Forever the Fat Kid: How I Survived Dysfunction, Depression and Life in the Theater (17 page)

“Don’t think I’m weird or anything, it’s just that I thought you were a really nice guy and I was wondering if we could meet and have dinner in the city sometime.”

Was I hearing him right? Did he just say that he wanted to have dinner with me? Was this just an innocent, naïve, stage-struck nineteen-year-old trying to maintain a professional contact? Or was something else going on here? There was only one way to find out.

TWO DAYS LATER

I met James for dinner at Curtain Up!, a now-defunct theatrical restaurant which was located on the corner of 43rd Street and Eighth Avenue. It was housed in Manhattan Plaza, a midtown housing complex for theater artists, which also happened to be where Delores Hall lived at the time. It was a favorite after-show hangout for both performers and theatergoers. I had been there many times and it had become one of my favorite places to frequent. James and I met there around 7:30 p.m., when everyone was heading out for the evening’s performances, and we practically had the place to ourselves. We had a full meal, soup to nuts, and appetizers to dessert. We had drinks, we had coffee, we had more drinks, and we had incredible conversation. We talked about everything; the theater, our lives, shows we’d seen, shows we wanted to see, our hopes, our dreams, even our childhoods. We laughed and had way more fun than any two people should be allowed to. At the end of the night, I knew that I had met someone who was a kindred spirit…maybe even a soul mate. James has been an integral part of my life ever since and, over the years, our relationship has taken on many different configurations. He’s still in my life today and though our relationship has evolved through more stages than there are in all of Manhattan, when forced to apply a label, I simply refer to him as my “best friend,” though we have been so much more to each other over the years.

BROADWAY AT LAST!

It all started with a phone call from Delores. “Hey, Baby, whatcha doin’ on Friday?” Always willing to clear my schedule for her, I quickly answered, “Nothing, why?”

“Good. You want to audition for the show?”

What the hell show was she talking about? Surely she couldn’t mean what I thought she meant.

“What show?” I asked.

“What do you mean WHAT show? MY show! Whorehouse! Do you want to audition?”

The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas had been running on Broadway for almost three years and was still doing well and, to be completely honest, no, I didn’t want to audition. Not that I didn’t want to be in the show, I wanted nothing more than to be in a Broadway show. But I hated auditions! I wasn’t good at auditions; they scared me to death. Although I’d rather have faced a firing squad, I was afraid to say no. Knowing Delores, she had probably already arranged an audition for me anyway; asking was a mere formality. I was even more afraid to pass up what could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So what did I say? Buying time, I came up with, “I thought the show was closing?”

“It is. But we’re going to Boston for a month and then re-opening in a different theater on Broadway. So do you want to audition or not?”

Did I really have a choice?

THE AUDITION

After spending two days in a virtual state of panic over what was to be, hands-down, the most important audition of my life, the fateful day finally arrived. Without a song prepared, and convinced that I was wasting everybody’s time, I said a prayer and faced the day bravely. Delores insisted that I meet her at her apartment, and that she would drive me to the audition and wait for me afterwards. I think she knew that there was a good chance that I would chicken out if left to my own devices. She had something at stake here too. She didn’t want to look bad for recommending a “flake.”

The audition was held in a rehearsal studio on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. In attendance were the stage manager, the dance captain, a piano player, and one other guy who, like me, was auditioning for the show. The dance captain taught us a section of the “Aggie” number. This was the big show-stopping song and dance performed by the men of the chorus. I had seen the show many times and was familiar it. Choreographed by Tommy Tune for non-dancers, the sheer athleticism of the number never failed to bring the house down. We learned it together and performed it together a couple of times. I aced it. But, then again, so did the other guy. And then it was time for each of us to sing. Since it was obvious that we both could handle the dancing, our singing was going to be the deciding factor in which of us was cast in the show. The other guy went first. He didn’t have an outstanding voice, but he was confident and well prepared–both of which I was not. After a few lines, the stage manger stopped him, told him that that was fine, and turned to me. “Okay, Michael, what are you going to sing?” Totally unprepared and resigned to the fact that this job was not going to be mine, I confessed, “I don’t have anything prepared.” Instead of dismissing me with the obligatory, “Well, thank you for coming anyway,” he said, “So then sing Happy Birthday.”

Happy Birthday? Was he kidding? “Happy Birthday?” I asked. “Yes,” he answered, “Happy Birthday.” I glanced over at my competition and, although he wasn’t exactly gloating, I could tell by the look on his face that he no longer saw me as a threat. I’m sure he was already imaging himself in jeans, cowboy hat, and boots performing along with the rest of the cast at the 46th Street Theater. Something happened inside my head at that moment. I decided that if I wasn’t going to get the damn job I would at least go out with a bang. After all, I knew that everything that went on in the rehearsal room that day would get back to Delores. I didn’t want to be a total disappointment. I sang “Happy Birthday” for all I was worth! And I was loud and (amazingly) on key, and I thought, “Well, at least I won’t leave here looking totally stupid.” When I finished the stage manager said to me, “It would be in your best interest to find a song that you like, work on it with a pianist, and get comfortable with it. Then you’ll have something ready when you go to dance auditions.” He then thanked us both for auditioning and said that we were free to go.

When I got downstairs and to the car, Delores was all over me with questions. How did I do? Did I think I got the job? Who else was up there? What exactly did they say? Still feeling that I had blown it, I answered all of her questions as best I could and then said, “Look, all I want to do is get drunk.” There was a liquor store next door to the rehearsal studio, so I picked up a bottle of wine. I believe I finished it off before we even reached her apartment twenty minutes later. I downed a second bottle soon after we arrived.

Hours later, I was still at Delores’ apartment. I no longer cared about the damn audition, or whether or not I got into the show, or anything else. After a couple cups of coffee to make sure that I was in a condition to get myself back to New Jersey, I asked Delores if I could use her phone to call home. Even though she would never admit it, I knew that Ruthie got worried when she didn’t know my whereabouts for any extended period of time. The first thing out of her mouth when she heard my voice was, “Where have you been all day? I thought you’d be home long time ago. I cooked all this food and ain’t nobody here to eat it!”

“I’m still at Delores’,” I said. “I decided to hang out and get something to eat with her. Did anybody call me?”

There was only silence on the other end of the line. Had we been disconnected?

“Ma? You still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Did anybody call me?” to which she simply answered with a word, “Yep.” Followed by another silent pause.

The last thing I needed right now was to play a guessing game. A bit aggravated I repeated, “Who called me, Ma?”

“The Whorehouse people, that’s who! Who do you think?!”

Immediately, I was sorry for giving her attitude, and my tone became instantly apologetic. “What did they say?”

Seeing an opportunity to repay me for my snippiness, she calmly said, “That they’d call back on Monday.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Now get your butt home and eat this food so I don’t have to throw it away! Oh, and tell Delores I said hi.”

Before the receiver was back in the cradle, Delores was all over me with questions, “What did she say? Did they call? Did you get the show?”

Still in shock and somewhat confused, I told her, “I don’t know, Delores. Yes, they called, but they didn’t say I got the show.”

“What did they say?”

“They said they’d call back on Monday.”

At which point, Delores let out a scream that I’m sure was heard by everybody in the adjoining apartments. “Congratulations, baby!”

“For what? They didn’t say I had it!”

To which she slowly and deliberately answered, “Honey, they do not call you back…to tell you NO!” And with that she let loose with that big hearty, deep from the soul, laugh that I so loved. “Lord, my baby’s gon’ be on Broadway!”

STAR TREATMENT

The time that I spent performing on Broadway was one of the most exciting times of my life. Not only was I doing what I loved and, for once, making a pretty penny for it, I was also enjoying all the fringe benefits that came with the territory. Respect from my peers, an incredible shot of self-esteem, invitations to all the hottest clubs in town, handsome strangers wanting to meet (sleep with) me after the show. It was great! I also got to mingle with performers from other Broadway shows, and I was in very good company. Dreamgirls, Evita, and A Chorus Line were just a few of the other shows playing on Broadway at that time.

Even though I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the spotlight, I wasn’t so naïve as to think that it was my talent that had gotten me this gig. I saw the way that Delores was treated–catered to and coddled–by the people in charge. She may not have been a household name, but she’d certainly made major accomplishments in the business. In addition to winning the Tony Award, Delores had an RCA album (and recorded a second album for Capital Records during the run of Whorehouse), appeared on television and in movies, and sang with everyone from James Brown to George Harrison. She was a force to be reckoned with. She had been featured in seven Broadway shows before Whorehouse and had a devoted following. With her standout performances in every show that she had appeared in, Delores was well aware that she was often hired simply to guarantee that the show in question would have at least one show-stopping number. Even when a song was bad, Delores would bring down the house with it. She could sing the International House of Pancake’s breakfast menu and have an audience on its feet.

When I was cast in the show, Whorehouse was nearing the end of its run and, in an attempt to keep it open a bit longer, the producers convinced Carlin Glynn, the original “Madam” who had won the Tony Award for her performance, to return to the show. Delores, another Tony Award winner who had been with the show since the beginning, was also an asset to the show in terms of ticket sales. So, hiring a good friend of hers was by no means based on my talent or ability; it was a good, sound business decision. And it was a tactic that worked. Delores had, in fact, grown tired of doing the show and was looking to move on. Although she did end up leaving before the end of the run, she stuck around a lot longer than she would have had I not been given the job. I also believe that the decision to hire me was motivated, in part, by the fact that the actors union was in the middle of a push for more ethnic representation on the Broadway stage. A unique instance of where not being too black worked in my favor.

One of the best things about being on Broadway was how proud it made Ruthie. She came to see the show more times than I can remember. She came alone, she came whenever relatives from out of town would visit, she came whenever they papered the house and, after finding out about the Times Square ticket booth, that sells half-price tickets on the day of the show, she came even more. At home, she cleaned the house, prepared meals, and chatted on the phone, all the while listening to the original cast album. She became a bona fide Whorehouse groupie!

WORKING IT!

Seeing others in the cast moonlighting and cashing in on the fact that they were appearing in a Broadway show, I decided to see what options were open to me. Realizing that TV commercials are extremely difficult to break into, and not quite ready for the cabaret scene, I chose modeling. After all, I did have some experience in that arena (although, this time, I would only be seeking out clothed work!). I also decided that it might be best to start looking for work outside of Manhattan where the competition wasn’t as intense. So, I went to the yellow pages of my local New Jersey telephone directory and, believe it or not, found a listing for a legitimate modeling agency close to my home.

I called the number and asked to speak to the head of the agency. Much to my surprise, she took the call. She was professional, yet very non-committal. She obviously had people calling her all the time seeking work. When she found out that I had no real experience, she clearly was not interested. Even when I told her that I was a professional dancer, she didn’t seem to be impressed, moving quickly into her “thank you, but no thank you” mode. But just before she hung up on me, I managed to slip into the conversation that I was currently appearing on Broadway and the conversation was instantly resurrected. I invited her to a matinee of the show the following week. Afterwards, we went out and, over dinner, discussed the details of my upcoming association with her agency. I returned to the theater for that evening’s performance with a new hyphenate added to my professional job title: dancer-actor-singer-MODEL. In less than a week, I was being sent out on “go-sees,” the modeling world’s equivalent of auditions, and began getting work immediately.