turned into some hilarious, crazy night where I was suddenly called upon to perform the role of Frank-N-Furter and the girls were just blown away by my performance, but the truth was it was just a normal night at Rocky. The show went swimmingly, Holly and Jill had a terrific time and everyone in the cast really took a shine to both of my guests.

Afterward, Holly and Jill both made it clear that they completely understood the appeal of being in the Rocky show. Finally, I thought, someone from my “real world” life seemed to get it.

How much did they get it? Her
e’
s how much: Russ and Jill were a couple by the end of the night. And while I should have been amazed at how quickly he had moved to secure this young dreamboat, I really was
n’
t all that shocked. She was gorgeous and he was on the lookout for all things gorgeous. It made perfect sense.

The real surprise did
n’
t arrive until the following weekend. Tha
t’
s when Jill joined the cast and within weeks took over as Floor Show Janet, dancing around in her underwear every weekend night.

I must admit, I did
n’
t see that coming at
all
.

In my defense: The microphone was just
standing
there. And it was driving me
mad
.

Here it was, Friday night, the audience was streaming in, the pre-show was set to start and...no Tony. No announcements. No nothing.

What was to be done? We could
n’
t very well let these virgins...you know...
stay virgins
, could we? What about the chants, the cheers, the rules? All of these rituals were of supreme import.

And yet the microphone stood unattended. Ignored. Neglected.

No one was stepping up to fill in for the egregiously tardy pre-show announcer and time was ticking by. Pretty soon, the actual previews would begin and for the first time in Deerfiel
d’
s (admittedly brief) history, there would be no pre-show whatsoever.

This could not stand. Someone would have to tie on the cape and fly to the rescue. It did
n’
t take long for me to decide that that person should be…your humble narrator.

Okay, full disclosure: I had been coveting Ton
y’
s pre-show job for months. That was my second big secret, my desire to do the warm-up. Pre-show Guy and Riff. Perform those two jobs before I passed away and I could die a happy man.

So, in truth, Ton
y’
s lateness was a blessing in disguise. A gold-plated opportunity to show the folks what I was really made of.

However...actually walking up to the front of the crowd and seizing the microphone without getting prior approval from Donny was one of the most terrifying things
I’
d ever contemplated. I suppose I could have gone up to him and said something like, “Hey, Donny, you want me to jump up there and get things going?” but it just did
n’
t seem right. Either you had balls or you did
n’
t.

This was go time. So I went.

My heart hammering, my knees benoodled, I approached the microphone. I knew there was a chance I could begin talking to the crowd and immediately get a tap on my shoulder accompanied by a brusque, “Just what the fuck do you think yo
u’
re doing?” before being escorted off the stage, but goddamn it, chances like this did
n’
t just drop off the tree every day. If they yanked you, they yanked you. Deal with it.

So I stood up, signaled for Tom to hit me with the spotlight and when the beam lit me up, I bellowed into the mike, “
Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to
'
The Rocky Horror Picture Sho
w'
! Now sit down and shut up, w
e’
ve got a lot of business to take care of and very little time to do it!
”

And in the hair-raising moments that followed…no one tackled me. No one wrenched the mic from my hand. They just…let me run the pre-show.

I knew the rules by heart, having learned from the best, so I ran through them for the assembled guests. That seemed to go well, so I next directed them to Storme, who had wandered out in search of donations. Again, the money-gathering portion of the evening seemed to go smoothly, so I moved on to cautioning them about being complete and utter girly bitches if they were mistakenly smacked in the head with a piece of toast. I even ran through a Rocky cheer or two. Things were really humming along. And just as I felt I was really hitting my stride...I saw him.

Tony. Standing off to the side, watching me do
his
pre-show.

My blood froze. I could
n’
t imagine why he had not immediately tapped me out and taken over once he arrived. But no. There he was, just standing there, arms folded, his face a mask.

I could
n’
t read his expression (or lack thereof) but I assumed that he must have been boiling with rage. Plotting his revenge. I became certain that this pre-show, these few blissful minutes when I was the center of attention, would be my last few moments as a Rocky cast member. The moment I was done, Tony would
end
me. So I decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

I hollered, I kidded with the crowd, I chanted, I bellowed, I cajoled them out of more cash and, at last, de-virginized the chosen first-timers. Finally, I got the signal to wrap things up and said good night, handing things off to the projectionist who dimmed the lights and started the picture. Then I hopped down off the front row of seats, trundled the microphone off stage and started up the aisle to get ready for my first Transylvanian scene. I still had
n’
t changed into my costume and makeup.

I was pulling on my jacket when I finally got the tap on the shoulder
I’
d been waiting for. I turned around and there he was, looming in the darkness. Tony. He was looking at me as if he had never seen me before. Like a bug under a microscope. Clearly, he was sizing me up. But for what?

“Nice job,” he finally said.

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” After second or so of awkward silence, I finally blurted out: “You know, I would
n’
t have done it if you had
n’
t been running a little...”

He cut me off. “You have fun up there?”

I was
n’
t sure how to answer. Obviously, I had loved it, but I did
n’
t want him to think I was angling to take over his job. Hell, I could
n’
t have elbowed him aside even if I wanted to.

“Yeah. It was really great. I can see why you like it.”

“Really?” he answered. “Because I hate it. I
t’
s yours.” He spun around and walked away. After a stunned moment, during which my stomach did a triple gainer, I finally regained my bearings and rushed after him.

“Wait...what? You want me to...?”

“Please. God, I really fucking hate doing it. You like it, Jack?
Vaya con Dios
, man. Save me the trouble.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes, I mean it. Now leave me alone.
I’
ve got to get ready for the show.
I’
m late enough as it is.” He sounded angry, but he looked relieved and I could have sworn there was a smile dancing around his mouth. I could
n’
t really tell. I must have lingered, because he finally growled, “Go on, get the fuck away from me. I do
n’
t have much time.”

Hearing my exit cue, I grabbed my stuff and made for the wings.

And as I padded off to the ladies room to get into costume, I thought to myself: I have a new job. Took me seven weeks to get it, but I got it.

I was Pre-Show Guy.

Onward and upward.

I only had one problem, really. I could
n’
t find a bald cap.

If you want to play Riff Raff in the Rocky Horror show, it is not actually
imperative
that you find a headpiece that made you look like Richard
O’
Brien. It is
n'
t easy to come by, for one thing, a wig that features a shaven pate ringed with long, stringy white hair. Given the difficulty involved in obtaining one, you can choose to go
au naturel
if you like and nobody will say, “boo.”

But the real hard-core Riff Raffs, they rock their wigs to the
bone
. Kenny, my idol/adversary, had a sweet one, a thick, rubberized cap and this perfect ring of hair that looped around the back in a semi-circle that...well, the goddamn thing was perfect. And for the life of me, I could
n’
t find one that was nearly as good looking as Ke
n’
s.

When Tracey and I had discussed our secret hopes and dreams (and formulated our plans to try to at least become the
understudies
for our chosen characters), we realized that Step One was suiting up. So it was back to the thrift stores.

Based on my ease in locating a black Transylvanian jacket, I thought that locating a tuxedo jacket with long Riff-tails would be a breeze. I was swiftly disabused of this notion. Search as I might, a tailed tux jacket eluded me.

Finally, I got creative and
made
a tuxedo jacket by cutting some material off the front of a regular black jacket and fashioning a homemade pair of tails on the back. It looked...well, le
t’
s just say awful, but serviceable. I also dug up an old tatty white vest and a pair of brown gloves, from which I trimmed the fingers to serve as my servant-gloves. I was set. All that remained was to name the gloves themselves.