What I Did on my Summer Vacation - our trip to NY to see Randy Harrison in ‘Deviant’ in August 2002

When we left NY in May 2002, after having spent 3 wonderful days being tourists and seeing Randy’s NY stage debut in ‘A Letter from Ethel Kennedy’, I was already looking forward to going back in 2003 to see him again. Little did I know that his next stage appearance would be a mere three and a half months later, in August.

The name of the play he was in was called ‘Deviant’ and it was part of the NYC Fringe Festival, a seventeen-day extravaganza of plays, one-person shows and other avante garde theater held in the East Village every August. ‘Deviant’ was billed as a look into the weird world of sexual fetishes and phone sex. It sounded risky. Okay, it sounded downright scary, but it was Randy, after all.

I tried to make arrangements to go on the first weekend that the play was on but it didn’t work out. I had to settle for the final two performances: August 23^rd and 25^th. My daughter was working and couldn’t take more than two days off this time around. We didn’t have time to drive, like we had last time, so we flew.

So, we headed north very early on Friday morning. When we arrived at LaGuardia, we went out to find a taxi to the city. Just outside, a young, cute guy approached us and asked if we needed a cab. We said yes. He asked where we were going and we told him. He said he had a car and would take us, if we didn’t mind sharing with someone else. His ‘car’ was a limousine. We looked at each other and agreed. As we sat in the car and waited for the other passengers, I had this flash of us being strangled and thrown into the East River, but he seemed okay.

It was a neat trip into the city. The other passengers were from Kentucky and they were staying in Times Square. We went to their hotel first and then to ours. I’d found this cute little gay bed and breakfast on West 14^th Street, in Greenwich Village. It turned out to be an ideal location for us, close to everything we wanted to see.

After checking in and dragging our suitcases up 3 flights of very steep stairs, it was time to go out. My daughter is a huge hockey fan and she’d heard that there’s a tour of Madison Square Garden. We started out walking from 14^th Street to 35^th Street, and made it in about half an hour. It was a neat tour, lasting about an hour. Afterwards, we had lunch in the restaurant for season ticket holders, called Play By Play.

From Madison Square Garden, we walked up to 40^th Street and 8^th Avenue, across the street from the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Desiree had gotten a tattoo when we were in NY last May and she was ready to get another one. She chose another Egyptian symbol - I can’t remember what it’s called - for her left ankle. I’d had this weird idea about getting a tattoo as well, but I wasn’t totally sure. While Desi was in the other room, I looked at all the art on the walls. When she got finished, I still hadn’t made up my mind. She told me not to get anything unless I was sure, which I wasn’t. We told the guys that we were going down to the ATM at the store next door and that we had to talk about what I wanted.

We did go down and get some money out of the ATM, but we didn’t go back upstairs to the tattoo parlor. I was still waffling about what I wanted and where I wanted it, so we bought a couple of six-packs of sodas and took a cab back to the hotel.

We chilled out for a couple of hours before I couldn’t take it any more and we left for the theater. It would have been a long walk, so we took a cab. The Kraine Theater is very small, without any kind of sign to identify itself. The door was open and there were several people sitting on the steps, so we figured that was where we were headed. It was too early to go over there so we stopped at a bar across the street, called East Fourth Street Bar. We sat outside and had a drink and an order of mozzarella sticks and watched the people across the street.

It was a little after 8 when we paid the bill and walked across the street. There were 2 long lines meandering down the front stairs of the building. One was to pick up tickets from will call and the other was to get in the theater once you had your tickets. We got in line in front of a middle-aged lady who told us that her sister was in the other line, so they could get better seats. Desi went over and got in line behind the sister. The lady turned out to be the mother of one of the cast members. Her daughter, Emily Parker, was one of the best actors in the play, IMO. I told her that we’d come from SC and she said, ‘I bet I know who *you* came to see!’ She told me that Randy was a sweet person and the cast loved working with him. She also told me that Randy was concerned about stalkers, and she *did* use the word ‘stalker’. She said he couldn’t understand it; all he wanted to do was work on the play. It was obvious that Barbara, as the mother of a young stage actor, was upset by what she was telling me.

I asked Barbara why Randy had gotten the part in this play. She said he went to high school with one of the girls in the company, but she couldn’t remember which one. I found out later that Randy’s former classmate was Marci Adilman, the female lead. Sometime during that time, while we were waiting to pick up our tickets, another lady walked up and started talking to Barbara. Barbara told her that I had come from SC to see the play and she was delighted. I told her that ‘Deviant’ had been a very hot topic on several of the mailing lists I’m on and she almost couldn’t believe it. Desi told me, later on, that she was the author of the play, Sophie Rand.

It was about this time when I found out that, because ‘Deviant’ had sold out its entire run, they had added an additional performance on Saturday night at 11pm. Of course, I was going to be there, if I could get a ticket. I had my first viewing of the play to get through before I had to worry about Saturday night. I have to confess that I had butterflies in my stomach as we made our way up the stairs and into the theater.

My review of ‘Deviant’ is posted elsewhere on this site, so I won’t go into many details about the play. Suffice to say that I thought Randy was phenomenal. He just keeps getting better every time I see him. I have no idea what attracts him to characters that seem to be nothing like Justin Taylor - maybe that’s their main attraction. I don’t know. All I know is that I was mesmerised by Marshall and his plight.

Of course, the play didn’t last nearly long enough - only about an hour. We made our way out of the tiny theater and back out to the street, to wait for Randy’s appearance. I should mention watching him enter the theater before the play. Apparently, there’s only one way into the theater and that’s through the front door. We were standing on the stairs, waiting for the box office to open, when the cast filed in right beside us. Randy is dressed in his everyday clothes with a cap on his head and shoved way down over his eyes. If he thought he was fooling anyone, he was wrong. Each time he entered the theater, someone around me would say to his or her companion, ‘That was Randy Harrison. Did you see him?’ It was almost like a pact was formed between Randy and his fans: we would pretend we didn’t recognise him and he wouldn’t question it. I was in a position to speak to him every time, but I didn’t. He was on the way to work and it would have been unforgivable to disturb him.

So, we’re standing outside the theater. It’s hard to tell how many people are there to see Randy and how many are there visiting with other members of the cast. Desi had informed me that she wanted a picture with Randy, if we could get it. When he came down the steps, there were several people speaking to him at once. I’m sure people were asking him for autographs but I didn’t. I stepped up and told him that we had come from SC to see him back in May, and now we were back. He looked at me very briefly and smiled one of those million-watt smiles. ‘I remember,’ he said, and I believed him. I asked if we could have a picture and he said, ‘sure’. Desi was a little bit hesitant and I couldn’t back up very far because of the crowd but we got the picture. We both told him how great he was. Again, he smilingly acknowledged us and we backed away, allowing someone else to have their moment with him. When he walked away, a few minutes later, he was followed down the street by a couple of guys. I found out, later, that they were security people hired by the production company to look after him.

After our moment with Randy, I ran into a friend of mine from one of the Yahoo groups. I’d looked for Polina before the play but couldn’t find her. We walked up to the next street corner and talked for a while and then we started walking home. Despite sore feet and blisters, we managed to walk all the way back to 14t^h Street, to our hotel. It took us over an hour to make the journey and we talked about all kinds of QAF stuff, as well as other stuff. I had an extra ticket to the Sunday afternoon show and I invited her to come, but she already had plans. It was almost midnight when we bid good night to our friend at the front door of the hotel.

Saturday dawned gray and wet. The forecast was for rain all day, but we didn’t care. A little bit of rain wasn’t going to deter us from our touristic duties. We took a cab to Rockefeller Center, where we took pictures of the NBC studios. One of those double-decker tour buses stopped on a street corner and we were asked if we’d like to buy a tour that went all over the southern part of the island. We couldn’t think of a good reason not to, so we paid the man and climbed on.

Times Square is a crazy place from any angle. From the top of a tour bus, we could see everything. It was raining lightly but not enough to make us want to go downstairs. We traveled from Times Square to Greenwich Village, Soho, Chinatown, Little Italy and by Ground Zero to Battery Park, where we got off. We stopped to look at The Sphere, from the site of the World Trade Center, and we walked over and took pictures of the ferries. Desi bought a pair of ‘Oakley’ sunglasses from a guy in the park and we each bought a hat to keep the rain off our faces. We spent a few minutes there and caught the bus back up to Central Park.

We got off the bus again at the Plaza Hotel. On our last trip, I’d tried to talk Desi into going into the Plaza, but she wouldn’t go. This time, we had to go to the bathroom, and I convinced her that we’d find one in the hotel. I wanted us to eat lunch at The Palm Court restaurant, but they had a dress code and we had on jeans. Maybe next time… We walked out of the Plaza and sat down on a bench at the south end of Central Park. I told Desi that I’d made up my mind about the tattoo; I asked if she’d go back to the tattoo parlor with me. She said yes and we caught a cab back to the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

I chose a very small tattoo, a spider web, which I wanted on the top of my right foot. There was supposed to be some pale blue shading, but I didn’t want it. It’s basically only the outline of the spider web. I realise it’s somewhat silly for a woman in her late forties to get a tattoo, but I don’t care. I’ve wanted one for years and watching my daughter getting her two made me realise how much I really wanted one. The tattoo was the object of much discussion amongst some of my co-workers when I returned home.

Our next order of business was a tour of Ground Zero. We’d signed up for the same tour in May but, due to inclement weather, we had to take a driving tour rather than a walking tour. We arrived at the southeast corner of Broadway and Chambers Street at about 4:30, half an hour early. We met up with our old friend, Gary. He told us that a film crew from Holland would be following us and asked if we minded. We told him no. He had to go and to a short interview with them and we found a drugstore so we could buy Desi a poncho because the rain was getting harder.

When we got back across the street to where Gary was, the Dutch news guy asked if we’d mind answering a few questions. I assured him that we weren’t ‘typical New Yorkers’ and he said that was okay. They wanted to talk to ‘ordinary Americans’ about 9/11. He asked us several questions about why we were there, why we felt the need to visit Ground Zero, did we think it was morbid to visit the site and what we thought we would get out of the experience. We answered all the questions as best we could and I hope we didn’t sound like idiots. I tried to portray the feeling that all of us are Americans and we feel as much a part of what happened as the people who lived in the shadow of the WTC. Desi related the stories of friends of hers who were supposed to be in the towers on the morning of the attack, and whom they couldn’t locate until the next day. I asked the reporter if the people in Europe thought it was morbid to visit the site and he said no. He said we made some good points and he thanked us for our candor. During the tour, the camera focused on Desi’s face a number of times; she has a very mobile face and her reactions to what she was seeing was worth a thousand words of commentary.

We were in a somber mood as we walked around what used to be the World Trade Center that rainy Saturday afternoon. I kept thinking of the Stevie Ray Vaughn song, ‘The Sky is Crying’. There’s really nothing left to see there - just some cranes and other construction equipment in a big hole in the ground. Despite the fact that there was a mob of people around, the silence was stifling. I don’t know what the other people were thinking and feeling, but I silenced by the weight of the emotions that are focused on that location. I’m glad I got to walk down there and pay my respects, but I don’t think I want to do it again.

We exited the tour a little early because of the rain. We caught a cab back to our hotel. We hadn’t eaten anything all day except for a pretzel and a small bag of goldfish. We found a lovely little family restaurant down the street from the hotel and we had a great dinner, complete with chocolate ice cream for dessert. We walked back to the hotel and crashed for about an hour, until it was time to start out for the theater again.

It was a little before 10 when I put my shoes back on and prepared to leave. Desi had a really bad headache and didn’t want to go. I made sure she didn’t mind staying by herself and I made my decision to go alone. I wasn’t totally comfortable with walking around in the Village at 10pm on a Saturday night, but I was going to see Randy, no matter what. I have no idea what possessed me to walk, rather than taking a cab, but I decided to walk as far as I could; if I got tired or felt unsafe, I’d take a cab the rest of the way.

Far from feeling unsafe, I was fascinated by the Village after dark. The walk consisted of 15 blocks east, from 8^th Avenue to 3^rd Avenue (1 avenue block is equivalent to 3 street blocks) and then 10 blocks south, from 14^th Street to 4^th Street. I passed by some characters, including a young man peeing on the street - he was mortified when he turned around and saw me.

It only took me about half an hour to get to the theater. I found my friend, Barbara, standing in line inside the theater. We’d gotten online Saturday morning and tried to buy tickets to the Saturday night performance but, according to the Ticketweb site, there were no tickets. So, I’d walked 25 blocks to the theater, without a ticket to the play. I asked Barbara if she had an extra ticket but she didn’t even have a ticket for herself. We were delighted to learn, when the box office opened, that there were some tickets available.

The Saturday night performance wasn’t sold out but there were only about 10 vacant seats, this in a theater that had a capacity of less than 100 seats. Desi and I sat in the same place both times we were there, second row on the far left-hand side. On Saturday night, I sat in the third row toward the right-hand side. All of the action that’s set in Marshall’s apartment takes place on the right-hand side of the stage as you’re looking at it. I’d watched the show Friday for plot; the Saturday and Sunday viewings consisted totally of watching Randy. What a treat to be able to follow his every move and expression.

I thought the Saturday night crowd was more animated than the Friday night crowd. I found out, later, that the cast thought we were all asleep on Saturday night.

As much as I enjoyed the performance, the best moment of the night happened afterwards. For some reason, there was no one waiting on Randy after the show, except me. I was standing on the street at the bottom of the stairs when he came out. He was walking with Marci, his friend from high school and the girl his character kills during the play. I had my camera ready but I didn’t look in the viewfinder; instead, I watched him walk down the stairs. There were 2 guys standing near me; he walked over and shook hands with one of them, thanking him for coming. After a very brief conversation, he started walking down the street. He had on a gray t-shirt and jeans, I think. He had on the ever-present cap and the backpack on his back. Because it had been raining all day, he had a large, red umbrella. He didn’t carry it, though; it was slung on his back, leaving both his hands free. I stood there, next to a parking meter, and watched him walk slowly down the street. He looked around once or twice and he seemed to be in no hurry whatever. There were no fans yelling his name, no camera flashes in his face as he strolled down the street. I watched him until he turned the corner and then I went to the other corner and caught a cab to the hotel.

I’ve wondered, from time to time, why I let Randy walk away from me, rather than running after him and speaking to him. It would have been just the two of us and I would have had the opportunity to have a one-on-one conversation with him. Yes, I sometimes regret not speaking to him, but I think that what I saw was more amazing than if I had. I got to see Randy being himself and enjoying a moment of solitude in a city that he really loves. IMO, that was pretty special.

Sunday morning was bright and sunny and warm, the opposite of what Saturday was. The play didn’t start until 1:45, but we left the hotel a little after 12. We walked down the street, enjoying the view of lots of firemen at the scene of a fire down the street. We found a Baskins Robbins and had ice cream, before resuming our walk. We arrived at the theater early and went over to ‘our place’ - the East Fourth Street Bar, to have another drink.

At about 1:30, we walked over to the theater and picked up our tickets. The walk up the stairs had become a familiar one, but I still had butterflies when I heard the music and saw the inhabitants of the ‘Beat My Guest’ fetish club, who were already on stage. On third viewing, the play was no less devastating to me, maybe because I knew it was the last time I’d see it.

Desi had an idea to turn off the flash in her camera and take photos of the curtain call. She could have taken pictures during the play itself and no one would have known, but she didn’t do that. It wouldn’t have been right and it never occurred to either of us to try. After the curtain call, a short, blond lady walked to the stage and asked everyone to stick around for a minute because they wanted some shots. I assume they were for a scrapbook, but I’m not sure. Several people remained in the audience, at least 10 or 12 people, and most of them had cameras. I walked over to the center of the audience and started snapping pictures and several of them came out pretty good.

We were finally told that we had to go outside, where there was a larger crowd milling around. Once again, it was impossible to tell who was waiting for Randy. When he came out, accompanied by Marci again, he looked a little jittery. I’m sure he was tired after the late show Saturday night. I guess we should have left him alone but we didn’t. Yes, there were some ‘fans’ there that I wanted to slap, but I hope the positive experiences he gets from the majority of his fans makes a more lasting impression on him than the stupid, crazy and dangerous ones do. I stepped up and asked for an autograph and he said, ‘hello again,’ to me. I asked if I could have a picture - I always ask, I don’t assume - and he said yes. Desi got a quick picture of us and we both paused long enough to thank him and tell him how great we thought he was. We got one last, beautiful smile before we walked away. In the midst of all the craziness, he’s still a sweet and polite young man.

As we walked across the street, a man stopped us and asked us what was going on over there. I said it was just a play. I know better than to talk about Randy to someone who doesn’t know who he is.

We had plans to meet a friend of Desi’s at a restaurant on McDougal Street, near Bleecker Street, at 4:30. It was only about 3, so we decided to walk. My map reading still isn’t what it should be and we walked 2 blocks before I realised we were going the wrong way. We reversed our course, walking past the theater once more. Randy was gone, so it didn’t seem like the same place it had been 10 minutes earlier.

We walked west on 4^th Street, stopping in Washington Square Park long enough to take some pictures and watch an impromptu ‘show’. The rest of the trip, south on McDougal, was uneventful. We were about half an hour early and we found a place to sit, on the street and watch the people walk by. I’ve said before that the Village is my favourite place in NYC to spend time in. There seems to be more of a community there and something is always going on.

Desi’s friend, Caroline, arrived at about 4:30 and we went inside the restaurant, Monte’s. It was one of those little Italian restaurants like you see on tv, with the white tablecloths and the waiters all dressed up, with wonderful Italian accents. The food was incredible and we had a lovely time. Afterwards, we walked around and looked in the shops for an hour or so. It was about 8 when Caroline had to go home and we caught a cab back to our hotel.

Sunday night was spent in packing and getting ready to leave very early Monday morning. We called the same car service that had brought us in on Friday and he was there to pick us up at 7. As we looked out the windows of the car, looking at the buildings and reading the street signs, we didn’t want to leave. Desi never wants to leave NY and I’m finding it increasingly hard not to be incredibly sad when it’s time to go back to SC. Desi has always wanted to live there and, who knows? Maybe we’ll end up there one of these days.

As for this particular vacation, it was over too soon. We got one last look at the island of Manhattan as our airplane climbed over the city on Monday morning. We both knew we’d be back.