Breaking the Windy City (Part I of III)

What’s a little spinal fluid between you and a friend? Screw it.
And what’s a little bit of alcohol poisoning?
And what’s a little fight? Tomorrow you’ll be boys again
Drug Ballad, Eminem

The import hoochie bounced so Jesse J. invited me to a pool party with the cast of PERICLES, being done at the Goodman here in Chi-town. I am Assistant Directing (AD . . . Butt Slave) for THE WELL-APPOINTED ROOM at Steppenwolf as part of the NEA/TCG CDP thing I’m on. I got the AD gig because I broke down crying in an interview at the mention of 9-11. What can I say? I guess I am big pussy when it comes to the subject of mass death blocks away from my apartment in TriBeCa.

Señor Perez has been kicking it with this fine Nubian Queen in for the week, which meant I couldn’t crash on his couch. Because the CDP doesn’t provide housing, I have been regulated to my Aunt’s guest room in the ‘burbs of Chicago. The scene on the urban fringes of Chi-town is too surreal to encompass in this installment. Let’s just say, I fear for my very soul.

My relationship to performer Jesse J. Perez is complicated. It would be for you too if your Muse started having freaky circus sex with some girl you thought you were going to marry. Then you bag on the best relationship you ever had, fall off the wagon and try to convince JackDaniel’s™ that your relationship is based on more than the occasional two-month binge. But since the Molly dumped Jesse for some other schmo, we’ve become boys again. Dog eat dog.

Tomorrow morning, I have to drive my boss, Terry Kinney, to his old college in Normal, Illinois. No way this is stopping me from getting my swerve on by the pool on the 32nd floor of the Oakwood, where they house the Goodman actors from out of town. Actrons have it easy when they want to kick it ho-style. Directors not only have the Casting Couch stigma but Opening Night is Closing Night for Mettres en Scène. Just when it’s time to get some play, they ship you off to the next gig.

I walk in the door and Jesse J. has all the girls from Northwestern who play bit rolls in the play splayed about his temporary accommodations. I got to chatting with Laura who was of Eastern European descent. I can roll with the Sephardic hotties. They look at me as some kind of exotic half-breed transgression. But if the President of Iran keeps talking mad yang, it’s going to continue to salt my game.

Soon it was Budweisers and Bawds poolside. Does Terry fire Ivan because he shows up drunk to drive him to Normal? Does Ivan ever get laid in spite the post-traumatic-sex-with-22-year-old disorder? For the love of G-d, will Ivan ever die? For the answers to these and other burning questions, tune in to Part Duh of Ivan’s adventures in the Windy City. I just have to find a pharmacy that will fill this ‘script.

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