I arrived at 7:15, and after Marie and I caught up we started chatting with an autographer that I've never seen before. He seemed cool, and was definitely more knowledgeable than your average fan who found the right door to wait at, so it was a nice way to pass the time while we waited. And waited. And waited. A publicist came out, anxiously checking his phone and staring down the street, giving us hope that Mariel was on her way. And still we waited. Marie left around 8:15 to meet a friend for breakfast, and no sooner did she leave when worlds collided. A swarm of students on a field trip from some mid-western flyover state that you wouldn't catch me dead in lined up against the side of the building so their chaperone could take a head count just as an SUV pulled up. As it came to a stop and the paparazzi and autographers sprang to attention, the entire herd of children filed in front of us, into the street, right up to the SUV and around behind it to cross the street. We all looked at each other dumbfounded. Seriously, you stupid people couldn't wait two minutes so that MARIEL HEMINGWAY CAN GET OUT OF HER SUV? Are your scrambled eggs that important? Jesus Christ!
When the parade passed us by, the driver opened the rear door, and there was Liza Minnelli! I'm not shitting you! Liza Minnelli! I knew she was scheduled to be on the show, but just assumed she'd go through the garage like she always does, but oh no, not today. And ever the professional, Liza with a Z wrapped her shawl around her, struck a pose (which is no small feat for a 67 year old woman with an artificial hip) and gave sass a new look. YOU GO GIRL!!!
Now you can say all you want about Liza Minnelli, and lord knows she's been through it all and back again, but being in her presence, in all her twitching, wobbling, lisping, wigs, eyelashes and sequined glory, is like being in the gay holy land. I've never been a huge fan of hers, but I applaud the artifice and production that goes into being Liza Minnelli. She is a fighter, and for that I applaud her!
At this point it was a given that if Mariel had arrived it was through another entrance, so I headed around the corner to Rockefeller Plaza hoping to catch a peek at the interview and see which way she would exit (and whether I'd even have a chance to snap a pic). I could see the back of her head through the window, and the other autograph kid and I watched as she and her coauthor were interviewed by Matt Lauer. We both had the same thought....keep an eye on her, and if she leaves through the 49th street door we can catch her there. Interview over, she headed over to the window to give Liza a hug, and it was a scene straight out of Studio 54 circa 1978 as the two stars caught up with one another. Somewhere in heaven Halston and Steve Rubell were smiling as Andy Warhol wrote the whole scene down in his diaries. The only thing missing was Bianca riding into the studio on a white horse.
Mariel headed toward the studio door, and the autograph guy (I really should have gotten his name, because typing the autograph guy is kinda dumb) and I raced back toward the 48th street exit. All of a sudden there was a loud RIIIIPPPP, as he caught his pant leg on one of the fire hydrant things that extend out of the side of the buildings here in Manhattan, and tore a hole down his pant leg. Now here's where I really should have taken a picture to make this story complete, but I was all eye of the tiger in the moment and focused only on Mariel, who I could see in the building lobby heading toward the plaza exit. She walked out into the plaza in a heated argument with the guy she was with, heading around the corner onto 48th street, but the paparazzi and autographers would not be deterred, and she stopped to sign a few photos while her friend slowly burned inside. I'm not sure if she did that for us or to piss him off, but it really doesn't matter because I got a great picture and didn't rip my pants.
Gay morning? Check! But wait, there's more!
It was the first night of previews for two new Broadway shows, I'll Eat You Last, with Bette Midler, and Jekyll and Hyde, with Deborah Cox. I know!
I did my homework, and was at the stage door for Bette just as the show let out. It was fucking freezing. Like Arctic windy in Schubert Alley, and stupid me didn't think to bring a hat or gloves because it was beautiful all day. And my timing was perfect, because I was right at the front of the barricade, and a TON of people who'd seen the show were behind me. Ha ha! The security guys told us that Bette would not be signing anything for the first three shows, but still we waited, freezing, for what seemed like forever, as the wind kept whipping through the alley, groans and moans erupting every time it did. One woman kept on calling out 'Bette' as if she could hear her through the brick walls of the building, and another guy felt the need to let the crowd know 'that's not Bette' whenever anyone who wasn't Bette came out, as if we were all blind and he was our seeing eye dog for the evening. At about 10:15 (45 minutes into my wait time, fingers nearly frozen in the claw position I was holding the camera in), Bette's husband emerged, and got into the waiting car as the loudmouth lady called out 'Mr. Midler, Mr. Midler' which couldn't possibly be construed as emasculating or obnoxious now, could it? And then the door opened, and there stood Bette Midler. She basked in the applause as the crowd went wild, cheering and clapping and calling out to her for autographs and pictures. And then she came right over to the barricade and started signing! I mean, right next to me! And went all down the barricade, making sure to sign as many as possible, never looking up once. So here's The Divine Miss M. as she exits the Booth Theatre. It's not the sharpest picture, but my hands were numb. And you weren't there, so don't judge.
But wait....there's more!
The Marquis Theater is half a block from the Booth Theatre, so I was able to get to the barricade in time for Jekyll and Hyde to let out. Like literally just as it was letting out. I was joined by the real life Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel, who talked nonstop about theatre and how fabulous the show was and how excited they were to see the cast up close in that way that teenage theatre people do when Broadway is still magical and their dreams haven't been crushed by casting rejections and they get all jaded by the business while working as many restaurant shifts as they can fit into their schedule while still going on auditions. It was actually refreshing to see such hope and optimism, and I hope a little rubbed off on me, although I'm sure it probably didn't because I'm a lost cause at this point. They geeked out whenever the stage door opened, whether it was an orchestra player, a stage hand or even a guest of the cast. Supporting cast got to sign playbills as if they were superstars, and maybe one day they will be. The loudest geek out was for Constantine from American Idol, and I'm not sure why because except for touring in Rock of Ages and now Jekyll and Hyde he's still just Constantine from American Idol.
And then the door opened and out stepped Deborah Cox.
Now, I have twirled on dance floors all over the country to Deborah Cox, from the beaches of Miami to the monuments of DC, from the mountains of Palm Springs and the bowels of the LA club scene to the Pier Dances of New York. Some nights I remember clearly, others not so much. But I know I had a damn good time. So when the angel of my clublife appeared before me, all I could do was thank her for her part in many glorious nights of hedonistic clubbing abandon. Did she wear her hair in a ponytail? Did she dress herself up in Chanel? Absolutely not!
So in one day, I photographed three gay icons and Mariel Hemingway. And then on the way back to the subway I saw a girl get hit by a petticab and do a faceplant on Seventh Avenue. Ah, New York, you never disappoint!
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