©The Shakespearean Tavern Playhouse
My Real Memoir
I was young and unshackled. I’d launched a street theatre group, The Right Pithee Players, and in our freewheeling improv performances, I would flirt with the crowd, tousle hair, steal caresses. And so would my curvy blond counterpart Melissa. Hmm, I wondered, might we play these roles together — off-stage? So I asked her out.
“I have a boyfriend,” she confessed. I was surprised because Mel hadn’t mentioned her former high school sweetheart until now. They would “probably get married someday,” she said. “But not…yet.”
Our late-night picnic was constrained. We kissed chastely, almost apologetically. Ah, she’s saving herself, I thought, and drove her home. But as we pulled into her apartment building’s unlit carport, she whispered, “I don’t have to go in…yet.” Then she crawled into the back of my little Vega wagon. She definitely wasn’t saving herself. Before entering a life of sweet monogamy, it seems, part-time preschool teacher Mel had decided to sow some wild oats.
And I was the wild oats.
I fell madly in lust with her, and given half a chance, that desire might have alchemized into love. But love wasn’t what I was “for.” My allotted role was The Bad Boy, not The Boyfriend. We didn’t date, we rendezvoused. Mel would drive me to and from rehearsals so we could clandestinely steam up her car in the driveway of my parent’s house. Only once, after my father’s death, did she simply hold me in her arms.
She even “loaned” me to Carly when Carly broke-up with her boyfriend. Carly had never experienced a “you know,” and I was assigned to give her one. I resisted at first, disappointed that Mel hadn’t claimed me. But making Carly happy made me oddly happy. In my own foolish way, I was lurching toward something greater than the 70s goal of getting, toward the spirit of giving.
Meanwhile, the Pithees had met a funny, talented black actor named Henry, and he quickly became our unofficial fifth member. One night after a show, we drove in Henry’s car to an all-night Denny’s. Then, around 2 a.m., Mary, Carly and Henry went outside while Mel and I paid the bill.
Henry’s car was gone when we came out. We grinned and walked across the street to a dimly lit bus stop. Sure enough, a moment later Henry and the others cruised by and began harassing us in the guise of a stereotype pimp and his “girls.” Melissa and I instantly turned into an uptight middle-aged white couple. “Look, we don’t want any trouble!” I shouted. “Just give them your wallet, Murray!” said Mel. “Don’t make things worse than they already are!”
This was great fun. Until the two cops who’d watched the entire scene from across the street, hit their siren. They raced over, pulled Henry out of his car, and slammed him up against it, shouting, “Spread ‘em!”
“No!” we screamed. “It was an improv! We’re actors!”
The cops didn’t think it was funny. After threatening to arrest all of five us (for improvising without an audience?) they finally left. Were we ashamed? No! We were too clever to be ashamed! And in our own way, we decided, we’d made a statement against racial stereotypes!
The Bad Boy stereotype, however, was still with us. Melissa (who never married her boyfriend, by the way) broke it off with me, and made Henry…
Her new Bad Boy.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
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You wild boy, you! Your journey reminds me of St. Francis’. I’m thankful for both of you.
Funny you should say that, Carol. I did, in fact, identify strongly with Francis when I first converted, and now. Like Francis, I was a girl-crazy romanticist who discovered that God was the true love of his life.
Amen!!! 😊👍
Mitch, it was the Vega! Right up there with the AMC Pacer 😎😂
;>)
When I was younger and ran with a crowd of bohemians, all in the arts, we swiftly learned to let any interested policeman know we were on our way to a performance and already in costume. Saved some unfortunate profiling!
Wise bohemians!
😆
A Vega? Say it aint so. I knew a girls like that in high school. We never dated, but had a great time in the back of my VW Bus.
Wow that was quite and adventure, how did Henry take it? I had some wild times as well after my folks unleashed me. I got wise after a couple of years, but it took some self-control
I started “getting wise” a few years later. Henry took it well, actually. The cops, one of whom was Black, were angry at all of five of us. Still, after they left, we laughed like loons.
Your stories never fail to entertain, Mitch! I was chuckling at the bus stop improv, up until the cops appeared. That must have been such a fright! And what a twist at the end. The “Bad Boy” persona really brought some eventful experiences along with it.
It did indeed. Thanks, Damyanti!
What a bunch of goofballs! Sorry Henry had to bear the brunt of the consequence of your silliness, though. It is a sad commentary on racism in law enforcement that still exists today.
For what it’s worth, Henry really did make it look like he was harassing and possibly threatening us (with “his girls,” Mary and Carly, egging him on). Also, one of the cops was Black.
Not that that means racism wasn’t/isn’t an issue in law enforcement, because it certainly is.
Charlee: “Chaplin did it just by becoming an obnoxious teenage boy cat …”
Such great fun until the cops showed up! 😀 Interesting that Melissa turned to Henry after that.
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