Don't cry for me, Imeldita...

Late 70s- Early 80s

It was my first foray to the theater in the "Newnited States" and I was very excited. My friend Miles had tickets for us to see "Evita" together at the National Theater in Washington, DC. I asked, "Shall I drive to the theater?" "You are not driving your Pinto to this event, my dear!" Did he just insult my yellow Pinto for which I paid a princely sum of $500? He told me that there would be a chauffered car to pick me up. "Sorry?" "A car will pick you up. You will not regret it. I meant leaving your Pinto at home, you won't regret it. "

It was a big black car, a limousine! It was definitely more subdued than a pimp's car. You know, like a big bad car that Barretta would chase after. The chauffer got out, tipped his hat and slightly bowed at me when I approached. He held the door for me. I hoped I was able to hide my excitement well.

This was the first time I was in a sea of leather car seats. It smelled really rich. There was a mini bar too. The only thing missing was a big bad Italian dude with rings on every finger, wearing a satiny jacket and a hat. And do not forget the cigar. That would really make the scene more interesting. I, a damsel in distress kidnapped by some mafiosi type with all kinds of cubic zirconia rings and a satin jacket. But alas, I was the only passenger, like Cinderella being taken to the ball, only the prince had some gender assignment issues. You read right. Read on...

I was wearing an emerald color dress, bought at a thirty per cent discount from Garfinckel's. I was also wearing a fur stole, borrowed from my friend Martha, who had a closet full of furs, stilleto shoes, and clutch purses. The thing is, at that moment I really wished I splurged on a $100 Amway faux fur. I mean, a faux fur was what I would have really needed to match my moment's circumstances. Regardless, I had a beautiful dress, it was a beautiful night, and I only wished I had someone to wave to, someone to witness my five minute of fame; someone to exclaim to me later, "Hey, was that you in the limo? Wow, that's super!"

Inside the car, I bounced up and down the buttery seats, disbelieving my good fortune. I kept looking around my neighborhood, hoping that someone saw me get into this bad car and I suddenly felt embarrassed of my humble, faded, yellow Pinto in the driveway. The chauffer looked from the rearview mirror. I could tell he was smiling at me. I smiled back, gave him a two thumbs up, which I immediately followed with a V sign for peace. Also, victory.

The limousine stopped right in front of the theater door. People were milling about and as my chauffer got out and ceremoniously opened the door, heads turned in my direction, perhaps expecting someone famous, notorious, or important to get out of the car. They instead got me with my slip showing off the hem of my dress. I pulled my slip while I grinned and thanked the chauffer, who pointed me to my friend Miles. He on the other hand, had his hand, palm facing me just so, as if signaling me to "freeze." I did. Then I remembered the protocol:

"You are not to wave animatedly to call my attention. I will know when you arrive. I will nod at you and we will walk towards each other. We will then kiss each other lightly on the cheek and proceed inside the theater. During intermission, we will have wine in the lobby. We will not talk loudly while we are having wine but we can discuss what we have seen so far. After the play, the same car will take you home. We will have lunch the next day."

The next day, I received a dozen beautiful roses at work from him. As previously agreed, we had lunch at the Hyatt. They all knew him well over there. He handed me three-ounce bottle of Chanel No. 19. At lunch, he was animated and told me that I passed the test and would I mind being his date from now on to all the functions he had to go to? That's the way, ahuh, ahuh, I like it, ahuh, ahuh, that's the way.

He told me I did very well; I had the proper demeanor, I knew how to critique a play, I sipped my wine, I had good table manners. He is gay, he wanted a decoy. I was perfect. I was a stage actress. I can act the part and I am a living dress and tech rehearsals with witty dialogues. In return, I would continue to see Broadway plays, concerts, attend dinners at Four Seasons, attend parties with him in Georgetown or elsewhere in Washington. To make it sweet, I will get flowers each time, a copy of the latest Vogue magazine European edition, and a bottle of perfume that I liked.

For years after that, I was Ms. Photogenic and Ms. Personality in his life. Photos showed me in beautiful clothes I did not own; I borrowed them from friends. There were times where I had to stuff the bodice with Kleenex to help me attain a better silhouette. One flew out of my chest at a party while I was dancing "Gloria!"

Then one day, he outed himself. No longer did he need a pretend girlfriend. The world suddenly did not care if he brought a man with him to his functions and parties. We celebrated with a party he hosted for his and his friends at thier newly furnished home in Georgetown. We partied hard. I remember one of my friends asking if I was okay. I obviously passed out momentarily in the bathroom. Finally, Miles' rules did not apply anymore. I was free!

I was a free woman with a rather impressive collection of perfume.