Authors: Mari SanGiovanni
Lisa signaled to them like a soldier using hand signals. We held up, fanned out, waited, and watched. Gertie was blasting out a beautiful version of “My Way” as Aunt Aggie sang along and swayed her large body to the music, clueless that she was enjoying a transvestite performer. I could tell that she disapproved of the shortness of Gertie’s skirt (which barely covered her ass and other unmentionables) and was puzzled about her deep voice, but Aggie had been known to generously give “creative types” a pass.
She had done it for Eddie and she had done it for Liberace (though this may have been because Liberace was half-Italian) and I could see the struggle as she tried to do this for Gertie. Still, her expression ranged between pleasure and puzzlement and occasionally a brief wave of disgust that she beat back with an awkward smile.
Dad and Mom appeared to know the deal—not really to their credit, as you would have to be well over 70 or legally blind to miss the tranny angle—and Mom was wearing her best “I can play along with the best of them” frozen smile.
My sister and I both keyed in on a flatbed truck loaded with college boys as they rolled down the street with a video camera. They slowed the truck for as long as possible before the traffic behind them started beeping. Once they spotted Gertie, they began whooping and hollering like a bunch of escapees from the movie
Footloose
, just let out of their cornfields for a tour of New England gays in the wild.
Erica’s attention drifted away from Gertie to the boys in the truck, who were now making catcalls. “Obviously, she wants an audience, but she doesn’t want to be treated like that.”
I said. “Imagine if those boys were yelling at people of another race like that, what this crowd would do . . .”
“Gay is the new black,” Erica said under her breath. Smart and beautiful, I thought, feeling pity rise up for my brother once again. How does a person get over a woman like her?
When the boys on the truck spotted Erica, they turned their whistles in her direction and one of them yelled over to her, “That’s more like it, a real woman!”
Just then, Lisa barreled over to Erica and put her arm protectively around her and yelled to them, “Hey boys, you are you saying you want this young guy right here?” The boys looked stunned as some of the crowd laughed. Erica held her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh, but her true test was when Lisa yelled, “If you think he’s pretty, you should see his package!” She followed that by grabbing Erica by the crotch and adding, “You guys have great taste in boys!”
Erica was the superhero now. She stood, Lisa’s hand at her crotch, and simply nodded her head like her package was legendary in these parts, and it was perfectly normal to have someone acknowledge it with a public grab.
What a woman!
This proved to be effective since the boy with the camera lowered it, and the truckload of them look sickened as they thought they had been yelling sexual offers to a man. “That ain’t a guy,” one of
them said, but he didn’t sound completely convinced, and when Erica took a step toward the truck, the boy pounded on the top of the truck, which must have been a signal to get out of Dodge since the truck lurched forward.
As the truck started to roll off, Lisa grabbed the guy’s arm and said, “Oh, don’t go, stay for your mother’s next song.” There was legitimate fear in his eyes as he pounded the roof of the cab again and the truck sped off.
There was an interruption to the song when Gertie said into the microphone, “Thanks Lisa,” and Lisa gave a chivalrous bow as a smattering of applause broke out around her.
As we turned our focus back to the Gertie, Erica asked, “Your Aunt and Uncle don’t have a clue about the whole transsexual thing, do they?”
“Nope,” I said.
“But when Aunt Aggie figures it out,” Lisa said, “we need to be there.”
That moment came when Gertie’s song ended, and she bent down very low to change the song on her karaoke machine. This was when she revealed her ample nut sack under her mini-skirt; a special treat to the folks lucky enough to secure prime seats on the bench right behind Gertie’s Karaoke machine. Since Dad had inherited the need to grab the best seats for an event, the senior Santora family was lucky enough to be seated in the best view in the house.
Not that we needed the explanation, but Lisa narrated the scene. “So here you are, an elderly Italian couple, here to visit a quaint, sleepy, East Coast fishing village, delighted to hear a lady singer belting out the oldies, only to be hit in broad daylight with a view of a nut sac the size of a Saint Bernard.”
Vince was losing it, trying to hold back, the guaranteed recipe for tears to start streaming down his face. It was ironic; after our indignation at the college boys, Erica and I could barely hold ourselves upright as the crowd attempted to trace the source of the laughter. Of course, we weren’t laughing at Gertie, we were laughing at our relatives. The laughing only got worse when Aunt Aggie went from frozen dumbstruck by the ball sac unfurling before her, to pure
reason when she seemed to be bargaining that surely this nut sac would be gone in a second, but no, Gertie needed to select just the right song . . . and this took some time.
The crowd was forced to part when Vince doubled over in an explosion of snorting fits, which made the rest of us lose it, but only Lisa fell backward through an opening in the bushes to roll onto the town hall lawn, in hysterical fits of laughter. Her jacket opened as she rolled back and forth, which of course revealed the slogan on her extra-large t-shirt: “Unless You’re a Pretty Girl, Stop Looking At My Tits.”
Would You Rather Be a Clueless Fruit Or a Blind Date?
“There must be a circus or a theater troop in town,” Aunt Aggie announced. “I just saw some very large clowns riding down the street in makeup and feather boas.”
Uncle Freddie declared, “Those were the sexiest clowns I’ve ever seen,” and Aunt Aggie swatted him with her purse as he giggled.
“Another great dinner!” Dad said, as we left the Front Street restaurant. “So, what are you kids up to tonight?”
Lisa quickly answered for us. “Ah, nothing much, we’re just meeting some friends at a charity thing I got roped into.” This was the first any of us had heard of it, but we knew better than not to play along.
“Sounds like fun,” Dad said.
“I only have four tickets, or I would force you guys to come with us,” she said, shooting me a look for backup.
“Yeah,” I said, “she roped us into it without even asking, and now we all have to go.”
“What’s the charity?”
With impeccable timing, Lisa answered “AIDS” and I answered “Cancer.” We looked at each other. Lisa said, “It’s for people with cancer caused by AIDS.”
“Right,” I said.
“Well, have fun, kids,” Mom said sarcastically as she hauled Dad away by his elbow.
We were surprised to hear that Lisa really did have tickets to an AIDS event at The Vixen, a lesbian bar toward the gallery section
of Commercial Street. Normally, this time of year it would be quiet without the summer crowd. Tonight, though, the bar was hopping from the benefit.
“Can we just make an appearance and go?” I asked Lisa. “You know I’ll be happy to make a donation, I just hate these things.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll make a donation,” Lisa said.
“Why didn’t Eddie come with us?” I asked.
Lisa said, “He had a party to go to, where they were playing his favorite party games.”
“I’m not asking,” I said to Vince.
Lisa answered anyway, “The games were, ‘Who’s in My Mouth?’ and ‘Attached By A Dick.’” Erica and I laughed, but for the third time today, Vince’s olive skin turned a sickening Caucasian white.
We entered the bar and every head turned to look at Erica, who remained oblivious as she surveyed the building, turning her nose up at the décor of a typical old New England dark wood bar and four beat-up pool tables with tasseled corners. Lisa disappeared immediately into the crowd, so I stuck close by Erica’s side to hold back the wolves.
Vince whispered to me, “This is the one time I’m glad I’m not with Erica. Most of these girls could kick the shit out of me.”
Erica looked at the staircase leading to the hotel rooms upstairs, “I could suggest a little updating . . .”
“Don’t even. You have your hands full at the camp,” I said.
We found an abandoned cocktail table close to the bar and Lisa showed up with a round of drinks. “This is going to be fun,” she said.
Vince and I exchanged worried looks. Crazier nights had happened without her announcing there would be “fun.” Lisa’s definition of “fun” differed from the rest of the world’s.
Erica finally noticed that so many women were looking in our direction. “Why is everyone staring at us?” she asked.
“Oh, this happens every time I come here,” Lisa answered.
Someone announced a raffle was about to begin and Lisa grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my seat, toward the front of the room. “Where are we going?” I said, looking back at Vince for help.
“Just trying to give Vince and Erica a little time alone,” she said, once we were away from them.
Lisa plowed her way through the crowds, toward the woman on the microphone. The lady running the show nodded at Lisa, but before I could anticipate what was happening, Lisa gave some sort of hand signal and the woman announced into the microphone, “Ladies, this is our first date for raffle. Let’s hear it for Marie Santora!” The room erupted into applause as I glared at my sister, who was in her glory.
I whispered harshly, “What did you do?”
“Only one way to get back onto the horse,” she said. “In your case, I guessed it might make sense to speed things up a bit and let the ladies bid for you.”
“I’m not ready to start dating!” I said, but she ignored me and forced me to turn around.
“It’s for charity,” she said. “Now face the crowd so they can see your goods.” Thankfully, at least the crowd approved.
I grabbed my sister by the arm and hissed, “No way, not doing this. Tell the dyke with the mic it was all a mistake!”
“It’s for a great cause,” Lisa said. “Don’t be such a pussy!”
The woman with the microphone indicated a large bucket near the stage and said, “Place your bids in here, ladies! The highest bid wins a dinner date, and maybe even a kiss at the end of the evening! She’s a pretty one, huh, ladies? Come on, it’s for a great cause, so don’t be cheap!”
Lisa abruptly left my side and, to my horror, grabbed the mic and shouted, “Come on, that’s my sister over there. Get those bids in! Ladies only, of course. You can be anonymous if you want. Let’s hear it, who’s in the mood for a little Italian?” The crowd cheered and laughed as I felt my face turn the shade of a thick ragu.
I wanted to run. I wanted to die—but only after killing my sister. Since there were not too many males in the room, I could easily pick out Vince’s laughter toward the back and thought I was pretty sure I could hear Erica’s laughter coming from that direction as well. Someone handed me a shot and I tossed it back, deciding I had no choice but to go along. So I gave a dainty twirl before grabbing the mic from my sister and yelling: “I’ll never hear the
end of it from my friggin’ sister if I don’t fetch a big bid. So give it up, BITCHES!”
The woman took the mic back and said, “Remember, ladies, mark your bids that you want Blind Date Number One!”
One especially tough-looking woman in the crowd moved forward to deposit her bid into the bucket. She winked lecherously at me and licked her lips. I glared at my sister and whispered in her ear, “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Oh come on, I would have done it, but they said the femmes always fetch bigger bids,” Lisa said.
“You should have told me!”
“You wouldn’t have come.”
“Exactly!” I said.
She slugged me hard on the arm. “You’re being ridiculous. You’ll do your good deed tomorrow night and then get over it. Let’s find Vince and Erica and let’s drink!”
We found Vince at the bar, talking to a trio of attractive young women. One was grabbing his face and saying, “You are so adorable. If only I dated men, I would be all over you.” Vince was loving it.
“Where’s Erica?” I asked, and for a second I thought he would answer, “Erica who?” I wondered if it was stupid to hope he’d get over his heartbreak due to some lesbian admiration.
“Ladies room?” he guessed.