Читать книгу Band Fags! - Frank Anthony Polito - Страница 11

“We-hell-I see them every night in tight blue jeans

In the pages of a blue boy magazine…”

—Cyndi Lauper

“You wanna see it or what?”

Like Max Wilson and Lynn Kelly, Brad also lives in Ferndale. Which means technically he’s not a Hazeltuckian. Like me. At this moment, his Mom’s over visiting his Grandma with his two little sisters, Nina and Brittany. While his older sister, Janelle, is at the movies with her boyfriend, Ted. Which means nobody else is home at his house so we can pretty much do whatever we want.

Unfortunately, there’s not a whole lot to do on the corner of Wanda and Webster at Dayton’s Depot. Which is what the wooden sign Brad made in 7^th grade Woodshop says that his Deadbeat Dad hung above the front door. First of all, their TV is black-and-white and they haven’t got Cable. Forget about Atari or a VCR! I once offered to bring mine over. But when Brad asked his Mom if it was okay, I heard her say something about me being “arrogant.” So I decided to forget the whole thing.

“What?” I reply in answer to Brad’s question. Not like What? I didn’t hear you. But like What do you wanna know if I wanna see?

“You know what,” he says, giving me a look. Which he has every right to do.

I know exactly what Brad’s asking me if I wanna see…It’s the whole reason why I’m sitting here on his bedroom floor, futzing with a piece of fuzz or lint or something on the tannish-gray carpet.

“Where’d you find it, anyways?” I stall, looking around Brad’s bedroom. Which is just off the kitchen at the back of the house. Even though it’s a lot smaller than mine, at least he’s got his own room. But he’s got only the one single bed. Which is why I hardly ever spend the night over here ’cause I’m the one who gets stuck sleeping on the floor.

“Upstairs,” he tells me. By which he means in his sister Janelle’s bedroom. “I totally freaked out when I saw it.”

“Where’d Janelle get it from?” I can’t even believe she’s in possession of such a horrendous thing.

“Her Best Friend, Lydia Cardoza, gave it to her for her Sweet Sixteen.” Now Brad’s the one futzing with a piece of fuzz or lint or something on his bedspread where he sits. “I thought it would be fun for us to look at it together…You know what I mean?”

My answer to that question would have to be “N-O.”

“I always kinda wondered what they were like,” Brad confesses. “Haven’t you?”

I guess maybe I have…But still I worry. “Won’t your sister know it’s missing?”

“It’s not like we’re gonna keep it…Besides, Janelle’s gonna be at the movies with Ted for at least another hour.”

In case you have no idea what the heck we’re talking about…Let me backtrack a little to this morning before 1^st hour.

So there I was, digging through Brad’s locker. Which is always a Total Mess. But I finally managed to locate my Band folder beneath a pile of his dirty Gym clothes. (Gross!)

You’re probably wondering why all my books and folders are in Brad’s locker when I have a perfectly good one of my own—#685. The answer is…He’s been sharing it with me since the beginning of last year. Which is when I had the pleasure of meeting Craig Gershrowski. Better known as Fuck Face.

To make a very long story short…Fuck Face is an 8^th grader who came to Webb last year. Apparently he went to elementary school with Lynn Kelly at Lee O. Clark and he’s got a Total Crush on her. Which is why he got all mad when I called her one day after school while he was over trying to put the moves on her.

Apparently, word had gotten around that everybody at school thinks Brad and I are both Total Fags. Just because we’re in Band. And we like to dance at Fun Nights. And we both have a lot of friends who are girls. Like Lynn Kelly. Who I was still totally in love with at the time. Which is what I told Fuck Face. Though why I thought I owed him any explanation, I have no idea. Well, when Fuck Face found that out, he decided to spend the good part of my second year in junior high amusing himself by calling me names.

Like Sissy Boy…And Queer Bait…Or my personal favorite, Faggot Ass Faggot.

What Craig Gershrowski didn’t seem to get was…I liked Lynn Kelly. The way a boy is supposed to like a girl. So how could I possibly be a Faggot Ass Faggot?

After a month of having to look at his braces-wearing pizza-face in between classes—not to mention dealing with his off-color comments—Brad kindly offered to let me store my stuff in his locker.

Which is where I found myself standing as he finally rounded the corner this morning, totally out of breath.

“Oh, my God…You’ll never guess what happened last night!”

“What?” I replied. Again, not like, What? I didn’t hear you. But like, What happened? Brad sounded so serious, I was thinking maybe somebody died or something.

He practically shoved me aside to hang up his green and gold Warrior Marching Band windbreaker, panting. “So I’m upstairs in Big Boobs’ room…” By whom he means his older sister, Janelle.

To which I said, “Dah-dah, dah-dah.” Though I was totally tempted to reprimand him. I knew exactly what Brad was upstairs doing in Big Boobs’ room…Smoking! Which he knows I do not condone one little bit.

“Dah-dah, dah-dah,” he echoed, getting on with it. “So I’m sitting there in Janelle’s room…” He gathered his thoughts along with his Band folder. “When I look over on her nightstand and I see it…” Then he trailed off.

“See what?”

Brad looked around the crowded hallway. Then he turned back to me and whispered, “A copy of Playgirl!” This he said as if it was the most horrifying thing in the whole wide world.

“So…?” I said, totally out loud in my regular voice. I mean, what’s the big deal, anyways? I’ve seen plenty of naked guys in the locker room at school. Not that I’m looking or anything.

“So…” Brad said, like he was totally about to wet himself. “Guess who was on the cover?”

“I don’t know,” I grumbled. Because I honestly had no idea. Maybe that guy from Footloose? He’s pretty popular these days.

“Go on, Jack!” Brad prompted. “Take a wild guess.”

“Would you just tell me, already?” I said, not wanting to guess wrong and look like a Total Fool. Then I slammed his locker door shut emphatically.

“Somebody’s awfully cranky this morning,” Brad said as we moved down the middle hallway en route to the Band Room.

“Somebody was up late last night,” I complained.

“Doing what?” he asked, full of wink-wink/nudge-nudge innuendo.

“Catching up on Days of our Lives… I’ve been so busy practicing this week, I haven’t had a chance to watch a single episode.” Mrs. Putnam passed out a ton of new sheet music for our Christmas Concert in December. Which is still like two months away. But it’ll be here before we know it.

“Busy practicing what?” Brad raised an eyebrow, giving me a look.

“My instrument.”

“Which one?” he asked. “Skin flute?” By which he meant beating-off. Which he knows full well I don’t do!

“Are you gonna tell me who you’re talking about or what?” Now I was totally fed up. It’s bad enough I’ve still got Craig Gershrowski hassling me. The other day, he pushed me into the girls’ locker room. Right when Ava Reese and Carrie Johnson were in there changing for Gym. I didn’t need my Best Friend giving me a hard time!

“Take it easy, you Big Baby,” Brad teased. “I’ll tell you.” Then he added, “You’re not gonna believe it,” ever so dramatically.

“Probably not,” I said, rounding the corner past the Guidance Counseling Office. I sneaked a peek through the glass doors looking for Audrey. By whom I mean my new friend, Audrey Wojczek, 1st hour Office Aide.

Sure enough, I spied a mass of long flaming hair behind the counter. Even though I know the School Secretary frowns upon it, I knocked on the glass. Audrey looked up from her filing, caught my eye, and waved for me to stop in. I gave Mickey Mouse a tap upon my wrist as I was about to be late for class. At which point, Audrey rubbed the inside corner of her eye. With her middle finger! It’s a lucky thing I knew she was only kidding around. Otherwise, I’d probably have taken offense. Instead, I waved good-bye and continued down the hallway with Brad…Who’d been yakking a mile a minute this entire time.

“Isn’t that incredible?”

“Isn’t what incredible?” I asked, missing the whole point of the story.

“Forget it,” Brad snapped, totally annoyed. “I hate it when you do that.” Then he charged down the hallway ahead of me.

“Br-a-a-d…” I called after him. “I thought you were gonna tell me who’s on the cover of your sister’s Playgirl!”

Which got his attention and ’round he spun. “Would you shut your big fat trap?” he hissed. “How would you like it if I told the whole school about your parents’ Sex Drawer?” By which he meant the bottom drawer of my Mom’s dresser, where this past Summer, we somehow found this dirty paperback called Pretty Penny when Brad was over spending the night. Which was all about this slutty teenager named—what else?—Penny, and her sexual misadventures.

I could tell Brad totally wanted me to beg. Which is why I said, “I’ll be your Best Friend.” Even though he knows I already am. Which is why he finally gave in and told me what was up…

“None other than JEH.” By whom he meant Jon-Erik Hexum. “I almost died when I saw it was him…Can you believe it?”

In case you don’t know—because he’s not that famous—Jon-Erik Hexum is an actor. You might remember him from a TV show called Voyagers! In which he played this Time Traveler named Phineas Bogg. But maybe not. The show only ran for like one season. I used to watch it with my Dad on Sunday nights at 7:00 PM back when I was in 7^th grade.

The reason Brad seemed so amazed by all of this was…Just the other night we were talking on the phone and he started telling me all about this made-for-TV movie called Making of a Male Model. Starring Joan Collins and JEH.

In the movie, Joan Collins plays Kay Dillon, a successful modeling agency owner in search of a new Hunk to represent. Enter Jon-Erik Hexum as Tyler Burnett, a corn-fed farm boy who Kay transforms into the hottest male model of all time. According to Brad, it’s “sooo good!”

“I just read he’s on some new TV series,” I say, remembering I saw something somewhere about JEH making a comeback. “With Jennifer O’Neill, I think.”

“Never heard of her,” snarled Brad. “What’s the show called?”

“Cover Up,” I answered. “It’s all about this detective guy who goes under cover as a male model.”

“That’s gotta be him!” he declared, totally psyched.

Which explains why nine hours later, we’re on our way up the stairs leading to Big Boobs Janelle’s bedroom. In search of a copy of Playgirl magazine…“Entertainment for Women.”

The funny thing about Janelle and her boobs is…whenever we’re in Brad’s room and we hear her coming down the stairs, she’s always like, “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” With every step. Holding on to her breasts in pain. Brad says one of these days, she’s gonna give herself a couple of black eyes!

He picks up the magazine from the nightstand. Right where he said it would be. I catch a glimpse of the blue cover with yellow letters…“COVER UP” STAR JON-ERIK HEXUM: TV’S SEXIEST BODY BARES HIS MIND. I can’t even believe Brad’s sister left it lying out in the open like that. Their Mom is very religious. Somehow, I don’t think she’d approve of her 16-year-old daughter looking at Playgirl. Or her 14-year-old son and his Best Friend, for that matter!

“Here,” says Brad, handing it to me.

I take note of the tan suit jacket and blue open-collared shirt JEH is wearing on the cover. Which perfectly matches his bright blue eyes. “Let’s go back to your room,” I whisper. Not that anybody else is home to hear me. But there’s something about being up in Janelle’s bedroom that totally creeps me out.

Maybe it’s because it’s her Personal Private Space and we have no right to be nosing around in it. Or maybe it’s because her room is kinda like an attic, with the kinda ceiling that’s slanted on both sides because of the roof. Or maybe it’s because on the slanted ceiling itself, Janelle’s hung up a bunch of posters of half-naked Chippendales dancers.

Maybe it’s just me. But I feel kinda weird looking at them. Not weird-weird, but…like I’ve already said, I don’t judge other guys. But some of them are so good-looking, it totally makes me wanna puke! They’ve all got these totally muscular, totally perfect bodies. I swear they must work out at least five hours per day.

I have no idea why we’re doing this. But here we are again, back in Brad’s room…

“Open it,” he says, encouraging me. “Go on…”

We’re sitting side by side on his bed with the November 1984 issue of Playgirl resting between our laps, listening to Cyndi Lauper singing her latest on 96.3 WHYT. I begin turning the pages, passing by columns titled Intimacy File—Whose Fantasy is it Anyway?, Health—Organic Groceries: Super Health or Super Hype?, and Arts and Entertainment—Michael Jackson: Sweet and Sexy, He’s Pop’s Greatest Thriller. The only thing I don’t see are any naked guys.

“Keep going,” Brad tells me when I question this.

I turn another page, only to find a Sex Quiz. Followed by an article on “Sexual Variety.” Followed by a full-page ad for English Leather Musk cologne, in which a good-looking, cheesy-mustached guy with a totally hairy chest to match, wears nothing but a Santa Claus hat and a smile.

“‘He Knows If You’ve Been Good,’” I read. “‘So Be Good for Goodness Sake.’” Oh, brother!

“Oh, my God…Look at him!” Brad gasps.

Of course, I can’t help but notice the guy’s got a totally big dick.

“Do you think we’ll look like that when we grow up?” he asks me. “He’s pretty cute, right?”

To which I reply, “I don’t judge other guys,” ’cause I don’t. Though I admit, “I wouldn’t mind looking like him.”

“Well,” Brad begins, “if you were a girl, would you think he’s cute?”

Which is a fair question to ask, I suppose. “If I was a girl?” I say. “I guess I might…Would you?”

“Probably,” he answers. “I mean, if I was a girl.” Then he flips the page and totally starts freaking out. “Oh, my God…That guy’s got a hard-on!”

“Gross!” I say, turning my entire head away from the page. “I can’t even believe they can show that kinda stuff.”

“I know…It’s totally disgusting,” Brad agrees. But when I reach out to turn the page, he places his hand on the magazine to stop me. Then he practically shouts in my ear, “Wait…Lemme see that again!”

So I turn the page back…And we stare at it…For just a few minutes more.

Page after page, we continue flipping through. Naked guy after naked guy after naked guy. Finally, we come to Playgirl’s Man for November. A blond-haired, blue-eyed Hunk with a small patch of hair sprouting in the center of his chest sports a blue unbuttoned denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His name’s Jeffrey Erickson. But neither of us has ever seen or heard of him before.

“What would you think of him,” Brad asks, “if you were a girl, I mean?”

“If I was a girl?” I say. “I’d think he was okay, I guess.”

“Just okay?” he asks, suddenly skeptical of my taste in men.

“I think I’d think the other one is cuter,” I confess. By whom I mean the guy on the page before last. The one with the dark hair, dark eyes, and smooth chest.

“You would?” says Brad, making a face. “I’d think my guy is much cuter than yours.”

After another ten minutes or so I have to ask, “So what about JEH?” I mean, he’s the reason we’re even looking at this trash in the first place! “Isn’t he in here somewhere?”

“Duh!” Brad says. Like I’m a Total Idiot. “He wouldn’t be on the cover if he wasn’t, would he?” He takes hold of the magazine, flips to page 30, and exclaims, “Tah dah!” Like he’s David Copperfield making the Statue of Liberty vanish on TV. Then he presents the magazine to me again. This time with a flourish.

I’m totally unimpressed.

Sure, there’s a picture of Jon-Erik Hexum all oiled up, one bulging bicep behind his head, shirt off. On the opposite page he wears a black tuxedo, cigarette in hand—don’t even tell me he smokes! But in no way is he naked.

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?” replies Brad. Again, like I’m a Total Idiot.

I skim through the four-page article all about how JEH is the “male answer to Christie Brinkley” and how he turned down roles on The Dukes of Hazzard and CHiPs before ever doing Voyagers! Both of which I had no idea about. Another interesting fact I learn is…He went to Michigan State University. Which is where I’ve been thinking about applying to college after I graduate from Hillbilly High. Which isn’t till June 1988, and seems like a bijillion years from now!

There are also pictures of JEH from Cover Up, wearing army fatigues and holding a machine gun. And another with Joan Collins in Making of a Male Model. But again, in no way is he naked in any of them!

“I thought the whole point of Playgirl is naked guys,” I reiterate.

“All the other guys are naked,” Brad affirms.

“Yeah…But who cares about them? They’re Total Nobodies.”

To which Brad informs me, “My sister Janelle says they never show full frontal of the celebrities…It’s bad for their careers.”

To which I reply, “That is sooo lame…They could at least show his butt!” Then I toss the magazine aside. “What a Total Rip-off!”

After all of about five seconds, Brad gets up from the bed. “Be right back.”

“Where are you going?” I inquire.

“To the bathroom.” He starts out of the room. Then he crosses back to where Playgirl has landed in the corner. “I might be a while,” he tells me, picking the trashy magazine up off the floor. “I better take something with me to read.”

And away he goes!