Today I wanted to post something fun. Some excerpts from the chapter "Antonio, the '80s" from my novel Too Old to be a Hooker…Too Young to be a Madam.

The first time I laid eyes on him I thought to myself, that man is my executioner! That man will destroy me.

Tennessee Williams

Antonio was a cross between a stallion and a pitbull.  I was enamored by the thirty-something macho Mambo King.  He was the epitome of Don Juan from hell, a gigolo type number.

One twilight evening a patch of sun set high above the Hollywood Hills lighting up the Hollywood Sign, bathing it with golden hues in the enchanting land of the lost.  My retreat was reminiscent of a cottage in the countryside.  As the pale blue sky darkened, Antonio darkened my mood.  He was holding an embroidered royal blue box, two bottles of Marqués de Riscal wine, and a long stemmed crimson rose in his hands.

"Como esta, my little chiquita," he said in his thick spanish tongue.  "I hope you're not angry at Antonio for stopping by, but you disconnect phone again."

"I've been very busy.  Ignore my mint green face mask.  Welcome to my humble hacienda, Chico," I said.  His hair was slicked back in a ponytail.  An Adidas bag slung over his arm.  His demeanor breathed the air of decadence.

"Te amo, my beautiful princess.  I'm your Knight of Pentacles, your Prince of Darkness.  I've brought you my cajones for your well being," he said proudly.

I opened the box laughing hysterically as chines echoed through the spacious house.

"I'm in the mood for a club tonight.  There's a bar on the strip that has live salsa, hip-hop and great Latin bands," he said.

"Okay let's get all glitzy and glammed to the nines and go dancing," I perked up a little, running over to my vanity, painting my face with rosy cream blush.

"It will be an evening of sensual, sinful treasures.  It's the trashiest, flashiest club in LA," he smiled.

Brushing my hair, studying myself in a full length mirror in front of my closet door, I asked,  "What should I wear tonight?"

"I wonder what would look good on me, April," he said rummaging through my cluttered closet while polishing off his wine, pulling out my Dolce and Gabbana gown.  "Darling, I just love your red sequined dress.  Is it vintage?  I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but I think it would look better on Antonio than you.  And by the way, I was Dietrich in a cabaret act in Madrid.  And I look better blond, but I'm not gay," he said unconvincingly.

"Oh, I see that," I laughed, trying not to act shocked.

Antonio pulled a long blonde wig out of his gym bag dancing around the room to the sounds of The Gypsy Kings, wearing my dress dabbing his face with make-up, preparing for the nightlife.

"I much prefer Versace, but do I not look like The Siren of Sequins?" he asked.

"You look like the devil in drag diva," I laughed.  "But I like a man that's full of surprises."

Much to my amazement, Antonio was just another case of confused chromosomes.  But he was my only answer to Antonio Banderas, and definitely more available.  I just hoped that he wouldn't stretch out my dress.