介绍： 035 | Elvis and My Husband Have Left the Building

MY ex-husband is gay, and I knew it when I married him. We were only 23, at the start of our promising careers, but he, alas, was at the end of his student visa. So I married Rickie to keep him from being sent back to his gay-intolerant Muslim homeland, where...

介绍： 035 | Elvis and My Husband Have Left the Building

MY ex-husband is gay, and I knew it when I married him. We were only 23, at the start of our promising careers, but he, alas, was at the end of his student visa. So I married Rickie to keep him from being sent back to his gay-intolerant Muslim homeland, where he'd have to live a life of lies, secrecy and fear.

I acted out of love, no compensation requested or received. We simply got in the car, drove northeast out of Los Angeles, and five hours later Elvis was singing, "I'm in love, I'm all shook up," as we danced down the aisle of the Little White Wedding Chapel, me in a hot pink slip dress and my groom in his brown leather jacket, ribbed cream turtleneck and khakis.

When we reached the altar, the Elvis impersonator stopped his hip-swinging jig. "Do you promise to polish each others' blue suede shoes?"

I beamed at my almost-husband. "I do."
"Do you promise to walk each others' hound dogs?"

"Of course," Rickie said.

"I'm more of a cat person," I replied, "but sure."

It was over in five minutes, but nobody could say our love wasn't genuine. It might have been more genuine, of course, if Rickie had been standing next to the preferred love of his life, a man. But a man wouldn't have been able to help him the way his best girlfriend could.

I first noticed Rickie four years earlier in college, when he walked into our advanced film production workshop. He was hard not to notice, with his wild black hair and coffee-colored cashmere turtleneck that matched his eyes. Our friendship was born over doughnuts and coffee at 5 a.m., freezing on a Boston street corner as we prepared to shoot our first exterior.

After graduation we moved to Los Angeles and rented a place together in West Hollywood, the land of shirtless men. Rickie got an internship on a studio lot while I freelanced in the art department of a company doing hip-hop videos.

We were constantly lost in the San Fernando Valley during our trips to Ikea or to sign up for Central Casting, but domestic life was sweet. Rickie cooked his famous spaghetti sauce for me whenever I'd had a rough day. I helped him shop for ties for his job interviews and drove him around when his Nissan wouldn't start.

But once Rickie's internship ended and he could no longer claim student status for his visa, he discovered that no entertainment company would sponsor him for a work visa.

I'd told Rickie many times I would marry him if he ever had any visa trouble, and he'd never taken me seriously. I'm not sure I took myself seriously either. But now, as he explained his grim situation over drinks at our favorite bar, it suddenly became a reality.

True to my word, I gulped my cocktail, got down on my knees and proposed.

He hopped off his barstool, knelt beside me and took my hands. "I'd be honored to be the envy of straight men everywhere."

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