ever.
“That cop totally wanted you,” Bobby says to Laura, trying to smooth-talk her.
To which she gives him another look. I’ve got a feeling Laura really doesn’t care for Bobby Russell at all. And I don’t blame her…He’s a Total Loser!
So how come he doesn’t wanna be my friend?
Holding Out For A Hero
“Where have all the good men gone?
And where are all the gods?”
—Bonnie Tyler
“Oh, my God…Did you see the News?”
Four days later, I’m home in my bedroom talking to Brad on my brand new telephone. Which is just an extension, but still…Finally, I’ve got some privacy!
“I did,” I say in Total Shock. “I can’t even believe it.”
We both just got the official word from Channel 7’s Bill Bonds…“TV star Jon-Erik Hexum has died.”
Apparently, JEH got bored while on the set of Cover Up. So between takes, he started fooling around, putting a .44 Magnum prop gun up to his head. “Let’s see if I’ve got one for me,” he joked. Which became his Famous Last Words as he pulled the trigger.
The impact from the blank fractured his skull, sending a quarter-inch thick fragment into his brain. After being rushed to a nearby hospital where he underwent emergency surgery, he slipped into a coma. With his mother’s permission, Jon-Erik was flown to Las Vega$ today—October 18, 1984—where he was taken off life support and died peacefully. His organs are being donated at his request. He was three weeks shy of his 27th birthday.
“I can’t even imagine living for only twelve more years,” Brad sighs, holding back tears.
“I know…I’ve got a bijillion things I wanna do with my life still.”
We observe a Moment of Silence. Then Brad says, “You know…I been thinking…” Then he trails off.
“About?”
“About how JEH died.”
Knowing we both already know all about it, I say, “’member? It was an accident.”
“Yeah…But maybe it wasn’t,” Brad speculates. “Maybe he did it on purpose.”
Which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. “What reason could JEH possibly have for wanting to kill himself?”
“Well,” says Brad hesitantly. “Maybe he was a Big Fag and he couldn’t take it anymore…You know what I mean?”
“No…”
“Think about it, Jack,” he advises me. “I mean, here he was, this totally gorgeous guy…Rich and famous…And he doesn’t have a girlfriend?”
“What about Emma Samms from Dynasty?” I point out. “They were together a lot.”
“I know…” Brad replies, hesitating again. “But maybe that was just a cover up…You know what I mean?” Then he gasps at the realization he’s come to. “Just like the name of the TV show JEH was on when he died!”
To which I’m like, “I never thought about it that way.”
And Brad’s like, “Maybe that’s why he did it.” Totally hypothesizing. “Maybe he couldn’t keep it a secret anymore…Maybe it was eating away at him inside…And instead of dealing with it, he decided to kill himself and make it look like an accident.”
“Yeah…” I start to say. “But do you really think JEH could have been…?” Now I have to hesitate a moment. Brad and I hate to use that word. By which I mean the G-word, don’t ask me why!
Maybe it’s because of the way it looks when you write it out. With the downward tail of the “g” and the downward tail of the “y” and the teeny-tiny “a” stuck there all alone in the middle. Or maybe it’s because Brad and I both know it’s not a Nice Word and neither of our Moms would approve of us using it. Or maybe it’s because we’ve both had it directed at us more times over the past two years than we care to remember.
So instead, I use our favorite euphemism…“Like that?”
“It’s possible,” Brad answers. “You know what I mean?”
So I think about it…JEH was this totally rugged and masculine guy. How could he possibly be like that?
“Please!” Brad snorts when I question his thinking. “Haven’t you ever seen the Village People? My sister Janelle says they’re all Big Fags and look at them.”
I can’t even believe that mustached guy I saw on Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve back in like 1979-going-into-1980 with the hard hat and tool belt is G-A-Y. Which is exactly what I tell Brad next.
“Yep,” he confirms. “Total Fag.”
To which I have nothing left to say.
“You know what else I been thinking?” says Brad again. “Maybe I could come over and we can hold a séance on Devil’s Night.”
In case you don’t know…This is October 30th in Detroit. When people go out soaping car windows and TP-ing houses before burning them down. All in the name of good Night-Before-Halloween fun.
“That way,” Brad continues, “we can communicate with JEH and ask him the real reason he did it.” By which he means shot himself in the head.
“Do you even know how to do a séance?” I have to ask.
“Sure,” he informs me. Like it’s no big deal. “I saw Ginger do one on Gilligan’s Island before…All you need are some candles and some photos…” Both of which he promises to bring along with him. “And then you just do a chant.”
I can just imagine Brad burning my parents’ house down. Still, I guess I would like to know. Especially if it’s because JEH was like that. Not that I’d care or anything, ’cause I wouldn’t.
Which explains why I’ve let Brad talk me into coming over my house twelve days later, to conduct his so-called séance…
Though he’s late.
He was supposed to meet me in front of Hardee’s up on John R across from Farmer Jack’s at 8:30 PM. Which is where we always meet each other, halfway between both our houses. But looking at my watch now, it’s almost 8:40 PM.
Ten minutes later he pulls up on his 24" lime green Schwinn 10-speed, a look of terror on his face. “You afraid Jason’s gonna get you or something?” I ask. “Or maybe Michael Meyers?” Considering tomorrow’s Halloween, it seems more fitting.
“Shut up, Mr. Still-Sleeps-With-a-Night-Light-On!” Brad retaliates. Like a Total Baby. Then he whines, “I totally got egged on my way over here.” He shows me the yellow splatter on the back of his green and gold Warrior Marching Band windbreaker.
“You’re the one who wanted to leave your house on Devil’s Night,” I remind him.
“Today!” Brad indicates for me to hop on the back of the hand-me-down he recently got from his sister Janelle’s boyfriend, Ted. The frame’s a bit rusty and the brakes kinda squeak. The tires are also a little wobbly. But at least Brad’s got a way to get to his job at Country Boy’s and to my house whenever he wants.
I climb on back of the torn leather seat, taking care not to get egg yolk all over my navy blue hooded sweatshirt I got at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp the Summer before last. Suddenly Brad snaps, “Watch it!” Totally scaring the crap out of me.
“What the Hell is your problem?” I wonder.
“You wanna get stabbed?” He shows me the Ginsu steak knife he’s got tucked into his back jeans pocket. Which