Hot Springs' True Reigning Queen

But, the show didn't stop because of broken glass.  The spot light stopped 8ing and froze centerstage and grew and grew and grew.  A Drum roll played through the loud speakers and a heavy male voice said, "Ladies and Gentelmen, Miss Lawanda.."..and Cherry swaggered to the spot light and tossed her hair back in a regal, mandingo mode.  Applause roared through the sound system and erupted from the audience.  Shouts of "Cherry" rang through the audience similar to the chants of "Jerry! Jerry!" that you might hear on the Jerry Springer show, today  With the strut of a sadidy black lady and a head bobble to boot, the caucasian Cherry carried a broom and dust pan directly to Mother, handed it to her,  placed one hand on her hip, cocked her eyebrow and looked down at the broken glass, then Cherry walked stage right dragging the spotlight with her without another glance in Mother's direction.  Ms. Superior wasted no time in humbly rising from her seat and cleaning up the mess that she'd made in her rage. She didn't say a word, or scowl her face.  She guilelessly knelt ( it was more like a curtsy that got stuck) , peered over the rims of her sunglasses,  swept up the mess and walked to the trash can that sat near One-Armed Vickie's knee  and deposited Hester's broken beer bottles and martini glasses.  By the time, Mother returned to her seat -- a little deflated, but still proud --Cherry had already started the talkie............and I suddenly realized who the real queen was in this town.......and the silent broom statement had shown everyone else that too, including Mother. (( I was younger then, and I hadn't learned that a person only toots his own horn when he doesn't have a song to sing.)) 

Even though Cherry was merely lip-synching words, she was singing a song that Mother never could.  Granted, Mother was an entertainer extraordinaire, albeit, there was something about Cherry that made Mother pale in comparison. Mother was a talented queen, but she wasn't as pollished..or something....I couldn't put my finger on it, and I can't describe it..........but how can words accurately convey that someone simply had IT?  Cherry just had something that these other queens lacked;  her star just flickered a little brighter. Miss Fontaine was a tall red-head with the drag-trendy Peg Bundy do and a little strand embellishment; She fit snugly in a sequined knee length dress that had multi-color patches reminiscent of the pattern on the Partridge Family bus, and she was just as tall as Mother, but not as voluptuous through the chest and hips.    Cherry would walk to one side of the stage with a saucy swagger and snatch bills from adoring hands, and then she'd walk to the other and do the same thing.  Occasionally, during pivotal parts of her performance, she'd pause center stage directly in front of our table. She didn't dance because there was no music.  She lip synched in character with impeccable timing and precision, and portrayed Sanford's Aunt Esther (( after she backslid cuz I didn't really think nice AME ladies used that kind of language when they were fully in God's grace.  Saintly saints don't go around telling dirty..... filthy...dick jokes in public.........))  The great Cherry Fontaine never missed a word, cue or face crinkling exaggeration....and if my eyes hadn't seen how white she was, I would have sworn she was high yellow. 

"Hell, when I was born, I was a smart little bitch., " and Cherry paused and looked at her shellacked finger nails then continued with her recorded monologue. "....Hell...the doctor picked me up by the legs, held me, slapped me on the ass....Hell, that son of a bitch thought I was going to cry....Hell, I didn't cry..I said, 'Hell mother fucker..take it easy..I was only put together with one screw'..." Cherry lip-synched and mimicked LaWanda Page.  Each joke was followed by a drum roll and a cymbal clang...and guffaws from the audience...and the jokes became nastier with each new one.....((so nasty, that I can't print them here))...  Paul, the bartender, was a nice, quiet gentleman, and the risque' jokes played against his quiet demeanor to make the performance even more hilarious. The audience loved the talkie and the incongruity.  Initially, I was shocked and a little offended by the content but totally mesmerized not only by Cherry's ability to lip-synch  the monologue perfectly with no musical cues, but also by the way a white man in drag made a black old lady come to life through hand gestures, facial expression and gait....because he wasn't in black face.  No, HIS make-up was perfect and completely modern drag queen.  Remember, he was the bartender who painted queens in need, so he knew what to do with his powder and blush....but it wasn't the make-up, and it wasn't the clothes or any of the other feminine accoutrements..it was the talent.  I had a feeling that if he were dressed as a man and performed the same number in the same way, that he would attain the same result.

Dollar bills were being held up to Cherry all over the bar, but she never left the stage or the spotlight like I'd witnessed with other drag queens who were more concerned with the cash than the performance.  No....She made her audience come to her.............and they did....in droves.  Fans were lined up to the back bar on one side and all the way to  One-Armed Vickie on the other  And, they weren't just tipping dollar bills, either.  Hester tipped Cherry three twenty dollar bills consecutively. The fifty-something, skinny woman had lifted her face shield..and lain her baggy of boiled eggs on the table when Cherry stepped into the spot light and started her number.  The crazy lady in the motorcycle helmet had some cash, and I understood why no one moved her from the front table even when Mother protested (( Drag is still a business as well as  entertainment.....................and money talks.......even when that money is wearing an oversized Martian head-gear and munching on boiled eggs and beanie weenies on the front row )).   Every time Cherry walked by our front table, which was in the center of it all, we each held up a dollar bill because she deserved it.  Miss Fontaine took each tip and gave us a grateful wink if she could work it in her number without missing an important facial expression, but even during those moments, she gave our fingers and hands a  gentle squeeze to thank us for our tips..............and to make each of us feel special and appreciated.   Mother immersed herself in Cherry's number like a little kid watching cartoons.  I don't think she would have heard anyone scream "fire" had it occurred.  I noted that Mother's entire demeanor had changed so much that her outburst could have happened 7 years prior rather than just seven minutes before ....and by the look of adoration in Mother's eye, I knew that Cherry Fontaine -- and not Mother Superior --  was Hot Springs' true reigning queen.................and Mother knew that too.

This Arkansas storm would pass

Kerry and I took our seats next to Mother and prepared ourselves for the show.  The room still murmured, glasses clanked, laughter and curses filled the air, but above it all, I heard Mother.

"Shit!" and there was nothing lady-like about her exclamation, and I took note that her previous favorite word of "gurlllllll" had been replaced by "shit" on this night.  Mother's head was turned, and she was peering into the back of the bar when she uttered her expletive, but she quickly turned around, smoothed down her black sequined dress and stoically faced the dance floor that had quickly tranformed into a stage where a spotlight beam made figure 8's on its expanse. 

Suddenly, a blonde drag queen  of remarkable beauty, dressed in a red floor length, bugle-beaded gown -- who I'd never seen before -- was leaned beside Mother giving her a kiss on the cheek.  I couldn't tell what facial expressions Mother was returning, but her arms were folded across her chest, and her body appeared rigid.  I tried to lean  forward, surreptitiously,  to look at Mother, but I couldn't see a thing because there was a styrofoam wig-head with a blonde wig jacked to Jesus in my face.......  And that wig tasted like Final Net.  Before I could protest, the wig disappeared and the face of the drag queen was aimed toward me at my position next to Mother.  ( Flawless make-up, by the way.  To this day, I swear she must have air-brushed it on her face....and she brought her eyeliner out just a little bit on the corners of her eyes that gave appreciation to Liz Taylor's Cleopatra.)

"Oh, Billy, it's so good to see you.  You look so much better, " she exuded with sincerity and grace and pecked me on my cheek with her waxy feeling lips.  Before I could say a word and inform the queen that I was not Billy -- nor did I know who this Billy person was -- she was running quickly across the stage with $ scantily clad real men who each held some of the following items: a tackle box, wig on a styrofoam head -- ((that slightly resembled a bust of an Extra-Terrestrial with BIG BLONDE HAIR, ratted and teased a good foot from the styro- scalp)) --  and beaded gowns in tow, and then all 5 of them vanished backstage...but not before she flashed a smile and gave a respectful nod (( that looked like a mini-bow to me)) to the audience who erupted in applause and praise.  And, I rubbed my right cheek to remove that waxy-feeling, but I knew that I had been blushed involuntarily with lipstick.

I looked over at Mother, and I'm surprised her sythetic ginger-haired wig wasn't blazing in full flame, because I would testify to seeing  scarlet steam coming out of her fire-engine red ears.

"That bitch will regret stepping foot in this bar again," Mother said in a deep guttural man-voice akin to Linda Blair's in The Exorcist.  In truth, Mother wasn't there.  Her character had disappeared, and I'd never met this aspect of her -- or his -- personality.  Madame Superior's anger and resentment were palpable, and her facial expression was much more evil than it had been the night I'd seen her clobber Fiona...the night I had to pray to Jesus in the gay bar OUTLOUD  so Mother wouldn't kill the mouthy queen......whom we still hadn't seen or heard hide nor hair since that fateful evening....the night I'd met Bart....Mother turned her head away from me and caught the eye of Hester, then she did something a little strange.  She lowered her sunglasses just a bit and nodded firmly to Hester.  Hester raised her eyebrows and nodded in return.  There was some secret communication going on between the two, but I didn't fully realize its significance until much later.....

"Oh honey, just calm down," I tried to soothe the savagery that I knew existed in this outwardly-appearing-belle.  "Be the nice Southern lady that you are."  Heck, I didn't know who this blonde drag queen was, but it didn't take a 360 I.Q. to know that  Mother despised her, and I knew that Ms. Superior was capable of killing someone if the stars were just right -- or wrong.  Mother jerked her head around ( and it might have twirled on her neck a few times, I'm not sure ) and glared at me through yellow eyes as she snatched up her purse.

"Southern ladies are only nice on the outside, honey," she roared. "We rebuilt the South and got our power back by ACTING nice, but we're snakes on the inside.  There's a President in the White House from this very town...and honey..........................he didn't get there by being nice.  His MAMA knew the right people....and just so you know, her second husband owned a beauty parlor.....if you know what i mean......I've always been connected.................  Presidents don't win elections like you think.  They are made, and they aren't made nice....................and I didn't get here by being nice.  I only ACT nice."  Her words were acid and sharp. She enunciated every one of them with purpose and meaning...and her Presidential innuendo peaked my interest, but now wasn't the time to ask.  Somehow, I knew internally, that her consternation wasn't directed at me, and that she needed to say it to someone....anyone would have been appropriate in that moment for her. She paused for a minute and searched through her long, thin purse.  When she couldn't find what she was looking for, she dumped the entire thing out on the table and rummaged through its contents.  She finally found her compact ( which was also art-deco and bejeweled -- the bitch had good vintage taste) and lipstick tube.  She opened both, twisted up her tube of lipstick and applied it while glancing into her opened compact.  Then she dabbed her finger a bit on the right side of her upper lip.  For a brief moment, I thought her blazing temper had subsided, but she'd only gathered more steam.

"I've swallowed more power than you'll ever see, and I might have been on my knees...................but I know everyone I need to know, and I know everything that I need to know." she said vehemently as she placed all of her dumped items back into her purse, then slammed it on the table in front of her after she snapped it shut.

"You think that I'm just a burger flipper at a bowling alley, but you just don't know how it works in the South............Just because I'm a drag queen who likes to entertain doesn't mean I'm stupid.  I only play stupid because that's what they want to see....Southern ladies are the true power...........and I'm the queen of them all...Don't ever underestimate us or think we're weak or NICE............ and don't you forget that, boy." and she slammed her hand down on the table.  The flame in the fairy light jumped into the air and disappeared, the empty bean bowls rattled, the beer bottles fell over like bowling pins  and both empty Martini glasses flopped over and  they all rolled to the floor where they crashed. At the crescendo of the shattering glass, the crowd hushed, and  I jumped a little; Kerry squeezed my knee HARD under the red table cloth. "I Love Lucy's" sound-a-like theme still blared through the speakers, but the spotlight paused for a second before it resumed tracing the 8 on the stage.   For a minute, I was scared so I sat very still and held my breath (( like I did when I was a kid and was getting beaten )), and I knew if I just kept quiet, this Arkansas storm would pass.

A Jealous drag queen is dangerous and cruel

"Rhythm is a Dancer" ended, and so did the lights and mirror ball rotation.  The stage became dark and instrumental music reminiscent of the theme music of "The Lucy Show" played through the loud speakers.  As if on cue, the dance floor emptied and butches, fems, bottoms, tops and versatiles ( who were really bottoms but lied and said they were switch-hitters to preserve a semblance masculinity) filled the tables to become the audience for "Cherry Fontaine's Monthly Talent Night".  The show was open to anyone, and any type of talent was welcome -- not just lip synching men in wigs, but most of the show participants were drag queens who hoped to be booked at regular shows where they'd be paid a fee for their feminine efforts.  Tonight, they only performed for tips except for Cherry Fontaine.  She was paid 50.00 and two pair of sheer-to-the-waist panty hose for her role as show director.............and three drink tickets that she gave away or sold at a discount because she didn't drink. (( After mulitple years of bartending, she'd learned to detest the taste of liquor and its effects )).  Of course, all performers received tips ( or not ) from the audience, but onlookers were not obligated to tip.................and the only tips that some hopeful impersonators received were boos and shouts  of "Get off the stage" and "You suck".....and if the queen was an  absolute train wreck, she  was tipped in hurled ice cubes, sucked lemon wedges ( that had previously garnished a cocktail) and wadded bevnaps......(..and once I witnessed a tomatoe between the eyes  --  and it made her right lash go crooked, too  -- tossed from an ex lover...but that's another story..Of course, he was escorted out of the bar, but he was a hero for months.....).

While some of the participants in the show were seasoned drag queens who just wanted to make a little extra cash through tips because some audience members could be quite generous -- depending on their level of intoxication, other  performers were novice female impersonators who were basically getting their feet wet in the world of drag.  On rare occasion, a star was born, but most of the time First Timers could be witnessed selling their drag -- wigs, jewelry, cosmetics and clothes -- to the experienced queens at greatly reduced rates following the show ( and they could be heard swearing that they'd never humiliate themselves publicly again in a wig, and most of the time, the people who had witnessed their atrocities were over-joyed to hear it ). 

After all, if it was easy being a drag queen, every gay man with theatrical inclinations would do it if simply for the cash and nothing else because if a queen was good, she could rake in the cash..It was very possible to make a few hundred dollars with only three or four drag numbers, and while it was possible, it didn't happen often, and it certainly didn't happen to everyone who painted his face and walked with a swoosh......  The good ones made it look simple; the bad ones only made the good ones look better and demonstrated to the gay world that it wasn't nearly as easy as it looked.  There was a talent in creating the illusion; some people had it, and some did not.  If a queen was gifted enough to combine lip-sync, theatre, character creation, beauty, self-confidence and rhythm, he could be a star.  If not, he'd be ridiculed and taunted for years about his few minutes on stage when he grasped for stardom, but was flushed from the stage..............And, drag queens weren't usually highly sought after sex partners in the gay world.  Many gays eschewed drag queens after those queens exited the stage, but they were lauded when they performed.  Queens who were feminine when they were out of drag were especially reviled, which never made sense to me.  I chalked it up to many "Men" being uncomfortable with their own femininity -- even gay men hated to admit that they had any sort of feminine in them...even when they bent over.  Many gays couldn't understand the theatrical part of drag, and they were probably just uneducated and ignorant and couldn't understand that the sit-coms and dramas that they watched on the T.V were only actors portraying a character,too.  Certainly, there were those bisexual men who wanted chicks with dicks, but they were a minority..and most drag queens would never consider doing the frantic tumble in drag, but some were known to slit a hole in the crotch of their panty hose and go at it -- but they were the butt of drag and regarded like the sluts in high school who laid the football team...................

Yes, the gay world has its social echelons, just like the straight world.  It was a true wonder to find a drag queen who was not only a pretty boy, but was also a pretty girl. For some reason, ugly boys made beautiful drag queens...and gorgeous men were simply dogs as women...but every now and then...the two united...and they were celebrities more out of awe than anything else....and the other drag queens envied them.........................and.................... a jealous drag queen is dangerous and cruel.

I'd care later....

"Do you dance?" Kerry had awakened from his stupor and finally put words in his mouth, and since my original intent was to shake my tail feather tonight, I was more than ready to put on my dancing shoes....I had, after all, taken a little bit of Cher with me.

"Hell yeah, I dance," I said emphatically before we'd even sat down, but rather than rudely leaving Mother and the rest of the girls, I excused myself and Kerry. "Mother, we're going to dance.  Save our seats."

"You're going to leave me here with her?" Mother asked shocked....and perturbed as she pointed at Hester -- and she didn't even try to whisper.  I guess she figured the motorcycle helmet blocked Hester's hearing, but I knew it didn't.  Hester turned and gave her a scowl, but continued keeping time with the music by bopping her helmeted head back and forth, so Mother's opinion obviously didn't phase her.  At first, I was just going to let Mother's question go unanswered, but images of the Central avenue situation and Mother's attack on Bart merged into one in my mind and evoked the same feeling....................

"Oh, yeah," I said with an evil smile and walked away with Kerry hand-in-hand.  I grinned inwardly, too and told myself that things were working out just perfectly.  I could put any rumors about my relationship with Mother to rest, and I could tell Mother without words that she and I were simply friends.  No more and no less because I did value our friendship even though it was topsy turvy; I couldn't help but love to be in her presence, but I never wanted to be in her bed; I just needed to clear up any fog that might have settled in the valleys of her fantasies, and I thought that I could clarify the matter through Kerry. 

As I walked away, I turned to see Mother rearranging the chairs AND  the "ene" cousins.  Mother, of course, perched herself in the middle of the table, to the left of Hester, and the girls were placed on Hester's right.  The empty chairs that remained would be mine, Kerry's, Cora's and anyone else who decided to join us.  Mother controlled every detail, as usual, but she couldn't get Hester to budge, but I saw her beating Hester's shoulder with her purse, but  Hester remained unmoved and obstinate like those statues on Easter Island had for centuries. From my vantage point on the dance floor, Hester had an astronaut quality in that silvery helmet, and I somehow knew that in her mind she was sailing to world's unknown fueled by pure grain alcohol and hops, but   I deciphered she'd heard enough of Mother because  she had lowered the face shield.  I knew it's original intention was to keep bugs out of a motorcyclists teeth and eyes, but I wasn't so sure that it would stand much of a chance against Mother.  Only time would tell, but for now, Hester was holding her own, and Mother relented with purse-ing the 50 something, but still attractive and leanly built, matron.   Ms. Superior aimed her attention on the dance floor ( and on Kerry and me in particular), but she still scanned the bar as if she was looking for something -- or someone -- just like she'd done in the front bar most of the night, but finally gave up and plopped her purse in front of her and propped her chin between both hands that she'd elevated with her elbows and looked entirely bored................. The Dean sisters glanced around the room in amazement at all the gay amusement, and Boma Jean snacked on one of Hester's boiled eggs...( It figured, I thought to myself.)

Now, I have always subscribed to the belief that you can tell how a man performs in the sack by the way he dances, so I was interested to watch Kerry's moves to see if I needed to waste any more time with him.  My heart might have belonged to Bart, but that didn't mean my entire body was his .......................I am a man, by the way, and sex ranks right up toward the top of the list with gay men just like it does with straight men -- maybe even moreso which can account for the rapid spread of AIDS.  But, I was one to pretend that I was above such matters.  I wasn't.   The phrase "hard to get " still has the word HARD in it....and hard might have numerous connotations but  hard was still pliable -- not impossible.

So Kerry and I entered that melodic, gay fantasy-land and walked onto the dance floor -- which should've been golden instead of jointed square pieces of wood because it is just a little bit of heaven on Earth for gay men.  Thoughts ended; Time stood still; troubles disappeared.....  and only the beat and we existed......(( Haven't you ever noticed that dance floors are other-worldly with their fog machines and ever-changing light shows?)).................  I could feel the bass vibrate through my body, and my body moved without my mind's instruction.  I began to gyrate like the other gays on the dance floor -- in my own style -- and much better than they danced ( if you ask me, but others might disagree).  A lot of these people just couldn't dance, and I had to wonder where they got their gay union card.  (( I really should clarify that there is no such organization for those people who believe that there really is a secret Gay Agenda.  There isn't.  We were born this way, and we simply want the same freedoms that are guaranteed to all the citizens of the United States through our secular Constitution.  ))................And, Kerry couldn't dance worth a damn.  Rhythm was only something he'd read about in books, and witnessed for himself in black people, but he couldn't find the beat with both hands and both feet. This southerner was in desperate need of some African genes, but he was a total white boy when it came to dancing.........................

Any bedroom hopes I might have had for him wilted right there.  I knew if he couldn't find the beat, that he might as well just beat off..........cuz it just wasn't going to happen... Besides,  he was no competition for Bart.............BUT...Bart wasn't here and I didn't know where he was or when or IF I'd see him again, so I'd make the most of the situation and hoped that Kerry would calm down a little.  He jumped around like a frog on EX in search of the elusive beat in the same fashion that the aforementioned amphibious being  hunted for flies, but no one seemed to notice his failure in the beat search, so I wasn't too embarrassed to be dancing with him.  I kept telling myself that I should let him serve his purpose and make my point, but it wasn't easy.  I may have loved to dance, but I didn't like dancing with someone who made a fool of himself on the dance floor........His attempt at disco was so disturbing that I would have preferred to do a solo.  He was as awkward as an Ostrich on a high wire  and as out of place on the dance floor as a booger at a debutane ball.  The poor thing was so bad that I couldn't even feel sorry for him, and the idea that he was an undercover straight guy did cross my mind.  They usually can't dance either............. I really just wanted to say my ankle hurt and sit down -- and it did a little -- but I grinned and bore it to make my point....Then, I saw ShayShay....

She was barely moving in the center of the dance floor -- more like swaying hip-to-hip and looking up at the mirror ball -- like she was in a trance or experiencing something spiritual.  She looked simply ravishing -- angelic and peaceful, -- a breeze flowed from the air conditioner vent above us, and gently blew her sheer blouse and stray strands from her coiffed up-do. Miniature rectangular beams of light from the mirror ball wafted across her face and body, and she appeared psychedelically enhanced and immersed.  It was truly a beautiful picture reminiscent of a Massengil commercial, but she didn't notice me at all -- or anyone else, for that matter................... and she wasn't two steps away from me.......................  I kept dancing and spinning, and I wasn't really paying all that much attention to her.  I do that on the dance floor. I dance and look all around me, then zoom-in on a person or two, and then switch my focus and find someone else upon whom to look for a few moments and then change my perspective again.  It is rather like spin-the-bottle  in a music video format ( with narration in my mind ), and in an instant, I knew what was occurring in the worlds my eyes had invaded.  It was a way to pass the time, and it got my mind off Kerry's display.

On the edge of the dance floor, I saw a lesbian couple kissing under a butch's Razorback ball cap, and they looked so sweet and in love, but I knew they'd  just met a few minutes prior when I glanced behind them and another Mulletted butch stood glaring at both of them  with her arms folded across her Sooner's sweatshirt.  I knew what lay ahead without waiting to watch.  ( and you do too...They'd been temporarily enchanted with the music and had forgotten they were being watched, and I assumed Mullet was going to drag her fem away from the Razorback in just a few seconds)...so I spun again because lesbian drama is the worst, and I didn't want to watch the battle for hearts and attentions that would inevitably ensue -- and this time,  I focused in on a wriggling red chiffon cocktail dress that clothed a tall, brunette queen -- a replica of Jessica Rabbit with the same monochromatic eyeshadow  (purple...yeah, PURPLE with a red dress) applied like a mud facial in her ocular area. She had the same air about her as the tragic cartoon who wasn't bad, but was drawn that way --, and she was bent slightly over whispering closely --- AND too closely I judged when I saw him pull away -- in an Asian cowboy's ear and flirting with her eyes as she stirred her cocktail with a swizzle when he turned to look at her..I knew she hoped to have him later............. but she wouldn't.  His eyes didn't sparkle at her, and if anything they had the look of "Okay, I've been nice long enough...will you please walk away?"............ Ms. Rabbit didn't sense his disinterest -- or she thought she could persuade him with persistance because  she stealthily  rubbed her hips against his  Wrangler'ed manhood with every beat and continued stirring her drink......I smiled at the cowboy and gave him a look of "I know how you feel, buddy" as I glanced at Kerry, and Jessica Rabbit gave me a dirty look...Hmmm, I thought as I re-spun, no tip for her during the show ........Next, my eyes landed on a couple of fancies.  Both of the 30-something boys dressed like they owned a magical chocolate factory, with matching "Just for Men" hair color and Spikey, jelled cuts, and polka dotted over-sized bow ties on slinky, Rayon, black, button-downs, and shiny white square-toe'd dress shoes.....But no matter how narcisistically inclined they appeared, they were bored with each other, and the relationship would end soon because the romance they had with themelves had ended long ago.   Their eyes scanned the bar and hoped to find someone staring at them as individuals instead of attention-seeking, overly-ripe, carnival attractions, and when they found no anxious on-lookers, their eyes returned to their make-do twin husband. They pined for someone else, but would have settled for a menage-a-trois.. The twin husbands pretended to be ecstatically happy to the ignorant world, but darkness hid behind their irises and the souls their eyes mirrored were empty and yearning to be set free to return to themselves again....Me was better than we, they'd learned, but they held on to each other fearfully by a few candy-striped threads --  to just make it through the holidays with its turkey, egg nog, family...and of course, the presents under the tree.............They resolved  reluctantly that 33 was on the other side of  the hill in the gay world, and each feared that he'd be stuck with the other...........but clung to a dream of being set free...one day....The idea of being single was not only anathema, but it was also terrifying to both of them.

It was an entire universe made of several worlds on this tiny Parqued dance floor/ stage, and I could have spent all night interpreting the scenes with my gift of discernment that my Mama said was a gift of the Holy Spirit.  My Aunt Denice could bend spoons with her mind; My great-granny Shipman could read tea leaves, My cousin Donna Irene had a healing steel,  and Mama said I was granted a gift of knowing.  I thought she was just a bit dramatic about it since I attributed it to observation, intuition and imagination, and everyone should see what I saw.....but she said it was God given.  Mama said when I was a little kid that I used to walk up to grown men and tell them their secrets which included things like embezzling, thievery and cheating on their wives..and yeah, I told my Mama she was having an affair before she was ready to tell me, and I told my sister she was pregnant before she peed on the stick...but I didn't really see anything special about it....Didn't everyone just KNOW?  Wasn't I the one who was in the wrong by always saying what I thought, but knew? AND, when you hit the nail on the head, people don't really like it too much, but I never learned to keep my mouth shut..It just came tumbling out and the cards fell where they went.

Then my focus landed on Shay Shay again.  This time, she had something raised to her nostril and she was inhaling it............which struck me as odd and out of the ordinary, so I maintained my focus on her.  She inhaled for a awhile with her eyes shut...the wind still blew on her and the globe still turned above her showering her with a constant barrage of light, but she was motionless....then she opened her eyes and stared at me.  Shay Shay blinked a couple of times as if her eye lids could clear her muddled mind, and recognition finally crossed her face, a couple of minutes late.

"You're blue," she said ethereally and then dropped the bottle on the floor where its contents were spilled and smeared by a dozen dancing feet. Even though I was totally immersed in Snap's "Rhythm is a Dancer", I had the feeling that Shay Shay's soul was being overly enhanced.  I didn't have to ask what she meant when I looked at what lay at her feet.  MeltzAway had melted away any worries that she might have had about her rent in those brief moments, and now it lay broken, spilled...and trodden into the wooden floor.  I didn't say a word.  I just told myself that I should have known better than to give a chemical in a small brown bottle to a prostitute...and wondered where my "knowing" had been...Right then, in that instant, a bad feeling about ShayShay chilled over me, but I brushed if off..And, no, it wasn't the air conditioner draft because I looked up at it, and it was still angled at Shay Shay....It was a definite warning of something to come....and again, I ignored another omen just like I'd ignored the beanie-weanies and the boiled egg...I didn't recognize this broken brown bottle for what it truly was............and Shay Shay....poor, lost Shay Shay didn't have a clue.....

For an instant, I contemplated how Mitzi was going to remove her wig.............but I'd worry about that later.  The Goose made me not care, and I was enjoying the weightlessness of the dance even if I didn't particularly like the moves of  my dance partner...............I'd care later.

Deal with Anything

Like the girls, my focus was on the dance floor as we walked through the darkness to the very front table which I'd learn was always Mother's table on talent nights.  The dance floor/ drag stage was crowded with queens, cute boys in wrangler jeans, ball-capped lesbians and all sorts of gyrating, twisting and turning homosexuals that peopled this small tourist town.  Feather boas flounced through the crowd, and cowboy hats bobbed up and down as the mirror ball turned above it all.  It was truly a grand spectacle, and I was so en-tranced with it that mother's "shit" almost escaped my ears.  She was simply full of "shits" on this night. She stopped suddenly and turned around to all of us as if to halt us about something of dire need.  I nearly ran into her since my focus had been on the dance floor and not on our destination.

"That crazy straight lady, Hester, is at MY table," Mother said with open irritation. I altered my focus off of the dance floor and focused on the front table where I saw the back of a silver motorcycle helmet.  The strobes and mirror ball were going simply mad with it, and enough light ricocheted off the glittered helmet to cause some shock to our eyes in the darkness when we looked at it.

"Tell her to move, " I said simply.

"You don't understand................she's crazy, " Mother said, and that excuse didn't mean much to me at all.  Hell, everyone in this town that I'd met had some bit of crazy to them -- especially Mother -- so Mother would have to be a little more vivid in her description of Hester to scare me away, and I didn't really need anyone to tell me the lady was crazy, her motorcyle helmet -- which she wore as her chief fashion accessory -- pretty much announced that by simply being there..........

"Come on," I insisted, and I switched places with Mother and led the group to the table.

Someone had placed together three of those fairy-lit , red-clothed, round tables for us and put a "RESERVED" table tent in the center of it all.  I couldn't help but notice three empty styrofoam bowls with remnants of beanie-weanies, two empty martini glasses and six empty Bud-light bottles in front of Hester on the center table.  Surely, this little, skinny woman had not consumed all of this by herself, I told myself.  I tapped Hester on the shoulder, and she turned around and looked up at me.  One hand held a glad-bag of boiled eggs and the other hand clutched a half consumed egg............yeah, you heard it right.  I had before me the makings of a fart fiesta:  three empty bowls of beanie-weenies, the beer bottles and a bag of boiled eggs.............AND, I simply ignored the omen..the approaching boom........AGAIN.

"Yeah?" Hester asked with a drunk toughness in her voice.  Strawberry blonde strands escaped the bounds of the glittered silver helmet and cascaded down the sides of her face..............BUT her eyeshadow was fabulous....and her eyes had a glint of life that pulled me in...........  I liked her with one glance, and I decided she could join us -- just like that.  Mother could just deal with it.

"I just thought I'd introduce myself since we're going to be joining you at our RESERVED table," and, of course, I stressed "RESERVED" -- which she didn't notice or ignored -- and I reached out my hand to her to shake her hand. She stuffed the rest of the boiled egg she'd held in her right hand into her mouth, and I told her my name and she gave me a closed, but crowded,  mouth smile as she chewed her egg -- that looked a bit more like her cud than an egg since she'd crammed so much into her mouth -- and she reached out and gave me a very firm hand-shake........... The solitaire three-carat diamond on her ring finger caught the strobe for a second forcing me to realize that this woman was eccentric, but she wasn't trashy.   I turned around to the rest of the group and motioned for them to take their seats.  There were plenty of chairs for everyone, and we even had a couple left over.

"Save a seat for Cora," Mother said as she gave me a glare that told me with no words that she was thinking "you don't know what you've gotten us into, girl"........and I read her eyes, but I figured that I could deal with anything.................

Plenty to see

"The crock pot is closed tonight. No more beanie-weenies," Kit suddenly yelled from my back left behind her bar.  Mother and I both turned around to see Kit handing a styrofoam bowl with a plastic spoon standing up in the middle of the bowl over her open condiment tray to a famished queen in his 50s who appeared to be more than delighted that he'd received the final bowl of this frankfurter and fart-manufacturer concoction..........and it was fairly early in the evening.  I was forced to confront the fact that Kit, the lesbian bartender who gloried in her catty references, had sold several bowls of beans........and it was going to be a bumpy night...This was just another omen -- like the bong-show door bell --  that I should have heeded.  "No more beanie-weenies" would serve as my cosmic warning for the night, and I should have turned around and gone back home and hid in my closet right then..............but I didn't.  Later, I wondered if this act of defiance against the Lord's obvious warning would classify as a "tempting the Lord" sin.  However it was classified, the Lord needed to use bigger signs with me apparently, but I'd eventually learn to  listen to the slightest subtleties eventually -- but not on that night.......but there was an aching in my spirit, that told me that things just weren't right in this realm.  The beanie-weanies was just my first clue........there would be others.

"Beans in a gay bar?" I nudged Mother and asked her quizzically.

"Gurl, don't look at me.  It's a new one on me,too. I guess she figures if Paul can make a little on the side with his footlongs, that she can make a little extra cash with her beanie-weenies.................but those things would tear up my stomach," Mother said........and then the reality of the beans struck her -- just as it had struck me when I had nudged her-- , and she realized the full impact the beans would have on the drunken, gay crowd.  Mother Superior looked at me and I raised my eyebrows, and we both doubled over in laughter simultaneously.

"Gurl, these drunk queens are going to be farting all during the show....................and if they take a trick home tonight, he's gonna' get a surprise........I don't guess lesbians think about those things," We both guffawed, and our entire group joined us as we all got up and migrated to the back bar where we were confronted with darkness and disco..........and One Armed Vickie whose appearance was the same as before ( and as always, I'd learn): bra-less in a V-neck Hanes but I did take note that she never wore an ace bandage evidenced by the pendulous pair under her T-shirt that was so worn that it appeared to have been fashioned from cheese cloth...Hmmm, I contemplated, I wondered if she was an example of lesbian fem in Hot Springs.

The whole lesbian thing always perplexed me ((and many lesbians rode the fence which only added to my confusion )), and I didn't always know who was butch or fem.  I wondered if lesbians just knew instinctually what was what and who was who and who was what, like a cat knew when her kittens were hungry, or if they discovered it as they unwrapped the package...or if some alternated roles like many gay men did...It was just all very confusing, and it was another something I added to my "Why I never want to be a lesbian" list........

Of course, like you, I have always wondered and still do just what the butches did in the bedroom and what the fems did too....Was the butch always the licker, and if so, what did they get of out it besides bad breath and chapped lips? Or did they switch it up?  Did the mascuiline one carry her dildo with her at all times just in case they felt a rapid urge of romance/horniness on a secluded mountain trail....and if so, where did she hide it?  It's not like Butches could hide their "dicks" -- as they referred to them -- in their purses, cuz Butches don't carry a purse.....The whole lesbian thing held a certian allure to me, but I was afraid to ask any of them about the details  They get kind of testy sometimes...But, I did have a good fem friend once, and she told me her Butch's dick was purple -- AND it glowed in the dark, and they liked to have anal sex..............HUH?   No, I didn't ask.  I just played along like I knew what she was talking about..and tried not to laugh at the picture in my mind of her shapely lover with tits and a big glow in the dark purple strap-on affixed to her crotch illuminating all manner of her girlfriend's darkness -- front and back....Hell, Angela even told me that she sucked her lover's "dick" sometimes...............HUH?  I just couldn't understand THAT at all...It's not like anyone was feeling anything through this penis prosthesis, and it seemed like a total waste of time and energy to me...Like I said, this lesbian thing made me curious......but not curious enough to watch a lezzie porn...ugh.....I highly doubted they made porns called "Back Door Muffy" anyway..and most gay girls that I knew scoffed at the portrayal of sapphist love on video and swore it was only made to fulfill the perverted fantasies of heterosexual men.  They complained about the long fingernails of the chicks in the movie and swore that could never happen in real life because nails could cut the kitty.....( They also told me that if they were ever out and about and spotted a supposed closet case dyke, they always checked the fingernail on her "fuck finger" -- as they referred to it -- laymen would refer to it as her middle finger.  If that fingernail was long, they supposed her to just be another straight woman with short hair and no make-up, but if that nail was clipped short, they knew she was "family" ............No, I didn't ask questions about "fuck fingers" or "family";  I just took their word for it.  I figured they were the pussy experts.  And, to be quite honest, all that pussy talk always made my stomach a bit queasy.)

Mother led our gorgeous ( except for Boma Jean...oh, she was there..I just can't include her in the gorgeous category) group, and we paused  in front of Vickie's table for a second.

"Gurl, we're not paying tonight.  It's a talent night, and they're always free.  Do you have my table set up?" Mother barked at Vickie in a regal tone.

"Mother.  Your table is where it always is, and I'm just giving out tickets for the drawing, so take your ticket and shut the fuck up.  I don't want your money tonight," One Armed Vickie returned Mother's tone, but added a little lezzie gruffness to it in good humor as she passed out tickets to all of us.  Kerry followed close behind me...a bit too close...and it suddenly struck me then that this boy might as well have been mute, because he'd hardly said anything the whole night...........  Oh well, I shrugged it off, he was for one purpose only.  At least, I didn't have to listen to mindless chatter from him.  Willadean, Mellodean and Boma Jean followed him in that order, and they pointed and giggled at all the sights in the back bar........and you know there was plenty to see.

At my table

Through the murmur of the crowd, I heard the front door buzz.  I probably wouldn't have noticed it at all, but Mother had gained my attention by saying "SHIT".....and then I heard the "meow" from Kit.

"Shit," Mother said to herself again -- louder than before and with enough angst to garner the deans' and Jean's attention along with  Kerry's..........., so we all had to focus our attention on what Mother's eyes had caught parting the crowd of giggling, grimacing, drinking and smoking gays in the bar.    We really didn't know if it was a good shit or a bad shit; we just knew it was a shit in ernest so we had to see what kind of it shit it was.  It turned out to be a shit of wonder.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw feathers.  Big. Pink. Feathers. Partly covered by a black pastic garbage bag, but FEATHERS nonetheless. Ostrich. Chicken..and some poultry that I didn't recognize..all dyed in nipple pink with a Fuschia feather every now and then...... I saw mother bending over slightly and saw one pink-nailed hand pat her on the back.  When she raised up, I saw Shay Shay, the street-walking transy...or at least, I thought it was Shay Shay cause this perfectly coiffed and up-do'ed blonde queen looked like a Las Vegas show-girl.......................and not like the cheap pony-tailed, dark-rooted-in-need-of-a-re-bleach Shay Shay that I had met on the night of  Cora's back seat black-boy-blow-job-debacle.

"Shit, gurl...You really beat your face back tonight," Mother exclaimed. "I've never seen you look so good."

"Miss Mother, I gots to make the rest of  my rent  money TONIGHT, or I won't just be working the street....I'll be living on it.  My land lady told me she wanted the money tomorrow, and her husband died so I can't trade it out in secret BJ's anymore," Shay Shay said with some exasperation and desperation but loud enough for all of us to plainly hear, and then she shifted a little better into my view....and I saw those boobs barely covered by a sheer pink camesole -- so tight I could see the blue in the veins of her nipples....Yeah, it was definitely Shay Shay...the breasts confirmed it...........She continued, "Business has been so damn slow.  The early track guys just aren't wanting to pay for it this year.  Lots of Mexicans..I've had to give steep discounts...20.00 blow jobs....Can you believe that?  And all they want to do is is titty fuck..and I can't get more than 25.00 for that....None of them want to enter my back door, and you know that's where the money is......  Those girls are cheap in Mexico, I guess............I sure hope the big rollers from the track start rolling in soon, or I'm going to starve......... I had to bring  out the big feathers for the show....I hope they help."

"Gurllllllllllll, you must be broke.  I haven't seen you in the show for years. Are you going to do your fan dance?" Mother asked.

"Well, of course, Ma'am" Shay Shay smiled evilly. "Besides the show tips, I thought it might bring me a little advertisement and drum up some business,too"

Mother looked Shay Shay squarely in the face and said with supreme sincerity and seriousness as she pointed her red-nailed index finger directly into  Shay Shay's ample bosom, "Gurl, don't you show your bare titties up in this bar....and especially on this stage.  You can do that kind of dancing at The Revue down the street....We don't do that shit here -- no matter how broke you are."

"Oh, Miss Mother, I'll keep it covered, but I have a little something special planned.............besides...I'm doing the late show at The Revue later tonight.  I need to make 400.00 tonight some way," she laughed nervously.

The dean sisters, Boma Jean, Kerry and I listened intently to the conversation -- and exchanged some raised-eyebrow glances --but we didn't interject anything --  until I suddenly remembered the bottle in my pocket that Cora had given me for Mitzi...and thought this was a good place to change the subject. 

"Is Mitzi here yet?" I asked.

"Yeah.....I seen her carrying in her drag before you got here.  She's backstage," Mother said glumly at the mention of Mitzi's name.

I reached into my pocket and retrieved the "MeltzAway."

"Will you give this to Mitzi?" I asked Shay Shay, and she reached out with her one free hand and quickly snatched the bottle from me..........but she didn't forget to give me a full ogle.

"What's that shit?" Mother asked suspiciously.

"It's that MeltzAway for Mitzi's wig," I clarified.

"Oh that shit? Hell, it'll make her high and crazier than she already is..."Mother laughed as her purse which had drifted to her lower wrist plopped to the floor without Mother even noticing.  I couldn't help but see it plummet, so I lifted myself from my perch and retrieved it for Mother.  She smiled at me and patted her purse as she replaced it at its proper place, and I resumed my seat next to my "date".  I could tell Mother wasn't accostomed to carrying purses -- most drag queen's aren't -- and it would be difficult for her to keep track of it through out the evening.

"It will?" Shay Shay asked curiously as she began to sashay toward the back bar door in a-show's-gonna'-start-in-a-minute hurry. I noticed, as she pranced away, that her bubble butt was barely covered by a pink satin mini, and her feet looked comically large in pink patent-leather pumps.  She was definitely a party of pink on this talent night, and her outfit would have been princess perfect if it weren't for the large run in her pastel pink panty hose that ran all the way down the back of her right leg and disappeared into her  (obviously PayLess) pump.  ( I can't blame the queen for her shoes.  This was before there were actually manufacturers of fashionable lady's shoes in men's sizes.  Drag queens had to settle for ugly size 12s in women's sizes in those days and pray to God that they could squeeze their feet into them.  If you've ever seen an old man with hammer toes, he was probably a drag queen when he was younger who tried to be one of Cinderella's step sisters and make it fit.)

"Smell it, girl.  It smells like poppers to me....Tell Mitzi to only use it on her egg-head...We sure as hell don't need her acting stupid-er" Mother yelled over her shoulder as the music waxed and waned........and Shay Shay disappeared into the noise and strobes behind the door.

Mother stood a little closer to me on my bar stool perch and asked, "Will you be joining me at my table?"

Penelope Jo Gene Plantagenet

For some reason, I thought I needed to explain the whole, sordid, Central sucksation to this cute, Page-boy haired boy with the deep voice.  He listened intently, or appeared to.  I should say that he maintained eye contact, but I did notice his eyes were a bit blood-shot.  He didn't say a word.  Didn't even nod or say "uh-huh".  He just looked into my eyes.  After I finished my story and basically had pled my case to him, he reached down the bar and snatched a small piece of paper and a mini-pencil from a small rocks glass that contained several of those slips of paper and nubby pencils.  With a little effort, he grasped the tiny No.2 between his thumb and forefinger and scrawled something onto the paper that he handed to me. The business-card sized piece of yellow paper read:

TRICK CARD
Name:  Kerry
Phone: 501 555 1234

Nice penmanship, I thought to myself.  I had to speculate why so many gay guys had lavish, beautiful hand-writing and mine was akin to medical scribbles..........You really can't tell how a man butters his bread by his handwriting, and I was a testament to that.  And this boy could have modeled for Land's End with his tight thin body and trendy hair, and that deep, gruff voice, and no one would have even suspected that he was gay................but he wrote like a girl -- all curly cue and pretty.......and LEGIBLE.

"How about dinner?" he asked bluntly with no trepidation in his voice whatsoever, then he brushed a wisp of sandy-brown hair away from his eyes.

"Huh????" I stammered because I was a bit surprised.  I'd just met him...literally had just sat down next to him and spilled the whole story about the drag queen degenerates that I called friends and he'd asked me out.  Wonders never ceased to amaze me.  If I'd heard the same story from someone, I would have excused myself politely......What the hell did he want from me? (( and I'd ask myself that question often in Hot Springs ))..........but he was kinda cute, and I didn't know where this Bart thing was going.  I had also told myself that I needed to seek other friends away from the queenly roundtable, and I didn't want to sit alone at home on my days off........

"I don't have any plans tomorrow night," I said quickly...a little too quickly, I thought to myself because history had taught me that NO ONE wants what he can easily have.  Everyone likes to work for it.  If it is too easy, it's not worth it...........maybe that is why I was wanting Bart now and not before...He was just too easy, at first.  Maybe I liked working for it, too. I decided to take Scarlett's advice and think about that later, and got my head back into this ballgame.

"Neither do I.  Dinner and a movie?" he asked.  I was even more surprised.  I hadn't had a real date since I'd left Spain, and I was beginning to think that these gays in Arkansas only slept with each other...and maybe had breakfast at Waffle House the next morning and simply called it a date to preserve decorum.

"Sure...." I said slowly knowing full well that I'd have to cancel the tentative plans that I'd made with my sister the day she knocked on the door and Bart's undies were on my kitchen Naugahyde.....which seemed so long ago, and only a little over a week had lapsed........

"Call me tomorrow, and we'll set up a time." he said confidently, and Kerry pulled his bar stool closer to mine.  Music waxed, then waned from the back room and the already crowded front bar became a little bit more crowded as Mother wafted in the room in full drag and GIANT sunglasses with a gorgeous beaded art-deco inspired purse dangling from her arm.  The purse made the outfit.  It was about the size of a long business-sized envelope, skinny and sleek with gold, silver and black bugle beads.  Miss Superior was followed close behind by two matching chicklets and a straggler.  Mother and the chicklets looked like one of those ensemble groups from the 60s with matching sequined cocktails dresses...They could have been a caucasian version of Martha and the Vandellas with dime store white-rimmed goggle-sized sunglasses.  I thought to myself that they must be going to do a number in the show as they sidled up beside Kerry and me.  The straggler didn't match them at all; she looked like a misplaced lesbian with scraggly shoulder-length mud brown hair, but she didn't wear a T-shirt or Ace bandage around her ample bust, so my curiosity was piqued about her. 

"This is Mellodean and Willadean," Mother said to me as she waved her hands over the girls like Vanna White framed her letters on "Wheel of Fortune" right before she turned them........"And that is their cousin, Boma Jean" and she waved over Miss Muddy Brown like she had a magic wand in both hands.....but her "that" told me that she didn't hold the straggler in high regard...........and I had to wonder if Miss Muddy Brown had noticed the slight, but something told me by the way she smiled through her discolored teeth, that she'd completely missed it.............

I hadn't forgotten my Oklahoma manners even though I wasn't pleased to see Mother, but she, like Cora, was behaving  as if nothing had happened.....so I played along thinking to myself that might be the way they do things down here in the South as if they swept confrontation and controversy under the rug like it had never been...............(( I'd learn that they handled "family matters" privately, but all would look sunny and unruffled to the rest of the world.  Apparently, I'd been baptized into this wacky family, and no one had told me.)).   I knew damn well that Mother wore those sunglasses to disguise the redness and puffiness the Mace caused around her eyes, and she'd wanted to hide it so badly that she'd talked two twin girlfriends of hers into donning the ridiculous eyewear in this darkened, smoke filled bar, too...Their dresses looked new, too.  I wondered if they'd hid the tags so they could take them back to Dillard's tomorrow -- which wasn't an usual occurrence among  drag queens.  Sometimes, you'd see them onstage and a price tag would poke out suddenly, and they'd look all glamorous except for the Minnie Pearl tag dangling from their armpit............but I played along and pretended like I hadn't read Mother to filth for being naughty just a couple days prior.........................and I shook the hands of all three girls and muttered "my pleasure" to each of them.....and I gave mother a tiny peck on the cheek as she bent over and gave me a welcome hug.....  As a gesture of politeness, I introduced Kerry to this fab 4 and even pretended that he and I hadn't just met.

"Oh yes, I know Kerry," Mother condescended sweetly.  "Do you want to borrow my sunglasses,honey?  Does this smoke bother your eyes or somethin'?"

"I'm fine," Kerry said and looked down as he dangled his legs off the bar stool.   I decided to overtake the conversation before Mother scared away my future date because I had every intention of clinging onto him the entire night if for no other reason than to squelch any rumors that Mother might have generated about her supposed romance with me that only existed in her mind.  I had a sneaking suspicion that many people thought that Mother and I were an item, and I suspected that Mother wanted them to think that.  Since she'd accosted Bart and attacked him, I also thought that perhaps Mother had misinterpreted our friendly evenings out as more than just friendly.  I needed to define our relationship as friends not only for any onlookers -- and there were many in this town unbeknownst to me -- but also to Mother, herself.  The bar was full tonight, and there would be no better way to end any speculation about the type of relationship I had with Mother than by being attentive to another guy with Mother standing or sitting right beside me.....(( Okay...I was using this boy, but haven't you done something similar before?))

"So are you all in the show, tonight?" I asked innocently although I thought it would be odd for two real girls to accompany a drag queen on stage, but I'd learned that nothing about this town and gay community surprised me.....and that feeling would be tested in the conversation to come.

"Oh no," one of the twins chimed. "We came to see our cousin perform."

"Oh, your cousin is a drag queen?" I asked and met the eyes of Boma Jean ( Miss Muddy Brown). "What's his drag name?"

"No...well, technically yes, but he's a crossdresser.  He's not gay," she responded.

I was a little confused by most of her statement, so I just had to dissect it...word by word.  Mother and the chicklets gathered closer to us and all four of them surrounded Kerry and me as we faced them with our backs to the bar. Kit still mixed drinks behind me, buzzed patrons in willy-nilly.....and "meowed".  Wife-beatered lesbians clanked pool balls in the next room, and all manner of gay cliques ( drugstore cowboys, bopping-blacks, couple claches, twink gaggles...etc..) peopled the fairy-lit bar tables around us as they puffed on cigarettes, sipped their drinks and gossipped about everyone...and I noticed a few of them looked at our group and whispered amongst themselves so I knew that I was a part of their gossip; The juke box still played Reba or Whitney or Bette, but it all faded into the background, and our world temporarily became our conversation. Everything else faded to background noise.

"What do you mean? 'No, technically yes'" I asked with a strange look on my face because this girl was just not making any sense whatsoever.  I'd eventually get to the crossdresser part, but there was something else just as interesting (( and Arkansan )) lurking behind her mysterious response.  All of us looked at her.  I noticed the twins lowered their sunglasses just a bit (( and their eyeshadow was impeccable.  I even suspected that they must have had drag queen make-up schooling )) and peered over the rims at their cousin.  Mother Superior looked over the heads of the chicklets as if she was bored, or didn't want to include Boma Jean in our world.

Boma Jean giggled a little,"Well...he is my cousin....but...we've been married for a long time, too," she paused for a second. "We've just been cousins longer."

"You married your cousin?" I asked...slow and drawn out...but tried not to act surprised (( but you know, I don't think I'd win the Oscar with that performance )).

"Well....It's my second marriage, but it was just meant to be.  I've loved him since I was four and he was six, and we used to play Gilligan's Island......I was always Mary Ann, and he was The Professor," she said very innocently and naively.  Okay, I'd say that she sounded like a ding-bat....and I could tell that a turd-ball bug had more sense than she had...but I don't want you to think I'm too bitchy.  (( It's just the truth.  The bitch was stupid.))

"Is that legal?" I just had to get to the bottom of this.

"Well, I had a different last name cuz I'd been married before...and no one asked us any questions, so I guess so." she continued to fill me in with no notice of the look on my face, cuz I just can't hide it when I hear some things, and this was one of those times. Mother released a slow sigh and Kerry and the chicklets didn't seem to notice anything unusual about the situation.....or the conversation.  But, I was keenly interested.  Boma Jean was the first, real, live hillbilly that I'd ever met, and she had the credentials to prove it:  she'd married her cousin.

"A different last name?" I delved a little deeper and then asked Kit for a double shot of Goose to add to my cranberry spritzer.  I didn't think a couple shots would matter because I was going to be here for awhile, and I needed the shots just like Mother Superior needed her double cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper, but Mother stood undrinked, so I assumed she must have already heard this story.

"Yes......"she paused and a look passed over her face as if she didn't know whether she should continue, but she did anyway. "Our daddys are brothers so we had the same last name.  So....I guess.....I got to keep my maiden name after all." Boma Jean spoke naively with virginal white honesty, and Kit wasted no time adding the vodka to my spritzer (( probably because I tipped damn good...and  she gave me a 10 count directly from the bottle....of course, I counted the pour, and  tipped accordingly because -- for those of you who don't know how to bartend -- she'd given me at least three shots with her pour......)) and I quickly took a big gulp of my drink...........and then I took another.....and another until I'd ingested about half of my drink.  It didn't take long for the warmth of the Greygoose to spread through out my body and limbs. 

"Well....." I said and not knowing exactly what to say at the moment I asked, "What is your last name?"

"Plantagenet." she said flatly while still maintaining her second grade innocence.

"Boma Jean Plantagenet....what a name," I let eek out before I thought, and I took another gulp. "And Boma Jean, your husband is a drag queen?"

She looked at her other cousins -- Willadean and Mellodean, who I assumed were also the blood cousins of her husband.

"No," Mellodean interjected. "He is a crossdresser. He ain't no drag queen.  Drag queens are gay. Joseph Eugene has always been good at fashion, hair and make-up.....See?" she said as she removed her sunglasses and ran her fingers through her long blonde hair.  "He even did our eyes for us tonight....BUT...he's not gay.  He just likes to play dress up every now and then.  That's how we met Mother....at his very first show." Willadean and Mellodean were good looking women, and the boob and hip gene must have run in the family cuz all of these girls were built the same way.  They were a bit pear-shaped, heavier at the bottom than most pears, but shapely and they had beautiful faces which I hadn't noticed completely until Mellodean had removed her glasses. Boma Jean had received the same body chromosomes, but the Lord had passed over her in the hair and face departments...bless her heart -- I blamed it on her Mama's side of the family...But......I was curious to see Jo Gene.........both in and out of drag. The cousins were the children of three brothers, and I had to admire that these cousins and the cousin/spouse had come out to support their kin  -- which is something that would never happen in my family.

"Oh....yeah." I said in that I-can't-believe-I'm-hearing-this-crap-I've-got-to-be-in-Alice-In-Wonderland-way, and looked over at Mother with the same look in my eyes, and remembered that I much preferred to be in Wonderland than in motherfruit Jungle...........at least dicks didn't land willy-nilly on car windows in Wonderland.

Mother looked at me quickly and mumbled quietly to me,"I'll tell you later," and then she looked above us all again and continued to look around the bar uncomfortably as she pulled her beaded envelope bag closer to her because it had dangled down her wrist.  That purse would be a constant bother to her all night long, but it did set off her outfit to a T. People continued to be buzzed in, and the music waxed and waned as people  left the front bar to enter the back bar to get seats for the approaching drag show.  By that time, I'd completely forgotten that I was mad at Mother, and had decided that I'd overreacted.(( I'm sure the Goose helped a little))....I'd just remember to always drive my own car in the future.  Kerry slid his hand onto my thigh, and I jerked a little out of shock, but I didn't move his hand.

"So, we have Mellodean, Willadean, Jo Gene and Boma Jean," I stated the obvious and looked at Kerry and smiled at him with the same look I'd given Mother....and patted his hand.  He returned my look with a red-eye blank stare. "Ya'll sure like that "ene" sound, down here in Arkansas." I chuckled a bit, and they all joined me.

"We sure do.  Our Daddy's name is Dean.  Jo Gene's  daddy is named  Eugene and Boma Jean's daddy is Bojene.." and then Willadean paused for a minute -- for effect, I gathered, "And our granny was the original Jolene -- which just happens to be Jo Gene's favorite song......You know, Dolly Parton's big hit...but Granny was Jolene before Dolly came along...........and she didn't steal no man."

I cleared my throat to squelch a laugh because I thought Willadean was exaggerating a bit, and I expected the family and Mother to laugh, but no one did.  Willadean had delivered her family name history in total seriousness.  It was all a little unbelievable to me, but I was in the South.........and in wonderland.  Kerry did squeeze my thigh so I knew that he, at least, had found the whole thing as odd as I did.  He was just minding his Southern manners by remaining silent, I thought.  Mother checked in and out of the conversation with her eyes for a second or two and then went right back to scanning the crowd.  I thought that she was being terribly aloof and quiet, which was strange for her, but I chalked it up to being uncomfortable in my presence because of our previous argument.........and I knew she wondered if I was aware of the street fight she'd had with Bart and the mace.....but I'd keep her guessing and never allude to it this night.

"What is Jo Gene's drag name," I just had to ask after my mind sorted out all of the ene's in this family, and something told me that Boma Jean and Jo Gene were not the first cousins to marry in this close -- very close -- knit clan.

Mellodean regally declared her straight cousin's drag name with perfect poetic alliteration "Penelope Jo Gene Plantagenet."