Two Worlds Back and One Forward

For a bit of background, I need to take you back, two worlds ago back in fact - to the first world before 9/11 - when the only phones that existed were landlines and being social wasn't attached to the words media or distance. It was also the world in which I came out. Where bars and gay bookstores along with some less than desirable locations were the only way you could meet another boy. HIV/AIDS was reaching its peak, (without a nationwide lockdown) and despite that unknown virus and its cause, I had to find a way to not only thrive but to excel. 

Now, having been bombarded with countless video platforms -  Zoom, FaceTime, Microsoft Teams, the list goes on - I can't remember a time when I've enjoyed technology less and yearned more for a world that no longer exists. For someone who still clings to the fact that he was the epitome of social, I've never despised social media more. It's now the age of corona, which will leave all of us living in yet another world, and being single in this in-between world has been perhaps the most gut wrenching yet strongest aspect of the whole mess. 

I never really gave being by myself a second thought. I'd made countless friends over the course of my life. Some are still with me, and some are sadly and quite unfairly, no longer here. During the height of the AIDS crisis, when the government did nothing as countless men died every day, I learned all too quickly life can be taken away. One lesson that still stings and will forever resonate was a boy named Michael whom I'd met in the first world. One day, just like that, he was gone. And, then there was the day I got a phone call from his mother. 

"Can you tell me about my son?" she asked with her voice cracking, explaining she had found my number in Michael's address book. The ache in her voice was palpable and I tried my best to describe the wonderful boy I'd come to know simply from the two of us being social every weekend. Michael and I were never destined to be boyfriends, but I'd like to think he would have been a friend to last a lifetime. I think when his mother hung up, she left with a sense of comfort from a stranger she would never meet. 

I never looked at friendships quite the same way after that. I held tight to the ones I made before and the ones following have shaped my entire life. They changed how I look at dating and what makes a friend. They showed me the world, and I've made sure that my mother has never been left in the dark. As I cautiously maneuvered those years in Boston, the virus was all around, and with the country and the state doing nothing to ease my fears, I had to find my way alone. I had no where to turn for answers, there were no web sites to google, no heads of state run departments giving you the right information. What was there were the LGBT health clinics, the Glad Day Bookstore and the people you met at the bars. All these places where people like me gathered. It was the people you surrounded yourself with who knew people that could provide the answers. 

I never consciously chose to be single, but my years before I moved to San Francisco and the time I spent in the city by the bay certainly prepared me for it. When I look back, I did everything in my power to not be alone. I was always on a date, always swept off my feet, and without fail, when one attempt came crashing down, I was back up and trying again. Perhaps if I'd succeeded, I would be just like the gays you can’t escape from in this interim world. Quarantined with their boyfriends, husbands, lovers, or whatever their labels, the posts usually consist of pictures of them hiking, making dinner, snuggling on the couch, or laughing at each other’s attempts at baking - all accompanied by such captions as: “So lucky I get to lockdown with this man,”; “No one I’d rather be quarantined with.”; and “This man makes me laugh through these trying times.”  Usually I read them with a grain of kosher salt, but as the lockdown drags on, they’re becoming increasingly hard to swallow.

I suppose I could have posted a picture of the time I cried on my couch, mourning a world that will never fully return with the caption, "so lucky to be locked down with my favorite guy. Couldn't do it without him." Somehow, the comments on that one would have been quite different. There's been no one to fall asleep with; no one to say good morning to; no one to take a walk with; no one to watch TV with; no one to...well, you get the idea. But over the course of my life's adventures, I've always had myself to fall back on, and most assuredly, that has helped me pick myself up during the low times. And, trust me, there are many days now with many lows. I knew I would survive in the old worlds, what was the choice really? To give up? That's never been in my DNA, but this stretch of time has been unlike any of the other punches to the gut. To get me through, I've been able to pull from all those times before - all those memories of the non social distancing past and the hopes that exist in the new world to come.

What's also helped has been the non-Zoom Friday night happy hours with my neighbor. They've been a bridge to the new world, and the fact that we are both gay has been an added bonus. There's no computer screen between us, we don't have to put on fake smiles. We sit on the porch, armed with very strong margaritas and enjoy a slice of the old world. She's single as well, and during a pandemic, it's freeing to talk to someone who understands exactly what that means. Our stories of our time sitting at bars are at times comforting, while at the same time sad when we realize that may never be part of the new world.

But what has to be part of the new world, at least for me, is real social interaction. I'm done with Webex and Zoom, and I'll take my chances on talking with people face to face. It's what I did in the old world. Did I trust the boy I recently met? Did I think he answered my questions truthfully? I'm as much in the game as the next person. If my gut tells me to not trust them, then that's what I'll listen to. For me, there's no other way to live. Life isn't about social media - it's about talking, flirting, or using your smile to put someone else at ease. It's showing your interest in how you hold yourself, not by spouting a laundry list of what you're into on an app profile. I mean really, phrases like "gingers to the front of the line?" What line do you see on your computer screen?  If you never leave your house, you'll never wait in line and I'm quite sure there's no line at your bedroom door. If there is, then you are in a completely different line of work than I care to fathom.

In this new world, I will, in all probability, be an even more intense version of the person I was in the old. I will, once again, find a way to thrive, and though I may have to find my way  alone, at least I'll continue to spend time with the person who's gotten me through these last few months. And in this new world, I am going to smile brighter than ever before. I'm going to cut every line and have a drink with a stranger and friend alike.

In this new world, my hope for everyone is that if someone ever asks you to tell them about their son, then you'll know exactly what to say because you've made the effort to truly know them.

And in the end, that will leave everyone with just a touch of comfort.

What's Next?

“There’s really no point in asking what if? The only question worth asking: is what’s next?”

Spoiler Alert: Those are the last lines to Elton John’s autobiography Me, and it got me thinking about a lot of things. But before I get to all that, I loved reading about his life, how decadent it was, how he's lived as the person he is, how unapologetic he is for his personality and because it brought me back to a six degrees of separation moment with the legend himself. But, don’t get me wrong, this is also just an excuse to share this story.

——

It was shortly before I moved to San Francisco, Elton was on his Reg Strikes Back Tour, and I was where you’d always find me on a Saturday night. At a club, drinking, flirting and being, what I hope now is not the extinct social person that I am. I was out with the first girl I would have brought home to meet my mother - my friend Dawn and one of her friends, who I seem to remember was named Carol. 

Now, drinking has always been one of my favorite pastimes, and not in a Zoom room, but surrounded by people, where, once the buzz kicks in, I can flash my smile and work whatever magic I seem to think I possess. 

That night, as I ordered my latest Long Island Iced Tea, which back then was my drink of choice because I could down four of them in an hour and still be perfectly functional the next day, I sauntered up to the bar and sat next to an average looking gent. We started talking and his British accent had me fascinated. I accepted another drink and I introduced my companions, because forgetting who I was with - no matter how many drinks I consumed -  was never my style.

He introduced himself by his first and last name, which I found interesting.

 “I’m John Reid,” he said. 

“And, this is Jim,” Dawn interjected realizing that I forgot to say who I was. (Back then, I was always Jim, don’t get too comfortable calling me that now.) 

“What brings you to town?” Dawn asked.

“Oh,” he said nonchalantly  “I manage Elton John and he’s at the Worcester Centrum this week.”

Now, being three sheets to the wind, none of this registered with me, but it did not, however, go unnoticed by Dawn. She then became very keen on keeping Mr. Reid talking to us. As the night wore on, and with more drinks bought for us, he asked if we would like a ride home. I stumbled down the stairs and out in front of the club was the longest stretch car I’d ever seen.

“Look, Dawn,” I squealed at the top of my lungs, “It’s a limo!”

“Shut up, Jim,” Dawn scolded, pushing my head down and body checked me as the chauffeur opened the door. “And, get the FUCK in the car!”

And so began my decadent night at the Ritz Carlton with the manager of Elton John, while the former Reg Dwight was asleep in the next suite. The next morning, Mr. Reid told me to order whatever I wanted for breakfast. He had to get an early flight back to London, but the room was mine until late afternoon. There I sat in a fluffy Ritz Carlton bathrobe, calling Dawn, eating my breakfast without a hint of a hangover. I did manage to swipe the Ritz Carlton umbrella on the way out, and I don't know how I got out with the bathrobe, but I had it for the longest time. And just to be sure I wasn't dreaming, I checked the back of one of my Elton CD's and there was John Reid's name.

I suppose the whole point of that story is to not only to tell a tale (get it - Tel-la) that personifies me as the social and yes - had for the price of a cocktail person I am - but to also reach back and remember how things used to be. I am, maybe naively, clinging to the belief that part of the old world will still exist in the new.   

Back then, I didn't know what the future held. I still don't, but I foolishly didn't appreciate the moment when I was living in it. Youth has a problem thinking that things will always stay the same, that what you just experienced was just another day in the life, and that you are the only one that matters. However, as time now proves, nothing is just "another day in the life." 

Which brings me back to how I began: 

There’s really no point in asking what if? The only question worth asking: is what’s next?

I've had a lot of time to think these past few weeks, even though it feels like months. What if I had taken John Reid's number? What if it wasn't more than just what it was? Would I be Elton's best friend? What if I moved first to Los Angeles and not San Francisco? What if I never sold my condo in San Francisco (Don't ask, it's a sore subject), what if I never spent three long lonely years in Manhattan? You can't change the decisions you made in the past, you can simply learn from them and not make the same mistakes. Always striving for something better for yourself. And along those lines...what if this damn virus never reared its ugliness? But there really is no point in searching for those answers. The only thing to do is ask what is the next step? You and I can't control the world, we can't make this virus go away any faster, but we can work terribly hard at maintaining the people that we were, and I can work, if it's possible, to be an even more social person than I was before this pathogen decided to infiltrate the world. 

I don’t think I ever lost being that social boy of twenty-something. In this new world, I still want to be able to sit at a bar and meet people. (Although Long Island Ice Teas are not on the menu ever.) I want others to discover the joy of talking to the person next to you, because you never know who that stranger is or what adventure they can take you on. Wether it's one incredible night or a lifetime journey, you have to keep the faith that people will still want to be part of the human race. And we have to appreciate life in the most exciting of events and the most minuscule of moments.   

So my simple advice or maybe it's my simplest of thoughts: whatever this new world brings, leave the couch behind, look up from your phone, talk to the person next to you, reach out to the people you care about, and above all, enjoy every minute of the ride before it ends. Basically, just "get the fuck in the car." 

Phone Talk

What does one do with so much time on their hands? Go through old files and your cabinets, I suppose. I found my short story collection, Alone with All These Men, and I should post them all, but this one was always my favorite. In the days before cell phones and when social media meant social nights out with friends, I came up with this story. As with all my tales, there's quite a bit of real life experiences in there. Enjoy.

Phone Talk

My Winnie the Pooh phone rings and my hands are wrist deep in soapy dishwater. For a second I think about letting my machine answer—then I think it could be Mark. I dribble a bubble trail across my kitchen floor, onto the living room rug and answer. A familiar voice yells in my ear.

“Hey Suzy Q! You free for dinner?”

It’s David. My oldest friend. Growing up we used to barricade ourselves in my room and devour Hostess treats.

“Oh. Hi, Twinkie.”

“Jesus, Larry, what a greeting that is.” David’s always chomping on gum. He sounds like he’s already eating dinner in my ear.

“Sorry. I was expecting someone else.”

“Really? Who’s the latest Mr. Right? Tell me. Tell me.” “Nobody you know.”

“Liar. There’s not a man in this city I don’t know.”

I wipe the clinging bubbles on my pant leg. “Twink, I gotta go.”

“Don’t you have call waiting?”

“I’m in the middle of something.”
David yells in my ear. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“I just bit my tongue. I’ll call you back.”
“You don’t have to. I already—” The line goes dead. No doubt David is
putting a frozen cupcake on his enflamed tongue. I hang up the phone.

You wanted me to make some noise didn’t you? Could’ve been worse, it could’ve been your mother. You’re so fickle. Liking me one minute and then hating me the second you find out who’s on the other end. If that’s the case, why should I ring again? Why should I tolerate your disapproval? He’s your best friend. You weren’t very nice.

I was so nice to him. I plunge my hands back into the water. I should buy a dishwasher and just stack everything out of sight.

If you did you couldn’t act busy while you wait for me to ring.

Who asked you for an opinion? But since you brought it up I see your point. Why not have him call me then, and get it over with? Already, I’m wondering why he doesn’t like me. Mark and I have had four dates and my mind is like a runaway freight train—it’s on those tracks and it’s not going to stop no matter how hard the engineer applies the brakes. And you sit there so smug. I can bring the cordless into the kitchen. I don’t have to answer you.

Have phone will travel.
Be quiet. No. I didn’t mean that.
The phone is still dripping wet. I walk over and wipe it dry.Thanks. But I’m still not ringing.
I pick up the receiver and dial Twinkie.
“How’s your tongue?”
“Ith’s fine. I think it thopped bleeding.”
“That’ll teach you to chew in my ear.” I look at the clock. Eight. “Why don’t
you come over? We can hang out for a while.”
“Drinks before dinner. How fun.”
“Whoa. I didn’t say I was going to dinner with you.”
“What other plans do you have?” I could hear David putting another wad of
gum in his mouth. “I’ll be over in fifteen.”
That means thirty. I still have time to call Mark and thank him for the great
time we had at dinner.
Again? You already left a message this morning.
Shit. You’re right. I forgot. Did I sound silly on his machine? Too much babbling on and on? It’s not like it was our first date or anything. I followed the rules. Never the day after you get a number, that will make me look too eager. Don’t call too late, they won’t remember who I am. And whatever happens, don’t do it after the first date, that will make me seem desperate for the second one. Except, what if I miss him and want to hear his voice?

Don’t do it. It will make you seem like you’re dying to see him again.
But, I am dying to see him again.
Well, you can’t let him know that.
Why not, for Christ’s sake?
Because you can’t, that’s all.
What kind of reason is that? Because. That’s the reason I give Twinkie when I say I’m out of desserts. Because. Because, because, because, because. I hate that word. You must know when Mark’s going to pick up the other end of the phone to call me. All you phones are in one big conspiracy.
And what if I do? Why ruin the anticipation? Hang me up—I’m not going to ring just because you’re staring at me. Finish what you’re doing.
I concentrate on cleaning my kitchen. It’s still messy from the dinner I made for Mark a few nights ago. I wash out the sink, put the dry dishes in the cupboard and wring out the sponge. I throw the dishtowel against the back of the counter.
I was petrified when Mark accepted my invitation—I hadn’t had a man for dinner since my previous attempt at a relationship with Jack. He and I were dating for over six months before I worked up the nerve to invite him to my apartment for dinner. That night, when I was taking the Filet Mignon out of the oven, the phone rang.

Oh, I remember that one. He couldn’t make it. He was having second thoughts. He needed some time. Do you think I enjoyed that call? I’m just the messenger .
That was the last I heard from Jack. He never returned my phone calls after that night. I finally gave up on him after I’d left four messages. Twinkie bought me a whole weeks supply of Suzy Q’s to make me feel better. He said I’d get so fat from sweets that I’d have to run to the gym. Sweating on the stairmaster was bound to get those endorphins partying.
My doorbell rings.
“Since when are you so early?” I ask David.
Twinkie blows a bubble in my face. “I said fifteen.”
“And that always means thirty.”
The bubble pops and David picks the gum off of his lips. “I like to surprise
you. So, fix me a drink.” He walks past me and seats himself on my couch. “I’m starving too. Where shall we go eat?”
I close the door. “Your stomach is a bottomless pit. Why aren’t you five hundred pounds?”
David winks at me and gyrates his groin. “Three guesses, Suzy Q. Now, come on, let’s go out. The new man is no reason to stay cooped up in the house.”
“His name’s Mark. And I’m not cooped up in the house. I’m with you.”
“And I am drinkless.” Twinkie clasps his hands together and twiddles his thumbs.

I suppress a sigh and walk into the kitchen. David only drinks Citron Vodka Sours and since I’m out of flavored alcohol, I squeeze half a lemon into his drink.
“Jesus.” Twinkie says when he takes a sip. “If we weren’t girlfriends, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me.”
I plop down in the seat across from him. “Sorry. Too much vodka?”
Such a silly question. Did you sound this silly during your dinner with Mark? Can you at least sound a bit more intelligent if I put him through to you?
“Earth to Larry.” Twinkie throws a pillow at my face. “Helllloooo.....”
“Did you say something?”
“You need some fresh air. You’re zoning out on me. I need to get you full of
food.”
“I don’t need any food.”
Twinkie picks up his ice cube and sucks on it. “Then I think you better get laid.” He puts the glass under his mouth and spits the cube back in it. “But that’s not going to happen by sitting here. After we eat, we can go scope out some boys. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have you call some 900 numbers.”
Now there’s an idea. Someone always answers that call. Send David home. Let’s have some fun.
I pick up the pillow and toss it at my friend. David ducks and it hits my phone.
“Careful, you goon. You’ll break Pooh bear.” Twinkie pats it on the head. “I just love this little phone. It’s sooo cute. I should’ve kept it for myself instead of giving it to you.”

Winnie stands there, staring at me—all sweet and satisfied next to his jar of honey.
“You can take it. I have far too many.”
Hey, don’t give me away. I’ll behave.
Liar.
David gestures at me with the receiver. “Let’s call your boy and invite him to dinner.”
I walk over and put the handset back in Winnie’s paw. “Let’s not.”
“Why? When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Two nights ago. I made him dinner.”
David shrugs his shoulders. “Well. Far too much time has gone by. What’s his
number? Do you have it on the speed dial yet?”
I slap his hand away from the phone. “Don’t be silly.”
“Oh, come on. He must be high on your list if you cooked. I can’t remember
the last time you wanted to spend hours in the kitchen for a man. I promise I won’t flirt with him. What’s the big deal? You call me when you want to see me. You even call your mother when it’s been more than three days.”
I squint my left eye.
“Okay, fine,” David says. “Bad example. But really, it’s not like you’re enrolled in Dating Etiquette 101.”
Let me guess your grade.
Hey. I’ve had enough of you.

“I left him a message this morning, Twink. He hasn’t called me back.”
David lowers his voice. “Oh.” Then jumps to his feet. “So, let’s go live it up. I don’t want you obsessing.”
“I am not obsessing.”
“Yeah. And I don’t flirt with your boyfriends. Let’s go.”
Pooh’s smile seems to have turned into a mischievous grin.
Don’t start with me. You’re not even a real teddy bear. Not even good enough
to stay home and cuddle with on the bed.
You don’t have to be so cruel.
Sorry.
“Larry, I’m going to faint from hunger. All that alcohol has gone right to my head and it’s your fault. So you have to come with me.”
I hesitate—feeling like the telephone is my umbilical cord between me and Mark. If I don’t leave, I’m stuck eating the leftovers from my dinner and that will just remind me of who isn’t calling me.
“Let me get my coat.”
Twinkie pulls out his gum and adds another stick to the pieces in his mouth. He blows a bubble and gently pops it with his finger. Then he rolls it between his fingers and sticks it back in his mouth.
“Must you do that?” I ask. “Do what?”
I sigh. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

Twinkie walks outside and I turn off the light.
Don’t forget to check your messages.
It’s just like you to ring the second I leave.
Then stay home and wait.
“Suzy Q, what the hell is taking so long?”
“I’m coming. Blow a bubble.”
You. Stay quiet.
“Did you say something?” David yells from the hallway.
I close the door and snatch the pack of gum from his shirt pocket. “You must be hearing things. Let’s go eat.”

David and I sit in China Ocean, surrounded by its bubbling red watered volcanoes and birds of paradise. A flaming pu pu platter is on the table between us. I look over at the pay phone near the doorway.
Come on. Check your messages.
“So, what’s the latest with Henry?” I ask David.
“Henry. Henry.” Twinkie sucks his fingers dry of the fried chicken wings and then dips one in the sweet and sour sauce. He licks it clean. “Oh. Henry. Don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Has he left any messages?” Twinkie grabs a spare rib. “Nope.”

“Have you picked up the phone to call him?” I take a sip of my tea and then snatch the rib from David’s hand.
“Hey. I want that one. It’s got more meat on it.”
I dip my fingers in the glass of water and then flick them at David. “I’ll let you suck on the bone. I assume you haven’t called Henry?”
“Assumption correct.”
I laugh. “David, I thought you two were working on something there? It’s not going to happen if you don’t call each other.”
“How true. But I see where this is leading.”
I bite into the spare rib. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You’re trying to steer this conversation in your Mr. No Return caller
direction.”
“I am not.”
Twinkie sorts through the rest of the appetizers on the platter. “Why are you so neurotic? And don’t blame it on your father, either.”
Twinkie has the cellular. I’m right here. In the backpack. Take me out.
“I just want to know why he hasn’t called me since I made dinner.”
Twinkie discovers a deep fried shrimp. “He’ll come up with some kind of justification. Unless he’s original and actually tells you he didn’t want to call.”
“Why wouldn’t he want to talk to me?”
“Shit, Larry. I’m joking. I’m sure he’s just busy.”He’s patronizing you. Tell him to let me out.

I find the last teriyaki chicken stick. “Do you think I’m just not cut out to be in a relationship?”
David wipes his mouth. “What kind of silly question is that?”
“Well. From my track record. I can’t seem to get anything off the ground. Look at the way I handle this after four dates. Where will I be after four months?”
“In a straight jacket.” Twinkie pokes at the purple flame with his chopsticks. The sterno sizzles and pops. “Larry, seriously. You need to relax and go with whatever happens. The harder you wish for him to call, the worse it’s going to seem.” He jabs at the flame again, whispering a tiny gotcha sound under his breath. He looks up at me and smiles. “Then again, you could look at it as payback for not calling all those men you’ve met in the past.”
“What men?”
“All of a sudden she’s the wall flower. You meet plenty of men. Just because they write their numbers on napkins doesn’t mean you shouldn’t call them. Unless they’re too geeky, of course.”
He’s stalling. Have him take me out.
“But I didn’t like any of them.”
“It works both ways, my friend.”
“No way, Twink. Mark has to like me. He brought me flowers. He spent the
night.”

Our main course arrives and Twinkie shovels a heap of crispy chicken on top of the white rice. “If I figured out why men eat, fuck and run, I would be eating in a real island paradise. Not some plastic imitation.”
He could be calling right now.
“You have your cell phone?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant as I scoop some chicken onto my plate.
“It’s in my back pack, but the batteries dead.”
“It’s dead?” I put the plate down. “Why do you carry it around if it’s dead?”Sorry. Didn’t mean to tease you.“Calm down. I usually use it in my car through the cigarette lighter.”
“Then you should leave it in the car.”
“Testy, testy. If you’re dying to check your messages, use the payphone.”
I take a swig of my drink. “I’m not dying to check anything.”
David picks up a piece of chicken and licks the sauce off of it. “Right.” Then
he dips it into the sauce and does it again. “Unless your answering machine devours messages, I’m sure it’ll still be there when you get home. Now eat and be quiet.”
The waiter comes over, fills our water glasses and then departs into the dark aisle of red volcanoes. A family of six is having a birthday party a few tables away and the off key singing can be heard through the entire restaurant. There’s one other male couple. They sit underneath the giant palm tree. The older of the two gets up, quickly kisses his partner on the cheek, and walks to the restroom. I watch the other as he watches him walk away. Twinkie balances a few grains of rice on his chopsticks before he sucks them into his mouth.

“You ever afraid of being alone Twink? You know. Winding up old and jaded.”
“I’m already old and jaded.”
I scold him. “David.”
“Oh. All right. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be by myself my whole life. But I
don’t dwell on it. I’ve got you.” Twinkie pushes some rice onto his fingers with the chopsticks. He slurps the food into his mouth. “I stopped worrying about a man wanting to spend time with me long ago.”
“Twink. What if Henry’s that man?”
“Jesus. I don’t want him, Larry. What do you want me to do, call him and ask him if he’s gotten the hint? I may be a bitch, but I’m not an asshole.”
I crinkle my napkin. The waiter emerges from the dark and brings us the check. David reaches for one of the fortune cookies. He breaks it in two and reads the proverb.
“Man who waits for phone to ring has no life.” He chuckles, takes the last swig of his water and stuffs the fortune in his pocket. “Nope. You can’t see it. Don’t you trust me?”
“With all my heart.”
He stands up. “Pay the bill. I have to use the bathroom.”
I reach for my wallet. “I didn’t realize dinner was on me.”

Twinkie tosses his napkin at me. “Don’t you just love surprises?”
I meet David at the door and we head to a nightclub down the street. We start reminiscing about high school, and eventually we’ve gossiped a few more hours away. I stir my drink and see the small lamp next to the bartender’s register flicker.
You mean your phone doesn’t have one of these gadgets? You could blast your stereo and still know the phone is ringing.
Twinkie shakes his head as he squeezes his lime. “Now, who the hell calls a bar at midnight? Like anyone can hear with all this noise.”
Maybe Mark knows where you are. Maybe he couldn’t reach you at home.
“It could be important.”
“It could be desperation.” Twinkie laughs. “Someone checking up on a boyfriend.” He mimics a high pitched voice. “Can you page Larry for me, Mr. Bartender? I’m lonely and I miss him.”
I snatch his lime and suck on it. I let the juice squirt in my mouth. “You are so romantic.”
“Oh, excuse me Danielle Steel. Like romance would be alive and well if my boyfriend’s cruising in a bar on Saturday night while I sit home waiting for him.”
He’s got a point.
I drop the topic and finally, we wind up dancing. I see the one pay phone— near the restroom—inside the crowded club.
Give it up.

28

Twinkie disappears into the mass of sweaty men. I wander around the cavernous club and even dance to a few mindless songs. I leave the floor to get a drink.
“Are you a model?” someone asks from behind me.
I turn and see a man caught in a previous decade. He’s dressed in an Izod shirt and Jordache jeans. If I had to guess, that’s Brylcream in his hair.
“Uh—no.”
“Are you in films?”
I shake my head. Where the heck is Twinkie?
“God, you should be. I wanted to dance with you, but you moved off the floor
before I could ask. Maybe next time?” He shoves a matchbook in the back pocket of my jeans. “Here’s my number.”
The man disappears and David emerges from the dark, holding the hand of a very young boy. “Who was that, Suzy Q?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I look at my watch. 1:45 a.m.
Twinkie, his boy of the hour and I walk out of the club. I glance at the phone.Wow, you’ve lasted six whole hours without him.Jesus, you’re spiteful.Have a good night.No thanks to you.
David’s boy passes out as soon as he sits in the front seat.

“He’s even cuter when he’s sleeping.” Twinkie laughs at me from the rear view mirror. We drive off and I close my eyes.
“Hey. Wake up back there. There’s only room for one sleeping beauty in the car.”
“Sorry, Twink. Just thinking.”
“It’s too late to be thinking. No wonder you didn’t take that guy home.” “David. I wasn’t into it.”
“Not into sex on a Saturday night.” He says it like he’s stumped on an algebra
equation. We round the corner to my house. “Stop being faithful to someone before you even have the ring.” He stops the car, smiles at me and then leans over to his boy as I open the door.
“Is he still breathing?” I ask.
“Seems so. I’ll call you tomorrow with all the sex filled details.”
“You gotta wake him, Twink, before anything else is going to get up.”
“Eh. I can always tuck him in and have phone sex. When he’s up I’ll just tell
him he was fantastic. That way it’ll make him feel good before I send him home.” Twinkie kisses me on the cheek. “And I hope I wasn’t too hard on you. Don’t be mad at me.”
“Mad for what?” I lean over and peck his cheek. “I survived the entire night without falling apart.”
“Yeah, it’s what happens after I leave that worries me.” “I’m going to bed. Go home and sleep with your toy.”

“If you insist, Suzy Q.”
I watch David drive away before I go inside. Winnie is smiling at me. I salute him on my way to the bedroom. The light on my answering machine is blinking. One message. I rub my eyes. I’m tired. I walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Fine. Be that way. See if I take any more messages for you. Hey. Come back here.

Another Year Has Gone By

It’s been less than a year since I’ve returned to California. To be exact, this holiday marks seven months.  And to say that these days have been nothing short of eventful would be an understatement, and it would be impossible to recap all that has happened in a short blog post. But what I can say is that these months have given my life a focus that it lacked for so long.

When I relocated to New York, I was turning 50, at a crossroads where I didn’t know which path was the right one. I had moved over and over, from West Hollywood to Miracle Mile, and back to West Hollywood  - that last time forced on me through a series of very unfortunate events. Let’s just say, I can top any roommate story and at a cocktail party, I save mine for last because nothing can beat it. Professionally, it was a chapter I'd like to forget, but whatever the events, they all led me to this point - to my Blue Awning Home that I just adore beyond any place I’ve ever lived, and to a second chance at discovering what it truly means to be home.

There’s not one place in California that makes me feel out of sorts. From San Francisco, where I literally learned about life, to LA and Palm Springs that combined, made me feel truly at home - this entire state just gets me. 

The day I landed, my friends were there to greet me and I felt such an outpouring of love that I didn’t quite know what to do. I hugged them, and then chastised them for the surprise that it was, because as anyone knows, I’m no fan of surprises. In the end, I was still 30,000 feet above the ground, unbelievably with my feet back in the state that I somehow knew was where I belonged. There are too many Wizard of Oz references here so I will forgo using even one - but let’s just say my Christmas Tree ornaments reveal them.

It’s hard for anyone to figure out where they belong. Is it the home they grew up in? Is it down the street from their parents? Is it where others expect them to be? Whatever the journey, it’s a very personal one and really listening to yourself is paramount. Over these months I’ve spent so much time with the family I’ve created - and by no means does it diminish the family I was born into. In fact, it has made me realize how much both mean to me - something I had such guilt about for so many years.

My years in Manhattan, as desperately lonely as they were for me, were filled with adventure. There were countless Broadway shows and a wonderful place called Feinstein’s/54 Below that literally saved my life. It was my “Cheers” - where they all knew my name and where I felt a sense of belonging. 

As summers turned into brutal winters, I looked at myself and wasn’t happy with what I saw. I knew I was overweight, and found avoiding pictures like a child runs from penicillin to be exhausting. And when I touched down in Los Angeles and saw myself in the bright California sunshine, I knew that change had to happen. I was almost overcome with how high the mountain would be to scale. Starting over AGAIN, and on top of that, dropping pound after pound seemed like an impossible feat. But, I tackled it like I have every other mountain in my life  - I simply started the climb and then kept on ascending to the top.

And, now, one year after that fateful New Year’s Eve in Palm Springs, I return to the desert with my friends with so much accomplished. I’m not hopping a flight at the crack of dawn to get there, but throwing my bags into my luxurious car I’ve called Aurora. Why that name? Well, it was the dawn of a new day when I bought her and she’s my favorite Disney princess, and every day she reminds me that I can accomplish anything.

Overall, this could be one of those year end letters that tells you everything that has happened. But in this age of social media, you only have to look at my posts to see what words can never really capture. And, who knows, should I become a life coach, I would for sure have a lot of life to lean on for my advice to others. In the end, it’s getting behind the path you take. And, then, if that path doesn’t turn out the way you envision, then it’s in your power to make a new one. Regrets are for those who won’t move forward. It’s taking those lessons and building on each one. I’m surrounded by so much love both here and on the East coast that it’s almost an embarrassment of riches.  And I’ve learned on this journey to embrace those treasures.

Without that pivotal move to New York, none of this would be possible, and how great is it to say that I’ve lived in some of the biggest cities in this country? Each one has left their mark on me and, I’d like to think, I’ve changed each of them along the way.  

So this year, I toast to it all and whatever comes next. It's sure to be one hell of a ride.

Thankful for the Sizzler?

As I was getting ready to head back to Boston for the Thanksgiving holiday today, I got the sudden urge to dig through some very old photographs that I had stuffed away in my very tiny Manhattan apartment. I think deep down I wanted to see some evidence of everything I had built in my years away.

When I moved away, I was not even old enough to rent a car - do you know that magic number? I’ll tell you, it’s 25. I remember that because when I was living on the peninsula, I had to vacate the place I was crashing and not one car company would give me a car so I could get into the city. I was trapped in San Bruno and was relegated to walking into the Sizzler, where the hostess very loudly announced, “Table for one?” Maybe that’s how I became confident on eating alone. She yelled it so loudly that the fear and embarrassment just couldn't really make me feel more alone than I was already feeling. It’s rather crazy to say that I learned how to enjoy being me at a Sizzler. Don’t tell anyone I told you that.

Years later, when I had moved to San Francisco, I never really realized how much I had when I had it. A condo smack dab in the middle of the city where I brought together every orphan stranded in the Bay Area that I knew for the best dinner I could make. I could depend on the same cast of characters every year with a few additions. Those whose families had forgotten them, cast them out or simply those who felt that there was no place like home in San Francisco. And what a cast it was indeed. The photographs I found were the evidence that they really did exist - and there in the mix was the boy who had stolen my heart and every fiber of my being. As I looked at that picture, some almost 20 years later, it is so clear that despite the joy on my face, that he could barely contain his uncomfortableness being held by me. Why then did he come to this orphan dinner, insisting he bring his Nutcracker china to set a tablescape like no other? The answer came weeks later, first with a comment that he loved my friends, to which I replied, “You can’t have my friends without me.” The rest of the story is a messy one, but one I always think back to over the holidays. But regardless of the drama, I’m still thankful that it happened. That dinner, surrounded by those friends that he so desperately wanted, is one of my all time perfect memories.

I haven’t hosted a massive dinner since I left the city by the Bay - and one day, perhaps, I’ll reach for the apron, put it back one with my fluffy Snoopy slippers and be back in the kitchen. 

A lot of years have passed - and there have been countless places I’ve called home. Could I ever have imagined that I’d be back on the east coast? Would I have even believed it if you told me that? For every memory along the way, though, I am truly grateful. From the gay drama in the middle of Castro street to the wonderful dinners and wine over a golden turkey surrounded by friends I could never imagine getting through life without. All of it provided a foundation for who I am. I’m now closer to my family than I have been in years. A train ride away to hug my mother, breath in her scent, spend the days just watching Hallmark Movies and listening to how she can’t remember if I were home for turkey day last year or not. It’s joyous and precious and I’m so thankful for that. Despite all the crazy twists and turns in my life, I’ve learned what it’s meant to be me and that in turn has made me appreciate the holidays more than ever. And it’s put all of them into a perspective I could never image. For as long as I was away, I was never without family - whether I made them from the friends I met  along my travels or the boys who eventually fell out of love with me or were never really in love at all, my family first and foremost started with me.

Just ask that young trashy hostess at Sizzler, asking, “table for one?”

Another Rosemarie Getaway

The last time I went to the state of Maine, a seagull shit on my head. And today, after over twenty years, I'm headed back to the topmost New England state with my mom for a short weekend away from the madness of work and stifling heat of Manhattan.  Ever since I moved back to the East Coast, I've been able to take what seems to be countless trips back to the Bay State. It's, no matter how difficult the move might have been, the one thing that makes leaving California worth it.

I can't really remember how old I was when I first drove up to Ogunquit, all I can recall, however, was I was with my friend Anthony, who happens to turn the same age as me today. Were we even out then? Even that I can't seem to pinpoint as fact. All I do remember is the sound of that bird overhead and the mess that streamed down my head. It's just one of many crazy memories of growing up on the east, and this weekend, I'm sure it will be just as comical traveling once again with my mother. The last time we went away together was London, which seems an eternity ago already. She was quite seasoned by that time, having been dragged all over Paris and Italy by me a few years earlier. All those trips have combined to be very special memories - from dodging pigeons in St. Mark's square to climbing out of the cavernous Paris subways - each trip seemed to out do the one before it.

This weekend, I've no doubt the adventures will pile up, one being the fact that I haven't really driven a car since I moved. It's like riding a bicycle yes? But then again, I haven't been on one of those since I got my drivers license.

With all the modes of transportation available, there really is nothing like sitting on a train and watching the scenery pass before you. Though I wouldn't say the view is as breathtaking as watching the Eiffel Tower come into view or the hills of Tuscany stretch out as you land - it's more lush, vibrant, and a far cry from the dry brown hillsides of Los Angeles. Of course, being on the train always reminds me of the time my mother made us take it all the way to Florida because she was afraid to fly. Two and half days on the tracks when all you want to do is see Mickey Mouse was not pleasant. How ironic that so many years later she'd be flying across the Atlantic more times that she could have imagined. Being able to take her so many places has been one of the sheer joys of life.

I've told her to be packed and ready to go. There's no security line to maneuver, she can bring as big a bottle of her Elizabeth Taylor beauty products as she wants and the only thing I have to worry about are the sounds she might make as the traffic rushes by. And, oh yes, those birds.

But this time, in case they decide to welcome me back - I'm prepared. I'm going to wear my hat.

Another Pride

If there were any doubt that the world had changed again, all doubt was erased last week when I walked into my favorite bar in Manhattan. Instead of the normal doorman who, for the past year, has greeted me a with a gruff hello, two very burly and ominous security guards proceeded to pat me down for weapons. And with that, my normal Saturday night out was far from normal.

I somewhere naively didn’t think the world could change again after 9/11. Perhaps that was just pure foolishness or maybe I still like to believe I’m that naïve young man who walked into his first gay bar and immediately felt as if he had finally found where he belonged. No matter how trepidatious I felt, I was comfortable that here, no one would call me names, shove me from behind as I walked with my books in the stairwell, or make me feel less than what I was. And, most of all, I never dreamed that coming into a bar – that someone could potentially kill me. 

Is there more to said that hasn't already been commented on surrounding the horrible events in Orlando? Which is ironically, supposed to be home to the happiest place on earth. I think there's always more to be said, always more to be written and always more places to add your voice.

There have been many personal events that have shaped the person I am today – among them, the passing of my grandmother when I was just 8 years old, going to college instead of traveling around Europe, and moving to San Francisco when I was 24. But those events were in my world, no one across the globe knew my grandmother, sense my disappointment when I had to give up the notion of walking through Paris with just the clothes on my back, and they didn’t feel my excitement and nervousness as I boarded that flight across the country. 

When I was a kid, I never felt like I was one of the others. There was something different - feelings and thoughts that raged in my head every night when I went to sleep and every day as I tried to find my way in the world. But never in those private moments did I ever think the answer was to pick up an assault weapon and end the lives of so many. Back in the day who would even know how to get your hands on such a demonic instrument of war.

Of course, the days of my growing up can never come back – but their memories burn bright more times than I’d like to admit. And now, this world where differences are now the basis for breeding hate – where making America great again means crucifying those who don’t believe in your views is like watching a bad television show that needs to get yanked off the air.

Last week, I was in a place where I have always felt comfortable. An atmosphere that welcomed me since I was in my 20s, and I looked around, subconsciously perhaps, sizing up, the people and thinking, where could I hide if someone took out a gun and started shooting? I hated that I had those thoughts. This bar should be where I just enjoy being me.  Where someone who feels out of place could walk through the doors and never once for a second – lose one’s life.

I didn’t know anyone in the Pulse nightclub, but I know their stories and I know what it means to walk through the doors of a place that offer acceptance. And I can imagine, all too much, how it could all be taken away in an instant. This is not the America we should be living in and not the world that we need to leave to future generations. For years, the divas have echoed on the dance floor, “enough is enough, no more tears” and that line has morphed into more than just the lyrics of a disco song.

As I started writing this, I was on my way to Las Vegas, and after a week in that sin city, looking at every single DIVERSE person, how can one possibly want a wall to shut people out.  

And if the world events of this weekend have taught us another lesson, it's that  is every single person’s vote counts, every voice should be raised to be heard. Consequences should be front and center, rational thoughts should drown out the obscene rhetoric. Above all, remember that if you push someone down the stairs or shove them to the ground because you don’t like how they make you feel - they may get injured -  it may take them some time to compose themselves - but when they do, they are stronger than ever.