Top of the Rock

The Actor. I was depressed all weekend after revisiting the memory of the Actor last week.

What a bad time for me. Let's remember some more, shall we?

Aside from feeling continuously assaulted by me and my invisible army, the Actor had a slew of other issues. The biggest one being, he wasn't really out to that many people. In normal times, this is something I would not have taken any part in. I've been out since I was 19. My sexuality does not define me but it's an undeniable part of who I am and to deny it would mean to deny lie to myself. I was, however, still deep in the depths of the Hep-B-No-One-Should-Ever-Love-Me Phase of my life.

The Actor portended to be a master at improvisations. He studied at a place called The P.I.T in Manhattan. It's aptly named. The PITS is an offshoot of Upright Citizen's Brigade and there's apparently a rivalry between the two about which is better/more authentic/more a waste of time and money...something like that. Anyone who knows me, knows I hate stand up comedy (for the most part) and improv. I think the only people who enjoy improv are the ones performing it. It's really hard to be funny.

So finally the Actor asks me to come to one of his improv performances. I'm really hesitant. If I see him and he's bad, I will have to break up with him. At this point, I have yet to see that he's bad for me in so many other ways. We have dinner at some half-priced sushi joint next to the PITS. I don't like sushi and I don't trust any place that charges "half price for it." Is it "half fresh?" And this woman is sitting at a table behind me and the Actor is going on and on about how she's the best improver in the field. NY Magazine did a piece about her. She's been at the PIT forever. She's a second away from being famous. I'd never heard of her. I have still never heard of her. When she walked by the table on her way out, Actor greeted her and she looked at him like he had 3-heads. Maybe she was improvising?

Actor then proceeds to pull out a copy of GQ magazine and desperately search for his photo because he did a "shoot" months ago with someone where he was a groom and this woman was a bride and they were in bed together and it may end up in GQ. He has done this search now every month for three or four months. I don't know how to tell him it's never going to be in there. Never. Ever. Really. It's not. I just now. For real.

So he leaves me to go "prepare" and I say I'll see him after. He tells me to get there early because the place "really fills up." Yes, if ten to fifteen people constitute "filled up" then it certainly was. The audience was made up of mostly other students in the PITS and friends and, I guess, people like me dating closeted, improvising actors. The sets begin. The Actor says nothing in his first skit. Well, at least he wasn't bad. In his second he talks more but nothing is really funny. Everything feels forced and he is supremely disconnected from his partners. But they all seem to be disconnected so I'm assuming that's the "style" of PITS improv. After an endless number of sketches/skits/shit the evening finally comes to a close. I go outside and wait patiently for him. I do not have flowers or anything. His friends friends mill about in a corner and I don't really like them so I choose not to associate. Finally he comes out and I go up to him to give him a hug and he puts his hands on my shoulders, pushes me away and at the same time leans in and says, "I'm not out here." I do an award winning double take and stutter out, "WHAT?" He repeats, "I'm not out here." Wow. And in my head I think, 'How can you study improv and not be you? I mean, don't you have to be in touch with all your facilities in order to be any good at it.'

But I don't say that. I say, Ok. And I pat his back. I. Pat. His. Back.

We go downstairs and his and his friends start rolling their own cigarettes (pretentious) and smoking. The Actor has now put on his red knit cap that he wears to cover up the fact that he's balding and his best friend (I'm positive they both have crushes on each other) says, "You know, you're one of the few people who could pull off wearing a woman's hat and looking good." The Actor bristles and I snort.

The group then goes into a discussion about how they never sing barbershop quartet any more. Did I know how cool this was? Did I realize how much fun this was? Did I sing harmony? Did I want to? No. No. No. And no. And, for good measure, No. But some fat friend comes waddling along and he gets excited about it and there in the middle of some dirty street in the West 30s they start singing barbershop quartet. Badly. This really is the PITS. I've had enough and I wave goodbye since I can't hug him in front of his friends and I know that I'm certainly not going to get a kiss anyway and wish him a good night.

I am mad at myself. But I am undeterred.

The next morning I'm watching the Today Show and they're going on and on about how the very evening is the grand opening of Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center. It looks fun and beautiful and what a cool New York thing to do. And how romantic. So I get to work and go online and immediately get us two tickets for that night. I'm thinking if this doesn't get me laid nothing will. Or maybe even a make out session. It's been months and we have yet to revisit the passionate making out of our first, post-Philharmonic, pre-Hep B revealing date. I tell Actor to meet me Rockefeller Center at 8pm. And that he can NOT be late.

For a change, he shows up on time. As he's always running late in the mornings I'm certain he has no idea what Top of the Rock is as he wouldn't have caught the Today Show. So I take him. And it is fun. The lobby has the amazing Swarvoski Cystal chandelier. There's a fun interactive video where you can walk across a beam and look down at the dizzying city underneath you, as the men who built Rockefeller Center would have experienced it. And then there's the elevator ride up. You go up and up and up, exiting into another lobby and then, finally, on to the beautiful Art Deco sculpted roof. It really was breathtaking to be up there. It was cold and the bracing wind hit you the minute you opened the doors but there was the city, lit up and beautiful before you. There weren't all that many other people up there, perhaps 20 - 30. I thought the place would be packed but I guess word hadn't gotten out yet. I walked to the edge and looked over my city. She was something. The Actor wandered off on his own. I walked the perimeter of the building, looking for and finding all my favorite landmarks. I kept waiting for the Actor to come and put his arms around me and tell me how beautiful it was. He didn't. So finally I went up and stood behind him and said so. "Yes," he replied. "It's stunning." It sounded rehearsed but I'll take it. Then he turned to me and looked in my eyes and said, "Thank you, JV. Thank you for this." Then he turned back to the view.

"Uhm...I'm kind of cold so I'm gonna go back in," I said not quite sure of what to make of this performance.

After a few moments of this, he came back inside and asked me if I wanted to spend the night. I said, Yes. Of course. Called my roommate and told her to walk the dog and walked with him to Hell's Kitchen. We watched some TV. Got into bed. He fell asleep.

Nice.

Years later, the Loved One told me that he had been there the same night, probably the same time as me. And we didn't even notice each other. Isn't the island funny that way?