A Legend in His Own Mind-17

March, 1982

Dear Lázaro,

Don't be selling my signature to your platoon buddies just yet. Stardom has eluded me again. My big scene with Raul Julia has obviously ended up on the cutting room floor. And you can't even make me out in the dance number 'cause it was all shot with an overhead camera. I went to Grauman's Chinese full of expectations of seeing myself on a big screen at last. And all I came out with was a huge butter stain on my pants when I dropped the popcorn.

Then came "Night Shift." This one didn't even have a disco in it. Not a glimpse of my shiny shimmying could be seen.

I even missed out at the Diana Ross concert. Tovah and I went to the L.A. Forum to see The Supreme One and you know how when she sings "Reach Out and Touch" she goes through the audience. Well, she was two rows ahead of mine and I started brushing up my vocal chords.

This was going to be my moment of discovery. I would duet with Diana on a national TV special and have it made. I envisioned myself with a TV series like Tony Orlando and a Grammy winning duet with Donna Summer.

I started clearing my throat so I wouldn't sound phlegmy. She kept getting closer and closer. My Godsend in shiny rhinestones. Then suddenly she stopped. Gave a little tug to her microphone cable. The stupid thing wouldn't give. As I saw my angel of mercy sashay back to the stage, all shimmering lamé and billowing hair weave, I saw my whole life go up in flames.

Shot down before I could even get up. And to top it all off it rained when we got out of the concert.

See it never rains in Southern California. So I never bothered to fix my windshield wipers. The driver's side didn't work. Now I had to drive all the way back to Tovah's house with my hand out the window moving the wiper up and down to clear my windshield.

The only place you can see me is the televised Roller Games I skate in. The fun is fading fast, let me tell you. Somehow skating at sixty miles an hour into somebody's elbow is beginning to lose its luster. The big fights are fake, just like wrestling. But when you get knocked down on your butt, that's real. And it hurts!

I did find something to ease the pain. Eric. Number 52 for the Detroit Radiators. Big, burly, Irish guy. Reminds me of a truant officer at school. I had twisted my ankle at a game and afterwards he stayed in the locker room to show me a special way of bandaging where it doesn't restrict movement but still protects.

He started to massage my ankle before bandaging it and one thing lead to another and...you know. We've been seeing a lot of each other. Schedules permitting. He's married and has three children back in Michigan. Told me he always knew he was gay but he was brought up a Roman Catholic and he knew that marriage was the only way of life for him.

I asked him, "So what are you doing with me? Committing adultery?"

He says, "I don't see it that way. I think two men share a very special bond that can never be shared by a man and a woman. It's a fraternal sort of thing. I'm not cheating on my wife. I would never be with another woman. That would be taking away from my wife. But what you and I have is something she and I can never have. So I'm not taking anything from her."

Was he serious or feeding me a line? Maybe he was feeding himself. All I know is, it felt really good to be with him. We always had a good time together and he took care of me on the road. It feels nice to be protected. He'd always massage me when we got back to the hotel room and prepare a warm bubble bath for me. Then he would rub these fragrant hot oils all over my body.

In the morning, he'd serve me breakfast in bed on this tray with a red rose and a white one. The colors of our teams. I don't know. I like him a lot. I miss him when he's not around. I'm beginning to become jealous of his wife. I think I want the kind of bond that they have.

April, 1982

Dear Lázaro,

I have just seen the movie "Making Love." I even risked going back to the Egyptian to see it. I think it's the first time I had ever seen two guys kissing on screen. It looked fake as hell but still it was there.

That's what I want to do with my life. I want to act in movies like that. Movies that tell our stories. Enough of straight people and their affairs.

Between the dancing and the Roller Derby, I really didn't have much time to take acting lessons. But acting is really representing life, wasn't it? I just had to go out and experience life.

So I spent the night at a transient hotel in downtown Los Angeles. All I experienced was fear. The look of all those bearded smelly men in the lobby. It was like taking a wrong turn down Delancey and ending up in the soup kitchens of The Bowery.

I couldn't sleep for fear of being eaten by bed bugs. The room was dank, with a single light bulb dangling precariously from a black chord. Peeling walls and yellowing windows. The toilet seat was so brown there was no way I was going to go anywhere near it.

I bolted the door and slid the bed right next to it so no one could crash into the room.

It was the most wonderful night of my life. I got to experience how another type of person lives and now I can recall it when I need to for a movie.

May, 1982

Dear Lázaro,

Something very disturbing happened to me last night and I don't know quite what. It was three o'clock in the morning and I got a phone call from Gary. He didn't tell me where he was or his number or anything. All he said was, "Your voice always cheers me up, my little ray of sunshine. I guess I wanted to hear it one last time." Then he hung up.

I called every major resort in Palm Springs this morning. No bartender by that name.

I have to find out what happened to him. What did he mean hear my voice one last time? Are you getting a creepy feeling?

The MGM Grand Hotel called this morning to tell me that I had the job in the "Hallelujah Hollywood " show. I don't want to go to Vegas until I find out what happened with Gary.

Do I sound crazed? You know how I hate mysteries.

By the way, congratulations on making corporal. Keep this up and soon you'll be admiral. Then maybe you can find out what happened to Gary.

A Legend in His Own Mind-12

May, 1981

Dear Lázaro,

Now I know I really am in Hollywood. I just lived a scene from a movie.

I'm driving home last night after taping the show. It's like two or three in the morning. You know how I've told you that to get to my neighborhood you gotta pass all these factories? So you know at three in the morning no one's there. So I'm zooming through the streets. I do this a lot to avoid the low riders. There are these Mexican guys out here with these crazy cars. They have teeny tiny steering wheels made out of chains and fuzzy huge dice hanging from the rear view mirrors. The cars have these tiny tires too, but when you stop next to them at a red light somehow the cars bounce up and down. I don't know how they do it but it really scares me.

Anyway a cop stops me. Right away I thought...My God the door! My picture must be in every precinct in California and they finally nabbed me.

Out comes this twenty-five year old version of Christopher Atkins in "The Blue Lagoon." I mean sparkling blue eyes and this tight curly, blond hair. Lean and trim and a killer of a smile. Of course let me tell you, there are no ugly people in Los Angeles. I guess they ship them all to San Diego or wherever. Everybody here is gorgeous. It's the movie thing, I guess. Most cops look like GQ models. This one was spectacular.

He says to me, "You were goin' maghty fast theah, son."

I said, "Sorry! It's just that there's nobody on these streets at this time and..."

He interrupts me, "But theah are a lot of train tracks. That could prove maghty dangerous."

He said all of this with a slight Southern drawl that was so endearing. He snapped me back into reality when he asked to see my license.

And then he says, "Ah see you live around heah."

I said, "Yep. Three more blocks and I'm home."

He then asks, "Hurry to get theah, are ya?"

So I said, "Yeah! I guess that's why I was a little fast."

So then he asks, "Someone waitin' for you at home that you are in such a hurry to get to?"

I said, "No."

"No wahfe?"

"Not married."

"Live with yoah parents?"

"No...all by myself."

"Ah see."

He goes to his car to do that thing that cops do with their pads and their radios. I'm wondering what weird questions he was asking. But this was cheery California; maybe he was just making conversation before giving me a ticket.

He comes back and says, "Look, son, you seem lak a nice kid so Ahm going to give you a break. Ahm not giving you a ticket. Just be careful with those tracks."

I am so relieved. "Thank you officer. I promise it won't happen again."

So then he says, "Ba the way. Ah get off duty in an houah. If you are not too tired Ahd lak to speak to you a bit about safe driving techniques. Just because the street is empty is no reason to speed."

I gulped, "Tonight?"

He beams at me, "If you are not too tired."

I said, "No. I'm not."

So he says, "Okay then, Ah'll see you in about an houah."

I was feeling a bit strange about all of this, you know what I mean, Lázaro? This has never happened to me before but I kinda got the feeling that he was flirting with me. Now I was nervous. If he was and he came over, I didn't know what to do.

He showed up an hour and a half later, looking gorgeous without his uniform. He had on a white linen shirt; open three buttons down to reveal his well defined hairless torso and form fitting black jeans. If this is going to be my Mrs. Robinson scene, I don't think I'm going to put up much of a fight.

The feel of his muscular arms around me felt so natural. I just folded myself into them. His beard stubble scratched a little but it kind of excited me too.

Anyway, all that's left to say is that I am no longer confused.

June, 1981

Hey Buddy Boy,

My head has been swirling since that incident with the cop. By the way, I've never seen him again. I kind of thought I wouldn't but I kept hoping I would. I didn't want my first time to be a one-night stand. But at least he was wonderful and very gentle. I really can't complain.

I'm also glad I haven't bought clothes for the dolls yet. Can you imagine want he would've thought of me if he saw them in my car? Especially since I can’t get their mouths to close. Maybe he wouldn't have shown up at all. Or maybe shown up with some strange ideas.

I've been hanging around a lot with Tostita. She's the daughter of a friend of Dad’s. Remember him? It seems that he took some time off from running around with his paramilitary friends in the Florida Everglades and made some acquaintances in Washington D. C. Unfortunately not those kinds of acquaintances.

Tostita is this friend's daughter. She lives in Downey. Yeah I know, just like the fabric softener. That's where the Carpenters are from, remember them?

She knows a lot of bigwigs. She's a secretary for Tom Hayden's political organization. You know he's the guy who's married to Jane Fonda.

We've been taking aerobics classes in Beverly Hills. Let me tell you, that's a trip and a half. To be taught aerobics by Barbarella. But we don't mention that 'cause she hates that movie.

She also took me to see Donna Summer at the Hollywood Bowl. Of course we were a hour late due to this incredible L.A. traffic. We had to wait outside until intermission. It was so frustrating to hear my woman singing inside and not be able to see her.

We also went to the Pantages to see "A Chorus Line." I loved the play. I mean it was so full of the love of dance that I've always had. But I was a bit freaked out to fully enjoy it. We were sitting on a balcony and all I kept thinking about was the fact that if there was an earthquake that balcony may fall off. That's not how I want to make my debut on stage.

I got myself an agent. He's out in Century City. This is a place built on what used to be the backlot of 20th Century Fox. It looks like Avenue of the Americas. All gleaming towers and stores.

He called me in the other day. I thought he had a job lined up for me. I was so excited I forgot to take the parking ticket at the underground garage.

He says to me, "Well, son, we have a problem fitting you in. You see, when casting directors see your Spanish surname, they automatically put you in the Latino file...you know, Mexican migrant worker, Puerto Rican drug dealer, that sort of thing. Then they look at your picture and they see white skin and green eyes and you don't fit the bill. If you considered changing your name to a non-ethnic sounding one, I know I can get you work."

Isn't that a whopper? You always told me that I had it easier because I looked so white.

Now I look too white.

I'm gonna have to change my name, you know. I mean, movie stars do it all the time. Look at Raquel Welch. Her real name is Raquel Tejada. And Rita Hayworth was Margarita Cansino.

I told the Dragon Lady and of course she freaked. Mom said that if I changed my name how could she tell her friends that I was her son. It's not like I've had plastic surgery or something, right? Any suggestions?

A Legend in His Own Mind-11

April, 1980

Dear Lázaro,

There's this beautiful blonde girl doing the show. She has her hair corn rowed just like Bo Derek. She says it took her eight hours to do. Can you imagine sitting still for that long a time?

She plays my sister in this other show about a hippie holdout. “LSD and Me.” I play this psychedelic guy with a tutti-frutti Afro and a dog leash. I’m starting to do character parts. That’s good! ‘Cause you know when the leading man looks start to go….

Anyway, she invited me to a party somewhere in the Valley (that's the San Fernando Valley for you East Coasters). When I got there I noticed this blue and white cylindrical thing in the middle of the coffee table. It was real pretty and it was smoking. And people were grabbing it and sucking from it.

I found out it is something called a bong. You put hashish in it. It's amazing all the intricate ways that these people have of getting stoned. They all looked like the Caterpillar in "Alice in Wonderland." Circling around this object that had a few straw looking things also made out of porcelain.

You should have heard the uproar when I said I didn't want to participate. It was like chanting "Hell no! We won't go!" at an army recruiting office.

I think I made it even worse when I said I'd never done it nor cared to. I had offended the mighty Lord Cannabis and his reefer wielding followers were not having it. Except for the girl that invited me, the rest just shunned me. I stayed for about a half-hour more. I didn't want to offend the host.

I'll never understand the desire that people have to make fools out of themselves. At least I know when I've been an ass. Maybe that's why they do it. So they can't remember.

Can you imagine if Mother had ever found a joint in my room? She would have strapped me to the front pew of Our Lady of Perpetual Pain and left me there for a month. The nuns and priests hovering over my body like vultures waiting for me to die.

I could hear the Dragon Lady screeching, "I left Cuba so jou would not end op a feelthy Communist and now dees contry has torned jou into a feelthy drog addict."

A seminary school in Spain would have been my future. What a horror! Locked up in some windowless building with a bunch of men dressed like executioners. No electricity. I wouldn't be able to play my disco records. Can you imagine? Living without Donna Summer!

As if this party hadn't been eye opening enough, the following night I went to see "Pink Flamingoes." Have you heard about it? My friend Don took me. I told you about Don. He's a commercial writer from Cleveland and he has this really warped sense of humor. I met him in the show. He's actually a close friend of Wendy's. I think he's writing comedy material for her stand up routine.

Anyway he just says the strangest, funniest things. So when I asked him what this movie was about and he said, "Oh it's about this three hundred pound drag queen that eats dog shit.” I didn't believe him.

I should have. He wasn't kidding. I had never seen anything like this in my life. Not even when we snuck into the Show Palace at Times Square and saw that lady pulling a pearl necklace out of her vagina. Remember?

Anyway this movie! My God! They had two people making love with a chicken in between them and these women with pubic hair dyed like tutti-frutti ice cream.

I told Don that I wouldn't leave until the last person left. I didn't want to be seen leaving this theatre. Now I know how Abuela felt when I took her to see "Lipstick." She put on her dark sunglasses the minute Chris Sarandon took Margaux Hemingway from behind and never took them off. She left with this kerchief wrapped around her head. She looked like a fortune teller incognito.

I knew Don was slightly strange but I didn't realize how much. He took me to this store called the Pleasure Chest. It's a sex toy store. Can you believe that they actually have that in West Hollywood? It's like FAO Schwartz. But instead of toy trains and marionettes it sells French ticklers and ben-wa balls. I didn't know things shaped like rubber oranges were inserted. Who would want to do that? You think I should have second thoughts about Don after that?

I managed to make some use out of this store. I bought two inflatable rubber dolls. A man and a woman. You see, people were always telling me to be careful driving all alone so late at night through some of the desolate areas that I had to go through. So I figured if I dress these two up and put them in my car, it will look like I'm driving with other people.

Don took me to my first gay bar. The Apache in Studio City. It looked like a barn. It had wooden planks for walls. I was bug-eyed staring at everything. This didn't look like the Studio 54 I had seen in pictures. No big strobe lights and no bare-chested boys in jeans. It was dark, dinky and full of old men.

Don went to the bathroom and didn't come back for hours. I think he got lost coming back. He couldn't be in the bathroom that long. That would be one hell of a line.

So I sat on a barstool waiting. A man with very wide sideburns asks me to dance to Donna Summer's "Love to Love You, Baby." This is the same song that got Megan so excited that night at Osko's.

I was kind of freaked. I had never been asked to dance before. Especially by a man. I didn't know what to do. I mean...who leads? But I didn't want to offend him so...

As the song begins its multiple orgasms, he attempts to pull me closer by my hand and ended up tangled in my extra long sweater sleeve. Am I ever glad that my observant uncle brought a sweater for me from Milan that was three sizes too big.

This guy looked very strange. He was a cross between John Lennon after Yoko and Mike Nesmith from the Monkees.

On the ride back, Don told me that he wanted to start his own commercial writing company and would like me as a writing partner. I had helped him with a Taco Bell ad already. I was flattered that someone as intelligent and witty as Don would even consider me helpful.

We sat in his apartment on Mulholland Drive overlooking the Hollywood Hills. Let me tell you, that is an incredible view. Once you get above the smog, L.A. can be quite striking.

He set fire to brandy inside these beautiful snifters. Told me that was the only way to drink it. I didn't want to offend him and tell him that I don't drink. The revenge of the pot worshippers from the Valley loomed over me. So I took little sips. It actually tasted like warm licorice.

We spent the night brainstorming while listening to the soundtrack to "Gigi." Every time Maurice Chevalier would sing "Thank Heaven for Little Girls," Don would substitute the word boys.

It had never occurred to me to do that to a song. I guess that's why I always preferred songs sung by women.