Confessions of a Transylvanian (30 page)

“Sure I can. Watch me.”

Andrea, just as incensed as Sunday, seemed to sense that something more was going on. “Look, if yo
u’
re pissed off about something or yo
u’
re trying to make some kind of fucking
point
, make it after the show. We do
n’
t have time for this bullshit now, Kenny. Get your costume on, asshole.”

“Mmmmm. I do
n’
t think so. See ya.” Again he tried to leave and once again they flanked him. It was dangerously close to getting physical.

Very quickly, word got to Russ and Donny that something had gone radically wrong in the lobby. By the time the two of them arrived, the situation had escalated beyond anyon
e’
s control.

Kenny had deposited his bag by the door and was leaning nonchalantly against the wall. Andrea and Sunday were imploring, nay, demanding that he pick up his gear and get into his costume
immediately
, and it was clear from their colorful use of language that they were
n’
t taking no for an answer.

Russ and Donn
y’
s entrance into this spontaneous soap opera did little to quell the storm. If anything, it just gave Andrea and Sunday a new target for their considerable wrath.

“
I’
ll tell you this,” said Andrea, her voice getting dangerously low, “if he does
n’
t do the show, neither do I. You can put on two understudies for all I care. I wo
n’
t fucking do it.”

“Hold on,” said Russ. He looked as if he were standing knee-deep in the Atlantic Ocean trying to hold back a tidal wave with a tennis racket. “I just got here. What the hell is going on?”

Kenny piped up cheerfully from the corner. “
I’
m not doing the show, Russ. Tha
t’
s all. No big deal. I do
n’
t know what the
y’
re so freaked out about.”

“Stop saying that you fucki
n’
asshole!” Sunday shot at him. “You
are
doing the show and i
t’
s about time you knocked this shit off and got ready.”

Donny took in the entire scene without a word, drifting back against the wall and lighting up a smoke.

It was about this time that I arrived.

Andrea was ratcheting up the pressure in an effort to get Kenny to snap out of whatever spell had a hold of him. “Kenny, there is
no show
without you.” She spotted me and spat out, “Wh
o’
s gonna do it?
Him
?” She dismissively waved her hand at me. “He does
n’
t know which way is fucking
up
.”

Kenny saw me and bounced off the wall. “Hey, there he is!” He grinned expansively. “I do
n’
t know, Andy. Jack looks ready to go to me. Okay. We all set? Great.
I’
m just going to hit the road now that my understudy is here.” He turned to Russ. “We all cool?”

Russ took a deep, calming breath. “Ken, what the fuck is this about?” There was a vein popping out of Rus
s’
s forehead that
I’
d never seen before and it looked about ready to explode. “
Why
are
n’
t you doing the show?”

Kenny, who had again taken a step toward the door, now paused. He turned slowly to Russ and we could see that, for the first time during this exchange, he was deadly serious. A moment earlier, he looked like he was really enjoying himself. Having the time of his life. The madder the girls got, the more he seemed to get off on the whole thing. But now, as he approached Russ, his voice became thick with emotion and all pretense at having taken any pleasure in the last few minutes disappeared completely.

“Why?” he said. “Why am I leaving? Why wo
n’
t I do this show tonight? Her
e’
s why.” Kenny leaned close to Russ, towering over him. Russ practically had to lean back to stare up at him. “
I’
m not going to turn into Robby, Russ
.” His expression was intense, penetrating. Russ looked as shocked as
I’
d ever seen him.

“I wo
n’
t be like him,” Kenny said simply. He snatched up his bag and headed for the exit. “Not ever.” He banged through the door and it slammed behind him.

And with that enigmatic pronouncement, he was gone.

13

Don’t Dream It, Be It

N
obody said anything for about ten seconds. Then, finally, Donny spoke for the first time:

“Well,” he said, barely containing a laugh. “That shut you up, did
n’
t it?”

And very slowly, all eyes in the room turned...

...to me.

Russ moved in my direction, approaching cautiously, as if he was afraid he would spook me off if he moved too quickly.

“Jack,” he said in a soothing voice. “It looks like yo
u’
re it. You sure you can do this?”

Andrea was still refocusing after Kenn
y’
s dramatic exit, but she managed to say, “Does he have a costume is the real question.”

I found that I had lost the capacity for speech.

Russ tried to prompt me. “You have a costume, Jack?”

I was paralyzed. Was this English? Was this gibberish directed at me?

Still standing in the doorway of the theater, Steve spoke up for me. “Yeah, h
e’
s got one,” he offered. “The jacket and vest are in his bag. No wig though.”

I had expected everyone to be disappointed, or at least show some mild disapproval. Nobody blinked.

“Okay,” said Russ to Steve. “Grab his stuff and bring it to the dressing room.” Russ turned to Donny. “Yo
u’
ve got Dr. Scott tonight, right?”

“Sure,” said Donny casually. “No problem.”

“Great.” Russ again turned to me. “You,” he said, clapping his hand on my shoulder, “this way.” He led me into the ladies room to get ready and I trotted obediently after.

It did
n’
t take long to outfit me properly. Besides the wig, all anyone needs to play Riff are the deep-set eyes, the emaciated cheekbones, the suit, the vest and the gloves. I suited up in the clothes, tried Amos
n’
Andy on for size and then situated myself in front of the makeup mirror. Methodically, as if he had done it a thousand times before, Russ began applying the appropriate Riff blush and liner to my face. As he did so, Andrea appeared and hovered over his shoulder. I hazarded a glance at her and found I could
n’
t look away. She had locked eyes with me and was looking deep, apparently searching for some kind of reassurance.

“Be honest with me,” she said low, almost whispering. “Are you ready for this?”

I was a deer in the headlights of an oncoming ballistic missile. But I managed to squeak out, “
I’
m pretty sure.”

Andrea hissed to Russ, “H
e’
s not ready.”

“H
e’
ll be ready,” Russ barked. “Just give him a minute, will ya?”

Outside, I could hear that the previews had begun. Russ ordered the girls out. “Go do your song. W
e’
ll be here when you get back.”

Andrea and Sunday were due on stage in a couple of minutes for the opening number. I would
n’
t be needed until Brad and Janet were actually approaching the castle, so I had time. The girls took one last, baleful look at me and headed off. Russ continued his work, doing his best to make a 16-year-old kid look like a middle-aged, humpbacked, balding manservant.

He had his work cut out for him.

As Russ worked, I tried to clear my mind and think ahead to what I had to do in the show. It was hopeless. The only thing in my head was the question of why Kenny would do what he had done and, more specifically, why he would choose tonight of all nights to pull this stunt?

Finally, I could
n’
t take it anymore. As Russ checked my face in the mirror, I blurted to him, “Okay, who the hell is
Robby
?”

Russ was
n’
t in the mood for chit-chat.

“No time. Tell you later,” he said, adding the finishing touches. “Now...le
t’
s take a look at you.”

I stood for my inspection. Russ looked...not disappointed.

“Not too shabby.” He squinted at me. “Yeah. I can see it.” He nodded and stood. “Okay. Le
t’
s go.”

I had passed muster. Now it was time to head to the stage.

By the time we got to the lobby, Sunday and Andrea had completed the opening song and met us entering the auditorium. They stopped and examined me.

“Okay,” Sunday said after a moment. “Not great. But not bad.” She turned to make her way back into the ladies room to apply her own final touches but she suddenly thought better of it and grabbed my arm. It was time for my pep talk.

“Hey, Jack,” she said, pulling me close. “Try not to fuck it up, okay?” Then she
winked
. Jesus. How do you respond to that?

“Okay,” I said. She let go of me and headed off to get ready. I started to make my way into the theater...

...and found Andrea standing in my path.

She did
n’
t speak for a moment or two, looking me up and down as well. Then she locked eyes with me again.

“Yo
u’
ve probably been waiting for this a long time,” she said quietly. I nodded. “Okay. Her
e’
s your chance.”

Russ spoke up. “H
e’
s gonna be fine.”

Andrea did
n’
t even look at him. Her gaze was still riveted on mine. “I know he will,” she responded. Her eyes appeared to soften momentarily and she almost smiled. “After all,” she said, “h
e’
ll be with me.”

A second more of eye contact and she broke it off, walking past me and toward the ladie
s’
room. Russ grabbed my arm and led me into the theater to gather my props.

It was showtime.

Naturally, you do
n’
t pine for a character and spend week after week hoping and wishing for the regular performer do
exactly
what Kenny had just done without at least doing the basic preparations.

I had studied Kenny, studied
O’
Brien, studied the soundtrack over and over and (for good measure) over again. I had reviewed the blocking, the gestures, the timing, the dance moves...everything that made Riff Raff the cool, enigmatic character that he was, I had it down.

I hoped.

Russ walked me down to the front of the theater, calmly giving me a pre-show pep talk. “Stick with Andrea and keep your eye on the screen when you can. Do
n’
t freak out. We all know what w
e’
re doing and w
e’
ll keep a lookout for you, do
n’
t worry.”

By the time I got to the stage, Ron and Tracey were just finishing up their first Brad and Janet number and Tony, as the Criminologist, was taking over the narration. In the brief second or two she had between “Dammit Janet” and the car scene, Tracey ran over and grabbed me by the arm.

“Yo
u’
re doing it? Really?”

I must have been shaking like a frightened puppy. “Looks that way, yeah.”

She threw her arms around me.

“Yo
u’
re gonna be fucki
n’
great
,” she whispered to me and then rushed off to get into Brad and Jane
t’
s rainy car.

Russ led me to where my first entrance would be and leaned in close. “
I’
m gonna follow you as long as you need me. You get turned around, you give me a signal or something, okay?”

“Okay,” I managed.

“But if you really need help:
Keep a lookout for Andy
. Nobody knows the show like her. Got that?”

“Got it.”

He looked at me closely, perhaps trying to see if I was getting ready to bolt out the door. “How you feeling?”

“Good,” I lied. “Great. Ca
n’
t wait.”

“Okay,” he looked unconvinced, but mollified. Just before he left me on my own in the dark, he offered me a toothy smile and said, “Knock
‘
em dead, Jack.”

And with that, Russ faded back into the shadows. Moments later, the opening strains of “Over at the Frankenstein Place” began.

Now, her
e’
s wha
t’
s
supposed
to happen:

On screen, Brad and Janet get out of the car, Janet puts a newspaper over her head and the two of them walk to the castle, singing. This is when the audience members whip out their newspapers, pull out their squirt guns and create an actual rainstorm in the theater.

Meanwhile on stage, the actors playing Janet and Brad shadow their on-screen avatars, singing the first verse and then, as they approach the castle, the first chorus. Tom, working the spotlight, would keep his beam tightly trained on these two actors, the light slicing through the water squirting up from the patrons.

Then, after the first chorus, the camera zooms in on the castle and finds Riff peeking out of an upstairs window. After a moment, Riff joins the song, singing his brief verse before disappearing once more. Naturally, when the on-screen view switches to Riff in the castle, Tom would swivel his light up to the lower corner of the movie screen where the actor playing Riff is discovered, ready to go.

And then, at that moment, something magical occurs. Every night.

It was a little something called: entrance applause.

See, the audience (most of it, anyway) is well aware that the actor they are now seeing on the screen is the one-and-only creator of all things Rocky. They know that the odd-looking fellow in the butler suit is none other than Mr. Richard
O’
Brien, author of the play, the music, the works. He is, therefore, the true hero of the piece. Thus, as a tribute to him, when
O’
Brie
n’
s character makes his first appearance, the crowd shows their appreciation by erupting into a chorus of enthusiastic and ecstatic applause.

Every. Night.

And the lucky performer standing in for Mr.
O’
Brien that evening (up until now Kenny alone) would have the pleasure of drinking in all that love as it washed up, in waves, onto the stage.

To be honest: I was kinda looking forward to that. Had been for quite a while.

But i
t’
s one thing to spend a few months eagerly anticipating, even dreaming about a moment like this. It is
something else entirely
to find yourself smack-dab in the middle of your fantasy with little to no time to mentally prepare yourself for it. Wha
t’
s more, it is absolutely gut-wrenching to discover, as I did now, that everything suddenly looks
very
different from your new perspective than what you had anticipated.

Standing there in the dark, awaiting my big moment, it quite suddenly occurred to me that, instead of what was supposed to happen, the following scenario would, in fact, take place:

Tom would dutifully aim his orange beam up to where I was supposed to be standing, poised as Riff Raff. But the audience would not erupt into an enthusiastic round of cacophonous applause at the appearance of their hero, Mr.
O’
Brien. Oh, no. Instead, the crowd would explode into a chorus of disappointed and terrified shrieks as, to everyon
e’
s horror, the spotlight illuminated the crumpled form of a young performer who had fainted dead away of sheer fright.

I swear to you, it almost happened exactly like that. Just before my big moment arrived, I stood in the utter darkness of the theater knowing that in a few seconds the light would swing my way and make me the sole focus of the show. This realization sent a thrill up my spine that I thought might cause my head to explode in a shower of brain matter and hyperbole.

This came
close
to happening, but I am happy to report that it in fact did not. Instead, some…
feeling
rose up from the depths of my being...sheer will, le
t’
s call it...that seized control of my entire person, straightened my spine and denied me the right to check out of the Consciousness Hotel. This sudden surge of power triggered some heretofore hidden inner strength, allowing me to pull myself together, strike the appropriate pose and prepare for the oncoming, all-important beam of light.

So when my moment came, Tom hit me full-on with the spot and just like that...

...I was Riff.

My ear was tuned for the sound
I’
d been waiting for but, for one horrifying moment, I thought it would
n’
t be there. In that instant, I believed that the audience would choose this one night to forgo their nightly tribute to Rock
y’
s creator.

But then, sure enough, there it was. Low at first, but then rising up in a mighty wave. In the few seconds between the time that the camera focused on Riff Raff and the actual singing began...it hit me full on. That spontaneous, joyful, wonderful sound of Richard
O’
Brie
n’
s entrance applause.

As the only Riff Raff actually present at the time, I was happy to accept this offering on his behalf. Actually, “happy” does
n’
t quite describe the feeling. The cow had nothing on me. I was over the moon.

And after drinking in their approval, I then set about trying to earn it.

The lyric is very simple: “
The darkness must flow down the river of nigh
t’
s dreaming. Flow morphia slow, let the sun and light come streaming into my life. Into my life.
”