Bola de Espejos

Written by Leandro Fogliatti

Translated by Esteban Rico

Like the smell of lilies, the Brazilian melodies were sweetening the air of my favorite restaurant in the neighborhood. My whole body had become hypersensitive in order to capture the special mood of that beautiful Friday evening. And it’s not that every Spring I become this corny, but this one in particular seemed to be starting out very nicely. The chemistry between two strangers had already started to work its charms and my hormones were out of control, so that was kind of responsible of all these kind of thoughts.

“In other words, you’re stupider than usual”, Gabriel had told me that afternoon while I was telling him about the way I was feeling. As expected, my roommate had already made up his mind about my chances with Nacho. “He’s way out of your league”, he had told me.  And, in order to be more explicit, he had offered me a comparison between his relationship with Rodri, stressing that they were more alike, more kindred, and more believable as a couple.  “What kind of alikeness could there be between a fag and a straight guy?” I asked him abruptly since I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Gabriel had given me an evil look, and said: “I better be going. I gotta go play football”.  Need I say more?  OK. It seemed like Rodri, who’s a huge football fan, had invited my roommate to be a part of his Friday night ritual, which is getting together with his group of friends and play a couple of football matches. As you can imagine, Gabriel has no idea if football is played with your feet, with your hands or with a racquet. But on that particular Friday there were two things he was sure about: that he was falling deeper and deeper for Rodri and that he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to share the intimacy of the locker room with him.

Meanwhile, at the restaurant, the band had just finished a number. The singer had thanked the audience for the applause and announced that more bossa nova would come after the break.  I looked at the time. There were still a few minutes left for Nacho to arrive. That dinner was going to be our first official date after Fer and Scotty’s wedding party. That day we had abandoned the party, unnoticed by the rest of the guests who were too busy dancing like crazy. We ended up in this really cool and traditional lounge bar called Portezuelo located in the heart of Recoleta where we talked and drank until the wee hours of the morning. Among beers and Margaritas we had shared a few things about each other. That I write and that he travels; that I’m 35 and that he’s 39; that I was born in La Pampa and that he’s more porteño than Tango; that I’m antisocial and sedentary and that he loves parties and meeting new people all the time. But we realized that we both hate Christmas and New Year’s celebrations and that we both adore winter and rainy days. We found out that he likes making pasta and that I’m rather good at making desserts; that we both prefer red wine over white wine; he’s into Burgundy and I’m more of a Merlot fan. We also noticed that we both smiled a lot when we looked at each other. And only after his lips separated from mine, I realized that he had leaned over to kiss me while holding my hands. “I have a flight to catch”, he apologized and he drove me to my apartment.

And throughout the week, Nacho had been away on a business trip. In the meantime, I informed him via e-mail the time and the place where we would meet and an e-mail response from him had confirmed his attendance. And since I was so eager and excited about our date, I arrived at the restaurant half an hour earlier than the appointed time. I wanted to make sure that the table that I had reserved the previous day would be located in the best possible area. Not too close to the stage, because the music could cover our conversation; not in the patio because it could get chilly and I didn’t want to catch a cold; not too close to the entrance because the people coming in would distract us. I definitely wanted to be far from the smells and sounds coming from the kitchen and the bathrooms.  On the other hand, my Feng Shui knowledge demanded me to avoid halls and square columns in order for my Chi to be relaxed and to flow naturally and charmingly.  Anyways, by the time I was able to delimit the perfect coordinates for love, the waitress who had helped me pick the table (Greta, as I could read on a name tag on her uniform) was already fed up.

So, about 50 minutes later, I had Greta standing next to me again. “There are people waiting for a table, are you going to order now?”, she asked me while arching her thick eyebrows. On Friday evenings in downtown Buenos Aires, it’s usually pretty hard to find a place to dinner. And although it was a very special one for me, that particular evening was not going to be an exception.  I looked over my waitress’ broad shoulder and I could see a group of people headed by what seemed to be a couple of lifelong friends (“lifelong” as in 70 years, approximately), wrapped in fur coats, with fluffy hair filled with hairspray and pasty make-up all over their wrinkly and haggard faces. I told Greta that I was expecting someone and that I wasn’t going to order before my other party arrived.  She suggested me to wait in the bar and leave the table for the other customers waiting in line. I told her that was not going happen. She insisted that I had been keeping the table without ordering for almost an hour. She sarcastically asked me if I was sure my other party wasn’t imaginary. I decided to ignore her sarcastic remark and I ordered a Frozen Margarita. I reached for my cell phone in order to call Nacho, but it started ringing before I could dial. It was Paula, my editor. “Why aren’t you online right now?”, my editor claimed as soon as I picked up. I reminded her that it was Friday night and I announced her that I was about to have dinner with her brother. Paula stopped talking for a few seconds and asked me if I was referring to Nacho. I responded that I hoped she didn’t have any other brothers that she never talked about, just like Nacho, and I added rather scandalized: “But of course I’m having dinner with Nacho! Aren’t you following my column?”  “I don’t have time to read your column –my editor snapped back– although it seems I’m gonna have to make some time to read it, according to some reviews that I want you to check right now!”. I looked around and I noticed a few tables with computers on them, so I reluctantly left my perfect table and approached one of them.

It all came down to this: Paula had found this link where my column was being criticized. “This is a very prestigious and well-known intellectual!” Paula screamed at me.  “Excuse of a novel?” I started reading.  “Bureaucratically written …?” I kept on reading while my stomach started to turn.  “Pre-dic-ta-ble!” I repeated out loud while starting to get nervous hiccups. In the meantime, Greta brought me my drink.  “Right on time!” I said to myself while taking a deep breath. I barely wetted my lips with the drink when I realized that the temperature of my Margarita was more stew than frozen.  I smiled and, using my nicest tone of voice, I told Greta, “Excuse me, but I think this Margarita is not cold enough”. She grabbed the glass, surrounded it with her hands, waited for a few seconds and then answered: “It’s perfectly cold” while putting it back in the table. “Are you still there? –Paula screamed over the phone– Aren’t you gonna say anything?” I told her that there wasn’t anything to be said, that it was obvious that my column was not written for intellectuals. I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket. I looked at my not-so-Frozen Margarita and I sadly decided to give up on it. I went back to my table and that’s when my hiccups stopped. The two 70 year-old ladies were comfortably sitting on my perfect coordinates and they seemed to be looking at me defiantly. With their fur coats and their mask-type make-up they resembled a couple of cannibals about to enjoy an anthropophagic ceremony.  Behind them I could see Greta standing there, like some sort of evil priestess, smiling victoriously at me and pointing to the only empty seat at the bar.

At soon as the band started playing the first notes of the second part of their show, my cell phone started ringing again. A few customers (the cannibal old ladies included) turned around and shushed me severely.  The call was coming from an unknown number, but I picked it up as a way to silence my ringtone. “It’s Rodri speaking!” My roommate’s pseudo boyfriend sounded desperate. “Gabriel had an accident, could you come here, please?”  I wasn’t surprised at all. It seems like Gabriel had entered the field filled with energy (that is, horny as hell), and as soon as the ball reached his small build, the poor thing attempted his hardest kick … to the carpeted floor. “I’m hurt!” I could hear my roommate whining in the background. “Can’t you take him home?” I practically begged Rodri, fearing that that would be the end of my about-to-happen big date. “He wants us to take him to the hospital…” Rodri started telling me, before Gabriel grabbed his phone and yelled: “You can’t leave me here, bleeding to death in this football club!”

I ran into Nacho as I was leaving the restaurant. “Am I too late?”, he asked me worryingly. I smiled at him, embarrassed for everything that I was about to tell him. However, he was rather amused when I filled him in from the evening’s events while we were driving to the football club. Before we knew it, we were already there. We all took Gabriel to the nearest hospital and when I say “all”, I’m referring to Rodri, Nacho, me and 20 football players. My roommate had only twisted his ankle, for which he got a couple of painkillers and a few kinesiology sessions. However, the injured novice football player required the attention and care of any (cute male) person who was there with him. And that’s how we all (that is, the same “all” that I just described) ended up in our apartment. Gabriel was giving instructions to a group of his new footballer friends on how to fluff his cushions.  A guilt-ridden Rodri was trying his best to apply ice bags over my roommate’s swollen ankle.  Nacho came back from the street with a box of cold beer while I busted my ass making 63 hot dogs with mustard for everybody, which disappeared in a matter of minutes.

A couple of hours into the party, a bit high on the smell of hot dogs and male sweat, I apologized to Nacho for ruining our date. He smiled at me and said that, against all odds, it was going to be an unforgettable evening. I looked around us and I noticed the footprints and the paper napkins that the guests were leaving all over the apartment floor, a couple of broken glasses, crumbs all over the cushions and the carpeting, mustard stains over my leather chairs, little beer puddles on the table, just to name a few things. Nacho offered me to share the only hot dog that was left.  My corny springy feelings were gone and my big date had turned out to be anything else but perfect. However, in the middle of that mayhem, I was with Nacho and that made me happy.

Next post: Friday, November 9th 

Written by Leandro Fogliatti

Translated by Esteban Rico

So, Nacho and I were going together to Fernando and Scott’s wedding party.  We were going in his car.  Nacho has a car and he loves to drive and he doesn’t get stressed out at all. He’s perfect. Or maybe he’s straight!  My gaydar started ringing an alarm. After all, the only other time I had seen him before, he was with that inappropriate blonde chick. “Wouldn’t your girlfriend be upset by this change of plans?” I subtly asked him in order to start clearing a few things up. As soon as I asked the question, I regretted each and every word I had just said. Nacho didn’t seem to understand, though.  “What girlfriend? –he asked and smiled– I don’t have a girlfriend.”  Cool! Some of the alarms inside my head went off, but I still wasn’t completely happy with his answer. “Oh, since I saw you with that blonde girl at the disco…” I insisted.  “You mean Ivana?  Oh, no, she’s just a friend”, he replied.  [Check poll]

When we arrived to Alsina Buenos Aires, most of the guests were already there. The bar was already open and the drinks had started to make their way into the attendees. I wasn’t going to waste this opportunity so I made sure to make a Great Entrance. If I had known the DJ’s cell phone number, I would have asked him to play It’s Raining Men for my entrance, but anyway, the music was already thumping inside my crazy little head. We approached Gabriel, who fixed his eyes on Nacho as soon as he saw him. Unfortunately (or luckily, actually) he couldn’t talk because his jaw had just jammed from opening his mouth so wide in surprise at seeing me with such a gorgeous stud beside me. I was quick to introduce them while my roommate reached out for the arm of his new boyfriend, Rodri, who was extremely nervous due to the fact that this was his first time in a gay club. I looked at Gabriel with a straight face. “He’s so straight acting…” he babbled. “Of course he is, that’s why he’s with you”, I snapped. The furious expression on Gabriel’s face instantly changed when the sensual first notes of Dirty Dancing announced the arrival of the newlyweds. Thank God!

As soon as they were able to breathe after all the hugging, Fernando asked me where I had gotten that beautiful specimen, referring to Nacho, of course. I told him about all the things that happened that day, maybe with too many details judging by the fact that his smile was replaced with a frown. It’s just that Lucas and Paula’s separation reminded him of his own divorce to Laura, his ex-wife. That was a really bad time in Fernando’s life, not only due to the separation itself, but because of the cruelest consequence of it all: the misery that his 6 year old daughter, Noelia, had to be put through. Since I had already screwed it, I took advantage of the situation to get some things off of my chest and I asked him if he didn’t fear the possibility of an eventual separation from Scott. “Maybe… –he acknowledged– but you know what? I love this guy –he said while pointing at Scott, who was laughing with a group of friends– Wouldn’t it be stupid if I didn’t give it a try?”  Fernando’s words made me feel a lot better. Here was this person who had been through a painful separation and who still believed in love and decided to take his chance on a new relationship. What sort of impulse takes over us, many times against rational thinking, to still believe in love? I gave Fernando a break and I let him go. I didn’t want to keep asking him (or myself) about the future. I also didn’t ask him why Noelia didn’t attend the ceremony or the party.

Suddenly, Lucas appeared out of the crowd. There he was; our very own Paula’s abandoner, without a hint of depression, dressed in a painfully hideous beige suit. “I want to make a confession amongst guys”, he said. Fernando and I exchanged a quick and desperate look. “I feel 20 years younger! I’m happy!” he said while hugging us. He even patted our backs! And then, he escaped to the dance floor alone, with the intention of celebrating his newfound bachelorhood. “What a jerk!” I said angrily. “Did you see the way he’s dressed? He’s definitely straight!” Fernando said jokingly.  I took a quick look at Nacho who was at the bar and to my relief, I realized that he was very well dressed for the occasion, in spite of the fact that he basically had to improvise his outfit.  [Check poll]  “He’s gay! He’s gay!” I said to myself, although I apparently did it out loud because Fernando gave me a weird look. “All right, I’m not sure about Nacho’s sexuality”, I confessed to him. “Well, if he’s not gay, you can always convert him”, interrupted Gabriel with a bottle of water in his hand.  “I’m not going to rape him”, I assured him.  “Everybody’s gay until proven innocent”, insisted my roommate. Scott joined us to help us figure out my date’s sexuality by analyzing the way Nacho was smoking, over at the bar. According to the radiant American groom, Nacho was holding the cigarette with his index finger and his thumb, a gesture that was typically related to the detectives from those old French movies. That gesture was obviously more butch than sissy (in which case, he would have been holding the cigarette with his index and middle fingers in the style of the old Hollywood divas).  [Check poll]

I walked over to the bar, a bit dizzy due to all the doubts and the testosterone excess. Nacho had already ordered two glasses of champagne with strawberry juice.  I smiled.  [Check poll]  I told him that my favorite drink was Margarita, while he said that his favorite was beer; although he thought that champagne was more appropriate for this occasion. Beer?!  [Check poll]  I suddenly feared that this uncontrollable emotional rollercoaster would kill me before I could reach my 36^th birthday. In a desperate attempt to clear things up, I asked him if he wanted to dance. He answered with a smile, part shy and part guilty, and told me he didn’t like to dance, that he barely ever danced.  Scandal!  [Check poll]  I looked around, seeking help, but all my friends were already on the dance floor.  Fernando & Scott were dancing together happily. There was also Gabriel, executing his typically exaggerated dance moves (in spite of the mineral water). Next to him, Rodri was standing still, with his arms folded and a frightened look on his face. And Lucas…well… Lucas was dancing like a madman with Grace, Scott’s equally crazy sister (apparently, we “Argentineans” were starting to seem a bit more likeable to her).

Suddenly, I felt a presence standing next to me. It was Paula. “What-are-you-doing-here?” I asked her gesticulating desperately. My editor had thought about the advice I had given her that same afternoon and realized that I was right: Fernando and Scott didn’t have to pay for her personal problems. “Go home, Nacho, I can stay with Leandro now. You have to get up early tomorrow”, Paula told her brother. How could my luck change so many times on the same evening?! I looked at Nacho and Nacho looked at me. We both seemed like we wanted to say something but we couldn’t. It was Paula who spoke again. “What-is-he-doing-here?!” she asked us and now she was the one gesticulating desperately. Before we could do anything, Paula started walking towards the dance floor, more precisely, towards Lucas and Grace while carrying one of our red drinks. I ran behind her trying to avoid a tragedy (or a mess). My editor started screaming hysterically at her soon-to-be ex husband. Suddenly, all of the other guests were screaming as well.  Technotronic, was the soundtrack to the inevitable scandal that was happening. And I, just like Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard, decided to stand right between Paula and Lucas to stop them from fighting. Suddenly, a spurt of the red drink fell over my white shirt as the perfect symbol for my wounded soul.

I did what I had to do, which was basically lock myself in the bathroom to try to get rid of the huge red stain. While I struggled with the liquid soap over my delicate white shirt, Rodri came out of one of the stalls. “I got in there so I could pee in peace. This place is full of faggots!” he said while zipping up his pants. While I tried to digest his statement, I responded to him with the easiest and most honest answer that I could find: “Right”.  I instantly remembered that this was his first time in a gay club, so I sympathized with him. “Don’t worry about it, Rodri, you’re with Gabriel, nobody is gonna try to grope you or anything”. Rodri looked at me with all seriousness and made perfectly clear that he wasn’t with Gabriel, that he only came with him to the party because he was doing him a favor as a friend. “But I thought you two…” I started to say, while I realized that I didn’t understand what was going on. Luckily, Rodri interrupted me and made it very clear: “Hey dude, I’m not a fag, OK?” One more time, I tried to find the right answer, but all I could articulate was a simple “Oh”.

When I got out of the bathroom, everything was back to normal. I could even see Paula, casually chatting with Grace. Predictably, Lucas was not there anymore. Suddenly, a squeaky voice pierced my delicate eardrum. It was Gabriel. “I’m desperately looking for Rodri! I don’t know where he is!” I told him that he was in the bathroom, though I kept the rest of the details to myself. Gabriel hugged me, and I realized that nothing else that could happen that evening could surprise me anymore. “I’m in love, Leandro!” he said and went into the bathroom. I approached the bar since I urgently needed a Frozen Margarita or two. I started by ordering one to begin with. The bartender told me that I already had one prepared especially for me, courtesy of the “gentleman on the other end of the bar”. I looked up and there was Nacho. “You got a stain on your shirt”, he said as I approached him. It was like déjà-vu. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a handkerchief this time”, he apologized. “I thought you were leaving”, I said sheepishly. “I am, but I want you to come with me”. Silence. Actually, it was a rather long silence before I even dared say anything. “Why?” I finally asked him.  “Because this started as a commitment, but I ended up enjoying it –he said and added– And because I like you a lot, Leandro”.

Next post: Friday October 19th 

The images in the link “check poll” are self creation.

Written by Leandro Fogliatti

Translated by Esteban Rico

The rain was hitting the window of my editor’s office and Paula, my editor, was hitting over my literary ego. “This looks like the diary of a 15 year old girl! Did you really need to include your picture in it? Why the hell do your characters have to smile all the freaking time?” Paula is as talented as she is demanding, but on that particular morning she seemed to be menstruating volcanic lava. I reminded her that it was getting late, that we had to get going. “Lucas dumped me”, she whispered while taking off her glasses. This last gesture was a huge deal. Paula never took off her glasses unless something absolutely serious, almost fatal had occurred. And that’s how we got to the bottom of the volcano. After being married for 8 years, Paula had been abandoned by her husband, Lucas.

I tried to help her with what I had in hand; a box of Kleenex that I tried to administer diligently, while my editor’s eyes were dripping with tears. Those eyes were the eyes of a stranger; they were the eyes of a frail, helpless and devastated woman. None of what Paula seemed to be in the years that I’d known her. However, that was what was left of her. “Do you know all the opportunities that I gave up because of this relationship?” she asked me rhetorically. “I devoted my life to him, Leandro!  I completely forgot about myself! I had become one of those ‘we’ people that you and I hated so much!” Suddenly, it seemed to me that relationships are some kind of evil bet. As time goes by and people get more and more committed to each other, wouldn’t that cause them even more pain in the case of an eventual break up?

“That pretentious, liposuctioned cow! No wonder her husband got rid of her!” Gabriel hates to wait.  To make matters worse, Paula had taken her time to unburden herself and to finally decide not to come with us to Fernando and Scott’s Civil Union ceremony. In the meantime, my roommate had been sitting inside a cab, listening to the driver going on about River Plate, his favorite soccer team. Shock horror! “We’re gonna be late because of her!” Let me get this straight: It’s not that Gabriel is passionate about weddings; the problem was that both of us had been chosen to be the witnesses at the ceremony. “Don’t worry, we still have a few minutes, we’re gonna make it on time”, I said trying to calm him down. But those “few minutes” passed by while we were still trapped in traffic in the pouring rain.

Of course, we were late… and soaking wet! We walked through the crowded (and silent) room followed by the severe look of the grooms’ family and friends (I could even hear Scott’s sister whisper “Argentineans…” with disdain), and we took our places. My editor would have taken comfort in the fact that I saw no one smiling when we arrived. Scott snorted, Fernando slightly lifted his left eyebrow and the Judge cleared his throat, but we didn’t feel bad for being late. After all, since there was no bride to wait for it was us, the witnessettes, who were fashionably late.

Then, the ceremony began. I could see the Judge’s lips move but all I could hear were the words that Paula had said to me earlier that morning. Were Fer & Scotty really aware of what they were about to do? What about me? My testimony would support this Union that might break up some time in the future. What if they eventually split up? What were the consequences that Fernando would suffer?  What would happen to Scott? Suddenly, I started feeling hot and I felt the sweat running down my face. I even felt a bit dizzy. “And now, the witnesses”, announced the Judge while handing me a pen. I looked at the certificate and I could see that only my signature was missing. I might have had a small nervous breakdown or something because I felt a strong pain on my neck that made me let go of the pen while I was signing. I caught a glimpse of Gabriel’s lips moving in silence. “Silly cunt”, he appeared to be saying.

“Every couple has an expiration date”, Gabriel said while we walked through a sidewalk covered with rice and rainwater. “After a certain period of comfort, relationships suffer from an inevitable deterioration and that’s when you have two choices: you either face the situation and you break up or you just live in denial ‘til the end”. “That’s awful!” I screamed. “That’s the truth and I’m talking from my own experience”, said my roommate. “For instance, Rodri and I. We’re in a great stage of our relationship, but…”  That was more than I could take. “Excuse me? Rodri? Is that the guy that you met in the supermarket two weeks ago? What relationship are you talking about?” I asked him, almost yelling. Gabriel stared at me unemotionally and hit me the cruelest cheap shot; “I’m talking about a really cute and sweet guy who makes me happy and who will be my date at Fer & Scotty’s party tonight.” After saying that, he put the headphones to his mp3 player on to listen to Lauryn Hill’s version of Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You and he walked away victoriously.

They say that “dignity is the last thing you lose”. I was determined to attend that gay wedding with a date, even if it was with a woman. I called Paula to convince her to come with me. “It’s Fernando’s wedding party!” I said to her. “You guys have been working together for years. He designed the best covers for your books. You owe him that!” The problem was that Paula was afraid of running into her soon-to-be ex husband, Lucas, who was also invited to the party. So, I had to be honest with her and tell her what my real intention was. “This is also about me, Paula. I don’t want to go there alone. I’m tired of attending weddings without a date!” Paula finally accepted to be my plus one, but either way I wanted to make sure we had a deal; “So, you do accept to be my date for tonight, right?”  To which Paula responded; “I do”.

It was a hard Friday’s night, basically due to all the time we spent going through the stuff in our closet. Fer & Scotty had the brilliant idea of throwing a Black Tie Party. Neither Gabriel nor I are used to resorting to high couture when choosing our clothes, so we realized a little too late that there was one particular article of clothing that we didn’t own: a tie. Gabriel found an easy solution by making a tie out of a silk neck scarf he used to wear while cruising in the mid-90s. Right when I was about to freak out, after looking through the whole apartment, I was able to find the tie that I had worn on my prom; pink with black and silver streaks. Why were the 80s so damn trashy?

Feeling proud of our findings, Gabriel and I split to pick up our respective dates. We’d get together again at the party. “I don’t feel well, I’m sorry”, was the excuse used by my editor to break up with me through the intercom of her building. I was disappointed at how short our commitment turned out to be. “But my brother is here with me and he just offered himself to go with you…” suggested Paula, mercifully. So much pity was just insulting. “That’s OK Paula, don’t bother, I’m going alone. I’m already getting used to it.” While I started walking away from Paula’s building looking for a cab, I advised myself not to get involved with my editor beyond our working relationship. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice calling my name. “Leandro!” I stopped walking and turned around. “I’m Nacho, Paula’s brother and…” He stopped talking. We both recognized each other immediately. “You owe me a handkerchief”, he said and I smiled (yes, Paula, I smiled; there’s no other verb I can use to describe how I felt at that moment!). “I didn’t know Paula had a brother” I said, trying to act cool. “She feels bad for not going to the party with you. Do you mind if I take her place?”  I smiled again.

 Bonus Track

Next post: Friday September 28th, “Fernando & Scott’s party”

These are the sources of the linked images (in order of appearance): “hitting” (s/d); “volcanic lava” (www.windows.ucar.edu); “abandoned” (www.kettering.edu); “the eyes of a stranger” (knightmanproductions.com); “evil bet” (www.elseptimoarte.net); “wait” (jordim.files.wordpress.com); “River Plate” (www.telecable.es); “pouring rain” (www.encaletado.com); “witnessettes” (www.nuvisystem.com); “mp3” (www.note-i.de); “honest” (www.elpais.com); “I do” (www.conciencia.net ); “clothes” (s/d); “break up with me” (www.estudio-juridico.cl); “pitty” (www.psicofxp.com); “smiled” (www.sondasespaciales.com); “smiled again” (self creation based on “smiled”).

Written by Leandro Fogliatti

Translated by Esteban Rico

I couldn’t erase his smile from my head. “But you don’t even have his phone number, you silly queen!” was the comforting remark I got from Gabriel. And he was right.  The reality was that it all came down to a faint memory that as days went by, turned into a fantasy. That was all I had from Nacho; pure fantasy… and a handkerchief. “If you’re so concerned about having a relationship, throw away that freaking dust cloth and start working on meeting real people”, said my roommate, while pressing play on Madonna’s Erotica video. I decided to follow his advice. That evening, with the apartment all to myself, I took a shower and got dressed. I got myself all dolled up… and I sat down in front of the computer. It took me a couple of hours to carefully go through the different chat rooms: brutal tops, big nelly bottoms, anything goes, wrestling, S&M, hand jobs, BJs, golden showers, threesomes, orgies and so on. Finally, something both revealing and promising came up; Serious Relationships. I took a deep breath and I approached the only person logged on in that specific chat room.

After a few words about our sexual preferences, I asked him to describe himself physically (if I was going to commit myself to a serious relationship, my boyfriend had to be perfect!). I’ve always known that to attract beauty, you must exude beauty, so instead of sending him a picture of myself, I sent him a picture of Paul Rudd, an actor I’m often told I resemble. Knowing that in love and war everything goes, a good looking celebrity will always be a better version of yourself.

As soon as he got my picture, Gonzalo sent me his, taken during his last vacation. He didn’t look bad at all!  That Speedo looked pretty fierce on him.  We ended up arranging a meet. 

Gonzalo on vacation

Half an hour standing at the entrance of Pride Café and of not recognizing each other, we realized that we were both waiting for someone. “Gonzalo?” “Leandro?” What a disappointment! This particular Gonzalo could never have fit into a loose trunk, much less into a Speedo! How dare he lie to me so shamelessly?!  At least I had sent him the picture of someone who actually looked like me! What kind of Serious Relationship could I have with someone who did such a thing?  Anyway, since we were already there (and horny), we went inside for some coffee.  The conversation was frank and straightforward; Gonzalo started this questionnaire, as shown on the following table:

I was finally able to make him smile! And it was due to my answers! In spite of the initial disappointment, I noticed the date was moving to the next level because he invited me to spend the night in a motel.

 “I want details!” demanded Gabriel the morning after. “It wasn’t a big deal”, I said dryly.  “No, no!  I wanna know who the hell said that you look like Paul Rudd!”  “Mummy never lies!”  “And why did you sleep with him if you didn’t like him?”  “I’m focusing on a possible relationship, so I’m also looking for inner beauty in my potential boyfriends.” Gabriel’s laughter rang in my ears for about 2 weeks, the same amount of time that went by without Gonzalo making the call he promised to make the moment I gave him my number and he didn’t give me his.

After a few days of feeling frustrated, I decided to go back to my normal life. Priority # 1: grocery shopping (our fridge was as empty as Paris Hilton’s head). Coincidentally, on the same day Gabriel and I decided to go to the supermarket, fate wanted me to cross paths with Gonzalo once again. After a couple of awkward “hellos”, I couldn’t control my resentment. After asking him why he hadn’t called, he confessed. It seemed like Mr. Serious Relationship was actually willing to commit to a relationship…but only with someone on his same financial and professional level. Apparently, I had only qualified for a one night stand! I felt like spitting right in his face, but I couldn’t do it. Suddenly, one of the supermarket’s stock boys came out and approached my recent-almost-ex-candidate-for-a-serious-relationship. “Hey, Gonzalo!” he said smiling (he happened to be really cute and fit!).  “It’s been four months since you quit working in the warehouse and you don’t visit us anymore?!”  Seeing the huge smile on my face, Gonzalo started freaking out and screamed “I did it before getting my degree!”  “At least give us back the 500 bucks that you borrowed from the guys, dude”.  Dude promised he’d return the money as soon as he could (it seems he had quite a few debts) and left with his head hanging low, his Capitalist pride likely bruised and battered. 

I turned around looking for Gabriel so I could share my delicious anecdote with him, but he was too busy chatting up our gorgeous (and heroic) stock boy, whose name was Rodrigo. I stood there looking at them and I smirked.  It was right then and there that I started to believe in spontaneity, in authenticity, in the greatness of a casual encounter.

Next post: Friday, September 7th.

Written by Leandro Fogliatti 

Translated by Esteban Rico 

A white daisy over a pink background. Art deco? No. It’s the index fingernail of this fancy gym’s receptionist, pointing to an error on my sign-up form.  “35 years old”, she tells me.  “That’s correct, today’s my Birthday”, I say to her.  “Then you have to check this other box, sir; the ‘35 to 40’ one”.  And, waiting for my comeback, she takes the time to blow a Bubble Gum bubble that smells of tutti-frutti. Mental picture: during her next visit to the dentist, a dental drill grazes through her tender molar nerve over and over again, trying to eliminate a giant cavity, caused by that piece of sugar that she so annoyingly chews.  I say nothing.  I simply grab the form and sit down to revise it. 

Name: Leandro Fogliatti.  Age: I think that’s pretty clear already.  Sex: unpredictably occasional.  Occupation: writer.  Marital status: …and that’s where I stop myself.  I’ve never been embarrassed about being single.  Quite the contrary.  I’ve enjoyed it very much.  I notice that I’m starting to use the past tense, though…It’s just that for some time now, something feels different. So, when this gum-chewing bureaucrat rubs it in my face, suddenly I’m ashamed. What is it about being single that’s starting to bother me?  What’s the big problem? In a big city like Buenos Aires, who cares about people’s marital status? 

Once on the street, I run into this couple of friends. “Happy Birthday, Lean!” Fernando and Scott had met over the internet many years ago.  Apparently, Cupid’s arrow took such aim at them that, as soon as he could, Scotty said goodbye to sunny California and relocated in Buenos Aires, citizenship and all.  He’s now the administrator of a receptive tourism agency and he knows more about this city than the average porteño. It was right then and there that, seeing how good they looked together, I faced the truth. The problem was not the receptionist at the gym. The problem (big breakthrough!) was me. It doesn’t bother me to be single. It’s being alone that sucks!

When I got back to my apartment, I asked my roommate, Gabriel if he was going through the same thing. “Get used to it”, he answered me.  “If you’re gay, you’re a loner. In other words, do you know any fag who’s willing to sacrifice their freedom over a serious relationship?” he said while returning his attention to Kylie’s Showgirl DVD.  Could he be right?  Is it true that we gay men are incapable of committing to a serious relationship?  Were Fer and Scotty the exception to the rule? 

Celebrating your Birthday is a good plan when you’re feeling lonely.  That is why I gathered a group of friends and invited them to PACHA BUENOS AIRES, one of the many gay-friendly places in this city.  Among my friends there was Gabriel, of course, and also Fer and Scotty, who took advantage of the situation to give out the invitations to their upcoming (surprise, surprise!) civil union.  I have to be honest, I don’t know what bothered me the most; the fact that they used my event to invite us to theirs, or that they were getting united. 

Either way, I thought the timing was perfect to begin my “come out and play” ritual. I approached the bar, ordered a Frozen Margarita and went out to the club’s terrace to breathe some of the fresh air coming from the riverside.  There I was, alone with my Margarita, thinking that it’s not that bad to be alone, when I saw his smile for the first time. “You spilled some of that drink on your shirt”, he said as he got closer. It was true. Clearly my nerves have gotten worse as I’ve gotten older.  OUCH!  Alternating his attention between the Margarita stain and my astonished eyes, he pulled out a white handkerchief and started pressing on my shirt to soak up the spilled Margarita. Once, twice…I don’t know how many times he ran his hand across my stomach! Suddenly, a blond chick with incredibly bad timing appeared on the terrace calling out for him; “Nacho, can we go now?” He looked at me, smiled and left me standing there with my silhouette against the moonlight, listening to the sound of the river, smiling like an idiot and holding his handkerchief under my nose.  Maybe 35 is not such a lonely number after all.