Blackouts and Breakdowns. Mark Brennan Rosenberg
Читать онлайн книгу.
parties, and now, I felt like a true grown up. The glamour of it all amazed me and the allure of finally being who I knew I always wanted to be was right at my fingertips. But there was no way I was coming out tonight. Jason and I had a wonderful night, singing show-tunes and making new friends. Jason told me that the following night he was going to meet up with a guy named Chris for a date. Jason met Chris a few weeks before when he was looking for housing. I was happy for Jason but a little jealous that it seemed so easy for him to get a date. Considering I had not even come out of the closet at this point, a date seemed out of the question, but I was hoping that some day I would be lucky enough to go on a same-sex date. I was out of D.C. and living in a city that was dripping with decadence where everyone had the savior faire of an aristocrat. I thought that I totally fit in; that is, until I returned to my college dorm room that night. How could I fit in with all of my glamorous new friends if I was stuck in my tiny college dorm room with my crazy drug-dealing roommate? I figured I would just ride it out until senior year of college, when I would graduate and become an amazing Broadway superstar. Even though I could not sing, dance or act, I determined a career in the theatre was just what my future held.
After a few short weeks, Jason and I quickly became the hottest things to hit the West Village piano bar circuit since the sheet music for Hair became available to the public. Men our fathers age, or older, would buy us drinks by the dozens and Jason and I sang our hearts out for anyone who would listen. It was a fabulous way to usher in our new lifestyle. However, after weeks of singing show-tunes in piano bars in the West Village with men over twice my age, I had still not come out of the closet, as if at this point, I really needed to.
One night, after a few cocktails, Jason approached me:
“Are you gay now?” he asked.
“Soon,” I replied.
“Well, my friend Greg from school thinks you are cute,” he whispered in my ear, “go over and talk to him.”
From across the room, I began to size Greg up. He was pretty cute from what I could tell. He had red hair and a dorky smile and was just about perfect for what I was looking for. Before I had even come out of the closet, I already had a type: dorks. I love dorks so much. They are so cute with their little glasses and stubby little hands and are usually freaks in bed. They also really come in handy if you need tech support for just about anything. I looked at Greg from across the bar and gave him a smile. He winked back at me and I walked over to talk to him.
“Hey,” I said as I put out my hand to shake his, “I’m Mark.”
“Like Mark from Rent?” he replied.
This was already the gayest conversation I had ever had up until this point and he had only said four words to me, but we were in a piano bar, so what was I to expect?
“Yes,” I replied, “like Mark from Rent.”
“I loved Rent,” he said. We looked at each other with blank faces for about twelve seconds. Was this as far as our conversation was going to go?
“Oh,” he then replied, “I’m Greg”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Greg.”
“Where are you from?” he asked
“D.C.” I said nervously. “Well…actually, I am from Maryland, like right outside of D.C., but, I think it’s easier to tell people that I am from D.C. because no one has ever heard of where I am really from. It’s just like two minutes outside of D.C., totally not far, but no one has ever heard of it.” Had I gone completely retarded? I was so nervous about my first potential gay hook-up that I was standing there giving him a verbal tour of the D.C. Metropolitan Area. “Where are you from?”
“Michigan, a small town no one has ever heard of,” Greg replied.
“Oh,” I said as I stood there and stared at the floor. I had no idea what gay guys spoke about upon first meeting, so we just kind of stared at each other. Across the room, a big forty-year old hairy queen was belting out “Some People” and Greg and I shifted our attention to him.
As the queen was reaching the bridge, Greg looked over at me and smiled. He was adorable. If I were to hook up with him tonight, I could get some action from a guy and have him fix my computer in the morning. It was win-win.
“But, not ROOOOOSSSSSEEEEE!” the queen belted. Everyone cheered as the gayest man on earth finished singing one of the gayest songs on earth. After the clapping subsided, Greg turned to me:
“I was Tulsa in the Kalamazoo production of Gypsy a few years back.”
“Nice,” I replied, “I was the Mayor in the Bethesda, Maryland production of The Music Man.”
Then, nothing. Conversation stopped again. Greg and I were both fresh out of the closet and neither one of us knew the proper etiquette of the hook-up. Apparently, listing off all of the community theatre productions we had done in high school would suffice for now. A few weeks later, I would come to realize that there is no need for words at all when trying to get a guy to hook-up with you. Now, things were virginal and needed to be taken slowly.
“So…” I said, “where do you live?”
“Upper East Side,” Greg replied.
“Nice,” I replied.
“Do you want to come check out my place?”
I was not really interested in his place but was interested in him so I agreed to check out his place. I later learned that “check my place out” is gay code for “let’s get it on.” As I was leaving the bar with Greg, Jason pulled me aside.
“I knew it!” Jason said.
“What?” I asked.
“I knew you were gay.”
“Jesus Christ Jason,” I replied, “I went to a summer camp for the performing arts where everyone called me Natalie because they thought I looked like Natalie from The Facts of Life, and I allowed them to do it. All the while performing in a production of Sugarbabies in nursing homes all across the Catskills. If that isn’t a fucking fag, then I don’t know what is. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to call a spade a spade.” Baby’s first gay tangent. I was making progress. Jason smiled as Greg and I left the bar, headed for the elusive Upper East Side.
Greg and I got into a cab and went up to his place on the Upper East Side. Once inside, we made the usual small talk:
“I remember when I was doing Bye, Bye Birdie at a dinner theatre in Rockville,” I said as Greg poured me a glass of Royal Vodka into a paper cup. “I got so nervous when I was on stage doing hurkies, I ended up falling on my ass!”
“That’s hilarious!” Greg said as he handed me an alcohol filled paper cup. “I once peed myself when I was doing a production of The Sound of Music as a child. It was super embarrassing, but I was only six.”
We both laughed. I don’t know if we were laughing at the fact that we had both humiliated ourselves in front of hundreds of people or that we were having the most ridiculous conversation two men had ever had but we laughed nonetheless. As the laughing subsided, Greg leaned in and kissed me thus beginning the most awkward hook-up that has ever taken place. Two eighteen year old guys who had never hooked up with someone of the same sex before attempting to be sexy. The result: something that would have been a classic episode of America’s Funniest Home Videos.
“I really like him,” I said into the phone the next day.
Jason, who was relieved I had finally done something about my homosexuality proclaimed: “I am so happy that you finally came out of the closet. I knew it was only a matter of time, but damn did that take forever.”
“I think he may be the one,” I said.
“Mark, you hardly know him. You just hooked up, see how it goes.”
“I don’t know Jason, I am pretty interested in him,” I replied. I was acting like a straight up lesbian. I already had plans of moving in with him