A Legend in His Own Mind-26

September, 1983

Dear Lázaro,

The vanished wanted daughter is invisible no more. Bambi has made an appearance. And she has decided that she wants me. Regardless of my orientation. It seems that she's basically a lesbian but says that I am the perfect combination of masculinity and femininity. I have both territories covered. I never knew I was Prince.

Anyway, she’s been stuck to me like white on rice. She even joined my aerobics classes. My students have dubbed her Miss Piggy. Let me tell you, the moniker fits.

She calls me every night to scold me for not looking at her in class. She says I individually point out the faults of every other student except hers. The truth is I can't look at her without breaking into spasmodic laughter. When my glance happens to meet hers, she starts picking up her blonde hair, whiting out her eyes and rolling her tongue in little oval strokes around her puckered lips. It's like Little Orphan Annie does Dallas.

So she calls me in the middle of the night to announce that she's holding a bottle of Seconal in her hand and that it's looking pretty good to her.

She's driving me crazy. Thank God Pablo is there to calm me down. Pablo is the theatre manager. He came from the Mariel boatlift and barely speaks English. With my lousy Spanish you can imagine our conversations. But we find other ways to communicate.

It seems that he was in his last year of veterinary school at the University of Havana when the government found out he was gay and kicked him out. His career shattered and his life in ruins, he decided to join the mass exodus.

He's made his interest known to me and I can't say that I don't reciprocate. He has jet-black wavy hair and ebony eyes that just pierce your soul. Of course, Coca-Cola colored skin. He's sweet and tender and makes me laugh, even though I usually don't understand the jokes.

We actually made love on stage one night. After everybody had left, he turned on the blue gels, took me up on stage and said that while I am dancing up here, he would fantasize that he could take me in his arms and move with me that way. We tango-ed our way into total ecstasy.

The problem is that he's too ashamed of being gay. I really can't identify with that. Never went through that "woe is me" phase. And I certainly never lived in a country where you were abused the way he was. I tried to understand his position but I guess my militant heart wasn't into it.

The day he told me that if he could change he would, did it for me. I personally don't think anyone can change their sexuality but hell, if I lived a life of misery like he did I certainly would try to make any kind of adjustment that I could to better my existence. He wouldn't listen to me about gay pride and our gay history. He said he accepted his “weakness” and that was that.

That certainly was that. Although one evening we made love for the entire night and how often does a man like that come along in a lifetime? I still couldn't continue. He was a very honest man and I couldn't lead him on just because he had incredible stamina. He deserved more than what I was willing to give.

Aside from our opposing views on homosexuality, there was also the ghetto-ization. I'm an American of Spanish descent. I am not a Latin American immigrant who grew up over there. I will not spend the rest of my life speaking Spanish and listening to Walter Mercado broadcasts and watching Iris Chacón TV shows.

Don't get me wrong Lázaro, I love salsa music but I'm not ready for Spanish only parties and subtitled films. I mean could you submerge yourself into Irene's French culture all the way?

He did try to warn me that he receives death threats for Bambi practically every day at the theatre. He was worried that one day at a disco, in the middle of the Tango Hustle dip, the bullet that was meant for her would find me instead.

You think this is a good reason to tell her to leave me alone?

She confronted me in the dressing room to ask me if I thought her father was gay. She says she knew that he and her mother were not sleeping together. I didn't know what to say. Didn't she know that story that everybody was telling? And why was she asking me to find out? How was I supposed to find out? Who was I? Closet buster?

A Legend in His Own Mind-13

July, 1981

Hey Pal?

Screw you and your suggestion. Binky Wendelsohn III? Come on, what do you think I am? Some country club tennis playing geek? Besides I already picked one.

Mami won't talk to me now. The Dragon Lady says I am denying my family roots. I told her it was a professional move not a personal one, but she wasn't having it.

Anyway, my friend Slovak has an audition for "Laverne and Shirley" at Paramount and he wants me to be his scene partner. Isn't that great? I know it's his audition but they might like me too.

We're doing the linguini scene from "The Odd Couple." You know where Felix is not talking to Oscar and Oscar kicks him out? I'm Felix. We're at Slovak's house trying to rehearse while his girlfriend, Samoa, is running around moving linen from one closet to another. This girl is so hyper. Beautiful Hawaiian girl with long black hair but totally whacked.

Later on she's sitting at the dining room table with a bowl and she dumps an entire box of Captain Crunch cereal inside of it. Slovak is getting mad. Looking like he looks, I wouldn't want to see him angry. He once took on an entire busload of Mormons in Utah. He told me that the reason he had to leave Yugoslavia was because he killed a man in a bar fight.

He says to her, "Now, Samoa, why do you do that? You know you're not going to eat all that cereal."

So she answers him, "Don't worry about it, Hon. Whatever I don't eat I'll just blow dry it and put it back in the box."

I can see it too. This woman is fried.

And talking about fried...are you toasted? Why would you want to join the army? I know they pay for your college but you could have gotten a scholarship. I mean you graduated Summa Cum Laude in high school and you were great in baseball.

You were the star pitcher of our team. I don't know why I still refer to it as our team. All I did was shine the bench. The only time in the season that I actually got up from there was to hit a foul ball that beaned the coach's wife from the dugout.

Why would you want to go somewhere where they treat you like that? I mean they're all so nasty and rude.

August, 1981

Dear PFC Vega,

Does that sound officious enough? Wow! I still can't believe it! You look good in your uniform. But don't be doing anything stupid like volunteering for missions to Yassir Arafat's house. I know we're not at war but they are shipping you to Beirut. I mean, come on, those people throw mortar shells like we throw firecrackers.

When Dad saw your picture, he was so proud. He'd love it if I joined him in the Everglades with his revolutionary group. Revolutionary group! Six old men dressed in camouflage planning to overthrow Castro from an airboat. Not me. Green is definitely not my color. And I don't do well in mud.

I'm sending you a picture of my Head and Shoulders ad. You can hang it up in your footlocker. I'll be the Farrah Fawcett of Lebanon. They have this shot blown up on a billboard overlooking the Ventura Freeway. I have to see a twenty four-foot image of me coming out of the shower every day. Could you die?

I sent the picture to Mami and you know what the Dragon Lady said?

"I'm glad jou changed jour name since jou estarted doing porno."

All you see is my chest! What is she talking about? You know, someone has to tell that woman that she's living in the twentieth century. Abuela thought I looked real cute with wet hair.

Even though I'm "young and confused", Gary still took me to Oil Can Harry's. Another gay bar on Ventura Boulevard. It was very strange. He said it wasn't a date or anything but he hovered over me like a chaperone.

Gary should've been hovering whenever Megan got close. Yes I'm still dancing with her but see we keep winning dance contests. It's a great way to supplement my income.

Anyway I was in the backseat of her car. Well? I couldn't offend her by refusing, could I? She managed to get under me and I'm sweating bullets. She pulls me over her and I start to fumble...I mean, I really don't know where IT is. All of a sudden my search is impeded by flashing lights. She yells, startled, thinking it's a cop. It wasn't! But I took the opportunity to tell her it wasn't safe out there.

I didn't know what else to tell her. Stop yelling at me! You're right. I should tell her that I'm gay. But I don't want to hurt her feelings. I mean, I didn't tell her the first night 'cause I really didn't know. But she doesn't know that. She's gonna think I lied. That I lead her on somehow. I'll just keep subtly refusing her 'till she gets the picture.

On to brighter things. Don finally got his office. It overlooks Sunset Boulevard. I helped him move the other day and we spent all night talking about the clients we were going to have. The sun started to set and let me tell you, it was one of the most spectacular sights I have ever seen. This orange haze covered all of Hollywood. I guess methane gas will do that.

Don wrapped his arms around me and we both sat huddled together and admired that incredible glow. It was one of the most spiritual experiences I have ever had. It wasn't sexual at all. I mean he didn't try anything. Not that he would. He's my friend. But it was this incredible union between our souls. We didn't have to say anything. It was like the mere touch of our bodies communicated everything.

I better stop before this sounds like Harlequin romance erotica. You know, the hot breath on the nape of my neck and things like that. I don't want to get you into trouble when they start to censor this letter.

Well don't do anything I wouldn't do. Not that you ever would.

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.

A Legend in His Own Mind-10

March, 1980

Dear Lázaro,

I've decided to do something about my situation. I'm going to find out. Gary invited me to his apartment on Saturday night to watch the Ann-Margret special. I accepted.

Saturday night came. I was so excited that I locked myself out of my apartment. I realized it before I got into my car so I went back up and tried to slide open the window. I managed to crack the glass and cut an artery on my hand. I had to climb over the broken glass on the windowsill to get inside. Then wrap a handkerchief around my hand to stop the bleeding. No hemorrhage was deterring me from my meeting with destiny.

I got into my car and drove off to Gary's house. The pain in my hand was incredible; I couldn't grab the stick. If I put my hand down it would start throbbing. I had to drive the whole way to Studio City with my right hand up in the air like the Statue of Liberty.

I got to Gary's with my heart in my throat. I found him very cute. An older, experienced man of thirty. He would clear my confusion. Oh my God! What if when I touch him I’d rather be touching Megan?

As I'm going to sit down on his couch he asks, "Did you just get fucked?"

I was shocked by the question.

I said, "No! Of course not! Why do you ask?"

He said, "The blood stain on your pants."

I must've stained myself as I was climbing over the windowsill. But what does that have to do with intercourse?

I freaked. "Oh my God! Can that happen?"

He asks me, "What makes you think that you're gay?"

That question came out of nowhere.

I said, "I don't know if I'm gay but I go with whatever I feel."

So he said, "You sound very young and very confused and I'm not going to be the one to clear up your confusion."

I was crushed. He didn't want me and I'm still confused. I mean I like him a lot. He makes me tingle all over whenever I see him. Nobody had ever done that before. So if I didn't like being with him afterwards, that would have cleared up my confusion, right?

I sat in silence watching Ann-Margret go through her gyrations with her Vegas dancers, the whole time thinking up reasons why he didn't want me.

Driving back I don't know what was more bruised...my hand or my ego. I felt so ugly and unwanted. And so disappointed. Between my being lost in my own thoughts of inadequacy and the throbbing of my hand; plus the fact that my body was slightly askew to allow for my left hand to drive and shift; my car sort of moved a little to the shoulder. Before I could do anything, I saw a door fly over the roof of my car. It was a highway patrolman who had stopped to give somebody a ticket. I took a cop's door! I freaked! I did the only thing a kid from our neighborhood could do. Turned off my lights so he couldn't get a good look at my license plate and sped off the Hollywood Boulevard entrance. I took off in the direction of the Capitol Records building and disappeared into the night. I don't even know where that door landed. I hope it didn't land on the cop.

I'm a loser in love and a fugitive from the law. If any feds come asking you about me, you don't know where I am.