Anniversary

The last encore climaxes, its ending notes evaporating in the swell of applause that rises, punctuated by whistles and shouts of “Bravo!” Michael Diamond, seated at the console of the “Mighty Wurlitzer,” turns to face his cheering audience. Tonight, for the first time in its 76-year history, the Castro Theatre is packed nearly to its 1500-seat capacity for Michael’s 20th anniversary organ concert, not just the usual ten-minute intermissions between feature films.

For a moment Michael’s soft gray eyes scan the rows of seats, though he can’t see anything beyond the bright stage lights. The crowd is electric, filling the high-domed movie palace with a cacophony of animated chatter as well as a heady mixture of colognes and cedar chest scents emanating from the furred and jeweled ladies who came in on the arms of black-tied escorts. I wonder if Mom and Dad are here, Michael thinks, nodding his head to acknowledge the standing ovation of the crowd. Wisps of strawberry-blonde hair cascading over his forehead belie the half-century of years he always tries so hard to ignore.

From the left front side behind the heavy mauve curtains, Leonard Starr, young actor and playwright, watches Michael’s tall, thin body as he bows one final time. Then, with full energy, Leonard rushes center stage with his armload of red roses to present to Michael. The applause heightens, and Michael reaches toward his lover, pulling him slightly as he takes the roses into his other arm. Leonard’s face flushes with red heat from somewhere deep inside his body. Michael blinks a subtle glance that Leonard knows well, promising deferred fulfillment of Leonard’s unabashed passion. If Dad is out there, does he see Leonard’s devotion to me? Does he understand why we are more than just roommates?

The clapping is muffled now as Michael and Leonard exit through an off-stage door into a narrow darkened corridor outside the theater and head toward the fire escape that leads up to the back entrance of the mezzanine. Out in the cool November air, but secluded by building walls, Leonard stops and turns toward Michael, embracing him, leaving him no chance for protest. Their lips press together, and Leonard moans hungrily. Michael’s eyes are closed, his pulse pounding in his throat.

Guests are already gathering in the mezzanine reception room. Michael knows that among them will be his ex-lover Rob from Los Angeles with his new lover, Jon. And Jim, Michael’s close friend and booking agent for southern California performances, has planned to be there with Leonard’s ex-lover, Ray, whom Michael has never met and has no desire to meet. Jim is also a former ex-lover of Rob and has not spoken to him for ten years. Michael surrenders to Leonard’s kiss now, refusing to consider the possibilities of explosions, which could occur when that specific group of gay men unexpectedly find themselves in the same room. It would only confirm Dad’s preconceptions about “that lifestyle.”

Michael and Leonard step into the syrupy sweet warmth of the buzzing mezzanine gala. “Darling, you were absolutely marvelous!” A blonde woman in a low-cut red taffeta gown and white mink ensconces Michael’s free hand in both of hers and lifts it to her matching red lips. It is always a startle to see her dressed up, out of her white starched nurse’s uniform, her bleached hair plunging toward her shoulders instead of pulled back into a tight French twist.

“Priscilla, nice of you to attend.” He smiles, not resisting her adoration. She had been one of his organ students up until six years ago when he abandoned his token pedagogy for the more lucrative society appearances, such as the Christmas parties for Danielle Steele and Friday nights at Metropolitan Club where he plays cocktail piano for blue-haired ladies and fat bankers with pocket watches in three-piece suits. For years he has effectively thwarted Priscilla’s insistence that he needs only “the right woman” to make him go straight again. Dad would have liked that a lot. Once Dad had asked if he was engaged to Priscilla.

Now Michael glimpses his ex-wife Jewel, a computer systems analyst who works in Silicon Valley. She stands by the piña colada bowl in her long black silk skirt and silver brocade buttoned jacket with a single strand of pearls at her neckline. She glares at Priscilla, unable to conceal her disdain for the other woman, the one who had been there for Michael when his marriage to Jewel had ended twenty years ago. Priscilla had been there with the gifts, the plane tickets, and the beachfront condominium left to her by her wealthy deceased husband. Michael had not resisted her then. Dad never knew that once—but only once—Michael had indeed gone to bed with Priscilla.

“Please, Mr. Diamond, sign this for my son Morton!” begs a matronly stranger in a turquoise cocktail dress, pushing toward Michael, unwittingly separating him from both Priscilla and Jewel. She holds a copy of his newly released CD recording, “Phantastic!” which she has just purchased at the table behind him. He writes his name deliberately across the inside cover, careful to keep all the letters legible.

“Michael,” an all-too-familiar voice intrudes. It is Robin Lind, his lesbian business partner and bookkeeper, who stands behind the CD sales table. She is ever charming, ever gracious, but ever alert to his lack of concern for annoying financial details. “I really hate to bring this up tonight,” she whispers, “but your car insurance has to be paid by ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Final deadline.”

Only the threat of losing his beloved VW “bug” necessitates any action on his part. “Okay,” he sighs reluctantly, turning toward Robin, “I’ll stop by your office first thing in the morning, I promise!” He places the rose bouquet on the table, arranging the stems and greenery to make a striking decorative piece in the middle of the diminishing stacks of CD’s. He had already mailed Mom and Dad a copy of “Phantastic!” the day it was released.

Michael turns now, thinking Leonard is still by his side, feeling some panic to find him not there. What if Leonard—or any of the others—have stomped off with wounded egos? Or, worse, have stomped on each other with their words? But Robin grins, motioning with a slight turn of her head, for Michael to look behind him. There, swooning over the “Phantastic!” CD’s they each hold, Leonard and Ray and Jim and Rob and Jon stand in a circle, chatter tumbling out, like women ogling over a new baby. Michael sighs, visibly relieved, musing for a moment. We are a family, Dad, and they are the brothers I never had.