James Cubby - South Beach Star

By James Cubby

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2011 by JamesCubby

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in anyform whatsoever without written consent of the publisher, exceptfor brief passages quoted in reviews.

This is a work of fiction, and anyresemblance to events, localities, or actual persons, is entirelycoincidental.

Published by Gramercy Park Press.

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Publisher website: www.gramercy-park-press.com

Authors Email:

Authors Website: http://southbeachstarwriter.blogspot.com/

Fame is an illusive thing here today, gonetomorrow. The fickle, shallow mob raises its heroes to the pinnacleof approval today and hurls them into oblivion tomorrow at theslightest whim; cheers today, hisses tomorrow; utter forgetfulnessin a few months.

Henry Miller

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Gilbert Staffordand everyone who ever passed through his velvet ropes.

1997

A New Kidd

White hair a la Jean Paul Gaultier was justthe touch I needed to strut among the fabulous shallow South Beachroyalty and even pass as one myself. Michael, my good friend andhairdresser, had bleached away my oh-so-boring brown hair colorgiving me the new Its All About Me look I needed to be noticedand visually hip enough to mingle with the crme de la crme of theSouth Beach nightlife circuit that included celebrities likeMadonna, Gloria Estefan, Prince, Gianni Versace, Calvin Klein,David Geffen, Barry Diller, Mickey Rourke, Kate Moss, Donald Trump,Leonardo De Caprio as well as some of the top models andphotographers in the world. Of course, lets not forget thepioneers of South Beach who made it all happen, the gays and theinternational circuit boys who come to South Beach every year forthe world famous White Party at Vizcaya, which was the forerunnerfor the circuit and continues to set the party standard. Thisworld-renowned event attracts nearly 15,000 gay party boys from allover the world for a week of events, the highlight being anover-the-top fte that takes ostentatious to the extreme, held onthe grounds of an opulent Italianate villa located on Biscayne Bay.Those who think these international circuit parties are justmassive orgies with music arent far from the truth, however thisone happens to be a creative and well-produced fundraiser for avery good cause. While thousands of dollars in funds are raised,the focus of the week is primarily sex and drugs.

For at least a month before the event everySouth Beach store window displays white clothes, white accessories,white jewelry, and anything else white since white is the requireddress for the gala. Gay circuit boys spend months working onelaborate and often expensive costumes comprised of beads, bangles,sequins and feathers that act as frames for their gorgeous bodiesso when theyre not sewing theyre at the gym so theyll be pumpedup for this non-stop party. The muscle boys come in groups wearingwhite jockstraps and large wings made of feathers, although youdbe hard pressed to find a real angel in this group. Most of theircostumes are designed to reveal as much skin as possible and to beremoved quickly.

This being my first White Party Week and myintroduction to the circuit scene, I thought I might as well beintroduced as a sleek platinum-coiffed journalist hoping that itwould give me a little sex appeal. I had spent my life trying tobecome a serious journalist and even had a book in the works butfor now it was on the back-burner since my new job took all mytime. When I inaugurated my nightlife column I used Kidd, my lastname, as my byline. As a result everyone started calling me Kidd.At first it seemed odd but it was another step to a new life so Iwent with it. So, with this White Party I christened myself Kidd. Ifigured thats one way to stay a kid forever, if only on paper, yetat the time I was a young-looking thirty-something. At least thatswhat I kept telling myself.

Im not sure if it was luck or fate that hadmade me the hot new celebrity nightlife reporter for the SouthBeach Star but if anyone asked, Id say it was the result ofhard work and incredibly long hours. In my wildest dreams, I wouldnever have dreamt of myself in the situation where I had landed. Ihad never even considered covering something as frivolous asnightlife and my goal had been to be a published novelist before Ireached thirty-five but here I was covering the South Beachnightlife scene. Being a popular columnist wasnt enough for SouthBeach and I needed a little help being fabulous even though I washaving a ball playing shallow. I had not spent my life hanging withthe literary geniuses of the world but the crowd I had infiltratedwere more interested in fashion trends, celebrities, and clubopenings than current events or novels. Luckily my dry wit andblatant honesty were welcomed, which was quite surprising in a townwhere phony and shallowness were the norm and lies were expected.The Beach was full of one-dimensional people and I had toconstantly bite my tongue to silence the wise cracks and put-downswhenever someone made some dim-witted comment. Not that Im such acritical person but the people were walking stereotypes screamingfor attention. In print, nobody was safe but it seemed like allanyone cared about was having their name mentioned in print. Icould literally rip someone to shreds but if I ran a photo of themwith their name in the caption, I was a hero in their eyes.

Problem is, nobody reads in this town, unlessits a feature about themselves or the captions that accompany thephoto pages of every publication in town. Phrases like Did you seemy photo in South Beat? or I saw your photo in theStar, were typically thrown about like greetings. Everyonein South Beach is fabulous, just ask them.

Actually, you dont have to ask, theyll tellyou, dropping the names of their famous friends, or acquaintancesas part of the conversation. And what really amazed me were theSouth Beach drag queens, like no where else in the world, wereconsidered celebrities and even photographed and pampered likestars. But the fabulous quotient didnt stop there. Almost everyman, woman and busboy in South Beach was a star in the making. TheBeach was famous for its rags to riches stories. Madonna had achild with her trainer so he became a star. Yes, one day a busboyor a lifeguard, the next a Bruce Weber discovery modeling all overthe world. So everyone was a star, some just hadnt been discoveredyet. And there was nothing sexier than fame.

Sitting in Michaels chair, I could hardlybelieve I was staring at my own reflection in the mirror, awhite-haired reincarnation of the once dull, brown-haired writerwhose face I was used to seeing. Michael ran his fingers throughthe new whiteness for my entertainment as I gazed at the two of usin the mirror. Michael was a handsome hipster who dressed the partand was a notorious flirt but I knew not to wander down that path.I didnt want to have to search for another hair dresser.

Everyones talking about the big partytonight, Michael whispered in my ear. And you get to go, youfucker.

Im sure itll be a big bore, I said,trying to seem blas about the whole thing. You know its justwork, but I must admit Im dying to see the inside of Madonnashouse. I was actually creaming in my pants. Madonnas party was aprivate cocktail reception given by Miss Blonde Ambition herselfwith an invitation list of only 75. God knows how I got invited. Iguess Id become more important than I thought but whatever thereason, I had planned on making a good impression and working it tothe max. I heard that the press wasnt invited except for TashaSimon who was known as Queen of the Night, the name of her weeklygossip column for the Miami Herald, and me, who had notaccepted any royal titles yet.

Its fabulous, I love it, yelled Angie, theowner of the salon. It makes you look so much younger and itbrings out your eyes. Good job, Michael. Angie was a cutebrunette-sometimes red-head, who resembled the actress BonnieFranklin from the sitcom