The Big Bang

by Brian Francis

  He picked up his martini glass and clinked it against my own.

  "That's why I do Judy, sunshine. You know, you may want to consider drag yourself. You've got magnificent cheekbones."

  I couldn't help but laugh. "I don't think I'm exactly the type."

  "Oh, you'd be surprised," Eddy said. "Don't underestimate yourself. Sometimes, there's no better bang than stepping out of your shoes and into the pumps of someone else."

  A winter storm roared through the city the following week. I watched as snow blew under my front door. I was scheduled to work and doubted anyone would be hungry enough to venture out, but I bundled up, pulled on my boots and made my way to the restaurant, keeping my head down against the wind.

  Eddy was sitting at the bar when I arrived, sucking back a Benson and Hedges. "The Trolley Song" was playing over the speakers. The restaurant was empty.

  "Thank god you made it!" he said. "I was afraid I'd be stuck here."

  "It's awful out there," I said.

  "Lunch was dead. I'd blame it on the weather, but I think you-know-who had more to do with it." He wagged a finger in the direction of the kitchen. The you-know-who was Marty. Louie had hired him to replace Mario. A friend of a friend, Marty came from Sault Ste. Marie and claimed to have been the head chef at the "Will O' the Wisp," one of the city's high-end restaurants. Eddy said there was no high-end anything in the Sault.

  So far, Marty's specials had included Spaghetti with Meteor Meatballs and Lunar Liver. No-one was impressed, even though Louie seemed oblivious.

  I pulled off my boots and took my shoes from the shopping bag I'd carried them in. "Has Louie been around?"

  "He was here this morning. Then Dorika called and he left. I haven't heard from him since. Listen, can I tell you something? Promise you won't tell?"

  I nodded. "Sure."

  He said he was leaving. Not just the restaurant. The city, too. He couldn't stand it anymore. Could not stand it. Everyone knew everyone. It was incestuous.

  "No-one appreciates good drag, either. Do you have any idea what I could make in the States or even Toronto?"

  He had a friend in Toronto, a Dolly Parton impersonator, who said Eddy could stay with him at any time, for as long as he needed.

  "What do you think Louie will say?" I asked.

  "He'll hit the roof," Eddy said. "He knows how hard it'll be to replace me."

  He'd stay for another month, he said. Then he'd be gone like the wind.

  No-one came to the restaurant that night. Marty's dinner special, Big Bang Burritos, would end up a lunch special for the rest of the week. He came out of the kitchen at various times throughout the evening, attempting conversation, but I gave him one word answers and sat at Louie's table, staring at the snow. The storm had eased up and the flakes fell lightly, settling on the roads and rooftops in a way that seemed thoughtful.

  "Where is everyone?" Louie asked when he came back. I could smell the cold air coming from his skin and coat.

  "Home," I said. "It's been like this for the night."

  He took off his jacket and told me that Dorika had admitted herself to the hospital. For once, he said, she did the right thing.

  "I went to her house to get a few of her things. There was mouse shit on the dining-room table. I was just beside myself. Who wants a drink?"

  He went behind the bar. "Everywhere I look it's Judy, Judy, Judy." He held up one of Eddy's CD cases. "What gives him the right to decide what music we play in my restaurant? That's what's keeping everyone away. Not the goddamn weather."

  He reached for an ice pick. "I'm writing 'Fuck You' on this in case you're wondering. And if you even try to pin it on me, your balls will be the next daily special."

  It was one of Eddy's favourite CDs. Louie was callous, but I hadn't seen this cruelty before. He finished his engraving and put the CD back in its case. "Now," he said, clapping his hands together as if he was ridding them of his own dirt. "Straight up or on the rocks?"

  He offered me a ride home, but I declined.

  I watched my feet disappear into the snow with each step I took. There were few people out at this hour. Cars snuck up behind me, their sounds swallowed up by drifts along the sides of the roads. I could hear the snow ploughs in the distance.

  When I got home, I stood in the centre of my living-room, closed my eyes and held my arms out. I imagined my fingertips making contact with everything around me. My thrift-store sofa. My stereo and my books. The vertical blinds left behind by a previous, unknown tenant.

  Later, while I sat on the edge of my small bed, pulling wet socks from my feet, the ploughs found their way to my street. Their pulsing blue lights bounced off my walls. I thought of strobe lights. Then, sirens.

  I wasn't there when Eddy discovered his defaced CD, but Marty told me the story.

  "Scared the hell out of me," he said. "I come running out here and there he is, head on the bar, wailing away. I told him he could always get another CD. They sell the old ones for pretty cheap. But it didn't do much to fix his mood."

  Eddy gathered up the rest of his music and left without saying another word.

  "Only thing he left behind was a big wet mark on the bar," Marty said.

  I considered calling Eddy, but didn't have his number. Glenn-with-two-ns picked up the lunch shifts. He had quit Hair Apparent a few days before Eddy's departure so the timing was perfect, he said. Within a few days, however, he was complaining there was no lunch shift to cover. The restaurant grew more deserted with each passing day. Marty and his Sault Ste. Marie cooking weren't winning fans. I hit a personal low note the night I had to tell people the special was tuna casserole. No-one had even bothered to christen it with an astrological name.

  Louie, of course, blamed it on the weather. "The cold," he said. "Nothing's worse than the cold."

  I asked Glenn-with-two-ns if he thought Eddy was bad-mouthing the restaurant. "That could be keeping people away."

  "How much clout do you think a drag queen has in this city?"

  It was no real surprise when I came to work one day to find the door locked. A piece of paper was scotch-taped to the window. "Closed Until Further Notice" it read in thick, black letters. I cupped my hands to the window and looked inside. The solar system mobile was gone.

  I went to Serendipity that night and ran into Glenn-with-two-ns.

  "You have no idea the kind of financial shit Louie is in right now," he said. "Suffice to say you've served your last Saturn burger.”

  "I guess Eddy's timing couldn't have been better," I said.

  "Or Dorika's."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You didn't hear? She died the other night. Suicide. She saved up the sleeping pills the nurses were giving her."

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, the spikes of his hair staring me down.

  After the restaurant closed, I saw Louie a few times, driving around in his Grenville Locksmiths truck. Glenn-with-two-ns claimed that the two of them were never lovers and that Eddy was a malicious gossip. In fact, Glenn-with-two-ns said it was Eddy who was in love with Louie.

  "That's the real reason he came to work there. Of course, Louie would have none of it."

  I have a picture of everyone. It was taken the week before Christmas. Glenn-with-two-ns bought a camera and he was eager to try it out. In the photo, Louie is sitting at his table, the smoke from his cigarette frozen mid-swirl. Eddy is standing behind him, wearing his Judy wig. I'm on the other side of Louie, looking awkward in my youth. My shirt collar gapes around my neck.

  Just off to the side is Dorika, a flash of blond hair and hoop earrings, her blue eyelids either opening or closing. She's standing with her hand on her hip, one leg out in front of the other. This is the gymnast in her coming through.

  I've studied this photo over and over again, trying to articulate the particular expression on Dorika's face. There's nothing obvious. Nothing I could've known. But I can't stop going back to it.

  I've framed the photo. I do
n't have it out on display. I don't want to have to explain who these people are. So I keep the photo in my drawer next to my bed. I take it out occasionally, the times I'm feeling lonely or lost. And looking at the photo doesn't make me feel less lost or lonely. But it does give me some sense of responsibility.

  That photo is now eleven-years-old. I'm still waitering, now at a steak house that caters to seniors. They're horrible tippers, but sincere. I've also taken on a side job. Sunday nights, I perform as Cher at Serendipity. She's not the most original choice, I know, but I have a long black wig and Eddy was right about my cheekbones. It took some time to get comfortable with this new side of myself. But I've been told I'm good and I can lip-sync circles around Eddy any day. He's still in Toronto from what I hear. I don't know if he knows about my act. In some ways, I'd like him to see how the torch was passed along. But in other ways, I hope he never sets foot in this bar again.

  It's not the most rewarding job in the world. It was true when Eddy said that no-one appreciates good drag in this city. But there are times when it seems worthwhile. It's strange when I think about it. Any satisfaction I feel doesn't come from the applause, but in the silent space that precedes it, just after the song ends and the first set of hands comes together. I close my blue eyelids, stretch my hands out. Anything is about to happen.