SoMa Literary Review - As Seen On TV

As Seen on TV

By Kemble Scott

James saw Richard every time he went to the bank.

It was Richard who signed him up for an account when he first came to the city. The day was freakishly hot -temperatures in the 90s. James wondered, this is San Francisco?

Overdressed in his LL Bean lined jacket, he fumbled through his backpack trying to find all the necessary documents. Business licenses. State corporation papers. He sat there with beads of sweat at his temples, either due to the effect of the heat on his New England temperament, or a latent fear of missing paperwork.

And there was Richard.

Impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit, with the latest style of perfectly matched tie and pressed designer shirt. His dark black hair outlined rich olive skin and a boyish face. Richard had to be at least in his late twenties, but there was no hint of razor stubble, as if he wasn’t quite old enough to shave. His eyebrows and lashes were as dark as his hair, and long enough to inspire poetry. He was not just good-looking. Richard was that rare kind of man people would describe as "beautiful."

At first James felt intimidated by this beauty. It was odd a man should represent such loveliness. It wasn’t a sexual attraction, as much as a feeling of awe. James remembered reading an article recently about a scientific study of male beauty. The men considered the most handsome in the world are those whose faces have feminine traits. Leonardo DiCaprio. Johnny Depp. Richard was like that, too. James found himself studying the young man in the same way he gazed at the Rodin exhibit at the Palace of the Legion of Honor. Just like any work of art, it was fine to look all you wanted, but a crime to reach out and touch. James would never dare. Stop staring so much, he warned himself.

He would see Richard at least once a week as he dropped by the branch to make deposits. At times when business was good, he’d drop in two or three times in as many days. Jim hated the idea of leaving checks lying around the loft, and with Richard sitting there every day, going to the bank wasn’t much of a chore.

For nearly a year they exchanged a few words. Small talk. Pleasant greetings. If they walked past each other on the street, it would be the same way.

Then James saw "DMtv."

"DMtv" is short for Dan and Marie television. It’s the name of a show that airs once a week on San Francisco public access cable television. As far as James could figure out, these two twenty-somethings got an hour each week to air whatever video they shot with their home camera, along with non-stop commentary with each clip. Dan was so flamboyantly gay he embodied near stereotype. Marie seemed like a fresh young thing who just got off the bus from Idaho. While Dan did bitchy chatting with every frame of video, Marie simple responded with the occasional "yah," or "oh," or "I’ll say so." She was the straight man of their act.

James stumbled across the show one rainy afternoon in December. Winter had settled with typical wet weather. It usually poured for a while each evening just after dark, but this was one of those days when it actually came down in sheets in the middle of the afternoon. To avoid the inevitable soaking he’d get going to pick up his laundry, James killed time channel surfing. That’s when he hit "DMtv."

Dan and Marie had taken their camera to something called the "Queen’s Ball." It’s an annual event where all the biggest drag queens of the city gather for an evening of gaudy runway walks and backstage back-stabbing. James never understood the allure so many gay men held for the cross dressing scene, but he did admit to finding it amusing and often fascinating - like slowing down to stare at a car accident, looking for survivors or victims.

"And what’s your name, honey?" Dan said as he moved down the receiving line for interviews.

"Aurora Borealis, baby," the drag queen heavily breathed into the microphone. His costume involved thick make-up with a huge wig and a campy outer space motif.

"And where are you from?"

"The planet Uranus."

"Really?" Dan quipped. "We seem to have a lot of people from Uranus tonight, honey."

"Well, baby, NASA loves to send probes there!"

"Who are you kidding, Aurora. It ain’t just NASA! You’ve seen more ass than a toilet seat!" They both laughed heavily at their exchange. The tape kept rolling until after the giggling had stopped and an awkward silence stuck for a few seconds. The weird dead air had the two men’s eye darting off camera in a near painful cry for an ending.

This show really needs some editing, James thought.

For the next several minutes James watched more badly staged scenes of Dan interacting with caustic queens. Each one tried to be more mordant than the next, with Dan straining to provoke a new reaction. Each time brought near identical jokes and insults. Just as Dan had said, most of the men claimed to be from Uranus. He kept repeating the same one-liner in response. After the sixth time, Dan struggled to even smile through the entire repartee.

James was just about to start flipping channels again, when "Demi More Sex" entered the screen. Ha! He had to laugh out loud at that name.

"Demi More Sex, huh," said Dan. "I was just talking to Lotta Head. You two oughta get together and trade notes."

As the camera zoomed shakily into Demi’s face, James noticed the long, rich eye lashes. Pancake base doused the skin, and the lips shined with a deep Algerian red gloss.

Even through all that camouflage, there was no mistake. It was Richard from the bank.

James stared at the television, his mouth slightly open. I guess in this city it’s not so unusual to come across something like this, he thought. But Richard? The beautiful banker? A good looking guy, yeah, but nothing to make you think of this. James wondered if he had missed some important clue. He vowed to check Richard’s fingernails next time he went to the bank. That would be the dead giveaway. If the nails are too long, then it’s confirmation. Of course, he could just ask Richard if that was him on "DMtv." If it really was, then he probably would be open about it. Maybe even laugh. Surely, it wouldn’t be embarrassing to bring it up. After all, this is San Francisco.

But what if he was wrong? Maybe this drag queen simply looked like Richard, and was really someone else. If he brought up "DMtv" and the banker really didn’t know what he was talking about, then he’d have to explain it, and...

For the next few days, James couldn’t get the image out of his mind. He wondered how he would react next time he went to the bank. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Richard was so much more handsome as a man, than as a woman.

______

James avoided the bank that week. There were no pressing transactions, and he still didn’t have it clear in his mind what he would do when he got there. Late Friday afternoon a large check from a past consulting job arrived, and he knew he’d have to go to the branch the next morning.

James set his plan. He wouldn’t say anything at all. It was none of his business, really. If Richard was a drag queen, then that was his choice. It didn’t affect James’ banking. It was silly to think that it would. The whole thing bordered on homophobic nonsense, he thought.

As he waited in line for a teller, he stood near Richard’s desk. James felt a little relief to see the chair was empty. Then Richard emerged from the back room. Saturday was one of those "dress down" days at the bank, with everyone in jeans and short sleeve shirts.

Richard looked the same, though. The same striking features. The boyish face with that dark manly hair. James looked down at the fingernails. Perfectly manicured. Not long like a woman’s, but precisely crafted in the way of any budding young banker. He looked at the way Richard walked across the room, trying to spy even the slightest feminine manner. Nothing.

Must have been my imagination, James thought. It wasn’t really Richard. It was just someone who looked like him. James laughed at himself as he moved up to the front of the line.

"Next!" The teller yelled.

"I’ll need some cash, too," James said after the teller finished depositing the check. "A hundred is fine."

As the teller reached across the desktop he counted out five twenty dollar bills, putting each down as if he was dealing poker cards in the shape of a fan. As James looked down toward the money, he flinched. The teller, a tall heavy man with thick glasses, had long ladylike fingernails - painted bright purple, with bits of gold glitter!

The startled look on James’ face must have been obvious, because when he glanced up the teller grinned wide. Then the teller’s eyes darted to something across the room.

James turned and caught Richard and the teller in a moment of playful eye talk.