The next two chapters contain dialogue that is also in the play. Just want to give credit where credit is due.
At Twenty
Christmas bothers me. I haven't had many good ones. Sure, I had plenty of okay ones when I was little. But my family was poor, so I never got a lot of presents.
My best Christmas ever was two years ago with Sherese and the rest of my adopted family, the family that accepts me as I am. We had a big party at the House O' Drag and all the performers dressed up and sang carols.
I wore a special outfit that Chris designed for me. A green turtleneck baby tee, a white skirt, and a red zippered sweatshirt with a hood that Chris had trimmed with Santa fur.
And the piece de resistance was a pair of zebra print tights that I saw at the clearance rack at Woolworth's. All that, plus my highest stilettos and I was good to go. And of course, my black bob wig.
I brought the house down with my rendition of "Jingle Bell Rock."
I still have that outfit, but I haven't worn it since then. I pull it out of the closet from time to time just to look at it. But then I get depressed thinking about Sherese.
There's a picture of me at that party in my scrapbook. I'm posing with the other performers, who had become my sisters, and Sherese. She's right in the middle with a big smile on her face.
It's also a Friday, which means I go to my spot to earn some extra money playing my drums. It's not even about the money anymore. I do it now to get my mind off of certain things. Sherese's death being one of them.
I now own Chris' store. He moved away six months ago to California. He says New York is too depressing and he's always wanted to be an actor. I've changed the name to Angel Baby's. Actually, Ross is the owner; I just run the place. Ross prefers to call himself a silent partner. He's referred a lot of people to me and business is good. I had to drop out of Cooper Union, though, because of all my responsibilities.
But despite my business success, this has been a rough year for me. David, a.k.a. Kim, is now on the AIDS floor of the hospital I used to work at. The same hospital where Sherese died.
Mimi hasn't been at any Life Support meetings in a long while. I see her on the street sometimes. She says hello but she always seems like she's in a hurry to get somewhere.
So, when I play my drums near the vacant lot, it's therapy. If people don't want to throw money into my hat, they don't have to. I'm not playing for them anymore.
I stopped going to Life Support myself a couple of weeks ago. Paul stopped by Angel Baby's to ask why I haven't been there. I've been making excuses about being busy with the store and not feeling well.
"Are you taking your AZT?" he asks.
"Actually, no," I told him the last time he asked. I was getting sick of the side effects, so I stopped taking it around sometime over the summer.
"Well," says Paul. "It's your prerogative." That's what he says to everyone who decides not to take their meds.
"No one can force you to take your meds," he's always saying. "You are in control of your destiny. You decide where you want to go."
Another reason I stopped taking my AZT was that I can't get over the fact that it's not a cure for what I have. The medication is only supposed to improve the quality of whatever life I have left. Not a good enough trade-off, if you ask me.
I mean, if this shit's supposed to make you feel better, then how come I'm puking my guts out, I have diarrhea and headaches and I'm depressed as hell?
Ross doesn't know that I've stopped taking it. If he knew, it would break his heart.
Anyway, I'm at the lot playing my drums. The artists don't hang out there anymore because the owner of the lot has finally decided to do something with the property after all this time.
The artists have been harassed all month by the cops, so most of them have just given up and gone elsewhere. Now only the die-hards remain, like Maureen. She's staging a protest/show on the lot at midnight. I have a flyer for it taped to my bass drum.
Homeless people have taken over the lot now. They've been sleeping in the lot for a couple of nights now. This is to protest the fact that a homeless man was shot a few weeks ago when all he was doing was picking up cans for recycling. The homeless people are not moving from the lot until the person responsible for the shooting is arrested and locked up.
It's 6:00 p.m. and I've been at it for about an hour. Some of the homeless people don't like it, but I don't care. I need this. I get hit in the head with wadded up newspapers, cans and other assorted items but I just keep on playing.
Soon, there's a commotion among the people in the lot and on the street. I stop playing and look up. A limousine has just pulled up in front of me. Is that what all the fuss is about? Who cares?
I start playing again when I hear a shout.
"Young man! Excuse me, young man!" I look up. Some lady is poking her head out of the window. She motions for me to go over there. What the hell, I get up and walk over to the car, sticks in hand.
"Yea?" I ask impatiently. She's interrupting an important Friday night ritual and I'm getting irritated.
"I was wondering if you could do me a favor," she said.
"The safest way out of the neighborhood is to go over to 14th street and take a right on…"
"No, no, no," she clucks. "Could you just listen to me?"
"What?" I say, annoyed as hell.
"Okay, there's money in it for you," she begins.
"Money in what for me?" This is getting tired.
"I will pay you $1,000 if you do me one small favor," she says in a loud whisper. "Get in. Oh, and bring your contraption." She points to my drum kit.
What have I got to lose?
I pack up my snare, tom tom, bass and high hat. The chauffeur helps me stuff it all into the back of the limo.
So I'm squeezed into the back of this limousine with my drum kit and I'm sitting across from some old lady in a mink coat.
"I just wanna tell you that I'm not a prostitute or anything. So, if what you have in mind is sexual, then you can forget it," I tell her. She chuckles softly.
"It's not like that at all, dear," she says. "What I want you to do is set up your…your things," she gestures to my drums, "under a certain window in my Park Avenue condo."
"Okay…" what is she getting at?
"This woman has the most annoying dog. It yaps and yaps and yaps all night long and I haven't slept in a year because of it."
"And this has to do with my drums, how?" I ask.
"What I want you to do," she explains, "is set up this, this, thing…on my balcony. I live right underneath the wretch who owns this beast."
"Go on," I tell her.
"If you play loud and fast, the beast might have a heart attack. The imbecile leaves the window open at all hours and the dog likes to hang out on the ledge."
"Thousand dollars, you said?"
"That's right young man," she reminds me. "And I'll pay you extra if you decorate my Christmas tree. I just haven't had any time to do it, I've been so busy."
Okay, so I've got my kit set up on the lady's balcony. I'm twenty-two stories up and I'm playing my guts out. I've never played so hard, loud and fast in my life. My hands will have big calluses and blisters on them tomorrow but this is worth it.
I could hear the damn dog from the moment we got into the lady's unit. No wonder she's willing to pay such a high price to get rid of it.
Evita the Akita appears on the windowsill just to the side of the upper balcony. She's howling like crazy, but I ignore her. I'm not being paid to give a shit if that dog's in pain.
Suddenly, I hear a yelp and I stop playing. I look up just in time to see that mangy mutt slip and fall off the windowsill. I run to the edge of the balcony and watch it plummet to its death.
I finally hear a faint whimper as it hits the ground. Eww! Good thing I can't see very well up here. I open the sliding door and poke my head inside.
"Hey lady," I yell. She emerges from the kitchen with a glass in her hand.
"Well, what do you know? The god awful barking stopped," she says, her voice slurring.
"Come out here, you gotta see this," I tell her. She follows me outside and peers over the edge of the balcony.
"It was so disturbed by my playing that it committed suicide," I tell her gleefully.
"Well, I thought it would have a heart attack, but this is just as good," she said. "Sanitation can scrape it up in the morning."
I follow her back inside. She takes a painting off a wall in the living room and a safe is revealed. She works the combination, opens the safe, and pulls out a wad of bills. It's all tens and it has a paper band around it.
"Go ahead and count it," she says. I count 100 ten-dollar bills.
"Still need me to decorate the tree?" I ask.
"No, that'll be all," she says. "Suddenly, I'm feeling festive. I'll do the damn tree myself. My driver will help you pack up your drums and drop you off at your corner."
When I get back to Alphabet City, the driver helps me unload my kit. I'm about to lug the cases back to my apartment when I hear someone moaning.
In the doorway of a loft apartment building, I see someone sitting on the steps doubled in pain. I set the cases down and go over to see what's wrong.
"You okay, honey?" I ask the man on the steps. He looks up at me and smiles weakly.
"I'm afraid so," he says. He looks familiar. A face that gorgeous is hard to forget.
"Were you jumped?" I ask.
"Yea, but I didn't have any money so they took my coat," he says.
"You left a sleeve!" he shouts into the night air. I find a piece of cloth on the ground. It's a coat sleeve. I hand it to him.
"I'm Angel," I tell him. He smiles.
"What a coincidence," he says. "I'm Tom Collins. My friends call me Collins, you can too."
"My place isn't far. Only a block away," I tell him. "Let's get you cleaned up."
"Thank you," he says softly.
"Then I can change," I add. "There's a Life Support meeting at 9:30."
"Life Support?" he asks. He's not shocked, that's a good sign.
"Yes," I tell him. "I have AIDS." I wait for his reaction.
"So do I," he tells me. "I used to go to Life Support."
"That's were I know you from," I say. "I knew you looked familiar."
"Look," he says. "I'd love to go with you, honest. But I'm supposed to meet some friends."
"First we need to clean and bandage that knee," I insist. "Then we can go find your friends."
I let him lean on me as we walk back to my apartment. The drum cases are still sitting on the sidewalk. I'm not worried, though. Collins is more important than some beat up old Ludwigs.
Back at my place, I dress his knee. While he's in the bathroom washing up, I go into my closet and change into my special Christmas outfit. It still fits!
I emerge from the closet just as he comes out of the bathroom. As soon as he sees me, he smiles.
"Now I remember you!" he chuckles. "You look good in drag." I blush.
On the way to go see Collins' friends we do a little grocery shopping. Collins told me that Mark and Roger are in danger of being evicted and their heat and lights just got turned off.
We sit in the dark at their place as I tell them all about my experience on Park Avenue.
"And she handed you the money just like that?" Mark asked.
"She did! And it's burning a hole in my purse," I tell him. "Help me spend it."
"After Maureen's show, let's all go to the Life Café," says Collins. Roger and Mark nod in agreement.
Our little kaffee klatch is interrupted by Roger and Mark's landlord. Collins and I sit and watch him try and sell them on the idea of some fake artists' colony he wants to develop. Puh-leeze!
After Benny leaves, Collins invites them to the Life Support meeting. Roger declines but promises to meet us at Maureen's show later.
"Speaking of Maureen's show," says Mark. "I have to help Joanne set up."
"Who's Joanne?" asks Collins.
"Maureen's girlfriend," he answers.
"Ahh," says Collins.
Hmm. I didn't know Maureen swung both ways.
On the way to the Life Support meeting, I find out that Collins was living in Boston for the past year. He taught at MIT but got fired when he hacked into their central computer system.
Intelligent and daring as well as handsome!
After the meeting, I take Collins to St. Mark's place to buy him a coat.
"You don't have to do this for me," he says.
"But it's Christmas," I tell him. I'm looking through coats trying to find one that will do this beautiful man justice. All the while, he's telling me he doesn't deserve this.
"Oh just be quiet and kiss me," I tell him. He obliges and I'm glad he does.
We go see Maureen's show. It's tripped out. She's singing about diet coke, Benny and the Cow that Jumped Over the Moon. I don't get any of it. I look over at Collins. Does he get any of this?
After the show, the crowd that was at the lot goes to the Life Café. At first the maitre'd won't seat us. I slip him a twenty and he asks the busboys to push together some tables.
Benny's there with some old white guy. He tries to mess with us but we all mess with him right back. I find out that the dog whose death I caused was his!
Gotta keep a straight face.
Mimi's sitting next to Roger and they both look pretty cozy. I lean over and whisper to Mimi.
"He's so cute, you go girl!"
She smiles.
Pretty soon, we're laughing and talking and having a good time. We make so much noise that Benny threatens to have us kicked out. Finally, he gives up on us and he and the old guy leave.
Joanne, Maureen's girlfriend, comes into the restaurant and tells us that there's a riot in the lot. People are mooing?
We get up on the tables and dance and act crazy. I guess you could say that we're staging out own riot in the Life Café.
The maitre'd finally kicks us out.
"So," I ask Collins, "what are you going to do for the rest of the evening."
"Hon," he says, "it's already morning." He kisses me on the forehead. I giggle.
"Then what are you doing for the rest of the morning?" I tease.
"Well, I was going to ask Roger and Mark if I could crash at their place. But I guess that's out of the question."
Benny had called the police earlier and they came and padlocked their building.
"You need a place to stay?" I tell him. "Come home with me." Please say yes. Please say yes.
"I'd love to," he says in all seriousness. He puts his arm around my shoulders and I put mine around his waist. We walk for a while without saying anything. My head rests on his shoulder.
Suddenly I stop walking.
"Wait!"
"What is it?" he asks.
"Condoms!"
"What about them?" he asks. He looks slightly amused.
"I don't have any at my place." Oh no, I hope he doesn't think I'm a slut.
"Relax," he chuckles. "We'll find a drugstore."
I never knew condom shopping could be so much fun! The old lady behind the register gives us a funny look as she rings them up.
"Merry Christmas!" we sing in unison as we leave the store.
When we get back to my place, the first thing I do is pull my bed out of the wall. I lay on it and look up at Collins. He smiles and laughs all sexy.
"I can't believe a skinny boy like you can keep that bed from flying back into the wall," he says.
"Well then," I tell him. "You're just going to have to help me anchor it down."
He jumps onto the bed and tickles me.
I haven't felt this good in years.
About freakin' time!