How Alex and I Met

Please realize. This is MY version. She may say something totally different. Although I’ll kill her if she leaves out the kumquat. I say it was a gourd. She insists it was a kumquat. We’ll leave it at that.

It’s an episodic story. And YEARS pass in between encounters. It’s truly insane to think of it – and I sometimes actually shiver to imagine that we might not have met. I shiver. And weirdly, with all of our friends in common, what brought us together was our blogs.

Well, and Mitchell, of course. Surprise surprise.

Praise Xenu it all lined up properly, putting us in each other’s paths. Oh, and praise Xenu himself, that damned evil warlord, for REALLY bringing us close together. But I’ll get to that.

We need to go back 16 years. My God. No. Is that right? Let me check my math. Yup. 16 years.

Sorry. I have just realized that I am actually a withered crone.

1.

I had just moved to Chicago. And Mitchell soon followed. I had very quickly gotten work as an actress in Chicago – and so had Mitchell. He became involved with StreetSigns’ production of Right As Rain, which was about Anne Frank. I eventually was cast in that as well, in its touring company. So almost immediately we were thrust into a brand-new world, meeting a whole batch of new people – many of whom are still dear friends today (cough KATE cough). In 1992, StreetSigns did a production of Lorca’s The Public, a bizarre piece of work … and I thought was brilliantly done by StreetSigns. I still remember some of the staging of it. Derek Goldman (artistic director) is a master adapter (Google him, the guy is a phenom) – and he was always all about excavating the script for theatrical ways to tell the story – not just verbal or literal. Mitchell and David and I went to go see it, to see our new friends in action, and also to see our fellow colleagues at work, even though we weren’t in it. And Alex was in it. She had a key part, THE key part, as kind of the emcee, a sort of omnipresent Joel Grey in Cabaret type person. I still remember seeing her in that show, which was the first time I laid eyes on Alex. She wore a blinding white pant suit. She had an air of unbelievable stillness. She watched over the action, quietly. We could only imagine what she was thinking. When she spoke, it was always in a soft voice, but nevertheless totally commanding. She had such focus onstage. I was riveted. Not to the mention the fact that I knew (everyone knew) she was transgendered. To me, at that time, it added such an air of mystery to her (I’m sure she’s so sick of that kind of thing, so forgive me, Alex, for bringing it up now … it’s just a first impression kind of thing – and now that I know that she basically sits at home on a nightly basis in comfy pajamas playing with her kittens and talking with her wife Chrisanne about Abraham Lincoln and Bette Davis it seems even silly to mention it. I never even think of it now) … but at the time, I couldn’t help but stare at her, thinking, “Who IS this person??” Not to mention the fact that she was obviously a fucking actress. Girl had chops. She exuded it.

2.

2 may come before 3. I can’t remember. I’ll start here. Mitchell got a day job as a receptionist in a dentist’s office that catered primarily to the gay and lesbian community in Chicago. Michelle and Maureen (Michelle was the dentist, and Maureen was her doctor girlfriend) became huge parts of our lives in Chicago, beloved friends – and I will never, and I mean NEVER, forget that Maureen made a house call – a HOUSE CALL – when I was gravely sick with a fever – to the point of hallucinating – and had no insurance. THAT’S a doctor. Anyway. I loved those two and I miss them both. And I knew, through Mitchell, that Alex was a patient of Michelle’s. Mitchell didn’t become friends with her immediately (which is shocking, knowing Mitchell’s propensity for friendship) but they did become friendly. I never saw Alex at Michelle’s office, and had no encounters with her … but her name was everywhere at the time because of a crazy hit show she was doing, late night … and she still held a kind of fascination for me. I’m not sure why. She seemed “other” … by that I mean: I wanted to know her. I remember that feeling. Wanting to know her. But we’re still in 1993 here, we didn’t actually SPEAK – not really – until 2004. What?? Thank you, Xenu, for making sure it happened!!

3.

My time in Chicago (and for many years after) was taken up with a guy I call “M” on ye olde blog. I’ve written about him extensively. He’s the lunatic who used to crawl through my window at 3 in the morning. Our beginning was no less unconventional. I realize I’m just writing about myself, but whatever. I love writing about myself (as, duh, should be obvious!!!) Anyhoo. I have no idea how ALEX would describe M., although I can imagine. He was a big obnoxious jock-gone-to-seed, a goofball, a self-described “right-wing sexist pig”, one of the funniest people I have ever met, and pretty much insane. I also found him almost apocalyptically sexy and found it difficult to carry on a conversation with him in the first 3 months of knowing him. The perfect guy for me! I have to leap ahead now – years later, when Alex and I finally met – and we talked about M. – she was like, “Please. Please. Help me to understand him and help me to understand WHY YOU WERE WITH HIM.” He was tough, I’ll give him that. But for me, he was magic. And not only that, but I was pretty damaged when he met me. And something about the way he was with me helped me heal. Sounds goofy, but I swear it is the truth. He was never ever impatient with me. EVER. I was used to men being impatient with me. With my damaged-ness. He NEVER was. He accepted it, but he also wanted me to be better. He treated me in an egalitarian manner, and that was totally singular in my experience. It forced me to meet him halfway, and that was awesome. So. There’s the M. factor.

Now. There was a show that opened around this time (it is now known as “the show that will never die”) – and it was called Hamlet! The Musical. Notice the exclamation point. Very important. It was written by Jeff Richmond (now husband to Tina Fey – and actually, I believe they were dating at the time – M. ran with that crowd) and it was (is) hilarious. It began in a workshop theatre space at Improv Olympic, then moved to a bigger venue on Belmont (selling to soldout shows the entire time) – and finally made it to Navy Pier in a gigantic production – before coming to New York for an off-Broadway run. It was massive. In its first incarnation, M. was cast as Claudius, the conniving uncle … and Alex was cast as his wife, the conniving Gertrude. At the time of the show (because, again, it’s all about me) M. and I weren’t seeing each other anymore (although it was a brief respite … it always was) … and he was dating someone else. No biggie. Sure, I had a haiku fit about it, but that’s to be expected. (Ah, to be in my mid-20s again). But the thought of M. …. big gruff obnoxious M. … singing and dancing and doing a freakin’ box step was more than I could bear. I had to see it. I ended up seeing it probably 5 times – in its first incarnation. The audiences were RIOTOUS. Your stomach hurt at the end of the show. Ann Marie and I went one night (which will be known as “the night of the gourd” forevermore) … and we STILL laugh about how funny that show was. It almost lost something when it moved to Navy Pier into that huge space … because to see it in a 99 seat theatre at the 10 o’clock show (2 shows a night on weekends) on a crazy Friday night … was something else. It was electric! And yes, seeing M. boxstep – in a cape and a CROWN – being all evil and twirling-moustachey – was an image that got me thru many a dark hour.

And there was Alex again. In a glittery mermaid dress. She had a vampy number called “Mama Is a Boy’s Best Friend”, mkay? She is a force of nature onstage, seriously … the humor that she finds in every moment is almost RUTHLESS and CRUEL and you want to beg for mercy! Just STOP for one goddamn SECOND and let me REST. Her Gertrude – was a Freudian nightmare. Poor Hamlet (played in the original incarnation by Jeff Richmond himself) kept trying to get through the “To be or not to be” speech, only to be interrupted by her knocks on the door.

I didn’t know Alex, at this point – but as should be obvious, she had been peripheral for a couple of years now. Our paths had not yet crossed. I had seen her onstage – and that didn’t really count … and I had no inkling that we would one day become fast friends. Not yet.

Let’s get back to the night of the gourd. (IT WAS NOT A KUMQUAT.) I actually posted it all out in a Diary Friday – and I just re-read that entry right now and found myself guffawing. I had started seeing Michael (kind of – after our first passionate love affair of all of 6 weeks) … and he was, you know, 20 years old … so things were not going well, even though I adored him (and still do.) So Michael blew me off for a date we had had, and I was at my wit’s end – so I called Ann Marie and we decided to go see Hamlet! The Musical. I had not seen it yet. I was dying to see M. in action. I decided to send him something backstage – but flowers would not do … too weird … so I decided what WOULDN’T be weird, I decided what would be LESS weird – would be to take a little warted-up gourd, and write “Break a leg” on it – and send it backstage. Yes, I considered that to be NOT AS WEIRD AS FLOWERS.

The entire night became about the gourd (see link above for the full panoply of that night, which was epic). And yes, I did send the gourd backstage. All by itself, poor little thing.

I only learn this a bazillion years later when Alex and I have become friends – that she was there, in the cramped co-ed dressing room, when my gourd arrived. This is so insane!! I had put it in a paper bag, so M. would have had to open it up. He pulled out the gourd (Alex remembers it as a kumquat, but she’s wrong) and said, in kind of a pleased tone, “Sheila sent me a gourd!” (Again. I am HOWLING with laughter as I type this.)

Alex, who had all kinds of opinions and thoughts about M. (wonderful onstage, kind of annoying off), wondered who was the idiotic person who sent him a kumquat? “What kind of asinine bimbo would send this jagoff a kumquat backstage? Honest to GOD, people are assholes.” She had all of these opinions about me … the bimbo who sent the kumquat to the sexist pig sharing her dressing room … like: there must be something WRONG with that person.

I am shaking with laughter.

Okay. So let’s leave the gourd behind.

Years pass again.

4.

I move from Chicago and go to New York. I live there for years. “The show that will never die” continues on. And when it moves to Navy Pier, Mitchell is cast as Polonius. M. is no longer in it – but Alex, in all her Freudian spangled glory, remains. I fly back to Chicago for a vacation and go to see Mitchell in Hamlet! The Musical. I almost feel like this show has now been in my life for a decade. Yes, I am absolutely 100% peripheral … but it still feels omnipresent. Navy Pier has a plush massive theatre, and the place is packed.

I wait for Mitchell in the palatial lobby afterwards, Lake Michigan gleaming out of the plate glass windows all around. And Mitchell walks out with Alex, who is in a sweatshirt, face scrubbed of makeup, and her arms are crossed over her chest. This is our first meeting. Mitchell introduces us. Alex un-crosses her arms, just long enough to shake my hand, and then crosses them again. I have all of these weird emotions about her – I guess how people feel about stars – it feels like you know them, even though you do not – and so you have an intimate response to a person, even though it is totally unwarranted.

“Hi, nice to meet you. Great show.”
“Thanks. Nice to meet you.”

Friendly, yes, but a little bit distant and cold. I wouldn’t realize until much much later that Alex is actually shy. You would never guess it from her persona onstage. And I’m shy, too. Although you would never guess it from afar, I seem so dominant. So we were two shy people, being awkward, and distant. It just makes me LAUGH to remember it. I want to intervene. I want to lean into the action, from the future, and say, “Okay. Alex? Uncross your arms. Sheila? Stop the hero worship. See this person standing right in front of you? You are going to be FAST FRIENDS … so cut. the. shit. NOW.”

But it wasn’t meant to be.

Mitchell and I went off on our way, and Alex went off on hers, and it would be years … years … before we would meet again.

5.

October, 2001. The smoking aftermath. Nothing is normal, nothing is even approaching normal.

And in the middle of all of that, I have a dream.

I dream of a nuclear holocaust, which affected only New Jersey and Manhattan. You just knew: It’s over. I am going to die. But the bomb had already been dropped – and the sky was a heavy crayon-black. You knew you could not escape, but everyone was trying to anyway.

Everyone was trying to get to the ocean, everyone in Manhattan and in Jersey were trying to get onto the New Jersey turnpike, towards the Atlantic. But there were too many cars. It was like the roads were backed up from Cape May to lower Manhattan. You could not get out.

There was panic. People were running, and screaming, with their hair on fire, their clothes falling off. The bomb had already been dropped, that blackness in the sky was the fallout, and we were trapped – we could not get out.

I was alone in the dream. I was climbing down the cliffs from Jersey Heights down into Hoboken, looking at the blackened smoking skyline of Manhattan and seeing the roads below me, filled with cars, stalled cars as far as the eye could see.

And suddenly – climbing down the cliff with me – was Alex, who was hugely pregnant in my dream. Maybe 8 or 9 months along.

She was not panicked. Not at all. She knew what to do, she took me in hand, she knew a way out. She was on some other plane of thought, entirely.

“We’re gonna get to the ocean,” she said, as she climbed down the cliff, huge belly in front of her, moving gracefully and certainly. “I know the way.”

I do not know why Alex showed up in my dream during that terrible time, I do not know why I would dream about her when I had had so little contact with her up until that point … but for some reason, in my mind, and perhaps it was because of how caring and wonderful she had been to my friend Mitchell, she would be that person. That person who would know the way out of the nuclear fallout. Carrying new life with her.

I had not seen Alex since that moment in the lobby at Navy Pier, when we said hello to each other in distant guarded manners. Why on earth would she appear as a savior in my dream? I can’t explain it. I know that I sensed something in her … from the beginning. I don’t want to make too big a thing out of it, because it ruins the special-ness of it … but when I think of her, as a person, and who she eventually would be to me, I realize: Of course. Of course she would know the way. And of course, I had sensed it from moment one, when I saw her in that white pant suit as the emcee of The Public. It was there then. I knew it.

It is still odd to me that Alex would appear in my dream, while the smoke still rose from lower Manhattan … but I choose not to question such things.

It would still be 3 more years before we actually spoke.

6.

Unbeknownst to one another, we both start blogs. Mitchell, however, is the key here. He is the connection. He had, meanwhile, become dear friends with Alex back in Chicago, and she started up her site and I started up mine … and Mitchell read both … and somehow he mentioned to Alex one day something about “my friend Sheila’s blog”. Alex secretly then began to read my site. She knew nothing about me, except that Mitchell loved me (and that’s pretty much all I need to know about anyone!) It would not be until many years later that she and I would put our timeline together – who saw whom first, first impressions, paths almost crossed, etc. And it was Mitchell (the gossip!!) who told me, “Alex loves your blog, you know.” What?? Alexandra Billings?? From Hamlet The musical? She reads me? What the hell??? This was in 2004. Mitchell has a way, too, of bringing people together. He loves to introduce people from 2 different sections of his life, and watch them hit it off. He is the personification of generaosity. Some people are stingy with their friends … or they want to HOARD their friendships to themselves. Mitchell is the opposite. If Alex and I hit it off to such a degree that I end up traveling to Vegas with her to see Liza Minelli … Mitchell is not jealous. Or, he’s jealous that we’re going to see Liza – but he’s not jealous that Alex and I have hit it off. On the contrary. He basically jumps up and down in joy when something like that happens. I love that about Mitchell.

I hear that Alex reads my blog. I freak out. Privately. Mitchell tells me about Alex’s blog. I begin to read it obsessively. Neither of us comment on each other’s blogs yet.

We are stalking each other. I know she reads me, she knows I read her … but neither of us break the silence yet. It’s hysterical, in retrospect. I mean, we ended up storming the $cientomogy castle together in LA … and here we are being shy and awkward??

Alex finally emails me. And basically declares her undying love.

I email her back. And declare my undying love.

Huge breakthrough: we begin to comment on each other’s sites. It’s like our intensity for one another can now be admitted, and is out in the open. I am passionate about Alex and she is passionate about me. I LOVE her. I haven’t even met her! (Well, not really.) I haven’t even mentioned the gourd yet! But it’s like we know all we need to know about the other. We are hooked. That’s it. We’re friends. We haven’t even spoken on the phone yet.

7.

In June of 2004, Alex is going to play Bella, in Victory Garden’s production of Ulysses. As they begin rehearsal, Alex is like, “What the hell is going on with James Joyce.” Oh – and forgot to mention – Mitchell, by this point, lives with Chrisanne and Alex. Mitchell says to her, “You know, Sheila knows a lot about Joyce – you should call her.” Now let’s remember. Alex is shy. So am I. Neither of us barge into relationships. We are cautious. Our friendships are particular and deep. We choose well! So Alex emails me, wondering if I could de-brief her on Joyce. I say of course! So we set up a date.

I am strangely nervous.

I am about to talk to Alex for the first time!! But … it’s weird … I feel like I’ve known her for over a decade.

I call her. She picks up. There she is. There is her voice. We are both so nervous and so pumped to finally be speaking that all we can do is say stuff like, “What. the HELL. is happening …” or “What. THE FUCK. is going on???” We go back and forth like that for about 15 minutes. We already love each other. It is so freakin’ awesome.

And then she quizzes me relentlessly about Joyce. I answer her questions for over an hour. We go through the script, I have my copy of Ulysses with me – she asks questions, I do my best to explain … we babble about James Joyce forever. In particular, we talk about the Night Town episode – since that’s her scene. What is going on there? What is Joyce doing? What the hell is his point? I am obviously passionate about James Joyce, so the opportunity to talk about him like a maniac (and NOT have people roll their eyes) was really special for me.

I still wish I could have seen her do that part. Damn!!

8.

In October of 2004, my friend Kate marries Tim. I am asked to be in the wedding, and I feel very privileged about it. It is such a joyous occasion. Kate is one of my best friends, and Tim is a prince among men. I will be in Chicago for a week, since I’m wedding-party material … and I am going to stay with Alex, Chrisanne and Mitchell. Now. It is Alex and Chrisanne’s condo. Mitchell lives in the guest bedroom. Alex and Chrisanne are true homebodies … I think if they COULD get away with never ever leaving the house (and still somehow managing to live their dreams?) they would. So to invite someone in – a stranger – even though beloved by Mitchell – and now Alex and I know each other through our blogs … I know it’s a big deal. I know it’s not how they normally behave. And so I feel honored … to be invited in. I am going to be the best guest ever.

I will never forget my moment of arrival. Ever. I’m probably embarrassing Alex with all of this, but whatevs. She can take it. I fly in to O’Hare. For some reason, that month in 2004, I am as broke as I have ever been. I had already bought the ticket … and spent literally (LITERALLY) my last 100 bucks on the bridesmaid dress which I bought at Filene’s Basement. I was concerned that it made me look like Bea Arthur at a Tony Awards ceremony in 1987 … but I was assured that it did not. But I was scarily broke. Why? I was working … I don’t know … I just remember being really afraid of being on vacation and having ZERO money. Of course, once I was there – all I did was sit on the couch with Alex and Mitchell (oh yes and Eric!! Eric was staying with them too! Dammit, i forgot to mention that) … and watch Joan Crawford movies, and eat the sumptuous gourmet dinners that Chrisanne cooked for us. I spent no money. It was the best vacation I had ever had.

But that’s a side note. Let me get back to the moment of arrival.

Now, because I’m a bit more financially solvent, I usually take cabs – especially if I am traveling. But in October of 2004, I couldn’t. So I hauled ass, with my huge suitcases and duffel bags, to Chrisanne and Alex’s, via the El and then the bus. Insane. I struggle down the sidewalk, I find their condo complex. I ring the buzzer. I am beside myself. Mitchell comes down to get me, and help me with my bags. We talk a mile a minute as we galumph up the stairs. I walk into the apartment, and Alex is standing there – in baggy sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a scrunchy on the top of her head – and we stare at each other for a long weird moment (are we going to just cross our arms at each other? And be polite and distant?) – and then suddenly we find ourselves embracing and jumping up and down, screaming and laughing.

Within 15 minutes we were watching Now Voyager.

That week cemented our friendship forever. We sat out on the porch and talked until 4 o’clock in the morning. We laughed so loudly that neighbors complained. We talked and talked and talked … about movies and life and Liza (I did my imitation of Liza for her on that porch, for the first time) … Eric was there, Mitchell was there, Chrisanne was there … but when they went to bed, or were NOT there, Alex and I were … and we could not stop talking.

A couple highlights:

— Alex and I, for some reason, told Eric the entire story of the American Revolution, tag-team style. I have no idea how it happened, but it was absolutely brilliant. We should have a television show on the History Channel. It would be epic.

— We discovered our shared obsession for all things Xenu. We went nuts, and we have never returned. At one point we had the following exchange. We were discussing the moment when Mr. Tom Crooze was squirted with a water gun on the red carpet. We had differing opinions about it. I thought he had handled himself well. Alex bulldozed over me with her own analysis. And here is what happened (and it cannot be explained – I could never explain why this was so funny, but here goes):
Me: “But what was going on with him at that time —”
Alex: “It was manipulation AT ITS ZENITH!
Brief pause.
Me: (correcting her) “Xe-NU.”

Guys? We laughed for (I am not kidding) 45 minutes. At one point, Alex began to crawl away from me, like a scene in Sybil, on her hands and knees, trying to get away from me. This was when the neighbors complained. We were literally HOWLING. HOWLING TO THE DAMN MOON. I cannot explain why the response “Xe-NU” was that funny -but it fucking was … and it took us days to recover. Days.

Meanwhile, I got to know Chrisanne. She was someone I had gotten glimpses of from Alex’s blog – and so I had a little bit of celebrity worship with her, too. I just wanted her to like me. And approve. And I didn’t want to intrude or be a bad guest. All of that.

Chrisanne was not there when I first arrived … but when she did come back, she was a little bit late, because she had stopped off at a second hand bookstore and couldn’t stop herself from buying a couple of books about John and Abigail Adams.

Can you say kindred spirit? I know you can.

Chrisanne deserves her own post entirely – but I will respect her privacy and not go there. Suffice it to say, she’s an amazing person – and just being in the presence of the two of them together is being in the presence of love un-hindered, openly expressed, no barriers. It’s being with love at its purest. It’s quite extraordinary.

And so during that week, I raved about Joan Crawford with Alex, and I talked about people like Patrick Henry and John Jay with Chrisanne.

Frankly, I was in heaven.

No going back.

Put a fork in Sheila. She’s done.

I’m friends with Alex for life now. That’s it.

Xe-NU.

We would go on to have multiple adventures – involving broken-down cars on freeways, e-meters on Hollywood Boulevard, driving across the desert to see Liza Minelli, watching Alex teach her acting class, meeting up with Emily at the race track (a wonderful memory – I’m so glad we did that), watching Liza with a Z with Mitchell and Alex in an apartment on 73rd Street, getting a private tour of the Elron Hubman Life Exhibit in LA (where we said stuff to our cult tour guide like, “So … is this the thing that John Travolta is into? Wow!!! Okay – go on!” or “So Elron Hubman was the youngest Eagle Scout in the history of Eagle Scouts? Wow!!!” An unforgettable day.), coming across a dead body moments after he was murdered (good times! Alex hissing at me, as I tiptoed along near the bloody corpse in my platform shoes, “Get the FUCK over here!!”) … and then all of our conversations on the phone … they’re always marathons, hours long, and we have to set them up beforehand. I call her, and Alex always answers the phone like this, just like our first time, “What. the HELL. is going on.”

I have no idea, but I love it.