Life imitates art

Peyton Place aired on American TV from September 15, 1964 until June 2, 1969. I never saw a moment of it. I had spent first and second grade in Japan, as well as seventh through ninth; five years without TV broke the habit for me. There have been dozens of shows that “everyone” watched – everyone perhaps, but not I: Mary Tyler Moore, M*A*S*H, Hill Street Blues, St. Elsewhere, Friends, Seinfeld, All in the Family, Cheers – the list goes on and on.

I never watched Peyton Place – or read the book or saw the movie – but ten years after it went off the air, I lived it. I was in Georgetown, living with Chris, who had returned to finish his degree. Our relationship broke apart and one of the ways I coped was to throw myself into the crazy social/sexual world that revolved around Georgie’s, the restaurant/bar at which I worked.

There was a line cook there named Orin who I really liked. He was straight and a weed-smoking rock and roller like me and we would talk music trivia for hours (Who played that killer organ on Dylan’s Like a Rolling Stone? What did the Mamas and Papas used to be called?) There was a hostess named Felicia who was soft and sexy and married to a brute of an Italian named Fabio. Georgie’s was where I met my buddy Malette, still a dear friend 33 years later. Fynn also worked in the kitchen, another straight boy who I got to know a bit.

We were a crazy, addicted-to-too-many-things family and we worked hard and played harder. My apartment was just a mile up the road from the restaurant so, after Chris moved out in December, it became party central. We’d gather there at 11pm or later to drink, smoke, snort and talk.

As one of these evenings dragged to its end I noticed that Orin was the last guest standing. That was noteworthy because, cool though he was with me, he was still a bit wary. He was as butch as they come and I was, after all, an out gay man, so he kept some distance. When I asked what was up he looked me in the eyes and said he wanted to sleep with me.

I think I literally turned around to see if he were talking to someone else. It was just not believable. Water’s wet, the sun’s hot, Orin’s straight.

WHAT DID YOU SAY?

Anyway, he meant it, and so we did it. The next morning we were awoken by a romance shattering pounding on the door. Felicia was there with her sister and a friend, demanding to be let in. In vain I tried to refuse, til Felicia gave me a this-is-serious-resistance-is-futile look. Just as I was wondering what to do with my surprise upstairs, Felicia’s sister says, “and tell Orin to come downstairs; I don’t want to have to go through this twice.”

Whoa! The look on his face when I told him they knew he was here was as painful as I have ever seen on a man. But its intensity fell short of the look he and Felicia shared as he came down the stairs. I couldn’t begin to understand that.

Until a few weeks later when I learned that the two of them had been having an affair.

So let’s recap: Felicia is married to one man and having an affair with another. He has a girlfriend I haven’t even mentioned but is also sleeping with me. There’s only one thing more that could make this a suitable plot for Peyton Place: for me to sleep with Felicia.

Yeah, that happened that summer.

I thought of all this recently when I learned that Fynn, mentioned above, had come out of the closet – more than thirty years later! (Oh the power of homophobia – though that’s just a guess). How does Fynn fit in with all this? Well, the crisis that sent Felicia and company to my house the morning after Orin’s debut started when Patty’s father, who didn’t want his daughter in bed with another woman, threw Felicia’s sister out of Patty’s house. And who’s Patty? Why, she’s the woman Fynn married, had kids with and then, all these years later, came out to.

Am I making any of this up? Not a word! Except that I changed all the names, save for Chris, who was my lover, and Malette, who is still my friend.

Hmmm, maybe I should write screenplays.