Confessions of a Transylvanian (52 page)

We retired upstairs and the real party began.

For some reason, the room that Ron, Tracey and I shared became the central gathering spot. We all crammed in, lit up, popped open various beverages and hung out. Old stories were recounted, as at every reunion. New developments remarked upon. Eventually a poker game broke out.

I tried to keep up, but Jack the Grog was alive and well. After my bout with botulism earlier that day, I thought it best to retire early.

Hey, I had a show to do. Better be ready. I drifted off with the familiar sounds of a Rocky party bubbling around me.

Ron woke me up, of course. I still was
n’
t entirely sure he slept at all. He had run out for bagels and coffee, and after a bracing breakfast, Tracey, Ron and I popped an RHPS disc into Trace
y’
s portable DVD player and reviewed our bits.

Though Ron and Tracey had asked me for feedback on their performances, I had little to offer them in terms of direction. They donned the characters of Brad and Janet like some people slip on comfortable shoes. They did
n’
t need my help.

When the hour was finally considered decent, the phone started ringing. It was the rest of the crew clamoring to get together downstairs. We had determined that the only place with enough room to do a full rehearsal was in the lobby of the building. Russ (of course) had spoken to the management and secured us a large area just off the back entrance where we could run through our cues. The place even had a TV and a DVD player we could use for rehearsal purposes, so when we got to the lobby, we shifted some furniture around, fired up the movie and got going.

I would like to report that everything went smoothly and got better as we went along, but
I’
m afraid that the diametric opposite occurred.

We bumped into one another almost constantly. Our timing was for shit. Instead of having the luxury of knowing the movie so well that we could look into one anothe
r’
s eyes during the scenes, we all found ourselves searching out the TV, sneaking peripheral glances every chance we could. Storme was the only one who seemed to be enjoying herself and we suspected that her occasional “smoke breaks” were the reason.

The rest of us were having fun, but we were also beginning to freak out. The idea that we could show up at the Flippers Cinema and leave behind a huge, stinking turd of a performance was looking more and more like a very real possibility.

We soldiered on. The only bright spot, it seemed, was Sunda
y’
s performance as Frank. Where the rest of us were tense and anxious, she was relaxed, easygoing, playful and on the ball. After all, she did
n’
t have to stand up in front of a crowd that night and do this thing for real. Naturally, she was having a blast.

Lunch break. Then back to work. At some point, the Flippers Frank, this young, dark-haired fellow named Dan, dropped by. He had the basic Frank look down—shoulder-length hair, aquiline features, a barely detectible attitude. Seemed like he might work out just fine.

Dan had been informed that the Great and Powerful Wizards of Rocky, the legendary Deerfield cast, had decided to come to his theater and show him and his crew what was what. So he was here to rehearse a few numbers with us and see what exactly we brought to the table.

We went through a few scenes, got some basic blocking down and tried to get a feel for the kind of Frank he would be. He was good (not Mark or Boyd good, but pretty damned good all the same). As for what he thought of us, if he was unimpressed he certainly did
n’
t let it show.

After zipping through the scenes with Dan once or twice, we decided that we either knew the damned thing or we did
n’
t. Accordingly, we broke for dinner and decided to show up at the theater and let the chips fall where they may.

No pressure. It was just another show, right? Nothing important on the line. We were just there to have fun and we had nothing to prove to anyone. In the end, it was no big deal.

Uh-huh.

The theater was located in an outdoor strip mall. This was, as you can imagine, a bad omen for all the Ultravision grads who still remembered trading our happy life at the Big Theater only to be sequestered in the rinky-dink Mercedes. Despite the similarities, we did our best to withhold judgment. Looks, after all, could be deceiving. We hoped.

We hung out in the parking lot, the traditional South Florida Rocky pre-show ritual, and attempted to determine who among the crowd was in the cast and who were simply audience members. There seemed to be a lot of young Goth chicks pouring out of various cars, and hanging on their arms were equally pale, sunken-eyed, emaciated Goth boys. It was definitely a different crowd than we remembered from the
'
80s. And the younger they seemed, the older we felt.

Russ finally spotted the cast manager for Flippers and introductions were made. Jeanette looked like the perfect type to run a Rocky show. Short and tough-looking with close-cropped dark hair, she sported a no-nonsense demeanor mixed with a welcoming, friendly-as-can-be tone. She was, we realized, a female version of Russ himself.

She and Russ ran through the roster, cementing exactly who would be performing what role that night. Andrea and Sunday were asked, one final time, if they would be gracing us with their rendition of the opening number and they both shook their heads emphatically. Was
n’
t going to happen.

“Huh,” said Donny, leaning up against Rus
s’
s car and lighting up a smoke. “Tha
t’
s a shame. I would have liked to have seen that.” He drifted into the theater and we followed him.

I suppose I should mention that for that entire day, Donny had simply sat off to the side as the rehearsals and the meals and the da
y’
s activities spun around him, saying little, a beatific smile plastered across his face. Once the cast had gathered, he was as happy as could be.

It happened every reunion. When the entire group was together in one place, Donny was in heaven.

And while
I’
m sure he would have agreed to do Eddie in a red-hot minute if it were possible, Donn
y’
s performing days were obviously behind him. With the weight he was carrying, he had trouble just getting around. Time is not kind to big men.

Walking into the theater was a huge relief to all of us. Flippers was certainly no Mercedes. While it was nothing close to the Ultravisio
n’
s size, the place was pretty impressive nonetheless. For one thing, they had an actual stage area up front. It was a spectacular development, seeing all that space between the front row and the screen. W
e’
d have all the room we needed to actually perform the blocking w
e’
d prepared.

There were two aisles that cut the main seating area into thirds and the aisles were remarkably wide. Plenty of room to play. Wha
t’
s more, we estimated the theater held about 300 people and from the looks of the crowd gathering outside, there was a chance that we would need every seat.

We had little time to take in our surroundings. Set-up was upon us. As I crossed up one of the aisles to find the bathroom/dressing room, I saw Russ talking to an older guy with a notepad. Russ gestured me over.

The guy turned out to be a reporter from the
Sun-Sentinel
newspaper who had done a feature on the Ultravision show back in 1982. Russ explained that, after all this time, the guy had returned to cover this performance as a sort of “Where Are They Now?” segment. It seemed a little unreal that this evening was actually worthy of even a scintilla of media coverage, but the reporter certainly seemed to think so. After answering a few questions, I made my excuses and finally sidled off to change.

Again, my progress was interrupted, this time by running into Kenny. He was one of the three remaining Deerfield cast members who had
n’
t yet made an appearance. Billy and Boyd had yet to show themselves. I threw my arms around Kenny in welcome (no easy task, the guy has a good foot and a half on me) and wound up whacking into his camera. He explained that he would be serving in the role of official/unofficial photographer that evening and promised to get plenty of great shots.

I made my brief hellos and dashed off. Showtime was rapidly approaching.

To my horror, the bathrooms (both the me
n’
s
and
ladie
s’
rooms) had no mirrors. It was inexplicable. For the first time in my life, I found myself in a public toilet with no
fucking reflective surfaces
.

I did
n’
t want to panic, so I talked myself down. No matter, I reasoned. Who needed mirrors? I mean, I did
n’
t need to get the Riff blush affixed to my face until well after the pre-show and besides, the makeup did
n’
t make the Riff Raff. It was the man
behind
the greasepaint.

I slipped on my old Transylvanian jacket, still festooned with twenty-five-year-old hilariously clever buttons and toodled back out to the stage.

The Flippers cast buzzed about, introducing themselves, getting to know all the middle-aged folks who had barged into their theater. I made my way offstage to try to see what kind of props they had that I could use. Candelabra? Laser gun? Wine bottle? What was handy?

I ran into a girl near the exit who appeared to be all of 17 years old. She was in the act of pulling props, costumes and various oddly shaped gadgets out of a shopping cart. The sight of her really took me back to my old Transylvanian days. Clearly, this was the person to talk to.

“Hey,” I said as I sidled up. “How you doing?
I’
m Jack.”

She glanced up at me with a bored expression and then, without a word, thrust a keychain into my hand.

I looked at it for a moment, bewildered. “Is this...for me?”

“Read it,” she said, continuing with her work. I glanced at the string of keys and saw that they were attached to a strap. The strap had some writing on it along the edge:

“
Sorry boys,
” it said, “
I eat pussy
.”

Cute, I thought.

“Hey,” I said to the girl. “As much as
I’
d love to see you indulge in your little hobby, I do
n’
t really have the time.
I’
ve got a show to do. You in charge of props?”

It was her turn to look perplexed.

I tried to clarify. “
I’
m not interested in getting into your pants, sweetie. I just need to know where the Riff Raff shit is kept. Okay?”

“Oh,” she said, getting my drift. “I
t’
s all right here.”

“Cool.”

I loved the idea that this girl thought she could shock me. At the same time, I understood her instant antipathy. She was cute and probably got hit on quite a bit. To ward off the creeps, she had developed a fool-proof dirtbag repellant.

“Le
t’
s try again,” I said. “
I’
m Jack.”

“
I’
m Bobbi.”

“Nice to meet you. Hope you enjoy the show.”

Bobbi helped me gather together what she figured
I’
d need to do Riff. They seemed to be fully stocked with Rocky props. My arms full of necessary items, I moved into the theater and took a few minutes to place them strategically around the stage where I could find them.

Once everything was in place, I finally had the leisure time to really drink in the atmosphere.

I had
n’
t been to a showing of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” with this group of people since I was 17 years old. We had met, off and on, during the intervening twenty-five years, but in all that time, we never felt compelled to do, or see, the show as a group. Not once.

And now, I knew, we would never do it again. This was it. Our final show.

Deep down, those of us who had been thrown out of the Ultravision before our time wanted some kind of closure, some do-or-die opportunity to finally get the release we were denied back in the day. Well, here it was. Our golden opportunity. It was now up to us whether we were going to blow it.

There was only one rule and it was a simple one: Do
n’
t. Suck.

By now, the audience had been turned loose into the theater and the seats were filling up fast. Jeanette found me and asked if I was ready to get the party started.

I nodded my assent. I walked to the front of the theater. I placed my foot on the armrest.

And I stood up.