Andy Williams and me.

The last closet in show business is in Branson, Mo. "I can't wait for them to get a load of you here," Andy Williams told me on the phone. We were chatting as I steered my rented full-size toward Branson, a strip of highway in the middle of the Ozarks where 37--count `em, 37--Vegas-style showroom theaters light up every morning, noon, and night to entertain tourists who come from, literally, God only knows where.

I was going to check out Andy's show, for which I had actually written some material. Here was a chance to see how I played in Peoria, or worse. Andy does his two-hour Broadway-Hollywood extravaganza twice a day from April through October in his own Moon River Theater. "Are there any gay bars?" I asked the straight but alwayship Andy. "God, no. I don't think there are even any gay chorus boys here." Think again, Andy. "Well, there was one," he added. "He was in my show. But he quit. He got tired of driving to Springfield every time he wanted to go dancing."

For a town with no gay chorus boys, Branson does have its share of Advocate readers. I was greeted--quietly--by several of them at virtually every place I stopped: at the Roy Rogers restaurant, which is the best in town; at the spectacular Lake of the Ozarks; and at the Holiday Inn, which, at four stories, is Branson's tallest structure. The second tallest structure is Erma Grundfest, a waitress at Roy Rogers, who is a local landmark on par with the Hollywood sign.

Branson is a show business burial ground that rivals Forest Lawn, but as Andy likes to point out, the cemetery plots are lined with gold. His theater, which is only slightly less elaborate than the Metropolitan Opera House, is a smash bit of nearly a decade. Tony Orlando is a big name in Branson. Other variety show vets like Wayne Newton and Mel Tillis have anchored there with varying degrees of success.

The crowd tends to spill off buses, and there are, no doubt, a lot of fundamentalists milling about, but being a good Christian evidently doesn't guarantee big box office. Anita Bryant--anybody old enough to remember her?--was reduced to playing 11 a.m. shows, when nothing else is happening. Even with that, she was forced to pack up her snake oil and slither out of town.

The biggest attraction, bigger even than Andy, is a Japanese fiddle player-entertainer named Shoji Tobuchi, who is married to a spectacular blond who sings and dances and shows off their children. A bigger attraction than Shoji is the men's room at his theater, which has been decorated to closely resemble some of the larger sets from The King and I. Tour buses stop just to check out the decor.

The town is a great American paradox, splashily celebrating God and country but fueled by the savvy, campy energy that drives Broadway, Hollywood, and Vegas. Even Andy's most recent show featured the star all fruited up as Carmen Miranda for the venerable Manilow number "Copacabana." The bus riders shrieked with delight, and only a tragic lack of forethought prevented staff from selling Andy/Carmen action figures at the souvenir shop. Those responsible have been sent back to the Castro.

You'd think any show business mecca the size of Branson--37 theaters, nudging London!--would be rife with chapters of all your favorite organizations, from Avatar (for the leather lover) to the Xenaphiles. But Andy is right. The phrase low profile takes on a bizarre, Herve Villechaize dimension in Branson. Nervous giggles and furtive glances are still in style.

A gay sensibility informs all the entertainment and at least a third of the employment opportunities, but there is no gay life to speak of. It's like Disneyland, where you know all those fresh-faced kids pretending to be fairy-tale characters are dancing around in Madonna cone bras the moment they shut their lockers. Except even Disneyland has its Gay Nights.

I don't think the city fathers of Branson are cooking up one of those, much less a pride parade. There are all the usual reasons for this. Branson is not a theme park, after all, but a town in the middle notch in the Bible Belt. Gay people have traditionally not had a presence in the area. But then, neither has Big Time Show Biz, until now. It will be interesting to see what develops over in the Ozarks. Who knows? A couple of years from now, you may be able to marry your gay cousin.