I just got to the party and already I’m dealing with assholes. I shouldn’t have invited my friend Andrew from set earlier to this place – it’s a shark pool. He’s a sweet corn-fed kid from some college football-type state and hasn’t grown his rough LA skin yet. Sure he can handle some of the dogs, but this party is something you have to work your way up to.
Take this jerk Donnie Ramo for example, whenever it’s just the two of us together he’s cool as a bag of ice. He talks about wanting to be a writer, sometimes even shows me some of his stuff if he’s sauced enough… it’s not bad. We talk about things that matter, you know? We talk about the future, about collaborating – me with my acting and him with his stories. There’s never a dull conversation between the two of us.
But that all goes to shit once another cook is added to the mix. Something comes over him, he becomes ice-cold. It’s like a shadow casts over him. He becomes this dark cat and completely shuts himself off from anyone else around him. It’s almost as if he has two personalities. I think someone should do him a favor and write a script up for Depakote – the guy does enough pills as it; adding another can’t do too much damage. Especially if the guy needs it, which he does, a classic case of bipolar if I’ve ever seen one.
I don’t mean to be so sore on the guy right now, but he just treated me like walking shit a minute ago. I’m like that I guess; find it hard to let things go that really grit my teeth. I mean I wasn’t in the wrong or anything. I saw him at the other end of the hall and figured I’d say hi to the cat. I invited a new friend of mine that hasn’t got here yet just so he could meet Donnie. So I take him aside to tell him and the fucking guy just brushes me off like we’re perfect strangers.
At first I thought he didn’t notice me. Then I thought maybe he was in one of his moods – where he’s in his own world. But right now I can see him talking to that whore Stacy and her flavor of the day Cal. That just tells me he flat out didn’t care to talk to me. And I didn’t do dime one to the guy. I’m pretty heated about it.
But whatever, I’ll get over it…
Right now I’ve got bigger fish to fry – rent’s due in three days and I’m dried out like a prune in the bread department. Extra-work pays, sure, but most of those kids are in their early twenties. I may not look it, but I’m a thirty-two year-old man. I’ve got expenses. And at fifty-eight bucks a day, extra-work can barely keep the heat on.
Empty pockets aren’t really a new thing for me; acting’s a feast-or-famine business. This isn’t my first ride on the rollercoaster, I can tell you that much. I always have things waiting in pipeline in case shit hits the fan. I have people to call, things I can do, and the status is always cooled by the first of the month. Do I like doing what I have to do? Of course not, it’s a hustle… and hustles are hassles. But what else am I supposed to do? All the catering jobs are dried up.
I hatch a super-strong Vodka-Cranberry in one gulp and pour myself another, almost instinctually. I don’t normally get too sauced before doing “a job” but today my nerves are going a bit faster than usual. It’s probably that fucker Donnie Ramo still. I’ve gotta let things pass easier. I’ll work on that.
Dane is making his way toward me and he couldn’t look any faggier. He’s got more leather than four cows and his pirate-shirt can use a few more buttons. He sees me from across the room and flashes me this sickening predatory smile. I want to puke. As he gets closer I can see he’s wearing make-up even. A little bit of mascara around the eyes and a shit-load of blush on his cheeks. The fags in this city never cease to amaze. I mean with what I have to do from time to time I get used to them, but there’s always a Queen out there that will take me by surprise… and Dane knows all of them.
Dane glides right up next to me and puts his faggot hand on my thigh, not too far away from my soft-as-a-pillow cock. He leans in close to my neck – spewing his hot, onion-and-booze breath onto the soft skin of my perfectly tanned neck. I’m about to get sick. I back off.
“What is it Dane?”
“Jesus, you’re hostile tonight…” he says in a faggy whine.
“I’m not hostile, I’m just tired. You know the score.” I look around to make sure no one’s looking – especially Donnie – god knows how he’d use this shit against me in the future. I put on a tough-guy act, lean into Dane, and say, “Plus, I can’t have your fag ass draping all over me in front of this crowd. We’re not far from West Hollywood but far enough if you catch my drift”.
“Reeelax babe”, he says, “I’ve got good news for you”.
“There’s no such thing as good news from you Dane.”
“Okay…” he turns away, grabs a drink, and says, “then don’t call me again next time you need a favor.”
He’s about to leave. I stop him. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I need his help again.
“I’m sorry Dane. I don’t mean to be so bitter, I’m just really… stressed out, you know?”
“Yeah I know. But you put yourself in this position honey. I’m just trying to help”.
“I understand. I just hate doing this shit.”
“Oh it’s not that bad… you make out okay. It’s not like you’re bottoming out, if you know what I mean?”
Red rushes to my face. He crossed the line. He may be helping me out, but with queens like Dane, sometimes you have to crack the whip – let them know who’s really wearing the balls.
I grab his collar and bring him real close and say, “Don’t fucking say that shit again. Not at a place like this. You’re my present, these people are my future. You dig?”
I push him away. He’s like a scared cat. He composes himself and says to me with a bitchy fear in his eyes, “Yeah well, I’m a present that’s going on ten years running. This future you’re always going on about never seems to come. So if I were you I’d play nice with what you have in the here and now.”
He’s right and knows it… the air gets uncomfortable for a beat. He drinks his queenie-fruit-drink in quiet. I have to break the ice…
“Speaking of the here and now…” I swallow hard, not wanting to ask, “Do you have anything for me?”
He smiles huge… the little fuck thinks he has me in the palm of his hand. “I’ve got two guys you can choose from. Used to have three but the last one backed out once I told him you needed a DVD player in the room.”
“Did you tell the fag it’s the only way I can get hard?”
“Yeah I told the GUY you needed it to get hard… careful with the name calling…” he grazes my leg with his own, “you never know who you may offend.”
I don’t even bother getting mad at the guy. The sooner I’m done with this the better. “So you’ve got two lined up? Are they upstairs?”
“You know it… ready and waiting.”
“I bet… what’s the cash like?”
“Same as usual, unless you change your ways the price will always stay the same.”
“I told you a million times I’m no fag.”
“Yeah, what you do doesn’t make you gay…” he takes a sip with a smug grin and says, “You’re just ACTING… I forgot.”
If I didn’t need the six-bills I’d kick this fags teeth right down his cock-swallowing throat. But I do need him, so I relax, polish my drink, and pop one of my last Viagra’s to get me ready for show-time.
“You have the cash?” I ask him.
“Shouldn’t you get to work first?”
“Last time I worked on the nose for you I got stiffed.”
“Wasn’t that the point?” he says and giggles uncontrollably. He sees I’m not laughing and composes himself out of fear. Then the fag apologizes, “I’m sorry. It was only a joke.”
“I’m not laughing” I say cold as ice.
“I can see that.” He says.
He pulls a wad of six hundreds out of his jacket pocket and slides it across the bar to me. I count it and put it in my pocket. Part of me just wants to take the cash and leave, but the other part of me knows this probably won’t be the last time I ask Dane for a favor.
“You got anything else for me?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
I gesture under my nose for some coke. He picks it up in a heartbeat and hands me a twenty-bag. “This should get you started” he says, “They have plenty more upstairs. Believe me.”
I pour myself another drink and hatch it in one gulp. Liquid courage.
“Don’t look so upset Tad” he says, “Look at the bright side, you’re getting paid to get what most straight guys have to pay out the nose for.”
“I am a straight guy… we usually get head from chicks.”
“You’ve got your little DVD player. Or hell, you are an actor… just close your eyes and pretend he’s a she.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing all these years?” I say as I gather my courage and make my way to the stairs. Then something occurs to me and I ask, “By the way, did you give them a name?”
“Of course I did… Daniel.” He smiles and winks.
I don’t respond. Daniel’s fine… tells the queens I only take head and never give it. I look straight-ahead careful not to look anyone in the eye. What I do is my business. I’m acting, not gay. Just paying the damn bills.
On my way to the stairs I remember my friend Andrew. I forgot all about him when I set all this shit up. Poor guy’s not going to know what to do when he gets here. No matter though, he’ll have to fend on his own. It’s not like getting head takes up the whole evening. As long as I don’t get too crazy with the fairy-dust I should be back down within the next sixty ticks.
The stairs aren’t too far away. Once I hit that first step its game-time. I make a mental picture of every slut I pass on the way – careful to remember all the nooks-and-crannies: the tits, the ass, the thongs, anything to keep me hard when the fags roping my hook… anything to stay professional.
All I have to do is maintain, stay in character, and remember to drink enough tonight where all of this will be a distant memory.
I approach the stairs and lock eyes with Donnie Ramo for a beat. The bastard smiles at me. He’s not stupid, he knows the score. But rather than feel for me, he probably gets off on my misery. Your typical fucking writer. He’d be such a perfect guy if he didn’t try so hard to be apathetic… if he didn’t try so hard to be cold. He doesn’t think anyone knows, in fact they probably don’t… but I do. I understand Donnie better than he does. He hates himself and tries so hard to have others do the same. But I could never hate Donnie… we’re too alike.
I brush Donnie off, block my mind off, and get into character. It’s go time. Nothing else matters. All that matters is the money in my pocket and the mantra in my head… I’m not a fag, I’m just acting… this isn’t who I am, it’s what I do…
I’m not a fag. I’m acting.
This isn’t what I am, it’s what I do…
