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Memorial Day
Since Joey was a little boy, he hated the month of May, even though his mother would intone, “it’s the Virgin Mary’s month,” and dressed he and his sister Catherine in blue.
It was the time of year that they were taken to the war memorial cemetery to lay lilies on his father’s grave. He died at Danang, and Joe was forced to wear a fake poppy on his seersucker suit (for Pop) which didn’t fit and wasn’t even his own.
As Joey grew older he wondered why he was the Baby Jesus in the Christmas play.
“Because you are so special, Joey.”
“I don’t feel special.”
“Eat your lunch.”
One year in school Joey had accidentally walked around the maypole the wrong way, bringing the whole pole down. Miss Rodgers insisted he be brought downstairs in the cold basement and not given bathroom privileges. The redneck chicken hawk janitor saw him, fondled him and then tried to rape him. But Joey never spoke of it, though after that he stopped caring about life very much, and had nightmares.
One marvelous May he injured his right leg by trying to help a paraplegic in his wheelchair. Another time he was beaten up by a kind of butch gang who admired his jacket near the lion house in the park. On the next Memorial Day weekend, he was robbed at knifepoint by other kids at the arcade. At school Joey was accused of cheating on his exam, going to the opening Red Sox game and celebrating May Day by Mr. Dorset who forced Joey to write the Bill of Rights one hundred times on the chalkboard.
Not everyone hated Joey. Actually, he was so the perfect twink, his sister got him a job at a modeling agency while he was still in high school.
“Joey, you’re perfect… isn’t he, Mr. Wine?”
At least, realizing his good looks were his drawing card (thick black hair, lynx-like green eyes and slim figure), he started to hustle as a male model for the art and fashion world. Mr. Wine offered him an adobe in his Manhattan penthouse and Joey was featured in Naturist and adult films and magazines. Joey Martin was becoming a household name and even a god to some.
Visiting the Hamptons on Memorial Day weekend, doing some shots as an extra for a Hollywood picture, he met the French film director Antoinette Morand who offered Joey a part in her new film, Streets of Vichy.
She introduced him to George, his language tutor, who taught him French that summer. George was a tall, horselike man in his mid 30’s with a mane of red hair who wore tank tops with silk suit jackets.
The film won a prize at Cannes and Joe went to the Riviera that May with his sister, his mother, Mr. Wine and his tutor, George.
“Joey, you’ll do fine.”
“George, my mother insists I say the rosary before we do anything.”
“For her sake, do it.”
“I’m not religious, George. I need a drink or a fix.”
“Joey, not that. Antoinette is worried about you. She has a crush on you, but who doesn’t.”
“Even you, George.”
“I could very easily be tempted, but I want you to rehearse these lines for when you accept this award, that your French be impeccable. The French audiences will look up to you. I remember how they reacted to the film, Barton Fink and to Jerry Lewis.”
“I’m kind of a nervous kid. Maybe it’s time I got a few breaks after a few kicks.”
Joey starts to drink a beer.
“But of course.”
“Catherine told me I’m more than a pretty face.”
“Antoinette says you are the most natural American actor and she has worked with so many Frenchmen, so to have chosen you to play this part is an honor.”
“I know it’s an honor, but I’m not likable.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“I betray people in the role of Rif. First I’m a collaborator, then I’m in the resistance, and no one knows the difference.”
“It’s the story of France, and if I might say, of all humanity.”
Joey flies to Cannes in May and, wearing an Emma Goldman t-shirt, accepts his award.
On his way back to America, his plane crashes on Memorial Day in the Atlantic. All that identifies him is the rosary his mother put in his back pocket.
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