by Pascal Scott
“Dios te oiga,” Teresa said. From your mouth to God’s ears.
Next to join the circle was Araceli. After the women had kissed cheeks, Teresa introduced the men. Araceli took an immediate interest in the movie producer, engaging him in a conversation about his work that ended with a request for an interview. He gave her his business card, saying to call his girl to set something up.
At that moment, the event’s star made an appearance.
“¡Diego! ¡Diego!” Teresa called.
Slipping out of arms that touched him as he passed, Diego Cordova made his way to Teresa. He was a short, somewhat androgynous young man with radiant, light brown skin and wispy bangs that fell into his “guylined” brown eyes. He wore an untucked white shirt over loose white slacks and brown loafers with no socks. His hair had been dyed a startling shade of white, giving him the curious appearance of a youthful elder or a mature youth. They exchanged cheek kisses.
“Te ves hermosa como siempre,” he said. You look beautiful, as always.
She introduced Elizabeth, “y conoces Araceli” (and you know Araceli), and then the men. It seemed to suddenly occur to Teresa that Joel might have trouble following a conversation in Spanish. As a courtesy, she continued in English.
“Are you nervous?” she asked Diego.
“I am, I am.”
She put a hand on his arm. “You will be delicious.”
“I hope.”
“Diego,” Araceli said. “A quick interview?”
“Why not? English? Or Spanish?”
Araceli looked at Teresa, then Elizabeth, and then the movie producer, who was listening.
“English.”
She spoke into the microphone of a small tape recorder. “I am speaking to Diego Cordova, fashion designer, on the evening of his benefit for El Centro Comunitario para la Diversidad Sexual at the Casino Histórica. Today is Saturday, June 15, 1996. Diego, tell me, in this world of so many sensibilities, what does fashion say to you?”
She stuck the microphone in his face. He paused for a moment and then began speaking as if he were reciting a memorized script.
“Fashion is a universal language. Fashion allows us to construct our identities and then to deconstruct them. To play a role or to play a gender, to put on a woman’s dress or a man’s suit, to be ourselves or someone else. When we don a piece of clothing, we change the way we feel, the way we walk, the way we act. As Diane Vreeland said famously, ‘Fashion releases us from the banality of the world.’”
The paparazzi had taken notice. Diego posed as the cameras clicked. Before he could finish the interview, the lights blinked to indicate it was nearly time for the show to begin. Diego looked suddenly panicked.
“Excuse me, please. I must go,” he told Araceli. And then to the rest, “Enjoy the show.”
As they found their seats, the roar of multiple voices settled into a low hum. At 8:00 p.m., the lights lowered until the room was cast into darkness except for the runway, illuminated by a row of truss-mounted lights. A male voice boomed over a loudspeaker, “Señoras y señores, bienvenidos al desfile premier de moda independiente de la cuidad de México para beneficiar al centro comunitario para la diversidad sexual.” Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first independent fashion show of Mexico City to benefit the Community Center of Sexual Diversity.
“Esta noche tengo el honor de presentarles la moda del Diego Cordova.” Tonight, I have the honor to present to you the fashion of Diego Cordova. “Así que siéntese, relájese y disfrute del espectáculo.” So, relax, sit back, and enjoy the show.
A techno bass drum filled the air with synthesized music pounding like a heartbeat. A spotlight hit the catwalk as the first very tall, very long-legged model started down the runway. She was wearing a silver-threaded black wrap dress with spaghetti straps and a front slit, very high ankle-strap heels, and her famous red-orange wig.
Elizabeth gasped in surprise.
“Miss Edie!”
Chapter Forty-four
After the show, Elizabeth followed Teresa and Araceli up the glistening marble staircase in the hall to the after-party upstairs. In the baroque ballroom, fashionistas were dancing to an electronic beat while poseurs gathered in small circles to exchange gossip and impress one another by their attire. Waiters in black and white glided from clique to clique, offering free champagne. Camera bulbs flashed as the beautiful people posed.
Miss Edie was huddled in a far corner talking to a red-haired drag queen when Elizabeth spotted her. As Elizabeth worked her way through the crowd, the redhead waved her empty glass and excused herself to go off in search of more bubbly.
“Elizabeth darlin’! Oh, my goodness! Baby girl, I never thought I’d see you again. What are you doing in Mexico?”
“I’m staying here because of a friend,” Elizabeth answered.
Miss Edie dipped a shoulder. She was still wearing the slitted Cordova dress from the show, and with the very high heels, she towered over Elizabeth. “Do tell. How the hell did that happen? Some hot Latin mama lure you away from The City?”
“No, uh…It’s a long story for another time. But I want to hear about you. When did you get out of Omega?”
“Oh, God, Omega. I like to forget Omega ever happened. But that was a funny thing. I was in isolation. I don’t know if you remember that.”
“Oh, I remember. Somebody planted a dildo in your bed.”
“Mm-hmm. And I think I know who. A certain gangbanger who didn’t care for us queers.”
“Raul?”
“Uh-huh. But when Thomas took over after Billy retired—”
“Wait. What?”
“—Thomas noticed that I was still in isolation when I was supposed to be released. That was Friday, May 17. I will never forget that day, my last day at Omega. I looked for you to say goodbye, but somebody told me that you were in isolation. I couldn’t imagine what you’d done, but then I thought maybe Raul had set you up, too.”
“I’m still not following,” Elizabeth said. “Billy retired?”
“Yeah, darlin’. Out of the clear blue. One day, he was standing up raving about dildos and his code of his ethics, and the next day, he was gone. Just like that.” Miss Edie snapped her big fingers. They were covered with jeweled rings.
“Thomas got up at the business meeting one morning and said he was the director now. I said, ‘Well, slap my thigh and call me Sally.’”
Elizabeth laughed. “I’ve missed you, Miss Edie.”
“Oh, baby girl. Miss Edie has missed you, too.”
“So, Billy retired,” Elizabeth repeated, still trying to adjust to this new reality, a reality that meant she wasn’t wanted for murder back in California. Could that be true?
“Did Thomas say where Billy retired?” Elizabeth asked.
“No. Ooh, and, girlfriend, there was buzz about that. Word was that Billy was embezzling, and the board wanted to hide it, so they discreetly forced him out. Nobody said where he went. Good riddance as far I’m concerned.”
“I’m with you,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh, my goodness, is that Joel Reed?”
Elizabeth followed Miss Edie’s glance across the room.
“Yeah. You know who he is?”
“Oh, yeah, baby, he almost got an Oscar. And look at the yummy little number with Mr. Reed. I have got to talk to them. You will excuse me, baby girl?”
“Of course.”
“Where can I call you? We need to keep in touch.”
“I’m not sure.”
“No? Well, you can always call me in San Francisco. I’ll be back at the end of the summer. It’s Mary’s Theatrical Touring Company. That’s where you can find me.”
“I’ll remember. You like what you’re doing, Miss Edie?”
“I love it, darlin’. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. They’ve been so good to me. And you know what it’s like for us returning citizens.”
“I do.”
Miss Edie squeezed her hand and then brought her close for
a long hug.
“You take care of yourself, Miss Elizabeth Taylor Bundy.”
“You, too, Miss Edie.”
Chapter Forty-five
Raul Luiz was no stranger to blood, but this was a lot of blood, man. There was blood on the stairs and blood in the hallway on the third floor, where he had never been because it was where the jefes lived, Billy and Thomas, the crazy white guy and the slick black dude. But, ese, this was a lot of blood.
He entered through the back door in the alley, the one that was always locked. He had run past the alley at first, heading down Leavenworth for Geary and the front door of the Point. He was coming back from the Mission, from visiting his mother, and was about twenty minutes ahead of curfew. It was raining hard, and his head was down, but as he passed the alley, he thought he saw someone coming out of the Omega building, and that was strange because that door was always locked. By the time he had doubled back and walked down the alley to investigate, the someone was gone. The door was open, and a big set of keys was hanging from the inside lock.
Raul had pocketed the keys and gone inside, closing the door behind him. That’s when he saw it, the trail of blood leading up the stairs. He had followed it to the third story, down the gray hall, and into the office. He found him there, bleeding on the floor. Billy. Dead.
Jesus. This wouldn’t look good. A home boy standing over a dead güero with a blade in his neck. He was just about to get back out the door when the black dude showed up.
“What’s going on here?” Thomas demanded.
Raul panicked. He took advantage of Thomas’s temporary confusion to push past him and run down the hall, down the stairs, out the back door, and into the night.
Thomas found the phone on Billy’s desk and picked up the handset that had been knocked out of its cradle. Pushing and releasing the plunger, he listened for the dial tone before he pressed nine on the keypad, and then one—and then stopped. Glancing at the body on the floor, he paused before pushing the last number. Instead, he hung up the phone.
Wait, he told himself, think this through. He had just watched Raul Luiz sprint from the room. Raul the gangbanger, the career criminal with the long sheet. Right now, Raul was getting away. Thomas should report the crime, he should finish the call. Except that really, Raul had just done everybody a favor. Billy was dead, you could tell that by looking at him. There was too much blood; his lips were blue, and his face had already gone gray. And while it wasn’t right to want anyone dead, if somebody had to be dead, it wasn’t such a bad thing that it was Billy. Crazy Billy who was going to bring down Omega and ruin everybody’s life.
No, there was no need to hurry to report this crime. Thomas needed some time to consider what to do next, what to do about this mess. This mess Billy had made of the Omega Foundation and this mess Raul had made of Billy. Thomas’s first call was to the board.
By midnight, four of the five board members had gathered around the body of Billy lying on the bloody Persian rug. In attendance were David Steinman, Keith McKinney, J. Ryan Roberts, and Francisco Hernandez. Only Sally Whitman had not been called.
“What the hell happened here?” David asked, peering at the corpse through his thin, wire-rimmed glasses. David was the board’s archivist and chairman.
Thomas answered. “One of our clients stabbed Billy in the neck. I didn’t see him do it, but I saw him standing over the body. It must have just happened.”
“Jesus,” Keith said. Keith was a big, broad-shouldered guy who worked construction. “Have you called the police?”
“No,” Thomas answered.
“Why the hell not?” Keith asked.
“Listen, all of you. There have been things going on at Omega that you don’t know about. You know Saul Bloomberg, our accountant?”
They knew him.
“Billy fired him last week. The IRS sent a warning about back taxes.”
“Oh, crap,” Ryan said. Ryan was a buttoned-down guy who served as legal counsel for the foundation. “How did that happen?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas answered. “I wasn’t cooking the books. They were. And something else. Billy was embezzling.”
“Oh, Christ,” Ryan said. “How long? How much?”
“A long time. And thousands. Tens of thousands.”
“Jesus,” Keith said.
“What are we going to do?” Francisco asked. Francisco had a glass eye that didn’t follow when he turned his head. The missing eye was a reminder of why he was grateful for Omega. He never wanted to go back to his old life. He did landscaping now in Marin County for affluent suburbanites.
“We’ve got to call the police,” Ryan said, moving toward the phone.
“Wait a minute, Ryan,” Thomas said. “All of us need to agree on next steps. This needs to be a board decision.”
Ryan looked stunned. “Are you serious? This is murder. There’s been a murder here. We can’t, you can’t—what are you suggesting, Thomas? That we cover it up? Is that what you’re suggesting? Because that’s obstruction of justice.”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Thomas said. “I just want us to think about the consequences of what we decide here, how that will impact our lives and the life of Omega.”
“That’s not doable,” Ryan said. “Covering it up. That’s not doable.”
“You mean it’s not moral,” David corrected.
“It’s not either,” Ryan said.
“It’s just a sick idea,” David said.
“Like you’ve never done anything like that,” Ryan retorted.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” David asked.
Keith interrupted. “Supposing we did cover it up, how would we go about explaining that? People like Billy don’t just disappear.”
“I can handle that,” Thomas said. “Nobody would ever argue that Billy was mentally stable. Billy was apt to do anything. And lately, he’s been out of control. I’ve got sixty residents who will back me up on that. If I discreetly leak off the record to a few of my sources that the board discovered he was embezzling from the foundation, we could spin it to look like we fired him quietly. We’ll straighten things out with the IRS. We’ll do a press release announcing a new Omega, or, uh, ‘a new day at Omega.’ Yeah, a new day at Omega. That’s even better. Trust me, I can handle this.”
“And if we say no?” Ryan asked.
“Then call the police and get ready for the blowback. You know what will happen. Omega will go down. Everything we’ve worked for will be gone—the foundation, the Point, The Farm, the café—everything. It takes money to run a business. Omega will die without government contracts and donations. And so will your paid positions on the board, by the way, because there won’t be a board anymore. There won’t be anything. So, go ahead, Ryan, if that’s what you think you should do, you go ahead and call the police. But not until we vote. Are we agreed to a vote?”
The men mumbled affirmatively.
“The way I see it is like this: we have a choice here. We can save Omega, or we can let everything we’ve worked for die. That’s it. That’s our choice.” Thomas took a deep breath. “All right then, by a show of hands, how many in favor of saving Omega?”
Thomas stuck his arm high in the air to lead by example. The next hand up was David’s, followed by Francisco and then Keith. Ryan looked as if he might go against the majority, but in the end, his hand, too, went into the air.
“God help me,” Ryan said.
“Opposed?”
“There’s no one to oppose you, Thomas,” David said.
“It’s procedure,” Thomas replied. “We have a quorum. I have to ask if there is opposition.”
“No one is opposed,” David confirmed.
Nobody said anything for a moment and then Francisco asked, “What are we going to do?”
“The Farm,” Thomas said. “Keith, you’ve got a truck, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you drive it here?”
“Yeah, it’s parked on Ge
ary.”
“Go get it and bring it around to the alley. Francisco, Ryan, David, I’ll need you to help me roll him up in the carpet. There’s a freight elevator at the end of the hall. We can use that. I’ve got duct tape in my office. There are tools in the basement. There should be a couple of shovels, flashlights—what else do we need?”
“A tarp? Something to cover the bed of the truck?” Francisco suggested.
“I’ve got that,” Keith said.
“Good,” Thomas said. “You four will drive out to The Farm. No one will be up at this time of night except the guard. I’ll call ahead and let him know you’re making a delivery. Have any of you been to The Farm?”
“Just on a tour,” David answered. The other three men nodded.
“I’ll draw you a map. It’s a big place. The land on the northeast side is all pasture. There’s a turn-off before you come to the main residence. Follow the gravel road for about a mile. That’s where you can dig a grave. And not too shallow. Six feet down if you can do it.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before,” Keith said with an edge in his voice.
“No, but I was in Donovan,” Thomas said defensively. “The first day I was there, I saw an inmate kill a dude in the yard with a barbell. His head caved in just like a watermelon. Where’d you do your time, Keith? Club Fed?”
Keith’s jaw jutted forward, but before he could speak, Ryan stopped him.
“Not now,” Ryan said. “We need to deal with this. You boys can fight later.”
Thomas and Keith eyed each other and then nodded silently.
“I’ll stay here and clean up this mess,” Thomas said.
“I’ll get the truck,” Keith said and left the room.
“Are we good here?” Thomas asked.
“We’re good,” Ryan said.
“David? Francisco?”
“Yeah,” David said, “we’re good.” Francisco nodded in agreement.
“At tomorrow’s business meeting, I’ll make an announcement that Billy has retired. You’re naming me director, right?” Thomas asked David.
