Band Fags! (9 page)

“Ooh, that'll be fun,” he teases, trying to unstick white tissue paper from his thumb and index finger. “You, me, and a bunch of old ladies!”

Even though Brad's probably right, I remind him it was
his
idea to spend Spring Break in Florida…Not mine!

“Do you think we'll ever sell enough of these damn Christmas wreaths to get the money?” he asks me.

“I hope so,” I reply, “'cause if we don't, we'll have to start saving our lunch money.”

“Then I'm fucked,” says Brad. “I'm on the Free Lunch plan since my Dad left.”

Which I totally forgot. “Sorry…”

“Don't be sorry,” he tells me. “Be happy your parents are still married after all these years.”

I sprinkle a dash of glitter on my finally-finished Christmas wreath, not wanting to address the fact that Brad now comes from a Broken Home. Meanwhile, Life is still Fine and Dandy here at the Paternos with Jack and Dianne.

I attempt to liven up the conversation by saying, “I can't wait to go to Disney World on Spring Break.” Even though I've already been
twice,
I can't help but get excited thinking about watching Brad totally freak out on Space Mountain.

He gives me a look. “We are
not
going to Disney World on Spring Break…We are
way
too old for that.”

“What are we gonna do instead?” I wonder.

“All I wanna do is lay on the beach and get a great tan,” he replies. “And get laid!”

I try my best to conceal my laughter. “Like there's even a chance.”

Brad gives me another look. “It could happen…We're in 9
^th
grade, aren't we?”

“So…?”

“So…People have sex when they're in 9
^th
grade,” he insists.

“No, they don't.” What person in their right mind would risk having S-E-X at such a young age?

“Your
Mom
was in 9
^th
grade when she got pregnant with you!” Brad reminds me. In case I forgot. “Dianne was the exact same age we are now and she was totally having sex.”

“Yeah…But she's a
girl.
”

“So…?”

“So…Girls mature faster than boys.” Which is another thing they've been cramming down our throats since 6
^th
grade Sex Ed.

“Whatever,” says Brad, blowing me off. “Bobby says it's gonna happen…Soon.”

Which is fine for somebody like Bobby Russell to say. He's got a different girlfriend every week. But I don't. And neither does Brad…Which is what I remind him.

“Duh! When you're on Spring Break, it doesn't matter,” he quips. “There are
tons
of people on the beach and
everybody
is hot and it just
happens.
”

“But we're staying with my Grandpa Guff,” I tell Brad, hating to burst his bubble. “And he doesn't live anywhere
near
Daytona.” Which is where all the Hazeltucky Hillbillies go on their wild Spring Break adventures. “I just don't see us having much opportunity to get laid…Sorry.”

Now Brad looks totally disappointed. But come on! Does he really think we're gonna go from being Total Band Fags to Spring Break Studs? Then he says, “You're my Best Friend, aren't you?” Getting all serious.

“What are you talking about?” I'm dreading Brad's gonna say something mushy and embarrass me. “You know I am.”

“And we'll always be Best Friends, won't we?” He avoids my gaze. “No matter what?”

“Of course,” I affirm. “How could we not?”

At which point, Brad looks at me, sticking out his right pinky. Like he expects me to link mine with his or something. “You have to promise, Jack.”

So I do…I link my pinky with Brad's and I promise.

“Good.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “'Cause whoever gets laid first has to tell the other one everything about it…And I mean,
every
detail. Who, where, when. What it
feels
like…Okay?”

“Okay…” Why am I not crazy about this agreement?

Having eased his troubled mind, Brad goes back to the wreath he's been working on for what must be like the last hour…

“How's this?” he asks, finally. Then he holds up the most pathetic looking thing I've ever seen. I'm not even kidding when I say this…It makes the tree on
A Charlie Brown Christmas
look like the one in Rockefeller Center in New York City.

“Um…You might wanna fluff it up a bit,” I begin my criticism. “And go a little easier on the glitter next time.”

At which point, Brad throws down his pathetic excuse for a Christmas wreath, scattering loose white tissue paper squares everywhere. Then he reaches for his duffle bag. Which can only mean one thing…

“I need a cigarette!”

“Pretend I'm the Mommy and you're the Daddy…”

Every day back in Kindergarten, Audrey Wojczek would
force
me to play House with her during Free Time. Off to work she (Mrs. Jackie Kennedy) would send me, a peck planted firmly upon my John F. cheek. Even though I kept reminding her my middle name is Robert, not Fitzgerald!

I can't even tell you how mortified I was when I found my picture in the lower right-hand corner of our Kindergarten class photo—right next to “Audrey Ostrich.” Which is what I used to call her. Though never to her face. Like my Mom always says, “If you can't say something nice…” Not that Audrey looked like an ostrich or anything. She was just so much bigger than me—and to this day she still is! Not that I'm saying she's
fat
or anything, 'cause she's not. But she is a bigger girl. Like 5'6" or so and I'm only 5'2" with my Nike hi-tops on.

I also can't even tell you how relieved I was when I returned to 1st grade the following September, only to learn Audrey's family had moved to Minnesota. For the next two years she would reside in Duluth before returning to Hazeltucky and attending Catholic School at St. Mary Magdalen's. So close and yet far enough away for me to never see her again…That is, till she came over to Webb this year and we met up in Mr. Davidson's 4
^th
hour Biology.

In case you don't remember—because how can you keep track of so many different people, places, and things?—Audrey Wojczek is my friend who works in the Guidance Counseling Office during 1st hour. The one with the long red hair down to her “childbearing hips,” as she likes to call them.

I'm over her house on Woodward Heights. Which is technically 9
¹
/
₂
Mile. But nobody ever calls it that. Not to be confused with Woodward Avenue, aka M-1…

“Happy Fucking New Year!” Audrey shouts for the whole wide world to hear—or at least all of Hazeltucky.

We've abandoned Times Square on TV in favor of a Paterno Family tradition…Banging pots and pans outside on the front porch. As kids, I never understood
why
we did this or where the tradition had come from. But every December 31st since I can remember, this is what my sister and brother and I always did, don't ask me why!

“You look like Cousin Itt,” I tell Audrey. Minus the bowler hat and glasses, of course.

She's got her long red hair draped over the front of her shoulders covering her bare arms down to her waist. Though it's obviously not keeping her warm by the way her teeth chatter like crazy. “Bite me!” Audrey snaps. Then she says, “Fuck this shit…I'm getting the Hell back inside.” For a girl with a Catholic School upbringing, Audrey Wojczek's got quite the mouth on her.

The distinct smell of what can only be described as “Audrey's House” hits me the minute I follow her through the door. A cross between mothballs and kitty litter, maybe? Not that I'm saying it's a
bad
smell or anything, 'cause it's not.

“Now what do we do?” she asks, still shivering.

I look at my watch…12:08 AM. “It's kinda late, isn't it?” I say.

To which Audrey gives me her “Don't Even” look. Which consists of turning her head slightly to one side, furrowing her brow, and pursing her lips. I can't
exactly
describe how she looks when she does it. But trust me, she looks mean.

“Boo hoo,” she fake cries. “You gonna turn into a pumpkin, Paterno?” Which is what she calls me after she's given me her “Don't Even” look. “It's not like it's a School Night.”

I give my folks a quick call, to ask if I can stay out a little longer. Normally, I have to be home by Midnight. But since it's a holiday and we're on Christmas Break and all, I figure they're not gonna care.

“Let me talk to Mom,” I tell my little brother when he picks up the phone.

“She's in bed,” he informs me. “So is Dad.”

Did my parents not get the memo that it's New Year's Eve or what? Ever since my Mom realized she's turning the Big 3-0 this year, I swear she's started acting like an Old Lady. Unless they're having S-E-X. Which they can't be…It's a Monday night!

“Where are you?” Billy asks me.

“Over Audrey's,” I answer, as if it's any of his business.

Then my smart-aleck little brother says, “Is Audrey your girlfriend?”

To which I reply, “Go to bed.” Then I hang up the phone.

I return to find Audrey sitting on her couch, buried beneath a patchwork quilt that her little Polish Grandma must've made a bijillion years ago. “I'll share my blanket with you,” she offers.

To which I decline, choosing to sit in the comfy armchair next to the fireplace—
way
over in the corner of the room. There's definitely something weird going on with Audrey. Not weird-weird, but…With her Mom out for the evening, it's the first time we've been alone together in her house. Or anywhere, now that I think of it.

On a small end table, I notice the framed photo of a rather good looking guy wearing a maroon and gray Hazel Park Vikings football uniform—#63. Down on one knee, he holds the ball under his arm, a look of stern seriousness on his square-jawed face.

“How's your brother?” I ask. Though I've never personally met Mike Wojczek, there's something about this picture that makes me want to.

“He just got an apartment with a friend of his,” Audrey tells me. “Some guy named Rob.”

Apparently, Mike graduated from Hillbilly High back in like 1980. According to Audrey, he works at some bar down in Detroit. He kinda reminds me of that guy from
All the Right Moves,
Tom Cruise. Except his mess of hair is red—not brown.

“Where's the apartment?” I ask.

“Royal Oak.” Which is another suburb where my Grandpa and Grandma Paterno live. Over by Woodward Avenue and 10 Mile.

“How come your brother never comes over to visit?”

“He was just here Christmas Day,” Audrey replies. “Jeez! You writing a book?

“No…” I was just making conversation.

“Wanna build a fire?” she suggests now. “We can watch a movie or something.”

Not that I really want to. But still I reply, “What's on Cable?”

Audrey flings me the
TV Book
. Which is the Detroit
Free Press
version of
TV Guide.
I can't even believe it's already 1985. Even though it's printed in black-and-white right before my very own blue eyes.

That's when I see it…12:30 AM…Channel 50.

It's love at first sight for Jessie Walters when she spots heartthrob Michael Skye singing with his band at the local shopping mall.

In case you aren't familiar, there's this After School Special-type movie called
Sooner or Later,
about this 13-year-old girl, Jessie, who falls in love with this 17-year-old guy, Michael. But she totally has to lie to him about her age otherwise he'd never go out with her. I won't ruin the plot. But let's just say…There's a scene where Jessie eats an entire chocolate cake! I don't know how I first heard about it. All I know is…It stars Rex Smith and Denise Miller. Who you might remember as Archie Bunker's niece on
Archie Bunker's Place.
Not Stephie, as played by Danielle Brisebois. Archie Bunker's other niece, Billie.

Okay, I know what you're thinking…
Sounds like a Girl's Movie,
Sooner or Later,
starring Rex Smith.
But what can I say? I've been dying to see it ever since it first aired on TV, back in like, 1979.

I'll never forget that night…

There I was, counting down the hours till I would sit my 8-year-old self down in front of our 24" Panasonic color-console television to witness the Network Television Premiere of
Sooner or Later.
There was only one problem…That exact same night, my Aunt Sonia decided to throw a Tupperware party. Which meant my Mom would be gone the entire evening. Which meant I had to stay home with my Dad…Which I hated!

Not that I hate my Dad or anything, 'cause I don't. But to tell the truth, back then he kinda scared me. Not scared-scared, but…In 1979, my Dad was all of 27 years old. He was also a Total Hippie. Not a hippie-hippie, but…He had shoulder-length dark hair, a mustache, and he smoked! Actually, people used to think my Dad kinda looked like Tony Orlando. Who was
kinda
good-looking, I suppose. But to tell the truth, he reminded me more of that crazy guy who killed all those people, Charles Manson.

The other problem was…Not only was 1979 back before the invention of the VCR, it was also back before the Paternos owned more than one TV set. Which meant if I wanted to watch
Sooner or Later
—which I did—I was gonna have to sit and watch it with my Charles-Manson-look-alike Dad.

But this was only the beginning of the Disastrous End…

An hour before Showtime, what happened? Our doorbell rang. Slowly, I opened the front door. Staring down at me was a handsome older man—full head of dark hair, nice smile, big teeth. He kinda reminded me of Lyle Waggoner from
Wonder Woman,
if you remember him.

“Is your Daddy home, Little Girl?” His baritone voice reverberated through my tiny little body.

“Um…” I replied. Though I didn't bother telling him, “I'm not a Little Girl, I'm a Little Boy.” Because not only was I slightly embarrassed by his remark, I was actually used to it from past experience. Like the time I went with my Grandpa and Grandma Paterno to a spaghetti dinner at their American Legion hall. I was 5 or 6 at the time and this very nice elderly woman manning the cash register at the end of the buffet line looked down at me, all smiles.

“What's your name, Little Girl?”

But did I bother telling her, “I'm not a Little Girl, I'm a Little Boy?” No…Instead, I replied in my 5 or 6-year-old girl-sounding voice, “Jackie.”

“Is Jackie short for Jacqueline?” Cash Register Lady asked.

To which my Grandma chimed in, “No…It's short for
Jack.
”

Cash Register Lady gasped in horror, “No!” Then to me she said, “You're too pretty to be a
boy.
”

Back in 1979, my Dad called out from the bathroom where he'd been busy trimming his Tony Orlando/Charles Manson mustache, “Jackie…Who is it?”

“Paterno!” Big Teeth Man called back. “Stop whacking off and get your ass out here.” He let out a laugh before realizing he shouldn't say things like “whacking off” in front of a Little Girl. Even though being only 8 years old, I had no idea what “whacking off” meant. Not to mention we've already established, I wasn't a Little Girl.

It turned out Lyle Waggoner was my Dad's Boss. For some reason, I got the distinct impression my Dad wasn't too excited to see the guy in his house when he rounded the corner of our living room, pulling on his black sleeveless T-shirt.

“How come you didn't tell me what a pretty daughter you've got?” Lyle Waggoner asked my Dad.

“Jackie…Go play in your room,” my Dad told me. Though he didn't look at me when he said this.

“But—” I started to say.

“You heard me,” my Dad finished.

So I went to my room. Where I played with my Lite Brite, followed by a couple rounds of Perfection. With some
Brady Bunch Goes Love Boat
thrown in, starring the Fisher-Price Little People.

Pretty soon it was 7:50 PM…

How long had I been waiting for this moment? How long had I been dreaming of the day I'd finally get to witness Rex Smith singing “You Take My Breath Away”? But Lyle Waggoner looked like he was nowhere
near
being ready to get a move on. Especially since he just cracked open another Michelob Light, “For the Winner.”

So what did I do? Even though I knew my Dad wouldn't appreciate it…I started crying.

“Hey, there,” Lyle Waggoner cooed, after he noticed me blabbering away around the corner in the hallway. “What's the matter, Darlin'?”

Again, not looking at me, my Dad said, “Would you knock it off?” Though he was kinda half-laughing/half-sounding angry. Probably because he was totally embarrassed that his Big-Teethed Boss was sitting in his living room on his couch thinking his Little Boy was his Little Girl!

“But I wanna watch
Sooner or Later,
” I sobbed. Which came out sounding more like, “Wah Wah wahwah wah
Wahwah wah Wahwah.
”

“What's that?” Lyle Waggoner slurred, reaching a big calloused hand out to me. “Come over here an' tell me what's wrong.”

TV Book
in hand, I crept into the room. I showed Mr. Big Teeth the “Of Special Interest…” page, knowing I at least had
his
Booze Breath sympathy.