by Amanda Egan
Chapter Nine
It was fast approaching eight o’clock and the time for me to take up my position on the front desk. My stomach was churning and the brandy had done little to settle it. The atmosphere had kicked up a notch as the queens transformed into their personas and prepared for ‘Showtime’.
One minute there’d be a total lull in the level of sound and the next somebody would start singing or a row would break out. I quickly realised that the mirror was the main bone of contention amongst the girls and too much individual time spent preening resulted in huge blow-ups. When I quietly suggested that they bring in hand mirrors, anyone would have thought I’d declared I was a homophobe. The shocked silence and looks of disdain thrown my way told me that my thoughts on the subject were not required and ‘Mirror Gate’ would continue to run and run.
None of the girls used the customers’ loos as they didn’t want to ruin the allure by bumping into punters in the harsh electric light. This meant that, until the club was officially opened, I had sole use of that mirror. And boy, did I make use of it!
I was simply in awe of the way Tittie had executed my makeover. My hair had been trained into soft curls, my make up subtle and unbelievably effective. I glowed and sparkled in a way I’d never done before. I looked like a woman. Nobody would mistake me for one of the drags and, if I’d been totally honest with myself, that was what I’d really been dreading.
Annie came bursting into the loo just before eight, in full war paint and teetering heels. ‘Come on, Sugartits! It’s curtain up, stop dribbling over your reflection and get your bootie out front.’ He kissed me on the cheeks and gently fluffed my hair. ‘You go get ‘em girl. You’ll be faberooney!’
I made my way to my desk in the entrance hall as the strains of Judy Garland started up on the sound system, fighting to drown out the shrieks of Lady in the changing room. ‘Get your sodding ugly mug out of the way, Vi, and give the true talent a chance, you old battleaxe!’
*****
The first hour was pretty quiet. None of the acts started until nine so the audience seemed to leave it until just before then to arrive. I knew that the majority of the tables were already booked for the night but had been told we’d also get a certain amount of passing trade or regulars who popped by on the off-chance of there being space. We had the capacity for a hundred customers and Health and Safety dictated that we couldn’t go over. I needed to keep a careful check on numbers and ensure that I stuck rigidly to that figure. Annie had informed me that the fine was horrendous if we went over by even one and happened to be caught out.
So when the first raucous group of guys turned up I welcomed them, took their money, showed them through to the bar area and noted that their arrival had taken us to almost eighty percent full. The Glove was obviously well known and loved and Annie had been right in saying there was never a dull moment.
Between answering calls and greeting guests, I barely had time to feel nervous and I actually found that I was beginning to enjoy myself. A couple of the stags from various groups would pop out every now and again and, more often than not, offer to bring me a drink out from the bar. Annie had insisted it was fine for me to ‘partake of a tipple’ and had added, ‘Even if you don’t want one, say yes! More dosh in our coffers!’
At just gone eleven, we’d hit our customer limit so I locked the front door as instructed and settled back with a cool white wine. Annie had said that, as long as the phone was on voicemail at this point in the evening, I was more than welcome to go and watch the acts - but I was quite happy to take advantage of the peace and crack on with the cashing up.
I was finishing the final entrance figures for the night and storing any cash in the safe concealed by the portrait of Danny La Rue, when I turned and saw Tittie standing in the doorway with a lurid cocktail and a beaming smile.
‘My! Whose aura perked up a bit tonight? You’re positively glowing, Babes!’
I felt myself flush again. I’d had a great night and felt I’d done well - for once I hadn’t stuffed up, broken anything or trodden on anyone’s toes. That had to be a good sign.
‘I’ve had a ball, Tittie. I really have,’ I told him as I sat on my gold throne and rubbed my tired feet.
Tittie hoisted himself onto the desk and stretched his fishnet-clad legs. ‘It gets you under its spell, this place. Once you’ve been bitten by The Glove there’s no escape and, as you get to know a few of the regular punters, you’ll feel like you’ve been here forever.’
It was true. I did feel as if the club had cast some sort of magic over me. It had certainly reflected in my appearance and I’d made my way through my first night with no major hiccups.
I finished my drink and looked at the clock, just coming up for midnight, my official knocking off time. I didn’t want to go until I’d seen Annie as I had the Lubov conversation to pass on and I needed to let him know that the takings were all counted and locked in the safe.
‘I haven’t seen Annie for a while. Is he around?’ I asked as I slipped my feet back into my shoes and winced.
‘You’ll need some gel pads for your feet if you’re gonna start wearing stillies. I’ll get you some.’ Tittie paused and sighed, ruffling his OTT purple wig. ‘Percy? Can I ask you a favour? You’ve not seen Annie around much tonight cos he’s gone. He keeps doing it. He does his act and then pisses off. I’m really worried about him.’ He swigged at the last of his cocktail and looked directly at me. ‘This place is his life. I thought I was too but he’s so distant with me lately. It’s doing my head in and I don’t know whether to have a shit, shave or haircut - as my old dad used to say.’
I laughed at his quaint expression but could see that he was just using it for effect - trying to be brave - and it wasn’t easy for him.
‘What if he’s found someone else? I just don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s my rock.’ I could see the tears beginning to form and he blinked them away, whilst doing the girlie thing of waving his hands at his face in the vain hope of stopping them. ‘Help me. Percy! Help me find out what he’s up to. He obviously likes and trusts you so he’d open up to you - I just know he would. Will you do that for me?’
Phew! One day in the job and I’d gone from Ugly Duckling to Swan, learnt the lingo, found out why Lubov had a beef with the others and now I was being asked for marriage guidance.
‘Tittie, I’m sure it’s nothing. You guys have been together for years, haven’t you? He wouldn’t be messing around, I’m sure.
Tittie jumped down from his position on the desk and stood with his hands firmly on his hips. ‘I NEED TO KNOW’, he shouted in a booming male voice - a direct contrast to his outward persona. And then he burst into gulping great sobs. ‘Be my friend, Percy, that’s all I ask. Find out what going on. It’s killing me.’
I ran round to the other side of the desk and took his hands in mine. I tried to hug him but he was too big - even for me. It was quite nice to feel so dainty and I relished the feeling for just a few seconds before saying, ‘I’ll try Tittie. I’ll do my best, but I doubt very much that he’ll tell me anything. He barely knows me.’
‘Just give it a go. I don’t know what else to do.’ He looked so sad and I nodded, promising to see if I could get to the bottom of it.
‘So to speak!’ Tittie joked in response, once more trying to make light of the matter. ‘I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing and I’ll chop his dick off if he is doing the dirty on me but … well, you know, I love him so much that …’
His sentence was cut short as we suddenly heard frantic banging on the main door.
‘HELLO! HELLO! ANYONE IN THERE? OPEN THE FRIGGING DOOR WILL YOU?’
I panicked, looking to Tittie for guidance. ‘What do I do? Do I open it? Annie said not to let anyone in after we’d hit our max.’
Tittie pulled his broad shoulders back and found his deepest voice. ‘Sorry, mate we’re full for tonight. You’ll have to come back another night.’ He looked at me with a satisfied nod, clearly thinking he�
��d dealt with the situation.
‘I don’t give a stuff if you’re full, empty or bloody closed forever,’ the voice came back. ‘I’ve got a bloke here who’s pissed out of his head and says he needs to be here. OPEN THE SODDING DOOR!’
Tittie jumped up and down on the spot - as best he could in his six inch stilettos - and then ran to undo the lock. ‘Oh, it must be Annie, returning to the fold. He’s troubled, I knew he was. Bless!’
The door was flung open and there, in the semi darkness, was the most striking hulk of a man I’d ever laid eyes on.
And in a pathetic heap on his arm … was my father.
*****
Suddenly everything seemed to happen very quickly.
Tittie looked crestfallen that it wasn’t Annie. ‘The Hulk’ barged his way in with my father flailing about like a ragdoll and dumped him on my golden throne. And my heart was pounding with a mixture of shock and desire.
Good grief, he was stunning!
‘Bloody hell!’ he said. ‘For God’s sake get him some coffee and sober him up. He’s pissed as a parrot and been doing my head in all night. I’m not a frigging babysitter.’
Stunning and rude!
I pulled myself up to my full height - and yet I still felt quite tiny in comparison to the monster in front of me. ‘Excuse me. I don’t know who you are or why you’ve felt the need to take care of my father but there really is no need to be quite so bolshie.’
He looked me up and down, almost in disgust. ‘Oh, so you’re the daughter, are you? Well I just happened to be out for a couple of quiet pints in the pub over the road and I got lumbered. I’m not a Samaritan you know. Sort him out!’ And with that he turned and lumbered back through the door, slamming it behind him.
My blood was pounding in my head. What an arrogant man and how dare he be so nasty about my dad!
The dad who was now slumped in the seat and singing at the top of his voice, with a dopey grin on his face. He suddenly stopped and tried to focus on me. ‘Where are all the pretty ladies, Perce?’ He screwed up his eyes a little more and added, ‘Ooh, you’re looking lovely. Mummy would approve.’ And then, in the blink of my false eyelashes, he burst into tears.
Tittie ran to the office to busy himself with coffee and I knelt at my dad’s feet, taking his hands in mine. ‘Daddy! What’s wrong? Why are you so … upset? And you never drink that much. What’s the matter?’
He emitted a huge snort and then rubbed furiously at his eyes before turning them to me. ‘She’s left me, Perce. Run off with her tennis coach. It’s finally happened.’
*****
After several cups of nuclear strength coffee, Daddy was beginning to sober up and Tittie ordered us a cab to take us home. ‘On the house, Sugartits,’ he told me as he helped usher my dad into the waiting car.
Once we got to my flat, Daddy was very quiet. He sat on the sofa and took off his shoes, suddenly looking so much older than his years. At that moment I felt more hate for my mother than I’d ever thought possible.
So to hear her voice on my answering machine, confirming the split from my father and that she wanted all of his belongings out of the house by the next day, had me seeing red.
What a complete and utter bitch. She’d led the life of Riley for years, draining my father dry and talking him into massive expenditure for her own vanity and this was how she repaid him. And now she had the audacity to expect him to leave the house. Over my dead body.
I helped my dad through to my bedroom and told him to have my bed for the night. The sofa would do me just fine and I didn’t expect to be doing much sleeping.
He got into bed, fully clothed, and looked at me with a sad smile. I kissed him on the cheek and told him to try to get some sleep. ‘We don’t need her, Daddy. We’ll be just fine without her,’ I said as I closed the door behind me.
I struggled to get myself comfy on my way too short sofa, with a purring Bogey on my chest. And, instead of dwelling on my selfish mother, the only vision that kept popping into my head was that of ‘The Hulk’.
Eventually, I shut him out. He was just too rude to be allowed to interfere with my slumber.
Chapter Ten
I slept fitfully. My dreams ranged from my mother as a drag act doing some sort of odd burlesque routine to ‘The Hulk’ doing unspeakable things to me which caused me to wake with a jump and in a cold, albeit not unpleasant sweat.
Bogey looked at me in a most disgruntled fashion and performed a massive fish-breath yawn in my face. Fully awake, he blinked rapidly and started up his morning purring routine. I rubbed his ears and thought how simple the life of a cat was. Eat, sleep, purr and be loved - what heaven!
Moving him gently to one side, I eased my achingly contorted body off the sofa and stretched. I could hear my dad moving quietly in the kitchen and knew that if he was looking for breakfast, he’d be sorely disappointed. Food shopping hadn’t been high on my agenda recently.
Bogey jumped down and threaded himself between my legs as I made my way to the kitchen - he was on the prowl and the only thing that meant was FOOD - NOW!
The smell that greeted me when I opened the kitchen door had my stomach rumbling and my mouth watering. Dad was standing at the cooker, resplendent in my ‘Beach Belle’ pinny and frying bacon and eggs like a pro.
‘Morning Perce! I popped down the shops and bought us some brekkie. Felt a bit peckish when I woke up.’
I kissed him on the cheek and flicked the kettle on, grabbing a tin of cat meat on the way. There would be no peace until Bogey had a belly-full.
‘Did you sleep OK, Daddy?’ I asked as I spooned rancid-smelling tuna and pilchard into a bowl.
‘Like a baby, Perce. Although I did feel slightly guilty when I woke up this morning and thought of you scrunched up on that sofa. My turn tonight, eh?’
Tonight? Oh boy, I hadn’t thought beyond one night and, as much as I loved my dad, living with him really was going to be quite odd. I’d lived on my own for so long and had got used to my own company. Of course I wouldn’t see him out on the street but it was going to take a bit of getting used to.
‘No Dad, you have the bed. Bogey and I are just fine on the sofa.’
As my father loaded two plates up with our belly-busting breakfast, it was as if he’d read my thoughts when he said quietly, ‘I’ll head off to the house and collect all my essentials and then I’ll start a flat search. I don’t want to put you out for any longer than necessary. No young girl needs her dad dossing for too long.’
I took the food my dad was offering me and settled opposite him at the breakfast bar. ‘Daddy, this is your flat. If anyone should move out it should be me.’ As soon as the words left my lips, I began to panic. I couldn’t afford to move out and find somewhere else to live but logically it was what should be happening.
My dad chewed on his bacon and began cutting a huge wedge of fried bread. ‘Now, shush, Perce. This flat is yours and I’ve got no intention of chucking you out. I’m perfectly capable of finding myself another little place to live, so stop worrying yourself and tuck in.’
‘She really means it this time, doesn’t she Daddy?’ I posed the question I knew I had to ask to see if he was really accepting the situation.
‘Yes, Perce. She does. And even if she didn’t, I wouldn’t have her back this time anyway. Been a bit of a mug for far too long now and I figure it’s time for me to move on and have a bit of a life for myself.’
I felt a mixture of relief and sadness. He’d finally hit his tolerance level and seen the light but the reality was my parents were actually splitting up. Suddenly I felt like a little girl again. As much as I knew that it was the best thing for both of them, it still meant that I would be part of a broken family.
Not wanting to show my fears or pain to my dad, I finished my breakfast hastily and made a start on the washing up.
Dad dried as I washed and then placed the tea towel over the oven door to dry. ‘Right, that’s me off then, Perce. I want to make the most of the
day so I’ll head off and collect my stuff and then get down the lettings agency to see what they’ve got to offer. Thought I might try to stay reasonably close to you - seems silly to move to an area I know nothing about.’
As he headed for the door, minus the usual spring in his step, I silently cursed my mother. Here was a man approaching his seventies, forced into the prospect of salvaging what was left of his life.
I vowed to myself that I’d never forgive her. OK, it was taking sides but then I really didn’t feel as if I owed her anything and, when I looked back, I’d never truly had the support of maternal love. One day at ‘The Gossamer Glove’ had done more for my confidence than any other and my mother had only ever succeeded in belittling me.
As I tidied the kitchen and readied myself for the day ahead, I found myself wondering how my life would have turned out if I’d been blessed with a loving mum. If I’d still been ‘Big Old Perce’ but been accepted for what I was - and then nurtured and encouraged.
