A Legend in His Own Mind-29

December, 1983

Dear Lázaro,

If a language barrier helped me to not understand the inner workings of Arpeggia and Buffo's marriage, now I really needed Berlitz to intercede on my behalf.

I met this guy named Chucho. Another Mariel refugee. Dainty said that I should just rent a boat and pick them up as they come ashore. With a sign hanging from my back that reads: “Enter America Here.” I tell you, Lázaro, she can be so crass at times.

This guy was adorable. Chocolate skin, tightly muscled body and a drop-dead smile. He spoke not a lick of English, was loud, obnoxious and a pathological liar.

He was stage managing Panorámico's production and he found out that I was driving Manuela home one evening. She was this beautiful Mesquite Indian from Nicaragua who was one of the actresses in the show. He quickly informed me that he lived near her. Did I mind dropping him off?

The three of us ended up at "La Carreta." It's a Cuban restaurant in Little Havana that seems to be a popular hangout. The theatre crowd goes there after their shows. The Dade County police department goes there for dessert. The drag queen hookers that work Flagler go there with their johns. The Alpha 66 terrorist group has meetings there. They actually take up a back room, put a Cuban flag and a picture of Batista on a table and plot out ways to kill Castro. Dad has lead some of those meetings.

The place is decorated with paintings of old Havana and legs of pork hanging from the ceiling.

This became a nightly ritual for the three of us. I enjoyed it. It was interesting to be submerged in a culture that technically was mine but literally was so foreign.

Then I took them to an extras audition for "Invasion U.S.A." Some new Chuck Norris no-brainer. It seems they had scenes of the Mariel boatlift and they needed people for that. I went for them. I knew they would decide that not only was I not ethnic looking enough but also with my skin color it would be unbelievable that I had ever been out in the sun.

We ended up at the beach. Manuela bought some blankets and we laid down to watch the moonlight. She conveniently goes to sleep and I get swept up in the romance of the ocean and the moonlight and Chucho's glistening brown chest. The moonlight illuminated some of the beads of water on his chest just like body glitter. And you know the old disco kid and body glitter.

Well one thing lead to another and we made out on the blanket. Then we fell asleep in each other’s arms 'till we were rousted by the Shore Patrolman's flashlight in the morning.

To me it was a lovely moment and that's that. Well not to him. He's decided that I'm his boyfriend.

I keep telling him that I was not in love with him.

"You'll grow into it," he keeps telling me.

I keep repeating "I never have before. If the feeling is not there at the onset it never comes."

He keeps insisting he can deal with it.

I keep hearing all of this and wondering. Am I getting through to him in Spanish? Am I saying the correct thing?

He told everyone at Panorámico that we were boyfriends and kept ramrodding me into going out with him. I didn't know what else to tell him without hurting his feelings.

And talk about ghettoi-zation! He made Pablo sound like Yankee Doodle. He even made me translate the third act of "Torch Song Trilogy" so we could do it in class.

He always insisted that we bring Manuela along. I certainly didn't mind her company. Anything to divert my attention from him. But Manuela had this habit of holding my hand in public. Or sticking her hand down my shirt at the theatre and pinching my nipples. One time she even pulled the lever on the seat of my car. When the seat went back she climbed on top of me and bit my penis. I had to beg her to please get off.

"Please, Manuela, if that crazy Cuban sees us he'll take out his machete and turn us both into picadillo.

In the car, Chucho would lay across the front seat with his head on my lap while Manuela cuddled next to me with her arm on my waist. Then they'd look at each other and say, "You know that I can take him away from you anytime I want."

"You can try if you want to. I'm not scared of you."

This went on every night. Yet Chucho would accuse me of getting my macho thrill showing off in public with Manuela. He felt that he was being made a fool of since everyone knew he was my boyfriend. Yet it was he who insisted we bring Manuela along.

Manuela on the other hand told me that she had only been in love once in her life with a man back in Nicaragua who ended up marrying her sister. She said that until she met me no other man had been able to erase his memory

She showed me an 8x10 glossy of me that she had framed and hung on her living room wall. She said she tells everyone who asks that that's her boyfriend.

I feel like I'm in "Cabaret” all of a sudden

A Legend in His Own Mind-23

April, 1983

Dear Lázaro,

I don't know if they give medals for this but I am officially out to the parental units. You know I had to do it. I was never good about lying. And I certainly wasn't going to start inserting feminine pronouns into my conversation.

They were both dumbfounded. Finally Mother says, "You don't look gay!"

"Well, Mami, I figured the push up bra and the purple passion lipstick on the first day might be a bit much."

Father stormed out screaming that I'm never serious about anything. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to be flip. But it seemed like such an ignorant thing to say-- akin to Megan's comments about my not acting Hispanic.

Then I realized that they were ignorant. It was my job to educate them. They believe all the stories of child molestation, maladjusted people and butterflies in heat. I mean look at Dad. He's spent the last twenty years of his life in the jungles with armed men planning a revolution to overthrow a government that nobody seems to give a damn about.

And Mami, switching between Catholicism and Santería. Whichever gave her the quickest results. It was like the religion food court at a shopping mall. I'll have a Bible and fries with a Changó shake.

As usual, Abuela was the voice of reason.

"What's the big deal? That's probably why the boy moved so far away to California. So that he could do whatever he wanted to. And if you keep asking stupid questions he's going to move to the moon."

When I spoke to her in private she told me, "We left a country that persecuted anyone who didn't fit into their mold. We came to a country where everyone is free to be whoever they want. Just because you want to be something I don't want you to be, doesn't mean you can't be it. Your mother lived her life like she wanted to. I put her in the best boarding schools in Havana and she managed to run away from all of them. I introduced her to the cream of the crop of Camagüey society and she still ended up marrying your father. That's not the life I planned for her but she lived it anyway. So you're not going to give her grandchildren. You'll give her other pleasures."

Dad didn't speak to me for three days. I guess he was digesting the information. When he finally spoke he asked me if I wanted to go to a psychiatrist or go for hormone shots.

"Dad it is neither a physical nor a psychological problem."

"Fine! If you want to stay sick, then stay sick."

I tried another tactic. I told him of the thriving gay life that existed in Havana in pre- Castro days. It was the Castro regime that invented concentration camps to put all the gays in. Is he in agreement with Castro?

That one seemed to do the trick.

"If that man is against it, then I'm for it."

And typical of a Catholic household, not another word was said.

I had gotten all my information about gay Cuba in the fifties from Miasma. She was this Cuban-Chinese female impersonator who sang with his own voice. She worked the entire circuit back in Cuba. Even the Tropicana. Now she owned this dinky little bar in Miami Beach called The Harlequin. Now Miami Beach has always been known as God's waiting room because of all the retirees. Now the wait has been shortened. It seems that after the Mariel boatlift all the unclaimed refugees have been put up in the same fleabag hotels. Needless to say, this place is like a Western ghost town. You either get killed by one of the junkies or get beaten with a cane by an irate senior citizen. Most people avoid Miami Beach like a plague. I guess it was the perfect place for this clandestine, little gay bar.

It catered mainly to a Latin crowd. Mostly gays that had been kicked out of Cuba in the boatlift. See when President Carter said that all who wanted to come could, Castro decided to get rid of all the undesirables. A lot of people faked being gay just to get out. These guys didn't feel comfortable with the open gay liberation of Ft. Lauderdale.

I was his opening act…dancing in little Lycra shorts and suspenders to Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" or "Beat It." One guest came up to me and stuffed a bill into my shorts. He tried to rummage about a bit to see what he could feel. I took the bill and threw it back at him. It was a hundred. I don't care. I'm an artist not a stripper!

Romero and I were pretty much over. He was steadily seeing Rumba now. Once in a while, after the show, he'd get in the car with me, but basically it was over.

Now for something mind-blowing. Did I mention Lily to you before? How I paint her nipples white every night 'cause she doesn't want them to be seen through the white Lycra top that she wears in the ballet sequence? Well she tells me the other day that she knows that I'm gay but she would still want to date me. And I actually thought about it.

She's gorgeous. Almond shaped brown eyes and this toned, dancer's body. That's probably what attracted me the most. See I've always had a problem with breasts. They just move around too much. I like the firmness of a man's chest. But Lily's breasts were firm. They didn't jiggle like gelatin.

I really thought about it. And I thought about Abuela's comment about Mami wanting grandchildren. I mean she already had Juanchi. But I did like her. I really considered it. Then Eric came to mind. What happens if?...if I'm in a relationship, I'm faithful. So what happens when that part of me that needs to be with a man decides to work its way to the forefront of my libido? Then what? Go to mini-movies with a bag full of quarters? Or join a bathhouse in another town?

The cast party decided all of that for me. I was slow dancing with Lily and actually enjoying the feel of her body. Then all of a sudden they started playing "La Bamba." It was a fifties party. I miscalculated a step and twisted my ankle. But I couldn't allow Lily to see me in pain. I wanted to finish the dance with her. So I did. When the song was over, so was my ankle. I had to be carried away. I figured if this is what a testosterone rush does to me, God knew what She was doing when She made me gay.