Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
“THIS IS BAD,” I WHISPER TO EVA. We’re at my parents’ house, in the kitchen while she’s preparing dinner. Even though Mom and Dad are in the living room watching TFC with the volume turned up, I want to be completely sure that they can’t hear our conversation.
“Gee. Thanks, Rex,” she says.
“I meant the Dad-coming-to-karaoke thing,” I say. “Not the food. What you made is actually really good.” Eva’s stepped up her game and tried to put her own twist on a Filipino classic, making something she calls a deconstructed arroz caldo . Instead of the usual one-pot meal of chicken and rice, she’s separated things out. The chicken was simmered to make a homemade stock, which she used to cook the rice. She then shredded the chicken, crisped up the skin, fried some shallots and garlic, and put those things—plus chopped scallions, soft-boiled eggs, and calamansi slices—in separate bowls for people to add as much or as little of each to their rice as they wanted. My own serving has extra dark meat and lots of fried garlic with a big squeeze of calamansi. “It’s a home run, sis.”
“Thank you,” she says, tossing more raw garlic slices into the frying oil. “And again, I’m sorry I told Dad about the Pink Unicorn.”
“Are you sure he really wants to go?”
“He’s been talking about it all week,” Eva replies. “Maybe Regina Moon Dee can call in sick this weekend?”
“And disappoint all my fans? Plus Bryan said he’s specifically looking forward to seeing me on Saturday. It’s the only thing that’s going to cheer him up.”
“Then you’re screwed.”
I put the bowl of arroz caldo down on the counter. “I think I just lost my appetite.”
“I’m kidding. Come on! You have the solution staring you in the face. Just get Paolo to be Regina again.”
“Being Regina for five minutes to fool one person who doesn’t really know her is one thing. Doing an entire show to a packed house full of fans? There is no way on earth Paolo would be able to do that.”
“Not for the whole show, then. Just a part of it. What if you have someone else co-host? Like Kat?”
“She’s got a gig on Saturday. She can’t come until later.”
“Tito Melboy?”
“He can’t come at all. He’s working at Dreamland. Besides—he and Dad aren’t really talking. I don’t think an appearance from Beaucoup Buko is what we need on the night we’re trying to keep Dad happy.”
“Could Uncle ask around? He’s got to know someone that could help.”
“Maybe.” I grab back the bowl of arroz caldo and start eating again. “But even if we could find a co-host, Paolo would have to do more than just show up looking like me; he’d need to perform at some point. And Paolo can’t sing to save his life.”
“You’re forgetting something, big bro,” Eva says. “What’s most drag queens’ number one talent?”
A light bulb goes off. “Lip-synching.”
“All you have to do is pre-record you singing a song or two, and Paolo can lip-synch to them.”
I finish my last spoonful of Eva’s arroz caldo and attempt to get more, but Eva slaps my hand away. “Ow!”
“Now you just have to convince him to do it,” she says. “Think you’ll be able to do that?”
When I asked Paolo to impersonate me the first time, he asked: what was I doing it for? I know the answer to that now. I was afraid of revealing myself to Aaron because I was afraid of his reaction. I didn’t want him to reject Rex—but I was even more afraid of him turning on Regina. Now I’m asking Paolo to protect me again, but this time from my father’s inevitable anger and dismay. Given Paolo’s complicated relationship with his own father, he should be able to sympathize with that.
“I’ll be able to convince him,” I say.
“And don’t forget that you have less than two days to get him lip-synch-ready.”
“Don’t worry. It’s totally doable,” I say. “But not all by myself. It’ll have to be all hands on deck.”
Eva claps her hands gleefully. “Are you going to ask me and Mom to help? And Tito Melboy? We’ll definitely be able to get him into shape. Once we’re done with him, he’ll be able to lip-synch for his mother-tucking life!”
“What is this about mother tucking?” Mom says as she comes into the kitchen. “Are you making fun of the clothes I wore to church last Sunday? I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Marybel. She’s the one who told me to tuck in my blouse. My breasts are too voluptuous. I don’t look good like that!”
“What’s this about voluptuous breasts?” my dad says as he enters the kitchen.
“Bastos!” Mom says, hitting Dad on the shoulder. “Take your mind out of the gutter.”
Dad laughs as he tries to avoid more of Mom’s playful slaps. “Hoy! Tigilan mo nga yan!”
“You guys! Get out of here,” Eva yells. “I’m not done cooking yet.”
“Okay, okay,” Mom says. “After dinner, Rex, will you practice my audition for the church solo with me?”
“What are you singing?”
“A good Christian song! ‘Like a Prayer’ by Madonna.”
“Uh, I’m not sure that’s such a great—”
“Thank you, anak,” Mom says, heading back to the living room.
“Rex,” my dad says, his face suddenly solemn.
Eva and I give each other a nervous look. Has he been able to hear what we’ve been talking about?
“I heard you are working regularly at that bar now,” he says.
“Oh,” I say, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “It’s not a big deal. Just helping my friend, Aaron.”
“And you’re sure it’s not affecting your day job? And your plans to go to law school?”
It’s definitely not affecting my plans to go to law school, since I don’t have any. “I’m sure.”
He stares at me unblinkingly for a few seconds. “Good. You are going in the right direction. Keep going, okay? I’m proud of you, Rex.” He grips my shoulder strongly, like a vise.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, so quietly that I barely hear myself.
“You’re welcome, anak,” he says, releasing me to rejoin Mom in the living room. “And hurry up with the food, Eva,” Dad says over his shoulder. ”We’re getting hungry.”
DRIVING BACK TO MY PLACE AFTER DINNER , I patch my phone through my car’s Bluetooth and call Paolo, intending to leave a message since he’s probably still at the restaurant.
He picks up immediately. “Hey!”
“Is this a bad time?” I ask. “I can call back.”
“Nah, I’m just in AquaMarine’s office, going over some things.”
It’s still not clear to me what his official position at the restaurant is, beyond being the son of the owner. “So, what exactly is it that you do for your family’s business, can I ask?”
“A little bit of everything. I don’t have an official title. It was my dad’s idea for me to familiarize myself with every job here, from dishwasher all the way up. That way I can learn every part of what goes into running it. Right now, I’m shadowing Melissa, the manager.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Just a second, let me step out of the office.” I hear Paolo mumble something to another person. A few seconds later, the sounds of the kitchen come crashing through. “Ugh! It’s so boring. I don’t want to be a manager. It’s the most unexciting part of the business.”
“It’s also one of the most important, unfortunately. I’m assuming that’s why your dad wants you to do it?”
“Yeah. He wants me to learn from Melissa and then move down to SoCal. The manager at Bamboo Fork is going to retire soon, and he wants me to take over when she’s gone.”
“Oh. And you… don’t want to go?” I ask. “Right?”
“I thought maybe I did,” Paolo says. “Until I met this very interesting guy and his drag alter ego at a dive bar. Makes me really appreciate how good my KJ gig is.”
I smile to myself. “I’m sure your dad will think that’s a much more viable career option.”
“And what do you think?” Paolo asks.
On a whim, I reply, “I think that I’d like to continue our conversation in person. When do you get off?”
“Whenever I want.”
“Can I come over to your place?”
“Yes!” he says, his voice suddenly charged. “That would be great.” An address pings through via text.
“Okay, see you soon.” I hang up, and instead of taking my usual exit to go home, I zip past it and head toward San Francisco, trying not to break too many speed limits as I go.
When I arrive, I double-check the address Paolo sent me to make sure I’m in the right place. It’s one of those fancy new remodels—boxy, slate gray, and sleek in comparison to the old Victorians around it. I search around for multiple doorbells assigned to different floors and residents, assuming he only lives in a portion of the building. But there are none. Just one doorbell below a sophisticated security camera and intercom system. I ring it.
No answer. I ring the doorbell again. Nothing.
I’m about to resort to knocking on the door when it opens. Paolo is standing in the doorway in just gym shorts and a loose T-shirt. Both his glasses and his hair are a little askew, like I’ve just interrupted him in the middle of doing something physical. I swallow hard.
Paolo’s smile makes my heart skip. “Don’t just stand there,” he says. “Come in.”
The interior of his house is just as impressive as the exterior. But where everything is slightly cold on the outside, inside it’s warm and inviting. Parquet floors of honey-hued oak. Cream-colored couches with fluffy pillows and macramé throw blankets. And above the fireplace, a massive landscape painting of a winding blue river crisscrossing green rice paddies.
“It’s beautiful in here,” I say. “Did you do the interior design?”
“A little. Mostly it was just me looking through a lot of magazines and watching a lot of HGTV.”
“That’s kind of how I learned to do makeup,” I say.
“Wow, I must’ve been watching the wrong HGTV shows,” Paolo says.
I follow him into the living room. He waits for me to sit down on the couch and then hovers nearby, as if trying to decide how close to me he should sit. And though I want to pat the spot next to me on the couch, I can’t be that close to him yet. Not until we’ve talked. And not until I’ve asked what I’ve come here to ask.
Probably sensing my hesitance, he sits on the leather lounge chair across from me.
We stare at each other across his coffee table with its perfectly curated assortment of books and flowers, a vast landscape that separates him from me.
“Thanks for letting me come over,” I say. “You must be tired after working at the restaurant.”
“Not tired. Just frustrated. Melissa was going over all the bookkeeping stuff. Ordering, scheduling, payroll. But I just wanted to be in the kitchen helping the cooks.”
“Can’t you just tell your dad you’d rather cook than manage?”
“Maybe,” he says, falling back against the back of his lounge chair. “But even then, I don’t know if what I want to make is the stuff we have at AquaMarine or Bamboo Fork. Not everyone can afford to eat at our restaurants. I’m more into casual food. Making Filipino food more accessible.”
“You don’t have to be at your family’s restaurant to be in the restaurant business.”
Paolo raises an eyebrow. “You mean start my own place?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Do I even have what it takes to do that?” he says, more to himself than to me.
“Yes,” I say immediately, thinking of how in-charge Paolo was at Susan’s party. “Absolutely no doubt about it.”
He smiles. “Of course you’d have no reservations. You’re Regina freaking Moon Dee. Even for the few hours I was just pretending to be you, I felt like a superhero. Like I could do anything I wanted. Do you feel that way, too?”
“Actually, yeah,” I say. “As far back as I can remember, there’s always been this feeling inside, wanting to come out. When I discovered drag, that part of me was so happy to be free. When I can really express myself, I’m filled with so much possibility. And positivity. And yeah, strength. I think it’s because I’m able to channel all the energy it takes to keep things hidden into being the fullest, fiercest version of myself.”
Paolo sighs wistfully. “God, I could use some of that. I need Regina-level courage to tell my dad that I don’t want to work for him anymore. Which I know will probably never happen.” He gets up suddenly. “I could use a drink. Want something?”
“Sure,” I say. Speaking of courage, I could use some of the liquid form to talk to Paolo about what I really came to talk about. “What do you have?”
“A little bit of everything.”
I’m flabbergasted by what I see when I follow him into the kitchen. There’s a massive stainless-steel refrigerator, a six-burner gas stove with an industrial range hood, and a quartz kitchen island the size of a real island. To the left is a closet with a see-through door, which I realize is not a closet at all but an aboveground wine cellar. Next to that is a small counter with barstools and a fully stocked alcohol cabinet behind it.
“You weren’t kidding about having everything,” I say.
“Wine? Beer?”
“How about a scotch?” I ask. “And don’t make me choose between all your different expensive ones I’ve probably never even heard of. Whatever you’ve got open is fine.”
He takes down a half-empty bottle of Highland Park 19, pours a generous amount into two highball glasses, and hands me one.
We clink glasses and drink. I don’t have the most sophisticated palate, but I can tell when something is top shelf, and this definitely is, tasting like smoky molasses.
“Good?” Paolo says.
“So good,” I say, smacking my lips.
We drink in silence for a bit. The awareness of us being alone at his house together late at night creeps into my consciousness. The warmth of the scotch magnifies, blooming in the back of my throat.
“So,” Paolo says, breaking our silence, “you never finished telling me about your date with Aaron. You said it didn’t go well?”
“It’s kind of inaccurate to say my date with Aaron didn’t go well. Because it ended up not being a date at all. At least, not with Aaron.”
“What?”
“It was a blind double-date. Aaron and his guy, and someone else he was trying to set me up with.”
“Oh, damn. That’s messed up.”
“Looking back on it now, I think I just misread Aaron’s feelings toward me. I know he cares about me. Just not in that way. Not anymore. Maybe not ever, actually,” I say, sighing. “I don’t know.”
“And… how do you feel about that?”
“I’m okay with it,” I reply.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” A smile starts to grow on my face.
“What?” Paolo asks.
“You know what you said last night at the party, about me making you happy?”
“Yes?” Paolo says, not quite looking at me, as if afraid to meet my eyes.
“Did you really mean that?”
“Yes. One hundred percent.”
“Well I… feel…” The same. Happy. More than just happy. Giddy. When I’m with Paolo I feel supported. Accepted. Appreciated. I want to tell him that and so much more, but the words don’t seem to come. It’s strange. With Aaron I was willing to just throw myself at him, do or say whatever I needed to be wanted by him. And now that there’s someone I truly care about in my life, who sees all of me and likes it, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to say yes to the possibility of being loved for who I really am.
Paolo’s face falls. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same.”
He doesn’t move or say anything more. The house has gone incredibly quiet. I hear the rush of a car down the street. The rustle of a bird, roosting on a tree branch outside the kitchen window. And the sound of my own heartbeat, beating so wildly in my ears now that it takes over everything.
And then I reach out, pull Paolo’s face toward mine, and kiss him.
God. I always thought all kisses were alike. A kiss is just a kiss.
But this. This.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It’s more than just his lips on my lips. It’s more than the taste of caramel and vanilla and a wisp of smoke finding its way across my mouth, dancing across my tongue, and going down, deep, into the very center of me, lodging itself in my core and making me shudder.
It’s a gift I’d never known I’d needed. A connection to someone I’d never known I was looking for and didn’t know would make me feel so complete until now.
With one single kiss.
I pull back suddenly. “I’m sorry. Why do I keep doing that to you?”
“It’s okay,” he says, breathing heavily. He grasps the sides of my face and caresses me, his fingertips hot against my skin. “I’ve been wanting that, too. A proper follow-up to the first time,” he says.
I stand there, wishing I could feel his hands on my cheeks and the warmth of him lingering on my lips forever. But I remember then that I need to ask him a big favor. Again.
“Uh-oh,” Paolo says, letting his hands drop. “Was I that bad?”
I shake my head. “Nothing could be farther from the truth.”
“But…?”
“But I need to ask you to do something for me,” I say. “Good news is, you’ve already done it before. The bad news is, you’ll have to pump it up a notch. Or ten.”
Paolo’s eyebrows crease. He picks up his glass from the counter and takes a long sip of the whiskey. “Go on.”
“My dad’s coming to karaoke night this Saturday. And I don’t want him to know I’m doing drag again. But I don’t want to let down the fans. And I definitely don’t want to disappoint Bryan, especially now. Regina Moon Dee has to be there.”
Paolo closes his eyes and sighs. “I can see where this is heading.”
“Would you be me again? Just one more time? Pretty please?” I ask, making each word sweeter and higher than the one before it.
Paolo laughs out loud, though not at my ridiculous baby voice. “You want me to host an entire karaoke show as Regina Moon Dee?”
“No. We’re figuring out a plan for that. You’d just have to do one itsy-bitsy little lip-synch. Maybe two.”
He raises an eyebrow. “A lip-synch, huh?” he says, downing his whiskey with a big gulp. “I’ve actually always wanted to do one of those.”
“And I’ll teach you how,” I say, finishing off my own drink.
“Could be fun,” Paolo says. He reaches for the bottle and pours us some more. “Okay. Let’s hear the plan.”
We keep drinking as I go over all the details for the upcoming karaoke night.
Close to midnight, I look at my watch and realize I should probably get going. Only I’ve had a little too much to drink.
“You can crash here,” Paolo says, seemingly reading my mind.
As much as I want a repeat of that kiss, I know I’d feel better if we were sober when we did. I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist Paolo if he wanted to go further, and I definitely wouldn’t want to be drunk for that. “Mmmm, I don’t know.”
“I promise, no funny business. Not tonight at least,” he says with a smirk, intuiting my thoughts again. “You can stay in my guest room.”
My head begins to throb from a little too much scotch. “Okay.”
We go upstairs. He leads me to the guest bedroom. A California king with towering mahogany posts takes up half the room.
Paolo inches toward me. It feels as if he’s about to embrace me or even push me onto the bed. Both scenarios play out in my head tantalizingly as I try to give no indication of wanting anything more than just a—
“Good night,” Paolo says, touching his fingertip lightly on my nose.
“Good night,” I reply, half relieved and half disappointed he’s kept his promise about being a gentleman.
He walks backward slowly, watching me with every step before finally turning around and heading into his bedroom down the hall and shutting the door softly behind him.
I sigh and fall onto the enormous bed. The comforter poofs up around me, surrounding me in a soft cloud smelling of orange blossoms. I want to burrow under the covers and wrap myself in the memory of our kiss.
Instead, I make sure to text everyone with the plans for tomorrow.
It’s not until I’ve sent out those messages that I notice I have an unread one from Aaron.
Hey Rex. I’ve decided to stay here for the week. Can you let Bryan know? He wants to talk, but I’m not ready yet. I’m still mad at him for lying to me. You think you know someone, right?
That last part stings a bit.
Oh, and Miguel sent me this pic. Forgot to show you. Maybe you guys can give it another go sometime?
A shot of me, Miguel, Aaron, and Etienne at Comal, raising our glasses at the bar. To any casual observer it might seem like a perfectly normal picture. Four men having a nice time out on the town. No one would know that there’s something not quite right about it, that the look of contentment on one of those men’s faces is only a half-truth, a fantasy. Because what he’s presenting to the world in that picture is just an illusion.
Fantasy and illusion. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?
After all, isn’t that what drag queens do best?