You let my brother dress her? I ask.

James smirks, happy, I guess, to be speaking of things that don’t matter. No, he says. But Connor gave me a ten-percent discount. Decent of him.

Mmmm… Well, don’t let Becky see that dress. She’ll be pissed you didn’t loan it to her.

That’s okay, James says with a glint in his eye. I have others.

There’s a melody I can’t get out of my head.

It might be the best thing I’ve written.

Now I’m worried I’ve heard it somewhere before.

From the radio? The club? Where have I heard it?

I hum it for Becky. For my mother. For James.

I play it in chords, major and minor.

What is it from? What is it from?

I call Connor and play it over the phone.

It’s kind of like that stupid cat food commercial, he says.

Oh.

B-Side Records is hiring.

My parents have a thing against my working during the school year.

Also, if you listen to my dad, Connor met Tony at his part-time job at Canal Street Jeans, ergo working downtown can make you gay.

Yeesh.

It’s too late anyhow. The next time I go back, the position has been filled.

Michael, stop it, Becky says for the third time. You’re drawing attention to yourself.

The theatergoers mill around on 44th outside the Little Theater, finishing cigarettes, unwrapping candy, sharing their thoughts on the show’s first act. We’re supposed to be trying to fit in, which I’m apparently failing at.

Story of my life.

I lean in close to her so no one will hear me. But what if we can’t find seats? I ask. What if the ushers realize we don’t have tickets and kick us out?

Becky shrugs. James says people second-act shows all the time. And it’s a Tuesday. The theater won’t be that full.

Yeah, but… I start, and Becky gives me a withering look. The whole idea of walking into a Broadway theater without a ticket, following the paying ticket-holders back from intermission, and grabbing an open seat, scares the heck out of me.

But James was sneaky and Xeroxed the first act of Torch Song Trilogy for us to read. We have to see the rest of the actual show if we want to know what happens next.

And I have to know what happens next.

I’ve never seen a play with a gay character, much less a funny one.

The lead character, Arnold, is a drag queen (which I’m not) and sexually experienced (which I’m not) and Jewish (which I’m not).

But when his mother admits that she would have aborted him had she known he’d turn out gay, I felt it as if I knew him.

After all, my father is no different.

I cancel my dinner with Connor and see the second two acts of the play again on Wednesday.

Where are you applying to college?

I haven’t really…

Where are you applying?

I mean, it’s only junior year…