Bayan ko: she had dreamed of beauty pageants for her children--not political protests, Studio 54 and girls dressing like boys.(FICTION)(Novella)

CLARITA PUSHED THE FINAL BOBBY PINS into her hair and turned her face from side to side, sucking in her cheeks for emphasis. Her vanity mirror with the adjustable light was set on "evening," its lavender glow cast a flattering effect on her face, highlighting all the appropriate arches, disguising all the unwanted sags. At the age of forty-one and four children into motherhood, Clarita clung to any illusion of beauty she could find; this tri-fold mirror with its four different light settings--evening, day, office and home--was always a reliable source. She reached across her dressing table, over her collection of atomizers, decorative art glasses, multicolored perfume bottles, compact cases and cosmetic brushes and chose the Halston perfume bottle on the second tier. She sprayed the space behind her ears and the spot just under her palm. As she rubbed her wrists together, she called for her husband.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

"Amado! Hurry up, ha? I don't want to be late. Evelyn and Baby are expecting us for dinner. You know how those two are about timing."

Rising from her dressing table, she straightened out the creases in her dress and walked across the room. She was careful not to step on the McCall's sewing pattern she had been working on the night before; swatches of puzzle-shaped fabric pinned to onionskin paper were laid about the floor. The dress she wore today was a home-sewn creation she completed last week. Not bad, she thought to herself as she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. She specifically chose the two-tone, low-waist design to hide her round midsection, strategically placed the darker color, a deep royal purple, on top, and a mustard yellow fabric below. It wasn't a designer special, but overall it worked well in the illusion department. Before her last child, she could easily find a dress in the petite section, a size six, but now her five-foot frame--ballooned at the middle and at the rear--could hardly fit into anything proportionately. She blamed her difficulty on her Filipino body type and the fact that they were living on Long Island. "These American designers don't make dresses for short, fat Filipinas," she complained to her husband, and after tailoring countless designer dresses from Marshalls, she decided to sew her own.

"Amado! How many times do I have to call you? Are you ready yet?"

Amado didn't mind the change in his wife's figure. He wasn't exactly the picky type. Since starting his new job as a car salesman in Corona, Queens, he seemed to have a new appreciation for full-figured women. A few weeks ago, he brought home a pair of Sergio Valente's and approached his wife singing, "Uh-oh Sergio!" When she refused to wear the skin-tight jeans, he insisted that all the women were wearing them these days, including Lourdes, the secretary at the dealership.

"What do you think of me?" Clarita asked in disgust. "I'm your wife not some uneducated typist. Dios ko, I have some class, naman!"