by Perez, Rosie
David was beyond frustrated with how I dealt with the Foreign Press too. I was defensive, at times passive-aggressive. I was sick of the condescension. “We can’t believe you pulled this role off! It’s amazing! It’s such a fluke! How did you do it?”
“I just did what the director told me to do.”
Bad move. So much for letting go of those damn cards. I pinned myself into a corner, making myself look like a dummy who was manipulated into an Oscar-worthy performance. And when they asked about my past, I just retreated within and went quiet. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t stop it. I decided to go back to Brooklyn before the ceremonies.
One night, hanging out with Dad at Carmen’s, still angry, still in my bitch-ass mood, Dad told me that I should make peace with Lydia and forgive her. It wasn’t her fault that she had mental issues. I should understand. Say what? I just nodded silently, out of respect, which I had a lot of for this man. I mean, I never even cursed around him, ever. Then, another night, he jokingly brought up a recent incident that involved this recording artist I thought I was having a relationship with—he thought we were just messing around, even though he told me otherwise. For some ungodly reason, this artist wanted to meet my father. I had never introduced a guy to Dad, ever, not even Ramier. I kept refusing, but later I gave in.
“Make sure you address him as Señor.”
“Is that some Puerto Rican shit?” He fucking chuckled.
“Yes! It is, okay? And it’s some simple respect shit too. So please, don’t humiliate me or him.”
We walked in. He walked up to my father. “Hey, what’s up, man,”… and gave my father a freakin’ pound! I thought I was going to die! My father didn’t reply, just nodded, with enormous disgust, and wouldn’t even look his way for the rest of the visit. I was pissed, at both of them. Dad didn’t care. “It’s your life. Do what you want, but you should break up with him. Now!” And I did.
So anyway, Dad brings this back up.
“I was right! I know when a man’s no good when I see one. He had no respect for women, for anyone, not even himself. I’m glad you listened to me and ended it. I hope and pray for your happiness that next time you pick better.”
Ooh, that pissed me off. I unleashed all the anger that had been building on my poor dad.
“Well, I guess if I had a better example, instead of you, I’d pick better.”
“No, no, no, no. Please, baby. Don’t be like that with me. I’m your father!”
“My father? You can only call yourself a father if you’re being a father! You were never there for me, ever! You left me to rot in the Home! And don’t give me that crap about not being able to bring a love child home, ’cause you had no problem bringing Carmen. Yes, I know! I know that she’s a love child too! I swear to God I wish I’d never been born to you or my mother!”
“Please! Rosie!”
He grabbed his heart. I dismissed it, thought he was milking for sympathy. I kept going. Then he slowly got up and went upstairs into Angela’s bedroom to lie down on the bottom bunk. I followed, still on the attack. Carmen ran up, yelling for me to stop, telling me to not do this to “her” father. I turned toward her, telling her to stay out of it, this was between “our” father and me, and I was going to have my say!
When I stormed into the room, I saw my father curled up, crying like a little boy, clasping his heart. Carmen sprinted into the bathroom to get a glass of water and a cool washcloth. I knelt down in front of him, stroking his head to calm him.
“Daddy, please stop! I’m sorry! I love you, Daddy. So much!”
And there it was. I finally said it, said what I’d always felt, what I always wanted to say even if I didn’t know it. My father turned around and sat up, breathing heavily, then his head fell heavily on my shoulder and he began sobbing. Carmen came back in, handed me the wet cloth. I gently wiped it over his face, helping him to calm down. Carmen excused herself, saying she was going to get a glass of water so that we could have our moment.
Dad eventually caught his breath. He then looked down at the cheap, tacky carpet. (Carmen never had good taste.)
“All these years I thought I would never hear you say it. I know I don’t deserve your love, but I thank you.”
“Papi, stop. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m so sorry. You have no reason to, but I pray that you find it in your heart to forgive me one day—for everything.”
And there it was. The apology I always wanted, even though I didn’t know how badly I needed it. His apology calmed me immediately. “I forgave you a long time ago, Pops. I just wanted you to be my dad, you know. And you have been.”
He reached for my hand, and we sat there for quite some time, holding hands in a quiet new beginning. We both felt Carmen’s presence as she hid respectfully in the hallway. He waved her over. “Come. I have something to show you both.”
We went into Carmen’s bedroom, and the three of us sat on her bed as he brought over a shoebox from his suitcase. It was filled with pictures of all the women in his life who held a significant meaning for him. He proceeded to pick out only the ones that meant the most.
“This one was my first marriage. She’s not good-looking, kind of plain, but a good woman. Bored me to tears.”
We all chuckled a bit.
“I thought that’s the kind of woman you were supposed to marry. You know, a good woman who cooks and cleans—but I didn’t love her. I always regretted how I hurt her.… This one, was only for the sex.… This one was crazy.… This one had style, I loved to show her off. But she was crazy too. This one, that’s your mother, Carmen—took me for every cent I had. That’s why I lost my house.… And this one is my wife. It took years for me to understand how much I love that woman.… But your mother, Rosie, she is the only woman I truly loved.”
I looked over at Carmen. I grabbed her hand.
“You know, I love you both very much, and I want you to always be there for each other and for your brother. We’re family.… You know, I don’t know why I love crazy women, but I do. Maybe it’s the sex.”
“Dad!” Carmen and I screamed and laughed in unison.
“What?” he said, laughing, “It’s the truth. Crazy women are good in the sack.”
“Dad!”
We spent the next several hours going through all the pictures and hearing all of the slightly inappropriate stories attached to them. After a while, Carmen left to start dinner. Dad and I continued to talk. He told me the truth, the whole truth, about meeting my mother, leaving Halo—his wife—and everything behind for her. He told me about her shooting at him and how he left her—and unfortunately me as well—when, too late, he found out about her mental illness. He told me how he wanted to get me but Lydia wouldn’t let him—but even if he did get me, he was scared to bring me home for fear of Halo’s reaction since he had already begged her to take in Carmen. Most important, he said he was as much at fault as she was in all of this: he shouldn’t have left her pregnant like that, and he prayed that one day she and I would forgive each other too.
“You know, I know she wasn’t the best mother …”
“Uh, yeah, Pops.”
He kind of laughed.
“But, you know, not for nothing, I wasn’t the best papi either. But you gave me another chance. Everyone deserves another chance.”
I wanted to tell him everything—about the emotional and physical and mental abuse I’d endured from Lydia, even what my siblings endured from her, which they all did. I wanted to cry out that even though my half-brother tried to molest me, the real pain came from Lydia when she smacked the shit out of me and accused me of lying. All of it. But I didn’t.
I didn’t want to spend the rest of the time defending what had happened. I didn’t want to lie to him that I had forgiven everything my mother had done, and would agree to excuse all of her bad behavior away because she was crazy. I just wanted to keep spending this precious time with my dad. I wanted to keep holdi
ng his hand and listen to the wonderful, ridiculous stories of his adventures.
CHAPTER 30
I FLEW back for the Golden Globes a couple of days before they happened. I went over to see Tia to ask her to come with me to the awards.
“You wanna go to the Golden Globes with me?”
“Ay, no. Then you would have to push me around everywhere and everything. No.”
Tia’s diabetes had gotten worse, and they’d had to amputate part of her leg. Sometimes she would scratch it, thinking that the part removed was still there. I had taken her to the set of White Men Can’t Jump with me a couple of times. She hated it. Hated having to be pushed around, waiting for long hours.
“It would be my honor to push you around.”
“Ay, please. Don’t be stupid. Plus, then I have to find something to wear and do my hair and it’s humid and everything. How is your mother?”
I gave her a look.
“She’s your mother. You should still look for her.”
I took a deep breath and calmly told her the truth, finally.
“Tia, you don’t know this woman. She has fooled everyone. Remember all those times I came home black and blue? Remember how I told you I fell down or whatever? Lydia did that to me. Remember the time she came after me and I ran home to you bloody and bruised? She did that to me. So please forgive me—I love her, but I do not like her, and I do not want a relationship with her either. I’m done.”
“Ay, Rosamarie, don’t say that. She’s your mother.”
“She’s not my mother. You’re my mother. You’ve always been my mother. And I love you for it. So please, respect my feelings on this.”
“But you have to understand. She’s crazy. You have to forgive her.”
“No, Tia. I don’t. At least not right now.”
Tia looked at me for the longest time without responding, like she was finally putting all the pieces together. She started to well up. I was getting frustrated. I don’t know why, but I was. I took another deep breath.
“See, this is why I never told you. I didn’t want to see you hurt.”
“Oh, Rosie. I keep telling you, that’s not your job.”
“Yes, it is, Mommie.”
Later we watched an old movie and I gave her a manicure. We never brought my mother up again for the rest of our visit.
I went to the Golden Globe awards ceremony with my agent and I think my publicist. As I took my seat, I wondered if all of my peers were looking at me differently because of the scandal in the tabloids. I went to the bar to get a glass of wine. It was just the bartender and myself. Then, of all people, Rodney Dangerfield walked in, eating a hero sandwich in his bathrobe and slippers! He was living at the Beverly Hilton, where the ceremonies were taking place.
“Hey, what’s going on? All the commotion woke me up! Look at all the fake boobs. Where am I, Hollywood?”
I died laughing. Two waiters quickly pulled up a small table and chair for him. He looked over at me. “Wanna sit?”
“Me? Oh man, would I! But I’m nominated and I have to get back to my seat.”
“Hey! Good for you. Who are you?”
I died again. “Rosie! My name is Rosie Perez, sir. I’m so excited to meet you. I think you’re hilarious, Mr. Dangerfield.”
“Oh, good. Tell everyone you know, kid. Wait! I know you! Funny girl.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“Don’t mention it, kid. And stop calling me ‘sir.’ Someone might ask me for money. Good luck tonight.”
I didn’t get the Golden Globe. Was it because of my asshole behavior, or was it that the better actor won? Who knows? But I got to meet Rodney Dangerfield—yay! And I took the loss like a champ. Seriously. It really surprised me how I was able to shake it off and enjoy the whole event.
• • •
So I call up my father.
“Hello, baby! I’m playing this song by Peggy Lee. Great singer and what a body! You know, I dated a woman in 1972 who looked just like her. What a body she had!”
“Dad. Please. Don’t start with one of your long soliloquies about women. Wanna be my date for the Oscars?”
“About time! I was dying waiting for you to ask!”
Why didn’t I ask Tia? I did. Figuring that she would say no again, I told her that I asked Dad to be my date and wanted her to come along. She shook her head no with this sad smile.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m happy you’re bringing him.”
“Please! Please come! If you don’t come, I’m gonna be so sad!”
“Why you gotta be so dramatic? It’s okay. You go with your father. I’m so proud of you.”
It made me very upset. Man! I asked Carmen instead.
I felt like everyone wanted me to wear something daring, press-grabbing, but I wanted something that reflected a respectful girl whose father was her date to the Oscars—a black velvet Armani gown with a laced open back and slight train won.
Carmen took forever to find an outfit. She had gained even more weight, and nothing fit except matronly looking gowns. She finally settled on one. It was a tight-fitting black, long, off-the-shoulder kind of—it had straps—gown. The top part was white with large white stripes down each side. She walked out of my guest room dressed in it. Dad and I gasped. Then he blurted out, “You look like Orca, the whale!”
“Dad!” we both screamed.
“What? She looks like Free Willy,” he said laughingly. I must admit, it was funny as hell.
Carmen and I felt out of place. I also felt melancholy, thinking about Tia, even thinking about my mother, wishing things were different. Dad, he felt happy as a clam with all of the hoopla. He flirted with every starlet, every woman on the red carpet.
“Dad! You’re embarrassing me. It’s not cute.”
“What? Can’t a man live?”
I was mortified and tickled pink. Good thing I chose him to be my date. I knew he would cheer me up. I was really scared that the media on the red carpet were going to ask me about Lydia and not about my nomination—thank goodness no one did!
We walked in, and Carmen spotted Raquel Welch. She pulled out her cheap-ass instant camera she’d picked up at the 7-Eleven. “Ooh, Ms. Welch! I’m Rosie’s sister. Can I take your picture? I’m Puerto Rican.”
We took our seats. Pops and I were seated in the front row, while Carmen was seated three rows behind. When Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise walked down the aisle, all heads turned. I could hear only Carmen’s voice shrieking with excitement. The couple took their seats … wait for it … right next to Dad and me—holla! I was so excited—I love both of them! I wanted to say hi, but was too shy. Then Tom reached over and introduced himself, then Nicole said hello to Pop and me, with congratulations—cool!
Then Dad got a diabetic attack! I panicked. I didn’t want to leave him, but I had to get him some orange juice or something. Tom leaned over.
“Is your father okay?”
“No! He has diabetes and needs some juice.”
“Go. I’ll sit with him, make sure he’s okay.”
“Oh, thank you!” Tom moved over to my seat and held my father’s hand! Can you believe it? Love him.
I dashed out, got a cup of OJ, and rushed back in. I then got stopped by security. I didn’t have my ticket or anything on me.
“Please,” I begged. “My father’s sick. Diabetic. I need to get him this!”
They still wouldn’t let me in. I exploded! “I’m fucking nominated, you ass! If you don’t let me in and something, God forbid, happens to my father, I’ll fucking sue your ass and this whole fucking production! I swear to God and the entire fucking universe!” They let me in.
Tom was still holding Dad’s hand. Love this guy! Dad drank the juice and calmed down. He and I thanked Tom, then Dad whispered in my ear, “Who’s that?”
“That’s Tom Cruise, Daddy!” I whispered back.
“Oh! He’s Puerto Rican or Cuban?”
“No,” I laugh. “It’s C-r-u-i-s-e, no
t C-r-u-z.”
“Oh. Wonderful guy.”
Then, right before they were about to go live again and announce my category, Whoopi Goldberg—love!—who was that year’s host, walked down from the stage and over to me and said, “You’re gonna win. You deserve it. I feel it.”
I turned toward my father with the biggest grin on my face. He gently grabbed my hand, whispering softly, “You’re gonna lose.” Huh? How the hell could he just say that to me? “The kid’s got it. You can’t compete with a kid. But it’s okay,” he continued. “I’m proud of you. I love you, baby.” He squeezed my hand tighter. I leaned over, pulled his face gently toward me, and kissed him tenderly on his cheek. “Thank you, Papi. I love you too.”
I looked back at Carmen. She was a nervous wreck. We smiled at each other, I reached my hand back, and she reached hers toward me. Our hands never physically met, but, well, you know—luckiest girl in the world. I turned to Dad.
“I wish Tia was here.”
“Me too, baby.”
They announced the winner, Anna Paquin, for her wonderful and moving performance in The Piano. Dad patted my hand and then smiled at me. We both started to chuckle. Why, I don’t know. Immediately after they went to commercial and the applause stopped, Carmen stood up and screamed, “You were robbed! Fucking little bitch!” Great. Mortified to the millions—not really. Shit was hilarious.
I think I was the happiest loser in that place. We had such a great time at the after-party too. Especially when Antonio Banderas asked us to his table! That was such a nice thing to do. He was so great with my dad, even though Dad kept hitting on every woman in the joint. He even hit on Sidney Poitier’s wife. We were graciously asked to come to his table too—so cool, I loved every picture that man ever made! We politely said thank you to Antonio and headed over. Mr. Poitier had not joined us yet. Dad sat next to this beautiful woman, leaned in, and started in with his corny repartee. I kept pinching him under the table to stop.