Translated by Gustavo V. Segade

When Gertrude the waiter told me that Marina Olguin the real Marina Olguin had just arrived at the Marabunta Club on the arms of two gentlemen I thought that Carlos and Luciano had invented the story to get me to go to the joint where they put on the drag queen shows but before going on stage I took a peek through the slit in the wings and when I discovered that Gertrude wasn’t lying my knees knocked afraid that Marina might be there to mock me since she was wearing the same dress I wore in my number and they knew that tweaking my curiosity was the only way to make me leave the hotel where depression had dogged me since we’d arrived in Veracruz to tape that lousy telenovela but no matter my misgivings I accepted the invitation and went on dead sure my act would surprise her just like when we arrived at the hole-in-the-wall cabaret and I saw my headshots on the marquee wearing the pink dress I had sewn with such care copying exactly the gold sequins on the shoulders the lace with the little flowers that ran up from the waist to the neckline forming a V and the very tight skirt to show off the boss buttocks that made Marina a sex symbol and were my biggest challenge in doing the number because I’m flatter than a record album and I sweat blood finding these little Italian pads that turn the most dried-up ass into a miracle with my eyes I told Marina Olguin my divine double while she sipped her whiskey on the house that felt honoured at hypnotizing me listening to that hoarse, monotonous little voice of mine that my artistic director has never been quite able to train in the lips of a transvestite endowed with a much better voice than mine.