by Amanda Egan
I cleared my throat and tried to construct a suitable reply. ‘Look … I’m really flattered that you think I could do the job. Honestly I am, but … you don’t know the first thing about me. You don’t even know my name. It’s … well, it just doesn’t feel right.’
‘Right schmight!’ He jumped up again and started up his pacing once more. ‘So I don’t know your name. Big deal! You don’t know mine. I’m not really called Annie you know.’
I chuckled despite myself and said, ‘My name’s Percy - well Persephone, but I hate it.’
And out came the throaty laugh again. ‘Persephone? No wonder you bloody hate it, you poor cow! Well, Percy, do you want to work for me or not? I know your name now, so what’s your excuse this time?’
As job interviews went it was right up there as the most peculiar but I began to feel the slightest fizz of excitement. It certainly wouldn’t be a boring place to work and he’d said it paid well. Maybe if I just found out a little more about what it entailed. Surely that couldn’t hurt?
Annie was impatient though - he wanted an answer and he wanted it there and then. ‘Percy, Percy, Percy.’ He giggled again. ‘Ooh, I love that you’ve got a bloke’s name and you’re really a girl! See? A marriage made in heaven. What d’ya say?’
I finished the last of my brandy and held my glass out. ‘I say get me another drink and then talk me through the sort of things I’d need to do.’
He squealed and ran to get the bottle and, as he seemed intent on giving me a treble, I steadied his hand and added, ‘But it doesn’t mean I’ll say yes. Just that I’m prepared to listen.’
He winked at me as he pulled his seat closer. ‘Oh you’ll say yes, my love. Nobody says no to the fabulous Annie Vestite.’
*****
We sat and talked for what seemed like hours. I’d never drunk so much brandy in my life and my brain was becoming fuzzy with the excess of alcohol and overload of information.
He talked me through everything - from my late afternoon duties right through to the evening and my time on the front desk and phone. From time to time I could envisage myself doing the job and then he’d come up with yet another task and I could see myself falling at the first hurdle.
I could barely translate half the lingo he was using and at times I felt myself glazing over.
‘You need to make sure that the girls tell you when they need more hairspray for their slap or if the wigs need a bit more zhoosh. And Tittie will have a full blown hissy if he doesn’t have gaffer tape for his nuts. Keep on top of all of that and the rest is a piece of piss.’
Hairspray for slap? Zhoosh? Gaffer tape for nuts? What on earth …?
Annie huffed loudly. ‘I’ve lost you, haven’t I? I can tell by your eek.’ Again, I looked confused and he stopped and grabbed a sheet of A4 paper. ‘OK, first things first. Because I’m one of the old girls - by which I mean over thirty ....’ he added, fluttering his eyelashes daring me to say otherwise, ‘… I use just the tiniest smattering of Polari. ‘Gay speak’, I suppose is the best way to describe it. You won’t need to know a whole heap but a lot of my troupe use it amongst themselves so I’ll write you a little list to get you by.’
I watched as he began scribbling furiously, occasionally stopping to chew on his pen as he thought of a new word and added it to my growing vocabulary.
Eek - shortened version of back slang for face - ‘ecaf’. ‘What’s wrong with your eek?’
Zhoosh - to style hair. Hair is ‘riah’ - again back slang
Lallies - legs
Lallie tappers - feet
Stillies or kicks - stilettos or heels
Slap - make up. Best set with a good hit of hairspray
As the list grew and grew and I felt more like I was about to start studying for a GCSE in Latin, I stopped him and asked, ‘What about gaffer tape? What’s with that? You said Tittie needed it.’
Annie placed his pen on the table and smiled. ‘Ah yes. Prepare yourself for this one, oh lovely Percy. Tittie’s my partner, my lover - has been for years now - and he’s … how shall we say … well he’s not hung like a Tic Tac, get my drift? Lucky me, eh? So he … he ‘tucks and ducks’. Are you with me?’
I frowned and tried desperately to figure out what he was talking about. There seemed no point in lying so I shook my head and said, ‘No. Sorry. Might need a bit more info than that.’
Annie stretched and smiled. ‘Well you need to be unshockable for this job so here goes - baptism by fire! Maybe that’s where I went wrong with the other girls - just never gave them all the facts but you have the intelligence to ask questions and can take it. As the tasty Tittie is so well-endowed he needs to get rid of his ‘junk’ - you know, the boy bits. So he ‘tucks and ducks’ - hence the duck-tape. Gets it all out of the way for a smoother line in the cozzies. With me now?’
I gulped. Oh yes, I was with him and I suddenly realised just how much I had to learn.
*****
I left the club just after five and began to make my way home, my head full of the oddest images and strangest facts. It had been a real eye-opener and I longed to be home with Bogey to get my head around it all.
Annie and I had left on good terms, with him agreeing to give me a little while to think things through. ‘I just know you’ll end up joining us though, I can feel it in my …’
‘Yes I know.’ I interrupted him. ‘You can feel it in your third eye!’
‘Actually I was going to say I could feel it in my water that time, Sugartits, but I’m glad you agree I have a third eye!’
He was as mad as a box of frogs but he was growing on me and, most importantly, he liked me and had faith in me being able to do the job.
That counted for a lot.
Maybe he’d caught me at a weak moment and it would all end up another total disaster but, as I let myself into my flat, I realised that I’d all but made my mind up.
I was about to become Girl Friday to Annie Vestite, female impersonator extraordinaire, and Front of House to ‘The Gossamer Glove.’
As I fed Bogey and filled him in on my news, he looked at me as if to say, ‘Told you so!’
Chapter Seven
Mia had left me several messages and texts and I realised that I couldn’t avoid her anymore. It wasn’t her fault that my book was total tosh and she’d only been honest with me.
Besides, I needed to share my news with her about my career move and get her thoughts on it so I settled with a huge mug of cocoa and dialled her number. After nine in the evening was always the safest bet - the kids were usually in bed and Mia and James would be relaxing after their meal.
I listened to the dialling tone, rubbing Bogey’s ears and humming to myself. I was feeling quite chirpy. I had a job and I was looking forward to the challenge - a whole new life stretched ahead of me.
The phone was eventually answered and a small voice said, ‘Hello? Isla speaking. I’m sorry but I have the pox and if you haven’t you might get spots too. The worst ones are on your tinky so I hope you don’t. Who’s speaking please?’
I heard the phone being wrestled from her and then a breathless Mia came on the line. ‘Hi! Sorry about that. Who is it?’
‘Mia it’s me - what’s up? What’s wrong with Isla?’ I asked.
‘Oh Perce! What’s wrong with Isla? What’s wrong with this whole sodding family! Isla, Jo Jo and James have chickenpox! I’m at my wits’ end. I’m up and down like a pair of whore’s drawers. Of course, James is the worst - typical bloody male - anyone would think he was at death’s door. And the fact that he’s had to have time off work is just making him intolerable. I’m about to open a bottle of wine and you know I never drink on my own. Tell me some good news, please! I hear you and Tom are getting on well.’
I quickly quashed any ideas that she may have had about Tom and me becoming an item and told her that we really were just friends. ‘But …’ I continued, ‘I do have some other news.’
‘Ooh, exciting! Do tell. Is it about your book? Have
you found an agent who specialises in that kind of stuff? Honestly, Perce, I laughed until I cried!’
I cut her very short, not willing to talk about my pathetic literary attempts and I continued with my update. ‘I’ve got a job! And I bet you could never guess where.’
Mia took a deep breath and then exhaled. ‘OK, OK, don’t tell me. Let me think … erm …well as you sound so excited it’s got to be something really cool like being Daniel Craig’s dresser or … let’s think … chief chocolate tester at Green & Blacks. Am I close?’
She was obviously going stir crazy locked in the house with her pox-ridden family because she’d reverted to our teenage game of ‘Fantasy Careers’. Her first choice had always been Ant and Dec’s personal assistant, with benefits, and mine to be a roadie with Take That - also with benefits.
Of course Mia had never had to worry about working. She’d married James almost before the ink had dried on her ‘A’ level certificates and he’d kept her in the manner to which she’d always been accustomed. She’d led a charmed life and went straight from the arms of wealthy, loving parents into the arms of a husband with the same credentials. James studied hard through the early years of their marriage but they never struggled financially, supported lovingly by both sets of parents. Mia could have worked, as they’d decided to put off having children for a while, but it suited them both for her to be at home and polish her wifely skills. She designed their first flat, furnishing it with stunning pieces she discovered in markets and obscure shops. She cleaned, arranged flowers, cooked, baked and generally became the perfect ‘Stepford Wife’ - and she’d loved every last minute of it. She saw it all as a training ground for when she’d eventually start her family.
As much as I envied her, I knew it wasn’t the life for me. Yet. I knew I needed more but I didn’t know what. Take That weren’t likely to be bashing my door down any time soon - I wasn’t totally deluded but I could still dream. But all that dreaming had found me at twenty eight with very little to show for myself. Mia had her ideal man, family home and two bundles of energy-draining joy. What did I have?
I listened to Mia’s suggestions as they became more off-the-wall - ‘Beckham’s back shaver? Jimmy Choo road tester?’
‘Stop, Mia! Please stop. You know you really need to get out more often. No, it’s none of those but it is a bit different.’ I took a deep breath and prepared to reveal my radical change in direction. ‘I’m going to work in a drag club.’
I heard her splutter and then have a bit of a coughing fit and I waited for her response. She cleared her throat and started tentatively. ‘Did you just say “drag club”?’
I was determined not to let her rain on my parade or dampen my spirits in any way. I was feeling positive for the first time in years and I needed to make her see that this was the right move for me.
‘Yes Mia. I did say that. I’m going to help with the smooth running of the business and also answer the phones and welcome guests as they arrive. Problem?’
I knew that I sounded a little defiant but could tell from the tone of Mia’s voice that I had to leave her in no doubt that my mind was made up.
‘Oh, Perce! Are you sure? I mean it sounds great fun but … well, you’ll be surrounded by gays won’t you? And you’ll never find yourself a man because you’ll be working nights. Have you really thought this one through?’
It really wasn’t like Mia to be negative and I decided to put it down to her enforced quarantine. If the truth were told, I had many doubts about my new position but I was feeling too fragile to fight my corner. It was time to bring the conversation to a close. We never argued and I didn’t intend to start.
‘Yes thanks, Mia. I’ve given it a lot of thought and right now I think it’s a great opportunity. Gotta dash, and you’d better go see to Isla. I think I can hear her calling you. Catch you later!’
OK, it was cowardly and maybe a little rude but it was damage limitation and it had to be done.
My balloon of hope was feeling a little deflated and I slammed my mug down on the coffee table in temper.
I decided to open a bottle of wine and ring Daddy - he’d be pleased for me and he always managed to cheer me up.
*****
I couldn’t ever remember a time I’d heard my dad sounding so down.
I barely recognised his voice when he answered the phone and almost apologised for having dialled the wrong number. He must have suddenly recognised the caller display and made a feeble attempt at sounding more upbeat with, ‘Oh hi, Perce. I was just having a little nap. You OK?’
‘I’m fine Daddy. Why were you asleep? You’re never in bed before midnight.’ Alarm bells were beginning to ring and I felt a cold wash of panic.
‘Just felt a bit off colour, that’s all. Nothing a proper night’s kip won’t cure.’
I was sure he was just being stoic and could sense trouble crackling down the phone line towards me. ‘Mum OK is she? Is she there?’
‘Yep yep, she’s fine. Not here though. Out somewhere or other.’ He paused. ‘Again.’
Ah! He wasn’t feeling under the weather at all. My mother was up to her old tricks and poor Daddy was suffering. I was outraged on his behalf and wondered how much more he could take. What would finally push him to put his foot down?
I couldn’t bear to think of him home alone and feeling miserable. I looked at my watch - just coming up for nine-thirty, still early, and I found myself saying, ‘Hey, Daddy. What d’ya say to a night on the town with your daughter? Come and see my new place of work?’
*****
A quick call to Annie, who was ‘manning’ the phone, secured us a table and left me with ringing ears. His squeals down the phone, when I told him I’d decided to take the job, were heart-warming and he agreed it would be an excellent idea for me to see a show before throwing myself in at the deep end.
‘I just hope your dad’s got an open mind, Sugartits. This place ain’t for the faint-hearted.’
I assured him Daddy would be fine and that he’d been a huge Danny LaRue fan in his day.
‘Ah yes, Danny, one of the finest - but compared to my bunch, bloody Mother Theresa. Be warned!’
His cautionary comment fell on deaf ears. My father would be fine but, at that point, I had no idea just how fine.
*****
‘Tittie Late’, Annie’s partner, had just finished ‘her’ act and I was feeling like I’d entered another world - one of glamour and smut, entertainment and innuendo. Tittie had been sensational. ‘She’d’ worked the crowd - an odd mix of gay and straight, hens and stags - and had them buckled over laughing in their seats, cheering and yelling in response to her one liners.
Annie had insisted on keeping Daddy and me in drinks for the night and it was more than clear that my father was having a ball. He’d started the evening a little quiet and lost in his own thoughts but after a couple of double brandies, he was his old self, chuckling at the gags and wiping tears away with his checked hanky.
‘Oh Perce! What a place, eh? I haven’t laughed so much in years. Some of the jokes are quite near the mark, aren’t they? Your mother would hate it! Far too vulgar for her taste.’
I wondered if that was why he was enjoying it quite so much - the devil in him was rebelling and deliberately taking part in an activity that would be have been condemned by my mother. I decided not to give it any further thought. He was happy - far happier than he’d been earlier - and that was all that mattered.
During the interval we sat listening to a recording of ‘La Cages Aux Folles’ and I took the time to take in the surroundings of what was to become my new work place. It was a small and intimate area with roughly a dozen round tables facing the corner stage. Each table was adorned with a dazzling gold brocade cloth, exotic fake flowers and twinkling tea lights. The stage, when not in use, was concealed by a heavy scarlet and gold velvet curtain - hinting at the pleasures to come. The walls, also in reds and golds, were lit by ornate bronze light fittings from a bygone age, topped off
with tall imitation candles. The air was thick with scent and, if such a smell existed, glamour! Had it not been for the smoking ban, it would have been fitting for the club to be shrouded in an atmospheric fog - adding to the decadent and dated feeling.
Who would have thought the exterior of the building could be hiding such a thriving and successful business?
Annie came over to join us and shook Daddy’s hand as he pulled up a gilt-padded seat.
‘Quite a girl you’ve got there,’ Annie said, ‘And I reckon she’s going to be an absolute Godsend to this place. I get a feeling about these things. And you’re welcome here, any time - on the house. I want you both to think of it as a second home - always a bosom for a pillow or a shoulder to cry on at ‘The Gossamer Glove’.’
