Karaoke Queen

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

THE PLACE I PICK for my dinner with Aaron, AquaMarine, is one of the best new restaurants in the city.

It’s gorgeous, although in a slightly rough part of San Francisco’s SoMa district. The front door is the color of topaz flanked by walls of rough-hewn concrete, like a precious jewel amidst stones. As you step inside, you’re greeted by low lighting, which makes the turquoise glass fixtures glow seductively. And inside the main dining room, the tables are covered in lapis linens and flickering faux candles.

I fidget with my watch, check (for the fourth time) that I have my credit card, and brush stray pieces of lint off my pants. Eva helped me put together my outfit of chinos and a red merino sweater, so I know my normal lack of fashion sense hasn’t sabotaged me. Though Aaron isn’t here yet, he’s not late. I’m just anxious and fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

Since our table isn’t ready, I sit in the impressive lobby area, big enough to house its own restaurant, and go over the ideas I’ll present to Aaron. The redecoration and publicity suggestions that my mom and Eva have helped me come up with will be an easy sell. What will be more difficult is pitching the idea for the new karaoke host. Me.

I’m not sure what will be harder, though: convincing Aaron that it’s a good idea or convincing myself.

You’d think my dad discovering me prancing around in my Britney Spears getup in middle school would be enough to scare me away from drag forever. And though the fear of him finding out and becoming disappointed in me again made me stop for a while, I began to wither away inside after a few weeks of going without it. I wanted—needed—to see the makeup back on my face. To feel the fancy dresses on my body. To express on the outside what I felt inside.

I started acting out at school. Wore flashier clothes. Grew my hair out. Even dared a tiny bit of eyeliner under my eyes, hurrying out before my dad could see it and making sure to wipe it off before I came back home from school. It helped a little.

But it hurt, too. I was already the most flamboyant boy in school, and the uptick in my femininity made it even harder. My friends from drama class had my back, and I’d spent years cultivating a thick skin to tolerate the taunting. But even I had my limits.

Some of the seniors from the football team started to do this thing where they’d yell out “Sexy Rexie alert!” whenever I entered the cafeteria at lunchtime, whistling at me. When that started happening, I knew I wouldn’t be able to take much more.

I needed my drag back. I needed to be able to explore my femme side at home and in private. Safe from the bullies in the outside world.

And I’d need an ally. One whom I’d stupidly decided not to confide in before.

I needed my mom.

One Saturday morning, as we stood side by side at the washer and dryer folding clothes, I told her everything: that after she’d given me the insider view of her world, I’d kept learning on my own, practicing with her borrowed things. And that I’d eventually gotten caught in a dress and full makeup by Dad.

“Oh, Rex!” she said. “I had a feeling you were trying a few things on your own, but I didn’t know for sure. You should have told me everything you were doing! I could have helped make sure your dad didn’t find out about it. Hay naku, I’m not surprised he acted like that.”

“Because I’m… gay?” I said, without even realizing it. It was the first time I’d ever actually said it out loud, though there was no way my mom, or anyone else on the planet, would’ve been surprised by my coming out.

My mother cupped my face and gazed at me. “My sweet child.” She threw her arms around me and hugged me tight. “No, anak. It’s not because of that. We have always suspected that you were gay, and it makes no difference to us at all. That part would not be a surprise to your dad.”

A small, stubborn weight inside me that I didn’t know I’d had came loose and began to float away. I wouldn’t have thought that I’d have any fears about coming out to my mom. Like she said, it’s not as if me being gay would have been a surprise to anyone. Still, you never know for sure how someone will react when you tell them your truth. And to hear those words of support from my mom, to feel it in the way that she held me, meant the world.

“Then why was he so mad, Mom?” I muttered.

She kissed me lightly on the forehead. “It has to do with your uncle Melboy.”

My parents had only ever mentioned Tito Melboy in passing. I knew that he was Dad’s eldest brother, the oldest of three boys. Melboy was gay and had acted mostly as a surrogate mother to Dad and their youngest brother. Their mother, my lola, had died when my dad was just in grade school.

But no one ever told me why they never talked about Tito Melboy like they did my other uncle, Tito Reg. I’d assumed it had something to do with Tito Melboy being bakla. Yes and no , my mom had said, not elaborating. She wouldn’t tell me more than that. And I knew better than to ask my dad, who bristled at the sound of his brother’s name.

“What does Tito Melboy have to do with it?” I asked.

“Let’s not go into that now. I want to focus on you,” she said, unsurprisingly avoiding the subject again. “Are you so set on continuing this?”

On top of the dryer was a pile of her summer dresses. I reached for the strap of one of them. The fabric was silky smooth between my fingers, like a soft caress on my skin.

I nodded silently.

“Sige. Now that you’re in high school, maybe it’s okay now. But first things first.” She eyed the dress in my hands. “No more stealing my clothes. You need your own things. Which means—time to go shopping!” she said, clapping her hands.

Later that afternoon, we drove into San Francisco. The Castro was our first destination. I’d been wanting to visit the neighborhood for a long time, to see what it was like to be around so many other LGBTQ people. As we parked in front of the majestic Castro Theatre, with its crimson and cream marquee announcing the Frameline Film Festival, my whole body shook with excitement. I saw men walking hand in hand, rainbow flags fluttering free, and people wearing whatever they wanted. Leather chaps, sparkly spandex, and rainbow-colored dresses.

We headed straight for the wig shop. It sat next to an adult entertainment store whose window displays for gay adult videos caught my attention.

“You’re definitely much too young for that, Rex,” my mom said, turning my head away. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But once we entered the wig shop, I completely forgot about the displays next door. What I saw inside was exhilarating.

The walls on every side were lined with rows of mannequin heads sporting all sorts of wigs. Short and straight, curly and poofy. Black, blue, pink, and white. My head swam with the many possibilities of what I would look like with them on.

The salesperson, an older Black woman with close-shaved blond hair, looked at my mother. And then me. She smiled conspiratorially and asked, “First time, sweetie?”

“Yes, his first time!” my mother said as I blushed.

The woman launched into a tutorial about wigs, teaching us about the different types. How to wear, care for, and style them. And, most importantly, which ones would be best for a budding young drag queen.

We walked out of that shop with two pussycat wigs (one white, one pink), a shoulder-length black one, and a long blond lace front. I’d gotten an education along with the goods, and in every store we went to afterward, we were met with similar enthusiasm and advice. Something about seeing a mother support her son in his pursuit of drag seemed to bring it out in the people we encountered. Probably because it wasn’t something they saw every day, even in San Francisco.

At Victoria’s Closet on 17th Street, two young women helped us find dresses and skirts. At Tooty’s in the Haight, a kind older man attended to me patiently as I tried on almost a dozen pairs of women’s shoes, eventually settling on four different pairs of high heels. And at Kryolan, almost the entire staff wanted to walk me through the basics of drag makeup, pointing out all the essentials for concealing and priming. All the things that my mother hadn’t known or ever even heard of.

My mother and I lugged several bags full of purchases into our house that evening, which she helped me sneak into my bedroom. In an old leather suitcase in my closet, I safely tucked away my new treasures underneath winter clothes and blankets. I needed to wait until my dad would be away at work before I could take them out again. It took everything I had not to dig into the trunk and look through it all, though. I wanted to revel in the colors, scents, and textures.

When Dad finally left to help his cousin build bookshelves for a school in Pleasanton the following weekend, I reopened the trunk and took out everything. That week I’d spent each day trying to recall the lessons I’d learned from all the people who’d sold us my things. I combined that with what I’d learned from my mom, America’s Next Top Model , and the makeup tutorials I watched on YouTube. I was ready to pick up where I’d left off, before my dad had caught me. But this time, I’d be much better at everything.

I took out a pleated miniskirt, a white crop top, a cardigan, and high heels, intending to do Britney’s “… Baby One More Time” look. But because the skirt and cardigan were pink, my outfit reminded me of another blond bombshell. Regina George from Mean Girls .

I picked up my blond wig, spread the elastic rim wide with my fingers, and slipped it carefully onto my head. The lace front worked like magic, making it seem as if the hair was actually growing out of my scalp. I stared at myself in the mirror. For the first time, even without any makeup on, I saw a real queen.

And then I realized. I knew what my drag name should be.

I’d known for a long time that Rex meant king in Latin. That’s partly why my dad gave me the name. And Rex mundi meant king of the world .

But queen of the world was Regina mundi.

Regina Moon Dee. Queen of the world. That’s who I was when I put on that wig.

Every weekend after that, I’d wait for Dad to leave the house, and then I’d hole up in my room and work on my makeup and outfits.

My odd sense of style meant my colors and pieces never quite matched. My mom would help when she could—nixing certain combinations and suggesting others. But after a while, she left me to my own devices. “It’s okay to have your own style, Rex. And… there’s only so much I can do to help you,” she said, meaning she’d taught me everything she knew, though she might have implied more than that.

So I pulled Eva into my world. She didn’t have any advice to give me. She was only in grade school. But she always motivated me, her face rapt as she’d watch me get ready. She was fascinated by my process. And in particular, she loved what she would call my “bedroom music concerts.”

I started doing this thing where, in full drag, I’d turn on my favorite song and sing with a hairbrush in front of her. My preternaturally high voice meant that I had no difficulty at all hitting the high notes, allowing me to belt to a high C before needing to flip over to head voice. I was thankful to be able to sing exactly like my favorite divas.

But my enthusiastic audience of one (sometimes two, when Mom wasn’t too busy with errands) made me realize that I was getting to the point where I didn’t want to do drag for just my family. I wanted to share it with others.

But how? I couldn’t do it in public. My dad would find out about it if I did.

And then, after watching an episode of American Idol , I had an idea.

I searched online for downloadable karaoke tracks and found Britney Spears’s “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman.” While it was downloading, I took out my makeup kit and went to work. My skills had gotten marginally better. The blocking of my eyebrows was solid, and my contouring wasn’t half bad. My eyeliner was still slightly crooked, and I had a feeling my eye shadow color combination of pink and yellow didn’t match my outfit, but who cared? I felt gorgeous.

I took out a dress Mom had gotten for me from a thrift store in Berkeley, a seventies A-line with a blue floral pattern. I put that on, plus a pair of platform heels.

For the final touch, I slipped my blond lace-front on and applied concealer and powder foundation, blending it across the lace.

I poked my head out my bedroom door. “Mom? Eva? Can you guys come up here?”

My mother’s face lit up when she saw me. “Wow! Very good job this time!”

“You’re soooo pretty!” Eva said, cooing with her hands clasped together.

My scalp began to heat up. I was glowing with pride. (But also, that wig was damn hot.) “Thanks!” I said. “Now, can one of you film me with the digital camera? I want to record myself.”

Eva rushed down to grab the family camcorder, which we barely ever used. I instructed my mom on where to sit and film me from. I clicked on the karaoke track and sang, adding my own flair instead of sticking strictly to melody, improvising new harmonies and even some entirely new lines like the singers on American Idol would do.

When the song was over, Eva jumped to her feet, clapping loudly.

“Beautiful, Rex!” my mom said.

“ Regina , Mom. Regina Moon Dee.”

“Ay yes. Regina,” she said. “So what will you do with this?” She handed the camcorder back to me.

“Upload it to YouTube,” I said. “No one will watch it, but I don’t care. I just want to share my singing and drag with other people.”

I posted it online, hoping that a few people would stumble upon it and enjoy it.

I never would have expected what happened next.

Back then, going viral was still relatively rare. But it happened to me with that video. Regina Moon Dee, bedroom drag queen, was an overnight sensation. My karaoke-style music video racked up hundreds of views in one day. Thousands in a week. And though a few people commented on my basic makeup skills, people were entranced with my uncanny ability to sing a woman’s song in the original key.

They asked for more. And I gave it to them. I made other videos, posting almost a dozen videos online and amassing almost 50,000 followers by the time I was a junior in high school. It was a thrill, sharing my talents with the world. And maybe I could’ve just gone on like that, being a semi-famous bedroom drag queen, safe with my little online music videos.

But then Tito Melboy came into my life and encouraged me to take Regina Moon Dee public. Which was a total dream come true.

Until it wasn’t.

As I sit in the lobby of AquaMarine glumly recalling what shattered that dream, I notice the heavy front door swinging wide open as if it were nothing. Aaron enters the lobby and looks around, improving my mood instantly. He doesn’t see me at first. A look of confusion grows on his face, and he begins to backtrack out of the restaurant.

“Aaron! Over here.” I stand up and wave at him from the lounge sofa where I’ve been waiting.

“Oh, hey. I thought I was in the wrong place.” He looks around at our surroundings. “Am I dressed nice enough?”

“You’re fine.”

He is. Very fine. Even in black slacks and a gray polo shirt he looks like a designer cologne ad come to life. His hair is freshly cut, his beard is newly trimmed, and he smells of sandalwood and spring water.

After sitting down in his plush, velvet seat, Aaron visibly relaxes until our hostess hands us our leather-bound menus.

“Holy crud. This place is expensive,” he says.

He’s not wrong. Dinner tonight will take a considerable chunk of my money. How do they get away with charging nearly a hundred dollars for seafood?

The descriptions sound interesting, though. One of the main course offerings, sea bass with two sauces (maple soy reduction and white balsamic glaze) is described as adobo . Another, the pakbet , is kabocha squash, haricot verts, and bitter melon with Berkshire pork belly and caviar. It’s Filipino-based, which is a pleasant surprise. Most high-end Asian places rely on the typical Chinese or Japanese flavors.

The prices are extremely high, though, and I don’t want there to be any stress or anxiety on Aaron’s side. I want this night to be perfect.

“Don’t worry. It’s my treat,” I offer.

“Nah, don’t do that. I’ll pay my portion,” he responds.

I know he’s just being a typical guy, but I can’t help but feel that he’s also pushing back against the true nature of what we’re doing. Which is having a date that I asked him on.

“Actually, I have this half-off coupon,” I lie. “It’s almost like you’re paying, right? I’ll get this dinner. You can get the next one.”

“Yeah? Okay, then. That’s a deal I can’t refuse.” He holds my stare for a moment and smiles, and my insides melt. “So, tell me more about your ideas for the Pink Unicorn,” he says.

After dinner with my family earlier in the week, Eva and Mom brainstormed with me. Their redecoration and social media plans both sound great to Aaron, which I expected. There’s still the most important change, though, the one that I know will bring in the most business right away.

“A total rehaul of karaoke night,” I say. “We’d do away with the old plastic song binders and take advantage of the KJ software program. When I was there last week, I noticed your KJ was working in something called SYNGX. I did some research, and there are a bunch of functions in it that could really modernize the evening. Make it easier and more fun for guests to request and sing songs via an app on their phones.”

Aaron nods. “Yeah, I sort of knew about that. Bryan has been trying to get Paolo to work out the controls for the new system, but he hasn’t figured it all out yet. It doesn’t help that he cancels on us half the time. He has some other job that calls on him to fill in for other people a lot, or something like that.”

“Where?” I ask.

“Not sure. He’s never told us.”

“Well, that brings me to the second part.”

My knees start shaking underneath the table. I place my hands on top of them to make them still. “It might be good to split the host duties. Have one person, like Paolo, do the technical stuff while another person hosts the show. Like you mentioned to me before, it’d be great if that main host were a good performer. And I have someone special in mind.”

“Oh, yeah?”

It’s been years since I’ve been Regina Moon Dee. But I used to be so happy in drag. And I had loads of fans, hopefully some of whom would gladly come to a karaoke night hosted by me. As I look into Aaron’s eyes, almost seeming to glow from all the many shades of blues around us, a familiar heat blooms in my chest, and I know that he’ll absolutely love my plan.

I take a deep breath to slow down my racing heart. “Yes, I—”

Aaron snorts, startling me. His focus has shifted to something behind me.

“What?” I ask, twisting my body to look.

“Sorry. It’s just, that waiter over there seems really lost.”

At the far end of the dining room in the dimly lit section, one of the servers holding a tray tries to deliver the food to one of the tables, but when he sets the food down, the people crinkle up their faces, so he scoops the food back onto his tray and approaches another table, where they also shake their heads no at him.

I turn back to face Aaron.

My knees have finally stopped shaking. My heartbeat has calmed down. “Her name is—”

“Did you guys order the crispy kare kare and pandan waffles with sweet chili fried chicken?”

Dammit. The clueless waiter is now trying to give us the food. “No, that’s not our order,” I huff. “If you could just—”

“Paolo?” Aaron says to the hovering presence behind me.

Paolo steps to the side of our table with his lost tray of food. He’s dressed in the AquaMarine uniform of navy slacks, white tuxedo shirt, and checkered bow tie.

“So this is where you work,” Aaron says.

“Hey, nice to see you, Aaron!” Paolo says. “And—”

“Rex,” I say.

“I know. I remember,” Paolo says. I notice for the first time how awkwardly he’s carrying the tray of food, with two hands on the sides instead of balanced on the palm of one, as if delivering a meal to a patient at a hospital instead of to diners at an upscale restaurant. “You really did not want to sing at karaoke last Saturday,” he says to me.

“I tried to tell you,” I say.

“What’s this?” Aaron asks.

“Nothing,” I respond quickly.

“You’re welcome to come back to karaoke night anytime,” Paolo says. “To sing or not.”

He looks genuinely hopeful that I might actually go back to the Pink Unicorn. More than hopeful, in fact.

Well, whatever it is, he’s about to get his wish. If I could just finish telling Aaron the plan.

“Paolo?” Another server, an older Latino gentleman with an impressive mustache, comes up to our table. “Those go to table four, by the window,” he says, pointing and then miming the correct way to carry the tray.

“Oh,” Paolo says, startled out of whatever he was thinking. “Right.” He swivels the tray up onto his right hand and steadies it with his left. ”Sorry to disturb you guys.”

“No problem,” Aaron says amiably as Paolo heads over to his correct destination.

The older server gently clasps his hands. “Would you two like some more time, or can I get you started with some drinks?”

“Actually, yeah,” Aaron says. “Could we have two glasses of prosecco to start? We’ll be ready to order food after that. Rex, let me get the drinks.”

Before I can say anything to protest, Aaron places his hand on mine.

I don’t say anything for a few moments, though I’m not sure why. And then I realize it’s because I’ve stopped breathing completely. During the time we were together, Aaron never once touched me in public, though I always wished he would. Now his hand is on mine, and in full view of everyone in the restaurant.

“Yes. Please do,” I finally say.

“Very good,” the server says. “I’ll get those out to you and will be back to take your order.”

“You’ve got some great ideas,” Aaron says to me as the server heads back to the kitchen. “I’m glad we’re doing this. And I’m really glad we ran into each other again.” He squeezes my hand, and a golden warmth spreads across my entire body.

“Me, too,” I say, still somewhat breathless.

“So. The new host?” he asks.

“Host?”

“For karaoke night? You were about to tell me her name.”

“Right! Regina Moon Dee,” I say.

“Nice name. Sounds interesting. Is that a stage name, or—”

“It’s a drag name.”

“Oh.” Aaron pulls his hand back. “Okay.”

I see it on his face. Apprehension. And something more. Like distaste.

My heart starts pumping all the blood away from my extremities and into a tiny space in my forehead, making it pulsate. All that lovely warmth in the rest of my body dissipates.

“I… uh, I mean, she’s a great performer,” I say. “She’s, um, she’s…”

“I just don’t get the appeal of all that drag stuff. It’s like, why would a guy want to get dressed up in women’s clothing? It’s too much for me.”

My hands have gone completely cold. All the blue colors around us seem like signs of an impending winter.

“She’s got a big fan base,” I manage to say. “Although she hasn’t been performing for a while. But a lot of people would love to see her come back. I’m pretty sure she’d bring in a lot of new customers.” I’m babbling at this point, not really sure of what I’m saying because I don’t think there’s any way I can salvage this.

While Aaron stares at me, I try to think of some other idea for karaoke night. “Maybe instead we could—”

“Hold on.” Aaron’s brow furrows. “If you think it’ll bring in more business, I can try to roll with it.”

My heart stops hammering away at my head.

Okay. He might be open to Regina Moon Dee. But only as the host of karaoke night. Not as someone he’d date. And definitely not as his boyfriend. It’s written in all the tension lines on his face.

“Uh, great,” I say, not really sure how to proceed. It’s probably best to stall until I can come up with some better idea. “Why don’t I talk to her and see what she says?”

The server returns with two filled champagne flutes. They’re filled to the top, bubbles fizzing through the crystal-clear glass like a million tiny pinpricks.

Aaron holds a glass high, and I copy him.

“To a new and improved karaoke night,” Aaron says.

“Cheers.” I force a smile and clink my glass against his.

“Starting tomorrow,” he says, sipping.

I’m glad I haven’t started drinking the prosecco yet or else Aaron would be covered by one colossal spit-take right now. “I’m sorry, what?”

“No time like the present, right? Have your friend come tomorrow night and do a trial run hosting karaoke,” he says. “Before I say yes, I want to see what she’s got to offer.”