An Imitation of Life

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

In my teen years, I experienced two unforgettable life-changing “moments.”

The first happened during puberty when it dawned on me that I possessed an unwavering s****l attraction to other boys. In truth, the revelation that I was gay didn’t even come as a tremendous shock. It was just something that “was,” and I quickly came to accept the fact that for the remainder of my life some ignorant fools might look upon me as being “different” and “less worthy,” and that my s****l orientation was their problem, not mine. My parents, with their liberal thinking and endless capacity for love and understanding, receive full credit for my non-traumatic “coming out,” and for that alone, I will always adore them.

And the second crucial moment in my life happened during my junior year in high school when I played the role of Perchik in a production of Fiddler on the Roof. This may sound egotistical, but the instant I stepped onto the stage during that first rehearsal, I recognized that I possessed better than average talent for not only singing, but acting as well. As the days progressed, the certainty within me grew even stronger. Oh sure, my parents, teachers, and peers praised my following performances, but their words did nothing to bring me to my conclusion. It was my gut that spoke to me the loudest, and with absolute assurance, and even at that relatively young age, I knew—I just knew—that should I pursue acting as a profession and work my butt off, I had a solid chance at a long and successful career. In retrospect, it seems somewhat eerie, but much of the process came almost too easy for me in regards to not only memorizing lines, but also truly understanding the characters I portrayed in various shows. I found it nearly effortless to dig deep into my “mental library” and locate just the right amount of emotional nuance needed for each scene, and I also knew when my performances were either spot on or sorely lacking. I swiftly came to ascertain my strengths and weaknesses, and at every opportunity, I concentrated on perfecting the latter.

After only two years of college, I decided to quit school altogether and concentrate on acting full time. With supportive and encouraging parents behind me, I moved out of my childhood home in Connecticut to the Big Apple. I soon got enrolled in The Stella Adler Studio, studied night and day in dozens of workshops to learn my chosen craft, and hit the streets in search of the almighty agent.

That’s when I met Olive Pershing. The sixty-six-year-old gal, with her henna-rinsed coiffure and alert blue eyes—can anyone say “Lucille Ball”?—had been in the business for something like four decades, and she seemed to know just about everyone of note in the entertainment industry, both East and West Coast. When she took me on as her client nearly five years ago, many of my actor friends had displayed amazement bordering on envy. I later learned that Olive had a reputation as a nit-picker when it came to her roster of talent, and getting her to represent you was considered nothing less than a remarkable achievement. Certainly I thought myself fortunate, but Olive’s acceptance of me also confirmed that my gut hadn’t lied all those years ago, that I did indeed have talent.

Throughout the years, Olive had secured me plenty of auditions for stage roles. Of course, I started by doing bit parts, from one- or two-liner walk-ons to being in the chorus of various musical extravaganzas on and Off-Broadway. Each month I auditioned for countless producers, had my fair share of rotten luck tossed in with the good, had more than one play in which I appeared get labeled as a “stinker” by critics and close after opening night, and generally paid my dues accordingly.

Then eventually the hard work started to pay off. I began landing better roles, from Rapunzel’s Prince in Into the Woods to Anthony in a Broadway revival of Sweeney Todd, and I came a hair’s breadth away from snagging the role of Bert in Mary Poppins. So damned close! But in this business, like any other, close doesn’t count, plus it doesn’t pay the bills, and after several days of sulking, I chalked it up to another disappointment and moved on.

At first, when it came to my career, I had focused solely on musical theater with some drama tossed in for good measure. Only recently had Olive talked me into broadening my horizons, saying that she had received queries about me when it came to other mediums. She also mentioned the potential salaries involved, so I decided to go for it.

In the past few years, I had completed supporting roles in two indie films, made my small-screen debut as a street musician in an episode of Ugly Betty, which led to a half-dozen minor roles on other television shows, and even did some voiceover work for an ad agency. I also landed several television commercials, my most famous—or infamous, depending on how I took the razzing from my friends and family—being that of a half-naked man in a spot for shaving cream. No lines, but plenty of nationwide exposure in the form of bare skin. Oh, well, as I told Reed earlier, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and modeling was as good a gig as any.

Along the way, of course, I’d done numerous auditions that went nowhere, but at least I kept myself busy and got enough work to not only pay the rent each month but to also pay off my credit card balances while maintaining a small balance in a checking account. And all thanks to Olive Pershing, who seemed to work tirelessly 24/7 to help me keep a relatively steady income.

Now, as I continued to hold the line for her, listening to a truly awful Muzak version of a Burt Bacharach tune, I wondered what Olive had for me this time. Hopefully it would be a job that involved more than a mere few days’ work, and something that actually had some “teeth” to it. Don’t get me wrong—it was fairly easy money to stand around with a face partially smeared with shaving cream and wearing nothing but a towel, but “challenging” it certainly was not. I wanted acting work, a solid role, to keep my creative juices flowing, so I mentally crossed my fingers she had something decent and started to hum along with “What The World Needs Now Is Love” that played into my ear.

Just as I was about to actually start singing along with the chorus, the line clicked, silencing the Muzak. “Hello, my sweetness. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Hi, Olive. How have you been?”

“Apart from my usual aching back, and the pain in the ass that is my worthless daughter-in-law, I suppose I’ll survive the week. How are you holding up in this heat wave?”

I pried the damp tank top from my torso and blew a stream of air downward to rustle my chest hair. “Not melting just yet.”

“Glad to hear it, because I need you. Clear your schedule for tomorrow morning. Can you be at Riverside and West 71st by nine?” She rattled off the exact address, but I already knew the studio complex due to several auditions I’d had in the past.

“A TV role?” I asked.

“And if you play your cards right, you’ve got this part in the bag.”

“Oh? For what?”

“A soap. They want you to do a reading.”

I ran my free hand over my face. “A cold reading? You know how much I hate those.”

“But you actually have a proverbial foot in the door for this one. Do you remember that casting director you met several months ago, Jillian Shinbark?”

“Do I? Her name is unforgettable. But I also remember I didn’t get that role on Tomorrow’s Edge. Did the other actor they hire fall flat on his face?”

“Forget Tomorrow’s Edge. That’s ‘Yesterday’s News.’ Jillian’s just gotten herself hired as the casting goddess at another soap. But more vital than you remembering her, my sweetness, is that she remembers you.”

“You’re kidding?”

“When it comes to my babies, I may schmooze, I may console, and I may b***h up a storm every other Tuesday, but I never kid.” Olive thought of herself as the ultimate stage mom, and viewed all of her actors, young and old, as offspring. “No, Mars, she asked for you specifically. But of course, how could anyone forget that handsome kisser of yours—or your bare behind?”

I suppressed a groan. “Enough, already, when it comes to that shaving cream ad. And I wasn’t bare-assed naked, I’ll beg you to recall.”

“Close enough to get considerable attention. My phone hasn’t stopped ringing off the hook with people requesting your talents. Then again, many of them are requesting you to do unique things, only without a towel this time, and becoming a high-priced madam was never one of my career goals.”

“Very funny. I thought you said you never kid?”

“I make exceptions for my favorite children, and don’t get smart. Now, can you meet Jillian tomorrow? She thinks you’ll be perfect for this role.”

“Which is?”

“A brand new character the writers on her show are developing.”

“Developing? So this just isn’t an under-five role, it’s something more substantial?”

“With your talent, would I waste your time sending you out for a one- or two-shot appearance on a soap with only a few lines? No, this role has day-player, or recurring status. They have a hot story in mind, one that—and I quote Jillian—‘will break down taboos and change the face of daytime television as we know it.’”

“Breaking taboos?” I plopped down on the sofa and kicked off my sneakers. After I tore off my socks and tossed them into the corner, I planted my feet on the coffee table. “Okay, now I’m intrigued.”

“Yes, I thought that might do it.” When she paused, I detected a combination sigh-hesitation. It was the same sort of sigh-hesitation I’d heard just before she inquired whether I’d perform half-naked on camera, which eventually led to that infamous shaving cream ad.

“Okay, Olive, what is it now? The character is half-man, half-unicorn? The character is a crazy loon who dresses as a giant banana, or, God forbid, wears only a towel? The character is—”

“Is gay.”

My gut clenched. Sure, I was an openly gay man in my private life, but when it came to my career, I wasn’t stupid enough to advertise it. The ugly truth of the matter was an actor still risked getting jobs because of his or her orientation. In my case, being often cast in romantic lead roles, I’ve always done my level best not to flaunt my sexuality. I knew it was one thing to spend the majority of a career on Broadway—for some reason, gay stage actors didn’t have to worry as much, if at all, about being typecast. We were somehow a “special breed” when it came to that particular quadrant of the entertainment world. But it was quite another matter for gay actors to pursue leading roles, especially romantic leads, on television and in movies when homophobia still stubbornly hung over much of the industry like a dirty, stinking cloud of shame. Even in this day and age, many casting directors were loath to put gay men in romantic leads, which meant most gay actors still hid their sexuality, either never coming out to the public, or coming out only after they’d gained a solid reputation for their work.

Therefore, although I knew the day would eventually come, and I’d discussed the possibility with Olive on numerous occasions, I still didn’t know how I felt about it. Should I even risk auditioning for this role? And if I landed it, would I openly admit my sexuality to the public if anyone asked, or would I let the rumors fly, which usually happened when any actor portrayed a gay character? I suppose it came down to a matter of bravery, and I wasn’t certain I had enough of that particular trait to do it. I had to tread very carefully, since one wrong career choice could typecast an actor for life, and then roles would become limited. Certainly I could always refocus my career on the stage, but now that I’d had a pleasant taste of television and film, I didn’t want to shut the door on potential opportunities.

“Mars? Are you still there? I didn’t mean to take you by surprise. Do you want to think about it? Given the way you feel, I could call Jillian and reschedule for later this week, allowing you extra time to decide if this is something you wish to pursue.”

I appreciated Olive’s sensitivity and concern. Before answering, however, I chugged down the remainder of my now-tepid beer. My mind raced with questions, and I couldn’t decide which one to ask first.

But then a horrifying thought hit me. I bolted upright, slammed the empty beer bottle onto the coffee table, and cleared my throat. “A gay character…wait a second. Does Jillian think I’m gay? I mean, does she remember me as being too effeminate or does she—”

“Far from it. Indeed, ironically enough, Jillian’s only concern is that you may be too macho for the role. Her words, not mine. Isn’t that a kick in the head?”

“You’re kidding?”

“Mars, sweetheart, you know—”

“Oh, right, you never kid. Then what did she say about me? If I don’t come off as being gay, why did I come to mind for this part? Was there something I did, or said? Some characteristic of mine that made her think ‘queer’—”

“Relax, love, relax. Your façade is intact. Here’s what she had to say…” Papers rustled on her end of the line. “And I quote, ‘He’s got a great look, the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome type, with the most hypnotic and intense green eyes I’ve ever seen.’ I told you those eyes were your best feature, Mars, wasted all these years on the stage when only a camera could do them justice.”

“Yeah, yeah, Olive…what else?”

“Jillian said they’re searching for someone who’s in his mid to late twenties, has an impressive physique, and can ‘wow’ the show’s female fans. In other words, my sweetness,” interjected Olive, a sardonic quirk to her voice, “they’ll likely want you to appear in your undies on occasion—or perhaps in a towel—to make all the viewers hot and bothered.” She laughed. “Jillian also said, and I’m quoting again, ‘But just as important, he needs to be able to portray rugged as well as sensitive, and he’ll need to handle a wide range of emotions for this difficult role.’ They’ve been testing actors for weeks with no success. So as I mentioned, when she called this morning, she specifically asked for you—by name. She may not have cast you over at Tomorrow’s Edge, but you certainly left a lasting impression on her, from your ‘look’ to your acting chops.”

“For a role like this, wouldn’t they rather go with an experienced soap-actor?”

“I actually wondered that myself. But no, they want a fresh face, someone new to daytime. Should I go on, or are you still in a blind panic about your manliness or lack thereof?”

“Again, very funny. But sure, tell me more.”

“As I said, it’s a day-player role with a guaranteed twelve-week stint, but there’s a possibility of getting elevated to contract-player status should the character prove popular with the fans. They want to cast before the end of the month since the story needs to hit the air before November sweeps. Although I don’t know their current ratings off the cuff, I do know the numbers have been in the tank for a while and they’re looking to do something to regain the show’s top spot on the heap before they get cancelled altogether. I suppose ‘desperation’ to these daytime folk means doing something different and controversial. So, what do you say?”

“I’m…I’m still not sure…”

“That’s because you’re your own worst critic. Always have been. And you’re also a worrywart like my third ex-husband, God rest his miserable soul. Yes, you have legitimate concerns about your image, Mars, and I do understand. But we’ve known from the start that this may happen one day.”

“I was just thinking that myself.”

“And the times are changing…”

“Not fast enough, what with all the repressive, puritanical, moralistic crap that still continues to pour out of Washington. Hell, one major party is still practically demanding laws to brand all of us queers with a big ‘Q’ on our foreheads.”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate, darling. You know as well as I, strides are being made at a delightfully alarming rate. Just ask any of the gay couples getting hitched across the country these days. So get off your soapbox, no pun intended.” She sighed. “Now, be that as it may, I hope you know that I have faith in your abilities to handle this role, but I’ll represent you in the manner that makes you the most comfortable. You won’t be doing me any favors by going to the audition, and I’ll happily abide by your wishes and tell Jillian whatever you decide. I just don’t want you to regret turning down the opportunity. It is a soap, after all, steady work for at least a while, and it will put you in front of millions of viewers and add another impressive credit to your already lengthy résumé. Yet the decision is completely up to you. So? What’s the verdict?”

I couldn’t help remembering what had happened earlier, my ribald challenge to Reed about whipping out his p***s and proving his claim of being c**k King. Certainly I’d had the bravery to do that, but now, concerning this matter of greater importance, did I have the balls for this crucial challenge, an audition that could affect my entire career?

I scanned the apartment’s brick walls, dotted with colorful posters from legendary Broadway musicals, each featuring the original cast, including Man Of La Mancha, Carousel, A Little Night Music, and Fiddler On The Roof, of course, the one that had started it all for me. My parents had painstakingly hunted them down, had them framed, and presented them to me several birthdays ago. The posters represented the constant support and encouragement my parents had given me through the years, and now they also helped me make my decision.

“Okay, I’ll be there.”

“Splendid. I knew you’d do it.”

“You did, huh?”

“Certainly. You may be cautious, Mars, sometimes to a fault, but you usually know a good opportunity when you see it. All right, my sweetness, I’ll tell Jillian you’ll be there at nine sharp. Let me know what happens. So until I talk to you tomorrow, break a leg and—”

“Hey, wait a second. Before I audition, I’d love to research the show or at least see an episode or two, but you never told me the name of it.”

“I didn’t? Silly me. Are you familiar with Destiny’s Storm?”

As if on cue, another bout of female giggles punched through Reed’s closed bedroom door, severing the steady drone of the air-conditioning unit in one of the living room windows.

Once again, my gut clenched, and I groaned. “Not really, but I know someone who is.”