Drama Queers! Read online

“So is Allen Bryan.” Tuesday belched low and resonant.

  Audrey grimaced. Frantically she put thumb to forehead, wiggled her fingers, and shouted, “Skobie!”

  Tuesday wiped her mouth and mimicked her friend, mere seconds behind.

  “Brad ate it!”

  They both informed me of this fact when I didn’t move a muscle, choosing to sit in my comfy armchair next to the fireplace, refusing to play along. I gave them each a look and kept on petting Patches, Audrey’s orange and black and white calico.

  “But Big Al plays football,” said Audrey, picking right back up where she left off.

  This seemed to be her justification for just about everything lately. If a guy played sports, he could have three heads on his shoulders and Audrey would still find him hot. I think it’s her secret desire to feel a boy’s Varsity jacket wrapped securely around her shoulders.

  “Yeah, but Will plays trombone,” Tuesday interjected, making a slide-like gesture.

  I gotta say, she shocked me with her apt use of sexual innuendo. I always considered Tuesday a Total Nerd, you know what I mean?

  “So…? Brad plays trombone,” Audrey reminded.

  Hearing my name enter the conversation, I looked up. “What’s that got to do with anything?” I wanted to know. “Are you saying I’m not hot or something?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Scratching the inside corner of my eye with my middle finger, I cried, “Right here, Wojczek!”

  I used to think Audrey’s last name was Wo-check, since it’s Polish and all. Once we became better friends, she beat the proper pronunciation into me: Wo-seck.

  Whatever…

  Go eat another paczki, Wo-seck!

  Tuesday piped up. “It’s okay, Brad…I think you’re hot.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, even though the feeling wasn’t the least bit mutual. Again, not that Tuesday’s not a nice girl. She’s just not my type—male.

  Speaking of…

  Across the room, I noticed a framed photo of a rather cute red-haired guy wearing a #63 maroon and gray HP Vikings football uniform. I gave Patches a gentle nudge, and he (she?) climbed down from my lap. I moved towards the photo of Audrey’s brother for closer inspection. He looked familiar to me, even though I never met him…Boy, do I want to!

  “What about Rob Berger?”

  You can bet this coming from Tuesday caught my ear.

  “What about him?” I asked, focusing my attention on the new topic at hand.

  “I asked Aud who she thinks is cuter,” Miss Gunderson reiterated. “Allen Bryan or Rob Berger?”

  “That’s like saying, ‘Who’s cuter: Andrew McCarthy or Anthony Michael Hall?’” I said with an air of superiority.

  “Who’s Anthony Michael Hall?” asked Tuesday, totally serious.

  “You know,” I answered, “Rusty from Vacation…As in National Lampoon’s.” Only one of my favorite movies ever.

  Tuesday’s dark eyes filled with light. “You mean Farmer Ted from Sixteen Candles? I think he’s totally cute.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” I scowled. “You can’t tell me you think Rusty is cuter than Blane.”

  Another blank look beamed from Tuesday.

  “Blane from Pretty in Pink,” Audrey informed her, coming to my rescue.

  Tuesday admitted, “Never seen it…Sorry.”

  I found that hard to believe. “Weren’t you at Ava’s party when we watched it on video?”

  “What party?” Tuesday wondered in confusion.

  “’member, right before Halloween last year? Jack called in sick to work. He came with with Diane Thompson, and Joey Palladino was there…”

  Audrey shot me an icy stare.

  Oops! I forgot Miss Gunderson wasn’t invited.

  At that moment, I realized I desperately needed a cigarette. I grabbed my Marching Band windbreaker from the hook near the front door and rummaged around in the pockets in search of my Marlboro Lights.

  “Your mom’s not home, is she?” I double-checked with Audrey.

  “Nope…Pat’s at work.”

  That said, I shook out a cig, held it firmly between my lips, and fired it up.

  Much better!

  A few months ago, Mrs. Wojczek got a job manning the counter at Dunkin’ Donuts across from Universal Mall on Dequindre. Sometimes, I’ll go up there with Audrey and we’ll sit at the counter drinking coffee and eating chocolate cream-filled donuts talking to her mom for days. She’s gotta be close to fifty, but she’s totally awesome. She even goes out on dates sometimes. Mr. Wojczek died back in like ’77. In fact, I’d totally set her up with my dad, if he wasn’t such a deadbeat.

  “Can I bum one of them?” Audrey reached for the half-empty pack and helped herself to one of my smokes.

  Chivalrously lighting it for her, I warned, “Don’t forget the New Year’s Eve incident.”

  Audrey made a face, exhaling. “Don’t remind me.”

  ‘member Luanne “Lou” Kowalski, the lesbian who was in love with Jack’s ex-girlfriend, Alyssa? Well, back in 10th grade, Lou had a party at her house, and Audrey totally singed her bangs trying to light a cigarette on the stove…I since advised her not to wear so much Aqua Net aerosol.

  Tuesday coughed. “If all you guys are gonna do is smoke,” she hacked, “I’m going home.”

  I kicked back in my favorite chair, feeling totally mellow. “See ya!”

  Sure, she’ll sit around talking about boys and sex, but a little underage nicotine abuse enters the picture and Tuesday Gunderson goes all Goody Two-Shoes. She should pal around with Jack “Persnickety-Persnick” Paterno.

  I guess I should probably feel sorry for the girl. I remember Jack telling me how when he went to elementary school with Tuesday back at Longfellow, the second their teacher walked outta the room, all the kids would say, “Whoever talks loves Tuesday Gunderson!” Right in front of her…Isn’t that bogue?

  “I thought she’d never leave.”

  Once Audrey’s scene partner made her exit (stage left), she plopped down on the couch across from me and began practicing her French inhaling. There’s a rumor we’re doing Grease as the spring musical and Aud really wants to play Didi Conn—I mean, Frenchy.

  I stubbed out my cig and reached for another. There’s nothing quite like that first puff. The taste of the nicotine on your tongue, the smoke filling your lungs, blowing out a beautiful blue-gray plume…Heaven!

  “You never answered the question,” I reminded Audrey.

  She flicked an inch-long grandma-ash into an amber ashtray. “What was it?”

  I watched as she worked her jaw, sending smoke signals about her redheaded head.

  “Allen Bryan or Rob Berger?”

  Audrey gave me a look, head titled, brow furrowed, lips pursed. “Is there even any doubt?”

  Obviously there was on my part or I wouldn’t be asking.

  “So you think Berger’s cuter?” I said, wanting to make sure I read her correctly.

  “Oh, my God…Have you taken a look at his ass?”

  I couldn’t tell if this was a rhetorical question or what. As far as I’m aware, Audrey doesn’t know I’m gay. At least I never told her, so I don’t think she was implying anything by asking this. As it stands, the only friend I got that even knows about me (the real me) is Jack Paterno, and how that came about is a whole ’nother story!

  Not that I’m ashamed of who I am or anything, but I don’t think it’s anybody’s business whose ass I choose to check out or who I have a crush on. Besides, even though I’ve known Audrey for over three years now, I don’t really know her.

  What if I admitted, Yes, I’ve taken a look at Rob Berger’s ass on many occasions, and she went and told everybody? I only got eight more months left in that godforsaken school of ours…Why make trouble now?

  Somehow, I don’t think Aud would care if she knew. In fact, by asking me this, I wondered if maybe she was giving me the opportunity to finally come clean…Still, I couldn’t do it.r />
  So I said, “I’d probably think Berger is cuter than Big Al…If I was a girl.”

  Audrey asked, “If you were a girl?” as if she didn’t need me to clarify.

  Damn!

  There she sat, practically giving me the go-ahead, and I blew it. I don’t know what my problem was. I guess being true to thine ownself is harder than I thought.

  “What the fuck’s up with Berger not having a girlfriend?” Audrey pondered next.

  “Who the hell knows?” I replied, having thought the exact same thing myself for a long time now.

  “All the Flaggots have been trying to figure that one out…Including Rakoff.”

  Rakoff is Zack Rakoff, another Senior in our class. I don’t know why, but after playing piccolo in Marching Band since Sophomore year, Rakoff went and became the only male member of Flaggots—I mean, Flag Corps. He’s a bit of an odd bird the way he’s always talking about Monty Python and Doctor Who.

  I’ll never forget the first time I seen him…Like I said, I went to elementary school at Webster with Ava Reese. Well, Rakoff went to Roosevelt, same as Carrie Johnson. The spring of 6th grade, a bunch of us got invited to participate in this all-city Honors Band. We met twice a week after school for X number of weeks, the end result being a concert we put on for our parents up at Hillbilly High.

  Well, when you spend seven years going to school with the exact same people, being around a group of new kids is totally bic-citing, you know what I mean? So the night of the concert, I seen this girl I saw for the past X number of weeks sitting in the flute section. A little chubby, but not fat by any means, she had short brown hair, and wore glasses—the kind with the lenses that darkened whenever you went outside. She also wore braces, but she was still pretty cute.

  I don’t know why, but I remember thinking how much I really wanted to talk to her. Maybe because when I originally signed up for Band, I also wanted to play flute. Until our teacher, Mrs. Isaacs (Will Isaacs’s mom), convinced me I should maybe try trombone because there weren’t any brass players yet.

  Finally, I worked up the nerve to go over and introduce myself. She was standing by the punch bowl at this long table full of cookies and cold cuts and three different kinds of Jello (with and without fruit) in the commons outside the auditorium. Looking back, it doesn’t even seem like the same place I spend every day during 5th hour. It feels sooo different now. Much smaller.

  “Hi, I’m Brad Dayton…What’s your name?”

  I remember thinking how cool it was that this particular little girl’s mother didn’t make her wear a dress to the concert like all the others. Instead, she had on dark slacks and a sweater along with matching suede GASS shoes…I’m sure you can see where the rest of the story is going.

  Anyways!

  Coming up with what I thought was a totally brilliant idea, I said to Audrey, “I know one way we can find out for sure,” regarding the question of Rob Berger’s hetero or homosexuality. “Somebody should ask him to the Homecoming Dance.”

  I looked at her, eyebrows raised for added emphasis.

  “You can’t ask another guy to Homecoming!” Audrey declared, totally missing the mark.

  “Not me, you stupid Polack!” I yowled, trying not to laugh in her face.

  “Watch it, you Band Fag!” she shot back, daggers in her eyes.

  “Flaggot!”

  “Drama Queer!”

  It may appear me and Audrey don’t respect each other, the way we’re constantly hurling the insults. It’s totally not the case. Sure, when we first met at Webb, we used to argue all the time. Back then, we seriously meant every nasty word we said. Yet on that early October afternoon, sitting there in her house just the two of us, I realized we’re practically becoming Best Friends.

  That must explain the idiotic thing I did next.

  “I meant you should ask Rob Berger to the Homecoming Dance.”

  Audrey replied, “He doesn’t already got a date?” Again, like she didn’t believe me.

  “I asked him the other day after rehearsal…He said no.”

  She looked at me like I was certifiably insane. “Rob Berger is a Varsity football player…He’s not gonna go to Homecoming with some lard-ass Flaggot–Drama Queer.”

  Part of me was being selfish for putting Audrey up to the task, but I really wanted to find out which side Rob likes to “butter his bread on,” as Grandma Victor always says. And I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask him to Homecoming. If it turned out Rob isn’t gay, he’d totally kick my ass!

  “First of all,” I started to explain, “Rob Berger is a Drama Queer himself…Secondly, you are not a lard-ass. You’re curvaceous, like Marilyn Monroe.” One of my favorite actresses, by the way, along with Lana Turner, whose 14-year-old daughter once went on trial for killing Lana’s mobster ex-boyfriend…Talk about scan-ju-lous!

  “I’m 5’7” and I’ve got child-bearing hips,” Aud informed me, hands upon them for added emphasis.

  “So what?” I quipped. “Some men like a woman with meat on her bones.”

  Sure, maybe Audrey wasn’t cheerleader or even Vikette material, but she’s got a pretty face and beautiful auburn hair flowing down to her waist. And she’s got an awesome personality. That should count for something, you know what I mean?

  “I can’t ask a guy to a dance,” she retorted, giving up the ship. “I’ll look desperate.”

  “Well, aren’t you?” I only half joked. “Pretend it’s Sadie Hawkins.”

  Speaking of…

  If we don’t end up doing Grease in the spring, I hope Dell honors our second request, Li’l Abner. My role of choice would be Abner, of course, but I’m sure Rob Berger (and his bod) would look much better in a pair of overalls. I’ll settle for Marry in’ Sam.

  “I’ll think about it,” Audrey concluded.

  “No…You’ll do it.”

  She trailed after me as I headed into her kitchen. “Get back here, Dayton!”

  I picked up the black rotary dial phone from where it hung on the wall since 1960-something. Handing it to Audrey, I dialed Rob Berger’s number, which I totally had memorized: 544-3616.

  She bobbed and weaved, trying to dodge me like a Detroit Piston. “Get the fuck outta here!” Aud howled, having a giggle fit.

  I could tell she totally wanted to ask Rob to be her Homecoming date. She just needed a little encouragement.

  Thru the end of the phone, I could hear the hollow ring…Once, twice, thrice.

  Who the hell ever says thrice?

  “Hello?”

  From across town in Ferndale, Rob picked up. His family lives on Edgeworth, over by Edison Elementary where he went with Shellee “What’s up, Fox?” Findlay.

  “Talk to him,” I hissed, hoping Rob wouldn’t hear me. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was in on anything, even though I totally was.

  “Hello?” Rob said a second time, sounding mildly annoyed. “Anybody there?”

  Audrey thrust the phone in my direction.

  I ducked.

  It hit the papered wall.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” I scolded. By the time I retrieved the receiver from where it plopped in Patches’s litter box, Rob already hung up. “Call him back…Now!”

  “You call him back!”

  I hesitated for maybe a second, then redialed: 544–3616.

  Rob picked up after half a ring. “Who is this?” he demanded, skipping the customary salutation.

  “Hey, Rob…It’s Brad Dayton.”

  I tried my best to sound nonchalant.

  “Hey, Bradley…What’s up?”

  I love it when he calls me Bradley!

  “Nothing much,” I lied, feeling totally deceitful. “I’m over Audrey’s helping her and Tuesday with their scene for Drama…”

  I started babbling about how Tuesday had a fit and went home, so me and Aud were just hanging out, wondering what he was up to.

  “Just got home from football practice.”

  And are you all hot and
sweaty and in need of a sponge bath?

  Then Rob surprised me by saying, “Did you just call here a minute ago and hang up?”

  “Wasn’t me,” I lied again, shooting Miss Wojczek my best look of spite.

  I didn’t know what to say next.

  Hey, Rob…You should totally go to Homecoming with Audrey. Unless you’re a Big Fag. Then you could just skip the dance altogether and fool around with me instead.

  At that moment, Rob said, “I’m glad you called.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked, feeling a little light-headed knowing he was happy hearing from me.

  “Is Audrey there with you?”

  I looked over at my accomplice. “She’s standing right here.”

  “Can I talk to her for a sec?” Rob asked, catching me off guard.

  I relinquished the phone.

  Audrey said, “Hello?” She paused a moment, nodded and smiled. “Um…Okay.” Finally, she hung up, reporting, “He’s definitely not a fag.”

  I had a feeling I wasn’t gonna like her response, but I needed an answer. “How do you know?”

  Audrey’s face lit up like the Fisher building. “Rob Berger just asked me to Homecoming.”

  What the fuck?

  To quote Crystal Bernard from High School USA with Michael J. Fox and Nancy McKeon talking about her boyfriend, Beau Middleton: “I would eat maggots for him.”

  That’s how totally in love with Rob Berger I am.

  Just because Audrey’s a girl, she gets to go to the dance with him, and do God-only-knows-what-else in the backseat of his Pinto afterwards?

  No fucking fair!

  All I can say is…I am not teaching her how to give a blowjob.

  The Final Countdown

  “I guess there is no one to blame

  We’re leaving ground…”

  —Europe

  Time for the big announcement!

  12:00 PM. 4th hour. The auditorium.

  On stage right, sit the “Top 25” girls. On stage left, the “Top 25” guys. Standing at the podium in the center, Mr. Verlander, wearing what I think is the exact same permanent-press shirt and throwback-to-the-’70s wide tie he wore to the all-school assembly last week.

  He promises, “We’re gonna make this short and sweet,” addressing the members of the Hillbilly High student body who actually cared enough to come back from lunch for the ceremony.