Confessions of a Transylvanian (36 page)

There were, however, the very rare cases where we would be forced to take more drastic measures and go to the bullpen. In these instances, we would send for Donny.

Now, I do
n’
t care how drunk and disorderly you are. When a 300-pound biker dude strolls up to your seat in a movie theater and pointedly asks just what the fuck is going on, you sober up pretty quick. If you do not show due deference, however, this man will lean down
really
close to your face and, his voice resonating deep in his chest, he will ask you just how much you value your present existence and suggest, in an
extremely
believable tone, that your continued enjoyment of that existence was very suddenly in real jeopardy. After that, you can pretty much bet that whatever trouble had previously presented itself would disappear
immediately
.

I loved these moments, watching Donny completely dominate whatever asshole decided to try to piss in our litter box. Seeing douchebags get properly schooled is a rare occurrence and makes for some delightful entertainment.

One night, after Donny had dealt with a pair of teenagers who had clearly dipped into daddy and momm
y’
s liquor cabinet and thought it would be funny to mess with the “Rocky fags,” I turned to share my amusement with Tony.

“You know what kills me about this?” I said as the teenagers slipped out the side door, their tails between their legs. “If they had any clue what a total cream puff Donny is, the
y’
d never fall for his act. I mean, this is the nicest guy
I’
ve ever
met
. He would
n’
t lay a finger on them.”

Tony turned and smiled. “You only say that because you never saw Donny the Destroyer, Jack.”

I must not have heard that properly, I thought. “Donny the...the
what
?”

“The Destroyer,” Tony replied. “I was there. I saw it. He was a fucki
n’
animal.”

I was a little stunned. Donny? An
animal
? I mean, sure, he
looked
like his professional wrestling name should have been “Soulcrusher Jones,” but
I’
d spent a lot of time with this guy over the past six months and h
e’
d never so much as raised his
voice
. What the hell was Tony talking about?

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked Tony.

Tony was getting ready for the show and did
n’
t have time for my bullshit questions at the moment. “
I’
ll tell you after,” he promised. “I
t’
ll be worth the wait.”

At Denn
y’
s later, Tony settled in with a cup of coffee and related the Legend of Donny the Destroyer.

“It was down in Hollywood, Jack. Halloween, last year. Normally a nice, cool time of year but,
’
81 was an Indian summer, you remember? Not cool at all. One of those really hot nights when everyon
e’
s temper is at its boiling point, you know?

“And Donny and his girlfriend at the time...I forget her name...le
t’
s say Julie, okay? Donny and Julie show up at the show in costume. Halloween and all that, naturally. And Donny has this toga on. I think h
e’
s trying to be Caesar or Cassiopeia or some shit and Julie, sh
e’
s done up like a
'
20s flapper. Really slutty, but really, really cute.

“Anyway, the
y’
re hanging out in the theater before the show and Donny leaves Julie alone for a minute or two, maybe h
e’
s grabbing a smoke, maybe h
e’
s checking his props, who knows? But while h
e’
s gone, these three big guys in the audience get a good look at Julie and start talking shit to her.
‘
Hey, baby. You want a piece of this
?’
The usual crap. No big deal.

“Julie, naturally, can handle herself. Most Rocky chicks can. And sh
e’
s telling these guys to fuck off, go jerk one in the parking lot, that kind of thing. And these guys get kinda riled up, hearing this, and they move in.

“Now, the
y’
re not necessarily getting out of line, but they are definitely trying to intimidate this girl and sh
e’
s not liking it one bit. And the second she raises her voice to these assholes, Donn
y’
s ears shoot up like a fucking Doberman and h
e’
s across the theater quick as a shot.

“Donny steps between Julie and the fellas, probably just to calm things down. H
e’
s not looking for trouble. But I guess one of the guys did
n’
t really see who they were dealing with (maybe because the toga hid how big Donny really is) and the guy says something to Donny like,
‘
Is this your bitch, dude
?’
or some other bright comment like that.

“Without thinking, Donny reaches out and kinda gives this guy what he considers to be a little marshmallow smack on the chin, right? Except Donny is
n’
t capable of throwing marshmallows. He throws manhole covers, okay? This jab hits the guy full on the face and opens up a gash in the side of his mouth that sprays blood all over the front of the theater. And the guy crumples like a sack of potatoes. BAM. Just like that.

“Now, his friends, they must figure Donny hit the guy with a hammer or something. I mean, these are
n’
t little dudes. They do
n’
t go down that easy, normally. And the
y’
re not about to let their friend get smacked around like that, either. So they look at each other for a second and then decide to return the favor and smack
Donny
around.

“So Don sees the first one coming and he kinda gives the guy a shove in the chest. Just to get him to back away, you know? And the force of this blow sends the guy backwards over three rows of seats. I mean it was like he was shot out of a cannon. Ka-POW. And suddenly guy number two is
n’
t moving much either.

“So her
e’
s the third guy. H
e’
s looking at Donny and Donny is
n’
t even out of breath. His two friends are
out
and Donn
y’
s standing there, blood all over his toga, looking at the guy like,
‘
Well, whudda
you
got
?’
And the guy takes a second or two, realizes that the blood sprayed on the toga is
n’
t
Donn
y’
s
blood and, just like that, he thinks better of making a big deal about the whole thing. He holds up his hands in front of him and just says,
‘
Hey, man. We do
n’
t want any trouble
.’

“Don is
n’
t sure quite how to respond to that, so Julie does it for him.
‘
You do
n’
t, huh
?’
she says.
‘
Then get your friends the
fuck
out of here unless you want
your
ass pounded, too
.’
And the guy slowly gets his buddies to their feet and the three of them limp out of the theater, never to return.

“And Jack,
I’
ll tell ya: I had never seen Donny raise his fist in anger until that night and
I’
ve never seen it since. H
e’
s one of the kindest, sweetest dudes
I’
ve ever met in my life. But, sorry to say, the legend of Donny the Destroyer was born that night and no matter what he does, the legend will never die.”

Tony finished off his coffee and left me to ponder the deeper meaning of the Donny myth that was created that Halloween night. For my part, I could do nothing more than stare in amazement at my friend Donny who, until that night, I had been sure I knew.

Mr. Nice Guy. The Teddy Bear. The Cream Puff.

He was all those things. I knew it firsthand.

But he was also, apparently, the Most Dangerous Man in Florida.

16

Sins of the Flesh

A
round the time that Holly and I hit the four-month mark, we both decided (mutually and painlessly) that our relationship had run its course and we should probably shake hands and call it a day.

We liked each other, we enjoyed putting our hands all over each other when we could and she got along splendidly with all of my wet, wild and wonderful Rocky friends. That was all fine. But that elusive
spark
just did
n’
t seem to be there for us and, thankfully, we both seemed to realize and acknowledge it in plenty of time before we made any kind of long-term commitment or far-reaching mistake. Yes, we had...crossed the threshold, so to speak, and were neither of us sexual neophytes anymore, but beyond the physical attraction, we both knew: We were kaput.

So, Holly went on her merry way. And I embarked on an entirely new kind of adventure: the post-virgin Rocky Horror experience.

I figured I was ready.

I had no clue what I was in for.

I will freely admit that from the time I broke up with Holly in late-June of 1982 until I started dating Alice that winter, I went a
little
over the top when it came to pursuing young females—
any
young female—who were willing to take off their clothes in my bedroom.

Or their bedrooms.

Or their back seats.

Or their parent
s'
living room floors.

Or, once or twice, the bathroom at whatever party we happened to be attending.

No place was safe. If it was possible for me to get a girl to remove her panties there, I was game. And the Rocky show, as you well could imagine, provided a veritable smorgasbord of young, sexually curious teenage girls with, le
t’
s say,
flexible
curfews.

And while you might think that the first group of potential partners I would approach would be my fellow cast members, yo
u’
d be dead wrong. In fact, you should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking it. The girls in the Rocky cast—Andrea, Sunday, Tracey, Felicia and the rest—were, for obvious reasons, off limits.

This philosophy was based on the famous Latin phrase:
Non excremento in loco edendi
. Roughly translated, it means either “Do
n’
t shit where you eat” or “Pooping on the restaurant floor is something you should reconsider.”

So I stayed completely away from any girl directly involved with Rocky, due entirely to my deeply held feelings of devotion and cast unity.

Well, that and the fact that none of them was in the least bit interested in me.

But more to the point, I very soon discovered that there was an embarrassingly large number of Rocky groupies who showed up to see the show almost every weekend and who appeared, at various times, to be ready to make time with what they considered to be “important” members of the Rocky cast.

Luckily, this definition appeared to include “guys who did the pre-show” and “guys who performed the role of Riff Raff once a month.” Knowing that I miraculously fit into
both
categories, there was a temptation to simply wade into the midst of this nubile bunch and hope never to return. Thankfully, I received sage advice on this subject from, of all people, Ron.

Yes, the King of Rocky Horror Backseat Bliss, my Spider-Brother, had a thing or two to impart to me about the womenfolk. And when the guy who was getting more ass than a toilet seat the morning after “Questionable Burrito Night” wanted to chat with you about the local action, you listened.

I’
m assuming he saw me during the pre-show, paying inordinate attention to the more physically gifted members of the audience, because when I was finished up with the virgin initiation one Friday, very soon after the Holly breakup, he pulled me aside and spoke to me as seriously as he had ever done before.

“So...yo
u’
re looking to get a little something out in the house, am I right?”

“Out in the...?” I was
n’
t prepared for this insightful comment and, as truthful as it was, his ability to see through to my hidden agenda took me aback. I finally stammered out, “What do you mean?”

“
C’
mon, Jack. Be straight with me. Yo
u’
re looking to pick a little something off the Rocky-audience tree, am I right?” His eyes flashed and he seemed to project an aura of trustworthiness and confidentiality. “You can tell me.”

“Well...yeah,” I conceded. “
I’
ve seen some...interesting prospects.”

“Exactly.” Ron grinned wickedly. “Of course you have. The
y’
re out there, are
n’
t they?”

He was gazing out at the house, so I joined him.

And there they were. Or seemed to be. The eager, upturned faces in the audience appeared as a sea of young, precocious, impatient young ladies just waiting to be approached, won over and conquered. The possibilities seemed endless.

“They sure are,” I said admiringly.

“Well, I gotta tell you, Jack,” Ron said, “yo
u’
re a whole lot fucking dumber than you look.”

It was as if h
e’
d punched me in the face. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “
I’
m...
what
?”

Ron turned to face me again and all trace of humor, camaraderie and impishness had vanished. “Wha
t’
s the matter with you? Do you have any
idea
what is out there? Do you?”

I felt pretty sure that I did, so I said so. “Well,
girls
, for one thing.”

“Congratulations. You figured that one out. Yeah. Girls. And yo
u’
re sure tha
t’
s what you want, huh? Absolutely positive about that?”

I had no idea what he was driving at and I was
n’
t in the mood to be lectured. And certainly not by
this
guy. After all, who the hell was he to give advice? Ron had legendarily boned every under-25 girl in Broward
and
Dade counties. And he was going to give me tips on self-control and moderation?

“Look, I think I know what
I’
m doing,” I said confidently. This confidence, I should mention, arose from the fact that I had, until recently, been having daily sexual dalliances with not three, not two, but
one
girl for the past five months and it had gone really, really, moderately well, I thought. Bordering on not bad.

Ron was nodding his head with what I perceived to be a patronizing air. “Okay. You know what yo
u’
re doing. Fine.” I started to move away, but he stopped me. “Hold on a second. Before you go, let me point something out to you, okay?”

I magnanimously paused, waiting for the “big lesson.”

“Sure,” I said. “What is it?”

Ron took my shoulders and turned me in the direction of the cast. They were, most of them, gathered in the first few rows, putting together their costumes, props and belongings and waiting for the show to begin.

“Lemme ask you something,” said Ron. “Take a close look. Do you see any
girls
here?”

This was clearly a joke. And it was
n’
t particularly funny.

“Yes, Ron. At least seven or eight. Wha
t’
s your point?”

“No, Jack,” he said patiently. “
I’
m not talking about
females
. I know we have a lot of
females
in the cast. Tha
t’
s not what
I’
m asking. What
I’
m asking is: Do you see any
girls
?”

And quicker than it takes to write it down, I understood.

There were, I could clearly see, no girls in the cast. Not one. They were women, each and every one.
Young
women, yes. Most of them still in their teens, granted. But
girls
?

Nope. Girls were immature, not-so-bright, sweet little young things that had no clue about who they were or what they wanted. And those kinds of girls (for the most part) did not sign up to do the Rocky show. It took guts and a fairly strong sense of self to do what we did. Girls just could
n’
t cut it.

But while I might have understood what Ron was getting at with this little display, and as illuminating as this revelation might have been, I was hardly in the mood to start making concessions. His insight had done little to change my libidinous intentions. After all, what was wrong with going after a
girl
? Hell, I was only 17 years old myself.

“Look, I gotta get ready,” I said, pulling away.

Ron did
n’
t resist. “Absolutely. Have a good show.” And without another word, he wandered away as if he had better things to do.

I prepared for the show, quietly pondering the lesson that Ron had taken such care to try to impart to me.

And then, because I could, I promptly dismissed it.

Luckily, I was spared the worst. But a lot of other people were not.

How do you define “the worst”? Depends on how you look at it, I suppose.

Accidental pregnancies? Those happened on occasion. And they were pretty awful.

Ill-advised marriages? Oh, yeah. I saw a few too many of those.

Venereal diseases?
I’
m sure they cropped up occasionally, but it was
n’
t the kind of thing you talked about. That sort of outbreak was taken care of on the sly and not discussed. Too embarrassing and, frankly, too disgusting to admit.

Somehow I avoided it all. I never, thank goodness, experienced the worst. Or anything close to it. But...things certainly did get interesting.

There was Nancy, the girl who could
n’
t stop talking. And when I say that, I mean this girl simply
could not
stop herself from giving voice to her every thought. She had this incredible body, but her mouth was in constant motion, offering a stream of observations on the most trivial, boring and downright-shallow bullshit imaginable. I think I had sex with her partly just to get her to make sounds that I actually wanted to
hear
.

Trisha was another, but this mini-relationship was over before I knew it had begun. Apparently, Trisha was a Rocky groupie who was attempting to bone her way through the entire roster of male cast members, and once she had checked me off the list, we were done.

One afternoon down at the Orphanage, I added Randy to my list (or I was added to hers). Randy was
n’
t a cast member, but she rented a room from Russ after her folks kicked her out of their house. I only knew her from one of the Orphanage parties
I’
d attended and maybe a couple of times she had dropped by the show at the Ultravision.

I had driven down to Hollywood one Saturday with Steve to see if anyone was up for a party and Randy turned out to be the only person at the Orphanage. I had
n’
t been in the place for ten minutes before Randy had me in her room doing things I had never experienced before and a few I have
n’
t had the nerve to try since. I was lucky to escape without a fractured pelvis.

This sort of thing seemed to happen every week. And the talent pool (if you can call it that) was inexhaustible. The girls who approached Rocky cast members like me for sex apparently thought that all we wanted was dirty, anonymous coupling and then a quick, emotionless parting.

And for a while, I completely agreed with them. From July through November of that year, I gained a reputation in the cast as the guy who did
n’
t say “no” to very much at all.

Then I met Dorothy.