Spat

As I stepped out of my Ranger, I noticed that blue and white Chevy truck still parked where the naked drunk guy who we'd taken to the hospital was still parked where he left it, and a Jag pulled up behind my truck and honked.  Since Cora was the only person in my life who I'd ever known to drive a Jag, I knew it was her. Although I hesitated for a second, I decided to be mature, so I gingerly walked to the driver's side window and painted a smile on my face.  She had her arm outstretched from her rolled-down driver's side window, and her hand was holding something out to me.

"Queen," she said very properly as if the suck-capade and escape on Central had never occurred. "Give this Meltz-Away to Mitzi.  I'll be late getting back, and I don't want her to have to wear her wig all night..."

"Sure thing," I agreed and snatched the small, brown bottle from her.  She quickly sped away as I stood inspecting the bottle.  It was just a plain brown bottle with a black plastic lid and no label.  I assumed Cora might have poured a little of her own Meltz-Away into a spare, empty bottle just so Mitzi would have enough to remove her wig tonight........but still the bottle looked odd to me.  It looked like something illegal, but  I placed it in the front pocket of my 501's anyway and walked to the bar that looked more like an abandoned building after a hurricane. 

I looked the edifice over -- up and down and side to side,  and I surmised that most people would never believe the gaity, revelry and some would say debauchery -- and sometimes, I'd have to agree with them -- that occurred within this nondescript building in the heart of Hot Springs.  I imagined that tourists with baby strollers and toddlers-in-tow walked past this concrete block building -- that appeared to have been spray painted black evidenced by the multiple runs that ran down its walls -- on a daily basis with no idea that men danced in rhinestones and wigs in the sunless hours.  Sometime later I was told that it was colored black  to cover the biggotted graffiti that regularly appeared on its walls.  The actual building had begun with a white-wash but after years of  painted salutations like "Faggot" and "Butt-fuckers" from the local redneck artists, Twyman had opted for solid black because it was easier to cover the naughty words.  Several cans of black spray paint were hidden on the bottom shelves of the bar so the bartender could do a quick spray should there be any evidence of bigotry scrawled during the closed hours when he or she arrived to open the establishment.........and many nights I noticed the tip of Cherry and Kat's index fingers were stained with paint.

During the day, Our House looked desserted and down-trodden.  At night, the only hint of its identity could be heard but not seen.  Muffled disco music vibrated through the concrete, but no one would ever be able to tell by its outward appearance that men in merriment danced and drank the night and loneliness away on the inside.  On the street on a tall silver pole -- out of any homogit's reach --  a small sign with a white background and black lettering that spelled OUR HOUSE -- and a stick figure rendering of a house -- along with a  phone number was the only clue that anything was even housed in this construction, but the words "bar" and "gay" didn't appear anywhere on it. An innocent onlooker might confuse it for a defunct realty or homeless shelter.  A gay person would have to somehow be in the know to know that this building was for him, and that fact certainly wasn't advertised in the local newspaper which was edited by a goodly Assembly of God woman, who, by the way, had a medical case of dandruff..................

For a long time, I didn't understand the glass door and the two-way mirror within the vestibule, and the buzzer totally blew my mind......................until someone explained it to me. 

In the past, the bar had been bombed.  ((Yeah, just like those KKK'ers used to bomb black churches))So in an effort to prevent blasts, Twyman had installed the two-way mirror -- which was also bullet proof --  that sat squarely in front of the glass front doors but was embedded in the back wall of the anteroom.  Someone perched in front of that mirror on busy nights and viewed every person who approached the door.  If someone looked suspicious ( or not gay ), the bartender was alerted, and the supposed biggot was not buzzed inside.  The buzzer was a means to protect the inhabitants of the bar from being harmed. Only recognizable gays were allowed inside.  If someone looked too hetero, he or she did not receive a buzz, and if that person loitered too long in the vestibule, he was chased away by a mob of bat slinging gay boys. The anteroom served as a protectant should a bomb be hurled through the doors.  Its walls were not only lined with lead, but they were also three feet thick.  Just before I opened the door, I glanced again at the old Chevy truck and wondered if it would remain there eternally..............We'd been good Samaritans and rescued someone that we didn't even know, and I wondered if we'd ever find out just what became of him....Of course, things like this never go unanswered, but I didn't know that at the time as I opened the door to another exciting evening at Our House Lounge and let the memory of the driver of that truck slip away for a few hours................

"Meow", I heard as soon as I was buzzed into the bar.  I didn't even have to look up to realize that Kat was bartending.  She'd greeted me with her characteristic feline felicity, and I'd quickly ordered a non-alcoholic cranberry spritzer with a lime twist (( even if it was non-alcoholic, I told myself, that it could still be pretty in its mason jar.  The small lime peel added just a touch of green to the red mocktail and made me feel just a little more gay and merry )).

I quickly scanned the room to see if I recognized anyone. The place was crowded and filled with cigarette smoke that hung in the air like a thick fog on an October morning.  I relaxed a bit because I didn't see or hear Mother, and I took a seat in the middle of the bar next to a thin, attractive boy in his early twenties.  He had a page-boy haircut, and appeared to be alone. By the way he drummed his gnawed fingernails on the polished walnut slab, he seemed to be a bit.............nervous.

"I heard you and Mother had a spat," he leaned near me and said quietly in a surprising deep and, masculine voice.  Hot Springs never ceased to amaze me.  I didn't even know this boy, and he seemed to not only know me, but he also knew the recent news of my life.  I wondered if they had a gay National Enquirer in this town that I had yet to be privy to, and it would take me a considerable amount of  time to grow accustomed to the fish bowl that my life would eventually become in this town.

"Spat?" I curdled my face and asked with disdain because I knew that word had certain connotations that dealt with romance. "I wouldn't call it a spat."

I'd take a little Cher with me......

I drove quickly home in hopes of finding Bart lounged on my velveteen sofa atop the women at the well and gristmill prints, but that didn't happen.  I contemplated waiting for him, but since I didn't even know his whereabouts, I changed my mind and showered because I was going to have a good time tonight. I deserved it.  I was almost glad that Bart hadn't given me his phone number in Arkadelphia because I knew I would have called him...I had a little ache in my heart, and I was worried about his physical well-being since Eugenie had told me about his scuffle with Mother even though he had looked perfectly fine when I'd seen him walking through the mall with the ex -- when I'd fallen to pieces after the ice cream slide......... But, he hadn't bothered to call me or stop by AND he'd ignored me as he walked right past me, and I didn't know if I'd ever hear from him again. 

I was, after all, a single gay boy in a new town...........Like Mother and Cora, I was feeling the call of the wild, but my approach would be a tad bit more civilized than their Central Avenue sin-capade.  There was a guy in Hot Springs with my name tattooed on his butt, and I was going to find him.  (( Okay, I know you have had this feeling before,too....so don't raise your eyebrows at me.  I'm human, just like you are.    Hell, I was in love with Bart, and I'd finally accepted it.  I was feeling rejected by him, so I was going to find a self-esteem boost one way or another...but I'd never stoop to do it.....I still had standards no matter how low my feelings about myself had plumetted............AND this just might teach Bart a lesson....He couldn't just expect me to stay at home and pine away for him.  IF he did stop by my apartment and not find me there, HE could worry about where I was, what I was doing....and WHO i was doing........I knew I wouldn't DO anyone else, but Bart didn't..AND that is what mattered)).

I looked at myself  in the bathroom mirror as I blow-dried my hair, and I felt a little Cher coming on.........I'd been feeling my Indian heritage lately, so I decided that a little Half-breed was what I needed. I grabbed my hair brush ( the one with the pink handle and bristles going all around it ) and blasted my boom box.  I imagined a huge Cherokee War Bonnet with Eagle feathers draping behind me on the floor like the train of an Indian Princess' wedding dress, and I did a little Rain Dance in my reflection..I looked down my svelte body and saw only a tan,suede tube top with a matching mini-mini...I had the body to show off my tanned, bare midriff and long slender legs..............Hell, in my mind, I could have given the real Cher a run for her money.......As I lip synched ( and tongued my upper lip) into my hairbrush/microphone, I could definitely identify with the words of the song.  The part about the family being ashamed of the half-breed certainly hit home.............  Granted, it wasn't one of Cher's best songs, but it sufficed for the time being, and by the time I'd finished the vintage song from the '70s (( and curtsied to three imaginary standing ovations...I even squinted because the stage lights I imagined blinded me... )), I'd determined that I certainly was not going to run away from what I was (( A gay boy, alone AGAIN....)). This Cherokee was going to shake his tail feather tonight, and nothing was going to get in his way.

When the song and my fantasy ended, I checked my real appearance in the mirror once more before I stepped out into the chill December air.  Yeah, I looked good.  The jeans were tight enough in  all the right places, but I still didn't look like a 3 dollar whore, the red Polo shirt showed just enough of my pecs to evoke curiosity, and my braided leather belt fell exactly where it should......The hair was gelled to perfection..........  Yeah, I told myself, I'd do me................. I'd read in Seventeen Magazine (( yeah, gay boys read that mag, too )) that if you look in the mirror and tell yourself positive things about yourself that you'd eventually start believing them..................so I was convinced that I was IT...for the evening anyway.............  I wondered how long it would last because I knew that just below the surface lurked a broken heart and rumpled self-esteem, but I'd never tell anyone that...........................

As I shut my door behind me, I sang quietly, "Give her a feather, She's a Cherokee."

 Just for tonight, I'd take a little Cher with me.................

Brights in her face

Now, I've already told you that Mother Superior was irrational and erratic.  I've told you that she described herself as crazy.  I've even told you some of the crazy stunts that this Lucy Ricardo in drag had pulled, so you won't be any more suprised at this caper than I was.....

After Bart walked away from me and disappeared from the reflection in Mother's rear-view mirror, he had resumed his talk with Eugenie, the ex.  I don't know that they talked about, it wasn't my business.  I am human enough to respect other relationships even if they have ended.  We all need closure, and if a reconciliation loomed, I preferred it was sooner than later.  After all, new feelings are easier to kill than old ones. It is true that old habits die hard and most relationships become more of a habit after awhile than an affair.........I'd prefer that Bart was never a habit if this relationship (( if you can call it that )) that he and I had was doomed to demise.  All humans need to make sense of any situation and relationships are no different.  So they talked on the sidewalk? At least, they weren't screwing somewhere.

Eugenie said that out of nowhere a car careened onto Ouachita and parked in the middle of the street.  She recognized it as the car that Bart had approached and knelt next to just a few minutes prior.  She thought it was odd that the car squealed to a halt in the middle of the street, and parked.............but she was even more surprised when two big gay men swooshed to Bart's side.  Abruptly, Mother accused Bart of stealing his boyfriend ( me ), and she demanded that he stop seeing me.  Of course, I was aghast that Mother had figured it out, but I remembered Mother's reaction when Bart had reached in and finger brushed my bangs from my eyes, and I remembered how quickly Mother had driven away.  But, there were things that neither Bart nor I knew and Mother revealed some of that information in the conversation that Eugenie witnessed outside of Acapulco's.  Apparently, Mother had recognized the car that Bart leaned on as the car that she'd seen parked in front of my apartment for several days in a row..........(( Mother Superior had been stalking me, and I had had no idea.  She'd driven by my apartment several times within the past few days, but she didn't know who owned the car she had seen until the moment she'd seen Bart leaned up against his car as he chatted with Eugenie...................Yeah, this was Hot Springs.))

"Is this Mother person your ex boyfriend?" Eugenie asked.

"Hell no," I said rather shocked that anyone would even contemplate the occurrence.

"So if Bart isn't your boyfriend and Mother isn't your boyfriend, why did they get into it last night?" Eugenie asked perplexed (( and rightfully so)). 

"What do you mean they got into it?" I was a little worried because I had witnessed Mother's unusual temper, and I knew that Bart could hold his own.  I figured it had to be a humdinger.

"They threw down, last night." Eugenie explained.

"Was Bart hurt?" I asked worried, and of course, I'd let the cat out of the bag.

"He is your boyfriend, isn't he?" she asked like she'd caught me.

"He is not my boyfriend, but we have been spending a lot of time together," I conceded, but I still needed more information.  "Was he hurt?"

"Not really, but I maced your friend to get him off of Bart.  That other gay guy pulled Mother off of Bart and put him in the car and drove away," she said.

"So what happened to Bart last night?" I asked.

"I guess he drove back to Arkadelphia last night.  I don't know.  I met him a few minutes ago in the parking lot because we took my engagement ring back to the jewelry store and got his money back.  He split the cash with me....." Eugenie explained with little emotion.  (( If I had been Bart, I would have kept the entire amount; it was his money, after all..............but it showed me that he was a fair guy with a good heart.  Which, of course, I already knew..and so did you.))

"So, where is he now?" I asked.

"I don't know.  He left.  We agreed to never see each other again or speak to each other again," the ex said stoically. "And that's just fine with me.  I don't exactly want people to know that my ex-fiance is a fag."

"He's not a fag; he's gay," I said through clenched teeth and cocked my eyebrow. "This hasn't been easy for him."

"Just how long have you known him?" Eugenie asked sarcastically.

"Not very long, why?" I asked.

"You didn't know him when he was engaged to me?" she sort of begged me for this information.

"No," I said nicely. "You don't have to worry.  I didn't steal him away from you."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," she said bitterly. "I was just wondering if I should get tested for AIDS."

"I get your insinuation, but I don't have AIDS," I said calmly. "You don't have anything to worry about."

"Are you sure?" she said condescendingly. "You sure are skinny.  Hell, you are as skinny as his best friend, Terrance."

"I'm sure I don't have AIDS," I really was trying to be nice and trying to be understanding of an ignorant heterosexual roamy gal.  "Who is Terrance?"

"Oh, Terrance was his best friend.  He played basketball for Henderson, and He was tall and skinny like you.  He got married last summer...." she said...and then I knew why Bart liked me.  He had said that I was a combination of his ex-fiance and his ex-lover.  Immediately, I understood what Bart had meant. I knew, then,  that I was physically like Terrance and I had a similar personality to Eugenie -- eyebrow and all.

"Well, honey, I'm no slut.  Bart and I have never had sex," I tried to reassure her worries simply to be a nice person.

"I understand that.  I don't think he likes sex.  I had to almost attack him to get him to make love to me," Eugenie said as an insult to Bart.  Well, by this time, I figured that I had given the ex enough information, and I wanted this conversation to not only end, but for it to also be memorable for her, so I started to limp away to my Ranger.

"Oh honey," I said honestly, but sarcastically.  "It's not because he hasn't tried.  That's how I got this sprained ankle..................Do take care." And I opened the door of my truck, got inside and sped off...I made sure to back out and shine my brights in her face.

Parked in her car port

By the time that I was carrying that skillet with the two hairs in front of the bar, I just had to laugh.  I'd just seen my whatever-he-was-to-me with his ex ( or not ) fiance, dumped ice cream in a sweet girl's hair, dug the ice cream out of her ratted do', given it to her and told her to enjoy her dessert, had an emotional melt-down in the bathroom, and received 20.00 for being a bad waiter....So, I laughed.  I mean I laughed.

"What is so funny?" the bartendress ( who was a lovely red-head with straight Cleopatra hair and eyeliner to match)  asked from behind the bar as she shook a cosmo.

"My life," I managed to say through my chuckles, but there were tears too.  Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.  I paused for a minute in front of the bar.

"You're crying too?" she asked.  "Here...set that down and garnish these drinks for me.  Tell me what's so funny.  I NEED a good laugh."  She had several drinks lined up in front of her on the "Corona" bar mats, and I could see  orders falling like a ticker tape out of her computer....So, as I stabbed cherries with frilly plastic toothpicks and squeezed lime wedges in the drinks of strangers,  I told her the whole sordid story.  I mean, I spilled it all.  I had a moment of weakness, and I told her everything.  I didn't know exactly where to start, so I started from falling out of the shower when the naked Bart semi-goosed me, and I ended with the two hairs on the skillet....I even told her about Cora and Mother's erotic escapade, and the Noxema lady, and my perverted land-lord.  I was there for a good fifteen minutes.  I felt so clean inside after I'd finished.  Like she was the Pope, and she was just a bartender with an ear......

"We need to talk more often," she said after her fit of laughter. "I had no idea your life was so interesting.......By the way, I saw you grab the ice cream out of her hair from up here.....(( and she laughed some more))...... and I saw you run to the bathroom....Is your ankle hurting?"

"Yeah," I said.  "I need to go home so I can work this weekend." (( I told you that it was hurting, but I really just needed to go home because of my emotional turmoil.))

"Then, go home.  I'll close your section....You don't work again til Friday, so go on home and rest tomorrow..." she said with some kindness in her heart, but I knew that she was sending me home to lick my wounds and not to rest my ankle.

"Thanks," I said. "You won't tell anyone what I told you, will you?"

"Oh honey, I'm a bartender.  I don't tell nuthin," she assured me.

"Good...I could really use a good friend here..." I said as I garnished the final drink.

"Honey," she said with a bit of bitterness in her voice. "I don't have friends.  I only have associates."

On my way out the side entrance, I pondered her statement and wondered what she'd meant by it.  Jeannie, the bartendress, always appeared to be in a good mood.  She was always smiling, but apparently, she'd learned something that I hadn't........yet.  She only had associates.  What did she mean by that?  I'd taken a chance by trusting her and telling her my recent soap-opera type life story.  I tossed her statement over and over in my head as I limped to my Ford Ranger, and I couldn't comprehend her meaning...I was friends with anyone I liked, but apparently she made a distinction and didn't have friends at all....and didn't want any.....but my thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind me.

"You!  You!  Stop!  I want to talk to you," I heard a female voice yelling.  I kept walking because I assumed she was talking to someone else in the darkened mall parking lot.  I'd learned to get in my truck and leave as quickly as possible because some of our waitresses had been mugged of their tips on the way to their vehicles, and I didn't want to be a victim -- especially tonight...cuz I'd made a killing.

I heard footsteps hitting the pavement hard and fast approaching me, so I quickened my pace, and then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"You...I want to talk to you," the ex ( or not ) fiance' panted to me.  I stopped, turned around and faced her.  I even looked her in the eye...I didn't have anything to be ashamed of.  I'd done nothing wrong.

"About what?" I asked blankly.

"You know what," she said sorta feisty with a gnarled look on her face -- and I'll give her this, she had a pretty face..same eyebrows as mine, even.  But, I didn't answer her.  I just looked at her, and cocked my eyebrow and dared her to continue with this attitude.  She must have realized from my facial expression that I wasn't gonna' take any shit, so she altered her approach, but not by much...and she cocked her eyebrow, too (( and I'd never met another person who did that besides my mother.....)).

"What can you tell me about Bart?" she asked perturbed.

"Who are you?" I didn't exactly feign ignorance, but I did seek clarification.

"I'm Eugenie................ and you know who I am..." she got feisty again.

"Nope.  The only Eugenie I've ever heard of died in Gone With the Wind......and she was a brat who liked to throw fits too..." I got feisty right back and cocked my eyebrow a little higher....and placed my hands on my hips.  Most guys shy away from bitch fights with girls, but I never did and never do.  I had a sister, and I knew full well that girls were NOT --  and never had been  -- made of sugar and spice and everything nice....(( I had concluded as a young boy that whoever wrote that crap must have never had a sister)).

"I'm Bart's ex, " she said, and she'd uttered the magic "ex", so I stood down.

"What do you want to know?" I asked with a little kindness in my voice. I dropped my hands to my sides and released the cock from my brow. Since she was still in the "ex" category, she was no threat to me.

"Are you his boyfriend?" she asked desperately.

"No," I answered with complete honesty.  And I wasn't. 

"Then what was that drag queen guy talking about last night?" she asked quizzically and confrontationally.

"What drag queen guy?" I asked sincerely.

"Mother something" she uttered with some bitterness through clenced teeth.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," and I didn't.  The last time I'd seen Mother, she was parked in her car port.

Two hairs

I didn't have high financial hopes for work that evening.  I was just going to go to work and do my job and limp -- certainly, the thought of pity tips had crossed my mind.  You see, a waiter is part con-man, part-actor, part personality prostitute and part server.  If I interacted with my customers and made them laugh and made them think that I actually cared about them and their food, I made good money.  If, however, I simply just served them and remained reserved, my pockets were much lighter at the end of the evening. 

 Since I was down in the doldroms over Bart, my only financial hope was to milk my sprained ankle for all it was worth.  Honestly, it still pained me a bit, but over-all, it had almost healed  Of course, I'd request to leave work after the initial dinner rush to stay off of my ankle -- and who wants to stay and do all that cleaning that you aren't paid for?................I wanted to get home quickly so that I could transform myself from humble waiter to party-hardy gay boy.  Tonight, was the talent night and even though I didn't particularly care to see Mother or Cora, I would be there to watch Mitzi.  Her candor and honesty had impressed me, and even though I certainly could not understand why anyone would ever want to cut off his dick -- cuz I LOVED mine -- I did understand her quest for self and admired her bravery.  Besides, it would get me out of the house, and I could keep my mind off of HIM..........I hoped.

Everyone was kind at work and told me that they had missed me, which I knew was total bull shit.  The other servers were happy that I'd been gone because  they'd been able to wait on some of my clientele, and they'd made more money without me being there.  I knew how they were.  It was work.  They were baracudas.  The restaurant business is not known for being peopled with employees of high moral fiber.......................  Of course, there was an exception here and there, but they were few and far between.  While I had friends at work, at this stage, my relationship with them ended when the restaurant closed and resumed the next day when it opened with occasional exception.  They knew the basics of my life, but I didn't discuss personal details ever.....(( I'd learned that information could be magic-wanded into ammunition many years prior.))  No one at work knew about Bart.  They had only seen him that one time when he'd soda-watered the redneck in my defense, and I'd never mentioned him ever again, and that is how I wanted things to remain.

My regular customers noticed my change of demeanor that evening, and I blamed it on my ankle.  Of course, I hammed up my limp, and my tips rivaled any stripper's tips  that night. (( I decided that I'd limp through out the weekend...........I even considered limping through new year's, but decided that  would have been pushing it a bit too much)).  Everything was going along just fine, until right before I sat the fried ice cream in front of the lady in desperate need of Jenny Craig who just happened to be seated by the front door -- in perfect view of the main mall entrance.

One side of the restaurant was visually open to the mall, and the mall's front doors were only inches from our primary door.  While it didn't have walls, it did have bars ((and when I worked that section, I did feel like I was incarcerated and in a sense, I was )).....  I happened to glance up, and I saw him. 

BART

and he wasn't coming to see me and explain his whereabouts.  No, he was walking briskly into the mall with that girl -- the one who had slipped into the shadows (( bleach blonde in need of a touch up and wide roamy hips...not exactly what I'd expected......)) And, she was THE one who I'd imagined he'd stayed the night with.  THE one I supposed was his ex-fiance'................and for a moment, my eyes met Bart's.....my heart stopped.  I could see something in his eyes, but he looked away quickly and said something to HER..... Involuntarily, tears welled up into my eyes, and I tilted the ice cream which was on a warmed skillet and the entire dollop landed in Jenny's future client's hair (( wisp, ratted and Final Netted to Filth)).................Bless her heart, she didn't say anything.... she just looked up at me like an injured puppy....Like she was accostomed to this sort of thing happening to her....... I didn't know what else to do, so I moved some shellacked strands and grabbed it and then placed it back on her skillet.................and mumbled "enjoy your dessert" as I placed it in front of her............and I ran to the bathroom in full limp. 

What would you have done? I was in emotional turmoil.  In that moment,  I didn't care about her ice cream (( and she didn't need it anyway ))...but later, I thought about it and felt like someone who'd run-over a squirrel with his car...Poor thing.  I think it was the look that got me..It was kind of the look that said "I'm not surprised by this cuz someone is always maltreating me"..... As I entered the toilet stall, I boo-hooed.  I was convinced that Bart had reunited with his fiance', and even worse -- he hadn't even acknowledged me.  I knew what Miss Patsy Cline had felt when she sang "I Fall to Pieces"....but she hadn't mentioned anything about dropping ice cream in the hair of a big boned gal from southwestern Arkansas. 

I really don't know how long I was in the stall, but I regained my composure and went back to the table of the hairy fried ice cream.  To my surprise, she'd eaten every bit of it -- and her do' was a little squashed in the middle.................. Since I didn't know what to say,  I didn't say anything and gave her the check.  She paid, and left me a 20.00 tip....and patted my arm on the way out. (( God bless portly girls.  They understand about things when no one else does....)) I picked up her empty skillet and saw that resting on the side of it were two hairs.

Work Therapy

But this scion of Chief Oconostota Stalking Turkey, the last great warrior chief of Chota ( whose name is literally translated as Groundhog Sausage -- which I imagined were links not patties because I knew there had to be a gay element in there somewhere.....) didn't feel much like a descendant of the great Cherokee vanquisher as I tossed and turned in cold blankets that night.  ((He'd also married a lady in waiting to Queen Caroline, King George the first's wife, so that explained my need to be around queens))...............The light of the full moon seeped through my bedroom curtains, and sleep didn't come easily.  I'd grown accostomed to the warmth of Bart, and his side of the bed was as arctic as my heart had been the day I had met him.  The last time I remembered looking at the blaring green lights of the digital clock, it was 6:17.......

Sadness accompanied me to my dreams and escorted me to worry.  Suspicion and doubt lurked in the shadows and bitterness bit my heart through out my restless slumber.  Trust flew away from me as quickly as a hummingbird, and I knew that it would be just as difficult to recapture.

All sorts of scenarios of Bart's whereabouts played out in my nightmares that disguised themselves as dreams initially and then bloomed into full blown night terrors.  I envisioned him being locked up in a cell for drunk driving and being called Bartella by some criminal named Buddy, probably because his breath did smell of wine the last time I'd seen him, and I'd heard terrible accounts of the treatment of gay inmates in Southern jails..... 

A montage of reconciliation sex with his former fiance combined porn with horror in my mind's eye, and the girl who'd slipped into the shadows outside of Acapulco's played the female lead. Her "oohs" and "ahhs" had made me so jealous within the night vision that I had awakened with the full intent of finding the bitch and kicking her ass....

I even saw Bart kneeling at an ornate, gilded altar in a 14th Century cathedral (( even though I knew full well that Bart was Baptist.......Catholic churches are much more beautiful in dreams than plain old Baptist buildings....)) seemingly, at first, to beseech God's forgiveness for his feelings for me in a great drama of good versus evil .....But on further investigation, I noticed the priest who ministered over him and  wore an elaborately embroidered pink frock had one hand on the back of Bart's neck and the other lifted to heaven......By the back and forth motions of Bart's head, I knew that he wasn't praying unless God resided in the holy underwear of the pinkly clad confessor, and by the way the priest mantra'd "penance...penance", I could see that he was enjoying Bart's punishment.

Tears must have streamed down my face for quite sometime before I awoke because my pillow was soaked, but I'd never tell anyone that.  Of course, I was being overdramatic; I THOUGHT that I had fallen in love........but how could I?  I didn't really even know this person, and I certainly wasn't worthy of his attention -- much less the adoration that he'd heaped on me.  I told myself that I was behaving stupidly and swatted my emotions like mosquitoes on a muggy May evening, but the apparitions of yesterday floated over his pillow and every word he'd spoken to me became golden in my memories. 

I applied my academics and told myself that I was suffering from immature infatuation, but the feelings that I felt were more real than any other love that I'd ever experienced..................but they were irrational. For some reason, smartly labelling it eased my suffering a bit, but only reinforced  my original assessment that I was nuts for letting myself fall so quickly for an idea of Bart that I didn't even know truly existed.....(( But don't we all fall in love with the idea of the person since we never really truly know anyone completely?))

I warred with my emotions through out the day and welcomed work as a way to avoid feeling and thought............but hoped that every sound I heard was his footsteps walking to my door. 4:00 couldn't arrive soon enough and though I was already weary from lack of sleep and my own mental battles, I knew that business would crowd out every other thought in my head.  I was in great need of work therapy.

cunning Cherokee

I sprinted to the front door, and I wanted to rush into Bart's arms and do the whole movie-kiss thing. I wanted a Montgomery Clift and Deborah Kerr wallow in the sand from here to eternity ( even though I'd have to settle for a roll in a Wal-Mart comforter ).  I wanted my Rhett to plant a good one on me and then pick me up and carry me up the stairs  where we would be quixotically gone with the wind ( A trip to my liberated bedroom would suffice in this situation, but I'd imagine an elaborate Gothic staircase as he carried me away to rapture ).  I wanted to be bent over backwards and smooched like the nurse-chick in Times Square in the 1940s V-J day photo ( but I wouldn't slap him when he released me )...............I was ready; my lips were ready................  I'd made Bart wait long enough....................My heart thumped then pounded as I reached for the door knob and gently turned it.  Frigid air rushed in all around me, and I craved the warmth of Bart.....................BUT...............all of the romantic visions faded to one single Judas kiss as I looked up to behold Mr. Deliverance with a chaw of tobacco in his jaw. My hopes had been betrayed.  My lips immediately shrunk back from their pre-kiss position, and my heart fell with disappointment.

"I need to talk to you about somethin'," he said as he pushed his way into my apartment.  I seated myself atop one of the women-at-the-well prints on my velveteen sofa, and prepared myself for his talk.

"Your contract says that you can't have overnight visitors, and you've been having some blond guy over here for a week," he said flatly.

He hit me with this remark at the wrong time, and I had grown weary of hearing his rants about the contract -- which I still couldn't find.  It was probably under my bed somewhere............under black socks and Jesus.  I thought to myself for a minute:  My rent was paid on time,  I wasn't a problem renter, and I remembered the bedroom antics of my neighbor that I had heard since I moved in, ((but I did acknowledge to myself that all had been quiet for several nights in his apartment.))

"My neighbor has visitors.........or something.  I hear them all the time," I argued and had to wonder why Mr. Deliverance was awake and away from his wife at this time of the night.  It had to be after one a.m.....and Bart should have been here by now.

"He's been working out of town for over a week, and I never knew he had anyone spendin' the night there," he said flatly as he took a seat ( uninvited ) in one of the Naugahydes and spread his legs wide open.  One hand rested on top of his over-sized belt buckle as he leaned a little too comfortably into the chair, and the other hand casually raised a styrofoam coffee cup to his lips where he spat into it.  Some small tobacco spit stains dotted his tight white T-shirt from where he'd obviously missed his cup earlier in the evening ,and his voice had a superior air about it, like someone who enjoyed using his self-perceived power over an innocent.

"I hurt my ankle, and a friend was helping me out," I explained but wondered why I needed to offer an explanation.  I had to remind myself that I still lived in America and wondered if this redneck knew that.

"So, he won't be back?" he asked with a little bit of hopefulness in his voice and a tad-bit more superiority. He also tilted his head forward a bit and raised his brow to indicate his seriousness in the matter.  I knew exactly why he was hopeful and this hillbilly reject didn't have a chance in hell with me, and his superiority could be shattered with the mention of a few words.......  I decided to take the conversation on a different course, and to use some of my bitchiness that had been bred into me.  I tended to think that my brazenness was part of my Cherokee heritage, but like Superman, I only used my special powers when necessary.  You'd be surprised at some of the wonders I had worked with my forked tongue.  Being a bitch is painful, but unfortunately it is compulsory in a world that perceives gays as being weak.  I doubted I could beat this guy at arm wrestling, but I had a few cards up my sleeve that would insure a win.  His own mouth had given me my ammunition.

"I was just wondering if you and your little brother had gone to the deerwoods this year, since it is deer season now," I said ever so genteely. 

The deerwoods was an Arkansas cultural event that took me years to fully understand.  Deer hunting was a religion down here in Arkansas.  Many men and women were members of lodges around the state where they hunted deer and other game throughout the year. Deer season was the apex of the custom, and it usually fell near Thanksgiving. Kids were withdrawn from school to celebrate this yearly ritual. Some school districts even shut down for a week or two at a time so their students could participate.  So many inhabitants of this state joined in this custom that local economies plummeted until the deer hunters returned home. Not only did they hunt deer, but they also hunted wild boar , geese, ducks, rabbits and coons depending on their own personal liking and the time of the year.  Entire families would disappear into the deerwoods and emerge reeking of the wild (( showering or bathing revealed their presence to the deer, so they let their bodies get ripe with sweat to blend into the wilderness )) and toating venison that they later transformed into deer chili and other culinary curiosities. (( It seemed that every family had its own special recipe to purge the gaminess from the deer meat that ranged from soaking it in Buttermilk to curing it in garlic for two weeks or longer.)) 

It wasn't really a competitive sport; it was more like a sport that carried bragging rights and taxidermists flourished in this part of Arkansas. Dead deer heads hung over many mantles and 8 x 10's  of Grandma's holding up a dead deer's head with a huge rack ( no, I'm not talking about the bosom of granny.  I'm referring to the head full of horns the deers had. ) adorned many family dining room walls amidst china cabinets filled with depression glass.  Just like fishing, every amateur hunter had a story of the Buck that got away. 

The deerwoods sounded like a mystical place to me since I'd never been there, but it was really just the broad expanse of forest that surrounded this mountanous area of Arkansas.  The lodges ranged from mansion-like wood and stone structures to simple pre-fab metal buildings. Families with less means usually just went to the deer camp, and they set up tents on family land to hunt the great white tail. It seemed that every family who had long roots in this area owned their own family structure or land where they celebrated deericide.  Kin fought over the inheritance of the deer lodge or deer camp at the death of the patriarch OR matriach in whose name it resided.  Deer hunting was a serious, sacred event in Arkansas and what happened in the deerwoods, stayed in the deerwoods.................. unless you pissed a smart queer off......

"Yeah, we went for a few days.  Just me and him," He said as he grinned broadly ( like a dirty old man ) and reached down and groped himself suggestively.

"Does your wife know just how close you are to your little brother?" I asked with feigned innocence.

"Are you kiddin'? She'd throw my ass out," he said with some fervor and then spit again.

"I really don't see anything wrong with Bart staying here a few days a week, do you?" I paused with a sly smile. "It would be just awful for your wife to find out about your deerwood rendezvous with your brother....................... now, wouldn't it?"

"You wouldn't tell her.  Would you?" he sat up from his relaxed state and closed his legs.

"She'd probaby divorce you, and you know she'd tell your Mama and Daddy and all your relatives would find out.  It wouldn't be long before everyone in Garland county would know that you and your little brother had been stemming the rose in the deerwoods for a couple decades...." I trailed off in a very sweet, unassuming voice.

And I paused and just looked at him with my eyebrow cocked.  Suddenly the look of superiority disappeared from his face, and he crumpled into the Naugahyde.  Truthfully, I enjoyed watching this ingrate squirm.  Of course, I'd never play my cards -- not because I was necessarily nice -- but because the threat of playing them gave me more power for a longer time than simply throwing the cards on the table in front of the unsuspecting wife.  He deserved the feeling that I'd flung on  him for multiple reasons.  The least of which was what he was trying to do to me.  His wife was completely innocent in the matter, and she deserved better. I somehow knew  safe-sex was anathema to him, and it didn't take a genius to realize that Deliverance's sibling wasn't his only sex partner.  The possibility of viruses and bacteria circulating through his blood and semen was imminent, and the mother of his children should be protected.   I imagined that he'd started dominating his little brother into performing incestuous deeds many years prior...probably when the brother was a child who had little choice in the matter........Yes, we were having a "come-to-Jesus" meeting, and I knew that it was long over-due.

"As long as Bart can stay here as often as he'd like and as long as no one enters my apartment when I'm not here, I don't see any reason in breaking your wife's blissful ignorance." I continued to smile. "Know what I mean?"

"Okay.......I get it." he murmured quietly and then rose from the Naugahyde.  His face had blanched white, and he waivered a bit as he stood before me........"I get it................I see how you are," he said with some finality as if I were the one in the wrong.

"It's not how I am," I said firmly. "It's how you force me to be to survive," I uttered the final sentence to the world in general, not to simply the less-than-intelligent brother fucker who slipped through my door with his tail between his legs.

He'd made me resort to it.  The part that really pissed me off was that he thought he could intimidate me because I was gay.  Typical of straight men, he had miscalculated me and had no idea that I was also a cunning Cherokee.

Brush and Spit

Of course, I started under my bed.  It seemed like the likely place to start.  Isn't everything you look for always under your bed?  Let's get one thing str8; I am free in my bedroom.  Of course, that can mean many things, but in this instance, it means that I have never followed the rules in my bedroom like I have the other rooms of my house.  The rest of the house is neat and clean, but in the bedroom there are no rules.  NONE.  I can do and behave however I want.  That might make the boyfriends happy, but when you are looking for one important piece of paper................it can be tedious because free can also mean cluttered..............( For some reason, people assume that gay people are anal about cleanliness.  That's just another stereotype.  Granted, they might be anal, but it's not always for cleanliness unless we're talking about anal cleanliness, and they are anal about that.)

Socks..Black socks...I pulled out yards and yards of foot long black socks from under my bed because they were part of my work uniform:  pressed white shirt, black slacks, black shoes and black socks..The irony of black socks...They reminded me of Jesus...Heck, everything reminded me of Jesus....

But there was a reason for this reminder:  When I was growing up, our neighbor Katharine Nightengale, would call Jehovah Witnesses "black socks".  She swore all Jehovah Witnesses wore them for religious reasons like Holiness women never cut their hair or wore make-up.  Katharine was a stout pear shaped woman of German descent, and she kept her gray hair cropped close to her head.  Okay, I'd say it was a lesbian hair-do ( or don't ) now, but Katharine wasn't a lesbian.  She'd been washed in the fountain and cleansed by His blood (( I imagined God had a big bottle of Lamb's Blood Concentrate that he added to the wash tub, and then he dipped us in and scrubbed us on a spiritual wash board )).......Katharine was a godly woman..the virtuous woman of Proverbs 31, and she knew the Lord...and she'd make sure you'd meet him too, when you met her....No, she wasn't preachy or anything like that.  Erase all images of Carrie Nation with a hatchet beating God's word into your skull..That wasn't her...And she wasn't the Florence Nightengale type either, even though they shared the same last name,..all genteel, quiet and suffering for  Jesus...NO, she was a real person from good Oklahoma stock who worked and sweated in the fields right next to her men-folk, and then prepared them an elaborate banquet at lunch time. 

And Katharine was resilient.  When her husband dropped dead one July afternoon in her front yard, she'd single-handedly dragged his body to the shade, because she didn't want him to look too done at his funeral. Of course, she and I shared that same Okie bluntness. She'd tell you what was up and she'd tell you what was down, because that is what we do in Oklahoma, and she'd tell you how the cow ate the cabbage too, if it was necessary.   Katharine was real, and she didn't gossip, and she didn't judge...She just loved like Jesus did...no matter what. 

Honestly, I never checked to see whether Katharine's assessment of the feet accessories of Jehovah Witnesses was accurate because I was always too busy shutting the door in their faces..............until I got to college that is.  Then I discovered opening the door totally naked usually scared them off..(( and sometimes it paid off if I accidentally opened the door to a pair of neck-tied and dress-shirted Mormon boys....Sometimes they ministered in ways they'd never been taught by their church.............)).. Every time I saw a black sock in a package at Wal-Mart, or in my dresser drawers or...under my bed.... I thought of Katherine Nightengale. Even then, when I was digging all of those black socks from under my bed, I thought of Katharine Nightengale and how much my life had changed since I'd seen her last.  I knew that many of the people that I'd attended church with all of my life would have withdrawn from me chanting "unclean, unclean" had I encountered them now, but I knew that Katharine would have given me a big, ol' bear hug and told me that she loved me and that God loved me...............I certainly needed Katharine in my life then, and I missed her Agape.  Every time I saw a black sock, I thought of Katharine.  Every time I thought of Katharine, I thought of Jesus -- the one I knew, not the one all those churches talked about.  The one who had died to give us a grace covenant and had eradicated the curse of the law.

But, I kept digging all the while while I thought about Katharine and black socks, and Jesus and Bart....And I found cellophane wrappers, and Q-tips,and papers..and envelopes....and Bart's yellow bikini briefs that I hadn't seen in at least a week...and finally...at the very back, snugly up against the panelled wall...I saw a piece of notebook paper folded in half.  My heart jumped; I knew that was what I had been searching for.  I yanked it out from its hiding place under the bed...but a smaller piece of paper fell out of it...I picked it up first.

It was a  receipt for my rent for December.   But,.........I hadn't paid my rent yet.  I couldn't understand, at first, why there would be a receipt for my December rent, so I unfolded the note:

              I ran to Arkadelphia to pick up a few things. I'll be back soon to take care of you.

              It was my fault you fell and hurt your ankle, so I paid your rent for you for December

             so you don't have to worry about bills.  I promise to make it up to you.  Give me a chance

             because I won't let you chase me off.

             -- Bart.

So, I picked up a bunch of black socks and sobbed into them.  Yeah, I cried.   Cried like a baby. Cried like your Mama did at your high school graduation...I just cried... First, I thanked God for sending Bart into my life -- I had to think about the Lord; I was holding black socks.  I cried because I'd treated Bart like scum and had played mind games with him when he'd been a good guy all along.  I cried because I felt so unworthy that he'd do something so nice for me.  AND...I cried because he hadn't signed this first note with "love you"...he hadn't signed it any way at all except for just his name....Maybe..just maybe..I told myself..maybe he was the one..maybe he was the real deal..maybe he was the genuine Gene....maybe he was what I needed.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"   Someone was at the door....I quickly pushed papers, and envelopes, and Q-tips and underwear and black socks under the bed and wiped my face with one last black sock before I threw it under the bed too....I was so glad for Bart to be home.  I ran to my circus tent bathroom and did a quick brush and spit.....

Scarlett O'Hara

I was young.  I was innocent.............and I was very naive.  I'd heard about this kind of stuff and seen it on 20/20, but I certainly hadn't lived it before.............and I was in one of those predicaments that your Mama always warns you about.  Granted, I had just moved to Hot Springs and had started to meet some of the local characters, and I enjoyed their company, but I got the feeling that I was about to compromise myself, and it wasn't a feeling that I liked.

"Just where does he intend on playing?" I asked in a sarcastic bitch voice.

"In the back seat while we're driving around." Mother said incredulously -- like I should have been born knowing this information...like I was stupid.............

"I had no idea ya'll had this in mind when you talked about checking out the merchandise," and then I paused to catch my breath.  "I don't do this......Can we please go?"

I glanced back into the back seat and noticed a BIG black member stuck through the passenger side window.  Cora had rolled  down the window a couple inches and was giving it lip service.  I cringed.

"Cora, what are you doing?" I asked.  I'd been waylaid...and the black guy was being window-laid and licked as he stood on the sidewalk on Central Avenue, and Cora was in doggy position with her face toward the slightly opened window in that same damn rabbit coat (( I had to resist the urge to say "Mush! Mush! )) -- with her toupee' smooshed against the car's upholstered ceiling because of the angle of the whopper dangle.  (( Imagine a Jelly Belly'd St. Bernard -- sans the tail --  eating an overripe Plantain, and you've got the picture.)) 

"Saving a 100 bucks, girl." she managed between slurps.

"Mother, please, get me out of here.  I really don't like this...." I pleaded, nicely.

"Do you think you're better than we are?" Mother asked sarcastically.

"YES..HELL, YES, I think I'm better than this ....I think YOU'RE better than this......He could have a gun.......We could get shot....." I pleaded as I glanced again to the back seat.  I, honestly, had no idea what this man looked like.  As far as I knew, this could just be a floating black penis that just landed on the window -- and truthfully, wasn't that all it was, anyway?......................  Cora was behaving very unladly-like............and it appeared that her eyes were rolled back in her head as she continued to do what she'd been doing before..........(( It is true what they say about black men, by the way.....he was more than a Cora mouth-ful.))

But, Mother didn't say anything.  She gave me a quick glance and then resumed looking out the window. So, I tried another angle. "This is illegal, you know."

"No shit, Sherlock.  Why do you think I keep looking out the window?" she said in that you're-stupid tone.................again.  I sat there for awhile, and I remembered all of the other times that she'd talked to me like I was trash.  I remembered seeing her interact with Fiona and Mitzi, and realized that she would continue treating me like I was nothing until I made her stop.  I also knew that if she had respected me that I wouldn't be in my current predicament...................so it had to happen, and it had to happen,now....and I'd need to make it memorable.

"God DAMN it!" I screamed and slapped the dashboard.  Mother jerked a bit, but still kept her head cocked toward the street.  I thought I heard a cease in the slurpage, but it quickly resumed, so I pressed on with even more fervency.   "I'm not one of these stupid bitches from around her, and don't fucking talk to me like I am.  Get me the fuck out of here!" I cussed and yelled and banged my hands on the dashboard to try to shake them from their trance-like state, but no one seemed phased by it ((besides my hands stung, and I figured I looked like a damn fool )). Mother continued on her look-out, and I could still hear heavy slurps from the back seat. I considered simply leaving, but in my mind, Central Avenue Cinderella'd  into Hot Springs Pink-light district at midnight or otherwise there wouldn't be a dick stuck in the window.  I didn't know what danger awaited me on the streets if I decided to flee............and then I started to see red and blue lights (( it wasn't even Christmas yet, but lights were a heavy theme of the evening )) dimly circulating on the interior of the car. My heart fell, and my life passed before my eyes.  I knew that I'd be arrested for being one of those "Watch-queens" that I'd read about in the hidden copy of my Mother's book "Everything you wanted to Know about Sex, but Were Afraid to Ask" that she kept in the lower kitchen cabinet behind the trash can  ( and I started sneaking peaks at it at about 12 when I found it one Easter morning while digging for her electric skillet).  BUT I wasn't watching anything....and I wasn't a queen!!!  Do you really think I wanted to see Fido in rabbit fur eat this bone?  ((I'd been afraid that he'd want to bury that bone the whole time.  I think I could have faced the cops better than witness that ass-trocity)).

Luckily, Mother saw the same thing, and with no verbal warning to any of us (( that's Cora, Me AND the black penis)), she floored the accelerator. 

The member was ripped out of the doggy Hoover in mid-suck, and  Cora was slammed against the back seat.  If Cora's temporary "employee" -- who'd been working very hard..... --  hadn't been standing on the sidewalk, Mother would have run her tank over his feet.  Instead, he was left with a bruised penis  that stood exposed where Cora had left it. ((  I only assume that it was black AND blue since it was slammed against the door frame, because I never saw it again...............)). Mother drove like a maniac, turned right on Prospect and then took the left side of the Y onto Quapaw at the top of the hill.  She sped past the Synagogue and a few small motels and then whipped into an alley behind Starlight Apartments, and told us all to duck down.

"What have you gotten me into?" I asked in a panic as I fit myself snugly between the glove box and passenger seat  ((and assumed a position of prayer)).

"Shut up, gurl!" Mother demanded as we all hunkered down into her car, but I ignored her and continued with my speech.  For some reason, it always helps me to just get all of my feelings out, and sometimes I forget about the feelings of the person listening..........and sometimes, I just flat out don't care.

"I swear, I'll never go anywhere with you two again. Don't you understand that an indiscretion like this can still appear on your record if you are caught....and you'll be labelled a sex offender?  I have plans for my life.  I don't want to wait tables for eternity, and I wasn't even doing anything.  I won't ever let you put my life or my reputation or my future in jeopardy again. " I promised them and paused as they raised themselves and gazed at me in half-hunker, and I should have stopped then, but I didn't.

"You don't know what it's like to have dreams, and to want more for yourself, do you? You are satisfied with flipping burgers and wearing a damn dress, Mother.....................  And Cora, you figure you can buy yourself out of any situation..........................  I can't.......  This is NOT what I want for my life.  How could you be so selfish and risk my everything?" I preached to a pair of lonely drag queens who, I could tell, were a bit surprised by my reaction.  I would have opened the car door and run if I could have, but I was still new to this town, and I really had no idea where I was at this point.  I didn't know that safety was only 2 blocks away.

"Oh hell, gurl, I've been doing this for twenty years.  None of us have ever been caught.  Besides, half of them cops are my back-door trade.  I could get us out of it.....Just calm down, honey.  You are making this a big deal when it's not, " Mother tried to soothe with untruths, but I could tell her words were lies because fright had captured her irises and wouldn't let them go...............and I'd never seen anyone casually talk in the darkness while being squeezed by a steering wheel and a bottom car seat.  She knew damn well it was a big deal.

"Queen....." Cora said sheepishly.  "He was probably on another call because he would have caught us by now.  I think we need to get her home," and he pointed at me.  Cora had managed to face us in his hunker (( Someway or other, he'd managed to pour all that jelly in the back seat floor boards and she'd positioned her face where the lowered arm-rest should have been)) , and I stuck my toungue out at her then slammed the arm-rest in her face.

"Nah," Mother said.  "Let's stay here a little longer.  We need to make sure Miss Bitch is safe. I can tell she's scared..and she needs to get calmed down," and she returned to her hunker............and I'd suddenly been dubbed Miss Bitch because I stood up for myself (( and by the way, that became my title)).

Scared? I thought? Yeah, I was frightened a bit.  I was a little more than afraid that an innocent Central- cruising could ruin any future plans that I had, AND  I was alone in Hot Springs.  I had no tethers.  If I had been arrested, I certainly couldn't call my family in Oklahoma to bail me out (( and they wouldn't have anyway)), and I wouldn't drag my sister out of her house to suffer the disgrace.  Even if I had only been an innocent bystander -- and I was -- in Mother and Cora's romp on the seedy playground, no one would believe me.

After Mother thought for a minute, her attitude soured toward me.  She tried to turn the situation around on me and get me to believe it was my fault which is a manipulation that only works on simple-minded people.  She'd underestimated me, and it only pissed me off more.

"Mary," Mother said.  "If we would have been caught, it would have been your  damn fault because you cussed me and made me nervous, so I squeeled my tires as we pulled out."

.................and I realized that she hadn't understood what I'd said.  I didn't WANT to be in that Central Seedy Playground Predicament period, but she couldn't comprehend my brand of gay. She was blaming all this on me when they were the ones breaking the law in broad night-light in downtown Hot Springs. Although I had participated in activities that I'd never confess to a Priest -- because I'm sure it would embarrass him -- I'd never experienced anything as base as this.  It disgusted me, but  I bit my tongue.  Any protests that I would have given would have fallen on deaf ears.............I had the feeling that I had left Alice in Wonderland and had entered the male version of Rubyfruit Jungle.  Alice had transformed into Molly Bolt in the streets of New York, and this was Hot Springs, Arkansas...but Molly  was me!

Finally, Mother thought enough time had elapsed for us to make a getaway.  She had to open her door and get out of the car and stretch, because she said she had swollen in her hunker and couldn't maneuver her way out from under the steering wheel.  As luck would have it, a rickety old Gray hair in a duster, curlers and Noxema face was taking out her trash just then and Mother had to exchange 15 minutes of the breeze with her.  (( These southerners will talk to anyone at any time about anything.  The jist of their wind trading had to do with Oatmeal, honey and various other types of facials.  The lady finally walked away when Larry suggested spermatazoa as a perfect moisturizing cream and referenced Cleopatra's use of it ......I figured the hag thought Mother was hitting on her.))

The alley she had taken, let us out on Ouachita where Mother turned right.  It took me a minute to find my bearings and realize that we were near Acapulco's.  As we drove by, we saw Bart leaned up against his Trans-Am which was parked on the street, shirt untucked, talking to someone.  He looked very casual and relaxed.  I felt relief when I saw him, and I just wanted to be with him -- where it was safe and predictable.........I could see that he was chatting, but I couldn't make out the other person in the dim light of night.  There were no street lights in this area. Only the light of a very full moon lit the store-fronts.

Mother slowed down and blasted her horn.  He looked toward us with a surprised look on his face.  Suddenly, moonlight shifted onto the girl he'd been talking to and she appeared to quietly slip away into the darkness. ((AND I felt a ping of suspicion....the precursor of jealousy )). Because there was no traffic at this time of the night, Mother ground her wheels to a hault in the middle of Ouachita. Bart approached my window which I rolled down with gusto.  It was so good to see a person who actually cared for me and my well-being (( and who didn't wear a badge or Noxema)).  The sight of him felt like a gulp of Gatorade in the desert.

"Hey," he greeted me with those Pepsodents fully engaged.  "What are you all up to?"

"You don't want to know," I said as he squatted beside the car.  He reached in and finger brushed my hair out of my eyes.  I could smell the faint sweetness of wine on his breath.  I wanted this knight in shining armor to whisk me away from these two crazies, but I knew that I had to get my vehicle from Mother's duplex, and I still didn't want Mother to know about my secret.  I knew that gays vultured around "fresh meat", and they'd treat Bart like prey.  Of course, I wanted to keep him for myself, but it wasn't just that.  He was good ,and he had a pure heart.  He deserved to be treated like a person, and not like road-kill.

"We just stopped to say, hi," Mother said quickly.  "We'll see you next week."  Bart gave me a perplexed look as he stood straight and Mother sped off.  I watched him walk to his Trans-Am in the passenger door rear-view mirror, but I didn't see him get in his car.........The road curved and sullied my view before I could verify the safety of my heart.  (( Who was that girl?  Was it his ex-fiance in search of reunion?))

"No, I won't be joining you next week," I said firmly and quietly.  Mother sighed. Cora didn't make a peep. ( I thanked God that she wasn't still slurping, and that I had escaped this lesson unscathed.)

The next few blocks were silent with only the whir of the engine and car heater meeting our ears, and my mind yelling at me to calm down.  My heart was racing.  I was so mad...at myself...for being so stupid to allow myself to be in this predicament.  In that moment I determined that I'd never allow myself to be at the mercy of someone else. 

"I'm sorry," Mother said quietly as she pulled her Oldsmobile into her carport, but she only spoke the words, she didn't feel them.  She'd grown up in this culture, and it was normal for her. She was several years older than I and Mother was from a different generation.  I'd grown up in the age of AIDS which was something she'd encountered in her adult years after she'd already been walking on this path.  Her only world view was shaded with sequins and spring water.  She didn't know anything else but this life, in this place.

"I'm not," I said as I got out of her car, slammed the side door and walked to my truck.  As I drove back to my apartment, guilt tried to tell me that I shouldn't have reacted in the way I did, but self-worth told me that I'd done the right thing...a little too loudly, perhaps...but still the right thing.  My heart told me that I should give Mother another chance; my brain told me that I needed to find other friends. Guilt told me that I was being too judgmental, and that I shouldn't have yelled at Mother, but Self-worth stuck up his hand and added that I'd been needing to draw some boundary lines around Mother anyway, and if our fledgling friendship survived, she'd know how she was allowed to talk to me and what not to do when I was with her. Common Sense, along with Mini-Andrew, finally stood up hand-in-hand and told me that I'd been taking care of myself, and that I was stupid for even letting Guilt speak.  The conversations in my mind were confusing as I parked outside my apartment, and I told them all to be quiet. I tried to purge the image of Cora in doggy-style oral delight out of my mind, but I knew that I'd have flashbacks for months......... I needed to get in my apartment, find that letter and brush my teeth before Bart arrived. I had a better evening ahead planned, and I'd just think about it tomorrow.  It always worked for Scarlett O'Hara.

Playing

As Mother turned right onto Central off of Bridge street, Cora said, "Queen, make the loop first, and we'll check out the merchandise."

"Merchandise?" I asked wondering what they were looking to purchase.

"You'll see, honey.  I think you'll like this.  We're gonna' take you for a ride," Mother cajoled.

She drove slowly down Central avenue, and I looked at the lights of Central as she drove.  This certainly wasn't the strip in Vegas or the lights of New York's Times Square, but there was a an indelible charm to the downtown of this Southern city.  Christmas lights were already being strung, and the vintage Christmas decorations brought a little cheer to my heart............... until Mother spoke.

"That Mitzi was about to drive me crazier than I already am.  Can you buhleeeeve she thinks she's going to live in drag?"  Mother asked both Cora and me.

"That bitch is gonna' have a rude awakening," Cora said and then she pointed between Mother and Me through the Front window. "Now, there's a nice buck,queen.  Remember him on the way back."

Deciding that I didn't want to hear Mother and Cora bad-mouth Mitzi for the next few minutes -- because I felt sorry for her, and thought they were being discompassionate -- I altered the conversation a bit, "So, I guess she got her name from the movie?"

"Oh....this will tell you how crazy she AND her family is," Mother said.  "Mitzi says she was 12 years old when she saw Tootsie at the movie theatre, and she had an out-of-body experience right there in the movie theare and knew she'd one day be a drag queen.  The bitch is crazy...CRAZY, I'm telling you," and then she paused for effect. "Her white-trash  family had called her Toots all of her life, and they still do. She thought it was a sign from God that her nickname was Toots and the drag queen in the movie was Tootsie" Mother stopped for a minute, but I could tell there was a laugh just barely below her voice that she was squelching.

"Why did they call her Toots?" I asked again.

"Cuz she had gas a lot when she was a kid!" Mother hooted and hollered. I thought she was going to lose control of the Oldsmobile she laughed so hard, and of course, Cora and I had to join the chuckle. 

"Her drag name came from a fart, gurl," Mother had to place the cherry on top of her story, and she rocked back and forth laughing while she drove (( which certainly didn't help with her vehicle control)).

"And she got Mitzi from Mitzi Gaynor.  The bitch fell in love with "South Pacific", and the first time she did a talent night she wore a grass skirt and coconut boobs.................... and the crazy bitch came out with wet hair and did "I'm Gonna' Wash That Man Right out of My Hair.................It was tragic..just tragic," Mother said with some chuckles peppered into her explanation.

"Queen, to the left, there's a big *igger, right there.  I bet he's hung like a horse." Cora said.....and kind of drooled at the end as she pointed like a teen-age girl at the dress shop window.  And YES, she said the "N" word.  Even the gay people in the South were biggotted, which surprised me.  I didn't understand how one oppressed group could look down on another, but they did............and strangely, Cora preferred chocolate over vanilla.  She'd flat out tell you that there was only one thing a black (( not the word, she would have used, by the way)) man was good for.........................  It was just another strange paradox about the south.  Some of these white boys might have liked the black boys, but they only liked them in their bedrooms.  I don't ever recall seeing a mixed-race couple at the gay bars, but I saw plenty of white boys leave the bars with black boys and not remember their names the next day, and they vehemently denied anything had happened between them when asked...............They tossed around the "N" word like it was no big deal, and that was a major cultural adjustment for me, and it was probably one of the things that surprised me most about the South. 

The other was that the drag queens watched football on the T.V, AND they weren't just watching it for the half-time show................??  Football was like caviar to me.  If someone liked either one of those things, I figured they had to be lying and only said they liked it because everyone else did.  Both of them sucked in my book, and I wasn't ashamed to tell anyone that.  These queens down here would call the hogs and do their "WOO PIG SOOIE", and I thought they were nuts.  Sometimes, they'd even have the audience at a drag show stand up and do "WOO PIG SOOIE" in honor of a University of Arkansas win.  Have you ever seen a drag queen call the hogs?  It's something I'll never forget.  I kind of figure their adoration of football and black men went together..........................

Mother drove along Central, she drove past the Bath house row, Arlington Park, The Arlington, and then she turned around at Whittington, right before The Majestic Hotel and started her journey back down Central.

"Look, gurl," Mother said as she pointed to a van in a parking lot nestled between buildings that set at the base of mini-mountains (( which sometimes collapsed and buried innocent cars )). "The whore-dog family is out and working the streets, too."

"Huh?" I asked. "Whore dog?"

"Gurl, haven't you met them yet?" Mother asked. 

I shook my head, "No."

"Queen, I think they are out every night looking for dick," Cora said. "I doubt they've been in the bar when he was............Start slowing down, I think I want that one."

"Gurl, you told me to make the loop first," Mother protested.

"I changed my mind.  Pull over here," Cora said quickly and cracked her window enough to hang a bill from it.

"Is that a 100 dollar bill?" I asked.

"Hell, no, it's only a 20.  He doesn't get the 100 till I'm done." Cora said as a black man approached the car.

"Till she's done with what?" I asked Mother.  An uneasy feeling began to creep over me, and I remembered Cherry's warning.  What did these two have planned exactly?

Mother looked at me with a smile on her face and said, "Playing."