The End of Innocence

by Bono, Chastity; Kort, Michele

• ISBN13: 9781555836207
• ISBN10: 1555836208
• Edition: 1st
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2002-06-01
• Publisher: Alyson Pubns

Summary

A story of love won and lost, of dreams fulfilled and destroyed, this is a coming-of-age story that provides a deeply personal look into the private struggles of Chastity Bono, a very public and courageous woman.

Excerpts

It was a clear and breezy night in August 1987, and I was brimming with excitement. I had just graduated from high school and was about to attend my first lesbian party. Joan's friend Sandy was throwing it, and Joan invited me to meet her and her girlfriend Leslie there. Now that I was of age, the idea of being in a room full of gay women was almost too wonderful to imagine.

In preparation for the big event, I spent hours blow-drying my long hair and choosing my outfit: black Levi's 501s, a blue button-down shirt, a black blazer, and black lizard-skin cowboy boots. I desperately wanted to look like the quintessential well-dressed young gay woman.

With my newly obtained driver's license in hand (my dad had just taught me to drive), I climbed into my rental car and headed through the hills from Benedict Canyon to Studio City. When I arrived at the party, my pounding heart and fluttering stomach were soothed when I spotted Joan's 1973 Porsche Carrera in the driveway. Already a classic in '87, it was the only Porsche I'd seen in such an intense shade of blue, so I knew for certain Joan had arrived.

A lot had happened to me since that hormone-awakening Christmas party when I was thirteen. That summer, after I turned fourteen, I kissed a girl for the first time-a classmate of mine at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute in West Hollywood. I had started taking acting and singing classes there in eighth grade, since I hated the fancy private Curtis School I attended. I found the kids at Curtis to be superficial, and I didn't make any friends there at ally mom saw how depressed I was and thought I'd be more comfortable in a creative environment. She was absolutely right. I also enrolled in the summer program at Strasberg, where I made a lot of friends (including my kissing cohort)and discovered a love of acting.

That led me to audition for, and get accepted at, the High School for Performing Arts in New York City-the school depicted in the movie Fame . At first the other students didn't know what to make of me, because of my famous parents. At Strasberg a lot of the kids had celebrity parents, so mine were no big deal, but Performing Arts is a public school, attended by a diverse group of kids, and my classmates really gawked over me. That blew me away. It was the first time in my life that I realized people wanted to be around me-or, conversely, resented me-simply because I was the daughter of Sonny and Cher. There were even crazy rumors flying around that the only reason I got in was because my mom had bought the school new video equipment. I really felt out of place for a while, but after a month or two the novelty wore off, and I became just another freshman. I spent four great years there, majoring in drama.

In the open, artistic environment of Performing Arts, it was safe for me to be gay. I hadn't yet come out to my parents, but I could be honest with my friends, who were completely accepting-a luxury few gay kids enjoy. Even after my first kiss, I figured I'd probably remain a virgin until I was twenty-one, since that 's when I could legally go to bars in New York City. I assumed gay people only met each other in bars. Thankfully, I was wrong.

In fact, sex wasn't that hard to come by in high school; it was more available than I even took advantage of. Since I was the only out lesbian at school, girls who wanted to experiment with their sexuality often hit on me, making me feel like the resident lab rat. But the girls I had crushes on-typically the straight, feminine-looking girls-usually weren't interested in me, while the experimenters were often good friends of mine whom I didn't want as lovers. Finding love was much more of a challenge than going to bed with someone.

In my junior year, I fell particularly hard for a girl named Julie, who was troubled by her sexual orientation. We had an on-again, off-again relationship for the next year and a half, usually dictated by her anxieties.

During one of my off-again periods with Julie, I had a brief fling with a fellow drama student. It was the summer before my senior year, and Beth was an uptight, unremarkable-looking girl with short, curly hair who had been in my circle of friends. After seeing a film together one night, we started flirting and ended up sleeping together. I didn't have strong feelings for her-actually, the only thing I found attractive about her was the smell of the Agree conditioner she used on her hair!-but I was looking for someone to take my mind off Julie. When we returned to school in the fall, Beth started telling people that I was her girlfriend, and that made me nervous, so I broke up with her. She was hurt, and unfortunately this coincided with us being cast as two of the three witches in Macbeth . It was a riot, actually: Beth was having temper tantrums and walking out of rehearsals, which made for a very tense set. The poor third witch-a very nice straight girl-was unknowingly caught right in the middle of our vicious young dyke drama. Talk about double bubble, toil, and trouble.

During my years in Manhattan, Joan remained a constant in my life, as both a friend and confidante. We'd talk on the phone often and hang out together during the summers I spent in Los Angeles. It wasn't really strange that I wanted to hang out with someone so much older. Having been on the road with my mom, I was used to being around adults. In many ways I was a lot more mature than your average teenager.

My mom wasn't always around, since she was working, so Joan sort of filled in that gap. She always took the time and effort to make me feel loved and appreciated. My mom was career-driven, and for good reason: She had two kids and other family members to support. But at the time I wasn't able to rationalize that my mom was thinking of me and my needs by working: I just focused on the fact that I wasn't getting enough attention, and I often felt lonely or abandoned. When I spent time with Joan, I felt like the center of attention, even when there were a lot of other people around her. She had a gift for making people feel special.

Joan didn't have my mom's sort of drive, and she was very old-fashioned in certain ways. She was perfectly content to be more of a homebody while the feminist movement passed her by. There was something very simplistic about her; she really focused on enjoying life. It might have been easy for some people to look down on her for not having grander ambitions, but I admired it. Most people drive themselves crazy over how they're going to make their mark and feel complete and worthwhile. There's a great side to being career-driven, but it can also be torturous. Joan's main goal in life was just to have love, give love, and create a loving, comfortable atmosphere around her-and in all of that she succeeded very well.

Joan knew I was gay, of course-she'd figured that one out pretty quickly-and because she was older and more experienced, she gave me advice my peers couldn't begin to offer. (I can even remember her girlfriend Leslie taking me aside once, when I was about fifteen, and telling me what to do sexually with a girl, because I was totally naive.) Unlike the other adults in my life, Joan was nonjudgmental about issues relating to gender and sexuality. In comparison, during my freshman year at Performing Arts, I lived with acting teacher Anna Strasberg and her two sons, and although Anna realized I was gay, she still criticized me for not dressing more femininely or for having friends whose hair was too short. Joan, on the other hand, was always totally accepting of who I was and who I wanted to be.

Joan had had quite a tough childhood herself, with parents who didn't give her nearly the acceptance and love she needed. Maybe that's one reason she was so understanding and why maintaining a nurturing home was so primary to her. An only child born in a Nebraska farm town, she moved with her mother to Los Angeles when she was about six years old. Her biker father had left them, but her mom remarried, and Joan's stepfather, a truck driver, turned out to be both sexually suggestive to her and physically abusive. Once he had even split open Joan's lip, which left her with a small scar. She hated him and was furious with her mother for not doing anything about his abuse. She couldn't wait to move out of the house, marking the days until her eighteenth birthday on a calendar. One day her stepfather asked what the marks meant, and she answered, "They're the days until my eighteenth birthday, when I'll be free to leave." He said, "You don't have to wait," and packed her bags for her. At age seventeen she was on her own.

Joan grew up expecting she'd get married and have a family. She told me she had lost her virginity to her boyfriend, Jim, in twelfth grade and had thought she would marry him, but they split up after he was drafted to fight in Vietnam. After Joan left home, she became a go-go dancer-performing in clubs on a stage or platform, fully clothed-and later she danced in Vegas as a showgirl, also fully clothed. These were the only jobs she'd ever have. She tried to reestablish some sort of connection with her real father, but her mother freaked out when she found out, still mad at her ex for having left and jealous of Joan for having regained his favor. Her mom's reaction was so strong and bitter that it tore them apart and Joan never saw her mother again.

Sandy's party was held at her tastefully decorated three-bedroom house in the Valley. Most of the women were in their mid thirties-professionals wearing pantsuits. No one looked terribly glamorous or exciting. I was hoping to find some cute women in their twenties, but they just weren't there.

As I entered the house I spotted Leslie, the short, redheaded real estate agent Joan had dated regularly for years. I liked her a lot; she was fun to hang out with, friendly, and good-natured.

"Hey, Les, what's going on?" I greeted her with a hug and some slaps on the back.

"Nothing much," Leslie smiled. "Yourself?"

"Just getting ready to head back to New York and start NYU."

"That's great," she remarked, looking distracted. She probably wasn't particularly interested in a teenager about to go off to college.

I headed for the bar, where I grabbed a beer and scanned the room for someone I might find attractive. If I saw her, I promised myself, I'd try to muster up the courage to talk to her. Since I was ten to twenty years younger than everyone else, I figured I was at both an advantage and disadvantage: I would at least get some attention because of my youth, but then again I'd be less likely to find such older women to be my type. In fact, no one caught my eye-until I saw Joan in a sleeveless summer dress, sparkling like a Christmas tree in August.

The other guests seemed like obstacles in my path as I dodged them to get closer to her. Near the kitchen I finally reached my target, sneaking up from behind and wrapping my arms around her, burying my face in her fragrant-smelling hair.

"Hi, pretty lady," I whispered boldly in Joan's ear. Although I was just eighteen, I was surprisingly gutsy with women who interested me-more so than I would be later in life. Even with someone as unlikely as Joan, I wasn't afraid to flirt a little and see what kind of response I'd get. I wasn't making an overt pass, but I was pushing the envelope a bit.

Recognizing my voice immediately, Joan turned to give me a hug and kiss. "Hi, baby," she said. "I'm so glad you came."

"Me too."

"You look great," she said, flashing me a warm smile.

"Thanks." I was almost blushing now. "You're not looking too bad yourself."

Despite our age difference, and even though I was still in my teens, there had always been a subtle sexual charge between us, ever since I'd realized I was gay. I knew people often perceived Joan's outgoing, friendly personality as flirtation, but I felt she was somehow more serious with me.

"I want to introduce you to Sandy." Joan took my hand and pulled me toward a dark-haired woman in an attractive suit. "Sandy, this is my friend Chas. Chas, meet Sandy, the hostess of this fabulous soiree."

"Nice to meet you," Sandy and I chimed in unison.

"Now, if you'll excuse us," Joan said, politely pulling me away, "I want to take Chas around to mingle."

As we wandered through the party, Joan confessed why Les had acted rather distracted and cool: Joan's other longtime girlfriend, Connie, was also at the party. I wasn't as fond of Connie, a doctor with no bedside manner, let alone personality. Both she and Leslie knew about each other and hated that Joan wouldn't pick one of them to date exclusively, but apparently they didn't hate it enough to stop seeing Joan. This night they spent much of the evening staring each other down from across the room, and in their silent battle they seemed to have forgotten that Joan was even there.

"Since they're ignoring me, will you be my date tonight?" Joan asked me teasingly.

"If I were your date," I told her, "I wouldn't leave your side."

Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the fact that I'd had a few years of practice at being gay. I wasn't being coy at all about the vibe between us. But then she threw me a curve ball.

"Anyone you'd like me to introduce you to? Anyone you'd like to get to know a little better?" Joan asked with a devilish glint in her eye.

"I'm insulted," I said, in mock horror. "I thought you were my date tonight, and now you're trying to pawn me off!"

"I just thought you might want to meet a nice woman born in the same decade as you."

I hadn't been paying attention to our age difference. Obviously, Joan had.

"Joan," I locked eyes with her, all business, "there's no one else I'd rather spend the evening with. You are the most beautiful, dazzling woman here. I'd be honored to be your escort, while your date and your other woman waste the evening marking their territory."

"You're absolutely right ... about the beautiful and dazzling part," she giggled. "As for Leslie and Connie, they can spend the night pissing on the furniture like a couple of pit bulls. We won't let them spoil our evening. You and I, my darling, are going to have some fun."

And we did. We talked and laughed, drank way too much, and openly flirted with each other while the battling girlfriends didn't even notice. Toward the end of the party, Joan and I danced together oh-so suggestively, in a way I never had before. I was lost in a haze of liquor, possibility, and her.

By the time the party was winding down and it was time to go, I was too drunk to drive. With my license just days old, the last thing I needed was a DUI. Since Joan's house was just a few blocks away, she invited me to sleep over in her guest room.

Continues...

Excerpted from The End of Innocence by Chastity Bono With Michele Kort Copyright © 2002 by CHASTITY BONO
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.