On Saturday night, I was at the second-floor bar of Marla's, waiting for my friend Angel to arrive with his cousin. He was late as usual and downstairs people were streaming in for the drag show. I could hear the boom of the microphone and the master (or rather mistress) of ceremonies, followed by resounding applause.
There was hardly anyone upstairs except me and the bartender. The upper level of Marla's held the massive dance floor, complete with giant speakers and suspended disco lights. I was already on my second beer of the night, hitting it hard to calm my nerves.
I kept checking my phone, if only to let the few people around me know that I was waiting for someone, rather than just hanging out alone.
I had met Angel over a month ago in my search for a Spanish language partner. I'd been studying on my own for about two years and desperately wanted someone to practice with.
I posted an ad on Craigslist (in the Men Seeking Men section, of all places). I wrote it all in Spanish, hoping to attract the local latinos of the community.
The fact was that I was wildly attracted to Hispanic men. Just hearing a man speak or sing in Spanish was enough to make me weak at the knee. So I figured, if my exchange partner happened to be a sexy gay guy, all the better!
Angel was the only one to actually follow up with me on the language exchange (all the other responders were white guys who thought I was Hispanic and asked if I could please speak English).
Angel and I were both twenty-eight, of decent height, and a bit on the husky side. His skin was extremely light, with only the slightest gold tint to indicate he was Hispanic. He had a large, peanut-shaped head, kind of like an old-timey babydoll. It contained small, copper-brown eyes to match his hair, heart-shaped lips and a petite, feminine nose. We got along okay, but there wasn't really any attraction to speak of.
Nor was he much help when it came to practicing Spanish. Having spent most of his life in Southern California, he would automatically switch to English every time I failed to understand something he said.
Angel may not have been a great language tutor, but he did like to take me clubbing with him. We'd been out to Marla's together twice already.
"We're downstairs!" he texted me at last. I'd been waiting nearly an hour. I was definitely a lightweight when it came to drinking and already felt tipsy as I descended to the first floor.
Angel waved to me amongst the crowd entering at the foyer. He was all but impossible to miss, decked out in full club attire, including a vinyl jacket of shiny, rippling purple and a whole lot of Liberace-style bling.
I, on the other hand, had come in the same green hoodie and blue jeans I wore everywhere. I liked to think of myself as "butch" and "passing-for-straight," rather than just a lazy dresser.
Angel greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks. "Hey good to see you, glad you could make it," I shouted into his ear, genuinely relieved to have some company.
"Jimmy baby, so nice to see you again," Angel stroked his long, gold chains. I began to say something, but he was already scanning the crowd and sizing up the guys.
To be honest, I'd been pretty reluctant to come with him again, seeing as the last two times he'd hooked up with a guy hotter and younger than either of us and left me by myself. I'd gone home feeling stupid and questioning why I ever went out at all.
After sizing up the situation, Angel snapped back to attention. "Oh, right, so this is my cousin Diego from Mexico that I was telling you about, Diego, Jim. Jim, Diego."
Angel motioned to the guy on his right whom I'd scarcely noticed in the blinding purple of his jacket. Diego stepped forward and we shook hands.
It was only the fact that Angel was bringing his cousin from Mexico that had convinced me to come to Marla's a third time. He explained on the phone that this was Diego's first time in the United States and he would be showing him around for a few days.
"So, basically, he does not speak a word of English and since you're all into learning Spanish and everything, maybe you could just chat with him. Just help me show him a good time...he's gay, too, you know..."
I was still desperate to practice my Spanish with someone and maybe this was Angel's way of paying me back for all those times he ditched me.
Already pretty soused, I may have stared at Diego a bit longer than I should have. As our hands made contact, I felt the heat in my groin almost immediately.
It took me a moment to register that this was the guy Angel had been talking about. I had no idea what to expect from this cousin from Mexico, but the one thing I definitely didn't count on was feeling any more attracted to him than I did to Angel.
Diego was a head shorter than the two of us. He was cinnamon skinned with full, luxurious black hair that gleamed in the light above. He had large, dark eyes and a prominent nose. His slightly-parted lips were thick, moist, luscious. He sported a pencil moustache and furry little goatee that ran the underside of his jaw.
He was wearing a black silk shirt, open and exposing his chest. A gold crucifix on a long chain dangled between smooth, hard pecs. His upper arm flexed with jumping muscle as I shook his hand.
"
Hola Jim, soy Diego, que tal
?" Diego's lip curled into a shy little smile. With a low, but verile voice, he had pronounced my name "
Geem
" rather than "Jim."
I admired his deepset indigenous features (those Mexican men of Aztec/Mayan descent drive me wild. I'm always so frustrated by the that latino "heartthrobs" in movies and TV usually just look like white guys with a tan. I find indigenous-looking men to be amongst the most beautiful on Earth). I looked back and forth between Angel and Diego, still trying to comprehend that they were related.
"Hi there," I said stupidly in English, "I'm Jim, nice to meet you."
"No, no, use Spanish," Angel reminded me.
"
Oh
, right, erm-
mucho gusto, es un placer conocerte
..."
Diego beamed at hearing his mother-tongue come out of my mouth. I noticed his dimples. His teeth seemed especially white, offset by the darkness of his skin. He looked at me with those fathomless black eyes that I thought I might drown in.
"The drag show already started," I said turning to Angel, trying really hard to do something besides drool all over his cousin. Even the foyer where we stood was jam packed. Getting into the showroom would be a challenge. Still, we could see the sequined dress of the first performer sparkling through a sea of cigarette smoke.
"What can I get you to drink?" Angel yelled into my ear, placing a gold-ringed hand on my shoulder. I told him another beer would be fine if he was buying. Diego said the same. Heroically, he pushed his way into the showroom, his shiny purple jacket vanishing into the crowd.
The two of us were left standing together, my body alert to the presence of Diego next to me. He smiled at me again, a blush rising in his cheeks. I started making small talk in Spanish. It was lucky I already had some alcohol in me, or I would surely have been tongue-tied.
"
Y eres de la ciudad de México, no
?" I asked him.
"
Si, soy chilango, si
..." He grinned, showing his dimples again.
"
Y como es la vida allí
?" (how is life there?)
"
Ah bien, todo bien, gracias
..." he nodded.
So far, so good. My Spanish seemed to be flowing pretty naturally.
Many of my previous attempts to communicate with native speakers had ended in embarrassment and frustration. All the mistakes I'd made would come back to haunt me later and make me cringe.
However, something kept me from giving up. I assumed it was moments like this. When things went well and I carried out a coherent conversation, it was thrilling.
Being able to talk to someone in Spanish whom I could not have talked to otherwise felt almost like magic. Like opening a door where there had only been a wall. The experience was addictive.
Diego told me that he worked as a cook in a family restaurant ("
A que te dedicas?
" I asked him, having learned to ask "what do you do" no more than a week ago). That he was thirty-three years old ("
Cuantos años tienes
?") and this was his first time in the U.S.
