Ever wake up in the middle of a dream kicking what you thought was a bad guy and then opening your eyes and finding out it was really the cat?

Last night I was inducted into the Gay and Lesbian Hall Of Fame. I brought a little ensemble with me from LA but I really thought I was overdressed. I brought it anyway just because I wanted to look as good as a middle aged Transgendered Lady could look. Since I arrived, Chrisanne and I have been doing some serious frolicking, laughing, playing with the cats, and some serious, serious spending. We now have two abodes. One in North Hollywood and one here on the North side of Chi Town. I love them both. The one here is a bit 1930’s Joan Crawford Welcome To The Pool Party kind of pad. Long walls with small, oblong cubby holes, and great, big arches framing the hallway and the entrance to the livingroom.

“Everything…per-r-rfect.”

“Joan, she’s just a baby. Who’ll know?”

“I’LL know.”

I’m dusting a lot. I mean, when you polish the floor, you have to move the tree. Right?

However, since Chrisanne is doing the real estate thing and working her 9 to 5 job, the house here is in a bit of disarray. So, Mitchell and I have been cleaning, hanging pictures, picking up, and throwing out so much trash the alley’s beginning to look like a scene from Sanford and Son. But it’s been great fun. Chrisanne and I have been buying new things, trinkets, knick knacks (like we need more) and more stuff for the kitchen. We’ve been playing house, the three of us, and laughing like hyenas all through it. It’s good to be here. It’s good to see Chrisanne. It’s healing.

So, yesterday, after we un packed, and hung some more pictures in the hallway, Mitchell decided he would come with us to the ceremony, and eat finger sandwiches and frolic. Chrisanne, who was running late, called at about 5;00.

“Hi sweetie,” she said with a weird hook in her voice, “.it’s me. I have a question.”

“Yeah?” I said adding the 14th layer of mascara.

“I’m here at the hair dressers. Do I have time to get my hair cut?”

“WHAT?!” I screamed poking myself in my left eye.

“I guess not.”

“We have to be there in 45 minutes Honey. Get over here.”

That was my stern tone.

She did.

She arrived, showered, did her hair, and got dressed in less than 10 minutes. I started getting ready at 3 that afternoon. And thus is the foundation of our relationship. Mitchell dressed up in a gorgeous suit and tie, and Chrisanne looked a bit like Hepburn in her pin stripped jacket and black pants. I was in my Elizabeth Arden plum fancy pants suit. We were all very proud of ourselves. We weren’t that worried about being late, because, well, in all honesty, although the function was at the Cultural Center, we assumed it was going to be a small little gathering and a cute little ceremony.

We arrived as a good looking man in a black suit was speaking at a very large, very fancy podium at the end of a magnificent ballroom. The backdrop was the City looming over him twinkling and sparkling and looking like a shiny glass of champagne. Seated behind him were extremely important looking people in suits and dresses, and the hall was filled with probably over 100 people. Horsederves flowed, cute waiters, silver trays, and people in name tags. We were late. Very late. And it was fancy. These people weren’t kidding around.

I was a bit shocked. Thank God I wore what I wore, I wasn’t the least bit over dressed. As I arrived, I shook hands with someone, and then I was grabbed….no…abducted by the hand, and raced away from Mitchell (who was left standing at the doorway) and whisked to my seat in the front row. I felt a bit like Barbra Streisand being seated late for Liza Minnelli’s concert. I actually hate stuff like that. I don’t like to be late, but I especially don’t like to be the center of attention. I felt really dumb.

As I glanced on stage, I noticed some people that looked familiar. I think one of them was an Alderman, and then…next to him…smiling and looking fine in a blue suit…was Mayor Daley. All happy and sprite-like.

Mayor Daley.

What the heck is he doing there??????

Then, he got up to speak, made a wonderful speech about acceptance, the Gay Games (being held in Chicago) and how important it was for the Gay, Lesbian and Transgendered community to be out, aware, and verbal.

He said “Transgendered”. The Mayor said “Transgendered”. I giggled a bit.

I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. It was actually the Mayor. I was getting very nervous. I then saw the awards all lined up in a row behind him, and then glanced at the stairs that loomed before me. I’m a lot of things, graceful is not one of them.

They called my name. They read a huge bio about me, and then asked me to come up onstage. I walked up, praying to God I wouldn’t trip, shook hands with the important people in suits, hugged some, and then the Mayor handed me my award. He shook my hand and said:

“Congratulations Ms. Alexandra.”

The Mayor called me Ms. Alexandra. I giggled again.

Then the flash bulbs went off, channel 5 zoomed in for a close up (not too CLOSE!), and there was applause-a go-go. You would’ve thought I was Judy Dench or something. It was very weird. Very surreal. Very dream-like. I stood there, shaking his hand, and wondering: How the heck did this happen? How did I get from Inglewood California, to Schaumburg Illinois, to standing her with Mayor Dailey calling me Ms. Alexandra? How the heck did this happen?

Lots of things flashed through me. I don’t know if it was my life, or a re run of “That’s Incredible”, but there were flash backs happening. I stared at Chrisanne, who had parked the car and made it in time to see me get my award. She was beaming. 29 years we’ve been together. 29 years of fights, make ups, lies, lost loves, ignorance, tolerance, secrets, bad jokes, food, and lots of hope and prayers. All of that, summed up in a bout 15 seconds. I took the award, and made it down the stairs. No tripping, and lucky for the audience, I didn’t speak. I hadn’t written anything down, and God help me if they ask me to improvise.

I sat in my seat with Chrisanne directly behind me. I could literally feel her smiling. As they called the other inductees names, I began to feel a bit overwhelmed, and quite frankly, un deserving. These people were doctors, lawyers, politicians, there was even an out gay Senator there. And me? Some Transgendered actress? I don’t know that I’ve done all that much, and I’m not trying to pull any false modesty here, my point is, that I need to do more. I want to be worthy of this gift I’ve received. I don’t feel that quite yet, but I will. I can do more. Living out loud is fine. I do that. I don’t live a lie. No one’s confused at to what I am, never has been. There are no bones about it. I don’t cover up, or make up a past, or use a phony voice, or try and act demure…I don’t know that I could do that if you wrote me a check….I don’t ever try to fool people. I am Transgendered, and it took me along time to not only accept that, but to embrace it. That’s what our community needs to do, and that’s what I need to figure out how to push forward. We are invisible, and most likely, it’s our own fault. So filled with shame and lies that the people around us are confused and shocked when we reveal who we really are. I don’t blame them. Either side, really. I get it. I just don’t like it. It’s not really about Coming Out, it’s about Coming Clean.

I have to figure that out.

Dreams……

Then I saw a million people I hadn’t seen in a while. It was great to see our old friend Tim. He surprised both Chrisanne and I, and Jackie and Monica popped in, some About Face crew, and some good, good friends who I promised when I come back, we would definitely get together.

As I was standing there, holding my award like Eve Harrington, a group of gay youth approached me. Mitchell had worked the room sufficiently (everyone knows Mitchell Fain. They just do.) There were three of them. Beautiful faces, shining eyes, and great big smiles. They congratulated me, and they couldn’t have been more than 20 years old.

“Thanks.” They said combined.

“For what?” I asked.

“Ya know. Just…thanks. You’re the Diva, girl.”

I assumed that meant I was a rather spiffy kind of gal.

I hugged them, and I was so happy to be in the presence of the next generation. I could tell that one of them was in the beginning stages of Transition. She was a gorgeous, gorgeous girl. Radiant. Happy. Free. Herself. She was who she was, and she didn’t care who knew. That was her. I was very, very, very proud of them.

I love kids. I love being around them. They show no fear. They’re growing up in a world where there was never anything but AIDS. There was never anything but understanding of the Trans world, on TV, in the paper, and here, that night, in front of them. They also have grown up in a world where there’s always been war, there’s always been natural disasters, and RuPaul is a dim Disco memory. The room started to swirl again. What I went through when I was a teen, they’ll never have to see. Thank God.

I hope.

The crowd began to thin, and Chrisanne. Mitchell and I were left standing with Eric, Jackie and Monica. We decided to go out and eat and celebrate.

The dream continued, like a taffy pull.

So, we schlepped down the street and ate at the Chestnut room, and luckily the vivacious Nan Mason was singing the next room. It was a bit like old home week for me, except it was crammed all in one night. My life has always been speeded up just a bit. Nan sang, brought up Paul Marinaro (a brilliant Sinatra-esqu singer) and then brought me up to do little diddy. Nan and I clowned around as if it were 15 years ago at Cairo on Wells street, and she had wandered in after her gig, and we sat in front of 50 people in a smoky Chicago nightclub singing old Johnny Mercer songs. It was fantastic. Nan’s a great singer, and a great, great, funny entertainer. She’s one of my favorite people. She pretended to play the piano, which she can’t do to save her life, and then clicked on her drum machine. Nan is a traveling one woman circus act. And then she and I rapped “Just In Time”. Then we rapped Just In Time as Katherine Hepburn, Bert Lahr, Marilyn Monroe, and Bette Davis. Then the old broad brought up Joel, who’s impressions put mine to shame, and he rapped as Bill Clinton, George Bush, and Ross Perot. Eric screamed out “Jerry Lewis” from his seat, so I rapped as Jerry Lewis. It was the Ringling Brothers Night Of Cabaret. All we needed was David Guest in the front row, and the evening would have been complete.

Mitchell made a brilliant joke about a woman in the front row who resembled Carol Lynley, and as I sat on top of the piano a birthday cake was delivered to her. I stole Mitchell’s joke. We can do that to each other. That’s called love.

Seeing Eric and spending time with both Jackie and Monica kept me a bit grounded. It made me understand that whatever I did to keep that award in my hand, I had to do with the help of other people. It’s not about me winning something; it’s about sharing it and thanking everyone else. Nothing would be worth anything if I wasn’t happy and I didn’t have a little help along the way.

W drove home the three of us, still spinning from the night, and as we passed Chicago at night, with the skyline behind us and the lights reflecting off the lake, I remembered everything. I wanted to keep everything tight inside my head. I didn’t want to let any of this dissipate or fade away. I closed my eyes and told myself I wasn’t dreaming. That I was awake. That it had happened and I was a part of it, and I was lucky and blessed to have known the people I’ve known and that I’m unfinished. I’m still hunting around for the answers and still trying on new things. There was still more. More to happen. It wasn’t a dream. I was here, and I was damn lucky.

We got home, the three of us, Mitchell crashed, and as Chrisanne and I hugged in the kitchen (between the unpacked boxes of Coca Pebbles and baking utensils) she whispered to me:

“Did you ever think? Did you ever think something like this would happen?”

“No.” I said. And I started to cry.

“I did. I dreamed it.”