Robert failed miserably to explain the character we were about to meet, “He dated a friend of mine. She was into dirty guys or something.”
When he’d said dirty, I somehow assumed this indicated a fetish. I imagined a polished L.A. man with perfectly moussed hair who obsessed over smelling feet or some other more unmentionable thing I’d seen on a Japanese video once. Regardless, I didn’t give the meeting too much thought because I was most interested in our excursion to see the Show. We skipped down the road exhilarated by both our expedition and the backpack full of beer we hauled with us.
Our pristine cheeks reflected the star-flecked sky, perfunctory friends, in the tradition of incoming college freshman. Petit Robert with his incongruously lengthy nose and hair all shaved besides the black tendrils that he shaped into little devil horns. All his pretended villainy couldn’t cover up his darling little rib cage and French accent. Devin was another small guy trying to make up for it in attitude. An angel-haired dual citizen of Israel and Southern California. Both made out like they were intellectual giants, but, I’ll just put it this way, 18 year olds are hardly ever intellectual giants. As for me, the most important thing to remember is that I was naïve enough to be spending one of many evenings with these two characters.
We emerged from the dark neighborhoods below Telegraph Avenue into the plentiful streetlights of Shattuck and crossed the dead thoroughfare without a problem. Berkeley, although wild and crazy in its own right, certainly was not what you would call a “happening hang out.”
“There he iss!” pointed Robert. I followed his finger and saw the back of a tall vagabond with a navy blue beanie pasted to his head and greasy jeans hanging from his hips. He was hanging out in the midst of the usual BART station derelicts.
As we approached the man turned around with a rotten grin, “It’s my little friend Robbie!” and wrapped one large, fuzzy arm around Robert’s narrow shoulders. “who’s your little friends Robbie, college buddies?”
“Yes, my friends from Berkeley: Lena and Devin.”
After the introduction our new friend extended a simian hand to Devin and I in turn, “Nice to meet ya, Lena, Devin.” He grinned at us through chunky lenses, looking almost menacing. “My name’s Asshole… ’cause I’m an asshole!”
“Well, helloo Asshole!” I proclaimed. He smiled. We immediately got along. Somehow fitting like a Eunuch and a harem.
“so we’re goin’ to the Show, who’s been before?”
“I’ve been, een L.A.” Ricky said.
“I’ve never been,” I said, having no idea what I was getting myself into. “I’ve watched it lots of times but I’ve never seen it live.”
“Devin?” Asshole looked at him poignantly.
“He’s nevair been! He’s nevair been!” Robert bursted with merriment.
“What, no, no, I have been!” Devin stuttered to no avail. Asshole gave him a magnified glare through his glasses. “Ok, fine I haven’t been to see it!” Devin rolled his eyes.
“We’ve got a couple virgins here!” Asshole whooped.
“Virgin? What do you mean virgin?” I cocked my head, still not comprehending what was in store for me.
“It’s just something we call people who haven’t seen it.” Explained Asshole.
“But I have seen it before!”
“Not live!” Asshole’s eyes glimmered. “Don’t worry we’re just gonna put a little ‘V’ on your face so people will know they need to help de-virginize you.”
“What the hell are they gonna do?”
“ Oh, some people just may come up and give you hickies or something.”
I immediately relaxed. “Oh, well I can handle some hickies, de-virginize me!!” A vagrant approached me with a large, black tagging marker. First he drew a V covering my forehead. Then he began to draw something vigorously on both my cheeks. “OK! OK! Enough already!” I pulled away. I turned towards Rob and Devin; they immediately gushed with laughter.
“You’re a fucking idiot!” Devin told me, then turned to the drifter, “You are not coming near me with that marker.”
“Ok, fine I’ll just yell really loud and tell everyone you’re a virgin.” Asshole wagged his head at him.
“What?! Well, if I let you put a little ‘V’ on my forehead you better not breathe a word to anyone.”
“Ok, my lips are sealed.”
I admit we received plenty of stares on our way to University Avenue, especially my colored face. But of course, Asshole will always elicit glances wherever he goes, all six dirty feet, two gimpy inches of him. Our destination was an art house movie theater just west of the Berkeley campus. When we arrived the whole front sidewalk was a heap of people waiting to get in. Some were t-shirt and jeans folks but most were dressed up for the occasion. A couple cross-dressers and a handful of Goths, all pierced and dyed black, wearing fancy ruffly dresses.
A goth girl made a bee line for Devin’s neck and began to suck intensely. He was surprised but soon his face relaxed in pleasure.
I laughed as I looked on the delighted Devin distracting myself from an enclosing predator. She lunged at my neck. I recoiled slightly, but sat still like an obedient girl, hoping for the best. Unfortunately the pressure increased and her mouth began to feel like a high-powered vacuum cleaner. I don’t think this is what it’s like for Devin. I thought as I glanced over at him. The goth girl had finished and now he was obviously enchanted by her. What’s the matter with this girl, when is this going to be over? Right as I was reaching the end of my endurance I felt the carnivorous edges of her teeth on my skin. Oh no! I thought as she made sharp, stabbing contact. I leapt away belatedly. My neck felt soggy and numb. Every member of my party erupted in unrestrained laughter, and I could tell my face bloomed in embarrassment.
“Damn, that chick bit you hard!” said Asshole.
“Am I bleeding?” I asked him.
“There’s a little bit of blood but not much,” he said looking down at my neck. “You certainly have a set of teeth marks though.” He grinned. “Looks like you got your fair share of the virgin greeting!”
“Man, that hurts!” I dabbed delicately around the wound, “Jeeze am I gonna have to get rabies shots?”
Asshole just laughed, “Oh, you’ll be fine after you drink some beer, come on, let’s go inside.”
The doors had been opened and people were streaming inside, so we meandered down to the row of seats that our group had lain claim to. Devin and Robbie were there, still chuckling at my misfortune, so I disappeared into a plush-red seat at the opposite end of our row.
I heard a soft crack as the lights began to dim and Asshole pressed a cold beer into my hands; it was—I soon learned—his favorite, Henry Weinhardts; cheap and…well…cheap. I chugged thankfully to forget my insecurity and palpitating wound.
The curtains covering the screen opened and Rocky Horror began to play. I looked on in dismay, all this just to see the movie again, I thought. Then two actors dressed as the unsuspecting young couple came walking down the aisle to the small stage that was in front of the movie screen. As the song played they began to lipsync and act out the movie below the real thing. Can’t they at least sing for real, I continued with my thoughts of disappointment. There was nothing left to do but put out my hand for another Henry Weinhardts.
