Confessions of a Transylvanian (28 page)

Before I continue, let me take a second to lay in some
bona fides
here, okay?

I have been intimately involved with “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” on and off, for many, many years. I have seen dozens of casts at hundreds of shows in more theaters than I can remember. Some of the casts at these shows have been unspeakably bad, some just north of mediocre and some (very few, but some) have been simply terrific.

So with that out of the way, le
t’
s make something clear:

The night Marshall Douglas stopped by the Ultravision for his first and only visit to see the Deerfield cast was undoubtedly the best live Rocky show
I’
ve ever seen and is very possibly the best that has ever been done.

Ron and Iris were on fire as Brad and Janet. They had it all: chemistry, timing and a palpable
presence
. Ron played it completely straight (even after getting clocked in the head with a roll of toilet paper) and for two solid hours he perfectly personified Bra
d’
s goofy charm. Iris was all flounce and sweetness and goodness and barely restrained sexuality. The both of them just nailed it.

Kenny brought an extra layer of cool to his Riff that night, causing me to once again eat my heart out with envy. Andrea turned the vamp-amp up to eleven and smoldered as Magenta, sashaying about on the stage in her never-sexier maid outfit.

Sunday, in her neon-gold sequins, sparkled brighter than
I’
d ever seen her before. Columbia is a tough role, at once girly and ferocious, but when Sunday turned it on full-blast, as she did this night, she nearly set the stage ablaze.

Of course, this was all just a prelude to Mar
k’
s entrance. He was our big gun, after all. The fate of any Rocky show, as we all knew, rested primarily on the strength of your Frank.

At the same time, Mark was already considered a known quantity. After all, he had played Frank for months down in Hollywood before eloping with the Deerfield gang, so Marshall could
n’
t have been expecting much more than he had already seen at the Twin.

But something interesting had happened to Mark since h
e’
d made the move to Deerfield and this change resulted in some very subtle improvements to his performance. Unlike before, he was now with a cast he truly loved and an ensemble that was as tight as could be. Mark was actually
enjoying
himself on stage for the first time. And it showed.

From his first entrance, bounding across the stage in his black satin robes, all the way through the slinky opening number (where he gave each bump and grind a little extra oomph) then continuing through the bedroom scenes, the dinner party and the chorus line Floor Show (which had also never gone better), Mark was a force of nature. Whatever ownership Tim Curry might have had of the role of Frank-N-Furter was relinquished, at least for one night, to our Mark.

For the rest of us, all we needed to do was to hang on and enjoy the ride. We each seemed to sense that we were playing at a new, higher level and it was important for every single one of us to keep the momentum going.

Donny finally made his entrance and his Eddie was electric. His moves were just as solid and punchy as his on-screen twin and he tossed Sunday around as if she were weightless.

I ca
n’
t say anything about my Dr. Scott except that, if anyone was actually looking at me, they were missing the show. What they
should
have been doing was keeping an eye on the rest of this amazing cast. Chances are they did. The performers were magnetic.

Hell, everything fell into place that night. Bill
y’
s Rocky was spot-on, combining the innocence and bestial curiosity that made the role so much fun. Ton
y’
s Criminologist was the picture of English pomposity. Even To
m’
s lighting cues were perfectly timed and crystal clear.

Finally, the gang in the Floor Show, the sexual
creme de la creme
of the Rocky cast, slinked onto the stage. When their number kicked in, they were so steamy hot the
y’
d make your hair curl. Most nights, the regular cast members would skip watching this number, having seen it all before. Tonight we could
n’
t tear our eyes away.

The audience seemed to sense that this was something different, something special, because when we were done we received, to our shock and delight, a long, sustained and enthusiastic standing ovation. We had received this sort of accolade on previous occasions, but tonight the audience stood and howled all the way through the end of the curtain call and through the credits. In a
movie theater
.

It was, to us, unprecedented.

Post-show, everyone was wired up. The bathroom was jammed with all of us taking off our makeup, packing up our crap and gushing about how well things seemed to have gone. The Transylvanian crew and I finished up quickly and rushed off to stow the gear. Everyone was buzzing.

As we trundled the props to storage, we could see Russ and Marshall standing in the parking lot, deep in conversation. Each of us,
I’
m sure, wished we could be a fly on Rus
s’
s shoulder for just those few minutes. From what we could see, Marshall was shaking his head in disbelief and gesturing back toward the auditorium. Russ did
n’
t betray much emotion, but simply stood there, smoking and listening, occasionally tossing in a remark here or there.

I turned to Doc. “You think h
e’
ll come to Denn
y’
s?”

Doc shook his head. “H
e’
s not invited. Cast only. And he definitely ai
n’
t cast.” He started to walk away and turned back. “Why? You want to meet him?”

I was a little taken aback. “Me? No!
Hell
no. I do
n’
t care.”

“Okay then.” Doc shrugged and snapped the lock on the storage area. “Le
t’
s get going.”

One by one, the rest of the cast was making their way out of the theater and heading to their cars. I could
n’
t help but notice that not a single one of them was stopping by to say hello to Marshall. They just strolled past as if he were invisible (not an easy trick when yo
u’
re dealing with a guy the size of a cruise ship).

The indifference displayed by the rest of the cast, their “we do
n’
t give a shit” attitude toward their former boss, made it all the more surprising when Andrea, stepping out of the lobby after the show, turned and made a beeline for Russ and Marshall.

Under his breath, I heard Doc mutter, “Here we go…”

Nobody knew what was about to happen. Chances are she could pounce on him, strangle him or, perhaps, simply eviscerate him verbally. Anything was possible. All we knew for certain was that it was
n’
t going to be pretty. As she got closer, we held our collective breath.

Russ saw her before Marshall did and if he thought about waving her off or attempting to intercept her, he soon abandoned the idea. Clearly, she was not about to be stopped. You could see it in her eyes. A woman on a mission.

Andrea marched up to Marshall and stopped, staring up at him. He stood, easily a full-head taller than her.

Their eyes locked. They sized each other up in silence.

Then Andrea broke into a sunny grin.

“Hi, Marshall,” she said. “Enjoy the show?”

“Hello, Andrea,” he managed, probably watching for the knife thrust that was sure to come. “It was...” he stopped, searching for the right way to describe it. He finally just spat it out: “It was amazing. The best
I’
ve ever seen, actually.” He had no choice but to admit it, I suppose. Still, it was (if yo
u’
ll pardon the expression) big of him.

“Yeah,” Andrea replied, “it was, was
n’
t it? And you know what else? It was all thanks to you.” She stepped into him so that their noses nearly touched. She looked deeply into his eyes and said, very calmly, “I ca
n’
t thank you enough. Really.”

Then she stepped back, looked him up and down and said, cheerily, “See ya.”

And she walked away.

It was the worst thing she could have done to him. He looked as if h
e’
d been punched.

Given the choice between spite and grace, Andrea had chosen the latter and, in doing so, had selected a much more powerful weapon. She had emasculated him with her
charm
.

There was little more to be done or said after that. Russ and Marshall bid each other adieu and we all trooped off to our cast meeting.

Once we were gathered at Denn
y’
s, Russ satisfied our curiosity by letting us in on the gist of their conversation. He told us that the Dark Lord had really enjoyed the show, thought everyone was terrific and was hoping, at some point in the near future, to bury the hatchet.

“I think he wants to open up lines of communication between the two casts. Forge a peace, you know?” Russ looked around to see how this sounded to everyone. “He wants to call a truce.”

Nobody said a word, waiting for Andrea to say what was clearly on everyon
e’
s mind. It did
n’
t take long.

“And you told him to go fuck himself.” Andrea was smiling as she said it, but there was danger in those radiant eyes of hers. “Right, Russ?”

Russ knew his cue and did
n’
t miss a beat.

“Of course, Andy,” he said, grinning right back at her. “You bet your ass I did.”

Andrea looked satisfied. Life went on.

But from that night forward, there was never any question: South Florida had a new champion Rocky show.

And we were it.

12

The Sword of Damocles

A
nd just like that, Iris was gone.

Well, not
gone
. She would, she said, still show up at the parties and drop by the show every once in a while, but the drive every weekend from her house in South Lauderdale had become a real hassle and, despite the fact that she still loved doing Janet every Friday and Saturday, no one could deny that she had put in her time.

There also seemed to be an unwritten rule at the show: When you were finished with Rocky, you were finished. Begging and cajoling to get someone to stay once they had announced their plans to depart just was
n’
t done. Cast members, especially long-term cast members, could throw in the towel at any time and they did so with the blessings of the cast.

Iri
s’
s exit, though, was not completely free of complications. With her out of the picture (literally), two things immediately became clear. First, we realized that we had somehow gone through two Janets in the space of five months and had no immediate backup. More importantly, it became apparent that both Donny and Russ had been seriously derelict in their duties by not properly training understudies for all of the principal roles.

Iris, of course, had
n’
t completely abandoned her post. She would do the show for another week before taking off, allowing Russ the time he needed to find a proper replacement. That night, after announcing Iri
s’
s planned departure, Russ let it be known that he was looking for a new Janet. Unsurprisingly, it did
n’
t take him long to alight on exactly the right person.

Tracey had been intimating for some time, though very shyly and privately, that she was interested in becoming Iri
s’
s heir apparent. Russ, who always had his ear to the ground anyway, seemed well aware of this. The choice was therefore obvious.

But Tracey was
n’
t the only ambitious person in the cast. In fact, there were quite a number of us who had been making quiet noises about edging up the ladder into some of these understudy positions. The problem Russ faced in tapping someone for such a position was this:

Each of the main roles, Janet, Brad, Frank, et al., were so tightly held by their current owners that the merest hint of a pretender to their thrones was likely to be met with fierce and angry repercussions. The cast members we knew as the Clique were intimidating enough under normal circumstances. To think of what they would be like if you appeared to pose a threat to them...it was unspeakable.

We therefore held our various ambitions pretty close to the chest. Nobody wanted to make trouble.

But Iri
s’
s departure decidedly put Russ in a difficult position. He knew, deep down, that he not only needed to move Tracey into her new role...he needed to provide full-time backups for
everybody
. And the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to do it.

Still, Russ was a bite-the-bullet type and after some initial waffling, he tackled his new assignment with gusto. One by one, he corralled each of theTransylvanians into a private confab and got a general sense of the roles we were interested in covering. And he made it very clear: We would be
covering
the roles. Not taking them over. No one was supposed to even hint at the possibility of
replacement
.

Decisions were made quickly: Russ would continue to cover Ron in the role of Brad. Billy would cover Mark as Frank. Tracey would take over Janet as soon as possible and Felicia would immediately become her understudy. Cheryl covered Sunday as Columbia. Storme covered Andrea as Magenta. Steve would cover Tony as the Criminologist. Jimmy would cover Donn
y’
s Eddie.

That left me.

Russ had a conference with me late that night at Denn
y’
s.

“Okay, Jack. Her
e’
s the question: If you had to perform as someone tomorrow night, I mean absolutely, positively
had
to do one of the parts in the show other than Dr. Scott, what would you want to do?”

Naturally, I did
n’
t hesitate. “Riff.
I’
d want to play Riff Raff.”

Russ was unsurprised. “Yeah, I thought so. But you know what yo
u’
d be in for, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Russ was about to light a cigarette but changed his mind. “I mean, yo
u’
d have Sunday and Andrea all over you. You know that.”

I was a little perplexed. “I have no idea what yo
u’
re talking about.”

Russ leaned in close. “Jack, these girls have been doing the show non-stop with Kenny for over four months. Before that, the three of them were together for over a year and a half down in Hollywood. You think if you stepped into the role one night, out of the blue, they would
n’
t bust your balls about it? It would be brutal. The
y’
d eat you alive. You gotta be prepared for that, you take on this job. Understand?”

“Do
n’
t they...want me to be good?”

You could practically
hear
his eyes roll. “That has nothing to do with...” He paused, trying to explain it properly. He finally seemed to think of a way to say it. “Look: You think the two of them are protective of their
own
roles? Tha
t’
s nothing. The
y’
re even more protective
of each other
. You could get up there and be Richard Fucking
O’
Brien himself and it would
n’
t matter. The
y’
d demand Kenny back in a minute and rip you a new asshole in the bargain.
And
the
y’
d think they were doing the right thing, too. Kenny is now, and forever will be, their Riff Raff. You get it?”

This was, to say the least, devastating news. “So you do
n’
t think I should do it.” I was ready to walk away, give it all up. Especially if it meant having to go through the Sunday/Andrea meat grinder.

Russ shook his head at me again. Clearly I did
n’
t understand a goddamn thing. “Of course not. I think you should do it. Hell, I think yo
u’
d make a great Riff.
I’
m just saying, if yo
u’
re going to do it, be ready.” He finally lit his cigarette, took a drag and leaned back.

“So,” he said, eyeing me carefully, “the question is: Are you ready?”

I thought about it for about a half a second and looked him dead in the eyes.

“I guess w
e’
re gonna find out, are
n’
t we?”

Iris left the show the following Saturday night and we had a big blowout at the Orphanage to see her off. She had been with the show—including her stint at Hollywood—for at least two years and figured she had logged, all told, at least 200 viewings of the film. Not an all-time record by any means, but very impressive nonetheless. Since first joining the cast, she had played, at least once, the role of Janet, Columbia, Magenta, Floor Show Janet, Floor Show Columbia and, once, during a switch night, had even played Brad.

And now, after her long tenure as the go-to Janet, Iris was hanging up her bra forever.

Once at the party, we spent most of the night lining up for Donn
y’
s Shotgun Booth and listening to Iris and Mark recount stories from the past: the on-stage miscues and bizarre accidents, some of the more memorable and infamous nights performing in the show down in Hollywood, and more than a few gossipy tales of cast members long gone. Mark was a natural storyteller and Iris woke up domestic animals for miles around as she laughed uproariously through the night.

The party stretched into the wee hours of the morning, as always, but I was
n’
t able to keep up. I nodded off long before the sun came up and, in doing so, further cemented my reputation as a Grog.

“Grog,” I should make clear, was our term for someone who has little or no stamina for staying awake. It is also a verb, referring to the act of falling asleep against your own will.

Example #1: “H
e’
s fun to party with, but come 3:00, the gu
y’
s a fucki
n’
Grog.”

Example #2: “We were going to drive down to Key West after the movie, but she grogged on me.”

You get the idea.

Some people involved with the Rocky show could stay awake for days. Hell, I do
n’
t think Ron
ever
slept. Others, like me, would do our best to keep up with everyone else but would eventually (often humorously) “grog” at odd moments during the night. It was a common occurrence to find me grogging on one of the Orphanage couches in the middle of a party, for example. And occasionally someone would catch me in a poolside grog or grogging at the beach. Once I managed to grog sitting cross-legged in the back of Ton
y’
s open pickup truck zipping down the I-95 expressway.

What can I say? I was a growing boy. I needed my rest.

Most famously, however, I was known for grogging at Denn
y’
s after the show. There
I’
d be, sitting with the cast, enjoying a late-night snack and chatting away, then...ZAP. It was like turning off a light switch. I was out. And if I grogged
before
my meal arrived,
I’
d often wake up with an empty plate in front of me and a bill to pay.

Oh, my castmates had their fun at my expense, no question about it.

The night that stands out in my mind, though, was the evening I nodded off at Denn
y’
s and Ron and Donny decided that
I’
d be much more comfortable...
outside
.

They had tried this little trick before, of course. I would fade out and then two of them would swoop in and try to maneuver my chair through the dining room and out of the restaurant, but
I’
d always ruin their fun by jerking awake and catching them in the act. They never even got as far as the threshold.

Until.

One night they were patient. Oh, so very, very patient.

They watched me power down.

And they waited.

My burger and fries were delivered but I remained unresponsive.

And they waited. To pass the time, they helped themselves to my food.

And still they waited.

Finally, as my breathing deepened and a snore began its steady rhythm, they made their move.

Ron pulled the table away and cleared the area for the grand operation. Donny stationed himself behind me and dropped into a crouch. Then, slowly, millimeter by millimeter, they leaned me back until my head rested on Donn
y’
s chest and my feet pointed straight out in front of me.

Ron knelt down with his head between my legs and locked arms with Donny. At a mutually agreed-upon signal, they both stood up...

...and hoisted me into the air, chair and all.

Then they froze. They stood stock still for what I was later told was a solid minute.

Finally, assured that I was truly out, they started for the door. Tables and chairs were cleared for their path. Hell, I think the wait staff might have pitched in. Slowly, they snaked through the restaurant and carefully maneuvered through the door.

At last, they had achieved their goal. I was outside, in the parking lot, still blissfully asleep in my enormous man-cradle.

Clearly, Donny and Ron had
n’
t considered what to do if their plan actually succeeded. They stood in the lot, my lifeless body slumped between them, clueless as to their next move.

Donny caught Ro
n’
s eye. “
Where
?” he mouthed silently.

Ron thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “
Follow me
.”

They moved toward Federal Highway, each step a painstaking effort to keep me level. There was
n’
t a hint of a breeze to ruffle my hair, no drop of rain to shake me from my slumber. I was completely, entirely out.

Arriving at the grassy shoulder of the road, their backs screaming in pain at the effort, Ron whispered a barely audible, “
Now
,” and they cautiously lowered me to the ground. Ron stood up first and then, together, they eased me into an upright sitting position.

And there I sat, my head lolling to one side, delicately perched on the dining room chair by the side of the road. Cackling with delight, Ron and Donny made their way back into the restaurant, grabbed a booth by the front window...and waited. The whole operation, taking me from the dining room to the curb, had taken well over a half an hour and their bodies ached as if they had each run a marathon.

If the Denn
y’
s staff (or any of the cast members, come to think of it) were concerned for my safety as I sat in oblivious dreamland by the side of the highway, no one was rushing to my rescue. I was under Ron and Donn
y’
s watchful eyes, after all, so nothing dangerous was likely to happen.