Sunday, June 27, 2010

A Legend in His Own Mind-18

July, 1982

Dear Lázaro,

After what you've told me about the army, I think my choreographer was a drill sergeant. Of course, he doesn't call us dogfaces or scum suckers. Oh no! We're tone deaf, rhythm-less Baryshnikov wannabes. I tell you he's Paul Lynde's wicked stepmother. He's beyond a queen. And beyond bitter. It seems he ended a promising career as a musical comedy performer when, on a bus and truck tour of "My Fair Lady," he got a bit inebriated and fell off the library scaffold and into the front row of the theatre.

It's not like this show is difficult to dance. There're just a million and one costume and set changes. And everything is computerized. If you're not in position at the exact time, the whole thing takes off without you.

The show basically recreates scenes from Hollywood movies like King Kong on top the Empire State Building or the Titanic sinking. It's a lot of papier-maché and breasts. It seems that most women in Vegas shows don't wear tops. Just shiny tassels to cover their nipples and rhinestone-d rings to hold their breasts up. Of course the headdresses weigh about forty pounds. My job is basically to make sure they hold onto me for support.

You know I have no depth perception, so I can't see the steps. Here I am on a twelve-foot staircase with two topless, marabou-ed women on each side. Can you imagine what would happen if I missed a step? An explosion of feathers and bugle beads. No thank you. I just gingerly point my foot to feel the step. Now the choreographer has seen me do it; has decided that it looks very balletic and has instructed all the other male dancers to do it. They have all lovingly dubbed me Makarova.

The guys are all cute with these tight little bodies. But they're so feminine! I'm not passing judgment but I don't get it. If I wanted femininity, I'd be straight.

Speaking of women, Megan plays one of the handmaidens in the Samson and Delilah sequence. Of course, she's always trying to look underneath Samson's skirt...or is that kilt? I may have had something to do with that though. I told her that he was a method dancer, so in order to get into character he dances with no support underneath.

So the other night she cranes her body so much from the step she's laying on, that she caught her headdress on her feathered fan. As she tried to pry herself loose, she ended up dropping the fan on Delilah, who in turn managed to fall off her chaise longue. All this as Samson's trying to push the pillars apart. So she managed to use the inspiration from Delilah's fall to roll, full of loyalty for her mistress and position herself between Samson's legs as the stone blocks began to fall. The actor playing Samson sees this and tries to pull her up but she manages to get her face caught inside his skirt. Talk about Biblical revelations!

She yells at me, "You lying bastard! He wuz wearing a dance belt! I could have been kilt! But it was woith it. At least I gave him a great big bite."

I wondered if she would invite Samson over on the weekends when Dudley came to visit?

Speaking of visits, Don came up for a week and decided to move up here. He says he needs a break from the radio commercials and just cool out a while. He suggested we get a nice apartment together. That way I could relax away from The Strip too.

Not that there's much of anything else here. Yes there is an actual town named Las Vegas that's not The Circus Circus, The Aladdin, The Hacienda or Caesar's Palace, but everyone's lives revolve around that. If you're not on the performing end, you're a blackjack dealer, a cigarette girl or a tour guide at the Liberace museum.

Don and I went to downtown Vegas and saw a drag show. I had never seen one before. A drag show I mean. Remember I told you about that incident at the 7-11? The day Merrick and I went to get something to drink and there was this big lady walking inside. Merrick says to me, "You see her? She probably has a dick tied up under that skirt."

I said to him, "Don't be gross, Merrick."

So we were standing behind her on line and I said to Merrick.

"Can you pay for my soda because my pants are so tight I can't fit my wallet in them?"

She turns around, looks at my crotch and says in this deep voice, "Well obviously!"

I almost had a stroke!

I think I've come a long way since then.

All the performers were great but one guy in particular was a standout. He came on as The Weather Girls doing "It's Raining Men" and then tore the house down with The Dreams "One Night Only."

I nagged Don so much during the whole evening that he took me backstage to meet him. Well I was freaked out! Not only wasn't he Black; he was another Cuban. From Aruba. He goes by the name Dainty Domínguez and he was absolutely marvelous. He told me later on that they needed boy dancers in the show.

So now after the MGM Grand show, I come down here and dance in this show. This is another world, let me tell you. All these guys have men, most of them married, waiting for them outside in limos to take them out on the town dressed like women. Now these guys know these other guys are guys, but as long as they pretend to be women, then the other guys can pretend to be straight. I'm getting a headache just saying this. Bet you don't have much of that going on in the army?

August, 1982

Dear Lázaro,

Dainty and I are doing Danny and Sandy from "Grease." I told you this guy's at least three hundred pounds, so picture him in Olivia Newton-John's leather pants singing "You're the One that I Want" to me in my best juvenile delinquent mode. I have to use Dippity-Do to keep my spit curl. I have so much oil on my hair you could lubricate my car with it.

I took Megan to the show one night. I was hoping she'd see me and get the idea. Oh she got an idea all right, just not the one I wanted. She decided that it would be great to have a threesome with Dainty in his Little Bo Peep outfit. Do you think that there's more to Megan than just nymphomania? You think I should be worried?

Do you know how Don is supporting himself while he's cooling off? He's an S& M prostitute. He says he doesn't do anything with anybody because his specialty is humiliation. He says his customers pay him so he can tell them that they are so insignificant that they're not worthy to even touch him. This seems to turn them on to the point of orgasm. I'm getting the feeling that it's a very strange world. I'm beginning to doubt some of the things that Don says. I should, right?

I think he does a little bit more than what he claims. And I'm beginning to wonder about those lengthy bathroom trips. And how he never really had any clients other than Taco Bell. How did he afford his incredible office? And his fantastic apartment? Do you think he was always what he is right now and the office is just a front?

I don't really care what he does. I just told him never to bring his clients home because the whole idea of waking up in the middle of the day and seeing Don in some leather outfit with storm trooper boots and a riding crop while some middle-aged businessman with his testicles wrapped up in his narrow tie lays on the floor screaming "I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!" was not my idea of breakfast.

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