Drama Queers! (39 page)

“To quote Mr. Dell’Olio,” I conclude, “‘This is what our kids
should
be doing!’”

More applause, accompanied by some hooting and hollering from the likes of Will Isaccs and Keith Treva. Dell nods and smiles in agreement, turning a shade of red to rival any I seen on myself.

“I’m not gonna get all emotional here,” I promise, “but there’s an important member of Troupe #4443 who isn’t here with us…”

A hush falls over the crowd.

“She was one of my Best Friends…”

My throat feels so tight I can barely swallow.

“Her name is Audrey Wojczek…”

Many an eye tears up—including mine.

“I loved her…I miss her terribly…”

The next words out of mouth, I don’t know where they come from.

“And I want her to have this.”

Holding “Thespy” in my hot little hand the way I always dreamed of, I keep thinking about what Audrey said the night before the accident…

“Promise me you’ll stop worrying what other people think…”

Wining awards isn’t what
really
matters.

“…start caring about the most important person in your life…”

Not if you’re sad and all alone.

“That would be you.”

Thanks to Audrey Wojczek, I know what must be done.

“Now go out there and get that boy.”

I will!

Sitting side by side on a bench outside the auditorium, far away from the roar of the crowd, me and The Sophomore (soon to be The Junior) have a civil conversation over post-awards punch and pie…

“Congratulations.”

“You, too.”

Hard to believe this is the exact same spot me and Richie officially met exactly six months ago—November 12, 1987.

“That’s a cool thing you did,” Richie compliments. The scent of Drakkar Noir drifts in the air between us…making me horny as hell. “Audrey would be psyched to be Lesbian of the Year.”

I admit, “She’s been in more plays than I have,” downplaying the gesture. “Besides, it’s not like I get to keep the trophy.”

Talk about stupid! Giving somebody an award, then stashing it away in some dusty display case for everybody else to admire. Ah, well…Someday when I get my Tony. Or Emmy. Or maybe even an Oscar. Heck, I’ll settle for a
Soap Opera Digest
award. Just because I’m not going to Juilliard doesn’t mean I can’t still be on
Days of our Lives!

“So what’s up?”

“Nothing…What’s up with you?”

This is me and The Sophomore trying to think of something else to say. I can’t believe we haven’t spoken since that tragic night in my bedroom back in March. Over two months ago. ’member Richie showed up at my door, drunk on wine coolers, after going to EB’s on Opening Night of
Grease?

“Anything new and exciting?”

“Same shit, different day,” he reports, flashing me that old familiar shit-eating grin.

Enough of the idle chitchat.

Time to pop
la question
…

“You got any plans next Friday?”

Richie takes a blueberry bite, talking with his mouth full. “What’s next Friday?”

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m distracted by the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Talk about sexy! “Um…”

I down my apple cobbler with what looks like McDonald’s orange drink, which I used to love when I was little, but not so much anymore…Bogue!

“Isn’t that the night of the Prom?” Richie asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

He knows for a fact it totally is.

For the last week, the buzz in the hallowed halls of HPHS has been solely about
An Evening of Elegance
. Claire Moody devoted her final “Fashion Faux Pas” to PROM DOs & DON’Ts. I mean, everybody who’s
anybody
is attending. Why would you possibly miss out?

I’ll give you three good reasons:

1) You’re gay.

2) You can’t go with the one you love.

3) All of the above.

This explains why I ask Richie Tyler if he wants to spend the night of May 20, 1988, with me. We may not be able to attend
An Evening of Elegance
, but we can certainly get dressed up and enjoy a fancy dinner at our favorite Backstage restaurant.

“Why would I wanna go and do that?”

This is Richie’s response to my query, putting a dent in my otherwise foolproof plan. He finishes his pie, brushing a crumb from his cheek.

“O, that I were a glove upon that hand

That I might touch that cheek!”

“Because…”

Now I know how Jack felt when I put him thru the wringer.

“Because why?”

Deeply, I inhale, letting out a huff.

“Because…” Then in one fell swoop, I spew, “I’m in love with you.”

Richie pauses a moment, taking in my confession.

Wanna know what he finally says after what feels like a year?

“I thought you’re not a fag.”

Reaching out, I take his hand, locking our fingers together tightly. “Would I do this if I wasn’t?”

With my fellow Thespians beyond the brick wall behind us, I must be totally out of my mind for doing what I’m about to do. But in the words of Phil Collins:
“I don’t care anymore.”

Right then and there, I kiss Richie Tyler—tongue and all.

His lips never felt softer, his breath never tasted sweeter, his skin never smelled sexier.

“Just because you kiss another guy,” Richie reminds me once we come up for air, “doesn’t make you a fag.”

I give his hair a gentle tug, my hand wrapped round his neck. “Then I’ll have to prove it some other way.”

“What have you got in mind?”

He reaches back, grabs my wrist, getting a little rough for the first time in our relationship. Did I mention I like a man who’s assertive?

“Spend next Friday with me and you’ll find out.”

Gazing deep into my eyes, his face mere inches from mine, Richie Tyler asks the question I been dying to hear all evening: “What time you picking me up?”

7:00 PM the following Friday…

For the past three nights my poor sister and her husband haven’t gotten a lick of sleep. My nephew, Teddy, came down with a case of colic. So Mom offered to take Nina and Brittany and spend the night over Janelle and Ted’s. Originally she suggested they come crash at our house, but Little Brad offered to pay for a room at the Red Roof Inn since he never bought them a wedding present. Plus he wants to have the house all to himself this evening—just in case.

Let’s just say, I didn’t humiliate myself by walking into Arbor’s and buying a box of Trojans just for the hell of it, okay?

“Sorry I’m late…”

Richie greets me at his front door, grinning. “Don’t let it happen again.” Then he says, “Don’t you look sharp?”

‘member the $1,000 I managed to save working at The Gas Station? Since I won’t be needing it for Juilliard, I decided to invest in a new suit. Nothing fancy, just a simple double-breasted beige job I bought up at Oaktree in Oakland Mall. Ninety-nine bucks, what a bargain!

Of course, Richie looks drop-dead gorgeous in a navy number, with maize and blue striped tie…
“Let’s Go Blue!”

Right away I notice his hair.

“Nice ’do.”

He’s got it slicked it back, reminiscent of the style he wore as Vince Fontaine in
Grease
. Considering we exchanged not a single word during the entire production, how did Richie know what the James Dean look does to me?

“My parents won’t bite,” he promises, inviting me inside.

Like I said, Richie’s mom I met at Opening Night of
A Christmas Carol
, and again more recently after the Drama Club awards. But his dad, I never laid eyes on a day in my life. Saying a little prayer, I cross the threshold, where it seems Mr. and Mrs. Tyler have been eagerly awaiting my arrival.

“Nice to see you again, Brad.”

Mrs. T throws her massive arms around me, smelling of Chantilly. She truly is the sweetest thing since apple pie. She compliments me on my suit, congratulates me (again) for winning Thespian of the Year, tells me how much she admires me for giving it up.

Looks like I’m scoring brownie points with Richie’s mom…How about his dad?

Other than the fact that he works for Chrysler’s, I don’t know what to expect when we’re introduced. But I prepare myself for the worst. For whatever reason, I automatically assume Richie’s dad’s going to be just like
my
dad: distant, indifferent, and overtly discriminating.

“Pleased to meet you, son.”

Sure, he’s got a grip like George “The Animal” Steele, but I couldn’t have been more wrong about Mr. Tyler. Physically, he appears exactly like what I expected: short, stocky, and Southern. Yet when he looks at me with his son’s same blue eyes, I see nothing but acceptance.

“Likewise,” I say, even though I never use the expression.

I don’t know what Richie’s told his parents we’re doing this evening. They must be wondering why I’m stopping by to pick their son up all decked out in a suit and tie, with him dressed the exact same way. Doesn’t it look the least bit suspect? Or do they really
not
care?

“Have a nice dinner,” Mrs. Tyler wishes us.

“You boys be careful,” Mr. Tyler warns. “No drinking and driving, y’hear?”

“I’ll be extra careful,” I promise. “I borrowed my mother’s car.”

Richie kisses his parents, out the door we fly, and away we go!

But not before taking a few photos…

On the front porch. By the bushes. Next to the car.

With all the attention they’re giving us, I wonder if maybe Mr. and Mrs. Tyler think I’m actually taking their son to the Prom. Of course, in that case, I would’ve brought him a corsage—not!

“Sorry about all that,” says Richie, once we’re at last on the road.

“No need to apologize,” I assure him. “Your parents are awesome.”

“Not as awesome as you.”

Isn’t he the sweetest thing?

Dinner’s a Total Blur. We get in, we order. We eat, we get out.

“Now where to?”

Like I said, Mom’s over Janelle and Ted’s with Nina, Brittany, and Teddy, so we got Dayton’s Depot all to ourselves for the evening. Once I relay this to Richie, we’re back on the corner of Wanda and Webster in less than two shakes.

“Who did all this?” Richie gazes about the family room in utter disbelief.

“Who do you think?”

Call me a nerd, but I took it upon myself to do a little decorating. I figure if we can’t physically be at the Vintage House in Fraser, we can at least pretend. After all, we’re actors, ain’t we?

My date scoffs, “Probably some dork,” totally bursting my bubble.

“What makes you say that?”

I hope Richie doesn’t
really
think I’m silly for wanting to make tonight Löwenbräu special. All I did was hang some streamers, and make a few
An Evening of Elegance
signs. Did I go too overboard by suspending a disco ball from the ceiling between the chandeliers?

“Lighten up, Opie…I love it.”

Cue lights.

Stars circling around us, I take him in my arms, holding him close. “You do?”

Cue music.

“So if you love me

Say you love me…”

Richie replies, “Not as much as I love you.”

Cue curtain.

Hard to believe how truly happy I am at this moment. Back in the arms of the one I love, ready to start a new chapter in my life, full of so much promise.

Isn’t that the thrill of the Theatre? With the beginning of each new play, we never know what to expect. Unless maybe we’ve seen the show before—and believe me, I haven’t.

This is one Drama I don’t know how it’s gonna end!