Not that I’m ashamed of who I am or anything, but I don’t think it’s anybody’s business whose ass I choose to check out or who I have a crush on. Besides, even though I’ve known Audrey for over three years now, I don’t really know her.
What if I admitted, Yes, I’ve taken a look at Rob Berger’s ass on many occasions, and she went and told everybody? I only got eight more months left in that godforsaken school of ours…Why make trouble now?
Somehow, I don’t think Aud would care if she knew. In fact, by asking me this, I wondered if maybe she was giving me the opportunity to finally come clean…Still, I couldn’t do it.
So I said, “I’d probably think Berger is cuter than Big Al…If I was a girl.”
Audrey asked, “If you were a girl?” as if she didn’t need me to clarify.
Damn!
There she sat, practically giving me the go-ahead, and I blew it. I don’t know what my problem was. I guess being true to thine ownself is harder than I thought.
“What the fuck’s up with Berger not having a girlfriend?” Audrey pondered next.
“Who the hell knows?” I replied, having thought the exact same thing myself for a long time now.
“All the Flaggots have been trying to figure that one out…Including Rakoff.”
Rakoff is Zack Rakoff, another Senior in our class. I don’t know why, but after playing piccolo in Marching Band since Sophomore year, Rakoff went and became the only male member of Flaggots—I mean, Flag Corps. He’s a bit of an odd bird the way he’s always talking about Monty Python and Doctor Who.
I’ll never forget the first time I seen him…Like I said, I went to elementary school at Webster with Ava Reese. Well, Rakoff went to Roosevelt, same as Carrie Johnson. The spring of 6th grade, a bunch of us got invited to participate in this all-city Honors Band. We met twice a week after school for X number of weeks, the end result being a concert we put on for our parents up at Hillbilly High.
Well, when you spend seven years going to school with the exact same people, being around a group of new kids is totally bic-citing, you know what I mean? So the night of the concert, I seen this girl I saw for the past X number of weeks sitting in the flute section. A little chubby, but not fat by any means, she had short brown hair, and wore glasses—the kind with the lenses that darkened whenever you went outside. She also wore braces, but she was still pretty cute.
I don’t know why, but I remember thinking how much I really wanted to talk to her. Maybe because when I originally signed up for Band, I also wanted to play flute. Until our teacher, Mrs. Isaacs (Will Isaacs’s mom), convinced me I should maybe try trombone because there weren’t any brass players yet.
Finally, I worked up the nerve to go over and introduce myself. She was standing by the punch bowl at this long table full of cookies and cold cuts and three different kinds of Jello (with and without fruit) in the commons outside the auditorium. Looking back, it doesn’t even seem like the same place I spend every day during 5th hour. It feels sooo different now. Much smaller.
“Hi, I’m Brad Dayton…What’s your name?”
I remember thinking how cool it was that this particular little girl’s mother didn’t make her wear a dress to the concert like all the others. Instead, she had on dark slacks and a sweater along with matching suede GASS shoes…I’m sure you can see where the rest of the story is going.
Anyways!
Coming up with what I thought was a totally brilliant idea, I said to Audrey, “I know one way we can find out for sure,” regarding the question of Rob Berger’s hetero or homosexuality. “Somebody should ask him to the Homecoming Dance.”
I looked at her, eyebrows raised for added emphasis.
“You can’t ask another guy to Homecoming!” Audrey declared, totally missing the mark.
“Not me, you stupid Polack!” I yowled, trying not to laugh in her face.
“Watch it, you Band Fag!” she shot back, daggers in her eyes.
“Flaggot!”
“Drama Queer!”
It may appear me and Audrey don’t respect each other, the way we’re constantly hurling the insults. It’s totally not the case. Sure, when we first met at Webb, we used to argue all the time. Back then, we seriously meant every nasty word we said. Yet on that early October afternoon, sitting there in her house just the two of us, I realized we’re practically becoming Best Friends.
That must explain the idiotic thing I did next.
“I meant you should ask Rob Berger to the Homecoming Dance.”
Audrey replied, “He doesn’t already got a date?” Again, like she didn’t believe me.
“I asked him the other day after rehearsal…He said no.”
She looked at me like I was certifiably insane. “Rob Berger is a Varsity football player…He’s not gonna go to Homecoming with some lard-ass Flaggot–Drama Queer.”
Part of me was being selfish for putting Audrey up to the task, but I really wanted to find out which side Rob likes to “butter his bread on,” as Grandma Victor always says. And I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask him to Homecoming. If it turned out Rob isn’t gay, he’d totally kick my ass!
“First of all,” I started to explain, “Rob Berger is a Drama Queer himself…Secondly, you are not a lard-ass. You’re curvaceous, like Marilyn Monroe.” One of my favorite actresses, by the way, along with Lana Turner, whose 14-year-old daughter once went on trial for killing Lana’s mobster ex-boyfriend…Talk about scan-ju-lous!
“I’m 5’7” and I’ve got child-bearing hips,” Aud informed me, hands upon them for added emphasis.
“So what?” I quipped. “Some men like a woman with meat on her bones.”
Sure, maybe Audrey wasn’t cheerleader or even Vikette material, but she’s got a pretty face and beautiful auburn hair flowing down to her waist. And she’s got an awesome personality. That should count for something, you know what I mean?
“I can’t ask a guy to a dance,” she retorted, giving up the ship. “I’ll look desperate.”
“Well, aren’t you?” I only half joked. “Pretend it’s Sadie Hawkins.”
Speaking of…
If we don’t end up doing Grease in the spring, I hope Dell honors our second request, Li’l Abner. My role of choice would be Abner, of course, but I’m sure Rob Berger (and his bod) would look much better in a pair of overalls. I’ll settle for Marry in’ Sam.
“I’ll think about it,” Audrey concluded.
“No…You’ll do it.”
She trailed after me as I headed into her kitchen. “Get back here, Dayton!”
I picked up the black rotary dial phone from where it hung on the wall since 1960-something. Handing it to Audrey, I dialed Rob Berger’s number, which I totally had memorized: 544-3616.
She bobbed and weaved, trying to dodge me like a Detroit Piston. “Get the fuck outta here!” Aud howled, having a giggle fit.
I could tell she totally wanted to ask Rob to be her Homecoming date. She just needed a little encouragement.
Thru the end of the phone, I could hear the hollow ring…Once, twice, thrice.
Who