Things are rarely better the second time around, but Tamarack Island is the exception to the rule. I was last there over Memorial Day, invited by Kevin and Christopher, even though Kevin was busy lifting swings over his head. This is a Broadway-related happenstance apparently, the kind of occupational hazard that comes with touring in Spamalot. A few weeks ago, all the swings were on stage for a single performance leading to a concern that soon they would need to draft ushers and concession attendants or worse, me, to join the cast. But all those problems were left behind on the shore and a short row boat ride later, we all succumbed to the quiet paradise of Tamarack.
Roommate and I made the long journey out to New Jersey on July 4th with a firm set of goals, to be completed even before we reached the party. We hadn't even left town before we failed at the first one. Mike wanted some coffee but as fate would have it, our local coffee house closed early for the holiday, quite literally in his face. We would get coffee along the way, I promised, along with gas for the car (usually as much as fifty cents cheaper than it is at home) and much to my delight, the new Girl Scout Thin Mint Blizzard at Dairy Queen! I saw an ad for it flash across the screen during the show one night last week as the silent TV in the background was tuned to CNN. After I jumped out of my chair, seizing my chest and throwing myself against the glass wall of the studio, for a moment Romaine thought the world had blown up.
We finally happened upon a Dunkin Donuts in New Jersey, much to the chagrin of the evil calorie counting GPS system that implored us to turn around immediately. I ignored his bland tones and had a Bavarian Cream Fill and a nice French Cruller. Then, as we were leaving, casually drove the long way out so we could get a better look at the hot guy helping his mother with her groceries on the other side of the parking lot. Such a nice boy! Moments later, covered in powdered sugar, I pulled into the Dairy Queen parking lot like I was driving an ambulance to the scene of a horrible accident. Inside they offered up all the old tyme ice cream favorites and even a few new delights I was dying to try, but I stuck to my guns and got what I came for. Fat.
Within minutes, most of my Blizzard was gone along with all of my dignity as we pulled up to the dock. I was a little nervous because along with Mike, I had invited some other friends along to the party. Kevin and Christopher insisted it would be fine, but I brought another bottle of vodka just in case. The friends I had invited joined other friends of the hosts in a bus they chartered to take them from the city. Mark, a handsome massage therapist and regular David Coleman party veteran, spoke with a few people on the bus but mostly read his book. I asked the original Jonathan who was also coming to be on the lookout for Michelle Collins since she said she might be five minutes late so he waited near the front for her arrival. Apparently, it was love at first sight and the two landed at Tamarack an hour later as inseparable best friends forever, like kids on their way to summer camp.
Christopher dispatched Logan to come row us over from the mainland. Logan, the fifteen year old heart breaker from the last party was mercifully less desirable in a polo shirt and sans sunglasses. Although, as his youthful vigor powered us across the lake as effortlessly as one might pull a Kleenex from the box, I had to keep muttering the words "fifteen... fifteen" over and over in my head. Once on the island, I reunited with Kevin and Christopher and all my invited guests and settled in for a good time. The previous party had been centered at the main house but this one was in full swing as we arrived at the guest house. The booze was flowing like everyone already had their next liver lined up. The earlier rain had dissipated and even though it wasn't sunny per se, it was still a perfect day.
The usual Broadway crowd was there, many of them holdovers from Memorial Day. Some of them were so comfortably drunk when we arrived that I wondered if they had ever left. I kept assuring Michelle throughout the party that at any moment it was certain to burst into song. She couldn't wait. I insisted that if she walked into the house, turned off the stereo and hit the middle C on the piano, the crowd would take care of the rest. It never came to that. Rachel, who had been so helpful in naming "Hole-y Board" "glory hole" last time, kept us all in stitches with her rendition of a tone deaf Broadway hopeful nervously auditioning and breaking down in mid-song. Many cocktails later, Christopher dueted with Michelle and for a moment I thought she might just collapse into a hopeless puddle in the middle of the living room.
Mark wanted to take a swim and I decided to join him. I had been dreading being seen in a bathing suit at a gay party all month (Hell, my whole life) but it was such a nice welcoming crowd I figured they wouldn't notice and if they did they would probably be too drunk to remember. It didn't help that insanely adorable little Joel with his perfect 90 pounds of zero body fat toned yumminess was already down there splashing around with the kids. Mark and I changed into our suits and headed down to the water. The lake was wonderful, just the right temperature. And I remembered as I came up for air after my first dive and looked over at the kids playing on the platform in the middle of the lake that I hadn't been swimming in a lake in 20 years. Not since Nanny and Poppy took me out to the lake they used to summer on when my mother was a kid. Suddenly I was eighteen, feeling the warm silt squish between my toes like it was the first time all over again.
Meanwhile on shore, Mike and Jonathan and Michelle got into a heated game of Holey Board (renamed this time as "cock rings and glory holes") with Logan, for whom Michelle more appropriately shared our inappropriate desire. And to be fair, at the party he was the perfect man: simultaneously handsome and feverishly anxious to make sure you never ran out of drinks. Turns out Jonathan is as sore a winner as I am, and things got a little heated but soon hot dogs from the grill and more cocktails from Logan made it all better again.
As the sun went down, a rumor of fireworks on the lake circulated through the party. The hours of food, merriment and mostly drink had started to take its toll. Mark, now drunk and swirling away in the hammock, decided that he wanted to watch the fireworks from on the lake. So, we borrowed the orange paddle boat and the two of us paddled out to the middle of the lake. It was so still and lovely on the lake, truly a perfect night. And there, mere feet away from us, the rockets fired off and exploded over our heads. It was magical. It was amazing. It was perfect. Behind us, the drunken party goers cheered and inside the boat the warmth of the night, the delight of the show, enveloped us.
And isn't that just the problem with life. It seems like just at the moment that you get used to how perfect something can be, the moment is over and it is time for the next thing. Minutes after we returned to the island from our paddling adventure, the daunting task of pouring the drunks out of the party into little row boats and then into the bus back to the city began in earnest. Christopher herded Mark, Michelle, Jonathan and the others out with the kind of ambition that wins elections, no doubt born of the past experience of waking up to find a heretofore unknown party guest passed out in the bushes and in need of a way back to civilization.
After most of the guests were safely on their way back to that other, less interesting island Manhattan, we settled into a more subdued but no less delightful party coda with Kevin and Christopher. Their work done, the teens decided it was time to swim, so off they went. Moments later, they returned dripping wet and nearly naked. I suppose I should applaud the kind of progress we have made that allows hot straight teen boys to feel comfortable enough in a room full of gay men to parade around in a wet bathing suit so low slung that it leaves nothing to the imagination, but at the risk of once again betraying my gay brethren, I wish they hadn't. Especially that scruffy blond one with the hot, sweet girlfriend. Him especially. All I could hear in my head when he walked back in from the lake was "There's sweet tea on the counter. I just have to put this laundry in the washer and I'll be right out."
Soon enough it was way past time for us to leave. Logan was off somewhere being half naked and handsome so Kevin offered to row us back to shore. It was probably for the best. I think if Logan had taken us back shirtless he would have only asked why I was crying the whole time and I just don't feel emotionally centered enough to tell him why. The ride home was an eventful adventure through every imaginable weather hazard including blinding rain and fog, sometimes at the same time. That seemed particularly fitting. Visiting the island is magical but it is a distinct place and time, far removed from the real world and I suppose not unlike Fantasy Island, with a lesson or two to be learned along the way. It isn't just tropical drinks and welcomes by the dock. It is also an opportunity for a little personal growth and adventure, and yes, even errands. Today Mike noticed how clean the car was after the torrential downpour on the way home from New Jersey. "Now we don't need to get the car washed." Another problem solved, another desire fulfilled, all in a day at Tamarack.
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