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Looking for Mr. Right
Freddy St. Clair is no stranger to Roanoke's gay single scene, but he's holding out for romance
By ZEKE BARLOW
The Roanoke Times
A pack of smokes and a cold beer sit beside Freddy St. Clair's computer, sustenance for the hours that he'll spend talking with strangers online.
"IMPRESSIVELOVER," Freddy's screen saver and chat room name, zips across the screen in rainbow letters. It's 11:30 on a Thursday, but it could be any of the nights that he spends online. He goes to chat rooms because he's bored in Roanoke and because he says there aren't many other places where potential mates with similar interests can get together and talk.
Chances are slim that Freddy can meet someone in a coffee shop or at his job at a phone company. His bar options are limited. Many like him don't want others to know one of the things they have in common.
Freddy is gay.
Roanoke has a sizable gay population -- probably the state's largest west of Richmond. But Freddy has the same complaint about Roanoke's young singles scene that some straights do: It's limited.
Freddy's done the bar thing, where he partied too much and hooked up for immediate gratification. He says he's over all that.
At 25, the Salem High School grad wants something more. Something he's not finding in Roanoke.
So tonight, because there are few places where gay men can talk face to face, Freddy does it virtually.
Madonna croons from his stereo, lines his walls, stares at him from a stack of magazines. She's one of his biggest influences. He said he had few positive role models growing up, so Madonna -- with her messages of self-love and confidence and acceptance of gays -- filled the void. It's her latest release that plays while he surfs America Online's Townsquare chat rooms.
There are chat rooms in Virginia, Georgia, Oregon, Indiana and a dozen other states, with "m4m" attached to the city name. It means "man for man." He clicks on "roanokevam4m" but it takes a few tries to get in -- it's full of other gay men in the valley. At 11:44 p.m., he's in.
From the main chat room, he enters into a private conversation with a man calling himself "Aquadude77." His profile says he's a 27-year-old gay doctoral candidate at Virginia Tech. He likes swimming, hence the nickname.
"Howdy," Freddy types.
"Hello," Aquadude77 responds.
"How are you 2nite?"
"Good."
"Pic?" Freddy asks. No need to chat with someone too long if he's not physically attracted, he says.
Aquadude shoots over a photo of himself. Freddy refers Aquadude to his own Web site, where pictures of himself are posted.
"Cute, but not my type," Freddy replies after checking out Aquadude's digital picture. Freddy's flamboyant. He's got an earring in each ear, wears makeup, has bleached hair tips and speaks in a sweet voice. Freddy is looking for someone more masculine, someone his opposite. Aquadude doesn't fit the bill.
"You look familiar for some reason," Aquadude types.
"Ya, you do too," Freddy replies. Freddy used to work at a dance club on Franklin Road and knows lots of gays from there. Still, there is a limited pool of young people in Roanoke. When Freddy goes to the few gay bars in town, he knows most of the people there.
Back in the main chat room, Decycled, StarCityBoi, NiceGuyNRV and Crazy12345 have entered the online conversation.
"How's life in the valley tonight?" Decycled asks.
"It sucks," StarCityBoi beams back.
Most of the talk is small, as it might be at a cocktail party or backyard barbecue. But as a gay man in Roanoke, Freddy says, this is what he's limited to.
"I can't go out and meet someone at a grocery store. You are so limited, and life should never be limiting."
Freddy is as out as a gay man can be. But there are always the hidden dangers of rejection, disgust and even violence if he comes on to the wrong person. Nobody can beat you up online. At least not physically.
Crazy12345 and Freddy enter into a private Instant Message room. There is more small talk until Freddy asks for Crazy12345's picture.
"Well?" Freddy types as he waits and sips his beer. He admits he has no patience.
The e-mail with a picture attachment comes. A neck appears, then a nipple, then a stomach . . .
"I have a feeling this isn't going to be his face," Freddy says. He closes the window without waiting to find out. "I don't want to see his naked body."
From about 18 to 21, Freddy partied a lot and was promiscuous. He says sex, drugs and alcohol are a common mix among young gays just as they are with straight people. Other gays agree; they are coming into their sexuality, embracing something that might have been boxed away for years. The drugs and the alcohol make it easier. The sex gives a sense of self-worth, if only for a night.
Freddy says he used to do this online a lot. But now he wants more -- a face to connect to, a person, not a sexual object.
He goes back to the main chat room, gets into a few more private rooms, but nothing happens.
"I'm not looking for love on the Net," he says. "You don't look for love, period."
It just happens, he says.
It's 24 hours later and Freddy is in a real room, having a real conversation with real gay men.
He's met his friend, Roy, at a downtown Roanoke restaurant. Roy is having one of his first dates with Jerry, a younger man from Giles County. Jerry often comes to Roanoke on weekends because Giles County doesn't offer much of a gay social scene. It makes Roanoke look like San Francisco.
Jerry and Roy hold hands tentatively, their fingers hardly touching. They're in one of the few Roanoke barsrestaurants that has a large gay clientele, but Jerry and Roy are cautious. They won't allow their last names to be used for this story.
Freddy doesn't care if the whole world knows he's gay. He'd prefer it that way. But it can be problematic.
When he meets someone who's not out of the closet, the other person might want to keep things quiet. That's not Freddy's style. He's loud and proud.
"If you want to date me, your friends better know you are gay," he says.
Freddy slugs down a vodka drink, Roy has a creamy thing called a carrot cake, and Jerry, who's under 21, quietly nurses a Coke.
Tunes from the 1980s compete with conversations in the smoky room. This isn't what the three are after tonight. They came to dance.
Piling into Jerry's car, they head to what is consistently voted the best dance club in Roanoke, gay or straight: The Park. The Park is a cornerstone of the gay community. Its reputation reaches far beyond Roanoke, and it's one of the things that draw gays and lesbians to the city.
On the way, Roy points out the predominantly gay Backstreet Cafe, where a man shot seven people in September, killing one.
This is Freddy's first night out since the shootings. They made him nervous; it could have happened any night in any gay bar in Roanoke. It could have been him bleeding to death on the floor. He tries not to let it get him down.
The security guard at The Park runs her hand-held metal detector over each of the men on their way inside.
The music and strobe lights startle the darkness, forcing the body to move. Freedom is in the air.
Freddy heads straight for the bar, striding past a display of condoms and M&M's that are for sale. He calls the bartender by name, grabs a beer and moves to the edge of the large dance floor to survey the scene.
A topless man in vinyl pants gyrates on the floor. A young woman does a modern robotic dance alone. Two women kiss deeply. There are about 100 people in all -- about average for a Friday night.
Freddy comes to The Park first because he loves to dance -- he wants to be an entertainer -- and second because it's a gay bar.
Gays "are forced to go to The Park or Backstreet because there is no in-between," he said. He'd like to open a classy gay restaurant some day.
Like any bar, The Park can be a meat market -- people looking for someone to hook up with for the night. Freddy says he's over that.
"I wouldn't date someone I met in a bar. They only want one thing," he says. "They know nothing about romance."
On the dance floor, his lithe body moves like seaweed in the current as a song repeats the line, "Sovereignty." He never stops moving.
Roy and Jerry seemed restrained 10 minutes before. Here, they are free.
Roy has shed his collared shirt and wears only a tight white tank top. The two dance closely, squeeze each others' butts and kiss repeatedly. Nobody looks twice.
Freddy dances alone or with Roy. It doesn't matter, just as long as the music is playing.
A few more songs and the three take some air on the back deck, where only those from The Park can see the women kissing in the corner. A tall fence lines the deck.
Back inside, Freddy dances a while until She comes on. His love: Madonna. He says it was her "Sex" book that first made him believe it OK to be gay.
It's "Vogue," her song about dancing. Freddy dances double-time now, arms spinning, occasionally imitating Madonna's signature moves.
Her voice fills the bar.
When all else fails and you long to be/ Something better than you are today/ I know a place where you can get away/ It's called a dance floor, and here's what it's for/ So come on, vogue.
"Lift me up! Lift me up!" Freddy yells to Roy.
In an instant Roy is bearhugging Freddy's thighs, raising him to the lights. Freddy's head is thrown back, his arms floating and his smiling mouth singing the words.
It makes no difference if you're black or white/ If you're a boy or a girl/ If the music's pumping it will give you new life/ You're a superstar, yes, that's what you are, you know it.
Freddy looks content.
He dances a few hours more, long past last call.
The three leave the Park at almost 3 in the morning and head to Freddy's house. Roy and Jerry take Freddy's bed. Freddy crashes on the couch.
Another night has passed and Freddy is no closer to meeting that someone. And for now, that's OK.
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