By Anthony Paull
I'm a tad worried. I'm not sure if we're going to be asked back to Sundance next year, and to set the record straight, I'm placing blame on my photographer, Stacey. Granted, I know I'm no earth angel. I'm aware that I partially contributed to the glacier-size drama we caused, mainly because I was the one who prompted Stacey to drink. But it's not my fault. I didn't know she hadn't slept or eaten food in a week. I only discovered that tidbit when she got drunk and puked in her scarf before falling down a flight of imaginary stairs.
True, I admit, Stacey is fabulous on an international level, but even I know better than to hallucinate in front of celebrities or have delusions that I'm seeing one. For example, at a premiere party dinner serving vodka-laced energy drinks, Stacey downed a few sips and then thought she saw Ethan Hawke, triggering her, for some unknown reason, to pull a Flat Stanley doll out of her handbag to get her picture taken with Ethan and other A-list celebrities.
Now let me remind you, she's supposedly a professional photographer.
The problem is she doesn't know how to operate the camera, and the "boy" she thought was Ethan Hawke was actually 20 years his junior and just went along with the whole Flat Stanley fiasco because he wanted to get down her pants. Needless to say, most of my photographs are blurrier than Stacey's recollection of the event.
But who cares about the past? Did I tell you Stacey can see the future? Yes, it's true. Last year, she met some young unknown actor and predicted that he was going to be star, and her vision came to be. Too bad she failed to enlighten me on the rest of his future.
You see, this new star, he decided to meet us at Sundance's gay porn-release party where Stacey was running around in a maddened state because Flat Stanley had been abducted by a fashion designer, who was using the stupid paper doll to perform fellatio on him in the VIP room. So Mr. Star, he was left talking to me.
"Dude, seriously, I've never been with a guy, but I think I'm 20 percent gay," he states, opening the conversation.
"Good for you. Have another drink and you'll hit 25," I reply, searching for Stacey, who I find not working, mind you, but twirling around a horde of sweaty, dancing gay boys on the third floor of the party lounge, where the porn star of the year is having trouble autographing a picture of his erect penis because he doesn't know how to spell. Really, I can't make this shit up.
"Tee-hee-hee, where's THEE Star?" Stacey laughs, with green strobe lights racing across her face. Overhead, a million silver balloons dancing to an ear-busting techno beat.
"I think I lost him," I tell her.
"Oh, I see him!" she shouts, pointing to him before covering her mouth in a gasp. "Oh my God, he's kissing a guy!"
"Yeah, so?"
"He's not gay," she states.
"Yeah, and he's not a smoker or drinker either, but he's been double fisting bourbon and sucking down menthols all night."
"Ooh, so what should we do? We're kind of responsible for him," she says.
Me, I'm thinking I could snap his picture and make some quick cash, but I know I'm not that person. Still, I guess that I could have Stacey do it for me, but I remember she can't operate the camera. "Let's let him be free," I say.
"OK," Stacey nods, floating away in a drunken cloud.
Over Texas, on the plane ride home, Stacey and I make a firm agreement not to mention any names in regard to what happened. I'm wondering how THEE Star is feeling, and I'm hoping he knows what happened in Utah will stay there.
"Did you like it? The kiss?" I asked him before we left.
"Nah, it wasn't that good," he hastily replied. But even if it wasn't, I could sense a quiet fulfillment in his face due to knowing he was in a safe enough space to find out. Wouldn't we all be in a better state if we could act without the camera, the judgment, and the weary eyes of those who know better than us?
It's confusing to me. We have psychological geniuses like Sigmund Freud and Wilhelm Stekel telling us since the early 20th century that bisexuality is innate and normal, but still, we have a hard time kissing without seeing gender or sexual orientation. The world, more than ever, is ready for change, for love in any form to be applauded. We shouldn't need alcohol to release our latent inhibitions or slowly kill ourselves off with cigarettes because we're ashamed of what they are.
Personally, I don't think THEE Star is gay or straight or whatever label is current these days. I just think he's looking for love. And it fills my heart with warmth to see he's willing to be exposed for being human to find it.
