pictures didnât make me feel ancient, schlepping up those guesthouse stairs surely did.
About a year ago, in a search of lodging in New York, I discovered that my former high school prom date Jay (Fay and Jay, it was cute) was now the proprietor of an internationally known gay B&B in the Big Apple. If weâd only realized then, what we both know now, weâd have saved ourselves a lot of angst.
But each of us, having found our way out of the closet in our own sweet time, reconnected last weekend and laughed our heads off about it.
When Bonnie and I arrived at the guesthouse, my high school honeyâs front desk staff greeted us warmly, with devilish grins. âWhereâs your corsage?â said the cute staffer. Uh, oh. Infamous. He smirked as he offered us a tour.
Jayâs father had owned a movie theatre, and Jay was the proud owner of thousands of fantastic old movie posters, hundreds of which adorned the B&B walls. Each room in the 25-room building was named for an old-time movie star, and the place was high homosexual and positively wonderful.
The general manager pointed us (up) to our fourth floor Donna Reed Suite to await our host. Like luggage-laden Von Trapp Family Singers, we commenced the climb from base camp to summit.
Oh boy, (pant, pant) to borrow a line from playwright Neil Simon, if I had known the people on the second floor I would have gone to stay with them.
Winded but no worse for wear, we arrived at Donna Reed, flung open the door and (cue the eerie Twilight Zone music) discovered why the front desk clerk smirked. Enlarged, grainy, frightening Xerox copies of my 1965 prom pictures, yearbook photo, and other assorted artifacts adorned the walls over the movie posters. Bonnie and I used up what little breath we had left laughing.
I especially appreciated the Thelma & Louise-ish picture of me, behind the wheel of my parentsâ sports car, wearing a ridiculous grin and humongous, dramatically pointy white sunglasses.
Actually, when I got finished laughing and gasping for oxygen, I was touched that Jay had saved all that stuff for, omigod, 39 (!) years. It doesnât seem possible.
But almost four decades later it is. And while I havenât changed much (Ha!) movie posters sure have.
âHe knew her lips, but not her nameâ¦â âBacklash! Suspense that cuts like a whip!â and my favoriteâcertainly prior to political incorrectnessâDonna Reed starring as Sacagawea.
The film was The Far Horizon , IN TECHNICOLOR no less, and it was a far horizon indeed to see my high school photo plastered in the middle of the poster. Bonnie, staring at the yearbook graduation picture laughed that she had Jimmy Carter type lust in her heart at the sight of that innocent young thing. Weird!!!!
When our host arrived, he came bearing flowers and a huge smile. We stared at each other, searching for our former young selves in the middle-aged gay people weâd become. I recognized him right away, even if he was letting his natural blonde grow in (!!). I noted that perhaps heâd forgotten I was always a red head.
We only had the afternoon to reminisce, because Jay lives the life we used to: he works at the Chelsea Pines during the week and then he and his partner flee the city Friday nights for their weekend home in the Berkshire Mountains. We told himof our five years commuting to Rehoboth.
Jay learned that Bonnie and I were celebrating what would have been our 22nd anniversary, if we hadnât eloped to Canada last August, creating a muddled anniversary date. I learned the fascinating tale of his buying a run-down rooming house filled with âbumsâ and slowly converting it to the now-thriving gay guesthouse. It was a lovely reunion and we talked of doing it again, maybe here at the beach.
As for the rest of the weekend, it had lots of blast from the past qualities. On Saturday afternoon we went to the Television and Radio museum on 52nd Street to see
About a year ago, in a search of lodging in New York, I discovered that my former high school prom date Jay (Fay and Jay, it was cute) was now the proprietor of an internationally known gay B&B in the Big Apple. If weâd only realized then, what we both know now, weâd have saved ourselves a lot of angst.
But each of us, having found our way out of the closet in our own sweet time, reconnected last weekend and laughed our heads off about it.
When Bonnie and I arrived at the guesthouse, my high school honeyâs front desk staff greeted us warmly, with devilish grins. âWhereâs your corsage?â said the cute staffer. Uh, oh. Infamous. He smirked as he offered us a tour.
Jayâs father had owned a movie theatre, and Jay was the proud owner of thousands of fantastic old movie posters, hundreds of which adorned the B&B walls. Each room in the 25-room building was named for an old-time movie star, and the place was high homosexual and positively wonderful.
The general manager pointed us (up) to our fourth floor Donna Reed Suite to await our host. Like luggage-laden Von Trapp Family Singers, we commenced the climb from base camp to summit.
Oh boy, (pant, pant) to borrow a line from playwright Neil Simon, if I had known the people on the second floor I would have gone to stay with them.
Winded but no worse for wear, we arrived at Donna Reed, flung open the door and (cue the eerie Twilight Zone music) discovered why the front desk clerk smirked. Enlarged, grainy, frightening Xerox copies of my 1965 prom pictures, yearbook photo, and other assorted artifacts adorned the walls over the movie posters. Bonnie and I used up what little breath we had left laughing.
I especially appreciated the Thelma & Louise-ish picture of me, behind the wheel of my parentsâ sports car, wearing a ridiculous grin and humongous, dramatically pointy white sunglasses.
Actually, when I got finished laughing and gasping for oxygen, I was touched that Jay had saved all that stuff for, omigod, 39 (!) years. It doesnât seem possible.
But almost four decades later it is. And while I havenât changed much (Ha!) movie posters sure have.
âHe knew her lips, but not her nameâ¦â âBacklash! Suspense that cuts like a whip!â and my favoriteâcertainly prior to political incorrectnessâDonna Reed starring as Sacagawea.
The film was The Far Horizon , IN TECHNICOLOR no less, and it was a far horizon indeed to see my high school photo plastered in the middle of the poster. Bonnie, staring at the yearbook graduation picture laughed that she had Jimmy Carter type lust in her heart at the sight of that innocent young thing. Weird!!!!
When our host arrived, he came bearing flowers and a huge smile. We stared at each other, searching for our former young selves in the middle-aged gay people weâd become. I recognized him right away, even if he was letting his natural blonde grow in (!!). I noted that perhaps heâd forgotten I was always a red head.
We only had the afternoon to reminisce, because Jay lives the life we used to: he works at the Chelsea Pines during the week and then he and his partner flee the city Friday nights for their weekend home in the Berkshire Mountains. We told himof our five years commuting to Rehoboth.
Jay learned that Bonnie and I were celebrating what would have been our 22nd anniversary, if we hadnât eloped to Canada last August, creating a muddled anniversary date. I learned the fascinating tale of his buying a run-down rooming house filled with âbumsâ and slowly converting it to the now-thriving gay guesthouse. It was a lovely reunion and we talked of doing it again, maybe here at the beach.
As for the rest of the weekend, it had lots of blast from the past qualities. On Saturday afternoon we went to the Television and Radio museum on 52nd Street to see
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