MY LAST DANCE WITH AUNTIE BRIE 2
MY LAST DANCE WITH AUNTIE BRIE 1
Ron Naples’ second novel is a gay, erotic, fictionalized memoir based on his coming out experiences in San Francisco in the ‘80s. Return to Polk Street, The Castro, and SoMa, during their heyday. Take a peak into the gay porno world and the illicit bathhouse scene. Indulge in drugs at Trocadero Transfer, and sip cocktails at the Midnight Sun. Step inside the walls of San Quentin and view life as an inmate as witnessed firsthand by a prison guard. Be at the forefront of the AIDS crisis when visiting SF General's Ward 5B, creating a panel for the AIDS Memorial Quilt, and protesting with ACT UP. My Last Dance with Auntie Brie 2 delineates the ‘80s. A full-circle journey completing the legacy of Auntie Brie.
Hardcover includes photos!
About the Author
Ron Naples, a native of Connecticut, has lived in the San Francisco Bay Area with his partner Joe, for the last 40 years. In the ‘70s, he was a percussion major at Berklee College of Music in Boston. In the ‘80s, he earned a degree in Interior Design from CCC in San Pablo, CA. In later years, he became certified in massage therapy from NHI in Emeryville, CA, which he continues to practice today.
Hardcover includes photos!
The Latest Amazon Reviews
5.0 out of 5 stars: A Story to Remember
December 30, 2022
I thoroughly enjoyed the book. What an amazing story and journey. It was definitely a well worth read. I liked it so much I bought extra copies and gave them out as gifts for the holidays.
5.0 out of 5 stars: Great Coming Out Story
July 9, 2022
This book made me so nostalgic for the time when I came out. The description of the times reminded me of my own coming out and experiences in the disco era. The characters were so relatable. I really didn’t want it to end so I’m really looking forward to the next book.
5.0 out of 5 stars: Worth The Read!
June 19, 2022
A wonderful account of coming out, living and loving in the '70s-'80s. Taking place mostly in Provincetown, it takes you back to that magical era. A great story and so well written.
5.0 out of 5 stars: A Great Ride For The Reader!
June 6, 2022
I loved this book from beginning to end! Well told, and so relatable for me. As an avid reader, I often race through a book, but this one was different. It’s a story that I wanted to take my time with. Among other things, it’s a great coming out, coming of age story. As I read it, I was flooded with memories from my own life. I felt like I knew the characters and the places. I think the wonderful doses of music woven throughout were a perfect soundtrack to a time I lived through. I revisited a place that I didn’t want to leave. I met characters that I didn’t want to say goodbye to. I didn’t want the story to end. I’m anxiously awaiting the sequel!
5.0 out of 5 stars: All The Emotions!
May 24, 2022
I had no idea what to expect when I picked up " My Last Dance with Auntie Brie and from the moment I opened the first page I felt I was revisiting my past. It is hard to remember all we have been through once we reach a certain age so it was nice to be reminded. I recommend anyone who has worked a Summer in Ptown or anyone who "grew up" in the '70s or '80s to pick this one up.
Ronald J. Williams
5.0 out of 5 stars: A Honest Heartwarming Memoir
May 4. 2022
…and fascinating slice from LGBTQ history, beautiful writing from camp to tears.
5.0 out of 5 stars: Bravo!
April 13, 2022
Excellent! I couldn't put this book down. It made me laugh, cry, and everything in between.
5.0 out of 5 stars: Return To Your Youth With This Book!
April 11, 2022
Just finished reading 'My Last Dance With Auntie Brie' and was transported back to my youth!! Had some similar experiences as Ron Naples related in his book. It's funny, sad, heartwarming, and reminds us all to be open to individuality.
5.0 out of 5 stars: Kept Me Intrigued!
April 7, 2022
I came out in about the same time frame as the author but in SF. The fictionalized autobiography seems like it could really have happened. Wanted to see how everything turned out - kept me reading.
5.0 out of 5 stars: An Entertaining Journey!
November 24, 2021
When one writes from the heart the writing is always good. This was thoroughly enjoyable as I laughed out loud, cried more than once, and was always pulling for Ron. I’m truly looking forward to the sequel.
5.0 out of 5 stars: A Wonderful Coming Of Age Tale!
March 19, 2021
This seemingly autobiographical coming-of-age (and coming out) story will grab your attention (and affection) immediately. For readers who grew up (and came out) in the ’70s, this will resonate even more intimately. A rollicking story that moves from coast to coast. It will take you back to a very different era when gay rights were just in its infancy. For gay readers who lived through those times, it’s guaranteed to bring back many memories of their own ups and downs and coming out. Touching, heartfelt, but ultimately reaffirming. Well worth a read!
5.0 out of 5 stars: Laugh! Cry! Dance!
April 5, 2020
Ron Naples' My Last Dance with Auntie Brie will strike familiar notes to its readers who have survived the pre-internet, AIDS-genesis disco era. Many of the novel's chapters parallel our own experiences. The story brought the "70's-turned-80's" back to life. I was there. I knew those people. Its soundtrack is my soundtrack. I went to those clubs. I danced to those songs with Mr. Naples, Auntie Brie, and their fabulous, talented, endearing, and unforgettable friends.
My Last Dance With Auntie Brie is a brilliantly crafted time capsule, composed from the heart with love and respect for an era not defined only by the emotional spectrum of the highest highs and the deepest lows, but by the BPMs (Beats Per Minute) with which it keeps time.
The place was old, dark, and damp─an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. It was a secret refuge of forbidden pleasure, and it became legendary to all of us who knew it. What I found there shaped my destiny…
Derek dropped his ’67 Karmann Ghia into low gear and rumbled up the driveway. I ran out of the house to his car; afraid I’d change my mind if I didn’t get into it soon. He barely came to a stop, when I opened the door and jumped in. I saw Mom watching us from her bedroom window, her hand holding the curtain, probably trembling at the thought of me going out with Derek, suspecting we were up to no good.
We headed down an unlit road that wound through the woods of Mansfield, Connecticut. Flashes of light from neighboring houses winked behind the trees as we raced out of safe suburbia and onto the interstate with Donna Summer’s “Once Upon A Time” album blasting on his cassette deck.
“Are you ready for the time of your life, my dear?” Derek asked, with a naughty grin on his face. I was nervous as hell and didn’t respond.
Derek’s midnight forays were his way of rebelling against his parents. He needed to uncover his innate personality, interests, and capabilities, as well as his limitations, and he encouraged me to do the same. He had a secret life, a life that not even I, his best friend in high school, had been exposed to.
He had asked me to go out with him on his after-dark expeditions before, but I flat-out refused. Despite my severe skittishness, curiosity finally got the best of me, so I decided to take this tentative step and enter his clandestine world.
We drove down I-84 to Hartford, took the Sigourney Street Exit, and ventured toward Woodbine Avenue, which brought us to an abandoned factory site. The asphalt parking lot was cracked and overgrown with weeds. Strewn about, were various tools, and discarded machinery. A chain-link fence was around it, falling apart, like the industry it no longer served, dead and forgotten. The moon-lit silhouettes of tractors, and other demolition equipment, surrounded Derek’s car, like mechanical monsters waiting to attack their prey.
We bumped our way over potholes and found a place to park. As we exited the car, traffic sounds rattled the nearby overpasses that pierced the misty night. The pungent smell of gas, oil, and exhaust fumes, added nausea to the butterflies in my stomach. It was a frightening place to be, and I questioned if I should have come with him.
We walked toward a brick warehouse with all its windows boarded up. We entered the building through a door that was illuminated by a single red-light bulb, the kind one would see outside a Warning Zone, keeping pedestrians away from danger. I held my breath and followed my high school chum into the unknown.
The Warehouse wasn’t as spacious inside as it appeared from the outside. Only a portion of it had been reserved for public access. The odor of damp basement air, mixed with cigarette smoke and booze, greeted me, as I followed Derek, who walked in as though he owned the place.
We stopped, to let our eyes adjust to the darkness, before approaching a bar on the right side of the room, with half a dozen drinkers hunched over their cocktails. With as much confidence as I could muster, I stepped up to it with Derek.
We sat on two vacant stools, and Derek ordered drinks. The bartender popped open a couple of cans of Bud and placed them on the bar before us. Derek gave the scruffy man in an AC/DC T-shirt some money. He pecked on an old cast iron register with a cash drawer that wouldn’t stay closed. I didn’t dare look at the bartender, Derek, or anyone else. I was petrified. I focused on the row of booze bottles in front of a hazy mirror, instead, sipping my illegal brew in silence. I hoped I wouldn’t be caught for underage drinking. I then realized he couldn’t have cared less.
“Why’d we come so early?” I asked Derek.
“To avoid being carded,” he whispered, and then it made more sense.
While we finished our beers, people began drifting in. Most came alone, a few in pairs. Some of them were dressed like they’d just come from the office, others wore T-shirts and jeans. A couple of them were in formal evening wear.
I gazed around the room. A group of guys were conversing with a woman who resembled Bea Arthur from Maude. Two men were making out in the corner by the bathroom. A fat lady in a pink taffeta prom dress was yelling at the bartender for another drink; she looked like a truck driver who desperately needed a shave. This was not an ordinary bar. The Warehouse was an underground gay nightclub and its unusual crowd scared me half to death.
Turning on my stool, I saw a three-tiered platform that served as a dance floor. Buried in the rafters, were dozens of loose wires, strung between lights that flashed to the thumping music from the loudspeakers chained to the ceiling. Color-changing lights created random patterns on the floor, as though someone was running a slide projector and lost track of what they were doing. No one was dancing.
The DJ cued up “Supernature” by Cerrone. The tune had an environmental theme, an imagined future in which all the animals took revenge against humankind for mistreating Nature. The song was hypnotic, eerie, with synthesized minor chords and a lot of percussion. The drum solo at the end of the song flashed me back to a time when all I wanted for Christmas was a drum set: a shiny chrome snare, red sparkling tom-toms, a bass drum, hi-hat, and three shiny cymbals. How I fantasized about playing in a band like the ones I had seen on Don Kirshner’s televised rock concert. My parents eventually bought me a drum kit, and I played them in the high school band. It was the one thing that helped me get through my senior year; I detested all my classes. Music was my only means of survival.
I looked at my Timex glow-in-the-dark watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. I hoped my parents had gone to bed and wouldn’t notice I was out past my curfew. Derek was always out late and got away with it; he got away with everything.
“Derek, I think we should leave?”
“We can’t go now, the place is just getting started,” he said, and ordered another round.
The clicking of stiletto heels announced the presence of a woman who approached the doorway. She wore a Valentino mid-length black ruched dress, with a mock collar and a diamond-shaped center bustline. Elegant sleeves gracefully veiled her shoulders. Her dark curly hair, swept into a French braid, exposed a pair of sparkling earrings, that caught the light above the entrance.
She pecked the doorman on the cheek when she turned to hand her mink to the coat checker, a chubby tomboy. I saw her dress was backless, with a dramatic cape-style drape. She turned and placed the thin strap of her delicate rhinestone purse over her shoulder, so it rested on her hip, then strutted over to the bar. The bartender gave her his full attention. She took out a cigarette, stuck it in a jeweled telescopic holder, and breathed, “Light my fire, Sweetie.”
He flipped open a cigarette lighter, and when the flame shot up, I had a clearer view of her facial features. She was beautiful; her make-up was flawless. After taking a deep drag, she let the smoke seep from her nostrils while the bartender poured her a vodka, neat, and didn’t charge her for it.
Derek nudged me and whispered, “That’s Brianna Gabriella Dominguez; the Queen of Putnam Heights. Isn’t he fabulous?”
He? This perfectly coiffed woman was a man in drag. He didn’t look like the stereotypical drag queens I had seen on Donahue. Instead, Brianna was meticulously put together and carried himself with style and grace. I stared at his strange elegance with intrigue. His appearance was so unexpected to see in this old warehouse of darkness and destruction. It was as though a peacock had walked into a dungeon.
All eyes were on Brianna as she made her way around the room, sauntering from person to person, until she reached the burly transvestite at the end of the bar. She straightened out her wig─which had shifted over one eye─gently kissed her on the cheek, then left her side.
“Disco Heat” by Sylvester began to tear up the loudspeakers. The energetic song was infectious, with a gospel influence, that gave it a more unique sound than the usual Disco songs. Brianna put her empty glass down on the bar and made her way onto the dance floor. A few flamboyant boys circled her, showcasing her as the main talent. Together, they paraded around the floor like a Broadway act that was well-rehearsed. Brianna, and her entourage, twirled in the blinking lights to the pulsating music, capturing everyone’s attention. No one in the group was paired up. They danced individually; rapt up in worlds of their own. I had never seen that kind of dancing before. Their movements were uninhibited, energetic, free-flowing expressions of joy─a sight that drastically contrasted to the stiff cardboard moves I had seen at high school dances.
“Come on!” Derek drunkenly hollered, “Let’s join them!”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me off my stool. I tried to break free from his grip, but before I knew it, we were on the dance floor surrounded by the prancing drag queen and her choreographed boys! With loudspeakers hovering above our heads, the boom of the bass reverberated through me. The music was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think.
A fog machine emitted vapor across the floor, and I lost Derek in the mist. Suddenly, I was within an eyelash distance of Brianna! “Get into the groove, Sweetie!” she shouted, spurring me on. I began to mimic her moves and laughed at myself for daring to compete with her. I was thankful the artificial fog helped camouflage my amateur dancing feet. The music—earth-shattering, primal, and contagious—became the fabric that wove us all together. I experienced a mystical unity; an unspoken bond. It was as though I had always known Brianna and her fan club, total strangers who were at that moment, inviting me into their lives.
No one was paying any attention to how I danced─they didn’t care who I was, what I did, or where I came from. The important thing was that I had joined them. An acceptance enveloped me; the kind that could only be found on the dance floor. I began to understand why Derek raved about The Warehouse. It was a very special place, and it was becoming a legend right before our eyes.
Derek suddenly appeared by my side and gave me a wink. We boogied to the next few songs while taking in the scene around us. I’d no longer have to walk down that lonely dark corridor of the mundane. I had discovered a brand new horizon, and my fate was guiding me to it. My life would never be the same.
Acknowledgments & Dedications
Nearly 40 years in the making, My Last Dance with Auntie Brie began as a journal I wrote in Ptown.
I'd like to thank my original editors Jolien Dexter and Marilyn Pesola for taking this emotional writing journey with me. Their dedication to my work helped make my novel become a reality. I'd also like to thank the team at MLR Press for first publishing it as an ebook.
Much love and gratitude to my parents who did their very best to raise me during that turbulent time. It was a difficult period for all of us. We were true victims of a generation who misunderstood homosexuality, yet we managed to persevere and we have become all the more closer because of it.
I dedicate my book to Jan, Gary, and David, the real life people who inspired my characters in my tale. Honorable mentions to Richard, Tim, and Eddie. Their friendships continue to enrich my life.
Last, but not least, I'd like to honor Auntie Brie who embodied all the fabulous drag queens I knew back in the day, with special thanks to my editor Allen Horne for adding humor to her character.
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An Interview with Ron Naples
May 25, 2019 Gay Book Reviews by Dieter Moitzi (ParisDude)
I’ve recently read Ron Naples' debut novel “My Last Dance with Auntie Brie” and posted a review on this site as well as on GoodReads. Shortly after that, Ron sent me a PM saying he was delighted with my review, I wrote back, and one thing leading to another, we ultimately agreed we ought to continue our friendly chat on Skype. Now, it’s six pm here in Paris, France, so I’ve poured myself a glass of red wine in lieu of the almost compulsory French aperitif. I’m sipping it when our connection is established.
ParisDude (lifting glass in a mock-toast): Hi, Ron. So good to see you! Thanks for accepting to chat about your book.
Ron Naples (toasts back with the cup of coffee he’s holding): Same here! I would have loved to join in with some wine myself, but it’s only 9 in the morning over here. And that’s definitely too early for wine. (chuckles) We chit-chat for a while, Ron immediately putting me at ease. Then it’s time to launch into the main subject.
PD: Ron—I’ve read your short bio on Amazon and have seen that you held several jobs in your life. I’ve also noticed one thing: none of them is even remotely connected with writing or publishing. So, what exactly made you start writing?
RN (shrugs): I’ve always felt my story was a good one, and it needed to be told. I was intimidated by trying and getting it published, though, because I felt I was lacking professional writing experience. But I did read many books on how to write and publish. I also kept checking my grammar and punctuation with online sources while I was writing it. When I felt it was good enough, I hired an editor, who helped me with manuscript formatting and submission guidelines.
PD: Your novel is supposedly based on your own experience. Tell me—how much of it is really true?
RN: Most of it, really (laughs). All the characters in my book are based on real-life people. I’m still in touch with a few of them. All the places did exist, some still do. And the events, although exaggerated at times, really happened.
PD: Some of the drag queens’ quips in the book are truly hilarious. I’m thinking of that fabulous line, “The best way to get over one man is to get under another!”, for instance. Are they quotes, or are they part of the fictionalization process, if I may say so?
RN: Mostly quotes—things I’ve heard drag queens say over the years. I really did play my drums in a drag show in Ptown, you know, together with my character Auntie Brie.
PD: Alright, so most of your book is true. But—the wedding scene? (winks) All true? I mean—really?
RN (laughs): OK, guilty. I might have embellished it a bit. But I sold you, so why not? My sister loved that scene, by the way. It was an over-the-top version of what actually happened, but in my mind, it happened like that. Wouldn’t it make a great movie scene?
PD: It would, alright. Er, now a more personal question. Your bio says you’ve been living with your partner Joe for 37 years… Having read you novel, I wonder if Joe and that cowboy character, Mitch, are the same person…
RN: No. I really did fall in love with a cowboy when I was in Boston, and we lived together for a while. But I met Joe in San Francisco
many years later. We’ve been together since 1982. (shrugs as if saying they’ve simply been meant to be together). Unbelievable for me as well.
PD: I find it rather inspiring. Way to go for me and my boyfriend! I take it you’re planning to write a sequel to “My Last Dance with Auntie Brie”. Can you tell me more about it? What will this sequel be about?
RN: You’re right about that. The sequel will play out in San Francisco, and I’ll try to tackle all my West Coast adventures. I have so much more to write about; all the wild times I had in the 80s. It was quite a different time before AIDS. I’m lucky to still be alive!
PD: Sounds interesting! When do you think it will be published?
RN: Well, I have to write it first (laughs). In fact, “My Last Dance” started as a journal I wrote in Ptown 38 years ago. I completed the first draft in 2015. It took me nearly 4 years to find a suitable publisher, that was the hardest part. I’m hoping the sequel won’t be as arduous. I’ve started an outline for it, but my focus has been on promoting my current book.
PD: Of course. And you know what? I’m really looking forward to reading that sequel, so do hurry up! Now, I guess I’m being nosy, but do
you have any other writing projects?
RN: You’re not nosy (smiles, then thinks about my question). Other writing projects? Not really. You know, I have created a website for my massage practice, and I have recently launched a website for this book. I’ve written documents for various jobs I’ve had through the years, though—guidelines, policy and procedures etc…
My boyfriend walks in at that moment and asks me if I want him to start preparing dinner. I notice Ron listening to our exchange in French, almost as if he understood what we’re saying.
PD (surprised): You speak French, Ron?
RN (shakes his head): Not at all. I took a class in high school but have forgotten it. I’m entertaining the thought of visiting Paris for my birthday in October, though.
PD: That’s great! Know what—let’s have that glass of wine then!
RN (nods): That would be wonderful!
PD: Well, I guess you have work to do now. Best of luck for “My Last Dance with Auntie Brie”. And thanks again for your time. It was a real pleasure chatting with you!
RN: And you as well. Thank you for taking the time to chat with me.