Today's Blind Items - The Dancing Boy Returns

Hi all. It’s been a while, I know. And a lot has happened, not least the dawning realization that I am the son of two undiagnosed narcissists - not unlike a certain gen x former child actor whose struggles with that/estrangement from them are well known (and very sympathetic) as well as a certain millennial former child actor well known in these parts (and not from the Mouse) - and the end to my denial about the extent of the abuse I experienced coming up.

You see: it didn’t all begin during my month-long absence from school and normal life (to the extent that’s ever the case being the child of two narcissists) in early 1988. And what I described on set was not the worst that occurred with these people. I mean, it’s hard to pick a worst, but that was an attempted assault - not the worser things that occurred previously (why do you suppose I was pre-cast in that movie? because of what I had to do at 13…), or when these two other kids from the agency helped me “escape” from the hospital.

But I’ll tell you when it started - at least clearly in a work and career context, and I was fully aware of it. (When I was nine, I collided with this other kid’s teeth at soccer practice, just above one eye - I still have the scar - and there was a blood clot. The Hollywood doctor I believe to be at the center of all this - he was from Afghanistan - swooped in with a group of medical students and turned my surgery into a spectacle. I can’t prove any of it, but I believe…something happened, and it would have been captured on tape.)

The first time I remember? I was ten, and playing the kid with the blanket in a west coast tour of that musical.

Our chaperone - who was also my agent - called me over when he was checking us into the hotel in this one central California city. He had heard me swearing on the bus - which was not allowed - and otherwise acting out, and told me he didn’t want me to be a bad influence on the other kids, one of whom was an actor many of you will know. (You’ll see who this is when the movie comes out. He’s also in it as an adult.) So I would have to “bunk with him.”

Keep in mind here that the grooming had been going on almost from the beginning. After I got “discovered” at the school play, age 7, my first job was a commercial for this mall opening in southern California. There was this stampede of people - adults and kids - swarming the place, and I had a close up where I’m spinning around, my arms out, saying: “this place is amazing!” They had me do it like eleven times, and I was so dizzy by the end of it I fell over. But it was fun. And I was on tv. (My sister was like: it’s bad enough we have to see him in person all the time. Does he really have to be on the tv set too?)

My second job? Modeling clothes for a back to school sale circular for one of the big chains - you can probably guess which one. There were doofy boy clothes - I remember a Hawaiian shirt, in particular - but no one told me ahead of time that it wouldn’t just be…outerwear. After I had changed into them, I was shaking so bad the photographer’s assistant had to literally put me in the pose they wanted. Also: I remember it being extremely cold in the studio (you wonder if they did that on purpose). And when I asked my agent if I could opt out of that in the future, he said, basically, that if I start turning down jobs everyone would think I’m a diva (he didn’t use that word because no one did - he spoke like a school marm, which you’ll see) and no one would hire me. So, there were other of those jobs too. This is something you absolutely don’t want the kids at your school to find out about. And you can be sure that that ad or page from the catalog or whatever will be literally passed around by all the kids.

I should also mention at this point that this was the Hollywood shop - the agency, I mean - that made all the kids dress up in church clothes, basically, for auditions and shoots. People I think thought we were Mormons, or something. (Over time I’d come to call this my preppy dork uniform, and the really messed up part about it is that it really is my style to this day. They had this creepy way of figuring out who you were even before you did.) And in a certain way it probably wasn’t a bad idea. I mean: are you more or less likely to give the role to an extremely polite kid dressed like a choir boy? (There was also a list of twelve rules we had to memorize. Do you know what number 1 was? Always do exactly what the director asks of you. We had to say this in unison in acting class.) Also: this shop was extremely sex segregated. (You can maybe kind of see why the parents loved all this. Your previously bratty kid is now a little angel who calls adults sir and ma'am, and voluntarily washes the dishes and cleans his room, and dresses like it’s Sunday morning. We were told to do all that.)

But behind our backs the men called us Simons - as in Simon from Lord of the Flies. These were the sweet, vulnerable, and compassionate ones who could cry on command, and melt the hearts of adults. We were the designated child sacrifices. (Remember: as your 9th grade English teacher said, Simon was the martyr figure, mistaken for the Beast by the other boys, and murdered.) Before my first meeting at the agency, I could hear my soon-to-be agent talking to another one, and the latter saying (of me): that one is definitely a Simon.   

When we got up to the hotel room, my agent/chaperone lifted my suitcase and put it on his bed. He tried to open it and it was locked. He asked me why. I told him it was because I didn’t want anything stolen. He said in his experience the only boys who kept locked suitcases were the ones trying to smuggle contraband: their father’s whiskey, cigarettes, drugs. (I barely even knew what drugs were.) He demanded the code and I gave it to him. He opened the suitcase and rifled through my things, finding nothing but my clothes. Well, he said, you’ve made a liar out of me for once. He promised to order me ice cream from room service after the performance - which was a private thing for the trustees and donors of this one theater.

This turned out to be a blessing because the sound system in the theater wasn’t working right, and we all had to shout our lines. My voice was scratchy and my throat sore. I just wanted to go to sleep.

But when I opened my suitcase the Star Wars pajamas I expected to find weren’t there. What are you looking for? he asked. My pajamas, I said. Maybe your mother forgot to pack them for you, he said. I thought I saw them in there this morning, I said. He got up, annoyed, and went through my suitcase. They’re obviously not in here, he said. You must have forgot them. I guess I’ll have to sleep in my clothes, I said. And who is going to iron them tomorrow morning, and with what? I shrugged. I don’t like my boys looking like wastrels (he really used that word, as if this was like a real life version of Oliver!) You can sleep in your underwear, he said. We’re all men here.

So I took off my sweater vest - I strangely remember this: it was argyle - and my tie and dress shirt. Then I got under the covers and took my pants off.

Have you brushed your teeth? he asked.

No.

Well, no one wants to hire an actor with foul breath and rotten teeth.

So, I got up and went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. When I came back into the room, I could tell that he was looking at me out of the corner of my eye. I got into bed and turned off the light. I fell asleep. 

Maybe an hour later - I don’t really remember - I woke up to the lights on and him sitting on the edge of my bed, staring down. His breath reeked of booze.

You’ve been a very naughty boy, he said. Do you know what happens to naughty boys? 

At this moment I was actually relieved, because I thought he was “just” going to spank me, as he had a few days earlier after the first performances in LA. (A couple of the other boys and I had gone off down the block to this video game arcade without permission. After they found us, we had to wait outside his hotel room, and one by one we were called in. You could hear what was happening - what was about to happen to you. Afterward, we had to sit in the hall as an example to the other kids. We were all crying.) 

I’m not going to spank you this time, he said, placing his hand you-know-where. I tried knocking on the wall for help, but he grabbed my wrist and twisted it, producing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and cuffing my wrist to the bed. He put his finger in front of his mouth: shh.

You needn’t be embarrassed about being seen in your underwear, he said. I do every day, he said, showing me one of the ads I’d been in. He apparently kept this in his wallet.

Now, he said, what is rule number 1 for young actors? 

Always do what the director asks you to do, I whispered.

And this is the hardest part: he said that because he had set up a camera on a tripod facing my bed.

It lasted most of the night.

I spent the morning throwing up. He had given me booze and pills - I think they were quaaludes. He told the other boys I had gotten sick overnight, and wouldn’t be performing that day. 

I was treated to a private breakfast with him - this is what they do, veer between abuse and make you feel like a star - and he dangled the lead role in a movie before me. That movie would get made - four years later.

He asked me if I wanted to go for a swim in the pool. I guess, I said. That’s when he showed me the swimsuit he had bought for me. You can guess what kind it was.

For what it’s worth, you’re likely going to see me next year - if you care to, I mean. It’s the pilot for a new series, dancing boy-related, and it will feature the first-ever filmed meeting of our support group - the one for former dancing boys, I mean. I will be telling my story - you’ll get to see who some of the other ones are (including some of the big timers) - and it will also include some footage from the past, and dramatic reenactments. Also, my name is not my stage name. I’ll let you all know when it’s up on imdb.

I guess you may be wondering if I told anyone about the first time it happened, and I did - either that night or the next (can't remember which it was, but I know it was back stage...so I was either there that night hanging out and not performing, or it was the next night). It was this other boy Mark, who I was friends with and trusted. Unbeknownst to us though the chaperone was in the bathroom inside the dressing room - for an extremely long time, I'll add, and when he came out he had one of those boy actor magazines like Tiger Beat. He'd heard the whole conversation. And you can guess what happened that night - now we were both troublemakers. 

The day after that we ran off to the bus station, which is where they found us. I don't know exactly what we were planning to do, because they only allowed you to have like twenty dollars on you at any time. The chaperone told us that we'd both lose our careers if we pulled that kind of stunt again, or told anyone. And did I really want to disrespect and disappoint my father that way. Mark's situation was even worse. His family was not well off and depended on the money he made.

Mark's story doesn't end well. In high school times I found out he was hit by a car, and suffered a severe brain injury. To this day I wonder if he didn't walk into traffic.