In the family

Murmurs filled the audience, and I could hear the sequins on mother's dress rustle, and then she uttered "Shit, they've done it again!" as she struggled to put her feet back in those too-small heels.

The flood lights that were hitched to the green exit sign lit up above the side escape door in the wall to our far right, and lighters began to flash all over the room. The fairy lights that flickered in the center of each table cast an eery red hue through the room, and little embers of orange  glowed and danced like chubby lightening bugs through out the audience to indicate nervous smokers in the dark. Of course, the fans that had previously trapped the fog in the center of the stage had ceased, so the fog wafted up and around the first few rows of seats.  I could feel the humid cold of the fog on my face, and my visibility was almost nill. A tremendous uneasiness came over me.  After turning to Willadean and telling her to watch the money, Mother turned to me.

"Come on, " she said tersely.

"What's going on?" I asked with a little trepidation.

"Some asshole has turned off the electricity again.  I told Twyman to move that damn breaker box inside the bar." she said as she waved her hands in that characteristic gay fashion as if it was a common occurrence.

Her nonchalance comforted me, but I still didn't think it was wise -- or safe -- to go outside especially since we knew that someone had purposefully shut off the power.....but maybe it was safer to be outside rather than inside because I didn't know what these pranksters had in mind, so I was torn.  Homophobia ran rampant in the supposed City of the Arts in Arkansas, and the current situation proved that fact...if mother was correct in her supposition.  For all I knew, there was a city wide power-outage, and we were only members of failed electricity and not victims of harrasment.

"Mother,it's not safe to go out there.  They might still be there.  Let's just wait a minute.  Maybe it's a power outage", I urged, which of course, was the common sense thing to say.

"Gurl, I am a seven feet tall drag queen who weighs," and she paused a moment before she revealed her weight then continued, "Who weighs enough  and you know I am mean as hell.  Now, come on," and she tugged on my shirt, so I rose and started to follow her but not before I waved Kerry and SiAra along with us.  I told myself there was strength in numbers.  "I won't let anyone hurt you, chicken shit," Mother said supremely, but I wasn't totally convinced of that even though I'd witnessed her manic power.

Reluctantly, Kerry and SiAra rose, and we all began to follow Mother Superior across the dance floor and into a seeming thunderhead of rising fog. I could hear SiAra's quiet protests to Kerry between her coughs, but Kerry didn't say a word.  He trudged onward like a zombie, and his toes kept bumping into my heels  - for which he did not apologize.  It was taking awhile for our eyes to adjust to the darkness, but we did pretty good as we felt our way through the cloud of fog.....until Mother bumped into the bowed head of Bianca and knocked her crown off, and I fully expected to hear a crash of thunder and see a flash of lightening. ( Later, Mother told me it was an accident, but it was so terribly convenient that I believed it was happenstance as much as the puke was.....).   I heard a clatter of metal and Bianca yelped , "My Crown," and Mother  let out a whoop that scared the audience which caused loud jabbers and mutterings to break  forth from them. I heard lezzies and queers alike rouse and rise from their seats.  Bianca was hunting all over the floor with her hands ( she even grabbed my shoes which made me get the willies ) before she finally located her crown and released a relaxed sigh.

"Hey..Sit down and Shut up!  Don't nobody panic.  We just blew a breaker because of that damn fog machine.  Sip your cocktails and Bessie get some flashlights and hustle your ass and get these people some more drinks," Mother bellowed and calmed the crowd.  She thought quickly on her feet, I thought, and the calmness in her voice chased away any uneasiness that began to enter the minds of the audience.  If I didn't know of her suspicions about homophobes in the night, I would have believed her and sat still............and that's just what they did.

"And Bessie, bring us some flashlights.  They're under the bar..... Craig, help her," Mother added.

"Bianca, honey,  come with us and help us with the breaker," Mother uttered willy-nilly in the darkness, and I wondered just how many drag queens it took to turn the lights back on.............Apparently, Mother was being cautious just in case the pranksters wanted to accost us outside, and I wasn't the only person thinking about strength in numbers.  I really don't know why she didn't grab a few butch lesbians on our way out, but she didn't.

"Baby, I aint' got no clothes on..and it's 30 degrees outside.  I ain't goin' out there.  I need to git my tips before someone takes off with the whole wad." Bianca protested as I followed her voice as she rose from the floor to our ear level in the darkness because I couldn't see her.  The stage was a dark abyss...and I gathered that "baby" was her word much like Mother's "gurl" and Cora's "queen".

"Oh...Okay..but tell your crew to git out there and stay with Kit and the cash register..but tell them to put some clothes on.  They might have to whoop some ass." Mother instructed., and her words certainly didn't comfort me.  I assumed she wanted to leave some strength inside the building just in case more trouble decided to invite itself within.  But, she was calm and only taking precautions..I don't think she really supposed anything would happen; she just wanted to cover all bases in the event of an attack, or I hoped so.  I told myself this must have been how settlers and soldiers felt as they faced an onslaught of enemies as they hid within a supposedly safe fortress. 

"Baby, I'm sure those straight boys have their clothes on now.  Do you think those straight boys are gonna' stay naked in  a room full of half dressed drag queens?  Now, go on, and get those lights back on,"  Bianca chided, and we all followed Mother in the darkness as we clung to the backs of each other.  As we walked, I took note of the ease in the conversation between Mother and Bianca.  Months and Months of hard feelings ( and gallons of puke ) had seemingly melted and disappeared.....But that was Hot Springs.  These queens could fight and argue for weeks on end, and then something would trigger forgiveness ( or Mother's mood just simply changed ), and all those bad feelings appeared to vanish if only on the surface.  It was very familial in that regard, howbeit dysfunctional, -- as long as everyone remained in the family.

Nothing

Bianca had no shame - which was a bit shocking to me at the time.  She pranced  in a set of Victoria's Secret lacy black bra and panties in the midst of that rolling fog like she truly was the Queen of the night...........and she meant it when she synched:
                                                          I got the stuff that you want
                                                          I got the thing that you need
                                                          I got more than enough
                                                          to make you drop to your knees
                                                          Cuz I'm the Queen of the Night
                                                          Queen of the Night
                                                          Oh yeah, Oh yeah, oh yeah yeah.
But judging from her physique, the knee-dropping line held a bit more meaning in a gay bar, and I knew Bianca was well aware of that. ( but the "thing" that they needed was well-hidden)... While she paraded around the dance floor nearly naked, it was impossible to overlook her smooth washboard stomach  or bulging biceps.  But, I was still perplexed at how such a Michelangelo David body could have such a womanly butt..............Bianca was smart enough to play up her manliness as well as her femininity.  She knew a crowd of gay men ogled her, and she wasn't afraid to appeal to their primal passions.  I made note to remember that for future reference:  Be a woman, but tempt them with a suggestion of man.

The music started to quiet a bit, so I assumed Bianca was nearing her finale especially since she blew a kiss to the audience, sunk to one knee, and bowed her head.  For a moment, she looked humbled.  Still beautiful, but gracefully meek........ slowly her head began to come up and her lips perfectly formed:
                                                         And I am telling you
                                                         I'm not going
Jennifer Holiday's version from Dream Girls was flowing from the speakers, and Bianca was looking directly at Mother with tears in her eyes.  It was then that I realized that this battle was over, and Bianca,the warrior princess, had won.................and then all went black and silent.

No Spot light.

No Music.

No whir from the fog machine.

Nothing.

Nearly Naked

     Bianca was only immersed in the fog for a few brief seconds, so her reappearance was a little more than astounding.  The music had changed to a driving beat of drums and the screech of an electric guitar, and when our minds finally interpreted that Bianca was a short haired blonde with dark roots - reminiscent of the style Madonna wore in her early days --  she was whirring around the pole in the middle of the dance floor.  Her stringy evening gown flew around her and revealed a black velvet cat suit with a silver  bodice.  For just a moment, she hung from the pole while fog climbed up to meet her, and she looked like a cherubic hood ornament from the 1930s, but just as quickly as she'd leapt and spun on the pole, she landed on her stillettos and the strings fell to the floor like wet spaghetti. As her feet met the parque', Whitney Houston's voice came out of her mouth, or it looked that way.........and Bianca became the Queen of the Night.

                                                            I got the stuff that you want
                                                            I got the thing that you need
                                                            I've got more than enough
                                                            to make you drop to your knees

     From out of nowhere, Bianca was suddenly surrounded by four muscle studs wearing only army boots and black speedos, three dropped to their knees in front of her...and one stood behind her and pinned a tall thin glittery rhinestone-studded crown to her head.
                                                          Cause I'm the Queen of the Night
                                                          Queen of the Night
                                                          Oh yeah, Oh yeah, Oh yeah, yeah
    
       Her perfomance was as sharp as her Stilettos.  One of her studly suitors reached up, grabbed her hand and kissed it and then all four of them disappeared into the fog. The Diva Houston could even learn a few things from this queen, I thought to myself. I had never seen a queen be more of a queen than in this moment, and I knew then that I could do it too.........and I would.  My desire and covetousness of her talent seeped out through my lips without me noticing, and Mother overheard me.

     "Oh God, not another one," she said with more than a little disdain in her voice, but then added.  " I knew it."
     "That crown is huge.  Where'd she buy that?" I asked Mother still mesmerized by the spectacle of royal faggotry before me but changing the subject quickly because I still wasn't sure if I wanted to discuss my hidden desire. 
     "Bitch, she didn't buy it.  She EARNED it at a regional pageant." Mother said with an ample helping of pride.
     "Regional?" I asked. "What's that?"
     "It's a prelim to Miss America," she yelled over the adoring screams of the audience.
     "Who were those guys?" meaning the muscle men who had appeared out of nowhere to adore the queen and just as quickly had departed.
     "They're her roofing crew.  Sometimes she hires them for her shows,"Mother replied with a little irritation in her voice.
     "She's a roofer?" and I knew my mouth flew open.
     "Yes, girl....she's a man...a fine looking man....with plenty of manhood," Mother said with a little guttural nastiness in her voice. "Now, shut up...and let me watch the show.  This bitch is peeing all over that stage."
     Of course, I shut my mouth, and instantly my attention was drawn to Bianca's crotch.  I had witnessed so many odd things, that I wouldn't have been totally surprised to have seen Bianca actually peeing on the stage, but I looked..and I didn't see anything...nothing indicated that Bianca was indeed urinating or even a man.  I assumed Mother meant that Bianca was marking her territory on the stage much like a male cat or dog marks its territory, but I wasn't sure of that, so I intermittenly checked out her crotch area during the remainder of the performance, and I'd ask about the colloquialism later......  Bianca strutted across that stage in that cat suit like a rock star.  The tight velvet showed every curve on her feminine physique.  She was built like a brick shit house, and I didn't know at the time of the magic of foam padding.  Even though I knew there was a penis under all of that costume, it was hard to make my mind believe it.  If  I had just walked in and sat down and didn't know I was at a drag show, I would have thought that I was witnessing a superior performance of a woman who sang just like Whitney Houston but looked a little like an early Madonna.   The illusion was only an inch away from reality,but in that moment, it was reality for all of us in the tiny bar in Hot Springs, Arkansas.  It goes without mentioning that the crowd was lined up on two sides of our table waiting for the queen to receive their monetary adoration..and she took it..bill by bill...and when her hands were full, she strutted in front of our table and without a glance, threw the handfuls of bills to the growing pile of Jacks on our table on her way to the other line to receive even more cash from that side..and back and forth she went until this important verse of the song.  On it, she stopped, walked right to Mother and lip synched directly to her.

                                                           You've got a problem with the way that I am
                                                            They say I'm trouble but I dont' give a damn
                                                            But when I'm bad I know I'm better
                                                            I just want to get loose and turn it up for you

     Mother nodded at her; Bianca nodded back and continued to synch....and then Mother reached into her bosom and pulled out a wad of bills....and held them up for Bianca...but Bianca didn't take them right away.  She backed up and did a little drag queen four square, and then took the wad which she separated with her fingers, held them high above the table and sprinkled the individual bills like snowflakes over her pile of cash in front of us. As if to tell the audience, "Look, the old bitch tipped me!"
  Mother stood with tears in her eyes and reached out and hugged Bianca.  Quickly, Bianca accepted Mother's embrace, but during the hug, Bianca looked over at me and rolled her eyes.............then winked at me.  I, of course, smiled back as I got a tiny tingle in my heart.  It felt good for this ravishing queen to even notice me, so I had to stand and offer her my tip.  It just so happened that the song entered an electric guitar interlude, and Bianca grabbed both of my hands and leaned into me.
     "You're hot, baby," she whispered in my ear as I felt a warm tongue lick my lobe.  She placed my hands on her breasts.  I tried to pull away.  Even though I knew they were fake, I just wasn't raised to grab women's boobs..and they felt hard with only minor squoosh.  There was also a little confusion in my mind.  Even though I KNEW Bianca was a drag queen, she just didn't look like a man, so my mind had to take a moment to tell my hands that it was okay for me to touch her boobs..even though they weren't boobs; they were only fake molded foam rubber -- but they had nipples.  I could feel them.  Is this what they meant by gender confusion?
     "Just relax, baby.  Grab onto the top of my bodice, but make sure you don't get my bra..or the bills" she continued to whisper as she ran her hands all over my body and through my hair.  Of course, I complied and just figured it was part of the show.  If I had been able to think, I would have been embarrassed by the way she carressed me -- in places that she shouldn't have touched cuz I was a real man......and  some of my things she was touching were not foam rubber.
    "Now, don't be afraid, but on the  count of three, pull on the top of my bodice...and pull hard..DON'T LET GO...." she said.  I didn't really have time to think, and I wasn't really believing what she was saying.
   "One...two...three" and on three I pulled and she pushed away from me.........and I ripped that cat suit right off of that drag queen.  For more than a minute, I was stunned...and so was the audience.  BUT,  This was a special cat suit.  It was seemed  with velcro, and I heard the sound of velcro scratch and rip as she spun away from me.  The crowd erupted into a frenzy and wadded bills rained on Bianca as she danced in nothing but a bra, a thong, stillettos and a 2-foot-high crown.  Being a drag novice, I still didn't know that she was far from nakedness.  Lord knows, she had at least five pair of panty hose and a few inches of foam that separated her penis and butt from the audience.  I really thought she was nearly naked.
                                                  
                                                  

Bianca was sucked into the fog

Oh no, not I
I will survive
as long as i know how to love
I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
and I'll survive
I will survive

     Bianca  gracefully moved forward but with intention and stood directly in front of Mother much like she'd done on her previous performance, but her attitude was much different this time............and she accepted her tips..all of them.  Fans clamored in adoration of this glorious drag queen, and Bianca didn't budge, so the fans lined up behind and around our table.  Arms were thrust outward all around us (and I'm sure we looked like Kali,  the Hindu god with  multiple arms) holding bills for Bianca to take..and she took..and took..and took..until her hands were full, but she didn't stop simply because her hands were full.  Instead, She threw the clasped bills right in front of Mother..handfull after handfull.( as if she was rubbing mother's nose in it and saying..."Look Bitch, They love me!", and she had that look in her eye too.).. Eventually the table was covered in dollar bills.  Apparently, there was still a level of professional trust between Bianca and Mother because I don't think I would have trusted anyone with all of those bills. ( But heck, if anyone at our table would have tried to pocket anything, the entire bar would have seen it...) Mother's purse became buried under a snowdrift of money, and it would be some time before we'd see it again. I couldn't see red table cloth anymore..just piles and piles of bills...mostly ones..but I saw some 5s, 10s and 20s, too.  (Bianca was smart and tucked the 50 and 100 in her cleavage...I guess she didn't trust Mother THAT much).  Mother Superior and Bianca maintained eye contact through out the song, but Mother didn't offer a single tip; she just gazed and folded her arms across her chest as if to indicate that she refused to tip ............but I tipped Bianca....several times.  The bitch deserved it.  In fact, our entire table tipped her repeatedly -- except Mother -- but it seemed like we had to fight the other arms to get Bianca to take our bills.  Honestly, it was hard to give money away at that point because this idol was having a hard time keeping up with all the money offered to her................and then the music changed abruptly..and for a second or two Bianca was sucked back into the fog and out of our sight.

The Foundations of a Subtle Battle

Miss Greasy Crinilin must have been a theatre major ( and she had been ,but she'd flunked out her sophomore year, I later learned ) because she knew how to work that spotlight in ways that Tonya Lee could have never thought of ( and we've already discusssed why ).  Slowly, like a cat stalking its prey, Miss Crinilin edged the spotlight from the base of the stage to its final destination, but she'd contorted it into a skinny oval shape.  All other lights in the room had been extinguished.  Only the spotlight beamed, and of course the red fairy lights did their flicker in the center of most tables -- ours lacked a fancy candle because Mother had shattered it in her mini-rage to me and the porters had not replaced it when they redressed our table -- and they were probably wise with that decision.

At the very back of the stage, I could barely make out the figure of a woman dressed in black if I squinted; I did take note that Cherry had made no introduction for this queen, and that struck me as odd.........and the music hadn't started either..........but a hush had filled the room.  Only the whir of the fog machine could be heard and the gentle click of heels on the wood parque' stage/dance floor.  No one, including Mother, moved.  We all just sat and waited.  Our curiosity had been aroused at this dramatic beginning of someone's number, and our thirst for the performance had been whetted.

The first few bars of the music seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't wrap my mind around it....and the spotlight still crept slowly to meet its queen as she inched forward to step into its beam.  Stitch by stitch, it climbed up her sleek, midnight black dress which was actually long fringe that stretched the length of the mysterious performer's body, but none of us would notice that until the chorus of the song. I did notice ample cleavage because her dress appeared to have straps with plenty of boob.  On the first word, of the song -- which was all too familiar, but it was a mix that I'd never heard before -- the spotlight reached the face of BIANCA.

                                  "First I was afraid
                                   I was petrified
                                   Kept thinking I could never live
                                   without you by my side"

This mix of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" was much slower than the original version, but I assumed it was building to a climax of epic proportions by the staging. It took a moment for the audience to recognize Bianca --  probably because we didn't expect to see her again on that night after the previous throw-up event, but it could have also had something to do with her wig -- or at least, I thought it was a wig.  I had to turn to Mother and ask what it was.

"It's a skull cap........AND it used to be mine," she managed to say between pursed lips, but she was maintaining her composure much better than before...and I thought she was even enjoying the performance.  Mother kept time to the music with her big toe ( she'd kicked off her size 12 black patent leather heels because she really needed a size 15).  It could have been my imagination, but I thought I saw her moving her lips to the words of the song.  For some reason, I gathered she was a little bit proud of Bianca, but it was only my intuition whispering  in my ear, so I couldn't be sure ( but it was rarely wrong).

The skull cap was fashioned from the same material as the dress: Long black fringe, but it had a string of oval rhinestones that encircled the crown of Bianca's head and one supreme oval rhintestone pendant was centered in the middle of her forehead.  The cap clung closely to her head and was reminiscent of a headdresss in an Erte' print.

                                "But I spent so many nights
                                 thinking how you did me wrong
                                  I grew strong
                                  I learned how to carry on"

The entire scenario reminded me of the final scene of the great Barbra Streisand's FUNNY GIRL when she performed MY MAN on a darkened stage.  I was totally mesmerized, and I could only inhale Bianca's beauty.

                               "and so you're back
                                from outer space
                                I just walked in to find you here
                                with that sad look upon your face
                                I should have changed my stupid lock
                                I should have made you leave your key
                                If I had known for just one second
                                you'd be back to bother me"

Bianca, who'd been standing regally still and only lip synching with perfection and using the fine art of facial expression, spread her black evening-gloved hands ( which had previously hung loosely at her sides ) to reveal more long fringe attached along their seams that hung to her knees and blew slightly in the wind of the fans and over the bubbling fog like sails in a gentle sea..  At this point, I thought  this performance was extemporaneous, and that she hadn't planned it tonight, but I thought she should thank Mitzi for the fog and the fans because it was a spectacular picture to behold.  I'd later realize that this had been one of two choices for her performance this evening, but I wouldn't figure that out until the last few bars of her performance. I also knew that like her previous song, this number was also directed at Mother, but it told a much different story...a defiant testimony, and it did not ask for forgiveness.  I didn't know what else Bianca had planned, but I realized that she had cow-towed to Mother on her first song, but she was preparing to wage an all out war, now...and I couldn't blame her.  I knew that Mother was responsible for Hester; she might not have been directly involved with the puke, but she had planned a disruption of some sort.  All the circumstantial evidence pointed in that direction, and I'd never be able to verify it with total certainty, but I knew..I knew.  The pinch of the leg from a woman that Mother pretended to detest and Mother's surrende of a couple of bills had told me plenty.  Granted, Mother had snatched the 20s out of Hester's hands to make up for the splash of puke...but still...those actions told me all i needed to know.  Somehow or other, the Superior drag queen and the eccentric middle-aged drunk were in cahoots.

So I knew what I knew about Mother, and it didn't surprise me.  I'd known how she was along, but no one is all good and no one is all bad.  She had to cling to her position; it was who she was.  I didn't know much about her past, but I knew she'd been stepped on by other queens in the past, and she was strong enough to prevent that from happening again......But Bianca's reappearance on her stage of shame, told me plenty about her, too.  Apparently, Bianca was resilient and tough, or she would have crawled away like Mitzi had done, and Lord knows that Bianca's humiliation had been magnanimously more than Mitzi's...............and the next few moments would lay the foundations of a subtle battle between a drag queen who refused to reliquish an inch of  her kingdom and one who simply wanted her place within it.

The repaired spotlight came up, barely

"Gurl, if this aint' a hodge podge of haints, I don't know what it is," Mother managed to say between fits of laughter, snorts and table banging...........and she wasn't alone.  I had to concur with her.  Even though there had been some high points in the evening, we had witnessed mainly scag drag, and I had determined that the term "talent" night was a definite misnomer.  Only Cherry Fontaine and Bianca had displayed any true talent, and with Bianca's unfortunate vomit demise, her performance was a bit marred, to say the least.

BUT..I had been entertained, perhaps not in the way the queens had intended but it was much more fun than sitting at home alone in my carpet-up-the-wall apartment pining away for Bart, who had escaped my thoughts for most of the evening, and the freedom had been liberating.  In my mind, I'd taken a little Cher with me, and I think she would have enjoyed the show too.  Where else could I have witnessed a black queen in a blonde wig impersonating Dolly Parton, the resurrection of Mel's Flo with a slightly Frankensteinish air by a "straight" man whose cousin/wife sat only a few seats away from me twirling her hair and making spit bubbles, or witness an Aphroditic drag queen get barraged with barf by a fiftysomething eccentric heiress in a Martian motorcycle helmet?  Even Mitzi's stumble in an ocean of fake fog and subsequent accidental mooning-- which would have made the front page of the town's gay gossip rag -- paled in comparison to all of that.  What else could possibly happen on this evening?

With all of those images being rehashed in my mind, I managed to notice the unheadlining novice queen ( with the bicycle chain grease still evident on her crinilin ) glide through the rumbling fog like she was Jesus walking on water and slip  by us with a cassette tape in her hand.  Mother was still cackling like a goose with the "ene" cousins, so she didn't even notice that there had been a pause in the evening's performances.  I turned around  and squinted through the darkness to see where Greasy Crinilin had gone, and I watched her hand the tape to the DJ, and then she tapped the Spot Light operator on the shoulder -- who was also in drag ( if you can call it that.  I'd later learn that her name was Tonya Lee, and she had been a resident at the town's occupational rehabilitation center for a few years............uhm...well..I think the PC term to describe her is mentally and emotionally challenged, but we would have called her slightly retarded when that word was still possible to use without causing eyebrows to arch.)  Tonya stepped down off the concrete blocks and walked backstage while Greasy Crinilin struck the spotlight a few times with her gloved hands and managed to shake the green gel loose.  She tested each of the other colors and color combinations...red.....blue...purple.yellow..orange...green again..and clear..and they all seemed to be in working order.  No one in the audience seemed to notice the color display dancing atop the fog as several people were up and about gossipping, laughing, exchanging numbers or ordering new beverages. 

The cocktail waitress -- who was looking a bit haggard and needed to touch up her paint-job and re-spray her haphazard up-do -- was running hither-thither trying to get as many orders as she could.  The lesbians -- who were notoriously bad tippers -- had given up getting any service from the drag queen waitress ( and who could blame her for ignoring them since they defiantly refused to tip ?) and they were standing around the bar waiting for some bartender -- whom I'd never seen -- to pop their tops for them -- and from the grimace on his face, I deciphered that they weren't tipping him either....but even in a grimace and from a distance in darkness, the face was nice...........and I suddenly got thirsty.

Siara and Kerry were involved in conversation, or SiAra was talking and Kerry appeared to be listening, but sometimes blank stares can be misleading -- and I secretly hoped SiAra would take Kerry off my hands, but her cough was persistent and rather unattractive with its deep hacking sound, so I knew my hopes would never come to fruition, and Mother was enjoying a lively whoop and holler with Willadean and Mellodean.  Boma Jean was completely spaced-out and still sat spred-legged twirling her hair.  If I would have liked her, I would have cared, but I didn't...so I didn't.  It was a perfect opportunity for me to escape, quench my thirst and do some investigative work concerning the new bartender.  After all, it could be an investment in my future.

I didn't bother to excuse myself like I would have done had I been with my Oklahoma friends; I just slipped quickly out of my chair and walked directly to the back bar.  My eyes met quite a number of stares, and I even garnered a couple smiles and nods along the way.  I'd been instructed years prior by my first boyfriend, Larry, to never return a smile from anyone in a gay bar, or I'd have trouble all night.........and I had adhered to that advice for many years and habit made me cling to it even on this night.  Larry had been my first boyfriend which had also made him my gay teacher by default, and even though I thought some of his advice had been rude and mean, most of it had been correct.  He was the beautiful boy I'd met at the McDonald's drive-thru.  At the time he was instructing me on how to be gay, I hadn't realized he was teaching me how to be a bitch, but being a bitch works, and I have to thank him for that...........He had taught me the look to give to remain unapproachable,and it was tried and true.  Unapproachable is always alluring, and even though someone might know they can never have you, they will still want you............because they can't have you..Unapproachable was necessary in a room of drunk or drugged gay men especially if it was an older crowd.  For some reason, some older gay men thought their persistence was complimentary, but it actually bordered on stalking . On the other hand, there were times when I didn't want to be unapproachable, and that got really confusing especially after I'd already given someone the unapproachable glare several weeks prior.  Like I said, I am a fickle bitch, and underline the word bitch cuz it's true, but men love bitches honey.  They sleep with sluts, but they give their hearts to bitches. 

But when the bartender looked up at me with those doe-eyes when I reached the walnut-slab of a bar, it wasn't his heart that I wanted. Prurient images flashed through my mind, and I had to concentrate to order a cranberry juice.    He ignored the lesbians and immediately poured me some juice much to their chagrin and one ( she was the one with the mullet who'd almost lost her fem to a Sooner that I mentioned earlier )  even said something about lesbian discrimination.  My heart told me he moved quickly cuz he liked what he saw in me.  My mind told me he knew I'd tip so the non-tippers could wait.  I overheard a twink, sitting at a nearby barstool, ask a troll who I was...and the troll replied that I was a bitch. (( Uh huh, I thought, to you, I am, old man... )) I pretended I hadn't heard his assessment of me, but I winked at the twink to spite the troll...and the twink smiled back broadly.  I paid for my drink and tipped the bartender 2 bucks and winked at him, too.  He returned my wink with another wink, and I turned to walk away.  To determine if he'd winked at me for the tip, I turned my head slightly to look at him............No, he'd winked at me because I was me.  When I'd turned around,  he was watching my ass as I walked away....and so was the twink.   It was those moments that told me I was wasting my time with Bart, but my stupid heart was deaf to it all.

When I returned to our table, Mother had her compact open, and she was checking her make-up.  For some reason, she thought she needed to apply some more lipstick, so she did but neatly this time...and then she squirted herself all over with something that smelled like feline flea-spray but came in a pretty crystal bottle with a frosted 3-D plastic flower for its lid.

"Is that too much perfume?  You know, I can't smell a damn thing so I always put too much on," she'd said -- which explained how she'd been able to endure such proximity to the puke.

"Oh, no, it's just.... purrr-fect," I lied with a fake smile, and if she'd known me any better she would have known that I was being facetious by my felonious word choice.  Satisfied, she replaced all of her articles of beauty in her art-deco beaded purse, clicked it shut and placed it neatly on the table in front of her.....Just as she'd lain it down, the repaired spotlight came up,barely.

Mother laughed loudest of all

One of the good qualities that Mother Superior possessed -- and she had many -- was her forthright honesty.  It was a rarity in the South, but she was like me in that regard.  Truth was truth no matter how you painted it, and you might as well just say it like it was...............and she didn't lie about Mitzi's performance.  It did get worse.  I think the worst part of it was that it was boring and lacked creativity.

Mitzi was a less-than-glamorous drag queen wannabe who was dressed in loose gypsy garb trying to sell a song that lacked a climax.  Stevie Nicks could sell it because of her gravelly voice and speculation about withcraft, but Mitzi couldn't. Some people had it, and some did not, but I'd eventually learn that there was a HUGE difference in entertainment value between drag queens and transexuals.  Every now and then the two united and a transy was a good drag queen, but more often than not, transies just weren't performers.  Something other than their outward appearance lurked on their insides and yearned to be set free, but it wasn't talent.  Unfortunately, Mitzi had that bug...and the booty flu, too.  I thought she should just go get the surgery and bake bread for a pot-bellied husband ( and pretend to be barefoot and pregnant ) and forget about the art of drag queenery.  Judging from her performance, she was a definite transy, and NOT a drag queen.............and I'd judged Mother too harshly on her criticism of Mitzi.  She'd been right all along, and the very thing that I admired about Mother -- her honesty -- had offended me the most when she'd told Mitzi the truth about her performance ability.  I was a fickle bitch, but who isn't?  In the future, I'd realize that I was new to this ballgame, and I should sit back and watch a little more before I passed judgment.  Perhaps Mother knew more than I did -- but I hated to admit that -- even to myself.

Of course, I tipped Mitzi.  We all did.  She even had a line of fans on one side of the aisle waiting to offer her monetary accolades, but no one cheered...and the tips were pity tips.  From the look in her eyes, I could see that she knew that, but she trudged onward...........and most of the audience was polite and just waited for it to end...and then there was an interruption in her tape and new music started.

"Oh God," Mother said outloud ( with Mitzi no more than 3 feet away from us ).  "She's made a mix. How long will this shit last?"

"Just a couple more minutes, bitch," Mitzi said to Mother before the words started to her song, and I kicked Mother under the table.

"Well, do something besides just stand there.  This shit is boring," Mother sneered at Mitzi.  I elbowed her hard on that one and immediately thrust a dollar bill into the air to try to make up for Mother's overflowing honesty. 

Mitzi snatched it out of my hand and said to Mother, "Fuck you, you old hag.  All you do is SPIN all over the stage when you do a number.  You don't even know the words."

"Uh!" is all Mother uttered, and I had to hold her arm down to prevent her from getting up and making a total jackass of herself.  She'd done enough of that on this talent night, and Mitzi deserved simple stage respect if nothing else.  Thankfully, Another Stevie song started and Mitzi backed off and moved her arms up and down to the driving notes of her new song. Her shawl had fallen off of her wig, and it made good impromptu wings.  Mother crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and her ears got ketchup red, but she shut her mouth.  Mitzi thrust her hands into the deep pockets of her prarie skirt and threw hand fulls of gold glitter into the air -- and the fans - just as her lyrics started, but something went wrong within seconds of her thrusts.
                                                "Rock on - gold dust woman
                                                 Take your silver spoon
                                                  and dig your grave"

Mitzi started making strange eye contortions, and tears streamed down her face.  At first, I thought that Mother's harsh words had hurt her feelings, and she was crying on stage, but that wasn't the problem at all.  All of that gold glitter that she'd thrown up into the air -- and which had looked simply spectacular in the green spot-light ( and had received the only cheer from the audience that she'd get on this night ) had blown right back into her face and eyes.  She warbled around for a few more beats to the song, and then her heels got entangled in her prarie skirt, and she went down..down..down into the rumbling fog.  If that wasn't bad enough, the spot light operator honed in on her as she tried to crawl away, and all the audience could see was her panty-hose covered butt as she crawled away to the dressing room and out of her humiliation.  It was an interesting sight because her arms were concealed by the rolling clouds, and all we could see was her ass -- in hane's sheer-to-the-waist fawn beige.  I guess the skirt must have come up and she just shined her moon at us.  (( I, secretly, thought to myself that it was intentionally aimed at Mother, but I'd never be able to verify that for sure because Mitzi refused to ever discuss that night again, and she hung up her tiara forever after that.))

Initially, the audience didn't know what to do.  Everyone at our table exchanged glances, and there was a beat of silence then all at once, as if the entire room had an invisible conductor, the place erupted into a cacophony of laughter..and Mother laughed loudest of all.

Just Watch, Gurl, It Gets Worse

By the time, we'd reentered Our House, and received our customary MEOW from Kit -- who was scrubbing out the crock-pot in the bar sink -- most of the crowd had migrated to the back bar.  Queens and dykes alike were spinning on the dance like no one had ever puked on it.  Mother and the "ene" cousins had resumed their seats, and Boma Jean looked wild-eyed and spastic and she sat spred-legged and twirled her hair with her index finger.  Something had happened to her in my absence, but it would take awhile for its effects on her to affect me. Kerry and I took our seats, and Siara seated herself at the end of the table but not before  Mother stood and hugged her and acted like they were dearly departed friends who hadn't seen each other in years -- which was another strange bar ritual that I never quite understood.  Heck, I'd never talk to most of these people in real life; I sure as heck wouldn't hug them.  It reminded me of the "fellowship" time at country churches where the pastor told us all to "shake somebody's hand or hug their neck", and I always cringed.  It was worse in a gay bar, but I didn't have to paint on a face and pretend I liked it like I did at church, and I sure as heck never hugged anyone unless I wanted to.  I just looked at them like they were nuts if they stretched out their arms to me, and I didn't want to hug them.  That could be another reason why I eventually won the bitch award.............but at least, I was real.  I wasn't going to be a hypocrite and hug someone who'd spread lies about me or stabbed me in the back.  The phrase, "turn the other cheek" meant something totally different in the gay world and Christian rules just didn't apply there.

"Where have you two been?" Mother asked in an accusatory voice that lilted at the end as she resumed her seat.

To add fuel to the flames of her gossip fire, I said, "At the dumpster." point-blank and shamelessly.... AND I knew full well that she envisioned a new condom on the ground by the way she lowered her sunglasses and peered over their rims with raised eyebrows....and I didn't correct her.  I just smiled.  I'd learned to stop caring what other people thought about me years prior and knew that they'd believe what they wanted -- rather than what was true -- anyway.  Belief of any type takes effort and desire. Depending on which direction a person's heart was pulled on a matter, determined what he believed.  I couldn't do anything about what she believed or wanted to believe, and I hadn't lied.  We'd been at the damn dumpster, but we hadn't vulcanized our thangs or even pulled them out.  Mother just couldn't believe that I wasn't like her, and it would take her years to realize that. By this time, however, I knew Mother well enough to know that she wouldn't have left a condom on the ground either, but she would have been bent over like a heifer at a feeding trough if given half the chance.  THAT just wasn't me, but it WAS her. Animalistic behavior at a dumpster was below ME.

The music changed to some Lawrence Welk "travelling" music ( as the drag queen's called it) and as if on cue, the dance floor cleared and the seats filled up once again to compose a surprisingly full audience. (( and I told myself that not even egg puke could scare off this crowd)).  The spotlight ( still stuck on green ) began to trace figure 8's across the back wall, and the black porters appeared and turned on 4 floor fans ( two were directly in front of our front table and one each were on the side walls).  They were all aimed at the dance floor.  When I'd initially seen Mitzi place them there after Hester's puke party, I had assumed that they were to clear the air, so to speak, but I was wrong.  I'd soon discover their purpose.  Fog started rolling onto the dance floor from somewhere, but the fans kept the billowing clouds centered on the dance floor.  Within a very few minutes, that dance floor/stage was transformed into something that slightly resembled a graveyard in a horror movie..........and then there was Mitzi.  She just popped out of the back.  She wore gypsy looking garb  that the wind from the fans whirled and lifted hither and yon..........She even had part of it draped across her head so she looked like Mary -- you know, the Madonna..the Mother of Jesus..that you see in depictions of her in the Children's Bible.  Mitzi Tootsie wore all white, and we all knew it wasn't because she was pure, but the grassy tinge from the spotlight added some honesty to her get-up...and cast a strange hue on the fog.

"Oh, Lord," Mother said quite audibly. "I've seen this shit before.  Hold on, gurl."

                                                "So I'm back to the velvet underground

                                                     Back to the floor that I love

                                             To a room with some lace and velvet flowers

                                         Back to the gypsy that I was, to the gypsy that I was"

Mitzi lip-synched and flapped her flowing white robes around, and the wind from the fans caught them nicely.  Lord knows, the song was boring with barely any beat and certainly wasn't a good drag choice, but Mitzi made it look pretty -- for the time being.

I nudged Mother and asked in a whisper,"Is that Stevie Nicks?"

Mother nodded with a sour look on her face, "Yesssssssssssss" she drawled,"This is the number that got her last place at Miss Arkansas.  Just watch, gurl, it gets worse."

Blew chill in our faces

Mother walked straight to Kit and demanded soda water to clean the splattered specks of barf from her skirt.  After spending  a few moments scrubbing it with a bar towel, she raised up and proclaimed it as good as new ((and she meant it was clean enough to return to the department store the next day)).  The front bar was exceedingly crowded and Kit hustled to fill drink orders.  While she shook a cosmo in one hand and poured a "Walk me down the road, sweet Jesus" with another, Mother lambasted her for serving beanie weenies in a gay bar and made her swear to never do it again.  In her manner, Mother blamed Kit for all of the night's events, and completely shirked any responsibility of her own...After all, she'd just sat there while everything happened all around her...but..I wondered.  It had all worked out so wonderfully in her favor...and I'd never seen Hester before this night.....Something just smelled rotten.

Twyman's black janitors whisked speedily by us - separating our entourage - supporting ( as best they could ) a slumped middle-aged lady wearing a bobbing motorcycle helmet.  I assumed they were taking her to a waiting cab when Kit buzzed them out.  They were followed by a drag queen ( in Salvation Army drag ) -- name unbeknowst to me, but an obvious no-name who hadn't reached headliner status -- wheeling a ten-speed bicycle beside herself and out the door.  I had come to the point that nothing surprised me in this Alice In Wonderland, and I took it all in stride, and I left my 2's to add themselves together, later............and they would.

When the drag queen returned without the bicycle, -- and with a little grease on her crinilin --  she announced that intermission would conclude in ten minutes, and the show would resume.  ( I deducted that Mitzi's oscillating fans were meant to clear the air of any remnants of Hester....and hoped the Lysol would somehow work some similar magic -- Febreze had yet to be invented ). The drunken crowd - mostly........... some were drugged and fewer, like me, were coasting -- didn't respond to the queen's announcement, and they carried on their merriment as if nothing strange had just occurred.  However, I was a bit traumatized by the fart and barf extravaganza, and I welcomed a breath of fresh air when Kerry suggested it.

Kit buzzed us out, and we walked out to see the black porters loading the 10-speed in the back of one of Hot Springs' yellow cabs.  I plainly saw Hester passed out in the back seat, and I knew the poor lady who'd consumed a lethal dose ( for us, anyway) of eggs and hops was okay.......for tonight, anyway.  The outside of the bar was flooded with light from many angles, and into that light stepped someone who looked slightly familiar and that someone knew me.  He walked with a swoosh, which wasn't a total surprise, and his eyes looked like they needed liner, so I figured out it was a drag queen I'd met in the past, but he'd come to the bar as a boy on this night. When she called out my name, I looked at her and searched for any recognition.

"It's me," he said.  "SiAra Riviera".  And I did know her, sort of.  She was one of the first people I'd met when I had entered the bar on Thanksgiving night.  Cherry had retouched her paint job, and she'd tipped the cosmetique-extraordinaire-bartender 20 bucks for his efforts.  I hugged her and asked where she'd been..

"Oh, gurl," she coughed with a raspy hack, but continued, "I've been under the weather, but I just had to get out and about.  Are you dating Kerry, now?" and she pointed toward Kerry who stood by my side and had been wordless up to this point.  ( I was beginning to realize this Land's End boy might have been pretty, but he had the personality of a darning egg).

"We just came out for a smoke," Kerry quickly said -- which surprised me, but I was grateful for his words since it let me off the hook, and I didn't have to answer SiAra's probing questions.  ( These Southern queens wanted to know all the tea and what kind you drank......and where you bought it...and how much it cost)  ,and we walked out of the light and into the dark....and back behind the bar...to the green trash dumpster which was contained in its own fence, so it was perfectly private and a wonderful place for rats, raccoons and degenerate queers to frolic as they pleased -- and the used condoms scattered on the ground told me that it had been put to good use.  Moonlight behind winter clouds was our only source of light. SiAra exchanged niceties with me and gave the usual insincere compliments that gays always do..."You look fabulous"..."Where did you get those jeans?".."Did you do something different to your hair?"...blah blah bull crap.  I was so immersed in SiAra's questions, that I didn't even notice Kerry light up, but I found it odd when he passed it to SiAra, and she inhaled and held her breath...Then she passed it to me.

"Oh, honey, thanks, but I have my own cigarettes..." I said innocently as I lit my Benson and Hedges Deluxe Ultra-light 100 -- the name was nearly as long as the cigarette itself, but it came in a gold box, and that is the reason I chose the brand.  My college friend, David, smoked them, and I thought the box looked classy.  Anything golden appealed to me, and I didnt have to worry about coordinating my cigarettes with my outfit.  Gold went with anything and was always in style.   My dear friend, David,  introduced me to B&H, but I took the blame for becoming addicted to cigarettes in general............and I regretted it, most of the time. ( but I religiously moisturized my skin because I didn't want early wrinkles because of cigs.)  I missed David immensely; he had been my closest friend through out college:  drinking buddy, bawling buddy, but never fuck buddy.  Our friendship was pure and true, and we'd never tarnished it with sex.  Up to this point in my life, he had been the most loyal friend I had ever had, and I hoped to find that again some day, but I was fully aware that no one could ever take the place of another so his place in my heart was eternally secure.  I really think the reason I clung to my Benson and Hedges was because it was a constant connection to him, and they comforted me when he could not.

SiAra blew her smoke out in one huge exhale, and the sweet fragrance told me that it wasn't tobacco.  I'd had some experience with Mary Jane in college, and while I liked Puff the Magic Dragon in those days, I'd given it up for multiple reasons -- the chief of those being its illegal status. In all seriousness, I knew I had to drive home, and I knew how I'd reacted to the Puff in college, and I declined for that reason. I'd grown up a bit, and my pot days ended when I received my diploma..... 

"Who told you?" she asked in a paranoid voice.

"No one had to tell me," I answered her, and wrapped my arms around myself in the shivering cold.  Kerry attempted to move closer to me and put his arm around me, but I pulled away and stood alone....and separated myself from the smokers a bit.  I had had a little alcohol, but its effects had worn off, so I was aware enough to be on the look-out for anyone approaching us.  The puffers couldn't have cared less which told me that they'd been to this clandestine "meeting place" before, and I had to wonder which rubber was theirs.

"Then, how did you know?" she was even more paranoid, and she passed the doobie to Kerry.

"Cuz, I know what it smells like..." I looked at her like she was crazy.  My eyes had adjusted to the faint moonlight, and I could see dark circles around her eyes, and SiAra's cheeks appeared to be sunk-in to pale, thin skin.  He didn't look well.  He'd looked fine the night I'd met him, but Cherry's brush had given him color that was not his.

"It has a smell?" she asked shocked, and she gathered up her shoulder length, wooly, blond hair and held it in a mock pony tail before she released it and let it straggle willy nilly.

"Well..........of course, it does." I just figured she smoked it so often that she just didn't smell it anymore....and I also attributed her intense questioning to THC.

"I never knew that...." she said quietly, but continued. "Do you think other people can smell it too?"

"If they've been around it, they know what it smells like," I explained.  Kerry moved a bit closer to me, but he didn't extend his arm, so I let him stand next to me.  It was cold and windy outside next to the dumpster, so it was nice to have some warmth emanating toward me, and I could hear the scratchings of an unseen varmint in the metal trash bin, so maybe it would jump on him instead of me if it decided to depart it's trashy paradise.

"Have you been around it a lot?" SiAra continued to probe, and Kerry didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.  I finally understood Mother's reference about his red eyes when she'd met us in the bar earlier in the evening, and I figured out why the farts had left him unphased....Kerry was higher than a kite, and he'd been floating above it all. 

"Well...not a lot...but some in college," I said, but I still thought SiAra was nuts.  How could she not know that pot had a fragrance and be standing in a marijuana cloud?  Kerry offered me the joint, but I waved it away, and he handed it to SiAra.  She took another pull on it, held it in, and then released with a cough that seemed interminable.

"Did a lot of people have it?" she managed to eke out while covering her mouth and exhausting her cough.

"Not a lot...some did and some didn't.   People experiment in college; it's normal.  It's like a rite of passage," I offered.

"So a lot of straight guys had it?" she asked with some surprise in her voice.

"Of course..gays, straights...blacks..whites..asian..It didn't matter." I attributed her inquisitiveness to her lack of education.  It was obvious for several reasons that she'd never been to an institution of higher learning nor was she aware that much more than academics were acquired there.  Lord knows, that I had a degree in boxed wine and joint rolling, as well as my BA in English by the time I'd graduated....and rightfully so.  I told myself it was fine for me to learn about life as well as Chaucer while I'd been in college, and I hadn't regretted it one iota.  But, I'd also learned enough to snuff out the dope and drink only on occasion, too, when my formal education ended.

"You don't think bad of me do you?  I'm not a slut." she said humbly...with more than a little sadness in her voice.

"No...I don't think bad of you.  Where did you get it, anyway.  Is it hard to find around here?" I asked, but wondered about the slut addition.

"I got it from this guy I dated about two years ago," she said as she looked at her Saucony tennis shoes and rubbed the toe of her right shoe into the gravelled lot.

"You've had this for two years?" and that really surprised me.  Wouldn't its THC levels have dropped to nill in that time?

"That's what the doctors think...........I'm lucky to be alive, they say.....This AZT is about to kill me, and I've lost so much weight.  People are dying all over the place, but I still keep holding on," she said valiantly, and forced a smile, but her eyes held too much water, and it almost trickled out of her lids.

And, then I knew that we'd been talking about two different things.  She'd thought the reason I had declined to smoke after her was because I knew that she had AIDS.....but I hadn't known until she'd mentioned AZT..........and I just didn't want to take a puff period.  It had nothing to do with her HIV status.  I was smart enough to know that I couldn't get it from touching her, or drinking after her, or from smoking Pot after her..............but Hot Springs wasn't quite that sophisticated yet.  They thought someone could catch AIDS from toilet seats ( and they passed out paper toilet seat covers at the local mall for just that reason).  I felt sorry for SiAra and almost asked for a drag on her doobie just to show her that I wasn't afraid of  her.....but she tapped it out on the bottom of her shoe before I had the chance, then she handed the roach to Kerry who deposited it in his pack of cigarettes. As we walked back toward the light in awkward silence, the wind whipped up and blew chill in our faces.

You'll never be allowed back in to Our House Lounge

And a little splashed on Mother, too.  The Ene cousins, Kerry and I had all shreiked and jumped out of our chairs and away from the red-clothed tables on the first gag ( and just in the nick of time), so we were saved from any unpleasant splashes, but Mother's eyes were so locked-on to Bianca, that she'd only risen.  In so doing, a few minor splashes had marred the skirt of her evening dress.

"You're paying for this dress, bitch," Mother said to Hester, and she reached over and grabbed the 2-20s that Hester held in her hands.  As she released her bills, the puking-farter collapsed and her helmet banged on the table.  She was smooth passed-out.

"Twyman!!!" Mother yelled to empty air because I hadn't seen the bar-owner all night, and we'd later learn that he was on a trip to Branson, and wasn't even in town, but Mother didn't know this at the time.  "Twyman, call this drunk bitch a cab and get someone over here to clean up my table. The show ain't over yet. This is just intermission,"  And then she turned to the puke covered Bianca who stood motionless ( and gagging) looking at her dress and hands which were regurgitated in full. (Vomit was even dripping from her golden locks and a bean clung to one of her lashes).  It appeared to be a drag stand-off, but Mother definitely held the superior position.

"Someone needs to take you back to that carwash where you stoled those streamers and power-wash you, bitch...but you better throw that wig away, cuz you'll never get all the yolk out of it" Mother paused before proceeding...."And, I hope you enjoy the talent shows because I'll be dead and cremated before you'll ever be in a real show again" And with that Mother motioned to us all to follow her, and we began our trek out of the back bar in a very orderly fashion.  None of us said a word, and truthfully, it was hard for me not to succumb to Hester's example, but I held it in and didn't even gag.  Boma Jean covered her mouth, and I thought she was going to lose her eggs for a minute too, but she kept it all in.  Willadean and Mellodean were tough old heifers -- they were both nurses -- and it didn't seem to phase them in the least.  Kerry was unmoved and silent, mostly...and I wondered about him.  He just didn't seem to be there, totally, or something.

Just as we  got to the back door, Bianca screamed to Mother through tears, "Won't you ever forgive me?" in a helpless, desperate,  stray-kitten voice.  Keep in mind, that the back bar had almost totally emptied except for a few stragglers who sat at the bar stools at the elbow-back bar...Two of Twyman's flunkies, who just happened to be black,  rushed to our table with Lysol and began cleaning up the remains of beanie-weanies, boiled eggs, beer and blow-jobs around Hester.  One knocked on her helmet, but she didn't move a muscle.

"Me?  Me? Is there a YOU?" Mother had paused and turned around and began a great solilquy of betrayal complete with grand sweeping arm motions. "Who are YOU?  There was a time when I knew someone who looked like YOU.  Someone I loved.  Someone who I took under my wing and taught everything I knew...and I introduced her to everyone I knew.  And I loved her...I loved that Bianca.  BUT, just like everyone else...SHE left, and SHE stabbed me in the back.  The Bianca I knew would have never used me and then forgotten me. YOU deserved this for the way YOU shit all over me......... So, will I ever forgive YOU?  Sister, I don't know YOU, but YOU are stinking up my bar.  Go get cleaned up.........and think twice before you step foot back in this bar again because it will be worse next time."

And, all the gay boys who sat around the elbow-bar applauded and cheered.  Bianca stiffly turned around and walked slowly back to the dressing room with vomit dripping off of her car-wash dress and tear-sodden mascara dripping from her face ( and a few queens - in various stages of drag..a couple were wigless -- peaked around the door of the dressing room to witness the spectacle...one even took a picture..and Larry sat as quiet as a mouse in the back of the bar video-taping it all.) I saw Mitzi run out of the dressing room and place 2 fans on the edge of the stage before I turned and joined Mother's group.

Just before our entourage exited the back-bar door, Mother turned to Larry and said,"You'll give me that tape and don't make any copies or you'll never be allowed back in to Our House Lounge."

All over the Angelic Bianca

Cherry's voice came over the loud speakers and announced  the next performer.  Her name was preceded by the many titles she'd won.  She'd been Miss Gay Lake DeGray, Miss Gay of the Ouachitas, Miss Gay Bath House National Park, Miss Gay Arkansas Rodeo, Miss Gay Toad Suck, Miss Gay Watermelon, Miss Gay Garland County Fair....By the time Cherry had named all of the crowns this queen held, I was bored, and I nearly missed the name of the queen...so I  turned to Kerry to confirm that I'd heard it right...and Cherry had even pronounced it correctly.  She was known simply as

BIANCA

Or, as Mother and Cora referred to her: BEYONKA.  Finally, I realized why Mother had been so rigid when this blonde Aphrodite had kissed her on the cheek, and my 2 and 2's had finally made a four and I knew why Mother had been searching the crowd all evening until the arrival of this queen.  Miss Superior had fully expected Bianca to perform tonight, but she'd kept it to herself and had hoped against hope that it would never actually happen.  It also explained why Mother was in majestic Dillard's ( tag-tucked) drag with her matching sidekick twins..and the mace might have dampened her plans a bit....but like a true warrior princess she'd pressed onward with sunglasses.

BIANCA

Mother's bane.  The bitch was drop dead gorgeous, and as I'd heard Mother exclaim in the past about other queens, "No one could touch her on beauty..."  Bianca's throne had been usurped or surrendered at the new bar -- name still unknown, and reasons still unclear -- and she'd returned to Our House with her tiara between her legs to perform in a talent night.  The audience's cheers at her smile should have told me plenty, but I'd been distracted by the beans and boiled eggs....and Mother's grandiose horn tooting, but the pieces of the puzzle were joining in my mind  and adding up to be a most disastrous night for Mother....or so it seemed when Bette's torch-song started for Bianca

I glanced sideways at Mother and her face was as hard as marble.  No emotion played on her facade, and I couldn't see her eyes which were still covered by movie-star sunglasses, but I knew they were steely and glazed over.  I didn't have to see them. I just knew; her thumb told me all I needed to know.  Her hands were folded primly in her lap and only her right thumb that rubbed her index finger told the true story.  It swished back and forth over her pointer so hard that I thought she was trying to start a forest fire with her fingers.............but everything else was calm and quiet.  If nothing else, Mother was respecting the art form, but she was burning inside......and only her thumb was releasing the pressure.  But, I knew Mother, and I knew she'd need more of a release...........All the omens came together in that instant, and I knew what God had been trying to tell me.  I just had to go with it.  It was simply too late to interceed.

I heard the song before I saw the queen....."It must have been cold there in my shadow"............Oh, no she didn't...."To never have sunlight in your face".....And, I glanced up to behold a lovely queen standing directly in front of us, lip synching undeviatingly to Mother.  Her costume was sheer perfection -- white and silver glimmers...large fringe...and it was wrapped form-fitting ( glue-gunned, I'd learn later) around her...save for her arms...the "fabric" seemed loose there.

"Did you ever know that you're my hero,
and everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle,
'cause you are the wind beneath my wings"

She spread-eagled her arms on "wings"....and flapped them slowly.  The "fabric" of her costume seemed to be webbed to her arms and formed unexpected wings that shimmered in the spotlight ( and made crinkly, whooshing sounds that only the front row could hear).  Seraphic.  Heavenly. Celestial. And then I looked closer at the "fabric" of her garment.....I could have sworn that I'd seen those streamers hanging at a car wash....But, she sync'd precisely to Mother..and Mother didn't break her gaze.  She stared right back..unmoving..unflinching...Was this a stand-off between drag queens or was it a sincere heartfelt apology from one sister to another? ( Or was it just a manipulative ass-kissing move to coolly get back in Mother's good graces?)...

Although both aisles were filled with drag-fans waving dollar bills, Bianca stood firm and sync'd  to Mother ONLY.  From my vantage point, it appeared that Bianca didn't see anyone else in the room except Mother.  Hester,with chin resting in one hand, even waved a twenty at her with the other hand, and Bianca ignored it, and her eyes did not waiver from Mother Superior who  sat stony still, and glared into the eyes of Bianca ( I think ....I should say the sunglasses were aimed in that direction, but I'm telling what I felt as well as what I saw...and there were glares there.......and nothing else...except maybe daggers).

"Did I ever tell you you're my hero?
You're everything, everything I wish I could be.
Oh, and I, I could fly higher than an eagle,
'cause you are the wind beneath my wings,
'cause you are the wind beneath my wings."

Bianca became more exaggerated in her angelic ( emu) imitation and flapped her wings with more intensity.  The gels in the spotlight began to change colors thereby changing the colors of her costume...red..blue..and the audience ooohed and aaahed...and applauded...It was dazzling..like a cojunction of Christmas and the 4th of July rolled into one..except there were no fireworks..no sound effects..until

The eggs had fizzed so long in the beer with no release that Hester just couldn't control nature anymore...and the gel in the spotlight switched to green...the song entered an instrumental interlude and everything and everyone grew quiet in the audience...and Hester ripped off the biggest fart in human history.( It's a pure-d miracle that little lady didn't rocket through the ceiling; I'm guessing it lifted her at least 4 inches off of that vinyl-seated-chair by the sound of it)...................but that wasn't the worst part.

The odor was sulforous and nauseating like only an egg fart can be..but add beans and beer to that...and you've got a gas bomb on your hands.  Not everyone heard the fart ( only those on 4 rows around her...back and sides...and they were all looking around to see who the feller was) , but everyone felt its effects....The "ooh's" and "ahh's" changed to "Oh's: and "my god's" as fumes wafted stealthily through the crowd like Moses' death angel...and most of the audience straggled to safety ( It wasn't Passover and No one had the forethought to bring the blood of the lamb with them to a drag show....  No body was safe)................Bianca  had a squeamish look on her face, and she broke her loving looks to Mother for a few moments in a desperate search to determine the culprit..but she held her breath and championed on with her performance and regained her composure.  Mother began to rumble on the inside...and little tremors shook her torso. ( and I could see a slight up-turn of her lips, but she forced it down).....I could tell that she was holding something in...Then, Hester released another one...worse than the one before...Those drag fans that were standing in the tip line quickly began leaving the back bar..Their loyalty had given way to self preservation....The spotlight stayed on green so it made the room appear to be filled with a noxious gas...and in truth, it was: Hester's homemade methane.  Bianca was a trooper . She'd backed up a few steps, but still managed to retain perfect eye-contact with Mother.  Her eyes were a bit slanty now, like she was squinting them because they hurt..and my eyes hurt too.  I thanked God that Mother had made the fairy light flame disappear earlier.  I shuddered to think what might have happened if Hester's gas had reached the flicker...

And Hester...Poor..Poor Hester with the 4 carat diamond and shiny-silver motorcycle helmet..... Bless her heart...All of those beans, eggs, Bud Lights  and Blow-Job shots ( which is just a Buttery Nipple with a gay-friendly name)  had finally taken their toll..and she'd lain down her helmet-weary head on the table and sighed...and farted..and sighed...I didn't need an M.D. to decipher that her tummy was upset....and then some.

Fly, fly, fly high against the sky,
so high I almost touch the sky.
Thank you, thank you,
thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.

and the sighing, drunk,  Hester did it again........but this was a fart of many toots...I didn't think it would ever end ( but it happened at a perfect time in the song and kept beat better than Kerry did)....but through it all, Bianca maintained.  She finished her number penniless...All of her fans who had been waiting to tip her, had vanished to the front bar for fresh air..(Afra Desiac's blonde-wigged sister had stood up and said, "SHIT..that's nasty" before she walked out.).....Through it all, Bianca was a professional...and Mother sat still like she'd rather die than get up and breathe fresh air.  We were at ground zero and most other people had retreated to the safety of the front bar's clean atmosphere, but Mother wouldn't budge.  Kerry didn't seem to notice anything at all, his eyes didn't appear any redder than they had when I'd met him....and the Ene cousins stuck their nosees in their cocktail glasses and kept looking at us like we should leave, but we didn't.  We were waiting for Mother's lead, but she was steadfast.......(I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I just sat still and tried to breathe shallowly )....On the last note of the song, Bianca hung her head for dramatic effect and then she  approached our table with her arms extended to Mother.  Mother just couldn't hold it in anymore.  Her tremors had been eruptions of controlled laughter..and she just let it go ( much like Hester had with her fart ) and belly laughed.  No other sound was heard in the near empty bar except for Mother's laughter and Hester's sighing...but Mother did not open her arms.  They still rested at her sides and her hands still sat in her lap.

With Bianca's arms outstretched toward Mother begging for a hug, Mother eked, "That was the biggest bunch of shit I've ever seen," between gasps of air............and her laughter ended.  She reached up, lowered her glasses a smidge and peered over the rims at the seemingly repentant Bianca and just as Mother's lips were forming a word -- out of nowhere --  the helmeted Hester raised her head up and promptly spewed semi-digested beer, beans, martinis, boiled eggs and blow jobs all over the angelic Bianca.

Losing Control of Everything

The two queens who followed Cherry most certainly didn't compare to her.  Their performances insured that everyone in the audience knew that this was a talent night......and talent was only the title of the show because it wasn't possessed by most of the performers.   The next number to follow Cherry was a black queen from Texarkana named Afra Desiac in a blonde Dolly Parton wig doing her interpretation of "Hard Candy Christmas"...  Apparently, this was her nod to the holiday season, but it wasn't well received, and no one bought her illusion of Dolly..and no one tipped her either except us -- we had to, we sat at the damn front table -- and her true blood baby-sister who also wore a blonde wig ( and sat at the table behind us, so we couldn't hate on Afra's performance, either...but, you know I tried. Mother sensed my urge when I leaned toward her ear, and she elbowed me and whispered that  I'd get our asses whooped if I didn't keep my comments to myself.) .............  I figured that the only reason Afra  didn't get a lemon wedge for a tip was because everyone thought she was "packing".  Afra Desiac was a little rough around the edges, missing her two front teeth,  and she was Nigerian black in color ( Do you get the picture??????)...and No, she wasn't an aphrodisiac, either..In or out of drag, she couldn't get anyone to swallow her hard candy....licking the sides was the best they could do (Mother Superior intimated, and I wasn't surprised that she knew).

Penelope Jo Jean Plantagenet walked onto the stage ( with a Frankenstein stroll ) to much fanfare and applause from his cousins and wife......but no one else.  Mother said, "Oh God" under her breath, and it was my turn to give her the elbow.  Sure enough, he was blonde, too, but he'd sprayed it into a Beehive that would have made Mel's Flo green with envy, and he'd glued red butterflies -- with sequined wings -- on conspicuous areas of his mile-high hair ( imagine a turd-y Marge Simpson do in semi-platinum)... Penny Jo ( as she was lovingly called by his drag counterparts) gave Dolly's "Jolene" her best shot.........and I needed a shot after the performance, but I refrained and decided to order a cranberry spritzer, instead.  Let's just say her maudlin interpretation of the Dolly standard was up to par for  a STRAIGHT boy with no rhythm who had married his cousin ( though Mother filled me in that Jo Gene was anything but straight, and he was once a member of her backdoor brigade until he decided he wanted to wear Mother's sequins and Peg Bundy hair when he opened his own backdoor ( doggy-style ) to her, and Mother threw him out ( nekkid in her backyard ) and his clothes and car keys came a few minutes later ( and they wouldn't have if Mother hadn't looked out her "door window and saw him pecking on Ol' lady Rector's guest bedroom window with his pickett-butt to the street...It was a good thing she was in the parlor serving Juleps and Mimolsa's to her Garden Club cuz God knows the ol' widow would have had a stroke if she'd seen what hung between his legs.  Ol' Man Rector had been dead for 20 years, and he didn't tote nothing like that in his trousers"..( And, NO, I didn't ask how Mother knew, but I intuitively knew Ol' Man Rector had used Mother's back door, too).............The next thing Mother knew, Jo Gene was in the talent night line-up and would stay there for several months,where he always performed "Jolene".  He had adopted it as his song -- his one and only song -- in honor of his grandmother, and Mother kept her back door locked on Jo Gene's day off -- Thursday -- from then on ( Apparently, Mother, as a habit,  kept her back door unlocked so her regulars could come and go as they pleased......)  Of course, Mother loud whispered all of this to me in one breath with Penelope Jo Jean only a yard or so from us in full face ( haphazard lips and blush, but good eyeshadow) and drag ( high water Gloria Vanderbilts, red sling backs with biscuit heels AND a red plaid tube-top with HAIRY arm pits and treasure trail...and he hadn't tucked, either -- and that part of Mother's previous description of Jo Gene was accurate...) making awkward hula hand motions ( a novice drag mistake ) and clutching his fists during the chorus like he had a month's worth of constipation to work out. He glanced at us a couple of times with a shocked look on his face when Mother forgot to whisper -- and so did Afra Desiac's blonde-wigged sister --  but he maintained his character as best as he could under the circumstances..........Mother confided that Boma Jean had no idea about her husband's/cousin's "on the sly" activities..........but we'd find out, soon enough,  that Boma Jean could be sly -- but NOT in the literal sense of the word --  all by herself....) Of course, we tipped him, too...twice each...I'd remember in the future to NOT sit at Mother's table on Talent nights or else, I'd go broke, but Mother insisted that we tip EVERY BODY.  She said she HAD to tip because everyone expected it from her -- "Drag is expensive and at least, these girls are trying to keep the art alive, " she'd said when I protested.  Since I was sitting with her, I had to oblige, or it just wouldn't look good...hmph

 I did notice that Hester was only tipping dollars, so even the crazy lady knew these drag queens sucked.  Miss Hester still wore her glittering helmet and, thankfully, had consumed all of her eggs, but she'd had three more beers and four blow-job shots during those two talent numbers..( and I can't say that I blame her...but I had noticed that she'd pinched Mother's leg -- right above the knee -- and Mother had turned to her and nodded, right before she'd ordered.  The gesture made me wonder..and it became a two without a two in my mind for awhile, but I'd still be able to come up with a 4 eventually...... ).When she ordered them, the cocktail waitress -- who was really a waiter in bad drag -- had assumed the drink order was for the entire table..and he was more than shocked when Hester had instructed him to place his beverage tray in front of her on the table and come back in a minute..and then proceeded to down the blow jobs one after another, and then guzzled one beer completely...She'd looked at Mother during her guzzle and Mother had shaken her head in the negative, and then reached into her beaded evening gown and had handed Hester a couple of bills...I just had to wonder exactly what was going on -- especially after Mother's protests about Hester joining us in the first place -- but it would take awhile for it all to come together....)  Following her guzzle, Miss Hester had so many sheets to the wind that the bitch would never be able to make her bed..or even find her covers because a few of those sheets had blown away to parts unknown.  Her helmet  weaved slowly back and forth instead of bopped right to left to the beat in the songs as it previously had, and there were a couple times when I thought she was going to weave over into Mother's lap or Willadean's, but Hester had recovered, and I could tell she was consciously trying to steady herself, but she was close....very close.... to losing control.......of everything.