“Back in a sec.”
I watch him walk away. I catch my reflection in the wall of mirrors.
I do not look my age, but no one’s mistaking me for thirty either.
Fifties? Perhaps.
In a dimly lit room, I can hear Teddy add.After cataract surgery. And three martinis.
I look over at Cole doing squats.
What does he see?I wonder. A father figure fantasy? A meal ticket?
I look at myself again.
What do I see? My lost youth? Another momentary distraction?
Shall I be honest, or continue to write a screenplay and present it as a documentary?
My life as a gay man runs parallel to my life as an actor: It is constant, relentless rejection based on appearance.
I wrap this rejection in a false belief that the next man—or gig—will complete me.
I lost theGolden Girlsgig at the same time I lost my first real boyfriend, Kyle Moses. We were both actors, of course. I worked at the Sherman Oaks Galleria at night, and Kyle delivered Domino’s so we could keep our days free to audition. We met as extras onDynasty. Joan Collins could sniff out a gay man more quickly than cubic zirconium, and she introduced me to Kyle at Craft Services.
I felt like Cupid shot an arrow through my heart that day. I fell head over heels. We were like lesbians and moved in together after three months of dating.
Kyle was from the Ozarks, a sweet boy with an all-American face, dimples you could plant tomato seeds in and a voice that sounded like a creek of running molasses. I had what casting directors called “gay face.” In my youth, my appearance was fragile, pretty almost, and that alone was certain death in Hollywood in the 1980s. Couple it with a voice that sounded distinctly unmanly, and roles for me were, back then, as rare as an out actor. I have worked to change my face and voice over the years.
Kyle and I auditioned for everything. We would work for free. We just wanted to build our credentials.
We were contestants onThe Price Is RightandLet’s Make a Deal, played corpses onHill Street Blues(we held hands between takes underneath our shrouds) and servers at The Regal Beagle onThree’s Company.
And then Kyle and I both booked auditions to play Coco, neither of us believing we had a shot in the world at securingthe role with such established actresses. When I got the call from my agent that I’d won the part, I ran out to buy a bottle of champagne I couldn’t afford. When Kyle came home and I told him the news, he threw the bottle of champagne at me from across the room, and our world—quite literally—exploded.
Kyle blamed me for the breakup. He said I was selfish for taking a role I didn’t deserve. When I left to start filming, Kyle accused me of abandoning him.
“You will regret this, you piece of shit!” he yelled. “I hate you! And so will the world! I hope you fail!”
I did.
And when I was cut from the show, I believed I deserved that, too.
Barry Goggins, I told myself, was not a nice guy. I hurt men. So why not just make being a villain my starring role for life?
Just a few months later, I was out of work, and Kyle was starring in the hit movieBilly the Hillbillyabout a country boy who avenges his family’s death. It spawned five sequels and made Kyle famous and richer than God.
I ended up on the cutting room floor, in life and love.
And so I slinked to the desert.
But that unquenchable desire to be wanted is never sated. It only grows stronger the older you get and the less time you have. You want to leave a mark before it’s too late.
Sex and fame are drugs, and I can never get enough.
I even tried SCA for a while. Sexual Compulsives Anonymous is a twelve-step recovery program, like AA, for sexual addiction and romantic obsession, inclusive of all sexual orientations.
The few times I went to meetings, I thought,No wonder these guys are here. They’re butt-ugly. They couldn’t get laid by a carpet installer.
