I was bar hoping last night and found one of my characters. Every once in a while, I meet someone that I’ve actually created or am planning to create, this fascinates me. I’ll call it professional interest and I take interest in them for just that reason.
I entered Pieces and the show was going on. The fifty dollar pyramid or some-such bar non-sense. He’s on stage wearing a kemp orange cereal shirt, it states KiXs in large green letters, his hand is playing with his tussled unkempt hair; he screams "I've had too much to drink".
This is when the drag queen asks him what he does, the other boys on stage are students at NYU or other colleges. One very sexy French boy teaches the audience how to say “I’m a whore.” In what I think is almost perfect Parisian. Okay maybe I'm tone deaf because he's cute. (Side note: I don't understand why men of his generation feel like they need to pluck their eyebrows, shrug)
The kid in the orange KiXs shirt lifts his hand, proudly states "I own my own business."
The drag queen asks "what business dearie", "a massage parlor, I'm a whore."
Drag Queen "Oh my, lets play the game."
After the game is done, the cute boys stage buddies have left, apparently to have a threesome. I find this out latter, from the sexy one. He's sort of teetering by the pool table and we're making eye contact. I talk to him, ask him what going on. We talk, he tells me he's 26. I don't think he's a day over 21 but my best friend chastises me for this later. I think he looks young yes, but what truly gives away his age, is how he puts his words together scattered trying to impress.
I confess "I'm a writer" he goes on to say. "People respect you for the money you make." This line immediately sealed it for me, I turned into a stalker, well not really ... cute boy just tells me, he's off to another party and I follow shortly. Meeting him there. We dance. We dance in a way that can only attract attention as we come closer to each other. He's very drunk at this point. I don't offer to buy him a drink. Yet he insists he wants more. He insists that he has his own money.
Dancing into the night, he starts hitting on other men, men that are only attractive when someone is really and truly drunk. I try to find out more about him and his business. All he can say, "I own a place on 34th Street" "I'm a whore."
With every word he smiles as he gets more and more fucked up. I have to leave, he follows me out. I try and kiss him. He takes out his phone but doesn't ask for my number, I think he wants me to ask for his, I'm not sure, he's lost the ability to string whole sentences together. Desperately, yes I'll admit it. "Do you want to come with me?" I ask, "I don't go home with someone I've just meet" he responds, I sigh and go home. I don't ask him to come home with me out of my desperation but from his desperation as he wanders.
He goes back to hitting on men that only look cute when you're very very drunk.
but all the men in the magazines have such perfect well-defined eyebrows. what if you have well-defined muscles and your eyebrows are out of synch with them? that is like a bad amateur drag queen forgetting the words.
and it's important to maintain control. if we didn't do it we might get hairier and hairier until we are one day bears and then we will be stuck in the scene FOREVER! FOREVER!
Posted by: marc | March 27, 2006 at 09:50 AM