Last Friday a girlfriend of mine asked me to meet her (and some of her friends) at BronZ. I was told I had an acting assignment. A guy she was bringing was currently taking a Diversity class; his assignment was to go someplace “where you’re a minority.” He’s straight and therefore decided that going to a gay club would be perfect. So his gal pals took him to BronZ where, Betsy insisted, I should show up and hit on him. Shockingly, I’ve never hit on a straight guy; I have a hard enough time hitting on the gay ones. But I thought it would be fun to play along. Besides, maybe this guy would be cute; and wouldn’t it make a great story to tell our grandkids if I actually managed to bag him?

I was told to adopt a different name; so, since ‘Liberace’ might seem a tad obvious, I went with the name my mother originally wanted to give me at birth: Matthew. I was told what the guy, who we’ll simply call Assignment X, would be wearing: a loud, neon blue and white striped shirt (was Betsy SURE he wasn’t gay?). And I was told to make eye contact with him, flirt, and give him the impression that I was interested in more than knowing just his hat size.

If I’d had more time I would have included Nonta, bartendress supreme at BronZ, in our plan of deception. But I was unsure exactly how far I could take this with Assignment X. I had no idea who he was, what he looked like, or how comfortable (or uncomfortable) he really was around gays. “We don’t want to scare him,” I told Betsy. “I think scaring him is part of assignment,” she said. Suddenly I felt like a contestant on ‘Punk’d.’ Or, worse, ‘Fear Factor.’ I decided to bring my makeup concealer with me, in case I ended up with a black eye and had to do some fast touch-ups.

Since it was only 8:30pm at BronZ on a Friday night, we were the only people in the place (Northside really isn’t a happy hour ‘hood). I surveyed the room and located my quarry. Despite my best intentions, I couldn’t catch his eye for anything. I could have set myself on fire and asked him if he had an extinguisher and still I would have gotten no response. It was time to move to Plan B. Betsy, pretending she didn’t know me, waved me over. “Don’t sit by yourself, join us.” I’d flubbed my entrance; though I introduced myself as “Matt” to Betsy, I thought I’d blown my cover when one of her friends asked me my name. “Darren,” I replied on instinct. Convinced I’d screwed up the whole thing, I waited for Assignment X to catch on to me, but he didn’t. He still wouldn’t look at me, not even after Betsy told him I’d been making eye contact with him from across the bar. Still no response. ‘Operation: Straight Man’ had suddenly become ‘Mission: Impossible.’ Betsy wasn’t able to keep up the charade long, though, and soon blurted out the truth: I was the gay canard in the straight man’s ruse.

He able to relax after this, though, and insisted I take him across the street to Serpent, where he did his best to avert his eyes from the adult gay porn on the tv screens and became intrigued by the unusual items sold in the leather shop. As Betsy correctly stated after perusing the sexual hardware, “I think you have to be a doctor to use those safely and correctly on someone.” Anything that requires me to have a medical degree ain’t gonna be used behind closed doors.

We bolted across the street to BronZ, where a crowd had finally formed. Assignment X finally relaxed and had a good time, though he still seemed uncomfortable in the surroundings. He did, however, thank me for being “a great tour guide” through Northside’s gay bars. I think I have a backup plan if I should ever fall on hard times; I can always be a gay interpreter. Those Queer Eye guys don’t have a thing on me.

Helping the Straight Community Since 2009,

Darren M.