Confessions of a Transylvanian (53 page)

The crowd seemed pretty responsive, though I admit that my pre-show muscles had atrophied somewhat since my early days. At one point, when the crow
d’
s buzz threatened to drown me out, the young girl who normally did the Flippers warmup hauled herself up onto a chair next to me and hollered in a deafening tone: “
Hey, shut the fuck up motherfuckers and listen to the man!
”

That,
I’
m happy to say, did the trick.

Resuming my duties, I made sure to thank the Flippers management and the current cast for generously offering us the use of their theater for the night. I gave everyone a brief history of the Ultravision cast, but did
n’
t bother to go around introducing everyone in attendance. Time was short.

Finally, we ran through some chants, breaking out some of the old classics. We hauled the virgins up onto the stage and I let the Flippers regulars run them through their paces. Then I got the high sign from Jeanette, signed off for my final pre-show and went to collect my Riff gear.

Unlike the Ultravision show, the management at Flippers wasted no time with previews or music videos prior to the movie. They zipped straight to the main event. The crowd barely had time to chant, “
We want lips!
” before...there they were.

The familiar music started. The lips swelled to fill the screen. The spotlight in the back of the theatre flickered to life.

And to my absolute shock and amazement, Sunday and Andrea were revealed, in their customary positions, ready to lick those lips one last time.

I could
n’
t believe my eyes. These were not the type of women who changed their minds easily. What in the world had happened?

The answer was seated in the front row.

Gazing up at them, as he had so many times before, Donny looked perfectly serene and at peace. It was like watching a penitent kneeling before the altar. Donny was in church and, by God, he was getting a lifetim
e’
s worth of religion.

The girls...hell, the
women
went through their quarter-century-old choreography like they had just performed it yesterday. They had lost none of the precision they had honed back when they were kids. If anything, age had only enhanced their performance.

By the time Sunday and Andrea were finished, the Flippers cast and everyone else in attendance had finally gotten their first taste of Rocky Horror, Deerfield-style. The ovation afterward was suitably deafening.

Still stunned at what I had just witnessed, I zipped away to change as quickly as possible. I did
n’
t want to miss Ron and Tracey.

Throwing on my gear, I managed to smear some blush onto my face, pull on Amos
n’
Andy and rush back to the stage just in time for the beginning of “Dammit Janet.”

I had spent the last fourteen hours watching Ron and Tracey do everything possible to recall the roles they had brought to life as kids. Now, rehearsal was done. It was go time. They were the first of the Deerfield cast members to assume their former lead roles in the show and whatever we did the rest of the night, they would be the ones who set the pace.

I think i
t’
s fair to say that the Wild and Untamed Things were holding their collective breath.

For starters, they both looked incredible. Tracey had dragged her old Janet costume out of storage and still fit into it, even after banging out two kids. The expression yo
u’
re looking for is, “Fuck yeah!”

Ron, who wore his hair close-cropped these days, had ordered up a special “Brad wig” and had it shipped into town just for the occasion. It was hilariously appropriate, providing what you might call a “Clark Kent” look, and it gave him a closer resemblance to Barry Bostwick than h
e’
d ever pulled off before.

But what really made their performance so terrific was their timing. As teenagers, they had been good. As adults, suddenly taking this endeavor
very
seriously, they were spot on. Ro
n’
s days of fucking around on stage were forever gone. For once in his life, Ron was going to do everything letter-perfect and he could
n’
t have asked for a better partner.

Before I knew it, they were in the car on their way to the castle and it was time for me to get into position.

The suspense leading up to Rif
f’
s first entrance is simply delicious. First, the car gets a flat. Then the young couple decides to walk to the castle. Brad kicks the tire. They head off into the rain. And then, almost unobtrusively, the music kicks in.

Janet sings the first verse. The rain pours down. (The audience, true to form, supplied their own weather system.) Then Janet and Brad join together for the first chorus. The motorcycles rumble past them. The camera zooms in on the castle.

And then, ladies and gents:

I
t’
s Riff Raff time.

The Flippers spotlight, I should mention, was not the most reliable machine that ever existed. By the time I made it to the stage, it had completely flickered out and the residents had scrambled to illuminate us with handheld flashlights. These seemed to work just fine and, in truth, if yo
u’
re playing Riff Raff, being lit from below by a pair of flashlight beams is almost
exactly
what you want for your entrance lighting.

So as the camera caught the on-screen Riff Raff framed in the window, the Flippers flashlights clicked on below me and lit up my face.

Now, of course, when yo
u’
re playing Riff Raff, you do
n’
t get your enjoyment simply by playing the role. With Riff, you get to savor the whole package. And at this particular moment, that package included:

Richard
O’
Brie
n’
s entrance applause.

Tonight, however, just this one night, if you do
n’
t mind, Richard:

It was for me.

By the time the show finally came down, the Deerfield cast had stored up enough memories to last us another twenty-five years.

For me, just answering the door and seeing Ron and Tracey standing outside the castle for that one last time was worth the trip down to the Swamp. But the hits just kept
a’
comi
n’
.

Kicking off the Time Warp. Laying a big hickey on Storm
e’
s neck during our Elbow Sex scene. And seeing the Flippers Eddie practically throw Cheryl through the ceiling during “Hot Patootie.”

We drank it up, all night long. We savored it.

To put it plainly: We got what we came for.

Kenny snapped a thousand or so pictures. The crowd gave us a rousing reception at the end (the Flippers show featured a curtain call, which we had
n’
t been expecting, and the ovation was much appreciated).

One of my favorite moments of the night occurred during the Floor Show. About twenty minutes after the movie had started, I got a tap on my shoulder. It was Billy. He had been working, could
n’
t get away until the last minute, something like that. Some real-life bullshit. But here he was at last. I thought it was a damn shame that he was
n’
t able to participate in the show itself, particularly because he was still in excellent shape and, despite his advanced years, could easily have pulled off the role of Rocky.

What I did
n’
t see coming was that, as the show wound to a close, Billy tapped out the Flippers Floor Show Rocky and stepped into the part at the last possible minute, bringing the full number of Deerfield participants to seven out of twelve main roles. Pretty impressive turnout for a bunch of old fuckers.

I know i
t’
s hard to make a nostalgic moment out of watching two of your buddies roll around on the floor wearing ladies underwear and enjoying an orgy with a group of perfect strangers, but seeing Russ and Billy dive into the Floor Show, well...there was more than one of us who wiped away a tear or two.

Maybe you had to be there.

We reconvened in the parking lot afterward. Jeanette and the rest of the Flippers gang were effusive in their praise, which was nice of them. They told us that it was the biggest crowd the
y’
d ever hosted at their theater and seemed convinced that the old Deerfield cast had the magic ability to make a group like that show up whenever we made an appearance. (We did nothing to disabuse them of this notion.)

Jeanette was incredibly complimentary, going so far as to offer us the option of joining their cast, if we liked, or at the very least taking over the show once a month from then on.

It was a magnanimous, generous gesture. And we turned her down flat.

We knew, each of us, that what had happened that night was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Trying to recreate it, even for a single additional night, would only be a letdown to everyone concerned. It was important that we enjoy our last night on stage together and then make
sure
it was our last.

We had been lucky, we knew. The planets had aligned just perfectly for us. We would never have another opportunity like that, where the clouds would clear away just long enough for us to see where we had come from and where we were. Best to be satisfied with the gift w
e’
d been given.

We were officially retired from the Rocky game.

The Flippers cast invited us to their local Denn
y’
s that night, but we demurred. That was their place, not ours. We piled in our cars and headed back to our little timeshare apartments to enjoy our last night together.

We arrived back at the apartment feeling as if w
e’
d run a marathon. Tired, but satisfied.

Donny took a seat in the corner of the communal two-bedroom suite and patiently began construction on his herbal origami tubes. He may have had softball gloves for hands, but he was an artist, no doubt about it. He remained mute as the rest of us rehashed the evenin
g’
s events. Then at last he stood, inspected his handiwork, nodded in satisfaction and made his way out to the balcony. He paused in the doorway to make a simple announcement:

“The shotgun booth is open.”

Smiling, we all followed him outside.

Epilogue: To Absent Friends

T
here is exactly one person from my high school graduating class with whom I am still in any kind of contact. Dean, a guy I first met when I was 13 years old and who I have now known for more than thirty years, still manages to keep in touch with me and I with him. He was the best man at my wedding and remains the only friend I had from South Florida who I never saw wearing fishnet stockings.

Other than that, I have
n’
t the slightest idea what anyone from Zion Lutheran has been up to after all these years. And to be honest, I do
n’
t much care, either. High school was an experience, but it was
n’
t the most important thing to happen to me during that time of my life. Not by a long shot.

Rocky was everything. It had saved me from the soul-crushing life of the typical South Florida teenager. Before RHPS, I had faced an existence of conformity, of drug-addled complacency, of MTV-addicted lethargy. But instead of spending my weekend nights in the bong-smoke-filled basements of my loser, stoner buddies watching music videos and waxing rhapsodic over last wee
k’
s fantastic bong-smoke-filled weekend, I instead got dressed up as a hunchbacked butler and danced the Time Warp again and again and again.

“The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” without question, had saved my life. And for that, I will be forever grateful.

Curiously, I was the only one of the Deerfield cast to move out of Florida. All the rest of them, each and every one, stayed well south of the Georgia border. Some got out of
South
Florida (some even tried life up North for brief spurts before moving back), but in the end, for every Wild and Untamed Thing besides your humble narrator, the Swamp was, and remains, home.

Do
n’
t ask me to explain. I suppose the place must have
some
appealing qualities. But, aside from my friends, I ca
n’
t seem to pinpoint any of them.

My Florida friends get on my case sometimes for living in Chicago and enduring the brutal weather we get here. And the winters can be brutal indeed. But I counter their criticism by asking them how hurricane season was this year and that usually shuts them up for a while.

So...what happened to all of them, my good friends down in the Swamp? Well...

Some of them eventually got married. Some did not.

Some of them are still with their respective spouses. Some are not. It happens.

Some got married, divorced and
re
married. That happens, too.

And a lot of us had kids. I mean a
lot
. Come to think of it, we could easily field a Rocky cast of our own, if we were so inclined.

We are not, as it happens, so inclined.

When our reunions occur (and they still do), it is as if no time at all has elapsed since we last laid eyes on one another. Months, years apart. It does
n’
t matter. W
e’
re family, so who gives a shit how long i
t’
s been?

And tha
t’
s how each of us sees the other members of the group: as real, flesh-and-blood family. And since we consider one another family, i
t’
s only right that we treat one another accordingly.

So, in true familial tradition, we rag on one another incessantly, yell at one another constantly and love one another unconditionally.

This year marks thirty years since I first set foot on the Ultravision stage with my black jacket, white shirt and black pants.

Thirty years. A generation and a half. I
t’
s a little hard to believe.

To celebrate, we are getting together, as we always do, to mark the occasion. We do
n’
t know where and how we will meet, but it does
n’
t matter. Wherever we are, w
e’
ll have a gay old time. After all, w
e’
ll be together. Tha
t’
s all that matters.

I would love to be able to fill you in on wha
t’
s going on with everyone individually, by the way.
I’
d really enjoy telling you what happened to them over the years and could, if I wanted to, run down the list of what all of my Rocky brothers and sisters are doing right this minute.

But I think that both they and you would agree that
I’
ve said plenty about them already, right? A modicum of privacy is the least I can offer them after outing them in these pages for their teenage misadventures.

Before I call it a day, though, there are a just a few former castmates whose lives
I’
d like to follow up on, briefly, if you would
n’
t mind.

In time, Alice and I—having lost touch for many years—actually managed to connect with each other out there in the ether. Social networking was invented for that sort of thing, I believe. She is,
I’
m pleased to report, happily married and doing terrifically well. Ironically, she is the only person I knew from my days in South Florida who lives in the wintry north.

Sh
e’
s here. In Chicago. She and her husband live about three miles away from my house.

Can you beat that?

My relationship with Ron, the clear personification of my id if there ever was one, has only strengthened over the years. He is my friend, my compatriot and my spider-brother to the end. He lives in Orlando now, is recently remarried and has become, since the Rocky days, a full-time actor. He appears in films, commercials and also makes a decent living...

...wait for it...

...driving a
stunt car
.

Seriously. I could
n’
t make that shit up if I tried.

Mr. Accident is a goddamn professional stunt driver.

Smoke on
that
.

Four and a half years ago, about six months after our twenty-fifth reunion, I got a call from Felicia announcing that Donny had died. It was not an unexpected piece of news. He had been unhealthy, then ill, then seriously ill, for many years. Felicia said he had finally had a heart attack and went without any serious pain. I sincerely hope that is true. He deserved none, God knows. He was one of the kindest, gentlest, most caring human beings who it has ever been my privilege to know. Smart, funny, compassionate and loyal. That was him. We never had a cross word between us, Donny and I. Not one. I love him dearly and miss him more than I can say.

At this writing, Donny is the only one of all of us who has gone.

Well, the only member of the cast, anyway.

Because, finally, there is the Ultravision Theatre. Whatever became of that venerated old cinema house, eh?

Well, the building is still there. You can see it to this day, sandwiched between 10th Street and Hillsboro Boulevard, on the west side of Federal Highway in Deerfield Beach, Florida. Go ahead. Check it out.

But do
n’
t look for a movie theater. They have
n’
t shown movies in the place since we performed Rocky there all those years ago. Very soon after we were tossed out, the business folded. Like almost all of the old-school movie houses, the Ultravision management was forced to shut its doors, making way for the new generation of teeny-tiny super-googol-plexes.

It kills me. One of the greatest cinemas
I’
ve ever seen in my life and the place does
n’
t even show movies anymore. Nope.

You want to know what they did with the place?
I’
m not kidding:

I
t’
s a church.

Yeah, tha
t’
s right. Some genius decided to convert the Ultravision Theatre, home to some of the most decadent, perverted, sexually outrageous and depraved behavior I have ever witnessed in my life, into a
house of God
.

Well, good luck to them. I wish them all the best. If they feel they can sanctify the joint after turning it over to us for almost two years, I say—be my guest.

But
I’
ve got some news for them:

No amount of scrubbing is going to cleanse the place and make it acceptable in the eyes of the Lord after what we did there. Not a chance. I do
n’
t care if it stands as a holy shrine for another thousand years. It will always be
our
place of worship. Not theirs.

So call it what you will, the Grand Temple of the Unification of the Spirit of the Nazarene or whatever. It will always be the Ultravision to me.

Whenever
I’
m down in South Florida for one of my biennial pilgrimages, I always try to stop by and pay a visit to the old place. And I always go alone.

I like to pull up in the parking lot by the north-side exit doors, where we used to truck in the props on our stolen wheelchairs. Once there, I park as close to the theater as I can and shut off the car. Sitting there, the engine ticking as it cools down, I close my eyes and bow my head.

And if I sit there long enough, I can hear it. The tiny echo from years past coming from deep inside:

“
We...want...lips...
”

You can just make it out. Just on the edge of consciousness.