Kicking Up My Heels...in Heels

by Liam Livings

  “What do you mean, love?”

  “I’m not around like I used to be. And I want to be, but there’s not the time. Like this week. Sorry, but I won’t be back for another two days. Someone to give you a hand, keep on top of things. I know how you like to keep it clean and tidy.”

  “A cleaner? You want me, a professional cleaner, who goes out and cleans for other people, to have someone else doing my house?”

  I knew this was going to be a hard sell but hadn’t anticipated this much resistance so early on. “Yes. I’ll pay. Like I said.”

  “It’s not the money, love. It’s the principal.”

  “And what is this principle?” I thought I knew, but I wanted to hear her say it.

  “My house, my cleaning. People will think I’ve got ideas above myself if they see I’ve got someone coming in and cleaning for me. It’s my job, why would I ask someone else to come in and do it for me, in my own house? Besides, I like cleaning. You know this. I love working my way through the house, doing it through, having a system to when I do things. Washing on a Monday, brasses and silver alternate Thursdays, going to the market on Tuesdays, mopping the floor every other day, and hoovering, well, that’s every day obviously. As you well know.”

  I did know this, as she was frequently pushing the hoover around when I came in from a show late at night, only to get up again early the next morning. And that was exactly what I was worried about, a repeat of the last time. “I’m not pulling my weight. I can’t. I don’t have time. And it’s not fair for you to do it all, not when you’re working too.”

  “I don’t mind. You’ve plenty on yourself, with the new plan 3000 or whatever it’s called this year. I don’t mind, love. I told you that.”

  “I know, but I do mind. I mind you going back to what happened before and ending up in hospital again. Then, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, not after what the doctors and nurses told us, told both of us. What sort of a caring, loving son would that make me, eh?”

  There was a pause, as she thought.

  I hadn’t wanted to bring out the big guns this early, but faced with her argument, felt I had no choice. “Just a few hours, to help out with the big jobs.”

  “How am I meant to talk to the neighbours after they know what’s going on, eh? Tell me that. A husband leaving, a gay son, who wears dresses, these I can cope with. I have coped with. But me, a professional cleaner, having someone in for me because I can’t manage it myself. The shame, love. I wouldn’t know where to look when I saw the neighbours.”

  Sensing we were going in circles, and she’d made up her mind for now, I said, “Have a think about it, will you? As a favour to me, please.”

  “It upsets me, what they’d all think. It upsets me that you think I need help.”

  “That’s not what I meant to do at all. It’s nothing about you not doing a good job, it’s about looking after yourself, now you’re… Well you’re not twenty-three anymore, are you?”

  “I’ll think about it, for you.”

  I left a pause before starting a lighter topic. “This Ian, he’s working me hard, Mum. Some days I hardly know where I am, which city I’m waking up in. Living out of a suitcase and makeup bag, it’s hardly glamorous.”

  “But you’re enjoying it are you, love?”

  “Loving it, Mum. Wouldn’t swap it for the world. Wish I’d done it years ago.”

  “You did it when it was right for you. That’s what matters, love.”

  And we talked for a while about the songs I’d performed, she asked if I’d had any requests for new costumes, and she talked about her week: going to the market for some food, getting the hoover repaired at the little shop on Endless Street next to the council offices. How she’d taken herself to the cinema to see a film with one of the girls from work, and what she’d watched on TV that week.

  I listened to her talking about her life, wishing I could be next to her in the living room, watching her favourite programme, but knowing I couldn’t be there forever, and for me to leave properly, something had to change.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  MAY 2000, MY 20TH BIRTHDAY

  Tony suggested having a big do at the Duke—a sort of party bidding farewell to my teenaged years. Obviously, I thought that was a fabulous idea so agreed instantly.

  I’d booked one of my favourite local drag queens for the night, Annihilate O’Hara—first time I’d met her I’d asked what was with the name, and she’d explained it was from a book called The Valley of The Dolls, her favourite character Neely O’Hara was meant to be based on Judy Garland.

  “Why not call yourself Judy Garland?” I’d asked.

  “It’s so been done, darling. To death. Besides, if I’d called myself that, would we be talking now about my name?”

  Which had been a fair point, so she’d handed me another cigarette and we’d instantly bonded like new best friends, and since then had bumped into each other in the circuit, gradually getting to know each other better, until now, when I knew I could call in a favour asking her to do my birthday.

  “You’re only twenty?” she’d asked when I’d told her.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Quite a lived-in face for someone so young. Must be all the slap you cover it in.” With a wink and a smile, then she’d agreed to do it of course, with a break in the middle for my own performance of the evening.

  Now, she warbled her way very well through Somewhere over the Rainbow, adding in little flourishes of swearing and rudeness for added effect, much to the audience’s delight.

  Tony kissed me on the cheek as I met him at the bar. “You decided to turn up then I see?” He gestured to the banner above the bar: Happy Birthday Kev—The End of Being a Teenager with various images drawn along it, including a wig, a cartoon penis and a pair of high heels.

  “’Course I did. It’s wonderful. Up to your usual standard of course, darling.”

  Tony shouted our usual drink orders, and as we waited, told me about a letter he’d received from the family planning clinic, there had been a mix up with some records and test results, and they were pleased to confirm his test hadn’t been involved, so the original test results were still true. “Said I could come in to talk to someone about it if I wanted. A complaint, a counsellor, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t say. Is it the same thing why they messed up yours?”

  He’d been so pleased for me when I told him about my mix up, I hadn’t been able to tell him his might be wrong too, in the other direction. So as planned, and going very much against my gut instinct, and how I usually behaved with Tony, I hadn’t told him there may be anything to do with his letter. “Dunno.” I shrugged, reaching for the drink the barman handed me.

  Tony collected his drink, chinked against mine and, said it was all over now, according to his letter, said there wasn’t any point dragging over it all again, he didn’t want to see anyone at the clinic, because it was all over, then proposed a toast to “All’s well that ends well!”

  We both sipped our drinks.

  Tony said, “No more mincing about as a teenager. Now you’ve got to be a proper adult and make proper adult decisions and do proper adult things. Whatever that means!”

  “I think I’m trying to do my first ever adult thing.”

  “What’s that, oh love, let’s not spoil tonight. It’s your birthday, drink, be merry, shag a stranger, wake up with sick on your clothes, come on. You’ve had such a shit time lately, what with one thing and another.” He looked away, quickly blinking away a tear forming in his eye. “Let’s enjoy now, eh?”

  I chinked my glass against Tony’s and started to tell him about my conversation with Mum about the cleaner and then I was taken away by a very drunk, very camp Steve wanting to show me what his boyfriend Neil was wearing for the night.

  Steve led me round the bar to a table filled with people I knew to varying degrees, motioning to his boyfriend Neil to stand.

  Neil stood, revealing a tiny pair of very tight, very revealing gold lamé ho
t-pants and tiny gold trainers with no socks.

  “What did he have to do to get you to wear that?” I stared at Neil.

  “Let’s say Steve picked up a tip about doing something better than he used to, and I said I didn’t believe it. So, he tried it out and I thought my head was going to explode. And it was better than I’d thought. So, because of that, I agreed to come here for your birthday in only this. Fucking freezing, mind you.”

  Steve joined in, “I gave him such a good blowjob he thought he was going to pass out. Besides, I know you’ve not had much action for a while and I know how you like ’em big and butch and, well, I happened to have one I’d been going out with earlier, so here you are. He’s meant to be like that man in that musical film you used to always go on about, the horror show, the…” He snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.

  “The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Rocky. He’s like Rocky.” I smiled, enjoying the view before me. Indicating with a winding motion for Neil to turn round.

  His bum was just as sexy as the front had been in his tiny trunks.

  Lingering on the tiny shorts a bit longer, I said, “Very good. I may be back later to check you out again. I take it you’ll be dancing later.”

  Steve said loudly, “I will be. And I’ll drag him along for the ride, so you can have a little feel on the dance floor later if you want. As long as he comes home with me, I don’t mind.”

  “I wouldn’t lower myself to such a common thing.” I shook slightly, trying to do my best Tony shudder with indignation, but not quite succeeding.

  “That’s not what Tony said!”

  The rest of the night passed in a happy blur: gin and tonics being thrust into my hand, twirling on the dance floor with various friends, including a while when I danced with Neil and he and Steve even let me manhandle him a bit, in a light hearted way, as Steve stood feet away winking lasciviously at me loving all the attention his boyfriend was getting; a performance of “Keep Young And Beautiful” in the style of my favourite diva, Marilyn of course; blowing out the forty candles some joker had put on my platform heel shaped bright pink cake; a speech thanking everyone for coming, everyone for their support and love in the last year that I wouldn’t have managed and got to where I was without, with a little bit about how I might not know how to choose a boyfriend, but I certainly could choose good friends, which was met with half boos and half cheers; and finally a very wobbly shared cigarette at the end of the night outside as we both wanted some fresh air and quiet, when Tony and I shared our last cigarette and I told him about Mum and what I’d suggested to her.

  He handed me the cigarette. “Give her time. She’ll come round. She knows you love her, and you’re doing it for her best interest. She’ll come round. Can’t you sneak the cleaner round the back of the house, or at night when no one’s looking!”

  “Hadn’t thought of that. I feel so guilty for leaving her, especially after what the hospital said, about her taking it easy. I said I’d make sure she did, and now look at me.” I looked down at my much worse for wear outfit, bits of drinks spilt down the front. “What if she was rushed into hospital now? What use would I be, eh? Or if I’m in…” I waved my hand with the cigarette in the air, trying to summon the name of a place. “Margate, Ramsgate, Brighton. What am I meant to do then, eh?” I took a drag on the cigarette, then handed it back to Tony.

  He flicked the ash, took a long drag on it, then said, slowly, “You can’t live your life on just in cases. You’ve got to get on with your life, living it, doing what you’re good at. She wouldn’t want to hold you back. If she thought you were worrying about her, she’d say yes straight away. She doesn’t really understand how serious it is. So, she’s straight away saying no, on principle. But she’ll realise the real principle here isn’t the neighbours knowing she’s got a cleaner, but it’s about her being looked after, while you carry on with your work. Because you can’t hold back, not now you’ve got Ian and this 2000 business going on.”

  Oh no, was Tony jealous, did he feel put out after he’d helped me with the Plan, and now it had been usurped by the Plan 2000? “I’m sorry. It was your plan that put me on the way. He’s tinkering really. I’d never have done it without you. Without your organisation. Fuck me, if you’d not written that letter for Brian, I’d still be working at TK Maxx.”

  “Bollocks, you’d have done it, you’d have left. Didn’t need me. And more power to you, love, good on you, go for it. At least you’ve got a plan and you’re going for it. What about me, at M&S as head of department. Is this what I wanted for myself when I was a wide-eyed teenager doing my GCSEs?”

  “Thought you wanted it, thought that was your plan.” I fumbled in my pocket for another cigarette, then remembered we were smoking the last one.

  “It was. It is. But I don’t know. Is it though?”

  I shrugged. “You can be whatever you want to be, love. If that’s running a big shop, then do it. Whatever you want.”

  He hugged me, crying slightly, and I wiped a tear from my eye over his shoulder. We were now, well and truly in the melancholy part of the evening. We pulled back from the hug.

  Tony said, wiping his eyes, “Look at the state of us. Couple of dramatic queens. Crying over our drinks. Come on, let’s go back for one last dance, see if that Neil is still on the dance floor, I could do with getting my hands on a real man for a while, it’s been too long.”

  I turned, walking back to the door, holding out my arm for Tony to loop his through mine. “That makes two of us, love.”

  Fortunately for me, there happened to be an A level sports studies student stroke over eighteen football player for Wiltshire south, with large hands and feet, and the rest, from Salisbury College who happened to be in that evening and looking for a companion for the night.

  As Tony and I walked back into the pub, I bumped into this student, knocking his drink down his T-shirt, soaking his jeans. After my profuse apologies and some half-hearted dabbing with some napkins, he said, with a smile, “That’s free drinks for the rest of the night. Standard for knocking someone’s pint over.”

  “But it’s my birthday. I’m twenty. Look, that’s me.” I pointed to the banner above the bar.

  “I wondered who the birthday boy was. Aren’t you lucky?”

  At that, Tony kissed me goodnight, said into my ear, I’d got a bit luckier, and to take care, he’d speak to me after our hangovers had subsided. And he was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I BOUGHT THE sports-studies student a drink, and another drink, and soon he was as fabulously drunk as me. He was new to the area, had not long started at the college, and had finally plucked up the courage to check out the one gay pub in Salisbury.

  In a taxi, grabbing at each other’s clothes, he bit my lip as he kissed me. Then he reached right inside the waistband of my jeans and grabbed me tight, tweaking and rubbing.

  I, while continuing to kiss his face, his neck and lips, unbuttoned his shirt and put both hands firmly on his pecs, gently tweaking his nipples.

  He gasped, as I tweaked them harder.

  I gasped as he grabbed me tighter in my underwear.

  We arrived at an enormous house with a yellow gravel driveway, with an entrance for driving in and another for driving out. “It’s a carriage driveway,” he explained as he threw some notes into the taxi and stood with his shirt undone, and the flies of his jeans unzipped from where I’d gone hell for leather and put both hands in and been having a good root around, much to his gasps of delight.

  Not knowing quite where to go, I hesitated as I stood by the taxi.

  He grabbed my hand and led me, pulling his trousers up, laughing, and still very much turned on, to a modern wooden barn to the side of the house. He unlocked the door, pressed a button and a low light filled the barn. At one end were four or five old cars, gleaming in the low light, the other half had a black metal thing suspended from the ceiling, with sofas, a large patterned rug, and a coffee table around it. He pressed another button
and the black metal thing sprung into life—it was a fire.

  He led me behind the living room area to a bedroom with a cream coloured canapé over a four-poster bed, with a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed.

  I couldn’t quite take in what surrounded me. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

  “Whatever, it’s my parents. Dad’s got a scrap metal business down the road.”

  “All this from a scrap yard?”

  “Where there’s muck there’s brass. That’s what he always says.” He walked towards me, pulling his shirt off, revealing his chest, climbing out of his jeans, so he stood in only his tight bulging underpants, and black socks. He looked half really sexy and half slightly ridiculous. He removed my T-shirt and jeans before I could even think what was happening, then he pushed me backwards so I landed on the sofa near the fire.

  I was going to ask if his parents would mind. I was going to ask if we had to be quiet in case anyone heard. But as soon as I hit the sofa, his weight pushing down on top of me, his mouth kissing me from my mouth, past my chest, down my navel and lower and lower, I wasn’t able to think of anything, except what he was doing.

  After the first time, we lay close together on the rug, with the duvet from the bed he’d collected, on top of us. A few hours later, when we were both much less drunk, but still very horny, he indicated what he wanted, and I got a condom from my wallet, and we soon used that one up, in quickish succession having a rematch with one he found in his wallet. Finally, exhausted, aching throughout my whole body, we fell asleep in the bed together.

  Of course, I didn’t get his phone number, he didn’t ask for mine, and I didn’t really want his. It was a black coffee from the coffee maker in the bedroom, a quick hot shower separately, then he gave me the number of a taxi company. We shook hands, a few murmurs of “See you around” and “Maybe in the Duke” and I was gone, smiling and a sexy soreness in my bottom half I knew would keep me going for a good few weeks yet.