A Virgin Pina Colada with a splash of Dr. Pepper and a Pink Parasol

As I drove to her abode in my Cayman green Ford Ranger, I tried to figure out why Mother was so insistent on where I parked.  She told me three or four times to park directly in front of her light lavendar (( yeah, for real )) stucco duplex....and then she told me that SHE'D be driving to Acapulco's. I finally gave up trying to figure out her reasoning on this one and decided to just give in.  Hell, she even told me to make sure that I parked where the sidewalk ended.............?

I followed her directions to the T.  My feet hit the sidewalk like I was walking on red carpet and I strolled to her front porch.  It was really just a glorified stoop, but she'd crammed everything she could into that small space.  As I walked up the three steps to her stoop, I was greeted with a white wicker love seat, a 3 shelved rack with multiple colored geraniums filling every shelf, and a white cement shabby chic lion in the corner.  I swear she had to use lube to fit it all in.  I doubted how comfortable anyone would feel with all that stuff surrounding them as I rang the door bell.  It was one of those LOUD doorbells, too, --  that didn't ring, but rather BONGED like The Gong Show.  For some strange reason, I found that to be ironic and wondered if it was an omen for things to come that evening.

Suddenly, she was outside with me on that dinky stoopy porch.  She'd come out the door so fast, that I didnt' even get a chance for a peak inside.  You KNOW, I hated that.  Now, it doesn't matter to me what someone has or how expensive their possessions are, but I do like to see their taste.  It tells a lot about someone (( we won't talk about my up-the-wall-carpet apartment cuz I didn't decorate it )).  You don't have to be rich to have good taste, and you don't have to have ugly things cuz you are poor (( some of my best finds were discovered for a quarter at a yard sale )).  Anyway, my glimpse into her personality would have to wait until another time.  She told me to get into the passenger side of her car and stressed that I didn't light up -- which kind of pissed me off that someone would think I'd be so rude as to smoke a cigarette in his or her car without  permission.  Puhlease, I'm from Oklahoma.  We DO have manners.

Did I say car? Hmmm...Well, I should have said tank, cuz it was one of those BIG old gas guzzling Oldsmobiles with a shiny white exterior and funny blue fabric interiors.  I don't know how old it was, and it would have been rude for me to ask, but it certainly wasn't from the nineties, but it was immaculately clean inside and out.  The odometer was just a little over 5,000 which gave me the impression that it had either turned over once or that Mother didn't drive much..........When we finally got inside the car and shut our doors, I had the chance to look over at her.  Her was a him, now, but she still felt like a her.  Oh, he was dressed like a guy.  He had kind of a Garanimal style -- dark brown boat shoes,light khakis and a short sleeved plaid shirt.  It just kind of looked liked he paired the tags together to figure out what matched...I'd find out, eventually, that I wasn't too far off base....  I know his attire  sounds pretty subdued for a flashy drag queen, but that is the way he always dressed, I'd find out.  I guess he saved all of the flash and glitz for the stage because there was nothing about his boy clothing that revealed he was gay much less a lady of the gay night. Of course, there was the black and blue bump on his head which I surmised must be the left-overs of the bar pole bang, but he also had some scratches on his cheek.  Hmm..maybe he has a cat, I thought.  He backed out of the drive-way and the radio went up full blast.  I looked over at him with disapproval, and he instantly reached over and turned down the music.

"Do you like Mexican?" he asked.

I just gave him a look like he was the stupidest person on Earth, and he started to guffaw.

"Oh, that's right.  I guess you eat it all the time...hehehe.  Honey, I just love Acapulco's, and it's much more Americanized than that place you work.  Besides, they have dollar margarita's on Tuesday nights..."

"I didn't think you drank," I offered.

"I don't.  I thought you might want to have a drink.  That's why I offered to drive.  I heard that you are very careful about drinking and driving."

Hmmm...This IS a small town, I thought to myself.

"I never drink and drive because my cousin was killed by a drunk driver the day after Thanksgiving 5 years ago...."I trailed off into thought.  Melissa and her cheering buddy and friend, Mona, were headed back to my hometown after a day of shopping on the busiest shopping day of the year.  A drunk driver crossed the center line and murdered Melissa that day.  Mona was badly hurt, but she recovered eventually.  Yes, Melissa was my cousin, but she wasn't just my cousin.  You see, My dad and his brother are twins.  My cousins lived down the road from us, and we were very literally raised together, spent our summers together, attended the same church together, went fishing together....you get the picture  She was more like my sister than my cousin, and she was also my friend.  However, Melissa is the one who let the cat out of the bag and then all hell broke loose -- just a few months before she died.  Melissa had seen me together with my first boyfriend, and I guess she could tell by the way we were interacting that we were more than friends.  Instead of asking me about it, she went home and told her parents of her supposition.  Hell, it was the summer of my freshman year in college, and she was a year older.  It wasn't like we were kids.  Of course, her mother -- being a Godly hairdresser --  had to tell the whole damn town, and my dad's twin had to tell him.  NO ONE BOTHERED TO ASK ME.  Then my grandma, before she completely forgot me,  had to stick her nose in it all, and by Christmas, my parents had disenrolled me from college, quit my job for me, and moved me home...and that all happened in one day.  To say the least, things went down hill from there....and no, I don't drink and drive because of Melissa....and I didn't talk to her again after she confessed for me either. Heck, I lost my entire family because of a supposition.  For a long time, I placed the fault at Melissa's feet; it would take me years to realize that she'd only relayed the story to my family because she cared about me through a narrow-minded, Christian heart.........

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mother said just like everyone always says in those type of sitations but never really means.

"I'm sorry for many things, " I said a little too thoughtfully.

"Well, you can have fun tonight, " Mother said as she tried to lighten the mood. "You can be Cooter Brown if you want cuz I'm driving," Mother laughed as she slapped me on my knee and guffawed.

I didn't really know who this Cooter Brown was, but it sounded kind of nasty.

"Uh, well, I'll just be me, thanks," I said and the conversation kind of ended for a bit cuz I reached over and turned up the radio and tried to shield myself from the discomfort that was slowly creeping up my back.

Acapulco's was on Ouachita which was only a few blocks away from Mother's duplex, so we were parallel parking within a few minutes after leaving her place.  When we got inside, it didn't really feel like a Mexican restaurant.  Actually, it was pretty nice inside.  The ceilings were HIGH and the perimeter of the building was double decker glass.  There were so many tropical plants in this place that I almost expected to see Parrots looming on their branches.  We took a booth in the Ouachita window and faced each other, and I finally got a good look at him.  Hmmm...kinda' Donald Trumpish with better -- but not much -- hair AND he not only had the bruise and scratch on the right side of his face, but his left eye looked a little swollen, too.  I couldn't contain my surprise.

"What happened? I asked with that begging tone in my voice that pretty much signalled that I wanted to hear all the dirt.

Suddenly, a well-built blonde American waiter was beside us, and I ordered a dollar Margarita on the rox (( you can drink Rox Margaritas much quicker than those frozen brain-freeze sissy Margs )). The waiter looked at mother, smiled broadly and THEY said in unison:

"A Virgin Pina Colada with a splash of Dr. Pepper and a pink parasol." as they both giggled and laughed.

Acapulco's

A whirlwind is the only way to describe those next few days.  They came and went, and I survived.  My wallet was a bit heavier, but my ass was dragging.  If I had to smile at one more disgruntled -- but spirited in Christmas -- holiday shopper, I swear I would have been sent to Hell instantly for lying.  Trust me, my smiles were not sincere, and it is so hard for me to fake my feelings even now.  My facial expression usually tell people my thoughts LONG before my tongue confirms it.

Tuesday had finally arrived.  It was a much deserved day off from work and from being fake.  I needed to let my hair down in a big way, so I was looking forward to dining with Mother -- not to mention the fact that I was terribly lonely, and I needed a friend.  Besides work on the holiday weekend, the only real human interaction I'd had was banging on my shag carpet walls to tell my neighbor to keep his bedroom somersaults to a civilized level.   I never figured out what he was doing over there, but I heard every hiss and pant.  The carpet wasn't working as decor, nor was it working as a sound barrier.  From the sounds being produced, I deducted that he was neither homosexual nor heterosexual. To this day,  I really don't know what kind of sexual he was, but he could have been featured on Wild Kingdom and no one would have doubted that he certainly belonged in the jungle.  I never really met him formally, and I never even knew his real name.  To myself, I called him George...George of the jungle.  He was Arkie cute, even. You know the type: broad shouldered, his main fashion statement was his ball cap with an ad of the local gas station printed on it, and nice-fitting faded jeans.  I kind of wished he played on my team, but I was afraid to play on his ball field -- even as a visitor. I never saw anyone entering or leaving his apartment, and not all of the noises sounded human...It is just one of those mysteries that I'll never know until I get to Glory.  I think I'll have to ask the Lord for a replay of just what was going on over there, but I'm not sure if he'll show those unheavenly parts, but he might just whisper it in my ear.

As you can see, I was so bored and lonely that I was spending my idle time trying to figure out what my neighbor was doing, and I was imagining every type of creature  possible responsible for those noises, so I needed an escape......So, I called Mother.

"Yes, doll, I'd be happy to go to dinner with you," she said when I called her.  She said it in a strange way, and her voice was different.  Yeah, it was still sweet and nice and all that, but there was a little something extra.  She told me to meet her at her duplex which was on Morrison street just a block off of Central.  Now, Morrison street, it turns out, was the gay ghetto at that time in the Spa City.  Several gay people lived in that neighborhood.  I suggested that we just meet at a restaurant, but she was determined for me to meet her at her place, so , of course, I agreed.  She did specify that we would be eating at Acapulco's.

Feliz Navidad

It was the day after Thanksgiving.  The biggest retail day of the year, and you would know that I'd be slaving in a Mexican restaurant in a damn mall.  To say that day was busy would be accurate, but it just wasn't that day. It was the whole weekend.  Thankfully, we only saw mothers and aunts and grandmas during the first rush at Christmas.  They'd left the brats at home with the beer drinking dads and uncles and grandpas.  ( By the way, I loved children til I waited tables.  Side note to mothers:  Order for your whiney kid in a Mexican restaurant.  If you dont' speak Spanish, your brat sure as hell doesn't AND keep your kid tied to a chair if you have to.  Those huge trays that waiters carry full of food tend to squash those tiny precious tykes because we can't see them when they are crawling around on the floor because our arms are full of hot tamales and fluffy green taco salads on trays bigger than ur kid that block our view of your brat. )  Anyway, at least early Christmas shoppers left the sweet little booger-eaters at home.

This was an Americanized version of a Mexican restaurant with American waiters and management.  The only real Mexicans we had at the time washed dishes and made salads.  A big black girl named Janet (( with 5 little girls and a toothpick sized husband who used to beat her )) was the main cook; her sidekick, Skurbin -- an anorexic white kid with acne issues -- kept the queso flowing and the salad girls were a pair of Guatemalan sisters sans green cards who made me very thankful that I spoke Spanish cuz if I hadn't, my customers would have received whatever the Guat girls wanted to prepare. (( and the other servers had to contend with that ))  It was a full service restaurant with a bar and a beautiful Bartendress and a not-too-shabby-to-look-at Bartender -- both of American descent.  This particular restaurant was part of a chain that was owned by a horseman who had hit it big, made some money, had an affair with his Mexican housekeeper and decided to invest in refried beans after the divorce and new marriage.  WHITE TRASH flashed above his 10 gallon cowboy hat in golden neon in my mind every time I saw the rude drunk, and I can't print what I thought of his former housekeeper turned Queen of Refrieds.  I usually just avoided his table and presence on his trips to Hot Springs.  Thankfully, he was only usually in town during holidays and racing season.  He had this idea that he was somehow KING of everything when he walked into the restaurant, and he expected everyone to wait on him hand and foot for free. (( IF YOU OWN A RESTAURANT, TIP YOUR EMPLOYEES.  They are not your slaves.  Slavery was abolished in this country in the 1860's.  If you are not from this country, perhaps it would be better if you learned a bit about our history and laws before you bought a business.  You might save yourself a lot of money in lawyers fees and legal settlements.  Believe it or not, most of your waiters are probably more educated than you are, and they would love to sue your ass and watch you be humbled because of the way you treat them. ))  I always felt like the wife was worse, but that is probably because I spoke Spanish and fully understood the vile things that flowed from her mouth.  I needed the job, so I kept my mouth shut...for awhile.

Anyway, so you get the idea of the type of place I worked in.  For awhile, I was the only gay person who worked there, and I kept it under my skirt for as long as I could because I was afraid of rejection, and I was afraid of losing my job.  (( Yeah, they can fire you for being gay here, and it does happen )).....but little by little....co-workers began to take notice that I showered regularly, gelled my hair and even wore colonge..Oh yeah, and there was one more BIG give away.  I spoke proper English.  All of those things are gay give-aways in Arkansas.  Let's face it, I would have looked like a fool if  I had denied it, and I would have been a liar.  So, I finally gave-in to their their subtle hints, but I waited for as long as I could. You see, I learned a long time ago that it is best to let people know you as a person BEFORE you let them stick a label on you, otherwise, you become JUST like the other gay people they knew.  AND, in this town, that wasn't always a good thing.........I am not like the other gay people they knew.  I am not like any other person they knew.  I was me and there is only one me, and I didn't have any problems being me...BUT..I'd have a problem being like the other gay people you knew.

  My fears of losing my job vanished after I'd been there for a few days because these servers sucked, and it didn't take long to become the best damn ( and most requested ) waiter there -- even though I'd never done it before but had lied and said I had to get the job.  How hard is to wait tables, I thought? Well, it wasn't hard for me, but it was apparently hard for many people.  The turn over was unbelievable: one drunk after another walked in the door and walked or ran just as quickly out.   I do have to say that you have to use many skills to be a good server, and it can be a difficult job if you are an idiot. 

During the Christmas holidays, carols played from the speakers through out the mall, but in the restaurant it was even better than that.  We heard Spanish Christmas carols all day and all night for 29 days.  The same carols over and over and over in Spanish, and I don't mean they were American carols with only Spanish words.  Oh hell no.  They have their own Spanish carols, and while I am all for multiculturalism, hearing "Felize Navidad" 27 times a day for 29 days in a row can wear on a person.  At first, it was fun and interesting to hear these lovely mariachis sing over the loud speakers about the day of our Lord's birth, but by the end of the day, trust me, you were hoping for Easter so someone would kill those damn songs so you'd never have to hear them again.

If there is one phrase that I never want to hear at Christmastime, now..it is FELIZ NAVIDAD.

Shag Carpet on the Walls

I escaped the bar without mishap and pondered this new and interesting culture on my way back to my apartment.  Previously, I had attended gay bars in Oklahoma, Texas and the Catalonia region of Spain.  All of those bars were similar, strangely.  They were all huge impersonal discos with some differences.  In some Oklahoma bars, the boys two-stepped arm in arm, and in Spain the boys did a traditional partner dance, as well.  One of the guys would even wear a pseudo Mantilla in Spain, that was unique and interesting and an OBVIOUS cultural difference, but even with those differences the bars in Spain, Oklahoma and Texas were more similar than this bar in Arkansas. 

Gays use bars for different reasons.  Some go to bars to dance, drink and have a good time.  Some go to find a partner either for the night or for longer.  But, some go simply for the sense of community.  They can go to their safe place in the world where they think everyone is like them, and they think they don't have to worry about being harrassed.  However, even in those gay bars, there are still major differences among people.  There are druggies, alcoholics, sex addicts, lonely hearts, rich, poor, attractive, thin, overweight, muscular, drag queens, transies, liars, thieves, uglies, religious, agnostic,  and the list can go on and on.  The only similarity among gays is their sexuality, and that is not always a unifying factor. Good Lord, the majority of the world is heterosexual, and the commonality of a shared sexual preference certainly wasn't enough to prevent world wars.  One couldn't expect gays to get along simply because they were attracted to similar things.  Most gay bars seemed shallow and impersonal BUT, in this bar, it was different.  I couldn't put my finger on it just yet, but it felt strangely, overwhelmingly different from the bars I had attended before.  My initial feeling was down-home and without pretense. 

I didn't know how to feel there.  I didn't know if I liked it.  I had met some people I liked, and I had met some people who I definitely would not morn  if they were struck by a car tonight.  The strange thing about it was that I had met some people who I actually liked.  Yeah, I'm a total bitch.  I don't like most people in the world, and I don't really care if they like me or not.  I have never been a people pleaser. 

When I pulled up to my apartment, there I was alone.  I'm sure my family had a wonderful Thanksgiving with all the trimmings.  I'd had a turkey hot dog, but I liked it, and I didn't miss the family crap at all.  It was just so much easier being removed from it.  I didn't have to pretend.  I didn't have to watch what I said.  I didn't have to pretend not to see scornful eyes.  I could just be me. 

I opened the door to my apartment and told myself that this place would just be temporary.  I'd rented it furnished because I'd sold everything I owned to go to Spain.  I didn't regret selling it, but looking around at this place certainly gave me motivation to work hard, save my money and get out of here.  The furniture was very Monday Night Auction.  The couch had this velvet feel to it that felt like sandpaper when it rubbed against my skin.  Printed into the scratchy velvet in oranges, yellows and browns was some country scene with covered wagons, grist mills, cows and pioneer women.  It looked more like a poster from Wool-a-roc than it did a print for a sofa.  One arm chair matched and the other was red Nogahide with silver duct tape to cover gaping rips.  The coffee and end tables matched, but that was not a compliment.  They were light plasti-wood, but I'd never have to pollish it, and I certainly didn't have to worry about any spills.  And that completed the decor in the living room.  The kitchen had a brown formica topped table with 3 unmatched chairs with that same silver duct tape on the nogahide seats.  The bedroom simply had a full size bed frame..and that was it.  That was the whole of my furnished apartment in beautiful Hot Springs, Arkansas.  Oh, I forgot one thing.  The walls and the floors had a lot in common.  They were all covered with 1970's drab olive green shag carpet.  Yes, really, I am gay.  I know it doesn't sound like it by the description of my abode, but I was not responsible for the decor of this aparment, and I certainly wasn't responsible for the shag carpet on the walls.

Double Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper on the Rox

The music waxed then waned, so I knew that someone had come through the back door.  I dabbed my face a little with a bev nap just in case there was an errant drip of mustard somewhere on my face and turned my head a bit to see Mother walking briskly toward the corner of the bar.  Sonny didn't seem to notice that a drag queen was almost in our presence, and by now, he'd finished with his Thanksgiving hot dog and had been giving me the soliloquy about his life.  It didn't take me long to figure out that he really enjoyed talking about himself and his myriad accomplishments.......We were setting a couple of bar stools from the corner, but the front bar was kind of empty now since the show had started, and it was relatively quiet in there.  We really had good seats for the upcoming conversation.  I'd learn that the corner seat at the bar was the best seat in the house to hear about all the local drama.  I'd sit there a lot in the days to come.

"Cherry....I need a Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper on the rox, please.  Fiona is driving me crazy, gurl.  I had to get away from her for a minute before I killed her, OOOH! "Mother said all at once.  ((I only added the commas and periods to be nice because she said it so fast that there were no pauses anywhere in her speech.))

"Well, Mother, just calm down and tell me what's going on, " Cherry consoled as she made Mother a drink.  I had a feeling that this scene had been reenacted many times over the years.

Sonny didn't seem to notice or care that something much more exciting than hearing about his piano-playing life was going on over my right shoulder.  He just kept telling me about his musical tours, and I could tell that he was trying to make himself sound like a big deal.  All the stories sounded the same; only the names of the venues changed.  Yes, I said he was a nice person, but nice people can still be very self-impressed and that was an understatement in his case.  I swear, I might as well have been a giant ear as far as he was concerned, or he just didn't understand that a conversation involved two people.  Well, it wasn't like I really wanted to get an edgewise word in.  I kind of wanted to escape. I was trying to be polite, but he was boring me to tears.  Of course, any on-looker would see me smiling and nodding where appropriate, but if there'd been a mind reader within 100 miles, they'd know I just wanted to crawl away.

"She's gonna' do one of my songs.  I heard her whisper it to Bungee when she handed him her tapes," Mother said in total outrage.  "Those girls just don't understand that we don't do that here.  I tried to explain to her nicely that we all have our own repertoire down here and that once a girl does a song here, NO ONE else can do that number."

"What did she say?" Cherry was very interested now.

"That was my second tour in Vegas," Sonny said a bit louder and chuckled a little bit.  He was probably noticing that I'd shifted from facing him in my chair to facing the bar, so he tried to recapture my attention with volume.  It didn't work.  I was really good at eavesdropping, and I'd closed his eave, but I was still being polite..................... and listening to every word of the other conversation.

"Oh gurl, she didn't say a word.  She just kept cutting EVIL glances at her lover, Miss Dixie, out of the corner of her eye.  Lord, I hate her, too.  The days those bitches moved to this town  was the worst day of my life, " Mother said with a heavy dose of feigned self pity and exaggeration.  Her hands were all a twitter, too.  If you had tied them down, she wouldn't have been able to talk.  She ended her phrase by patting the bar with both hands, ( for effect, I guess ). And then she started up again...

"But, I'll ride those bitches out of here.  They don't know me.  They only know the sweet Mother, but they don't know the real me.  I'm crazy; I'm the craziest bitch they ever met!" Mother got really loud, and she raised one hand up in the air on "met".

"Yes, girl, we know," Cherry laughed and tried to lighten the mood.

"If I hear Joey Heatherton's version of "Crazy" coming out of that back bar," Mother said through pursed lips as she leaned  over a little toward Cherry and enunciated every word. " I'll go back there and yank that bitch's wig off of her head and shove it down her throat.  Mark my words!!! She'll wish that wig was made out of lettuce when I'm done with her! "Mother kept getting madder and madder, and louder and LOUDER as she spoke.  I thought she'd come out here to vent to Cherry to calm down, but it wasn't working.

"Mother are you Catholic?" I interjected.

"Well, hell no.  I'm a Baptist!" she turned to me with a look of surprise.

"What?" Cherry asked with a laugh and a lilt that also intimated "where did that come from?" without saying it.

"Well, her name is Mother Superior, and she kind of appears to run things around here, so the only rational reason for her drag name would have to do with Catholicism," I explained.......  AND, I'm not stupid.....  I was killing two birds with one stone.  I was hoping if I got involved in conversation with the truly interesting people on my right side that the one who was boring me to tears on my left side would shut up.  I was also changing the subject and getting Mother's mind off of Fiona Fontaine.

"Well, honey, I'm not Catholic, " the volume of Mother's voice was beginning to decline as she walked over by me. "My Mama was a good Baptist woman," he said.

Being a gentleman ( and just a tad bit manipulative ), I pulled the bar stool out next to me and motioned with my hand for Mother to take a seat.

"There's such a thing as a good Baptist?" I said with a snarl on my lips.

Mother laughed a bit and said, "Now, don't be bitchy about Baptists, gurl."

"I'm not a gurl," I was quick to define myself and then I quickly said, "So, how did you come up with your drag name?"

"Oh honey, Tuna named me.  I've just always been Mother Superior.  I don't know how she came up with it, and you didn't ask Tuna questions like that. No, no..not Miss Tuna.  You just didn't do that," Mother said and her eyes were kind of misty, but she was no longer in a raving mood.

"Tuna? Why would she name herself after a fish?" I asked.  Now, my ploy had worked.  Sonny on my left had completely shut up and ordered another Chevas on the rocks with a splash, and Mother's mind was completely on another subject, and she'd totally calmed down, AND I was getting some answers to some questions that I'd been pondering all night.  ((Weren't you wondering why her drag name was Mother Superior?))

"Well, she was fishy, gurl,"Mother said and I cocked my eyebrow at her.

"Sorry, I meant to say, sir," she chuckled and tapped me on the shoulder with her hand.

"Fishy?" I asked perpelexed.

"Fishy..oh..she was fishy..you know, like a fish." Mother tried to explain as she motioned all over the place with her hands.

I gave her a look like she was completely nutso, and she did look like she was trying to do the Hula Arabian style with all of those hand and body movements.

"Cherry, come here and explain to him what fishy means," Mother said exasperated.

Cherry walked along his side of the bar to us and he said, "There are different kinds of drag queens.  Mother and I are more drag queeny in drag.  Tuna was smaller built and looked more like a real woman."

"Oh! I get it," I said. "So, you turn the derogatory reference that some gays use towards the odor of a  vagina to make it mean "truly female looking in drag"?  It's a part of your lingo?"

"Huh?" Mother asked.

"Yes," Cherry said.

"Isn't language interesting?" I asked them both, and they both looked at me like I was nutso.

So the night continued and Mother and I got to know each other.  He was a fascinating person.  He worked at the dining counter at the local bowling alley, and he'd worked there for years.  Mother was very proud that he worked and supported himself and that he lived on his own and drove his own car.  I thought to myself that those were pretty normal things that people did................. but much, much later in our friendship, I'd find out why that was so important to him.  He seemed like just a normal man to me who just happened to be wearing a wig and dress that night.  That wasn't entirely true, but it had nothing to do with the drag.  Coincidentally, we both shared Tuesdays as our days off, so we decided to have dinner together, and he promised to show me the town.  I was so immersed with Mother and intermittently with Cherry, that I never did notice that Sonny had risen from his seat until he was standing at the door waiting to be buzzed out.  He was rather wobbly on his feet, so I guessed that the Chevas had done its job.

As Sonny stepped out of the front door, there was a tussle of sorts at the back-bar door.  It seemed like several drag queens were trying to push through the door at the same time.  All of a sudden, Four drag queens were standing beside Mother and me.

"Fiona stold my brooch, and she's wearing it on stage," one short dark-haired drag queen blurted out to Mother.

"Oh, Lordy,"Mother bellowed. "Cherry, I need a DOUBLE cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper on the rox."

And, on that note, I decided to end my night.  I'd had enough excitement.  I knew things were going to go downhill from here.