Stilettos & Stubble

by Amanda Egan

  Well, things were changing and the words I’d spoken to daddy the night before echoed in my head.

  We really didn’t need her.

  *****

  ‘So how was your first night at the club, Perce?’

  Mia and I were having lunch in her garden, watching Isla and Jo Jo playing in the sand pit as they fed an odd assortment of stuffed toys with make-believe picnic food.

  I’d already filled her in on all the details of my parents’ marriage breakdown and she’d been quietly shocked but sympathetic.

  ‘The club’s great, Mia,’ I told her as I helped myself to some more delicious salad. ‘I had an absolute hoot until that rude dick appeared with my dad at the door. Honestly he was so nasty.’

  An unwelcome image of his bulk and stunning features flitted through my head and I batted it away like a pesky fly. He would not be allowed to take residence in my brain. Rude, rude, rude!

  ‘So now you’ve done your first night there, what do you think your chances are of ever meeting a bloke?’ Mia chewed thoughtfully on an olive. ‘I mean, do many straight guys go there or are you destined for a life with old queens?’

  ‘To be perfectly honest Mia, I think I’ve given up on finding love. If my parents are anything to go by, I’d say our family is pretty crap at it. As much as I envy all that you’ve got - the hubbie, the house, the kids - I just don’t think it’s going to be on my agenda.’

  As I sipped on my wine watching the kids in the sand pit, a lump came to my throat and a scene of me with ‘The Hulk’ and our own two big-boned kids played on my internal film reel.

  Little Isla broke my reverie by tugging on my arm and asking, ‘Auntie Percy? Do you work for the Queen now? I just heard mummy say so.’

  It was impossible to be down for too long when there were kids around and Mia and I collapsed into fits of uncontrollable laughter as Isla looked on in confusion.

  *****

  I quickly learned that it was also impossible to be miserable around ‘the girls’ at the club. Every minute seemed to be filled with dramas, jokes, tiffs and banter.

  I’d let myself into the club shortly before four, ready to start on my list of jobs.

  Hanging on the door frame of my office was the most stunning sheath of aubergine velvet, with a note attached to the coat-hanger.

  ‘Perce. Thanks for your help last night. Annie came home about 3am and all is well. Silly tart! Sorry about your lovely Pa. Hope he’s OK. Thought this dress would look fandabidozie on you. Laters. Tittie x’

  OK, that was another crisis averted and maybe I needed to realise that Tittie might have just a touch of drama queen about him.

  I took the dress from the frame and held it up against me. It was just beautiful and looked the perfect size. Tittie certainly had the knack of picking the right things for me and I was so grateful. I’d been panicking that the skirt and top I’d brought along for that night weren’t quite as glam as the black dress I’d worn the night before but I figured I couldn’t keep wearing the same outfit night after night.

  Sighing with pleasure as I lay the dress on the side, I heard the front door close and the whistling notes of ‘I Am What I Am’.

  Expecting it to be Annie, I was surprised to turn and see a complete stranger.

  I offered my hand in introduction and volunteered ‘Oh, hi! I’m Perce the new … well dogsbody I guess. Annie’s PA and front of house extraordinaire!’

  ‘Well, hello and ding dong! I’m Dave AKA Betty La Muff - the only straight one here. You’re certainly gonna brighten up my nights.’ His handshake was firm and manly and afterwards I needed to rub my fingers to bring the feeling back into them.

  Straight?! What the … ? Were there really straight drag queens? Was I totally naïve?

  ‘Betty’ pulled up a seat and, as if reading my thoughts, offered, ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking. Straight? Yes, love, we do exist. I have to say there aren’t many of us, and it doesn’t exactly get the wife’s seal of approval, but by day I’m a plumber and on the odd night I’m La Muff. ‘Course none of the lads I work with know - I’d never live it down - but it’s just another side of me that needs venting somehow. Old Annie gave me the break I was looking for and the rest, as they say, is history.’

  ‘Wow!’ I ran my fingers through my hair and shook my head. ‘I had no idea. I just assumed that all the acts were gay. I feel pretty stupid now but I guess I am new to all this.’

  ‘Yeah well, you live and learn eh? And this is a funny old game. Nothing is ever as it seems.’

  We heard a rustle in the doorway and turned to see Lubov standing there, looking pale in torn jeans and another shapeless hoody.

  ‘Vot are you speaking of, Betty? Vot is not vot it seems?’ he asked with a slight frown on his exquisitely smooth face.

  Betty let out a booming laugh. ‘Take a chill pill, Lube! Me and the gorgeous Percy here were just talking about the minority of straight guys in the biz - nowt to be getting your G-string in a twist about.

  Lubov visibly relaxed and turned on his Converse soles, leaving the office with ‘Vell, zat is good. I dress now.’

  Betty stood and grabbed his rucksack, also ready to prepare for the night ahead. ‘Far too highly strung, that one. Must be a cultural thing but I just don’t get him.’ He pinched my cheek and, with a ‘Catch you later, sexy!’ he was gone.

  Day Two was continuing to educate me - straight drags existed and Lubov seemed to have a chip on his shoulder.

  *****

  ‘Sorry about last night and my little outburst, Perce. Annie’s just got an attack of the doldrums at the mo and I got it all out of proportion.’

  Tittie was front of house with me, sipping on his trademark multi-coloured cocktail and keeping me company after his act.

  ‘It can be terribly stressful running this place and it gets him down sometimes if the takings are slipping,’ he added. ‘Sometimes I forget how hard he works and I get in a huff if he seems a bit distant. I’m a selfish bitch really - I have to stop and think it’s not always about how I’m feeling.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re selfish at all, Tittie. I mean look what you’ve done for me - again!’ I gestured to the superb dress I was wearing which fitted like a glove and made me feel a million dollars.

  ‘Yeah well, that’s easy - it’s my special talent. You should see what I’ve got lined up for you for tomorrow night! You won’t believe your baby blues.’

  ‘Tittie! You can’t keep supplying me with dresses. They must be costing you a fortune.’

  ‘No sweetness, they’re all creations I’ve worn in the past. It’s just that your delicious curves fill them so much better than mine. I love seeing them worn to their full potential on a real woman. And, who knows, if you play your cards right, they might nab you a real man. Not all the punters are gay you know.’

  I sipped on the wine Tittie had given me and said, ‘No, and I only just learned today that not all the acts are either. That came as a bit of a shock, I can tell you.’

  Tittie laughed and fluffed up the curls on his wig. ‘Ah yes, the fab Betty La Muff. Watch that one, Perce. A notorious flirt and I really don’t know how his wife puts up with it all. Not only does she have to accept his penchant for dressing up but she also has to live with his eye for the ladies. Rumour has it that they’ve been trying for a baby for years but he just can’t seem to hit the spot, poor sod!’

  A sudden influx of customers stopped our gossiping and I dealt with their payments and showed them through to the performance area. When I returned, Tittie had deposited himself in my golden throne behind the desk and was pretending to file his fake nails.

  ‘You know, I always fancied myself in this job, sat behind the desk and getting to chat to all the punters. But Annie’s always insisted on having a real woman. Of course, he’s let me fill in on the odd occasion when we’ve been desperado but he’s never agreed to let me do it full time.’ He looked a little sad and gave a tiny shrug. ‘I don’t want to tread the b
oards forever, Perce. I’m no spring chicken any more and it’s bloody knackering knocking out the tunes every night.’

  I leant over the padded desk and looked into his tired face. ‘Perhaps you and Annie need a break. When was the last time you got away together?’

  Tittie grunted sarcastically and then slurped on his cocktail. ‘What? Annie, leave this place? We’ve got about as much chance of that happening as John Barrowman shagging Jordan. We never go on holiday. We’ve not even had a night off in fifteen years.’ He fluttered his weighty eyelashes and then slumped back in the chair.

  ‘But Tittie, that’s not healthy! No wonder you’re both so stressed. Surely once I’m properly settled in and really know what I’m doing, you could manage a weekend somewhere. Even if it’s just Brighton.’

  ‘Yeah, well good luck with trying to suggest that to ‘Mein Fuhrer’. He seems to think this place will disappear into a puff of pink smoke without him.’ Tittie stood and stretched, cracking his joints and then putting his hands on my shoulders. ‘Who knows, Perce? Maybe now we’ve got you here he might relax a bit, but I don’t hold out too much hope. He’ll drive himself to an early grave if he’s not careful.’

  As I heard a new crowd of customers making their way down the steps to the main door, I re-positioned myself behind the desk and added, ‘Don’t worry. Business is good at the moment. I’ll work on Annie, use my charm. I’ve got a way with men.’

  And it was at that moment that I turned to greet the first in the queue and my eyes locked with those of ‘The Hulk’.

  Chapter Eleven

  I instantly became clumsy. It was my special talent. Good looking bloke in the vicinity equalled ‘Big Old Perce’ becoming butter-fingered, flushed of face and a total prat. It was a given.

  I could feel his eyes burning into mine and I was determined not to crumble under his gaze. This rude and arrogant man would not get the better of me. I would be a professional and deal with him politely and efficiently.

  But first I needed to find out why he was there. Surely he hadn’t come back to have another moan about being lumbered with my dad?

  ‘Hi there. How can I help?’ I asked in my best sing-songy air hostess voice. It would have been fine, had I not fallen off the side of one of my heels and had to grab the desk to steady myself.

  I’m sure I saw him hide a smirk and I felt the familiar creep of a prickly blush rise up my chest and onto my cheeks. Damn him!

  He cleared his throat and spoke in a voice that was less gruff than I’d remembered but still as sarky. ‘How can you help? Well I would have thought that was bloody obvious, wouldn’t you? You run a drag club. We’re here to see the acts.’ And he gestured to a rowdy group of Hooray Henrys lining up behind him.

  Not our usual demographic of clientele, but who was I to argue? They all appeared slightly worse for wear and had obviously decided to end their night off-piste to heckle the acts.

  I relieved ‘The Hulk’ of his cash - he paid for all of them, flash git - and then made my way around the front of the desk to show them to the bar and stage.

  And it was at that point that the corner of the desk caught the edge of my velvet dress and ripped a whacking great hole at just about Bridget Jones knicker level.

  *****

  They were the biggest, the greyest, the skankiest pants in my underwear drawer. But they did a good job of holding my belly in and they were the first pair to hand when I’d dressed that morning.

  Tittie came to my rescue and threw a feather boa at me which, when arranged around my bottom, gave the illusion of Sesame Street’s ‘Big Bird’.

  Clearly realising that I was rooted to the spot in mortification, Tittie took over and ushered the crowd through to the club.

  On his return he found me with one hand covering my eyes and the other my rump. I was speechless. My instinct was to run and hide, go home and bury myself under a duvet and some Bogey love.

  ‘Oh Sweetness!’ He made his way over to me and pushed my hair back from my face. ‘Don’t give it another thought. They didn’t catch that much of an eyeful and your lallies looked fab. That’s what the dirty buggers will remember.’

  I shook my head at him, blinking and desperately trying to control the sting at the back of my eyes.

  Taking me by the hand, he flicked the lock on the front door. ‘Come on, lovie, let’s find you a new frock. And if it’s any consolation, the ringleader of the group whacked his head on the door frame as we went through. Reckon he’ll have quite a bruise. Clumsy sod!’

  It was no consolation at all.

  *****

  Tittie let me get off early so that I didn’t have to face the crowds as they left and, for that, I was extremely grateful.

  As the cool night air hit me I took a deep breath and hoped that a black cab would pass soon. It was one night that I wanted to put well and truly behind me - hot chocolate and the biscuit tin had my name on them.

  ‘Perce! Percy!’ Someone was calling me and I squinted my eyes in the darkness to see where the voice was coming from. Suddenly, I saw the flash of headlights and realised that Tom was parked in his BMW, window wound down, and beckoning to me.

  ‘Hey, Percy. Hop in. I was just passing after a disastrous date and thought I’d drop by to see if you’d finished your shift. How’s it going?’

  I lowered myself into his car and fastened the seatbelt, delighted to have a quick trip home. ‘Just don’t ask, Tom. OK? Don’t ask. But be a love and find a late night wine shop. I’ve just decided that Horlicks aint gonna hit the spot tonight.’

  *****

  Dad was already snoring by the time we got home. He’d left me a note on the breakfast bar, along with a bottle of Pinot and a huge box of chocolates.

  ‘Percy. Couldn’t stay up to see you - bit tired. Enjoy the wine and chocs. Your mad neighbour, Diana was looking for you. Told her you’d be back about one-ish - hope that was OK. Dad xxx’

  Great! That was all I needed - bloody Dopey Diana knocking on the door, after the night I’d had. And I didn’t think Tom would be too happy if the man-eater arrived again while he was there.

  ‘Make yourself useful Tom, feed Bogey for me and crack a bottle of wine, will you? I just want to nip to the bathroom and put my PJ’s on, if you don’t mind.’

  Tom nodded and made his way to the kitchen. ‘No prob. Great dress by the way. Not one we bought though, is it?’

  I threw over my shoulder, ‘Let’s not got there, eh Tom? No talk of dresses, knickers or Bridget Jones tonight please!’

  ‘Now it sounds like there might be a bit of a story there, Perce, and I’m all ears,’ he persisted. We’ll start with yours and then I’ll fill you in on the gory details of my date from hell.’

  I returned from the bathroom, comfy in my sexless flannelette pyjamas, and took the glass of wine Tom was proffering. I curled up on the sofa with Bogey at my side and, after a hefty sigh, I looked at Tom and said, ‘Right! Listen carefully, I shall say this only once.’ I sped my words up, speaking in shorthand, desperate to get the whole sorry story out as quickly as possible. ‘Large group of men, clumsy cow, desk, dress, ripped, flashed manky knickers. There … that’s all you need to know. Let’s move on to your story, shall we?’

  Tom gulped his wine and, all credit to him, kept a straight face while managing to look sympathetic. ‘Ah. Not good, eh? But if they were really hammered they won’t remember any of it and you’re unlikely to see any of them again anyway.’

  I took some comfort in his words and yet at the same time felt an irrational pang that I might not see ‘The Hulk’ again. And it was irrational. He was annoying, rude and had the knack of rubbing me up the wrong way. The only point in his favour was his size. It wasn’t often I felt petite in the company of a man, so I figured that was why he might have hit a nerve. That, and no other reason.

  Forcing him out of my head once again, I focused my attention on Tom and said, ‘OK, spill. What was wrong with tonight’s date?’

  Tom helped himself to
a chocolate and rubbed his forehead in an apparent effort to erase his own memory. He really was quite a looker - in a Tom Cruise, pint-size kind of way - and, had I been two foot shorter, I wouldn’t have kicked him out of bed for eating crisps.

  ‘Shit, Percy! What was wrong with it? It might be quicker if I listed what was right with it! And that would only be the food. ‘The Pickled Pheasant’ do a rather good panna cotta.’ He continued chewing on his chocolate and added, ‘I’m serious, Perce. The highlight of my night was pudding. How sad is that?’