The Death of Prince Charming

Once upon a time, my first time to be exact, I slept with Prince Charming. Cinderella’s Prince, specifically.

I used to be an actor (shocking, I know) and in the summer of 1996 I received a phone call from a director friend in desperate need to quickly recast an actor. Why, you ask? Because Rapunzel’s Prince in Into the Woods had died.

As tragic as the situation was, I absolutely had to rearrange my life to do this, if for no other reason than to tell the tale of how I replaced a dead man.

Thank God for the fact I was a musical theater lover (and yet, at the time, dating a girl) because I knew the musical. For good reason, since the show opened that day. It was totally like that scene in Showgirls where a sweaty, post-hip thrusting Elizabeth Berkley asks “When do I start?” and the gay little dance captain says, “You go on tonight!”

I met the somber cast in a very quick meet and greet and started learning choreography as the costume supervisor began resizing the recently deceased’s costumes to fit me.

To say that it was macabre would be an understatement. It was down near ghastly to watch as my headshot was simply placed on top of his in the display case and watch his name be pulled a spot at the make-up mirror and a temporary sticky note go in place for me.

The show had ascertained a reputation in all the press for being cursed and the death of Prince Charming was just one more event in a slew of accidents, family deaths, house fires, car crashes and broken bones. Clearly some poltergeist of the Backstage Theatre was not a Sondheim fan.

Theatre had always been a gateway for my rites of passage. My first kiss with a girl was in a play. I’m not ashamed to say it was A Midsummer Night's Dream and I was sixteen at the time. (Sweet sixteen and never been kissed, indeed.) I was an awkward child. I entered high school at 5’2” and 165 pounds. I left high school 6’2” and 165 pounds.

I started off short and fat and exited tall and thin. I was in show choir. I was the freaking choreographer! But I wasn’t “gay.” I couldn’t have been gay, because I prayed to God and Baby Jesus every night to take away all those thoughts I had. And I made friends with girls, who I thought I could go out with.

Into college, I dated good Christian girls who were saving themselves for marriage. I played Mozart in Amadeus and copped my first feel. And I was straight. Make there no mistake. I was straight. Right?

When I think back now, I’m not sure if I thought dating Baptist girls were safe or if that’s what I wanted. All I knew for sure was I couldn't be gay.

It’s embarrassing now to even remember “kissing” girls. Awkwardly feeling them up. I’ve had to call and apologize, as if in “the program” and seeking amends. “My name is Alex and I’m a homosexual. I’m sorry for leading you on.”

Erik was late to the theatre that day. I remember being at the piano with the music director when I looked up and finally saw him walk in. He was striking. He had piercing blue eyes that you could see in the dark. He was tall. He was built.

He walked over and stuck out his big hand and said, “Hi, I’m the other Prince Charming.”

In all honesty, that first weekend of opening I was so focused on cues and costume changes, that I could hardly focus on anything else. But at one point during the Sunday matinee performance, ending the first weekend, I looked up in the middle of “Agony” and locked eyes with him. And for the first time, I felt that… “it.” That tingly feeling.

The next weekend, Erik held a party at his apartment after the Saturday evening performance for the entire cast. It was a blow out to end all blow outs. The cast was still devastated from losing a cast member. And as I said earlier, other cast members had lost family members, had terrible car accidents and suffered illnesses.

A game of truth or dare started at midnight and eventually the remaining players ended up in Erik’s bedroom. As it was a theater party, no one was actually expected to leave until after breakfast (of doughnuts, coffee and mimosas). And as it was a theater party, cast members slowly found themselves dressed in only underwear and under blankets. And as it was a theater party, those who can’t hold their liquor slowly passed out.

Fortunately for me, I can hold mine like a champion.

As it was a theater party, Cinderella’s Prince leaned over and kissed me. And that was my firstreal kiss. I suddenly got it. This is what a kiss is supposed to be. This is what it was supposed to feel like. Which led to of course, the only logical next step: accept the fact I’m going to hell.

Kissing led to a quick session of heavy petting (keep in mind, around the passed out bodies of Little Red Riding Hood, The Witch, The Baker, Jack and Snow White). I heard the grandfather clock in the living room bong three times and like Cinderella, I fled.

I went home and cried and cried. I cried because it was so good. I cried because it was so real. And I cried because I knew I was in fact a God-fearing homosexual man.

Erik called me the next morning before the show to make sure I was okay. I pretended as if nothing happened. He asked me if I would like to grab dinner and discuss everything. I agreed.

We had dinner. We went back to his place. And we got naked.

And all I could think was, “If I’m going to Hell, I’m going in a Technicolor blaze of glory.”

Three weeks later, the curse took me. I ended up in the hospital with “walking pneumonia.” A new boy was brought in to replace me. A month later, I was on location in another city working on a film. But Erik had cracked open a door.

When I returned home after the film shoot, I began exploring as most newbies do. And I had a lotof catching up to do. I got hurt. A lot. I listened to lots of sad lesbian work music.

I lost contact with Erik. He moved to New York several months later. Not even Google could dig him up.

I quit acting. I’ve had many men. And I’m pretty sure I’m not going to wind up in Hell. I’ve learned love is love.

On Thanksgiving of last year, I received that ominous message on Facebook: “Erik Wants to Be Your Friend.” I accepted.

When I flew home for Christmas, we met up for dinner one evening. He’s aged. Gained some weight. His face has matured. I wanted so badly to simply reach across the table and take his hand and say, “Thank you for pulling me out of the closet.”

I never did. I don’t know if it’s because I was embarrassed or trying to play it cool.

He wasn’t “the one.” First time out of the gate, the slipper didn’t fit. But I’m sure glad he at least tried it on me. It was his kiss that woke me up. Just sitting there with Erik reminded me of what “right” was supposed to feel like. And I’ve spent many years trying to find “right now.”

In this new year, I’m not sitting around waiting for my Prince to come. I know I’m going to find him. And we’ll all live happily ever after.