it apparently kept the spouses busy and happy, so it was
something that was overlooked every summer.
She also had a male friend, who was older than
my mother but still worked as a server at a popular Mexican food restaurant in
her neighborhood, which we frequented. He'd been saying, "Careful, it's hot," after depositing
enchiladas on tables there since he was around seventeen. Hooray for solidarity in the workforce. “He,” Lulu would lean in close and whisper,
“is gay .”
As someone who had been involved in musical
theater for most of my life, this did not shock me. I had plenty of gay friends, including one
young lady who chased after me for the better part of a year—even though she
knew that I was devoted to my boyfriend and not
interested in exploring lesbianism.
The part that did shock me was how Lulu and the waiter had smoked marijuana at a
party over twenty years ago. That was
her favorite part to tell.
The thought of my grandmother toking it up with
Roddy was enough to make my head spin.
***
Our destination came into view.
The front of the building was covered in bright
lights and photos. An usher accompanied us into a dark, cool theater. It turned out that we actually had really
good seats. I silently thanked Henri—he
must have had a hand in this.
Our tickets included dinner, so I ordered the filet
mignon I had been craving since our arrival. Lulu ordered chicken. And a bottle of champagne.
“My granddaughter is only twenty,” she told our
waiter.
He was wearing a white coat and shirt, with a
black tie, cummerbund, and black slacks. His small, thin black moustache and his hair were neatly slicked
back. Lulu continued: “In our country, she is not allowed to drink
alcohol yet, so this is a special occasion.”
“ Oui,
Madame ,” he smiled at me in a condescending way that made me want to crawl
into a hole.
“Wheech bottle do you desire?”
Looking at the extensive list, she ultimately
picked a bottle. A bottle of two-hundred
dollar French champagne.
I didn’t know much about champagne at the
time. I didn’t know, for instance, that
the local convenience store keeps cheap bottles in the cooler above the orange
soda and root beer. However, I did
realize that two hundred dollars was a lot of money for a woman who usually
insisted on drinking tap water in dining establishments. I was suitably impressed.
“ Magnifique !” the waiter grinned. “Excellent choice!” It was like the words came straight from his
nose, sounding like “esselont shwoss.”
He disappeared.
Someone brought bread, which was served
straight on the table, as we put our napkins on our laps. Thanking her, I noticed that we were sitting
in a beautifully ornate theater. Our
table was up above a small audience area.
Sparkling, square chandeliers surrounded the
stage, suspended from the ceiling. It reminded me of the time I went to Reno with my boyfriend
and his mother. I had been too young to gamble, but we saw a concert at one of
the many theaters there. It was nicer than any venue where I had performed, and
the people around us were dressed in their best.
Feeling wilted after our long day, I excused
myself to visit the restroom. I wished
that I could wash my face, but I hadn’t brought any makeup to reapply.
An attendant stood with her arms crossed,
waiting to… what? To help me out? I never really understood this
occupation. Maybe it makes people feel
rich and important? It really just made me feel uncomfortable. I reached for a paper towel, which was in a
tall, neat stack.
Without looking in my direction, the attendant
blocked my hand as fast as a ninja and swooped up a paper towel with a flourish—holding
it in my direction without even glancing at me. Wadding and drenching it, I put it on the back of my neck. I wiped off my lipstick and reapplied
it. Melted eyeliner gathered around
something that was overlooked every summer.
She also had a male friend, who was older than
my mother but still worked as a server at a popular Mexican food restaurant in
her neighborhood, which we frequented. He'd been saying, "Careful, it's hot," after depositing
enchiladas on tables there since he was around seventeen. Hooray for solidarity in the workforce. “He,” Lulu would lean in close and whisper,
“is gay .”
As someone who had been involved in musical
theater for most of my life, this did not shock me. I had plenty of gay friends, including one
young lady who chased after me for the better part of a year—even though she
knew that I was devoted to my boyfriend and not
interested in exploring lesbianism.
The part that did shock me was how Lulu and the waiter had smoked marijuana at a
party over twenty years ago. That was
her favorite part to tell.
The thought of my grandmother toking it up with
Roddy was enough to make my head spin.
***
Our destination came into view.
The front of the building was covered in bright
lights and photos. An usher accompanied us into a dark, cool theater. It turned out that we actually had really
good seats. I silently thanked Henri—he
must have had a hand in this.
Our tickets included dinner, so I ordered the filet
mignon I had been craving since our arrival. Lulu ordered chicken. And a bottle of champagne.
“My granddaughter is only twenty,” she told our
waiter.
He was wearing a white coat and shirt, with a
black tie, cummerbund, and black slacks. His small, thin black moustache and his hair were neatly slicked
back. Lulu continued: “In our country, she is not allowed to drink
alcohol yet, so this is a special occasion.”
“ Oui,
Madame ,” he smiled at me in a condescending way that made me want to crawl
into a hole.
“Wheech bottle do you desire?”
Looking at the extensive list, she ultimately
picked a bottle. A bottle of two-hundred
dollar French champagne.
I didn’t know much about champagne at the
time. I didn’t know, for instance, that
the local convenience store keeps cheap bottles in the cooler above the orange
soda and root beer. However, I did
realize that two hundred dollars was a lot of money for a woman who usually
insisted on drinking tap water in dining establishments. I was suitably impressed.
“ Magnifique !” the waiter grinned. “Excellent choice!” It was like the words came straight from his
nose, sounding like “esselont shwoss.”
He disappeared.
Someone brought bread, which was served
straight on the table, as we put our napkins on our laps. Thanking her, I noticed that we were sitting
in a beautifully ornate theater. Our
table was up above a small audience area.
Sparkling, square chandeliers surrounded the
stage, suspended from the ceiling. It reminded me of the time I went to Reno with my boyfriend
and his mother. I had been too young to gamble, but we saw a concert at one of
the many theaters there. It was nicer than any venue where I had performed, and
the people around us were dressed in their best.
Feeling wilted after our long day, I excused
myself to visit the restroom. I wished
that I could wash my face, but I hadn’t brought any makeup to reapply.
An attendant stood with her arms crossed,
waiting to… what? To help me out? I never really understood this
occupation. Maybe it makes people feel
rich and important? It really just made me feel uncomfortable. I reached for a paper towel, which was in a
tall, neat stack.
Without looking in my direction, the attendant
blocked my hand as fast as a ninja and swooped up a paper towel with a flourish—holding
it in my direction without even glancing at me. Wadding and drenching it, I put it on the back of my neck. I wiped off my lipstick and reapplied
it. Melted eyeliner gathered around
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