just when i thought i knew my new york like the back of my hands, in came an out of towner with his crazy suggestions of places to go and hang here in the big city. a big slap to my now smug big apple face.
this visitor, a pinoy canadian transplantee, i got acquainted after filling in for someone who rightfully skipped my neighbor's mahjong session on good friday night.
somewhere around losing close to eighty bucks, this pinoy told me that we should go to this quaint movie house in queens. nothing you've ever seen here in new york, he claimed.
now how in the world can i take that gauntlet sitting down, just piling pretty my fake ivory mahjong tiles? and so i, together with another clueless bronx citizen, went with him the next day to this old cinema.
the movie house, perhaps a holdout from the theater construction boom in the fifties, sits near the end of a nondescript avenue bordering la guardia airport. when a plane lands nearby, one can feel, though imperceptibly most of the times, a pleasant buzz like that from a shoulder massager with feeble batteries.
the stadium seating is still intact although hardly anyone watches the third run movie projected in the decently sized post war screen. the action was in the adjunct rooms with its differently themed screenings. this is a gay movieplex, after all.
there is a straight gay porn room showing mostly down and dirty flicks produced from south of the border. there is also the surprisingly popular she-male room. and of course, those sad little video cubicles with that stinging smell of industrial antiseptic.
oddly, there's a straight porn room, as well. and what do you know, hardly anybody goes there.
but all these, i've seen before. but not the fellinesque parade of decidedly old fairies bedecked in their finest evening wear.
there was one, who looked like zeny zabala of my childhood movies, her foundation caking near her earlobes. the old queen was resplendent in a beaded mauve mid ankle gown. there was another one, latino looking and decidedly younger, wearing pucci inspired hosiery overran with conspicuous runs. and another one, who i believe could now be in his sixties, wearing a sparkling rhinestone tiara.
the relatively younger gowned queens cruised the vast movieplex unremittingly like wired up remaindered barbies. the older ones regally rested their weary asses in the fraying leather couches near the mouth of the theater.
two geriatric queens were filipinos. we overheard their conversation.
bakla, pagod na ako (faggot, i’m beat.), the one in a gold lame number told his seat mate who was in just a shockingly plain chiffon cocktail dress. huwag muna, wiz pa ako pagka finish (we're not going yet. i have yet to hook up.)
amidst my fascination with the royal procession, the pinoy canadian was non stop in his disdain for the old fairies. when this platinum blonde wigged queen passed by, our tour guide openly mocked him, telling him his mascara’ was running. the old queen, mortified, scampered to the nearest toilet.
when he came back, the queen chucked her wig and settled for his thinning brunette hair. without us asking him, he told us he’'s leaving. he's had enough for the night, he added.
he then went to this locker stall to retrieve what looked like an overnight bag. she opened it and reverently, she rested in it his wig that now, from where we were, looked genuinely golden.
then peeking into a squarish hand mirror, she fluttered bristly her eyelids. confident, she strode out of the theater barely looking at us.
as she pushed open the massive swing door, she gave our group a last stare like she was saying, you know what, i wasn't really gorgeous, but i was beautiful then. unlike you, i know i am old now, but you know what, i have had my share of fun. i had boyfriends i truly loved who didn't love me back. i had boyfriends who i didn't give a shit. guess what, i was around, you know? i really was.