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Queen Bee

Page 26

by Dorothea Benton Frank


  There had been a scout in the audience the night of Char’s showcase. And don’t you know, Char had been quickly picked up by the William Morris Endeavor agency. Now she had professional representation. Naturally, they had a huge legal team to go over contracts and a bookkeeping department to keep the clubs and casinos honest. Well, at least the clubs and casinos would be honest with Char. Suzanne predicted that soon Char would have a big-time manager and a choreographer who would help her shape a more professional and polished act, maybe give her a live backup band. As soon as the word hit the streets that there was a new talent in town, all these folks would be coming out of the woodwork. They would offer so much more than Suzanne could provide, more by a ridiculously wide margin. And Suzanne would conclude that she was just happy to have been a part of the launch.

  “You know,” Char said yesterday, “having my own orchestra would be my dream come true.”

  “With a horn section?”

  “I was thinking xylophone and maybe strings?”

  “A retro act, like Duke Ellington and Lionel Hampton?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Hmmm,” I said. “That’s something to work toward.”

  All the shows and clubs we’d been to were so overenhanced with digital images and digital music and crazy lighting that it all looked and sounded a bit like the same electronic mix. Something retro might be new, if that made any sense.

  His first gig was at Divas at the Linq.

  “No point in starting small,” Suzanne said to Char.

  We had seen the show one night and it was mind blowing. Frank Marino was the emcee of the best show of female impersonators in Las Vegas. Divas Las Vegas. He was a spectacularly handsome man but a wickedly funny and beautiful Joan Rivers. And he had the widest variety of the most talented impersonators in Las Vegas. What set Char apart was that she wasn’t trying to be Cher. Cher impersonators were a dime a dozen, like Elvis impersonators. Char’s fictitious life as Cher’s long-lost identical sister gave her a creative edge of authenticity over just a regulation female impersonator, if there was such a thing.

  And as the day wore on, I couldn’t stop thinking about Holly. What if she was really in trouble? Momma was taking a nap, Char was in rehearsal, so I finally had some free time to call her.

  “Holly? I can’t get you out of my mind. Are you okay?”

  “Well, until they get the results of the autopsy back, it’s unclear. But it’s not my fault if my bees swarmed her. How could it be? I mean, it’s not like bees take orders.”

  We were quiet then, because we both knew she talked to her bees the way other people talk to a therapist.

  “It’s not like anyone could prove it,” I said, “even if you did. My sister, the bee whisperer.”

  “And there’s no precedent. I checked. I mean, her parents could file a civil suit. You can sue anybody over anything. Here’s the thing: even though this is not my fault, I still need a lawyer.”

  “This is some world we live in, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes, it’s a little unbelievable. How’s Momma?”

  “She’s having the time of her life. She’s sewing like mad, and laughing all the time with Suzanne, her friend, who’s taking her all over town.”

  “Unreal,” Holly said.

  “Is there a funeral for Sharon?”

  “Not until the coroner releases her body.”

  “We want to send flowers,” I said. “Do you know when that might be?”

  “Nope. But it was in the Post & Courier this morning. Anytime there’s a police investigation, it’s in the paper.”

  “Did the police come to you?”

  “I was on a date with the acting chief of police when it happened.”

  “You had a date?”

  “Yeah. Stranger things have happened. Ted Meyers, a guy I went to high school with. He’s really nice.”

  “I might remember him. Holly? Do you need me to come home?” I said.

  “Absolutely not. My friend Darlene, her husband is a lawyer and he’s handling it so far.”

  “Okay.”

  “Really, I’m fine. If I wasn’t, I’d tell you.”

  “Have you seen the boys?”

  “No, only in passing but not to talk to. I’m keeping myself busy. Don’t worry. There’s not a weed in our entire yard.”

  I was certain that was true. Holly took all that energy of hers and spent it rage-gardening and on her bees. It bordered on obsessive behavior. And sometimes it surprised Momma and me to admit it, but the honey from her hives was the best honey we’d ever tasted. It just had a sweeter and smoother flavor. Holly said it was because of her herb garden, that her bees loved the pollen and nectar from rosemary and thyme when it was in flower. Holly was insistent that her bees’ favorite herbs and flowers had everything to do with the honey’s flavor. Momma and I just let it go and ignored all the bee facts she tossed around, because, you know, Holly was a little odd and neither one of us really wanted to fight over every single thing because she didn’t like to fight like we did. Momma and I could disagree about something and then go on about our business, agreeing to disagree on whatever the argument was about. Holly would carry the disagreement on her heart like irreparable scar tissue, a wound that would cut her tender spirit into ribbons. And that’s why I was worried about her. I had my issues with my marriage, to be sure, and I’m sad to say they seemed to be growing. I was happy for Charlie to be Char and I was amazed by her talent, but as I had long feared, the more she became Char the less appealing she was to me as an intimate partner. What was I going to do? Leave Momma with Suzanne and go home? To what?

  Momma got up from her nap and found me on the patio, drinking iced tea and just daydreaming.

  “Oh, hey! How was your nap?”

  “Truth? I don’t feel so well. I think I’d better go home.”

  “Momma! Sit! What’s happened?”

  “I just feel bloated and I don’t know what that means. And I’m worried about Holly.”

  “She’s fine, Momma. I talked to her.”

  “She’s my daughter and I know her better than she knows herself. I’ve completed three gorgeous gowns for Char. Char is fine. Holly is not fine. And neither am I.”

  “Drones have no stingers. So they can’t defend the hive,” I said.

  “That’s awful,” Tyler said.

  Chapter Thirty

  Bee at Peace

  I couldn’t believe how annoyed Char was with me when I told her I was taking Momma back to Charleston.

  “Momma doesn’t feel well, Char,” I said. “And I’ve got a bad feeling that Holly’s in trouble.”

  “You’re my wife! You can’t just walk out on me again! I thought we’d reached an understanding.”

  “You understand what you’d like me to accept, but you don’t understand that I just can’t bite into this thing like a Krispy Kreme donut. I love you, Char, I always will. But, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, this whole lifestyle is too crazy for me. I wish you well, you know I do. I have to take care of my family now. Someone has to take care of them.”

  “So that’s it? Good-bye? After all we’ve been to each other?”

  “It’s good-bye for now. You know Momma had a bad report from the doctor. If she’s not feeling right, she should go and see them. She has not complained once since she got her diagnosis. If she’s complaining now it’s for a reason.”

  “Yes, but I have my opening this week. I need you here for good luck!”

  “I want to, but my mother needs me, and I can’t believe you’d say something so selfish.”

  “Okay, you’re right. That was beneath me. So, if it turns out that the QB is all right, will you come back?”

  “I can’t promise that now,” I said. “You know that.”

  “Leslie, we have a problem,” she said.

  “Oh? Is there news?” I said.

  “Look, Leslie, I can feel it. You’re not attracted to me, physically, when I’m Char.”

&n
bsp; “Yes, that’s true. But I do love you.”

  “Well, since this is a time for truth telling, I guess you should know I’ve always been happier as a woman.”

  “In my heart, I’ve known that for a long time,” I said, knowing this was finally the end of us. “But it’s important for both of us to be happy. Don’t you agree?”

  We hugged then and we both choked back tears.

  “It’s okay, Charlie. It’s okay.”

  “I know I’ve disappointed you,” she said, “and I’m sorry. So damn sorry.”

  “Char? It’s okay, baby. Just go be the biggest Char you can be! And I’ll—well, I guess I’ll always be your biggest fan.”

  We hugged again until we were both okay and then Char, not Charlie, was out the door. My heart was a little heavy, not too terribly crushed to bits, because being with her during this time had shown me what I already knew on instinct.

  Char left to go work on her act with her drama coach and a special production manager from the Divas. Now they were incorporating old film clips of Sonny and Cher behind her as she performed. Her act was growing into something a lot more sensational than any of us had imagined that it might. And quickly. But her new production manager said that Char was taking to the stage like the proverbial duck to water, and he saw no reason not to go all out for Char’s debut. Naturally, Char was thrilled, as we all were.

  But I had to get back to Charleston, and forgive me if I sound like Holly, I just had a feeling that the sooner I got home, the better. I just felt a nagging pull, way down inside of my gut. And as any old salt will tell you, when the Lowcountry calls you home? You had better go.

  When Suzanne got word we were leaving, she came by. She was very upset, too, so I tried to explain to him the whole story about Holly and the bees and Sharon and Archie and the boys. And about Momma’s health.

  “Honey, if you can clean up that mess, you can negotiate lasting peace in the Middle East.” She just shook her head and said, “Where’s your momma? I want to talk to her.”

  Momma was in the bedroom, packing. I watched as Suzanne knocked lightly on the door and heard Momma say she should come in. The door was closed for a long time. Meanwhile, I got flights for us for the following day and decided to pack as well.

  Suzanne came to my room and said, “I talked to the QB. Get her home and call me, okay? I want to know what’s going on. And if you need me, I’ll come in a heartbeat. You hear what I am telling you? A heartbeat!”

  “I promise. I will.”

  I looked at her and realized her eyes were filled with tears. When I saw Suzanne upset, I began to choke up.

  “I’m scared for her,” she said.

  “Me, too,” I said and put my arms around her, giving her a solid hug. Then we sat down together on the end of my bed. “Char’s mad with me for leaving.”

  “Oh, she’s a big old brat if ever there was one. Don’t worry about her. I’ll straighten her out.”

  “I think we’re all done.”

  Suzanne just patted the back of my hand and nodded her head. “It’s all going to be okay. Now, may I drive my favorite ladies to the airport?”

  “Oh! That would be so nice,” I said.

  “I love you girls, you know? I really do.”

  “Oh, Suzanne.”

  “I’ll tell you what. You and your momma put on your best dresses and I’ll take you to Morels Steakhouse over at the Venetian for a nice dinner tonight. My treat. Tell Char if she can rip herself away from the full-length mirrors to come and join us.”

  I giggled then. It was true. Lately, Char was finding mirrors to be fairly irresistible.

  “We might have made a monster,” she said.

  “We may have done just that,” I said and thought about Suzanne’s generosity. “This is so nice of you to take us out. I’ll miss you. Momma will miss you more, of course, but I’ll miss you a lot.”

  “I’m not going to know what to do with myself when y’all are gone.”

  “She’s even got you saying ‘y’all,’ ” I said. “And you want to know something crazy?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m using all feminine pronouns with Char, as I should. At least I think I’m supposed to. And I’m using them for you, too, but it doesn’t feel right.”

  Suzanne laughed so hard then, I thought she’d have to sit down and catch her breath.

  “Leslie? You may call me however and whatever pops out of your mouth. I know this crazy world of Las Vegas isn’t like home. And I know you both love me to death. And I love both of you to death. People are too screwed up over being politically correct all the time.”

  “Thanks, Suzanne. Momma and I feel like a couple of country bumpkins next to all this glamour.”

  “Well, don’t. I think you’re fabulous!”

  At eight that night we were seated at a gorgeous table in Morels. The QB ordered lobster, I ordered a small filet mignon, and Suzanne and Char ordered rib-eyes.

  “I never have lobster,” Momma said. “I just never think to order it.”

  The truth was she never went anywhere where lobster was on the menu. In fact, she seldom went anywhere at all.

  “The queen should have lobster every single night if she likes,” Suzanne said, smiling at Momma with all of her heart.

  “And champagne?” Momma said.

  “Darling, you’re the queen bee,” Suzanne said and touched the back of Momma’s hand tenderly. “And the queen will always have champagne if that is what she wants!”

  “Agreed!” Char said.

  Sometimes, there’s a sixth sense that kicks in when someone around you is deathly ill, and it seemed to me that Suzanne was acting on that instinct. It didn’t matter. We would know soon enough. The Doctors of Death at MUSC would tell us. But all that was to be on another day. I sat back in my chair and looked at the four of us. What a foursome we were! Char had certainly been a wonderful host. And Suzanne, too. Suzanne and Char could teach the South a thing or two about how to show amazing hospitality.

  “Suzanne, I cannot even begin to tell you how happy I am to have met you and to spend this time with you,” I said. “I hope you’re going to come and visit us on Sullivan’s Island.”

  “When things get dull, just give me a call,” she said and winked at me.

  “I can see the two of us,” Char said, “taking a walk over to the Obstinate Daughter for a martini.”

  “Finally, a restaurant in your name,” the QB said, deadpan.

  I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh.

  “The Obstinate Daughter?” Suzanne said. “That’s the name of a restaurant?”

  “Yes,” I said. “During the American Revolution the Carolinas refused to surrender and so the press in England began to refer to us as the Obstinate Daughter.”

  “Brilliant!” Suzanne said. “The Brits have always had a way with words.”

  “Do you think that’s a true story?” Char said to the QB.

  “I’m only sixty-four, not two hundred and forty something,” Momma said with a sniff.

  “Oh! My apologies! I thought you were there! Right on the front lines!” Char said with a look of mock horror.

  Even the queen laughed.

  It wasn’t easy saying good night, and it wasn’t easy saying good-bye at the airport. Not at all. Char had stayed behind, still pouting because we were leaving. When she told me she wasn’t coming I thought, Oh boy, she still has a lot of growing up left to do. I didn’t like who she was becoming, which was a completely self-centered pain-in-the-neck diva. She was all over Momma when she was sewing for her but pretty much uninterested in her well-being. What did that say about her?

  I got our boarding passes while Momma stood with our bags, saying good-bye to Suzanne. There was definitely something cooking between them. I thought that after our father left us, Momma would never let another man into her heart. But Suzanne was solidly in Momma’s heart and most likely got in there because she was so completely disarming. Having had next to no exposure to
female impersonators beyond Monty Python on television, Momma had let her guard down around Suzanne, and was probably as confused about her sexuality at first as I was when Charlie came clean with me. But now she knew better and was having a difficult time leaving her.

  Suzanne was standing there, her head wrapped in a black silk kerchief and wearing only minimal makeup, looking more like Johnny Depp’s chubby father than anyone else who came to mind. That would be Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean, not Edward Scissorhands. The effect of Suzanne’s style of dressing was not unnerving at all. In an unusual way, it was damn sexy. She was a Venus flytrap and Momma was her bug.

  I looked around and decided that the Las Vegas airport personnel had seen it all. From Elvis impersonators traveling in costume, to queens of every stripe, to big winners wearing diamond-encrusted Rolexes and big losers crying in their beer, the Las Vegas airport was as diverse and exciting as the Strip itself.

  But for all the excitement and off-the-wall experiences we’d shared in Las Vegas, there wasn’t anything to prepare us for what we found when we got home to Sullivan’s Island. It appeared that Holly was reading a statement to members of the media, gathered in our front yard. There was a man standing beside her, who I assumed was the lawyer she had spoken of. Our taxi pulled into the driveway and I all but jumped out of the car and ran toward the front steps where Holly stood.

  “That’s all,” she said.

  “No questions,” her lawyer said. “Thank you for coming.”

  They turned to go into the house, and as it became clear nothing else was going to happen, the media began to disperse.

  I ran right up the steps.

  “Holly! What the hell?”

  She turned on her heel.

  “You’re home! Oh! I am so glad to see you, Leslie! Where’s Momma?”

  “Paying the taxi driver. Can you help with luggage?” I said.

  “I’m Mark Tanenbaum,” her lawyer said and extended his hand. “Where’s the taxi? I’ll get the bags.”

 

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