‘Sam. This is Vic.’
‘Well, Sam and Vic, I am Miss Fella Bitzgerald, and good Lord, I want to pinch those peachy cheeks of yours. What are you two doing out here in a grubby car park?’
‘The man at the door wouldn’t let me in. He hurt Vic.’
Vic shook his head.
‘I’m alright.’
‘Ugh, that guy is such a meathead. Are you okay, sir?’
‘I’m fine.’
Vic sounded a bit irritated. Fella Bitzgerald threw her hands in the air.
‘Now you’re all dressed up with nowhere to go!’
‘It’s okay,’ I said.
‘No! I won’t have it! Have it I will not! Why don’t you come with me and I’ll sneak you in through the rear?’ She smiled and winked. ‘Don’t fret, Daddy, I’m only playing.’
Fella Bitzgerald held out her hand to me. She seemed nice.
‘Come on dear, I won’t bite.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I should go home with Vic. He’s not feeling very good.’
Vic slowly got to his feet.
‘No, no. You go inside. I’ll sit in the car.’
He opened the door of the Kingswood and started coughing again. Fella Bitzgerald looked concerned. Her voice went serious.
‘Goodness, that sounds rough, Vic. How persistent is your cough? Have you seen a GP? You might have an infection. What colour is your phlegm?’
Vic waved her off and shook his head. He cleared his throat and his cough settled down.
‘I’m fine. You go in. Go on. I’ll be right here.’
I touched Vic’s arm.
‘Don’t wait outside. I’ll get a taxi back or something. You should go lie down where you’re comfortable.’
‘Sure?’
I nodded.
Vic looked at Fella Bitzgerald, like he was making sure he could trust her.
‘I’ll take good care of your girl,’ she said.
I had been called a girl so many times, but never like that before. She made it seem so normal. I liked her already.
Vic took all the money out of his pocket and gave it to me.
‘You have a good time.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Go on. Take it.’
I took the money and I felt overwhelmed. I hugged Vic.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
He nodded and slowly got into the car. I watched him drive away and I felt sad for him. Then Fella Bitzgerald hooked her arm through mine.
‘You want to have some fun?’
‘Okay,’ I said.
She led me to a door next to a skip bin full of boxes and bottles. She pressed an intercom button and said, ‘Babooshka, bitches!’ and a moment later the door buzzed and she pulled it open.
I followed her through a dark area stacked with drink crates and down a hallway which smelled like old cigarettes and perfume. We came to a dressing room full of drag queens getting ready. Some weren’t in their outfits yet; others were putting on their final touches. One whole wall was mirrored and had vanity lights and a table running all the way down. There were a couple of clothes racks and a pedestal fan blowing. The room was loud and busy.
Fella Bitzgerald stepped in and clapped her hands. I stayed back in the hall.
‘Hello treasures! Look what I’ve got!’
She waved me into the room. All the queens stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me.
‘I found this little urchin outside in the bushes with a man and she’s all done grazed her knee.’
Fella Bitzgerald gave me a cheeky smile. She introduced me to everybody.
‘Now, this here is Blanche Boudoir, this is Delta Goodhand, Pip Smears, Luna Moons, Slim Busty, and this creaky old broad is the Duchess. Girls, this is Sam. Wait. No. We need to do a little better than that. You’re in the sisterhood now, sweetie. What should we call you?’
I didn’t even think. I just blurted it out.
‘Honeybee,’ I said. ‘Call me Honeybee.’
They all clapped and I did a shy little curtsy.
‘Honeybee! Welcome to the hive, sugar. Come on in.’
The girls all spoke over each other really fast.
‘Such a baby fish!’ said Luna Moons.
‘A fishlet!’ said Blanche Boudoir.
‘A little Ann Chovy,’ said Slim Busty.
‘We found Nemo!’ said Pip Smears.
Delta Goodhand got up and held me by the shoulders then bent down to give me air kisses on each cheek. She was tall in her heels and was wearing a glittery gold bodysuit. She hadn’t fit her wig yet.
‘Girl, you are a young Audrey Hepburn,’ she said. ‘Those big eyes!’
‘No!’ said the Duchess. ‘Look at that pixie face and tell me she’s not serving Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby in our presence.’
‘When you’re right, you’re right,’ Delta agreed.
‘Your dress is gorgeous,’ said Blanche Boudoir. ‘And look at that skin! I want to tear it off and wear you like a jacket.’
‘Put the lotion back in the basket, Buffalo Bill-anche!’ said Fella Bitzgerald, and everybody laughed. She led me towards an empty chair at one end of the long table.
‘Have a seat here before they devour you. And let’s get you a bandaid for that knee. Don’t worry, nobody will even notice it; they’ll be too busy gawking at the rest of you.’
I squeezed past Slim Busty, who was pulling a pair of pantyhose over foam padding on her thighs. I sat down. Fella Bitzgerald took a small leather satchel out of her big bag. She ripped open a sachet and dabbed my knee gently with a swab. I winced.
‘Sorry to sting you, Honeybee. But don’t worry, I’m a registered nurse.’
‘That’s not the only register she’s on,’ said Luna Moons.
Fella Bitzgerald put a big square bandaid over my knee.
‘All better!’ she said, and smiled.
Someone behind me yelled out.
‘Motherfucking mother-tucker!’
It was Pip Smears. She was bent over forwards.
‘This cheap-arse boat tape isn’t sticking! Fuck!’
Blanche Boudoir stood up.
‘Let me help you, girl,’ she said.
‘No! I’m fine. It just won’t fucking stick.’
‘Come on, calm down. I got you. Just trust me. They call me Friar Tuck, girl. They call me the Bush Tucker Man. Now, put your eggs in the nest and let’s get this thing tucked away.’
I blushed and watched out of the corner of my eye. Pip squatted, then Blanche got behind her and reached between her legs.
‘Sweet Jesus of Nazareth! Of course you can’t tuck this in! It’s like I’m shaking hands with an eight-year-old boy!’
All the queens were howling with laughter. I laughed too.
‘Seriously!’ Blanche said. ‘I’m going to have to staple this thing to your shoulderblades!’
‘Is it sticking down?’ Pip asked.
‘You’re swampy as a mangrove back here, doll. That’s the problem. Throw me those tissues; let’s give this pip a smear.’
‘Turn that fan up!’ Pip complained. ‘It’s too hot in here.’
‘That’s for damn sure,’ said Luna.
‘Okay, now some fresh tape. Et voila!’
Blanche stood up, and Pip straightened. Everybody clapped.
Luna Moons took a big gulp of her margarita and fanned herself with her hands. Delta raised her eyebrows.
‘Thirsty?’
‘Oh, you don’t know the half. It’s been so long I’ve started seeing subliminal penises.’
‘Please.’
‘I’m telling you. Yesterday I was babysitting my niece—’
‘Stop right there!’ the Duchess called out.
‘Hush up, you old bag! I was babysitting my niece, and all she wants to do is watch Peppa Pig, because that show is like crack to them. And I found myself just staring at the screen for an hour, and I’ll tell you why: it’s because Peppa Pig’s big pink face is the exact shape of
a cock and balls.’
‘Shut your whore mouth,’ said Delta.
‘I’m telling you, it’s the truth.’
‘You’ve lost your marbles, girl.’
Slim Busty looked it up on her phone.
‘Holy shit, you’re right.’
She showed everybody a photo and they laughed as soon as they saw it. Even Delta had to admit there was a resemblance.
‘Peppa the motherfucking Dick-Pig. Who knew?’
‘I told you: it’s that damn homosexual agenda,’ said Luna. ‘Subconsciously training young minds to covet the penis. It’s a gay-spiracy.’
‘The only sensible conclusion,’ said Pip.
‘Ugh!’ the Duchess called out. She slapped her hands down on the dressing table. ‘This look is not working. I look like Pennywise the fucking clown.’
‘Sweetie, please, go easy on yourself, that’s simply not true,’ said Fella Bitzgerald. ‘You’re actually serving John Wayne Gacy at a children’s birthday party.’
The queens howled.
‘Shade!’
The Duchess pointed a finger at Fella Bitzgerald.
‘Don’t come for me, Argentina!’
Pip Smears was now wearing a beautiful sapphire gown with peacock feathers flaring out from the shoulders. She slowly spread her hands out wide.
‘Send in …’
Everybody stopped and joined in, even the Duchess.
‘… the clowns.’
A man suddenly appeared in the doorway. He wore jeans and a white shirt and he had a lanyard around his neck. I ducked down behind Fella Bitzgerald so he couldn’t see me.
‘Fifteen minutes, ladies. We’ve got three hens’ parties out there, so it’s gonna get rowdy.’
The man left.
‘If any of those bitches touch my wig, they’ll be rolling down the aisle in a wheelchair,’ said Delta.
Luna Moons did some stretches.
‘Blanche, what happened with that ginger trade hanging off you last week?’
‘He got the full Rex Hunt, girl. Reeled him in, gave him a big wet kiss, and threw him back.’
‘Good,’ said Slim Busty. ‘He had shifty little eyes. He looked sex-offendy.’
Luna Moons lowered herself slowly into a side split.
‘Oof. He could roofie my cocktail any night of the week.’
‘Luna!’ said Fella Bitzgerald. ‘Jesus, girl. That’s a yellow card.’
‘What? You know, just once I’d like to hear a positive drink-spiking story. Some nice boy who knocks you out gently, takes you home, cleans off your make-up, tucks you into bed, and when you wake up there’s a tray of fresh muffins and he’s cleaned the grout in your shower recess.’
‘You are too much,’ said Pip. ‘Seek therapy.’
Fella Bitzgerald turned to me. I was still crouched down. My dress had slid back, and I saw her noticing the scars on my inner thigh. I covered them over with my dress and looked away.
‘Come on up, Honeybee,’ she said. ‘Sit here. I’ve got something for you.’
I sat back down on the chair, and in the mirror I could see Fella Bitzgerald searching through her bag behind me. She pulled out a beautiful sandy-blonde wig. She gave it a couple of brushes, and then she fit it onto my head.
‘How’s that? Snug? Too tight?’
‘No, it’s good,’ I said.
‘It’s better than good. You are stunning. Look at yourself. Look!’
She pointed at the mirror, and it made me smile and blush. She adjusted the wig and styled it. Then she knelt down and kept looking at me in the mirror. She spoke so only I could hear.
‘This is your cape, okay? And you are a superhero. But the difference is, you’re not playing a character when you wear it, you’re letting your true self out, and fuck anybody who doesn’t like it. This is your cape. It’s yours to keep.’
‘I can’t take it,’ I said.
‘Sure you can.’
‘I can’t. It’s yours.’
‘No. It’s yours. Now, shush. I need your help. Will you do something for me?’
She handed me a small bottle of liquid eyeliner.
‘What’s this for?’
Fella Bitzgerald pointed to her cheek.
‘I want you to give me a beauty mark just here.’
I dabbed on a small dark dot.
‘How do I look?’ she asked. ‘Am I bringing Marilyn?’
I nodded.
‘You’re really beautiful.’
‘Oh stop it,’ she said, then she whispered, ‘Keep saying that!’
The man with the lanyard came back and knocked on the doorframe.
‘Five minutes. Let’s head out.’
The queens began to move out of the room. I tapped Fella Bitzgerald on the elbow.
‘What should I do?’
‘Come with me, Honeybee, you’ll be alright.’
I followed her down the hallway and through to an area beside the stage.
‘You can watch from here, okay?’
I nodded and said thank you, but it didn’t come out loud enough for her to hear. I peeked around the corner and saw the bar was packed.
‘Okay, girls,’ said Luna Moons. ‘I’m going in!’
She stepped out onto the stage with a big smile and a margarita. She waved at the crowd and she didn’t look nervous. She stood behind a microphone stand and blew kisses.
‘Hello, hello, hello, ladies and gentle, gentle men! Are we ready to have some fun?’
The crowd cheered.
‘Now, I’ve been told we’ve got some hens in the house tonight, yes?’
A few sections of the audience screamed.
‘Welcome, you messy bitches. We’re so happy you’re here.’
She rolled her eyes to somebody in the front row, and the whole room laughed.
‘Do we have a bride-to-be?’
A girl close to the stage whooped and called out.
‘Oh, look at you. You’ve even got your sash and your tiara. Good for you! You go right ahead and remind everybody here that you’re entitled to a legally recognised matrimonial service. You’re like a ham sandwich in a synagogue, sweetie. But you should celebrate! It’s your special day coming up, isn’t it? It’s every little girl’s dream: fifty grand for a plate of chicken Kiev and some rambling speeches. Don’t you worry about all that credit card debt, sweetie, because those memories are priceless. And you’ve got your bridesmaids and your girlfriends here. Ride or die, am I right, girls?’
A group of women screamed.
‘Now, sweetie, let me tell you these girls are not bitching behind your back about your endless bullshit. They are not calling you an entitled cunt or a nauseating over-controlling nightmare. No they aren’t. They love you. And it’s your special day, and they want to support you. What’s your name, hun?’
‘Belinda!’
‘Belinda. Of course it is. And how old are you, Belinda?’
‘Twenty-four!’
‘Twenty. Four.’
Luna Moons closed her eyes nodded slowly.
‘Twenty-four. That’s a perfectly acceptable age to be betrothed … in Elizabethan England. But it’s fine, sweetie, because you’ve found the one. Love transcends age, and common sense, and financial security. You’re a believer. That’s what I like about you, B. You’re optimistic. He’s going to love you forever, isn’t he? It’s true love. You’re soulmates. Two become one, sweetie. Well … almost one. We don’t tell each other everything, do we? I mean, while he’s ploughing away at you in standard missionary, or however you people do it, he’s not going to admit that sometimes he closes his eyes and pretends he’s fucking your maid of honour just so he can finish. It’s true, it’s true. And where is your maid of honour, is she here? Put your hand up, sweetie. Oh, yeah. He definitely is. She is way hotter than you, B. I’m sorry girl. But he’s not going to tell you that, because he loves you. And this is true love, ladies and gentlemen. Enshrined under the laws of God.’
Everybody was laughing really h
ard, even the bride. The meaner Luna was, the sweeter she sounded.
‘No, we don’t tell each other everything. And it works both ways. You’re not going to tell him how much of a greedy, indiscriminate cock-hound you were at university, are you? Those two guys you swallowed balls-deep in the bathroom at the Varga Lounge for a rail of coke? He doesn’t need to know about that, sweetie, that’s in the past. This is now. You’ve changed. It’s your special day. And where is your man right now? I’m going to call him Darren. Where is Darren right now? At his bucks’ night?’
‘Yes!’
‘You look a bit nervous about that, sweetie, but let me tell you, while you’re here being roasted by a fat queen, your Darren is definitely not being motorboated by a sex worker. He’s not. Don’t even think that. She is not grinding away at the throbbing bulge in his lap while his hands explore her perfectly sculpted, limber body. And he’s not staring into her vacant eyes and reconsidering his commitment to an arcane monogamous institution for the rest of his living days. He’s not, sweetie. Strike that from your mind, because you know what? Your Darren’s not like that. You are more than enough woman to capture a man’s undivided sexual and spiritual attention for the next fifty years. And don’t you ever even get suspicious. Not even when he suddenly takes up recreational beach swimming for no reason and dyes his hair chestnut brown and starts staying back at work late and then, one Wednesday night in June, you drive to Bayswater Settlements on Lawrence Street with a tray of homecooked enchiladas to surprise him with dinner because he’s been working so hard and the two of you haven’t been communicating and you walk into the break room and you discover that he’s already eaten … out … his new receptionist, Raelene, who happens to volunteer as a beach lifeguard on weekends and is now being jackhammered against a table so passionately that neither of them even notice you come in, so you retreat without speaking to the car where your son is sitting in the passenger seat playing his Game Boy and you tell him that Daddy’s not hungry and you both go home and eat your feelings and one day that child blossoms into a bitter, jaded drag queen.’
Luna Moons stepped back from the microphone and opened her eyes wide and blew out her cheeks while everybody laughed really loud. She shook her head quickly and then drank her whole margarita in one swallow. She paused until everybody stopped laughing and cheering.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That got real. I just unloaded some stuff. Tonight’s performance is brought to you by Daddy Issues, ladies and gentle men. Co-sponsored by self-sabotaged romantic relationships and a bottomless lust for positive reinforcement.’
Honeybee Page 10
