Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
BACK INSIDE THE PINK UNICORN , Eva has turned on quiet lounge music, and the house lights are up to mid-level again. Karaoke night is over, but the bar is still abuzz.
“Hey,” someone says to me as I enter. It’s Jenny—Ms. Anaconda-fanny-smacker. She puckers her lips, as if tasting something sour. “Never seen anyone do ‘Reflection’ like that before. With a surprise real-life reflection. Props,” she says, tapping her chest with two fingers and saluting me before exiting.
Paolo, Kat, and Ujima make their way over to me near the entrance. Paolo’s wig looks like it’s melting, and from the way he’s standing, I know his feet are swollen and tired.
“What happened with the rest of the show?” I ask them.
“I told the audience that it was a new gimmick you were trying out to drum up publicity for the bar,” Ujima says. “If it helps, #dragqueendouble is already trending.”
“I should just tell everybody the truth,” I say.
“The only person you really need to talk to is sitting up front,” Kat says.
At the table near the stage, my mother holds one of my father’s hands in hers. He nods along as she talks. I wish I could hear what she was saying, but I’m too far away, and my legs don’t seem to want to take me any closer to them.
“I know,” I say.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Paolo says.
“As sweet as that is, I don’t think seeing the physical manifestation of my drag sitting next to me will make things any easier for my dad. But thank you.” I reach out and caress Paolo’s cheek.
“Rex,” my father calls out, waving at me and pointing his lips at an empty chair at their table. His stoic face reveals nothing, and I’m not eager to find out what’s really on his mind after my big reveal.
“I guess I should get this over with,” I say.
Kat gives me a quick hug before I go. “Whatever happens, we’ll be here, waiting.”
I wade through the crowd and sit down next to my mom, using her as a buffer between me and my dad. I try to face them, but my eyes twitch and twist away, unable to look at either of them. My gaze shifts to the empty stage instead, focusing on the hazy, soft spotlight still illuminating the lone microphone like a ghost.
“Anak,” my mom says, “your father and I have been talking.”
I nod, frowning. “About how I’ve been lying to him.” My body tenses, ready to receive a blow.
“About what a hardheaded fool he’s been,” my mom says.
My ears perk up. “What?”
My dad sighs. “Rex, let me ask you a question. Why do you think I always go out into the garage?”
“I always thought it was because you wanted to be alone.”
“That’s part of it, yes. But why? Come on, I want you to be honest with me,” he says.
“Because… sometimes you feel like you don’t fit in with Eva, Mom, and me?”
“I can see how you would think that. But no.” He reaches for the nearly empty glass in front of him, ice cubes melting into the dregs of his drink, and knocks back what little is left. “I have a lot of things inside me that I don’t always show. Lots of thoughts that I don’t know how to say. Except through what I make in that room. I feel more comfortable with my tools and projects. I’m not so good with my words, anak. Not like you or Eva. Do you remember that chest I made for you?”
“Of course,” I say. “It’s one of my most prized possessions. Maybe the most.”
My dad’s eyes brighten. “I made you that chest because it was the only way I knew how to tell you how I felt. I also know what it’s like to have to express myself through other, let’s say, more unique ways.”
All this time I’d thought my father was the odd one out. That he didn’t understand my mom’s affinity for performing or my connection to drag. But he was more like us than I knew. He understood that these things aren’t just mere hobbies. They’re passions. They’re what make us feel whole.
“So you made my trunk for other reasons besides my graduation.”
I watch as he gathers the bamboo cocktail picks from the empty glasses on the table and begins to untie the knotted head of one of them. “Yes, Rex,” he says.
“Because you felt bad about what happened to me and Tito Melboy. The… mugging.”
He grunts, nods, and takes the picks in his hand, wrapping one around the others and tying them together.
“Dad, I have to tell you something. We weren’t mugged. We were attacked. For dressing up in drag.”
In my father’s hand is what looks like a small flower made of bamboo.
He places it on the table and pulls a faded handkerchief from his pocket. I assume it’s to wipe the sweat that always seems to accumulate at the back of his neck when he gets worked up. But instead, he raises it to his eyes. Something is happening that I’ve never seen before.
My father is crying.
“Dad?”
“I know what happened, Rex. Your uncle told me everything a long time ago. About your drag. About what really happened to you both.”
“He did?”
My mother rubs my dad’s arm.
He wipes his eyes. “Why do you think he left the house? Because I told him to leave! I was so angry with him for leading you down that path. Look at where he took you! Straight into that alley, where you were hurt. Where you could have been… Susmaryosep, I don’t even want to think about what could have happened.”
“Tito Melboy never told me,” I say. “You never told me.”
“I was going to, Rex. But you never went back to dressing that way. You changed yourself, and I was content, knowing it wouldn’t happen again. That box I made? At the time, it was my way of encouraging you, to tell you I thought you did the right thing. To thank you for not putting yourself in danger anymore.”
“And I put that part of myself inside it.”
“Yes, Rex. Your mom told me. You put yourself inside. But I understand now the toll it took on you.”
He leans back in his plastic chair, crosses his arms, and looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“You know, anak, when your uncle Melboy left us in the Philippines, I was just a child. I couldn’t comprehend why our kuya abandoned us. Why would he choose a life of drag over a life with us? It wasn’t until your mom told me something just now that made me understand.”
“What?” I ask.
“That your uncle Melboy has been sending money back to the Philippines for years,” my mom says. “To your grandpa, to your uncle Reg, to Uncle Reg’s entire family. All this time. More than half of what he makes performing, no matter how little, he sends back to them. He’s never stopped taking care of your family, even when your lolo was the one who told him to stop being himself. I’ve been telling your dad that’s exactly what he did to you.”
“Your mom is right,” my dad says.
“As always!” my mom says.
He smiles, his eyes wrinkling out a few tears that he quickly brushes away with his hand. “When I first saw you in that dress in your bedroom, you were so happy. But I took that away from you. I never again saw that kind of happiness in you, anak. For so many years. Not until just now. Right there on that stage. Where you were brave enough to be yourself again in front of me. In front of everyone.”
He blows his nose with his handkerchief. I just stare at him.
“What is it?” he asks. “Do I have a booger on my nose?”
I get out of my seat, walk over to my dad, lean down, and embrace him. I don’t think I’ve hugged him that tightly since I was a boy. The same little happy, singing, dancing, overacting boy that my father said he hadn’t seen in years.
“Thank you, Dad,” I mumble into his shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, anak,” he says, his voice ragged. “I want the best for you. I want you to be yourself. Here. At home. Everywhere. Do whatever makes you happy.”
“Which means you don’t really want to go to law school. Diba, anak?” my mom adds, lifting one of her eyebrows at my dad.
“Well, if I’m being perfectly honest about everything—”
“Hoy,” my dad says, laughing. “One thing at a time. You don’t need to rush any other decisions right now.”
I’d thought the turning point in my relationship with my dad was the day I decided to put my drag away. I know now that it’s exactly the opposite. It’s here, years later, at the Pink Unicorn, when we both agree that my drag should never be hidden away again.
Manny holds open the Pink Unicorn’s door to let Bryan and Aaron come back inside. From the relaxed looks on their faces, their father-son discussion must have gone as well as ours.
“That guy,” Dad says, pointing at Aaron with his lips. “Is that the guy you told us about a while back? The one you’re helping here?”
“He must be very happy with the success of karaoke night,” my mom says.
“He is,” I say. “But it’s not enough, unfortunately. Would you guys come with me? I want to discuss this with everyone.”
We gather at the bar. My mom and dad, Bryan and Aaron, Ujima, Eva, Kat, and Paolo. Manny even joins, standing next to Ujima with a bashful look on his face. Loretta kindly serves us all a round of drinks.
“Aaron,” I say, “could you share what you told me outside with everyone else? About how the Pink Unicorn still needs more help? We’ve got a lot of really creative people here. I’m sure we can come up with a solution.”
I sit on the barstool next to Paolo and assist with taking off his shoes, listening while Aaron explains the Pink Unicorn’s financial difficulties to everyone.
“I was never going to just leave you with all that debt,” Bryan says after Aaron has finished. “I wasn’t going to just cut and run. Again.”
“I know,” Aaron says. “But still. Karaoke night may have bought us a few weeks, but not much more than that.”
I clear my throat nervously. “Paolo?” I’m embarrassed about what I’m about to ask him, but I know that he loves the bar. “Do you think you might be able to help financially?”
He rubs his foot and groans. I’m hoping it’s from the soreness he feels and not from my question. “How much are we talking about?”
“Around a hundred fifty thousand,” Aaron says.
“I don’t have that much,” Paolo says. “Not even close. My house, most of my stuff—it’s really all my dad’s. I could ask him for a loan, but then I’d have to tell him it’s for a gay bar that I KJ for, and I don’t think he’d be very happy about it. I can still try, though.”
“All right,” I say. “Let’s consider it a possibility. Any other ideas?”
Eva, the good student that she is, raises her hand like she’s in class. “Could we do a GiveFunds campaign? Didn’t that help the Alley Bar in Oakland?”
“That’s a great idea, anak.” My mom puts her arm around Eva.
“Would we make enough money that way?” Bryan asks.
My dad snaps his fingers. “Do you remember the telethons on TV with Jerry Lewis? They used to do fundraising, but they weren’t just asking for money. They combined it with performances to motivate people to give. What about something like that?”
“A live fundraiser,” Ujima says. “I’ve done a few drag versions of that before. They even have event platforms we could use, where people could watch the show virtually and donate online.”
“Rex,” my mom says to me, “why don’t you program an evening of karaoke performances? You, and Melboy, and Kat, and everyone else. You can charge admission that night. And whenever someone sings a song, we ask people to donate. We can even ask them to pay for special requests, for themselves or for anyone else. Of course, I’d be very happy to sing whatever songs people would be clamoring for.”
“Of course you would, Mom,” I say, smiling.
“That’s a great idea,” Bryan says.
“We can do it in parallel with the GiveFunds campaign,” Eva says, “which I could start right away, and then close out at the end of the live event.”
“I’m in,” Kat says. “And I know the Nine Tails gals would be willing to donate a performance, too. When do we do it?”
“Soon, if we can. But with enough time to get the word out. How about the end of the month, on the last Friday?” Aaron says. “Actually, wait. Let’s do it on the Saturday. I forgot I’m changing my special day with Joey to Fridays. I don’t want to miss that.”
Bryan gives Aaron an approving look, and I smile. I can tell Bryan’s proud of his son’s commitment to Joey.
“Good,” Eva says. “That gives us about three weeks to get the GiveFunds campaign going, line up the music acts, and get the word out for the live event.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say.
“Thank you,” Aaron says, looking around at all of us.
“Yes, thank you all for doing this,” Bryan says. “For me, and my son.”
“Nothing’s more important than family,” Ujima says, holding up their glass. “Can I get an amen in here?”
“Amen!” everyone says.
Paolo and I clink our glasses, making sure to maintain eye contact. For tradition’s sake, of course. We sip, smiling at each other. And then his eyelid flutters as he utters a tiny groan.
Your tuck? I mouth silently to him.
Yes , he mouths back, wincing.
“It’s time for us to get going,” I say to everyone. “Paolo is turning into a pumpkin. I need to take him back to de-drag and untuck.”
I get a bunch of knowing looks from almost everyone, except my dad, who looks like he definitely does not know what untuck means.
Paolo and I say our good-nights to everyone, and I help him gather his things and hobble to the car.
On the drive home, Paolo leans the car seat back and plucks his wig off. “Ahh, much better. So, how’d it go with your dad? Everything looked like it went okay, from what we could see from the bar.”
“Were you guys spying on us?” I ask.
“Possibly.”
“It went well. Really well.”
Paolo reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Good.”
“And now that I’ve done my part of our little dad agreement…”
Paolo groans. “Okay. Yes. I’ll talk to him.” He looks at his watch. “It’s the afternoon in Manila. I can call him now.”
“You don’t have to do it now.”
“I need to ask him about the money for the bar so I might as well get everything out now. It actually helps that you’re here with me.”
He rings his dad, who answers right away. And though I can only hear Paolo’s part of their discussion, I can pretty much tell what his father says on the other end of the line. Their discussion lasts the entirety of our trip back to my place, and they’re still talking when we arrive. Paolo puts his dad on speaker and continues the call in my bathroom so that he can start taking everything off. I can now hear both sides of their heated conversation, so I flip on the TV to give them a little privacy.
When Paolo finally re-emerges, he’s taken off all my drag, but still has most of his makeup on. He flings himself onto the couch and lies down, staring at the ceiling.
“Not as good as my conversation with my dad?” I ask, perching on one of the couch’s arms.
“Pretty much. He was sort of okay with me not wanting to manage Bamboo Fork, but he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just stay with the family business and cook. He said he’d even let me be one of the cooks there, or even at AquaMarine. Work my way up to executive chef eventually. But I told him I wanted to do my own thing.”
“And the loan?”
“No go. Especially not for a bar that our family doesn’t own. I’m sorry, Rex.”
“At least you tried. We’ll just have to depend on the GiveFunds campaign and our fundraising karaoke event.”
Paolo sits up abruptly. “Hold on. I might have one last trick up my sleeve.”
“Really?” I say, batting my eyes. “Spill the tea, please.”
“Not yet. Let me finish getting this stuff off, and then I’ll tell you. Or not. We’ll see,” Paolo says, a mischievous grin growing on his face.
“Oh, okay, we’re gonna be like that?” I say, sliding off the arm of the couch and onto his lap.
His eyes temporarily widen. I bring my face closer to his. So close I can see the various little color smudges and cracking of foundation around the wrinkles of his eyes. All the tiny imperfections. Which are all so perfectly beautiful to me.
I kiss him. The fruity taste of my own gloss flavors my lips.
“Mmm,” he says, smiling with his eyes closed. “You know, if you help me finish taking all this off, I might just tell you my plan.”
I grin and hop off his lap, pulling him off the couch and into the shower. Time to finish taking the last traces of makeup off Paolo’s face. He looked beautiful as me, but he looks even better as himself. And I finally get to see every last bit of him.