Читать книгу Band Fags! - Frank Anthony Polito - Страница 15

“They tell me not to worry

Don’t be in a hurry…”

—Rex Smith

“Pretend I’m the Mommy and you’re the Daddy…”

Every day back in Kindergarten, Audrey Wojczek would force me to play House with her during Free Time. Off to work she (Mrs. Jackie Kennedy) would send me, a peck planted firmly upon my John F. cheek. Even though I kept reminding her my middle name is Robert, not Fitzgerald!

I can’t even tell you how mortified I was when I found my picture in the lower right-hand corner of our Kindergarten class photo—right next to “Audrey Ostrich.” Which is what I used to call her. Though never to her face. Like my Mom always says, “If you can’t say something nice…” Not that Audrey looked like an ostrich or anything. She was just so much bigger than me—and to this day she still is! Not that I’m saying she’s fat or anything, ’cause she’s not. But she is a bigger girl. Like 5'6" or so and I’m only 5'2" with my Nike hi-tops on.

I also can’t even tell you how relieved I was when I returned to 1st grade the following September, only to learn Audrey’s family had moved to Minnesota. For the next two years she would reside in Duluth before returning to Hazeltucky and attending Catholic School at St. Mary Magdalen’s. So close and yet far enough away for me to never see her again…That is, till she came over to Webb this year and we met up in Mr. Davidson’s 4^th hour Biology.

In case you don’t remember—because how can you keep track of so many different people, places, and things?—Audrey Wojczek is my friend who works in the Guidance Counseling Office during 1st hour. The one with the long red hair down to her “childbearing hips,” as she likes to call them.

I’m over her house on Woodward Heights. Which is technically 9¹/₂ Mile. But nobody ever calls it that. Not to be confused with Woodward Avenue, aka M-1…

“Happy Fucking New Year!” Audrey shouts for the whole wide world to hear—or at least all of Hazeltucky.

We’ve abandoned Times Square on TV in favor of a Paterno Family tradition…Banging pots and pans outside on the front porch. As kids, I never understood why we did this or where the tradition had come from. But every December 31st since I can remember, this is what my sister and brother and I always did, don’t ask me why!

“You look like Cousin Itt,” I tell Audrey. Minus the bowler hat and glasses, of course.

She’s got her long red hair draped over the front of her shoulders covering her bare arms down to her waist. Though it’s obviously not keeping her warm by the way her teeth chatter like crazy. “Bite me!” Audrey snaps. Then she says, “Fuck this shit…I’m getting the Hell back inside.” For a girl with a Catholic School upbringing, Audrey Wojczek’s got quite the mouth on her.

The distinct smell of what can only be described as “Audrey’s House” hits me the minute I follow her through the door. A cross between mothballs and kitty litter, maybe? Not that I’m saying it’s a bad smell or anything, ’cause it’s not.

“Now what do we do?” she asks, still shivering.

I look at my watch…12:08 AM. “It’s kinda late, isn’t it?” I say.

To which Audrey gives me her “Don’t Even” look. Which consists of turning her head slightly to one side, furrowing her brow, and pursing her lips. I can’t exactly describe how she looks when she does it. But trust me, she looks mean.

“Boo hoo,” she fake cries. “You gonna turn into a pumpkin, Paterno?” Which is what she calls me after she’s given me her “Don’t Even” look. “It’s not like it’s a School Night.”

I give my folks a quick call, to ask if I can stay out a little longer. Normally, I have to be home by Midnight. But since it’s a holiday and we’re on Christmas Break and all, I figure they’re not gonna care.

“Let me talk to Mom,” I tell my little brother when he picks up the phone.

“She’s in bed,” he informs me. “So is Dad.”

Did my parents not get the memo that it’s New Year’s Eve or what? Ever since my Mom realized she’s turning the Big 3-0 this year, I swear she’s started acting like an Old Lady. Unless they’re having S-E-X. Which they can’t be…It’s a Monday night!

“Where are you?” Billy asks me.

“Over Audrey’s,” I answer, as if it’s any of his business.

Then my smart-aleck little brother says, “Is Audrey your girlfriend?”

To which I reply, “Go to bed.” Then I hang up the phone.

I return to find Audrey sitting on her couch, buried beneath a patchwork quilt that her little Polish Grandma must’ve made a bijillion years ago. “I’ll share my blanket with you,” she offers.

To which I decline, choosing to sit in the comfy armchair next to the fireplace—way over in the corner of the room. There’s definitely something weird going on with Audrey. Not weird-weird, but…With her Mom out for the evening, it’s the first time we’ve been alone together in her house. Or anywhere, now that I think of it.

On a small end table, I notice the framed photo of a rather good looking guy wearing a maroon and gray Hazel Park Vikings football uniform—#63. Down on one knee, he holds the ball under his arm, a look of stern seriousness on his square-jawed face.

“How’s your brother?” I ask. Though I’ve never personally met Mike Wojczek, there’s something about this picture that makes me want to.

“He just got an apartment with a friend of his,” Audrey tells me. “Some guy named Rob.”

Apparently, Mike graduated from Hillbilly High back in like 1980. According to Audrey, he works at some bar down in Detroit. He kinda reminds me of that guy from All the Right Moves, Tom Cruise. Except his mess of hair is red—not brown.

“Where’s the apartment?” I ask.

“Royal Oak.” Which is another suburb where my Grandpa and Grandma Paterno live. Over by Woodward Avenue and 10 Mile.

“How come your brother never comes over to visit?”

“He was just here Christmas Day,” Audrey replies. “Jeez! You writing a book?

“No…” I was just making conversation.

“Wanna build a fire?” she suggests now. “We can watch a movie or something.”

Not that I really want to. But still I reply, “What’s on Cable?”

Audrey flings me the TV Book. Which is the Detroit Free Press version of TV Guide. I can’t even believe it’s already 1985. Even though it’s printed in black-and-white right before my very own blue eyes.

That’s when I see it…12:30 AM…Channel 50.

It’s love at first sight for Jessie Walters when she spots heartthrob Michael Skye singing with his band at the local shopping mall.

In case you aren’t familiar, there’s this After School Special-type movie called Sooner or Later, about this 13-year-old girl, Jessie, who falls in love with this 17-year-old guy, Michael. But she totally has to lie to him about her age otherwise he’d never go out with her. I won’t ruin the plot. But let’s just say…There’s a scene where Jessie eats an entire chocolate cake! I don’t know how I first heard about it. All I know is…It stars Rex Smith and Denise Miller. Who you might remember as Archie Bunker’s niece on Archie Bunker’s Place. Not Stephie, as played by Danielle Brisebois. Archie Bunker’s other niece, Billie.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking…Sounds like a Girl’s Movie, Sooner or Later, starring Rex Smith. But what can I say? I’ve been dying to see it ever since it first aired on TV, back in like, 1979.

I’ll never forget that night…

There I was, counting down the hours till I would sit my 8-year-old self down in front of our 24" Panasonic color-console television to witness the Network Television Premiere of Sooner or Later. There was only one problem…That exact same night, my Aunt Sonia decided to throw a Tupperware party. Which meant my Mom would be gone the entire evening. Which meant I had to stay home with my Dad…Which I hated!

Not that I hate my Dad or anything, ’cause I don’t. But to tell the truth, back then he kinda scared me. Not scared-scared, but…In 1979, my Dad was all of 27 years old. He was also a Total Hippie. Not a hippie-hippie, but…He had shoulder-length dark hair, a mustache, and he smoked! Actually, people used to think my Dad kinda looked like Tony Orlando. Who was kinda good-looking, I suppose. But to tell the truth, he reminded me more of that crazy guy who killed all those people, Charles Manson.

The other problem was…Not only was 1979 back before the invention of the VCR, it was also back before the Paternos owned more than one TV set. Which meant if I wanted to watch Sooner or Later—which I did—I was gonna have to sit and watch it with my Charles-Manson-look-alike Dad.

But this was only the beginning of the Disastrous End…

An hour before Showtime, what happened? Our doorbell rang. Slowly, I opened the front door. Staring down at me was a handsome older man—full head of dark hair, nice smile, big teeth. He kinda reminded me of Lyle Waggoner from Wonder Woman, if you remember him.

“Is your Daddy home, Little Girl?” His baritone voice reverberated through my tiny little body.

“Um…” I replied. Though I didn’t bother telling him, “I’m not a Little Girl, I’m a Little Boy.” Because not only was I slightly embarrassed by his remark, I was actually used to it from past experience. Like the time I went with my Grandpa and Grandma Paterno to a spaghetti dinner at their American Legion hall. I was 5 or 6 at the time and this very nice elderly woman manning the cash register at the end of the buffet line looked down at me, all smiles.

“What’s your name, Little Girl?”

But did I bother telling her, “I’m not a Little Girl, I’m a Little Boy?” No…Instead, I replied in my 5 or 6-year-old girl-sounding voice, “Jackie.”

“Is Jackie short for Jacqueline?” Cash Register Lady asked.

To which my Grandma chimed in, “No…It’s short for Jack.”

Cash Register Lady gasped in horror, “No!” Then to me she said, “You’re too pretty to be a boy.”

Back in 1979, my Dad called out from the bathroom where he’d been busy trimming his Tony Orlando/Charles Manson mustache, “Jackie…Who is it?”

“Paterno!” Big Teeth Man called back. “Stop whacking off and get your ass out here.” He let out a laugh before realizing he shouldn’t say things like “whacking off” in front of a Little Girl. Even though being only 8 years old, I had no idea what “whacking off” meant. Not to mention we’ve already established, I wasn’t a Little Girl.

It turned out Lyle Waggoner was my Dad’s Boss. For some reason, I got the distinct impression my Dad wasn’t too excited to see the guy in his house when he rounded the corner of our living room, pulling on his black sleeveless T-shirt.

“How come you didn’t tell me what a pretty daughter you’ve got?” Lyle Waggoner asked my Dad.

“Jackie…Go play in your room,” my Dad told me. Though he didn’t look at me when he said this.

“But—” I started to say.

“You heard me,” my Dad finished.

So I went to my room. Where I played with my Lite Brite, followed by a couple rounds of Perfection. With some Brady Bunch Goes Love Boat thrown in, starring the Fisher-Price Little People.

Pretty soon it was 7:50 PM…

How long had I been waiting for this moment? How long had I been dreaming of the day I’d finally get to witness Rex Smith singing “You Take My Breath Away”? But Lyle Waggoner looked like he was nowhere near being ready to get a move on. Especially since he just cracked open another Michelob Light, “For the Winner.”

So what did I do? Even though I knew my Dad wouldn’t appreciate it…I started crying.

“Hey, there,” Lyle Waggoner cooed, after he noticed me blabbering away around the corner in the hallway. “What’s the matter, Darlin’?”

Again, not looking at me, my Dad said, “Would you knock it off?” Though he was kinda half-laughing/half-sounding angry. Probably because he was totally embarrassed that his Big-Teethed Boss was sitting in his living room on his couch thinking his Little Boy was his Little Girl!

“But I wanna watch Sooner or Later,” I sobbed. Which came out sounding more like, “Wah Wah wahwah wah Wahwah wah Wahwah.”

“What’s that?” Lyle Waggoner slurred, reaching a big calloused hand out to me. “Come over here an’ tell me what’s wrong.”

TV Book in hand, I crept into the room. I showed Mr. Big Teeth the “Of Special Interest…” page, knowing I at least had his Booze Breath sympathy.

“Who’s this?” Lyle Waggoner took a look at the tiny black-and-white photo of Rex Smith sporting his Farrah Fawcett hairdo and smiled. “Looks like somebody’s got a little crush.” Then he took another swig of his beer. “You wanna watch a movie?” he asked. “G’ right ahead, Sweetheart…’s your house.” At which point, he gave my Garanimaled bottom a gentle pat.

I moved to change the channel when my Dad stopped me. “I told you to go play in your room.” Using his “mean” voice. Which is something he hardly ever did and it totally took me by surprise.

“But I wanna watch Sooner—” or Later, I was about to say. Till I was cut off.

“We’re not watching that Faggot Movie!” my Dad announced. Again, half-laughing/half-sounding angry. Being only 8 years old, this was the first time in my life I’d ever heard the word “faggot,” so I had no idea what it meant. Though from the tone in my Dad’s voice, I got the impression it wasn’t a good thing.

So what did I do? I didn’t watch Sooner or Later…That’s for sure!

Instead, I returned to my room where I passed out on my bed after exhausting myself from a serious cry. The good news is…Later that night, after Lyle Waggoner finally decided to drag his drunken self home, my Dad sneaked into my room. Without saying a word, he sat down beside me on my bed. I pretended not to notice when he wiped my tear-stained cheeks with his own calloused hand before softly making a confession. It turned out, the only reason my Dad wanted me to leave the room so bad was because he didn’t want me being subjected to his Boozer of a Boss. Who he said he couldn’t stand!

Then my Dad made me a promise. “Next time your movie is on,” he said, “we’ll watch it together…Just you and me, okay?” Even though we never actually did, I’ve gotta give the man credit for trying.

Back on New Year’s Eve, 1985…

I suggest to Audrey we watch Sooner or Later on the Late-Late Show. To which she vehemently objects. “Hell no! I can’t stand that movie.”

Which crushes me like a ton of bricks. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I saw it when I was in like 3^rd grade, and it totally sucked!” Audrey snarls. Then she adds, “The book sucked even more.”

“There’s a book?” I ask. How am I totally not privy to this fact?

“You’ve never seen it?” she asks, surprised. “It’s got the chick on the cover with the locket around her neck.” By whom she must mean Denise Miller as Jessie Walters. Which is exactly the same as the album. Which my Mom bought for me on 8-track. Back in like 1980, after I missed seeing the movie on Sooner or Later Night.

“Can I borrow it sometime?” I practically beg. At this point, I don’t care what Audrey might think about my wanting to read a Girl’s Book.

But she answers, “I don’t got it anymore.” Totally bursting my bubble. “Sister Mary Hitler caught me reading it and the Bitch took it away.”

So what do I do? I fake a great big yawn…“Excuse me!”

“Too bad we’re not at your house,” says Audrey, ignoring my stretching to give added emphasis to how tired I’ve all of a sudden become. “We could watch Somewhere in Time on your VCR.”

In case you haven’t seen it, I won’t ruin the plot. But Somewhere in Time is this totally romantic movie from like 1980, about this guy—played by Superman, aka Christopher Reeve—who travels back in time after seeing this picture of a woman—played by Jane Seymour, who I loved in Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders—hanging on the wall in The Grand Hotel. Which is located Up North on Mackinac Island, and is pronounced “Mackinaw,” by the way.

When Audrey and I found out it’s the favorite movie of both of us, we made a pact that someday we’d go to Mackinac Island together and stay in The Grand Hotel. That is, whenever one of us gets our driver’s license and a car. We also plan to find the special trees along the lake where Richard Collier and Elise McKenna, aka Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour, meet for the first time.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” I firmly decide.

“Party Pooper…It’s New Year’s Eve, for chris’sakes!” Audrey chides.

“Sorry…” I grab my jacket from the hook near the door.

“I’ll walk you halfway,” she offers, donning her long wool coat. Which means Audrey Wojczek has made up her mind and there’s no point in telling her she doesn’t have to bother. “Ladies first,” she tells me. Then she gestures for me to go ahead of her.

“Ha-ha,” I say. “You’re so funny I forgot to laugh.”

For the second time in less than half an hour, I head out into the cold dark night. We start down the deserted block towards my house, taking the long route on Woodward Heights rather than cutting through St. Mary’s Field. Which totally creeps me out—especially at night. When we come to Battelle, I’m about to make a right and continue down to Shevlin. Which saying it right now sounds totally stupid to me…What’s a Shevlin, anyways?

“Thanks for walking me halfway,” I tell Audrey. Though I can barely hear myself over the Def Leppard blaring from the White Cutlass that’s just stopped at the red light on the corner.

That’s when I hear, “Hey, Faggot!” And I see Fuck Face Craig Gershrowski hanging his head out the back window, totally wasted. “Wanna suck my dick?”

Of course, I ignore him. I don’t know who he’s with or who’s driving the car. All I know is…Once the light turns green, they’re gone in a squeal of burning Goodyears.

“Fuck you!” Audrey shouts after them, hot breath clouding the cold air. Then she turns to me, fire in her eyes matching her fire-red hair. “When are you gonna grow some balls and stand up to that kid? He’s an 8^th grader, for chris’sakes!”

“I know…”

“You want me to kick his ass for you?” she offers. “You know I will.”

“No, thanks.” Even though I’d pay money to see that happen. For now, I’ll just continue to avoid conflict rather than deal with it. Which is one thing I’ve gotten good at.

Like if somebody cuts in front of me in the Lunch Line, I’ll act like I don’t even notice it. Especially if it’s some Jock Jerk. Or if somebody accidentally-on-purpose bumps into me in the hallway between classes, I’ll keep on walking like I don’t even notice it. Especially if it’s some Jock Jerk. Or if somebody happens to be parading around naked in the locker room after Gym, I’ll continue changing my clothes like I don’t even notice it. Especially if it’s some Jock Jerk.

“There’s gotta be a way for you to get back at that Fuck Face,” Audrey muses.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” I reply.

To which she sighs, “Oh, Jackie…What am I gonna do with you?”

To which I say nothing.

On the off chance that Brad’s right and Audrey does have a crush on me, I’d hate to lead her on. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like her. I just don’t like her-like her. In that way.

I’m about to start off when Audrey stops me. “Where’s my hug?”

Suddenly, I’m engulfed in a sea of Suave strawberries. I have no other choice but to return her embrace. Though not too enthusiastically. Again, no leading the Poor Girl on.

“I’m so glad we’re friends,” she says softly in my ear.

Again, I say nothing.

Audrey kisses me on the cheek. Like she used to back in Kindergarten during Free Time. “Call me tomorrow,” she orders. “Make it sooner than later.”

Which reminds me…

With thoughts of Rex Smith and Denise Miller, I free myself from Audrey’s embrace. Then I sprint down the block, arriving home just in time to turn on WKBD-TV, stick a blank VHS tape in the old VCR, and hit REC.

The sound of applause fills my ears as Michael Skye takes to the Shopping Mall stage before the cheering crowd of late-’70s teenagers. And who do I see sporting a shoulder-length crimped hairdo complete with topknot, singing backup and playing tambourine? None other than Fran from The Great Space Coaster… I had no idea she was really an actor!

So what if the song Rex Smith is singing sounds kind of cheesy? So what if he’s poured himself into these totally tight Jordache jeans with these ridiculous looking suspenders? So what if his white T-shirt sparkles with silver glitter, the words The Skye Band printed in funky late-’70s style script? It’s really him…After all these years!

“Good things come to those who wait.”