Follow the Sun

by Sophia Rhodes

  Leaning back to sip her martini, Angie pointed a long fingernail at a lady shimmying across the dance floor. “And that one there, that’s what a femme should look like – soft, dainty, open to being wined and dined by her butch.”

  “How do I know which one I‘d be?” I asked naively.

  Both her and Frank burst out laughing. “Honey, if you have to ask, you ain’t no butch,” Angie said, wiping a tear. “Just look at ya – long hair, frilly dress and made up like a doll. You’re a femme all right.”

  “So do femmes only go out with butches?”

  Frank leaned over the counter at me, “No butch in these parts would date another butch – that’d be like sleeping with my brother. Sure, butches hang out with each other like best buds, shoot the breeze, but at the end of the night they go home with a femme if they’re lucky to get one. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “You know, I’m not really queer,” I said to Angie, faltering on the word queer.

  She and Frank exchanged knowing glances.

  “No, honestly,” I insisted. “I’m only hoping to run into a friend – she’s supposed to perform tonight.”

  “So who is she, honey? Who’s this mystery woman who’s dragging straight girls into gay nightclubs these days? What’s her name? I’ve been a regular long enough to know everybody by now, haven’t I, Frankie?”

  “God knows,” the bartender said with exaggeration, rolling her eyes heavenward.

  “Her name’s Rosario,” I said. “She plays the guitar.”

  “Oh yeah, of course I know who she is,” Angie said, lighting up a cigarette. “She’s smoking hot on stage.” She looked at me curiously. “How would you meet a girl like Rosario anyway?”

  “She offered me a ride home.”

  “Is that so?” she shrugged. “Rosa’s a bit of a heartbreaker. I’ve seen lots of femmes fall head over heels for that one.”

  “Is she seeing someone?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “Now is that the kind of question a straight girl would ask?” Angie threw her head back and laughed. “You’ve got a long way to go still, kid.”

  She was still laughing at me when I went back to sipping my coke.

  I didn’t have to wait long. The house announcer took the mike and tapped it twice, and conversations slowed down to a hush.

  “All right folks, now that you’ve enjoyed your fun and games during our interval, it’s time for our next performer to light up the stage. Without further ado, here’s a little number from our favorite local talent – y’all should know her name by now, she needs no introductions!”

  She gestured toward the back wall and applause broke as none other than Rosario walked onto the stage.

  Her jet-black hair slicked back with gel, she wore a crisp white shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to reveal her tanned, strong forearms. She carried the same guitar she’d had in the back of the truck. Slipping the leather strap over her shoulder, she smiled at the audience:

  “Nice to see y’all again. Let’s see if this’ll get you all moving and shaking.”

  The first rifts got appreciative whistles out of the audience. Her left hand moved at lightning speed through the frets. The fingers of her right hand plucked the strings as if they were an extension of herself, transforming the guitar into a second voice. Her powerful command of the instrument sent shivers up my back.

  “Blue Moon,” she began, and I recognized the Elvis Presley tune that she had hummed along with on the radio just days earlier. Her rendition was exuberant, faster than Elvis’, bursting with color; several high-spirited couples jumped up and rushed over to the dance floor.

  Rosario’s voice was rich and melodious, and I loved listening to it. There was an exuberance to it that couldn’t help but put a smile on your face and make you feel as good as apple pie. When she ended, loud cheering filled the nightclub. Laughing, Rosario put up her hand. “How ‘bout a slower song for all you love-birds here tonight?”

  Tuning a couple of keys, she closed her eyes briefly and began to play Over the Mountain. A jolt went through me as I remembered singing this with her on our drive back from Reseda. The dance floor was now crowded with couples dancing cheek-to-cheek. Next to me, Angie swayed left and right in her seat and gladly accepted a dance invitation from a butch who had just walked in.

  Alone in my corner, I couldn’t take my eyes off Rosario. A great heat spread over my chest, engulfing my throat. I wanted to reach over and touch her.

  “Tell the moon up in the sky, tell the birds that fly on by,” she sang softly, feeling the music vibrating through the strings, her lashes fluttering as she kept her eyes closed. As if she finally sensed my burning gaze, her eyes flew open to meet mine across the room just as she sang “…that over the mountain, a girl waits for me.”

  Her eyes widened and she nearly stumbled on a note but quickly caught herself. She continued to sing, never taking her eyes off me, and all through it I couldn’t tell if she was pleasantly surprised or irritated to no end that I was there.

  “Would you like to dance?” a voice boomed next to be, tearing me out of my reverie. A butch wearing a corduroy jacket stared expectantly at me and extended her hand as if to take mine. I shook my head in panic. “Uh, no, I can’t dance. Sorry.”

  “C’mon now, I’ll teach you,” she said, grabbing my arm. I flinched and pulled back. “I said no, I’m sorry but I don’t want to.”

  “What’s wrong with you anyway?” she slurred in my face, and I recognized that she was drunk. “You come in here looking like that and now you’re playing coy?”

  Her face came so close to mine that I could smell the beer on her breath. She looked to be my mother’s age and a part of my brain couldn’t figure out why she was so hung up on forcing me to dance with her.

  “I know what you really want,” she whispered in my ear, and as she leaned over she stumbled forward. I lifted my hand to prevent her from falling over me.

  In the midst of her onslaught, I didn’t have time to register that the song had ended and a new performer took the stage. I leaned as far back as I could, the hard edge of the bar counter digging into a bruise that hadn’t yet faded.

  Out of the blue, my unwanted admirer jerked back forcefully. As I breathed a sigh of relief, I realized that it was Rosario who had pulled her back. “Get lost,” I heard her say.

  “Suck my dick, vato,” the drunken butch replied as she stumbled away.

  I looked up at Rosario, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I knew a lecture was coming. She had warned me against coming here and now she almost got herself into a scrap on my behalf. How stupid could I be?

  She certainly did not look happy to see me. She motioned for me to follow her over to a quiet corner of the nightclub, and I dragged my feet after her shamefully.

  “I told you not to come here,” she started.

  “I just wanted to hear you sing,” I argued in a pitiful little voice, watching until her eyes softened.

  She let out a deep breath. “Are you all right?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded, tried to gather my wits. Here was Rosario in front of me – this is what I’d wanted all week long. I didn’t want her to think I was a complete fool, even if she probably did already. “You were really good up there,” I said.

  “So now that you got your kicks and heard me, you should be getting on home,” she replied, looking me up and down. I went red under her inspection.

  “I’m sorry it bothers you that I’m here,” I sniffed, glancing at the ground like a scolded child. “I didn’t mean to get in your business.”

  She touched my arm. “It’s not that. I’m glad you liked the show. It’s just that it’s not safe for you to be out on your own.”

  Her face was dark with concern. I’d seen that look before: she thought I was too naïve to be in a place like this. I was determined to correct her.

  “It doesn’t bother me that you are queer,” I said, gulping. “Not that I’ve ever met any queer persons before.�
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  A moment of silence, then she laughed. “I bet you never talked to anybody Mexican either.”

  I shook my head. “Positively not.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” she said, still laughing.

  She had such a beautiful laugh. I loved her laugh. I giggled along and then we fell silent, uncertain of what was next.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she repeated, growing serious. “At random times cops like to raid gay bars. Plenty of people have been arrested for what they call indecent behavior, which can be anything from wearing slacks to just talking back. Sometimes they go so far as to publish names in the papers. It’s not something you want to get caught up into.”

  “Why do they do it? What’s the harm of two women dancing?”

  Rosario scoffed. “Come on. Straight, God-fearing people have always cast the first stone on anyone they see as different. They hate us because we reject their society, we make our own rules.” Her eyes scanned the room. “Half the femmes in here are married and snuck out tonight after cooking supper and putting the kids off to bed. The other half, the butches, they would never go to bed with a man. They’re outcasts in this world because of this. How easy do you think it is to get a job if you don’t wear a skirt and pantyhose?”

  Sadness overwhelmed me. Heartbreak ran so rampant in this twilight world.

  “But don’t you start feeling sorry for these women,” Rosario said, seeing my expression. “They’re strong, they manage – everybody manages. They drive taxis, do manual labor, construction, they find a way to survive somehow until the weekend. That’s when everybody can come in here and be themselves. I can only hope that for this one moment, my music makes them forget their troubles.”

  I shook my head. “How can anybody live like that? In complete secrecy, living only for the weekends? I couldn’t live like that.”

  Rosario cocked her head. “You’d be surprised what you have to do when you have few choices. You do anything to survive.”

  “But I wouldn’t – I couldn’t live a lie. If I loved a person, no matter who it was, I’d want to shout it from the rooftops.”

  “Diana, the outside world is not made for people like us, but for girls like you – girls who just can’t understand what it is like.”

  “Girls like me? Why, because I’m not queer?”

  She waited silently.

  “Because I’m not Hispanic?” A burst of resentment coursed through me. “You think I am not capable of feeling pain, of feeling like an outsider?”

  “Diana –”

  “No, don’t interrupt me. I understand more than you think. You have no clue –”

  She leaned over me, touching my shoulder gently. ”Diana, stop it. I know you mean well, but you don’t get it. I’ve been attracted to women for as long as I remember. I’ve been called names and beaten up on occasion because of it. But nothing could change how I felt.”

  She paused to let it sink in. “Things are easier for people like you. When folks look at you, they see this pretty white girl who’s just like their daughter or their wife. You fit in that world. I don’t. And what happens is that when girls like you get into trouble – say, like get caught in a bulldagger bar – the police let them run back to their precious little world and pretend nothing happened while people like myself are left in the back of the cruiser.”

  “You assume a lot about me,” I said coldly.

  “No, I’m only trying to protect you by telling you what it’s really like. You have a nice, safe home to come back to, while I grew up sleeping in a tent in a migrant worker camp. You have a lot to lose by being here. I don’t.”

  A flash of comprehension ran through me as I realized that pain was the source of Rosario’s confidence. Her defiance was only half-masked by an air of indifference, but she drew upon it as a trusted weapon against a world that had shut her out. And she obviously saw me as a token of that world.

  “I’ve got nothing to lose by being here,” I said slowly, spacing out every word. “And so I’ll stay as long as I please.”

  I turned away from her, a sinking feeling in my chest. Whatever secret fantasy I’d harbored about encountering Rosario here tonight, it promptly dissolved into shame. I had to use every ounce of strength in me to keep my legs from buckling underneath me. All too aware of her eyes burning into the back of my head, I walked steadily back to the bar where I had left my purse.

  “How’s it going, toots?” a cocky young butch wearing checkered suspenders winked at me.

  I smiled back, fighting back a wave of nausea. All I could think was of how close I had been to Rosario, of how I wished I’d reached up and stroked her face. I felt sick to my stomach. “Going all right, I guess.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?” the butch asked.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  “What’ll you have?”

  ”Surprise me.”

  The butch turned around and slapped a coin on the bar. “Whisky on the rocks, please. And make it a stiff one, will ya?”

  I gulped down the fiery concoction in two seconds flat. I gasped, my throat on fire. The butch laughed and filled my hand with another glass. “So what’s your name, girlie?” she asked, and I told her.

  She introduced herself as Johnny and I listened to her chat away, doing my best to fake paying attention – I owed her that much for getting me drunk. By the third glass my head was spinning.

  “Whoa, you’d better slow down there,” my new companion laughed as she observed me try to shake away the fogies. “It ain’t no fun if you get too tipsy.”

  She went to pull me over to the dance floor but I protested, my glance darting to the floor. “No, I’m too worn out.”

  She lifted my chin and peered down at me. “Whassa matter, doll-face?”

  I shrugged, tears welling up. I wiped my eyes. She stroked my hair and grabbed one of my curls, twisting it round her finger.

  “Aw, come on now, what’s a sweet lil’girl like you doing being so sad? If you’ll gimme one kiss, I promise you’ll feel better.”

  I shook my head and fished a kerchief out of my clutch bag, blowing my nose loudly. The alcohol had made my brain foggy. After flirting with Johnny for what seemed like forever, I suddenly realized that I had no idea what time it was. Normally I would have panicked, but the liquor had done a good job of numbing my nerves.

  A voice boomed over my shoulder. “Had enough fun for one night?”

  I looked up to see Rosario standing in front of me, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

  “No, not yet,” I shook my head, reaching for my glass.

  She leaned against the bar and blocked my access. “Really? Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  “Hey, leave the lady alone,” Johnny jumped in, ready to fight for my honor.

  “Did you know she’s underage?” Rosario seethed. “And she’s straight.”

  Johnny’s face fell. “I always pick the wrong ones,” she muttered and flashed me an angry look. I looked down, feeling horribly guilty for leading her on. It seemed that she was going to say something nasty, but she changed her mind at the last minute. I pretended not to notice as she stood and walked to a nearby table where she sat with some friends and talked animatedly, gesturing to me.

  I looked back at Rosario. “How do you know I’m straight?”

  “The adventure to Queerland is over. Come on, I’m taking you home,” she said, reaching for my purse and sweater. “Are these yours?”

  “I can get home all on my own,” I protested. “I’m having a good time with Johnny What’s-Her-Face. You can’t force me to leave. You’re not the boss of me.”

  “It’s half past midnight. There’ll no bus running at this hour,” she snapped as she took hold of my arm. “And you’re drunk. Come on, let’s go.”

  I shook free of her. “Not before you answer my question.”

  “What’s that?”

  I tilted my face up at her and smiled coyly. “What makes you think I’m straight?”
/>   “Stop playing games, “ she retorted, trying again to pull me off the stool. As she leaned in, I reached up and touched her cheek. She froze.

  I felt the warmth of her skin against my palm. She was so warm and soft, I thought as I traced the contour of her face, so palpably beautiful that it took my breath away. As my fingers moved tentatively toward her mouth, she seized my wrist.

  “Don’t,” she said, an unreadable expression flashing in her eyes.

  She stared at me for a long time, as if trying to unravel a mystery. While she studied my face, I melted into the heat of her pupils. Acutely, unbearably aware of the heat her body generated so close to mine, I wanted to be swallowed up by her, I wanted to be immersed in her essence.

  “You’ve had a lot to drink, you don’t know what you’re doing,” she finally said. She slowly let go of me, and when she did I felt like dying.

  “Come, let me take you home,” she repeated and this time I obeyed, following her as she picked up her guitar, looped the strap over her shoulder and walked out into the crisp night air.

  She opened the door for me and I jumped into the Studebaker, shivering in my light sweater. Reaching out of the back seat, she pulled out a scratchy blanket that smelled like horse hair and threw it unceremoniously over me.

  “That’ll warm you up,” she called as she walked around the truck.

  Grateful for the warmth, I huddled inside it and watched Rosario out of the corner of my eye, looking for signs of displeasure. She remained remarkably poker-faced. “Are you upset that you had to leave early on my account?” I probed.

  “Nah, I had to get going anyway,” she replied, staring straight ahead.

  I leaned back in the seat and turned to my side, watching Rosario. She pretended not to notice. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I think you’re marvelous.”

  “Do you now?” she asked, popping a stick of gum in her mouth.

  She didn’t bother to hide the fact that she was laughing at me. I had no doubts that by now she was fully aware of the crazy schoolgirl crush I had developed. How pathetic I must look to her. Sighing loudly, I resigned to watch her beautiful profile. The world could have blown to bits in that moment and I wouldn’t have noticed.