Ask Howard • 07/19/24 – Dallas Voice

Happy coincidence in summer

What do fancy yellow diamonds, green college freshmen, and lively orange kittens have in common? Nothing colorful. And yet, as Americans, we hold our breath in unison, hardly able to believe what will become of us all on this election day that shatters our normalcy.

Am I the only one who feels that the current summer season seems strangely defined by a series of highly unusual events that occur on a personal level almost daily? Am I the only one, or is the bizarro factor of this summer simply limitless?

As a tribute to the late Shelley Duvall, I have decided to use her award-winning Faerie Tale Theatre as a template and to incorporate into my work, in the form of a troika of short vignettes, experiences from the strange reality of my own personal life during that turbulent summer.

ACT ONE: J. PACETTI – PRECIOUS JEWELS
To be lucky enough to ever meet my friend Joe Pacetti is to never forget him. Joe has been a “by appointment only” jeweler for over 45 years. He is muscular, strong, deep-voiced and imbued with alpha maleness. And he never leaves the house without his diamonds; colorful necklaces of them and rings of flawless gems so large they reach from knuckle to knuckle. An evening in Joe’s company – a fascinating dichotomy of the lascivious and the puritanical – is breathtaking to behold.

A few weeks ago, my husband unexpectedly flew home to Dallas. Afterwards, Joe invited us to his house for dinner for 12 and casually mentioned as we entered that we should ignore the film crew: “You two fine men are our illustrious representatives of my North American gay clientele.” Uncharacteristically, my husband didn’t even bat an eyelid.

To put this in perspective: My husband is not “outed” in any way. Nevertheless, out of pure respect for Joe, he agreed to be filmed for German prime time on a popular show called: Explosive!

This summer also marks the 30th anniversary of my husband and I first meeting, although I didn’t expect him to remember this milestone any more than I would my own birthday. To say that my husband is not known for his romantic gestures would be a bit like parroting Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is a comedy. Imagine my surprise when, just before dessert, Joe presented me with a tray of fabulously mixed trinkets: “Pick what you like best,” my husband smiled. “Happy 30th anniversary!”

Dazed, I whispered, “Number 99 on my wish list has always been for me to get either a tattoo or a piercing.” With a shaking hand, I held up a black velvet box containing a single earring with lemon-yellow gemstones. “Looks like the piercing won.”

Joe explained, “Young man, what you are stroking is a 2.5 carat, elongated, 70-faceted, radiant cut, fancy intense yellow diamond, compared to, say, an emerald cut diamond which has only 28 facets, or a round brilliant which has 58 facets. It is also a natural diamond – not a lab-grown specimen like so many of them these days – with certification papers from the Geological Institute of America confirming the color quality and clarity. The GIA is our jewelry industry’s bible when it comes to authentication.”

The next morning, I was the first customer to walk through the door at the piercing studio. My husband has his moments.

ACT TWO: FLY HIGH, MAGGIE WING
When I was visiting my friend Elaine in Philadelphia one recent weekend, Elaine was hosting a street party to celebrate both her 18-year-old daughter Manzanita’s high school graduation and her son Ezra’s 20th birthday. Afterward, she and I wanted to go out to dinner, just the two of us, and catch up on old times.

The weather in Philly that Saturday couldn’t have been better. The street fair was a huge success. The whole neighborhood gathered under a shady tree and watched the high school seniors pound away at a piñata full of condoms. That’s when Elaine casually said to me, “Howard, would you mind if Ezra had dinner with you tonight instead of me?”

I replied, “Oh, honey, why don’t you all just come? We’ll have ice cream afterward! Where is Ezra anyway… the bouncy house?” I looked around. “Don’t tell me he’s back down in the basement splicing RNA molecules from a hermit crab?”

Elaine shook her head. “No, no, Howard, just dinner with Ezra, alone. He needs someone to talk to – someone who isn’t part of his immediate family, but who he considers family.” She paused for a moment to add impact. “Howard, Ezra calls himself Maggie now.”

Well, you’re knocking me over with a feather boa. Elaine nodded, “She told me last fall and asked me to keep it a secret until yesterday. Then Maggie agreed to let me tell a few select people. She only started her estrogen therapy three months ago. You can’t tell much of a difference yet, but she’s started growing her hair and her voice has gone up a few octaves.”

I held her hand. “Elaine, I’ve got this covered. Maggie and I are going to have a fantastic dinner together tonight. I’m giving her my private email address and phone number and assuring her that I’m available 24/7. No matter where she is or what situation she’s in, I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Elaine sniffed and took a pinch of cotton candy. “You know, the media has demonized transgender people so much that I couldn’t even get approval for her estrogen here in Pennsylvania. Thank God she’s studying in Oregon. She’ll be able to complete her gender reassignment in Portland.”

So this weekend I enjoyed one of the most memorable dinners of my life with a lovely, 6-foot-tall vision of androgyny named Maggie Wing, our future Nobel Prize winner in chemistry, circa 2074.

ACT THREE: RUSSELL’S WEDNESDAY ARGUMENT
And to top it all off, this summer we welcomed a brand new furry member into our family – lively little four-month-old Wednesday. His upper half is orange, his lower half is white. I inherited him last Wednesday afternoon (hence his name) at the local pet food store as the cashier was cashing out my weekly haul of Fancy Feast cans for Roo and Miss Pineapple.

Suddenly a guy rushed in and threw him a kitten while frantically apologizing: “I can’t afford to keep it; find it a good home!” Then he disappeared out the door. With a blank face, the cashier proceeded to check out the last can of food for my two older cats, handed me little Wednesday, and stifled a yawn: “And a free kitten on the house.” Then he added: “Cat carriers, aisle 2… Next up!”

—Howard Lewis Russell

For all BDSM enthusiasts out there who harbor secret curiosity that remains unrequited, you know where to turn [email protected].