Hollywood, February 1986"Why do we have to come to Hollywood?" Jayson asks, looking nervously at the straight tourists posing outside Mann's Chinese Theater, as if they might yell homophobic slurs at any moment.
"There's no decent Greek restaurants in West Hollywood."
"Then what do we need Greek food for? Let's go to the French Quarter or Cafe Etoile."
This is my third date with Jayson, one of those West Hollywood booster types who lives on Crescent Heights, works on La Cienega, and never ventures east of Fairfax. He's about my age, brown curly hair, pleasantly muscular gym rat physique, hairy chest, gigantic beneath the belt
I date mainly Asian guys from Mugi or actors that I meet at church or through my friend Marcus. Jason is an exception, not Asian, not interested in show biz. Plus he's a tad elitist, and that "never leave West Hollywood" stuff gets old fast. I wonder why I'm dating him at all.
Oh, right -- gigantic beneath the belt.
"It won't hurt you to hang out with straight people for awhile. Besides, the Athens has a benefit besides the moussaka, which I will demonstrate in due time.
When we arrive at the Athens, on the corner of Hollywood and LaBrea (now it's a Buffalo Wild Wings), Jayson looks askance the twenty or so tables with plastic tabletops, the pictures of the Parthenon and whitewashed houses, the jars of plastic silverware, and the line waiting to order from a surly, big-bicep Greek guy named Eusebios.
"We have to wait in line?"
"The best moussaka and baklava in Southern California, trust me. Plus an added benefit."
He shrugs, takes his place in line, and glances around the room. "Why are there so many Cute Young Things here?"
"Celebrity sightings!" Jayson sneers. "Who cares? It's not like we have a chance with Tom Cruise or Sylvester Stallone."
"Well, maybe not them, but guys who will be famous ten or twenty years from now, so you can say 'I dated him back in the day.'" I look around the room. "Case in point -- Georg Olden."
"Who?"
"He was in Explorers with River Phoenix, and right now he's starring in Rocky Road, a sitcom on TBS about an ice cream parlor on Pismo Beach."
"Cute," Jayson admits.
"And legal -- according to Tiger Beat, he's eighteen and single."
We reach the head, submit our orders, and then move over to the cash register to pay, while keeping our eyes on Georg Olden, wearing a pink tank top that accentuates his dark tan and hard shoulders and biceps. He's sitting at a table with another guy who I don't recognize: college aged, straight black hair, slim physique. They are eating souvlaki and sharing an order of fries. Their hands "accidentally" touch. Obviously a couple!
"Are you telling me you have a chance with that stud muffin?" Jayson asks."Absolutely, no question about it."
He laughs, so loudly that heads raise to look. "No way, Jose! Your eyes are bigger than your stomach!"
"Might I remind you that I've only been in town six months, but I've already had dates with Michael J. Fox, Scott Valentine, Lou Ferrigno, and Bill Bixby?" Actually, I am using the term "date" very loosely, but I don't like being doubted.
"And I'm planning a three-way with Emilio Estivez and Rob Lowe later."
We pick up our food. "I'll join you in a moment, after I get a phone number or two. Just observe the master at work." I walk toward Georg's table. Jayson takes another table close by.
I gulp. How am I going to pull this off?
The full story, with nude photos and explicit sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood.