J.J. Comes Out For Pride

[AMERICONORMAN]

By Jose Gainza

He felt justified to consider Justin Just, a.k.a., J.J., as a man who was born to be the first great actor, the first giant jewel, of the twenty-first century. He, like too many others, watched Justin from far away, in another country. He often watched him on the screen, in a dark, crowded theatre while Justin perhaps was really surfing on the beach, or eating lunch with his mother, or dating some girl, or perhaps learning a new dance routine coz he was confident that Justin was capable of it, or working on making his voice more beautiful than it already was coz he had faith that Justin was a great singer too. He knew that Justin on the screen was not Justin live. He had no choice but to settle for that—such was the absolutism of reality.

There was something about the way Justin Just walked, the way he stood, the way he looked into the camera that suggested to him that Justin could dance. He could imagine him as a background dancer in some hip hop music video, or tap dancing like Gregory Hines, doing the tango in some shining ballroom, or participating in some frenzied tribal stir from Africa. Perhaps these visions were created from his lust, or perhaps somewhere deeper: his fundamental appraisal of himself and the universe.

Justin’s mother knew that her son would be the next Marlon Brando when he was only nine, when he decided to re-enact for her a short scene from The Godfather III; the scene outside the opera house, when Michael Corleone reacts to the murder of his daughter on those same steps, a moment just after it; when he lets out the monstrosity of a silent lament, mouth wide open as if unable to breathe, and about to die himself. Needless to say, Justin’s mother was very impressed at the accuracy and passion of her Justin’s performance.

Justin Just got his start in the industry when he was fifteen, starring in a television show about a young popular music idol. It was called Phenomenon. Despite Justin’s zeal displayed in his learning how to sing for the role, and actually singing many of the songs presented in the show, the show was cancelled after one season. It wasn’t because the show was unpopular. The girls of North America loved Justin Just. It was not only the charisma that exuded from his character, but it was also his stunning beauty: his tight golden curls, his narrow gaunt face, his sandy colored skin, his slender frame, and his ocean colored eyes. Justin was fired because he had the audacity to make demands about the future storyline and its characterization. The producers could not tolerate such audacity from a fifteen year old kid.

What was the issue? The first one was that the producers wanted the phenomenon to start having sexual relations with girls, thus bringing the issue of teenage sex to the story. However, Justin wanted the phenomenon to be a kid who wishes to wait until he meets a soul mate. The producers wanted a series of lovers to pass through the phenomenon’s life in the next season. Justin refused to play the part. When they asked him if he could compromise on the issue, he said he would—if only the series of lovers were males. The producers were horrified. That was the primary motive of Justin’s offer to the executives. He knew then that this insolence would get him fired. The consequence: millions of heartbroken girls; Justin kept his honor.

So Justin dyed his hair black, and went to a high school in a small California town, where the school administration agreed to allow him to attend under a pseudonym. Meanwhile, for the next few years Justin auditioned from time to time for roles he coveted. It was to no avail. He did manage to get scattered work in television commercials. And it was during this time that he started to learn how to dance.

One day when Justin Just was nineteen he got a telephone call from an eager movie director. He was producing his new movie about a white, twenty something rhythm and blues singer who has taken the world by storm. Each of his concerts is predominated by an ocean of screaming, frenzied young females. Millions and millions of females on this earth adore this boy. Millions of females suffer from the collective urge to sleep with this boy. Elvis had a similar power. His sexual appeal is perhaps why most of these females buy his records: to forever hear the voice from the throat of the godly-like frame that is Justin Just. How many women have to live in serenity with the dream of one day dating this boy, serenity because the dream is hopeless? Would they forgive him if he were to be married? Would they forgive him if he were to announce to the world suddenly that he loves men sexually, and only men? The premise: A young musical superstar, a world-wide idol and heart throb, is in danger of losing his fame, his wealth, and his music career, and his family, if he chooses to expose his love affair with his male lover, a poor starving artist from the ghetto.

The Idol’s Choice was made. It had a decent run at the box office. It received an Academy award nomination. Justin Just received a Golden Globe nomination for best actor but didn’t win.

Justin Just won an Academy Award for his next film. It was the sequel of A Thomas Crown Affair, a portrait of the early adventures of a young Thomas Crown, the role first made famous by Pierce Brosnan. It portrays Thomas’s prodigious rise to wealth and power and his loyalty to choosing the best in life, and his commitment to acquiring those bests. There is land, there is a woman, there is art, there are jewels, and there is a company. It was called Tommy’s Pride, Tommy’s Crown.

The next film Justin Just starred in was called Paparazzi Conducted. The story was an indictment of the ruthlessness and amorality of a certain class of fame photographers. These types of photographers and gossipers are creatures who have never heard of the concept of privacy or private property. They justify their violations by the notion that once enough of the communication media has recognized a certain artist, then that artist loses his status as a human, and becomes public property to be spat on by any chance passerby, and marked by the pigeons overhead. It is comforting though that once an artist is famous, great wealth usually follows, and therefore the artist can buy his security and privacy, so that the tabloids remain tabloids—fictitious and exaggerated; even though the paparazzi like to pretend that rights to privacy are not inalienable and absolute, or that such a concept as ‘natural law’ is valid.

In the movie a very famous actor orchestrates the fame and stardom of a young, ambitious tabloid journalist who has proved to be a scavenger on the life of the conductor, and who subsequently drove his girlfriend to suicide. The journalist gives up writing to become an actor himself when the opportunity throws itself on him, thrown by the hand of the conductor. Hidden cameras, recording devices, private investigators, on-set spies, and a director on the conductor’s pay roll, work together to deprive the journalist of any sense of privacy, and any sense of control over his destiny. In a moment of passion, inspired by a high speed chase, which ends on his driveway, the journalist shoots the driver of the car that was chasing him, another paparazzi. The journalist is convicted and sent away to prison. When he cannot tolerate the lack of privacy in jail, and the lack of freedom of action, he commits suicide. Justin Just played the conductor.

This led him to his next acting role, which was neither on the screen or the stage. Tina Castro, the famous actress, was in love with a famous Latin American singer named Julio, not Justin the actor. But Julio was still in divorce proceedings with his wife, who he no longer loved. Tina’s last two relationships were highly publicized by the paparazzi. She sometimes wondered whether the tremendous media coverage was part of the reason why those relationships failed. She would not let them interfere with her love life again. Also, if Julio’s wife knew that he was in love with Tina, she would ask for too much money as her settlement, and perhaps she would never consent to the divorce. Tina and Julio fell in love after Julio had already asked his wife for the divorce. And they knew that the media had no right to know of any of this.

Tina Castro and her Julio asked Justin Just to play the role of her fiancée, in the real life stage of being a superstar. Justin agreed. It was only until the divorce was final. There were pictures of them at night clubs, famous restaurants, on the beaches of the world; and kissing, embracing, and of course, arguing and fighting. Someone in the media came up with a name to call the relationship of Justin and Tina: ‘Justina’. Julio did not have to worry about Justina becoming true and genuine, for Justin had tried some years back to woo Julio for himself, which was a quickly failed attempt, but which led to Julio choosing him for his scheme. Julio had no interest in exposing Justin’s sexuality.

The world believed that it was genuine. He did too. It must have been hard for him to watch Justin be intimate with one of the most beautiful women in the world. He had his own version of a prince charming story, where because the issue was not settled yet—there was no knowledge either way—that he could still believe that Justin was a possible dream. Justina ruined that dream. And yet he adored Tina as an actress and a human. He agreed that she was one of the most beautiful women in the world. And so he lived with the same serenity that most Justin fans had to live with, and a tolerable-insatiable hunger.

One day Justina gave to the world the following press release:

Since we are public figures, bestowed with the honor of being recognized by the masses, we feel that it is our duty and social responsibility to announce to the world that our engagement is off, our relationship is over, though we will remain great friends forever, even though we once shared a bed together. Yours truly, Justina.

He smelled something funny when this statement came out. Though he was pleased by the fact of the break up, there seemed to be some thing very degrading about that statement. He didn’t know that those two beautiful beings could be capable of such selflessness. It allowed him to survive the reality that he could never possess Justin Just because it would mean that Justin accepted the injustice of being public property. And so he did not know that the last comment was more specific than most people could fathom: the bed they once shared together was that one time when they fell asleep after watching movies into the early morning. Julio was in that bed too.

Three months later the world was shocked, as was he, to find out that Tina had married Julio in a secret wedding ceremony in Australia. By the time they were on their honeymoon the media had no interest in Tinulio. Their focus was still on lonely Justin, as was his. For all they knew, Justin Just was still single, and hopefully heartbroken, depressed, and shattered. And at the same time they hoped that he had found someone too.

Justin’s experience in Justina left him disgusted with fame. He was proud of the freedom that he fostered for Tina Castro. And yet where was Justin’s?

Because of it Justin gave himself the courage to declare to the world that he was gay.

But he would not do that because then how would he know, out of the sudden storm of proposals that would surely come, which one was really genuine and true. He hadn’t really thought about how to select male romantic candidates before. He was primarily concerned with his career. The good roles were coming in steady and his future seemed very, very secure. He was just confident that one day it would happen, one day he would find him, or him would find Justin.

He focused his mind on filming a movie in Toronto, a modern adaptation of Cyrano De Bergerac. He was fortunate enough to play Cyrano, a much coveted role.

One day during a break in shooting, Justin took the opportunity to get to know the city a little bit more. He rode the various street car lines, looking at the changes in architecture, and the changes in the appearances and personalities of men, the flux of Toronto. He got onto the 505 streetcar at Dundas West station, where Dundas crosses Bloor. He walked towards an empty double-seater towards the back but the pair of seats was not completely vacant. Justin was surprised to find that a thin, brown leather bag inhabited the seat. Someone had lost it. Justin sat down and opened the bag in search of the owner’s name, address, and phone number. What he found immediately was a manuscript. The title page read Rachmaninoff’s Last Ovation: A Story of Praise and Understanding. It was a screenplay.

Half way through the screenplay, Justin was interrupted by the driver when they had arrived again at Dundas West Station because Justin never disembarked from the car. The driver informed Justin that if he was going to stay on the street car for another round trip then he would have to put in six dollars. Justin walked with the driver to the cash box and slipped in a ten dollar bill. Then he returned to his seat to continue the reading.

It was the story of a Romantic composer named Yuriy Rachmaninoff. His music made him world famous back in the day. He was so famous that his music was often sought after in the movies. Crowds of adoring fans ended his concerts with standing ovations. But Yuriy did not feel appreciated or understood by the roaring fans, or the critics, or the papers. People felt very much about him, and what they felt was perhaps love. But Yuriy wanted their thoughts, their thoughts on music, and perhaps their thoughts on metaphysics. He wanted to hear the words to name the importance of his musical achievements, because he, Yuriy, had the words for his own music. The movie is about Yuriy finally meeting someone who has the words to tell him why she loves him and why she loves his music. The movie was written by a certain Deuce Wilde. His address was available on the inside cover of the script.

It was he. When Deuce Wilde opened the door for Justin, he was just wearing a pair blue soccer shorts. His chest and legs were fully exposed. He was of mixed race, of Latin American descent, of dark copper skin. His limbs were slender and tight. His face was a special beauty—at one angle he appeared to have the features of a Native, at another of an African, and at another, a Norman. Justin Just was certainly impressed and pleased. Deuce Wilde was more so, and for the first moments he was dumbfounded.

“I’m Justin Just.”

“I know.”

“You look sad.”

“I’m thrilled … but I lost something very important today.”

“What?”

“What are you doing here Mr. Just?”

“Justin … I have a surprise for you, Mr. Wilde.”

“Deuce … Do you have it behind your back?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Don’t you want to shake my hand?”

“Yes, of course.” They shook.

Deuce’s reaction was instinctive: he smelled his hand, the hand that had held that of Justin Just a moment ago. The reaction to that gesture of sensuality made Deuce cry because Justin’s hand smelled of leather, a smell too akin to the bag he had lost earlier that day. So Justin embraced him like a friend. And the bag fell to the floor. Soon they were both smiling and laughing.

“How did you find it?”

“Mere coincidence. I wanted to ride the streetcar, to know this city of yours. I’m glad I have come to meet you.”

“Did you like it?”

“I loved it. I’ll even tell you why.”

“Don’t.”

“Excuse me!”

“Don’t. This is a great opportunity for me. That you like my script suggests that you can make my career. That you like my script, and read it in a day, suggests that we can be great friends. And yet I’m willing to risk losing all that this very moment, to perhaps scare you away forever.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I love you, Justin Just. I’ve loved you since I’ve known of your existence. I’ve loved you since the days of Phenomenon. I’ve loved you on those rare moments that I got a glimpse of you in some mediocre commercial. I own the DVD of Phenomenon. I watch it regularly to see the subtle facets of your personality, the idiosyncrasies of your expression. How could I not love you after An Idol’s Choice; it was a dream come true? You drove me mad in Tommy’s Pride, Tommy’s Crown. Even to see you dark and filled with rage, as in Paparazzi Conducted, made me sexual because of where it came from. I must admit that when you were with Tina Castro, I used to covet any chance glimpse or rumor of how you looked or what you were doing. I was glad you broke up. I’m sorry.”

“Deuce—”

“—Justin, I’m afraid to know you. I want to believe you are a great souled man.”

“I would like to prove it to you.”

“You’re not disgusted?”

“Your honesty, your candor, your daring is admirable and sweet. Of course, I cannot give you what you want. I would like to take a chance at friendship.”

“That would be thrilling.”

“I want to help you. Listen, I’m wrapping up filming a movie here. When I get back to California, I’ll show a copy of your script to some people. Print me out a copy.”

“Sure … what movie are you making?” Meanwhile, Deuce pressed print on his computer.

“I’m starring in a modern adaptation of Cyrano.”

“My god!”

“It’s true. Finally.”

“Yes! … I’ve envisioned you as an ideal Chanticleer. You know, Rostand’s play about a cock set on a farm?”

“Of course. Chanticleer believes his singing makes the sun rise. Perhaps we make it after we make yours?”

“Sounds heavenly.”

“I gotta go, Deuce. It was a huge pleasure.” He extended his arm out to receive a copy of the script.

“I’m speechless.”

They embraced in the manner of brothers. But as he walked away from Deuce’s building, Justin had trouble walking coz he was beginning to feel like a lover. When he was on the 505 again, headed east towards his hotel, he called Deuce.

“I forgot to ask you: do you need any money?”

“No. That’s fine. Thanks for asking. Get my movie made; that’s all.”

“Where do you work? What do you do?”

“I work at Starbucks.”

“Are you sure you want no money?”

“I’m sure. Goodnight Justin.”

“Goodnight Deuce.”

In the late evening, Justin called his mother in California.

“Hello, lady.”

“Justin! What’s wrong?”

“Everything is wonderful.”

“So?”

“I want you to come to Toronto.”

“Do you miss me?”

“I’m too busy to miss you.”

“Then what the hell do you want?”

“I want to get you a job at a Starbucks down here.”

“Is this a joke?”

“I want you to be my spy. I want you to work with this guy and tell me about him; what he says, what he does. Perhaps you can convince him to take dancing lessons. I’m going to start dancing a lot professionally soon.”

“What? … Is this the one, Justin? Are you ready? Just him?”

“Yes. You can help me surprise him when it’s time. I’ll tell you more when you get here. How soon can you get here? … yah, I guess I’ll have to pay your wages for the owner since you won’t have a worker’s visa. By the way, I just bought a condo in Scarborough; you can take care of it for a while.”

“Where’s Scarborough?”

“Far enough from downtown Toronto, still.”

A few months later, Deuce was introduced to a middle-aged woman who was blonde and very healthy, “Monica Timber”, an alias. She was to be his new supervisor. They hit it off immediately, a relationship that had a mother-son feel to it; and they became confidantes to each other, to the extent that she was able to allow him to be her confidante.

Many months after, Devon Anaconda of a popular television entertainment magazine reported the following:

If you’re just tuning in you’re just in time to hear some shocking breaking news. Ladies, I advise you to have a seat. Yes, viewer discretion is perhaps advised. The superstar, Justin Just, digs …

THE END

[AMERICONORMAN]

Deuce’s reaction was instinctive: he smelled his hand, the hand that had held that of Justin Just a moment ago. The reaction to that gesture of sensuality made Deuce cry because Justin’s hand smelled of leather, a smell too akin to the bag he had lost earlier that day. So Justin embraced him like a friend. And the bag fell to the floor. Soon they were both smiling and laughing.

Did you notice that this is odd. Deuce's crying seems odd because not too long after, Justin asks him to print out his screenplay; so why is he crying? Printing it out can mean that he didn't lose it. A seeming contradiction.

I will admit that it was initially my careless mistake. But it is a mistake that is easy to fix by just telling you what I want to happen. So I added some lines to the following paragraph quoted below, when Justin is on the street car.

One day during a break in shooting, Justin took the opportunity to get to know the city a little bit more. He rode the various street car lines, looking at the changes in architecture, and the changes in the appearances and personalities of men, the flux of Toronto. He got onto the 505 streetcar at Dundas West station, where Dundas crosses Bloor. He walked towards an empty double-seater towards the back but the pair of seats was not completely vacant. Justin was surprised to find that a thin, brown leather bag inhabited the seat. Someone had lost it. Justin sat down and opened the bag in search of the owner’s name, address, and phone number. What he found immediately was a manuscript. The title page read Rachmaninoff’s Last Ovation: A Story of Praise and Understanding. It was a screenplay.

Here are the lines that I added for better clarity that end the above just quoted paragraph:

It was covered by black leather. The pages inside were lined, and on them were the slashes of a violent and elegant handwriting, written in a green ink, like blood that had poured from a passionate creature, a serpent in ecstasy. Justin knew that such an original document was priceless to its author.

Jose.