By Dana Miller

I see that Rick Springfield is returning to ABC-TV's General Hospital for a limited run beginning next month. Very cool idea for the guy, but what a difference two decades makes. Rick and I had a great run together back in the early to mid-'80s. I was the manager, he was the artist. From albums Working Class Dog to Tao this guy had 14 consecutive top 40 singles. He sold out seven nights at the Universal Amphitheater when they first put the roof on the joint and night after night at the Forum as well as arenas all around the world. As teen idols go, he was huge! In the very early Jessie's Girl phase he portrayed Dr. Noah Drake Monday through Thursday at Sunset Gower Studios and then Friday, Saturday and Sunday we would fly off to do concerts somewhere on the planet. He was making 600 bucks a day on General Hospital and 50 grand a night in concert. Seemed silly at the time. But he had a contract with the soap and we were bound to honor it. The giant talent agencies, ICM, and then later CAA begged us to get out of General Hospital, but Rick is an honorable guy. He hated that last year at GH and there were holes in his dressing room wall to prove it. The life of a soap star on set is hurry up and wait, yet the lad, even in depressing times, always made the very best of it. Just down the hall from his dressing room was a fun dressing room with a couch and a lock on the door belonging to a fellow soap star (who soon became a mega movie star) and who has recently made gigantic news with her second high-profile marriage. In those daze long gone, Rick and the ingénue kept each other company -- a lot. Let's just say they made the down time an up time. Once freed from the soap opera, Rick wrote songs and toured like a mad man. He wrote every hit and piled incredible pressure on himself to deliver the goods, eventually leading to a sorta spiritual breakdown in '86. General Hospital, the pink suits, high-top tennis shoes, Teen Beat "exclusives," his looks, it all made him an easy target for critics. It didn't help that he beat out Bruce Springsteen for "Best Male Rock Vocal" at the Grammys. I'm serious. Even I sunk a bit in my chair when it was announced. Lord, people were pissed, but hell, he was talented. We did do a movie together that sucked, titled Hard to Hold. Hey, ya can't hit it out of the park every time!

Rick's band was called the Heathens, and for quite a good reason. There was so damned much sex on those tours. Not for me. Every night Rick would fill 15,000 seat arenas with nothing but young girls. Our rigger, Jim Barnes, was a bitchin' beast of a man who I'm certain would have worked for free to be on those tours because of the always available poontang. His job was to hang the speakers and lights from the ceiling. Always first man in at 6 a.m. and last man out at 2 a.m., with most of his day in between free to roam and cruise. In his down time, Jim rigged a harness in the back of the crew bus. A total skanky, nasty leather harness hung from a chain in the middle of the roaming room. This contraption was designed to gently part the legs of lasses to insure easy access for a wide variety of distaffs. Lord, can you imagine if our insurance broker ever discovered this portable den of iniquity? And that poor bus driver had to shampoo that carpet every morning to prevent a variety of plagues. Our traveling troop of 60 had a scrapbook they titled The Family Album. They posted my high school picture on the cover but inside it was pure debauchery. These boys took thousands of X-rated pictures of ladies willing to do anything to get backstage. These guys would f--k, suck, and jerk in front of each other; five or 10 guys with one girl. Their finale was always a group spew on the lovelies' breasts. I always thought it sorta homoerotic. Cocks inserted in mouths, various orifices were all photographed for posterity. Odd behavior that I'm quite certain today they brag and boast to friends about, but hide big time from their wives and mothers. They always tried to hide it from me, but I was the gent who, when various loved ones were arriving, had to announce to all the guys that certain slut-free days were necessary and thus mandated. On the days when a band wife arrived for a show or two, blue balls were felt all around. The petulant pervs turned into cute chaste cocked choir boys. It was a fairly fascinating look into the straight man's camaraderie of cock. I'm fairly certain they are safe with this revelation. If their wives read my column, they have bigger issues. But I often think of the thousands of dames who lived through this degrading and pretty disgusting ritual just to get backstage to meet a pop star. Over the years I have seen so much radical behavior by both sexes just to grab that laminated pass. It's simply insane. Backstage is in the top 10 of ultimate aphrodisiacs. Bizarre, totally damned bizarre. But so interesting. What would we each give to be someplace we don't really belong?

Speaking of that, did you read about those five guys who were busted for having sex in the JC Penney at the Galleria in Glendale last week? What were they thinking? I mean, JC Penney? Their ad slogan is, "It's All Inside." Indeed. And in Glendale? I'm neither convinced nor certain it was really the cops who did 'em in. Could have been the gay gestapo who turned them in to protect our collective image. Ah, who would have thought the stalls at the Pacific Design Center would ever seem glamorous? It's all rather puzzling. Not a fun call to your lawyer, I imagine.

I love Joely Fisher. The daughter of Connie Stevens and Eddie Fisher, (what was that coupling about?) is so damned generous and committed to our community. I ran into her and her mom the other night. They are both great broads. Joely is seven months pregnant with her second girl. Joely has a terrific guest arc going on right now on Desperate Housewives as Felicity Huffman's boss. A few years ago she called me out of the blue volunteering to perform at the annual Commitment to Life event for APLA at Universal. She wanted to sing! I was stupidly arrogant at first. What? She sings? What an ass I was. Barry Krost, her manager at the time, convinced me to go with it. Of course she was completely and totally amazing and blew the house away! Since then I've seen her a hundred times doing great and grand deeds. She has done so much for a great organization, The Dream Foundation. She hosted my boyfriend's fashion show last Oscar week at the PDC for charity. Joely is a superstar and her class, elegance, style, and talent saved me from being a complete and total idiot. I always thank her for that lesson in my life.

Last week I bashed Mamet's new play, Romance at the Mark Taper. This week I celebrate the West Coast premiere of The Wild Party put on by The Blank Theatre Company at the Hudson Theatre on Santa Monica Boulevard. Loved it. Totally loved it! Our talented friend Kirsten Benton Chandler is in it, as well as the actor who played a road manager from the aforementioned masterpiece, Hard to Hold, Peter Van Norden. Peter intelligently left that particular credit out of his bio. Go see this outstanding one-act romp. It's a right lovely evening.

The world's first supermodel, Janice Dickinson, is whacked-out crazy and I love her. She has no muffler. She says whatever the hell comes to mind. Janice is now the star of her own reality show and is searching for hot men and women. The premise is she is opening up her own modeling agency. Open auditions are Saturday, Nov. 5 from 9 a.m. 'til noon here in West Hollywood. Go to www.janicedickinson.tv to download an application. Her model hotline is (310) 428-2217. Janice is a fag hag of the first and finest order!

Last issue this publication issued its annual Top 20 Gay Power Players feature. One of the stars was a pal by the name of Josh Barry. His picture was smart, but we spelled his name wrong. Josh Barry is correct. The old, stylish and elegant actor Gene Barry is his grandpa. Josh will run a studio someday and that -- if for no other reason -- is why I need to correct our error. Josh Barry -- we love ya!

Are you joining my executive committee for the 11th annual Toy Box Party on Dec. 11? It's a $25 donation to APLA. We list your name in ads and on the invite and you simply invite all of your friends to the bash. Admission to the party is an unwrapped toy that we forward to great AIDS service organizations for their client's kids. It will do you good and will totally be a blessing. Just e-mail me if you are in.

See You Out & About!

Contact me at Malibudana@aol.com