QColumn: A Gay In The Life: It’s My Party
It’s My Party
By Steve Prince
“Steve Prince. It’s really you.”
I looked at him blankly. As blood trickled from his nose, I tried to discern the face. Still, his strong cheekbones, square jaw, and dark amber eyes did nothing to identify him.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, looking around for a napkin, but a waitress who had seen the accident handed him one. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m fine,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It’s really not a big deal. I’ve had worse playing rugby.”
Okay, so apparently I go to Ruggerbugger.com too much; instead of being concerned for this man I’d just bitch-slapped with the door, my mind immediately drifted to rugby porn. Mmmm, rugby porn. The stranger extended his left hand since his right was pressing the napkin against his nose.
“I’m Kerry,” he said, his voice sounded muted behind the napkin.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, “even though you already know me?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, “I know all about you.”
What the fuck? Was I being stalked or something?
He seemed to register my confusion.
“I read your column every week,” he said enthusiastically.
“Oh?” I sang with comprehension, but then confusion. “But how do you know I’m Steve?” I asked. It’d been ages since I’d posted my picture on my column. Now it’s only the drawing and I really did that for my friends. Honestly, I didn’t mind people knowing about my personal life, but my friends didn’t sign up for this.
“Really? You look just like your old picture,” he said happily, still sniffing back the blood from his nostril. “How can you not tell?”
“Oh,” I said surprised. “Well, I’m glad you read it. That actually means a lot to hear.”
“It’s so good,” he gushed, “but I’m a little behind. How’s Peter?”
Jeezus. Really? Was this really happening to my life? Was God punishing me for cheating or something? Suddenly, I felt sympathy for actual celebrities. Peter was the last thing I want to talk about. Politely, I lied. “He’s fine,” I said with a fake smile. Besides if he’s really a fan, he’ll find out soon enough.
“Listen, are you really ok? Have I ruined your face or anything?” I asked changing the subject. “If something’s broken, I’ll pay for it. Totally my fault.”
“Nah, nah it’s fine,” he said. “I’ve broken my nose a couple of times; this is no biggie. My nose bleeds so easy. It just looks bad. See?” he said removing his hand revealing his slightly crooked nose, “the bleeding’s stopped already.” He was right, it had.
“Well, here,” I said handing him my card, “if something’s wrong, please call me.”
He took it cautiously, “You sure?”
“Totally,” I said, “I have to run so this makes me feel less bad for leaving quickly.” I could still feel hot tears brimming in my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of stranger, especially a fan. Thankfully, he got the hint, smiled, and nodded. Quickly, I turned to walk towards my car and go home. Ugh, what a night and I knew exactly what I needed…
Three hours later, I sat in front of my TV as Julie Roberts bemoaned her love life woes to Rupert Everett who consoled her.
Yes, I was watching my Best Friend’s Wedding. It’s my cry movie.
If you don’t know what a “cry movie” is, then you obviously haven’t been fucked over that much in life. Just wait—you’ll find one. I know the movie is a comedy, but as I watched Julia Robert’s neurotic character traverse around Chicago to win Dermot Mulroney’s heart, I sobbed into my seventh double-stuffed Oreo cookie.
Okay let’s be honest, it was my thirteenth.
Okay let’s be really honest: I’d lost count how many goddamn cookies I had eaten. The crumbs laid upon the couch with me and that’s just how I felt—crummy.
Settling myself, I laid my head against the pillow and closed my eyes. Suddenly, the weariness of the day took over. Fog seemed to fill itself between my eyes and spread to the front of my head. The lids of my eyes began to droop lower… and lower… and lower…
