Eavesdropping on the gays is the surest way to find out what products and people are hot and what are not. Rod Townsend records the gays in and around their natural environment of Fire Island and reports back. All dialogue 100% verbatim.
EXT. THE BOARDWALK OUTSIDE THE BLUE WHALE, FIRE ISLAND PINES
The boardwalk along the harbor is a throng of gay men. The entrance into the afternoon event known as "Low Tea" is not dissimilar to a fallopian tube: Freshly washed and coiffed gays travel up the narrow stairwell like thoughtless sperm. The crowd-flow directs us to the stiff angular movements of FLAGHAG. A bubblegum pink shirtdress and an organized mop of caustic blonde hair move in opposition to her tiny, sunburned frame. She is surrounded by men more than a half-foot taller. In her hands are napkins.
BRIAN (Looking down to FLAGHAG.)
You want another Pink Panties? (Arches right eyebrow.)
Omigod. I love the Pink Panties. Ella-ella-eh-eh-eh.
The flow moves us in a new direction, at first following an unspeaking, pouty BRIAN and a singing FLAGHAG toward the front bar, but then shifting us through sliding glass doors to the interior dance floor. JAGHAG dances to Loleatta Holloway's Relight My Fire with a male friend. They both make jazz hands that occasionally touch the other's waist.
You should. You've got the short hair. The butch attitude. Girls would love you.
I don't care. I love penises. Love. Love. Love.
There was a picture of you and a lesbian at your apartment. Who was she?
JAGHAG (Punches ANOTHER BRIAN.)
Shut. Up! What are you talking about?
In that front hallway. You and a lesbian.
JAGHAG (Pauses, mouth agape.)
That's not a lesbian! That's my brother!
As the music changes, the crowd pushes back toward the middle entrance of a full back hallway, which leads at one end toward bathrooms and at the other toward the service bar. The area around the back bar is less crowded and FASHIONHAG stands near the bar smoking a cigarette. An Hermes scarf holds back shiny-healthy shoulder length hair. Perfectly applied blush and lipstick adorn her Asian-American features and her white strapless jumper minidress. FASHIONHAG approaches the bar and puts the cigarette out. ALEX runs toward her.
That's not an ashtray! (Holds up the metal bartending implement that has been mistaken for an ashtray. The cigarette remains on the bar.) See, no bottom.
Omigod. It looks like an ashtray. A simple perfect ashtray. I... Omigod. I was wondering why they had such nice ashtrays. It's so Philippe Starck. I... Laughs.)
ALEX (Laughs too.)
Omigod. I love you. I'm Alex.
I'm so drunk. I need a bump. Do you have a bump?
Of cocaine? I can't do cocaine. I'm on Oxycontin.
Can I have one?
All mine, sahhhh-ree.
ALEX (Points at a SOUTHEAST ASIAN TWINK.)
Do you know Sanjaya?
Who? (She looks.) Oh, you're bad. But that's not Sanjaya. That's Sanjaya. (She points at a TALL PUERTO RICAN that looks even less like Sanjaya than SOUTHEAST ASIAN TWINK, and who wears a skin-tight plaid shirt and calf-length pants.) Omigod. Sanjaya's feeling the music. I don't want to go to rehab. I said no, no, no.
RANDOM PASSING GAY (Loudly, over the music and crowd.)
I don't wanna go to Meatrack. I said no, no, no.
Omigod. Sanjaya is trying for Thom Brown but just giving clam-digger. (Seeing a camera, holds metallic purse to face, yells.) Gerard! I'm giving you the Meisel!
The crowd is now flowing toward the front entrance again. As the entrance is approached, napkins can be seen fluttering wildly from the hands of FLAGHAG.
Previously: The Great Gay Train Snobbery