Life comes ringing your doorbell when you least expect it. My father and I we’re watching the Red Sox in black and white on the front porch. We had reached a degree of affluence to afford a color TV so the old b/w one was repositioned on the porch. It was the spring of my Junior year in high school. Carl Yastrzemski was in his heyday. This languid Sunday afternoon of baseball was suddenly interrupted when a car pulled up in front of our house. Two women neither of whom I recognized got out of their car and hurried up the stairs and started ringing the bell. My father was unsettled. I was intrigued. It just happened that we were the only two at home that afternoon which gave the intrusion an air of mystery.
Come in come in he hollered still in his chair. Oh Hi Jerry, said the first woman. Jerry Hello said the other. My father not knowing what to expect from the unexpected said Oh hello Vivian. Vivian the obvious leader of the two started right in. Oh, Jerry it’s so good to see you. We were on our way to a meeting of the players and we thought of you!. We’re doing a comedy this fall called Deadwood Dick and it’s a riot. We need lots of handsome men to be in it and we thought of you, didn’t we Ginny. Ginny nodded on cue. Vivian bubbled with enthusiasm. She was about my fathers age, maybe a few years younger and very well appointed. She reeked of Avon and was decked out in something discounted from Jordan Marsh. Oh, you’d be great she went on. My father, finally calmed by this time, realizing no pending disaster had caused their visit said in a friendly voice ..er well I don’t know if that’s something I’d have time for. Nonsense Vivian interrupted. It’s only one night a week and the show’s not till this fall! Well I haven’t done any acting in a long time. His voice started to take on a sonorous quality. Oh you’re a natural! Vivian shot right back. Ginny was nodding her head. It’s a comedy? he asked in a deep and thoughtful manner. He was becoming Lionel Barrymore right before my eyes. You know I’ve often thought of doing something like this. He delivered the line purposefully. Great said Vivian. We’re gonna have a ball. Just come to the Carriage House on Thursday night for the audition. Then as quickly as they appeared they got up amid some fawning and a parting kiss, hurried out the door and drove off. My father silently trying to figure out had just happened. Curt Gowdy said and that ends the inning, no runs, one hit and two left on base.
I was very surprised to hear that my mother was all for the idea. The Quincy Community Players a well respected theatrical group produced two performances a year whose membership boasted doctors, lawyers, judges, the crème’ of the city’s society. You’re gonna be a Thespian she cracked. My father took the whole thing very seriously and it became the exclusive topic of his conversation. Not only did he get a part in the play, he was cast as the Sherriff with a half a dozen lines all variations of I’ll drink to that, or this calls for a drink, or it must be 5 o’clock somewhere. The play was a very broad comedy with little story line. The action all took place in a saloon in the old west where the women were all good natured hussies and the men were either old lecherous drunken fools, dastardly bad, or heroically valiant. The dialog was rife with double entendre and sexual innuendo. It was the stuff of local theater. There were to be three performances in the fall. As opening night drew near my father’s feet barely touched the ground. We took turns reading his cues to him to the point where we all knew his lines as well as he did. We couldn’t wait for opening night either. It was during these rehearsals that I was coaxed into auditioning for an upcoming play in the spring. Much to everyone’s disbelief I was cast in a leading role for the Spring Production. My father was very proud of me. Chip off the old block…Finally opening night arrived and everyone else but me got ready to go. I had a track meet the next day so I was elected to go with my father to the final performance and since I was practically a member I could go to the cast party afterwards. My mother wanted no part of the party life if she was to go as an appendage. She had pursuits of her own and hated to bask in someone else’s limelight.
The show played to great reviews and my father even managed a mention in the article. It was as they say in the trade a puff piece but the phone rang a dozen times from people who called to say they saw his name in the paper and wished him well. By the third performance he was a trouper. When the curtain was lowered after the final encore the cast scurried around gathering their belongings and hurried off to the party. My father was waiting for me back stage. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his costume. He still had on his Woolworth cowboy hat, and faux leather vest wit a big tin star. Com’on’ he snapped impatiently. We left through the fire door down the iron fire escape steps to the parking lot out back. He revved up the car and drove to the cast party at Vivian’s house.
End part one.
The party was in full swing by the time we arrived. We were met at the front door by Alyson, Vivian’s daughter. I’d seen her at a few of the rehearsals but she looked very different now. Up to this point she was just some skinny Jr. high kid curled up in a chair doing her homework while she waited for her mother. Tonight she wore make up and was in heels. My father nodded politely and jostled his way through a few people by the door towards the sound of a piano. Now I understood why he was in such a hurry. He wanted to show off his big Irish baritone. He knew the words to every old time song in any book and tonight he was going to show everyone where the real talent was. You’re here! Alyson grabbed my hand. I know everyone! she said tugging me into the parlor. Apparently we made a cute couple by the smiles and nods of approval we got from every introduction. Here I must make something clear. Alyson looked a lot older tonight and I looked young. I was thin with no facial hair and could pass for someone four or five years my junior. This particular Dorian Grey quality didn’t pay dividends for quite a few years later. The fellow at the piano stood up and said he’d finished. I saw the look on my father’s face. He hadn’t even started. Almost immediately after I heard the scratchy sound of the HiFi phonograph. It was the Doors and their tribal chanting of Light My Fire, Light My Fire…Suddenly a room full of middle aged people started gyrating like awkward and overweight teenagers. The clink of their glasses and the regular eruption of laughter coming was a signal the party was in full steam Everyone already charged from the smell of the greasepaint and roar of the crowd was toasting to one another. Still tugging me around Alyson led me into the kitchen. There was an impromptu bar set up on the counter. Deftly she grabbed two paper cups, gave a quick look to see if anyone was watching then filled them with dark red wine. Before I could say wait a second she quaffed half her cup and looked at me and giggled. I took a sip and repeated one of my father’s lines. The Rolling Stones came rumbling through from the other room. I kaint git noo sa tus fac tion. She pulled me into the parlor and started dancing in the center of the room We were the only two who were moving on time to the rhythm. I stared at her while we danced. Her blouse was tight and it showed her blossoming figure. She was wearing tight slacks. By now the wine was starting to take effect. The Supreme’s were cooing Baby love, my baby love. Alyson became Dianna and she started to sing along with the record. When the song ended there was a lull and again I found myself being tugged back into the kitchen This time there were half a dozen people refilling their glasses so we walked through the kitchen out the door into the cool fall night.
At the far end of the lawn was a bench under a giant pine tree. It was hardly visible from the back door and Alyson made a bee line for it. I sauntered over a little slower. When we sat down I could hear the crickets chirping their last desperate mating calls of the season. It was now or never for them before a long cold winter. Suddenly and to my startled reaction Alyson threw her arms around my neck and started to suck on my face. Her tongue was in my mouth and I had the strange sensation that she was attacking me the same way she would attack a hot fudge Sunday. I had made out with girls before and it wasn’t like this. Her tongue was wrestling mine. I could taste the wine on her breathe. She was working very hard but it was clear nothing was working. There was no familiar rush of pheromones. No hot blood. No hardening of the artery. I gently tried to untangle myself. She opened her eyes and gave me the what’s wrong look. I felt uncomfortable and a little embarrassed. Beneath the make up and underneath the clothes I saw the little girl she still was. I put my arm around her and sat up straight. I smiled with a look that said nothings wrong. We sat there for about a minute when she said lets go inside. We both stood up and the same time and she gave me a look of relief. I took it as a thank you.
We went inside and I found my father. He was still packin, his cap pistol. He looked at me and said ready? I couldn’t help thinking on the way home that he looked disappointed. You were great I said. Thanks. It was a nice night and he took his time driving. My mother was waiting up for us and he quickly assumed and air of nonchalance. In the following years his version of the play had his part grow with each retelling until he was practically the lead. When Elvis Costello had a hit called Alyson many years later I couldn’t help recounting my own version of the sage of Deadwood Dick.