by Swan, Tarn
I broke the news to Twinkles, about making contact with Lulu and he hit the roof, saying he didn’t want to make up with the backstabbing, man snatching bitch. It was rubbish. He was missing Lulu’s friendship like mad. He knew Lulu had not been making a serious play for me, the person, but for some fantasy figure. I told him that in the circumstances he was being uncharitable, unkind, and selfish and he was stubbornly dragging everything out in order to make Lulu squirm. He claimed to have plans for Thursday evening, so dinner was out of the question anyway. I asked him what these ‘plans’ were and he snapped, to be out when the dancing queen comes round. I told him he was staying in and he was going to give Lulu a chance to make amends. I also told him he was going to be civilised and polite and if after all that he truly felt he could not be a friend to Lulu again, then that was his choice. He made known his annoyance with me by bringing all his wigs downstairs and sitting brushing and combing them all last evening, leaving me well out in the cold.
I knew it wasn’t going to be a smooth run the moment I picked Twinks up from work today. He was in a foul mood. He’d had one of those awkward customer days. The sort where you could swear that a special busload of awkward people had been dropped off in town, just to make the lives of all sales staff a living hell. The final one had trundled into the shop five minutes before closing time deciding she wanted to see every last item of jewellery on the premises before choosing the cheapest pair of silver earrings and demanding he gift wrap them, before paying for them by cheque.
To make matters worse it then took three attempts to set the shop alarm and then the shutters wouldn’t pull down properly. Twinkle’s lost his rag altogether and did a Basil Fawlty, kicking the shutters and screaming a torrent of foul mouthed abuse at them, as if they were a living entity that had purposely set out to aggravate him. Thank God he’s not a Jedi Knight, with the lack of control and level of anger he displays at times, he’d be ripe for a takeover by the Dark Side. It was at this point that the woman who runs the greengrocers shop next door made known her disapproval at his behaviour and he made known where he would shove her artichokes and bananas if she didn’t mind her own business. I hastily sent him to sit in the car and finished off locking down the shutters myself.
As soon as we got indoors, I sent him to stand in the corner to calm down and think about how he’s going to behave this evening. Lulu is due at eight and I’ve got food to prepare. It shouldn’t take long though. I’m keeping it simple. I’m making pasta. I’ve got some meat sauce ready prepared in the freezer and it won’t take long to defrost and heat in the microwave, I’ll also do garlic bread and salad followed by coffee cake that I bought from Betty’s this afternoon. Twinks has been quiet for a while now, so maybe he’s actually starting to do some thinking. It’s rather hard not to think when you’re stuck in a corner facing a wall, there’s not a lot else to do.
I’d better go and make a start on dinner. Fingers crossed that it gets eaten and not used as ammunition between two warring queens.
3rd June 2005:
Prepare To Feel The Force
By ten past eight last night I was beginning to wonder whether Lulu had bottled out from coming. I had the table set, the pasta almost cooked and the salad all dressed. I also had a partner who, despite threats of a good spanking if he purposely made unpleasant waves, was still refusing to give me an assurance that he was at least going to hear Lulu out, if and when he turned up. Twinkles is as stubborn as a mule when he has a mind to be. He was determined to make me sweat.
At roughly twelve minutes past eight the doorbell rang and Twinks rocketed down the hall. Short of rugby tackling him to the ground, there was nothing I could do to get to the door before him. He hurled it open to be confronted by a very nervous looking Lulu, who was peeping over the top of a beautiful bouquet of carnations and roses. They stood looking at each other in silence for a few moments, then Twinks snarled, ‘are you going to stand there looking like a pathetic, last minute entry for the Chelsea Flower Show all evening, or are you going to come in?’
Lulu accepted this gracious invitation and stepped into the hall. Twinkles wrested the bouquet from his arms saying, ‘I take it these are for me by way of apology for coveting my property and for causing my springtime coronet to become misshapen. I would have preferred shades of pink rather than lemon, but they’ll do.’ He then thrust them at me saying sweetly, ‘be a dear and put them in water and don’t go sniffing all the scent out of them, because they’re mine, not yours, Mr object of forbidden desire.’ I was seriously considering taking him out to the garden shed to have a few stern words, when he suddenly flung his arms around Lulu, burst into tears and sobbed, ‘give me a hug you daft tart, I’ve really missed you.’ Leaving them to hug, weep and make up, I put the flowers in water and finished off making dinner.
I knew they were friends again when, after dinner, Twinks insisted on giving Lulu a full manicure and nail buff, and they rhapsodised over the gorgeous gowns worn by the pregnant Padme in the latest Star Wars film. You know you’re in the cinema with a cross dresser when they start showing more interest in the female leads costume changes, than in the battle and fight scenes. They both agreed that pretty though it was, Padme’s nightdress with the loops of pearls that draped over the arms would be impossible to sleep in and you’d end up with pockmarked biceps.
I made a point of hugging Lulu and kissing him on the cheek when it came to him going home, as I’ve always done. I didn’t want to set a precedent of awkwardness and thought it best to just resume as if nothing had happened. As we stood at the bottom of the path watching Lulu’s taxi disappear, Twinkles slipped an arm around my waist and apologised for being grumpy with me. He then sweetly said that he wasn’t a bit surprised that Lulu had formed an attachment for me, as in a good light, after several glasses of wine and a good dinner, I had the appearance of a faded, jaded, but still passably sexy film star…the sort that was reduced to appearing in low budget, daytime, television soap operas.
Faded and jaded I might be, but I can still run faster than him, the cheeky little toad, and he didn’t make it across the doorstep before I caught up with him. Scooping him up into my arms in traditional, romantic hero fashion, I kicked the door shut with my heel and carried him upstairs to bed using my best Darth Vader heavy breathing voice to tell him to prepare to feel the force. I’m not one to boast, but I definitely think I performed some impressive moves with my lightsabre last night. My own little Padme certainly went to sleep with a smile on his face.
7th June 2005:
Come Dancing
Oh for a quiet life! What a weekend we had, you wouldn’t believe.
As per usual on Friday night we headed for The PP. There was a charity event on to raise funds for Terry, one of the downstairs bar staff, who was saving up for the final surgical stage of her quest to become a mister instead of a miss. It was an anomaly really, a roomful of men dressed as women raising money for a woman who wanted to become a man, or at least to match her/his exterior gender to her/his interior one. The theme for the evening was Ballroom Dancing and there was to be a dance competition. Twinkles, as always, had put his heart and soul into dressing for the occasion. He wore an ankle length full skirted ball gown with layers of frilly net petticoats, silver dance shoes, sequinned boa and long elbow length evening gloves. In addition he was positively dripping in diamante jewellery. He was coruscating so vibrantly I practically needed sunglasses to be able to look at him. In the spirit of the occasion I chose to wear a black tux and white shirt, but to be honest I wasn’t looking forward to it. I’m no ballroom dancer and I pitied anyone that ended up paired with me. There was no way they’d win any competition with me trailing them hesitantly around the floor. Twinkles says waltzing with me is like waltzing with a plank of wood.
Terry, looking very handsome in a white tuxedo, was doing a Graham Norton and hosting. He was also drawing the lots that would pair who danced with who. I knew that fate was not on my side when I got paired with Natalie
. Twinks got paired with Big Mary who was having a rare social outing as a bloke…he looked like a gigantic, rotund Emperor Penguin in his tux. Natalie had opted to dress Latino in a sexy black dress that plunged at the back to show his builders cleavage and plunged at the front to show his naval, in addition it was slashed to the hips at both sides. I just hoped he had his penis tucked securely because if it flopped out during a quick step there wasn’t really anywhere for it to hide. He’d also got a big carried away with the fake tan and his skin, rather than looking a rich Latin bronze, was glowing like a radioactive tangerine. I hoped he didn’t expect me to dance with a rose clenched between my teeth. Lulu fared even worse than Twinks and I when it came to his dance partner. He was paired with boring Barry, who aside from being only five foot tall, has halitosis and tends to talk non-stop about his hobby of breeding exotic gerbils. By the time all entrants were paired up and on the floor, the PP looked liked a bizarre carnival scene from a nightmare. Catching sight of Brian grinning from the side of the floor I suspected him of fixing some of the pairings as a joke. Steven’s sense of humour and mischief were obviously still influencing him, it was just the sort of thing he’d do.
I’ll have to finish this account later. Twinks has announced he’s not feeling well, he thinks he’s getting a cold and is going up to bed. I’ll go and see if he needs anything.
8th June 2005:
Chicken Soup
Twinks has a summer cold, a bad one, and is consequently snappish and irritable. We had planned on visiting my mother this evening, but I called and told her we wouldn’t be going over, as we didn’t want to risk her catching a cold while she’s still recuperating from appendicitis. She kindly sent Priscilla round with some comfort food for Twinkles, a giant bar of mint crisp chocolate that she’d won in a raffle. I really wish she wouldn’t feed his addiction to chocolate and all things sweet. He has no self-control. He can’t just eat a little bit and then leave it. He has to eat the lot and then I have to live with the consequences of him putting on weight or getting spots. I’d much prefer her to send something wholesome and nourishing, something Yiddish like chicken soup, though of course I would never dare mention that to her for fear of having a sarcastic case load of Heinz CS dumped on the doorstep. She has a similar personality to Twinks in some ways, very rash and rooted in the moment. I suppose that’s why she and Twinks both get on and also rub each other up the wrong way.
After Priscilla had gone I casually mentioned that mum’s influence was continuing to pay off and he had looked quite nice in his summer dress. Well, Twinkles exploded, bellowing: ‘SHE, IT’S SHE. HOW MANY MORE TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT WE WHO ARE HE AUTOMATICALLY BECOME SHE WHEN IN A FROCK! YOU ARE SO INSENSITIVE AT TIMES!’ He then burst into a storm of tears. I humbly apologised for my lack of transgender sensitivity and consideration and spent half an hour comforting him, as he was obviously feeling very wretched. He’s asleep now.
To return to last Friday’s events at the PP. Natalie proved to be rather over enthusiastic about her role as a femme fatale dancer and insisted on pressing herself so close to my body that I could barely breathe, let alone move with any kind of grace. I thought she was going to meld herself to my skeletal frame. Thankfully, Twinkles was too preoccupied with Big Mary to notice Natalie’s seductive dance technique, otherwise I’m sure that he would have tried to separate not only Natalie from my body, but Natalie’s body from her head.
Big Mary was an atrocious ballroom dancer, even worse than me and Twinkles got more and more irate. At one point, his dulcet tones were heard to screech above the beat of a Cha-cha ‘I know you look like a frigging Emperor Penguin, but do you really have to shuffle around the floor as if you’re trying to balance a newly hatched chick on your feet?’
To my utter relief Natalie and I were amongst the first to be tapped by one of the floor judges. I peeled her away from me only to discover that heat had made her fake tan run and my shirt was covered in orange blotches. Lulu was also out in the first round. He was even more relieved than I was flinging his arms around the judge and kissing her passionately. Twinkles and Big Mary were next to go. Though of course my competitive boy refused to accept the judge’s decision and had a stand up row with him. He demanded to see his dance teaching credentials and wanted to be allowed to bring on a substitute dance partner. In the end I had to intervene and quietly order him off the dance floor so the competition could continue. He was not pleased. I told him that if he didn’t behave, I’d take him home and give him my considered opinion of bad losers. He went off in a huff to powder his nose. Ten minutes later an alarmed Lulu came galloping from the vicinity of the toilets and told me that Twinks had had a bit of a cosmetic accident and could I come quick as he was getting hysterical.
I’ll have to finish this later, Twinkles has woken up and is calling me.
11th June 2005:
Chickenpox Blues
Just a quick diary visit while Twinkles naps. His summer cold turned out to be the forerunner of Chickenpox. My poor baby! He’s so miserable. There isn’t an inch of his body that isn’t covered, and I do mean covered, in blisters, from his scalp to the soles of his feet. They’re everywhere, even in his mouth and on his crown jewels. Chickenpox can be a dangerous thing, more so for an adult than for a child. The doctor said he couldn’t prescribe anything other than painkillers, bed rest, plenty of fluids and careful monitoring, as Chickenpox is a virus that doesn’t respond to antibiotics. I can’t even give him a comforting cuddle, not a proper one, not with all those horrible blisters. It’s too painful for him. He’s terrified that the blisters will leave scars, especially on his face. I bought some calamine lotion to try and stop the itching, but he said it didn’t help and anyway it makes him look flaky, because it dries like a powder and he feels like a dusty old mummy that’s starting to disintegrate. At least his eye is much better and he doesn’t need the eye guard anymore. I promise I will get round to telling about the cosmetic accident he had last weekend. At present I’m more concerned with finding something to relieve the discomfort he’s in. I’m going to surf the net to see if there are any helpful tips online.
17th June 2005:
The Gay Gordons
I’m happy and relieved to report that Twinkles is much better. His spots have largely dried and crusted over with no new clusters appearing. I was successful in my web surfing. I found a Natural remedy site that recommended using essential oil of Tea tree, combined with sweet almond oil, as a massage solution to treat the Chickenpox. Tea tree is a natural antiseptic and antibacterial agent, as well as an anaesthetic, not only does it help prevent the blisters from becoming infected, it also soothes and reduces the itch. We had nothing to lose by trying, so I headed off to Holland and Barrett and bought the stuff. Twinkles said it eased the painful itching much better than the calamine lotion had done. Someone also suggested the use of powdered oatmeal as a bathing aid to calm the skin, so we added that to the regime, a cool oatmeal bath twice a day followed by a gentle body massage with the Tea tree solution. I could almost qualify as an alternative therapist after all this.
I knew he was feeling considerably better last night, when he asked me to massage his groin area, twice, wearing a blissful expression on his face that I suspected had little to do with relief from itching. I was very strict with him about scratching. I didn’t want him breaking the blisters and causing infection and therefore scarring. He keeps his fingernails short anyway, it makes fixing false nails easier, so that wasn’t a problem. However, he naughtily tried to have a sly scratch by squeezing a cotton bud between the blisters. I was alerted to this reckless action when he let out a howl of agony upon bursting one of them. I told him that if I caught him at it again, he’d be in trouble. He cheekily retorted that I could hardly blister his bum, as it was blistered already. There are worse punishments than spanking and I threatened to call boring Barry and have him come over and talk about his latest acquisition, a long haired, piebald, Mongolian gerbil, which feeds only on the roots
of basil and rosemary (it’s a herbal gerbil) Twinkles immediately handed over the cotton buds he had stashed under his pillow and promised not to scratch or pick anymore.
I’m glad I had Chickenpox as a child. I wouldn’t fancy going through what Twinkles has gone through these past days. I’ve also heard that mumps is on the increase again. That’s another childhood ailment that is much worse if you get it as an adult. Twinkles called Karen and Paul and made them promise to have baby Dominic properly immunised against childhood diseases, pointing out that the risk of complications from the diseases is greater than the risk from the vaccines.
On Saturday evening, Lulu, Big Mary and Kevin came over to keep Twinks company by playing cards. Thankfully Kevin left Natalie at home. Twinkles held court wearing a lilac satin nightdress with matching bed jacket, as well as his Miss Springtime Crown, which I’d managed to bend back into shape. He enquired as to the health of the evil Natalie, who he suspected of being the one who had given him the pox. Kevin admitted that Natalie had indeed had a very mild infection, totalling, he reported rather smugly, twelve spots. He defended her by saying it was too long ago for her to have been the source of Twinkles’ present infection. He said that if Twinkles should blame anyone, he should blame Cherie Pie, as it was one of her backing singers, Ruth Less, that had set off the chain of infection at the PP. The four of them then spent a happy fifteen minutes bitching about Cherie Pie, her love of the limelight, her refusal to give anyone else a look in at PP stardom and her terrible taste in tight, glittery frocks that showed off her beer gut. I thought it was a bit rich of Big Mary to make any comments along those lines, seeing as his beer gut is twice the size of Cherie Pie’s and his love of gaudy, glitter-encrusted frocks is legend. Still, it’s in the nature of drag queens to view themselves as perfect and all others as lacking.
