Forever the Fat Kid: How I Survived Dysfunction, Depression and Life in the Theater (19 page)

I was connected to a person other than the one that I had been communicating with previously. This new individual requested that I re-send all of the info I had previously submitted. I, of course, agreed to do so. However, I was royally pissed off that I was not only being ignored by the person with whom I had been communicating initially, but that it seemed I was–to use the Queen’s English–being given the royal shaft! I didn’t end up resubmitting the information to this new person, I sat down and wrote a rather arrogant letter to the original person with whom I had been communicating. Receiving no response to my tome, I again picked up the phone and called Rocket Music. This time I insisted on speaking with the person whom I had originally been “negotiating” with concerning this project. Being told that he was currently on another call, I said that I would wait…“all day if I have to.” Within minutes he took my call.

After re-introducing myself (and, yes, he knew who I was…) I proceeded to tell him that I found it not just inconsiderate, but downright rude, that I had been “blown off” without so much as an explanation as to why he had stopped responding to my letters. When he stated that our communication ended because they were no longer interested in granting me permission, I pressed him for an exact reason for the denial. His response, which I’m sure was formulated on the spot, was that such a production would be in conflict with Elton’s upcoming US tour. I countered that if that was true, then he at least owed me the courtesy of some kind of communication indicating that. I then questioned how a small showcase production performed by a cast of unknown American singers for twelve performances in a theater that seats less than 100 people could possibly be a threat to Elton John’s concert revenues? He had no answer. I then lied that “I’m coming to London in two weeks and, while I’m there, I’d like to meet with you personally to discuss this face-to-face.” Whether giving in, or simply calling my bluff, he agreed to meet with me.

There was no backing out now. I grabbed a calendar and picked the days of my supposedly already scheduled trip. I called a travel agent to find the cheapest round-trip ticket, and then called Ruthie to ask for a loan. I also put in a call to David Allen who had served as musical director for the European tour of West Side Story to see if I could crash at his London “flat.” Surprisingly, everything went smoothly and the trip to London was a done deal.

Meeting face-to-face with me, the gentleman in question was, once again, most accommodating. Apparently, a decision had already been made prior to our meeting that Rocket Music would allow the pushy American to do his silly little show. He even arranged a meeting between EMI and myself so that Elton’s earlier compositions (which weren’t handled by Rocket Music) could be used. In less than two hours, I had all the necessary permissions–in writing.

Back in New York there were a few more obstacles left to conquer before Goodbye Yellow Brick Road could become a reality. Casting was no problem; I knew more than enough talented people who would be only too happy to be a part of the project. The musical director and band was set and ready to go. I had friends who were more than capable of handling the technical aspects (lighting, set, costumes) of the production, and who would do it as a favor to me. That left getting approval from Actor’s Equity Association to use professional performers, finding an available theater, and coming up with about $4,000 to cover the costs involved.

By now, my parents had come around to having a more positive attitude about my pursuit of a theater career. Ruthie, in particular, understood and appreciated the lengths that I was going to make my dream a reality. Knowing this, I decided to approach her and Jamesie for some financial help in making Goodbye Yellow Brick Road a reality. Living frugally and paying for most of the upfront costs myself (rehearsal space, printing, flyers, et cetera.), my plan was to negotiate a loan agreement with them. When I approached Ruthie about “helping me out,” she simply asked how much I needed. When I told her the amount, I expected that she would clutch her heart and keel over. Without blinking an eye, Ruthie gave, not loaned, me $5,000 from money that she had managed to squirrel away over the years. I was floored! When she made the offer, I immediately began running off at the mouth about how she wouldn’t be disappointed, and that I would pay her back every penny, even if it took me years. She stopped me mid-speech and said, “You’ve always been a good son to me, and I’ve been waiting to be able to do something like this for you for a long time. As long as I’m able, I’ll do whatever I can to help you, because I’ve seen the effort that you make to help yourself.” She did have one condition for giving me the money: “Don’t you go telling anybody that I did this, now. This is just between you and me, okay?” And I never did–until now.

All of the performances of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road were filled to capacity. As part of my agreement with the music publishers, I couldn’t charge admission, so the audiences were by invitation only. Executives from EMI’s New York headquarters came to see the show, as did numerous casting directors and producers. It was the summer of 1988 and Elton John was performing in New York during the run of the show, but didn’t attend; I doubt he even knew that it was happening. Shortly after the run ended, I received a letter from the gentleman in London with whom I had met. It was direct and to the point. In the letter, he stated that the representatives from New York had not reported favorably on the show and that no further permission would be granted. My first reaction was to telephone him and explain that this was a showcase production of a work-in-progress. The whole purpose was to see what worked and what didn’t, and to continue from there. I was going to tell him that there were a lot of industry people in New York who felt that the show had tremendous potential. Then I thought back to the almost two years that it took me to get this far, and of how I felt that they never really intended to sanction the project anyway, only letting it go this far to get me out of their hair. I’ve always prided myself on picking my battles wisely; I didn’t make the call.

I was saved from falling into a funk after Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by two things. First, I had the satisfaction of knowing that I had pulled off a pretty amazing feat with this show. I had created a theater piece that I was extremely proud of, I had successfully negotiated with some powerful people, and, as both producer and director, I had managed to overcome tremendous obstacles and actually make it happen. To complete the trip from inspiration to fruition is rare. The other saving grace was that I had another project on the sidelines waiting for my attention.

REBEL WITH A CAUSE

In my travels throughout Europe, I saw the influence of American culture everywhere, especially “pop” culture. McDonalds, Marlboro cigarettes, rock and roll, the list goes on and on. I also noticed an obsession with dead American film stars, especially Marilyn Monroe and James Dean. I was familiar with Marilyn Monroe, had seen one or two of her movies, yet knew nothing about James Dean beyond the leather-jacketed, rebel image I saw plastered everywhere. Being born the year after his death, and having never seen any of his movies, I became curious as to why he had become such an enduring icon. With much free time on my hands in Europe, I did a lot of reading. I decided that on my next trip to a bookstore, I’d pick up a book on James Dean; see if I could figure out what the obsession with him was all about. I purchased James Dean: The Mutant King by David Dalton, and by the time I finished reading it, I couldn’t wait to run out and see his films. The book painted him as an extremely gifted actor, as well as a colorful and controversial human being.

As soon as I was back in the US, I rented and watched all three of his major films. I was blown away! His performances were amazing, especially as the younger brother in East of Eden, his first film. I started reading everything about him that I could get my hands on. I purchased a VHS copy of East of Eden because I was so impressed with his performance, and I watched it countless times. Something about it spoke to me. I related to the pain that his character went through. In many ways, it paralleled my own feelings and emotions growing up, especially the relationship between Dean’s character and that of his father. I decided to make James Dean the subject of my next project and began writing the script and lyrics for Alone in the Rain, a play with music covering two years in his life. My play began with his being cast in his first Broadway show (who knew he had done Broadway?) and ended with him in Hollywood filming his first film, East of Eden, and centered on, not his celebrity, but the relationships that he shared with two close friends. I finished it in a matter of months. Through an ad I placed in a newspaper, I met a composer, Jill Wess, and we began setting the play to music. The original plan was to write a standard Broadway musical. However, I soon realized that the piece was not really suited for that, and it became a play with music. In a few months time, we were ready to do a staged reading for an invited audience.

In October of 1987, Alone in the Rain got its first public reading. Luckily, the whole process kept me very busy, or I probably would have been tripped up by some of the developments in my personal life. James, with whom I was now living, went off to do another production of (surprise, surprise!) West Side Story. A couple of weeks into the run he called, and I knew that something was up from the first hello. The conversation was awkward; he sounded strange, and I got the impression that he had something serious that he wanted to talk to me about. Something in the way he spoke also clued me in that he wasn’t alone while talking to me. I’d had this kind of phone call before. You know the kind, where the person on the other end of the line obviously wants to say more than they’re saying. Holding back, choosing their words carefully, because they either don’t want to hurt your feelings or they can’t talk freely because there’s someone on their end listening in or, as was the case in this situation, both. Not one for games, I asked him outright if there was someone else there with him. He said that there was, and I then asked him if it was someone that he had become involved with. Again, he answered in the affirmative. Even though our relationship wasn’t such that his meeting someone should matter, it did. That he had a problem telling me confirmed that he felt the same way. So, when James returned home after the brief tour, I did what I had to do to keep my sanity and save our friendship: I moved out, and into Manhattan.

Moving into New York City was something that I had wanted to do for a long time. It’s surprising that it took me so long to finally get there. I moved in with Joe Ricci, a friend and fellow theater person, who I knew from New Jersey. We got a two-bedroom apartment on West 43rd Street, right in the heart of the Broadway theater district. Annie, a cute young dancer from Texas who had been the person on the other end of the line with James during that awkward phone call, filled the vacancy left at my former apartment in Hoboken. They married a year later. They’re still married today and live in Texas with their three children. For the record, Annie turned out to be one of the sweetest people you could ever want to know. Although James and I probably did need a break from each other, I missed him terribly after moving out. Less than a month later, he was cast in Jerome Robbin’s Broadway, which became a big hit. The musical was playing at the Imperial Theater, just four blocks away from my Manhattan apartment. So, although no longer living together, we were still neighbors of sorts, and were able to still stay in close contact. I also got another new neighbor at that time. Abby, whose drunken audition had won her the part of Anita in West Side Story, moved to New York from London and now lived just a few blocks away too–at the apartment of her new husband.

GREEN CARD

After being fired from the European tour of West Side Story, I had no desire to have anything to do with most of the people associated with the tour. The one exception was Abby. Abby stayed in contact, writing and calling from the road to fill me in on the goings-on after my abrupt departure from the show. She felt bad about what had happened to me, wanted me to know that she was aware that I got a shitty deal from both the management of the tour and some of my so-called friends, and that she hoped I understood why she had decided to stay. I appreciated the fact that she took the time to stay in touch. When the tour ended, Abby–heady with the accolades she received in West Side Story–made the decision to pursue her dreams of a successful career on this side of the Atlantic.

Being British, taking up permanent residence and getting employment in the United States presented a major set of problems. Work visas are not something our government readily hands out. But being fiercely determined, not to mention crafty, Abby came up with a solution to the problem; she married one of the American cast members from the tour; strictly a marriage of convenience. It was great having her close by, and we hung out together constantly. She got a job at a boutique on the Upper West Side and I would often take the subway uptown to meet her after work. We’d usually grab a quick bite to eat and then make the long walk back downtown together, talking and laughing the entire way. She was all optimism and big dreams. Unfortunately, those dreams began to fall apart as life in the Big Rotten Apple started to take its toll on her. This beautiful, talented, and vibrant twenty-one-year-old black British girl, with whom I had become so close, would be my first face-to-face experience with the horrors of depression. I later learned that, behind the façade of fun and good times, Abby got caught up in some ugly situations as she tried to make it in New York.

ON THE COUCH