A Legend in His Own Mind-22

March, 1983

Dear Lázaro,

I had lunch at TGIF's with Arcadia. She went on and on about her life. It seems she was living with a guy for two years who told her that although he hadn't done it yet, he thought he might be interested in guys. As if that wasn't bad enough he told her that the only reason he was with her is because her body reminded him of a young boy's

What a bastard, right? How could anyone be so cruel? As if she didn't have enough to deal with, he has to put doubts on her womanhood. I really can't believe some people.

She asked me if I was gay and seemed so disappointed when I confirmed it.

I've been helping this Jet girl named Aurora with the choreography. It seems that one of the girls might not be able to do the whole run and she's one of the contenders to replace her in the "Cool" number. She is this really naïve girl from New Mexico. She's of Uruguayan descent and when she speaks Spanish she has the most adorable accent. She has a model's face and body…milky white skin and green eyes; with the most luxurious red hair that you’ve ever seen. I mean we’re talking Breck commercials here.

Arcadia has decided to take her under her wing and show her the facts of life. I can hear the explosion now. Aurora is a little Daddy’s girl and Arcadia’s been sneaking men into her bedroom since the age of twelve. I even caught her and the actor playing Riff having sex in Maria’s bedroom right on stage.

I should’ve warned Aurora but I was too busy in my own soap opera. Besides spending all my time with Romero, I was taking Dainty to all the local gay clubs for lip- synch competitions. He wants to get in as much practice as he can before the big contest. And I do mean big. It seems that there’s this contest called Miss Florida at Large. It’s for drag queens of a more robust nature. You should see the size of these guys...girls. Whatever.

Kevin is now upset at me because I barely have time for him. So he’s decided to date one of the Jet girls. I guess bisexuality runs rampant in the state of Florida. In the meantime, I am completely ga-ga over Hector. He’s another Shark. He is also my dream guy. I mean Romero is great sex but he is only eighteen and how can I possibly relate to him on an intellectual level? For the healthy long-term relationship that I’m looking for, you need intellectual stimulation. Besides, Romero keeps insisting that he’s straight. He even made a move for my cousin Rumba the other day.

Hector is twenty-six and a flight attendant. These chiseled French features on caramel colored skin. And what a voice! This deep, rich baritone. That man could serenade me for the rest of my life. Of course, he’s not interested. He’s dating Conrad, the rehearsal pianist. Now I don’t want to sound superficial but Conrad is a toad. A fat-bottomed chubby white boy. What does Hector see in him? As Dainty would say, “I am Bittah!”

I told Rumba I have no problem if she went out with Romero. I realize I’m just an experiment with him. He’s a horny kid who can’t get enough and I happen to be available. He’s not really very passionate with me. Energetic, yes, but passionate in a loving way? No! I thought maybe it was his youth but I’m starting to think the he really is not into men. Then why is he with me? I don’t know. I see no future in this.

I keep flaunting myself more and more at Hector, much to Kevin’s chagrin who has now decided to flirt with Arcadia. He seems to think, in his bisexual mind, that Arcadia and I have something going on. I’m sure Arcadia has done nothing to dissuade him from this idea.

I like Kevin but I’ve got to tell you something. After you’ve been with a Latino you just can’t get used to anything else. See! I am in touch with my roots; even if it is by injection. Kevin seems to have taken all of this in stride. We were never serious about each other. It was just a run of the show affair that ran out of steam after dress rehearsal.

I asked Hector if he wanted to go see Dainty perform. I was so excited! He said yes. I had to pick up Dainty. Problem is he doesn’t want his sister to know he does drag so he made me park my car under the balcony and open the trunk. It was a shower of wigs, heels and accessories that fell into my car.

We drove to this club called “On the Waterfront.” It has nothing to do with the Brando movie. It overlooks the Miami River and it is a nightmare. Everything you can possibly imagine about the netherworld of gays is stuffed into this place. Drag queens roaming the parking lot screaming hips, lips or fingertips. Under age kids stoned on Special K and coke. The chicken hawks supplying it to them in the hopes that the drugs would imbue their features with some sort of attractiveness. Big, burly diesel women dressed in flannel shirts and men’s pants elbowing each other when a good-looking woman passes by. Calling them chicks like those disgusting guys on the porch of our building. Now I was scared for Hector to come. What will he think of me?

I need not have worried. He was distracted. He arrived with Conrad. I should’ve specified alone but I didn’t want to be tactless. White boy couldn’t even dance. This was my chance. I decided to cut in while they were playing Celi Bee’s “Superman.” Once he saw me dance I would have him hooked. Just as I started to gyrate they stopped the music to announce the start of the show. Dainty interrupts me yet again.

Renatta Skatta Fitzgerald comes over to me. When her name was Scott he was the quarterback for the local university football team and is still the son of the police commissioner. Boobs out to here and so much collagen in his face he looks like Bugs Bunny. She came over to tell me that my woman wanted me. I assumed he meant Dainty. What had that obnoxious drag queen done now?

He couldn’t find the tape of the song and wanted me to see if he left it in my car.

“Like you left your fake tits in my mother’s bathroom?”

“Miss Thing, that was an accident!”

“My mother came running in with your tit in her hand asking me what that was. I told her they were your falsies”

“You are the world’s most evil cunt. How can I face your mother after that.”

“Be more aware of where you leave your tits. And what did Renatta mean by your woman?”

“Oh don’t break a nail! You like being a butch queen so I told everyone you were my sugar daddy. All of the girls have one and I felt just so left out.”

He, of course, won the contest. Hector left right after with Conrad. I felt flushed at the whole scene so I went to the bathroom to put water on my face. There I saw Arcadia. Did I go into the wrong bathroom? No. There were urinals in this one. Actually Arcadia was standing in front of one.

“I’ve decided that I have rotten luck with men and I have so much in common with lesbians that I have to become one.”

“Arcadia people don’t become lesbians. You either are or you’re not. Are you even attracted to women?”

“That’s not the point. I’ve read everything that Rita Mae Brown has written.”

“So why are you in the men’s room?”

“I have to practice pissing standing up.”

A Legend in His Own Mind-19

September, 1982

Dear Lázaro,

Some things about Megan are beginning to bother me. The other day after the show I lent one of my silk shirts to a dancer. He's Hispanic like us. I think he's Dominican. I don't know. Anyway, Megan sees me and says, "You're going to let him use that beautiful shirt on his greasy body?"

I was taken aback. What the hell did she mean?

She explains, "You know, those people all have greasy bodies."

I asked, "What people are you talking about, Megan?"

She again explains, "You know! Mexicans, Caribbeans, Eyetalians. All those swarthy people. It comes from the food they eat."

I told her, "My family's from the Caribbean."

She says, "But you're not swarthy. You know what I mean."

I said, "Yeah. Dark. Brown."

She says, "Exactly. You're white!"

So I said, "I have relatives that color. So you're telling me that my cousin is greasy?"

She goes, "Jeez! I keep forgettin' you're Cuban. I didn't mean anything bad. You just don't act Latin. And you coitainly don't look it."

The more she spoke, the deeper her foot kept going into her mouth. By the time she finished, it had reached her pelvic bone. I was appalled. I could not believe the things she said.

But in some strange way I'm glad she said them. It made me realize something you always used to say to me about passing. Nobody ever followed me when we went to the toy store. When we jumped the turnstiles, I was the last one the cops would follow. I always thought you had crazy ideas. Well...I apologize to you.

Megan got close to me because even though she knew I was Cuban, she could convince herself that I was white. I mean, I am white but she meant Anglo white. Not only my skin color but I don't have an accent and I don't fit the stereotype. The same stereotype that my agent said characterized all Hispanic actors.

I never meant to pass as anything I wasn't. You gotta believe that, Lázaro. I never denied where my folks came from. So I don't speak Spanish very well. Is that supposed to be a characteristic of racial self-hatred? I'm an American of Hispanic descent. What does that mean to others?

If I don't speak Spanish or dance salsa music or watch telenovelas, I'm denying my heritage? We were raised watching Captain Kangaroo not Chespirito. (Remember that Mexican show where geriatrics play children?) But now Megan made me think. Am I accepted better because people can forget what I am? Can't I just be me? Do I have to represent an entire group of people?

I was discussing this with Dainty and he said, "Girl let me tell you, this world is ruled by straight white men and they make all the rules. If you want to succeed in their world, you have to be ten times better than the worst of them because they're always going to judge you. See with me there's no other way to go. I'm a big, fat, drag queen and I shove it in their faces. They know what they're getting. No surprises under this gift-wrapping paper. But with you, you throw them a curve. A white Latino with a better English than most natives. A butch queen who can out football the boys. But you know what they see? A spic with enough brains to learn their language correctly. A queen with enough sense to know how to behave herself properly. To hell in a hand basket with all of them, honey!"

I'm even more confused now. English is my native language. I object to derogatory words like spic. And I hate being called girl!

October, 1982

Dear Lázaro,

I think the world has gone completely crazy. You say that there exists this color thing in the army? And I thought that they were the masters of uniformity.

As I’m sure you already know, Mami just moved to Miami. She decided that Dad had spent too much time already with his terrorist plotting and nothing good was going to come of it. She says she has finally accepted that she's never going back to Cuba. After twenty-three years? Incredible! I don't even know if I'm going to stay with this show once my contract is over.

Don went back to L.A. He says he's ready to start writing again and told me when I was finished to come back and help him. How stupid does he think I am? Successful commercial writers don't take up prostitution as a sideline. No wonder he knew what all those kinky objects were. I'm surprised he didn't know the brand names.

Well Eric called me the other day. I was very surprised. I don't want to see him though. Why hang on to something that has no future? I want a relationship. A marriage. A ring on my finger and a house to call our home. And if I sound like Marcia Brady I don't care. At least I didn't say he had to be dreamy. The most I'm going to get with Eric is a wonderful weekend and some wild sex on the Hoover Dam.

Dainty stopped the show the other night with this number where he does Shirley Bassey's "My Life" while stripping out of his female garb into a tuxedo. I'm telling you it tore the place apart.

I came across another color barrier yesterday. I auditioned for "West Side Story" and they told me that I was too white to play Bernardo. I told them a million times that my parents were from Cuba and that was just an island away from Puerto Rico, but they weren't having it. They offered me the part of A-Rab instead. I would rather have been told that my dancing was not up to it than this stupidity.

You remember Sylvester? You know the guy in the sequins that did "You Make Me Feel Mighty Real?" Well I heard through the gay grapevine that his producer, Patrick Cowley, had IT. You know, that crazy gay disease. Now they're calling it GRID. Gay Related Immune Deficiency. I can't believe that only gay men get it. It makes no sense. And I can't get over Sylvester's producer. What a waste!

I can't believe they haven't spoken to you guys about it. I mean there are gay soldiers no matter what the army says.