Authors: Mari SanGiovanni
Mom and Dad wanted the seats on the end so Mom had an easy to exit to the bathroom, and Dad could “sneak out for a smoke if some fanuk started to sing one too many Liza songs.” Lisa and Vince took the next two seats, which left the only open seat for me, right next to Erica. When I took the seat beside her, I was alarmed when she leaned in closer to me to whisper, “Something tells me we’re taking a big risk.”
“Why would you say that?” I said, my voice an horrific impersonation of my mother.
“The front row of a drag comedy show,” she answered, looking at me like I the idiot I was.
I had spent the better part of the day going over our blind date, finding her only suspicious move had been buying the date in the first place. We’d both fallen uncharacteristically quiet as we rode the taxi back to the hotel. It was strange since we’d left the restaurant laughing about how withholding any information about the date would make Lisa’s imagination run hog wild, and yet, when the taxi door closed, I could smell her perfume and we both got strangely quiet.
My biggest fear last night was enjoying every second with her. My biggest fear tonight was that I might look like a bit like my brother, who was uncomfortably sitting next to the woman he thought was the most gorgeous woman on the face of the earth. Poor guy, I thought, as I sat drowning in the nearness of her; by the look of Erica this evening, Vince had to be suffering terribly at the sight of her.
The show started and the first act wasted no time exploiting the front row. It was hysterical, but Lisa and I had been to enough of these to know that we were screwed. The first performer wore a dress that appeared to be fabric made of purple and pink glitter on a milky glue backdrop. She strutted back and forth on the stage and within the first thirty seconds she had targeted Mom and Dad.
“Hey there, Pops,” she boomed down from the stage in answer to my father’s ridiculously wide smile. The crowd laughed and Dad
looked like a guy about to be hit with a cartoon rake—if a cartoon rake would ever consider wearing a purple and pink feather boa.
The performer, billed on the poster outside as Glady Ateher (pronounced
Glad-He-Ate-Her
), turned to the crowd and said, “Who’s gonna tell the old people there isn’t a dinner special?” The crowd laughed and the performer and audience was hooked on a steady diet of Santora family ball-busting. My father was in heaven, and Mom had a look we had seen many times: equal parts forced good humor and constrained horror.
Glady Ateher asked, “So Pops, who’s the lesbian to your right?”
When Dad finished splitting a gut laughing, he answered into Glady Ateher’s mic, “That’s my wife.”
Glady Ateher put her hand on her hip as she looked Mom up and down while the crowd laughed. “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, folks.” Somewhere off in the distance, I heard Mom’s tires squealing as she departed Good Humor Town. Glady Ateher inched closer and said, “I ain’t buying it. How long you been married?”
Dad said, “Over 30 years. If I had killed her when I first married her, I would’ve been out of jail by now!” The crowd laughed in encouragement and Dad beamed at them.
Glady Ateher’s eyes gleamed, “Oooo, a comedian! Don’t ya think it’s kinda late to start a new career there, Pops!”
Under the hot lights, I could see Glady Ateher’s makeup crack and melt, which, up close, gave her the appearance of a murderous clown. It added to the humor of her giant body looking like it was crammed into a glitter pen. Glady Ateher turned and said to Mom, “He thinks you’re not a lesbian,” and put the microphone in her face.
Mom answered, deadpan, “I’m aware of that.”
Erica and Vince simultaneously grabbed both my arms as we laughed with the crowd while Glady Ateher surveyed the rest of our crew. The performer stopped at Lisa and gave a long dramatic pause as the crowd howled in anticipation. Lisa beamed like a shorter, more masculine version of Dad. Her eyes flashed and said: Bring it on.
Glady Ateher waved her supple wrist at Lisa as if she was shooing a fly. “Too easy,” she said, and she moved down to Erica as the crowd went wild. “Hmmm,” she said, but instead of taking a shot at Erica,
she sidestepped back to Lisa and the crowd roared again. Then she slid over once more to Mom and asked in an accusing voice, as she pointed to Lisa, “Did you make that?”
Mom’s affirmative answer was lost in the hysterical crowd’s cheers.
Glady Ateher slid back to Dad and yelled into the microphone to be heard over the laughter. “Pops, we need to talk. Here’s the thing: Unless this is some elaborate ruse to hide the fact that you are actually dating the cute fairy on the end,” she said as he pointed to Vince, “none of this makes any fucking sense.”
Dad thought it was really funny to nod his head and pretend that he was really dating Vince behind Mom’s back, until Glady Ateher shoved her microphone under her armpit and pulled Dad out of his seat with his giant ham-sized hand. Then she walked Dad over to Vince, dwarfing him with her height magnified by towering heels, and grabbed Vince too, hoisting them both effortlessly onto the stage. She ignored their protests, feeding off of the cheering crowd, as she dragged them both and yelled into his armpit microphone, “This is why it’s called a Drag Show, folks!”
The place erupted into full applause and Erica nearly fell into my lap laughing her head off. On stage, Glady Ateher grabbed them both by the back of the head and made them kiss her on either side of her cheeks just as a giant camera flash went off. Then the performer gave Dad and Vince two choices: “Either I use that picture we just took for my next poster, which means it will get plastered all over the web. Or . . . one of you has to get in a bikini top while the other one gets spanked.”
Before Dad had time to thoroughly weigh all his options, Vince yelled with his hand raised up like a kindergartner with a weak bladder, “Bikini!!”
Glady Ateher said pointing to Vince, “Candy Ass over here knows a good deal when he hears it!” Then she yanked a bikini top she had kept stuffed inside her own bra, and threw it into Vince’s face. The crowd was encouraging as Glady Ateher said, “Shirt off, Candy Ass . . . Sugar Pops needs to get some pleasure out of this when he’s getting his spanking.” Dad was laughing, but not nearly as hard as we were, especially when somebody off stage handed
Glady Ateher a ping-pong bedazzled paddle with the word BITCH spelled out in sparkling pink rhinestones.
I could read Dad’s lips mouth the words “Holy shit” as Erica fumbled for her camera, but she was laughing so hard she could barely see straight and eventually had to give up on the idea of capturing the moment. Lisa was holding her stomach and rolling side to side in her seat, every once in a while re-charging her laughter by looking at Mom sitting perfectly still with her frozen smile, like a teacher attending a really bad elementary school play.
Dad was shaking his head no, and as Glady Ateher directed him to kneel, Dad finally grabbed the microphone in a moment of panic and said, “No, wait! That’s my son!”
Glady Ateher said, “Listen, Sugar Pops, just because a Candy Ass calls you Daddy, don’t mean he’s your son!” The crowd roared again as Glady Ateher placed a beefy hand on Dad’s shoulder and I could see in that moment he was torn between spanking his son and hitting a man dressed as a woman.
Dad dropped to his knees just as Vince got his bikini top adjusted over his hairy Italian chest and grinned sheepishly to the crowd. Vince was humiliated, but I knew he was thinking about the years of laughter we would get out of this night when it was all over. He was dying up there, and his sisters were loving it.
Glady Ateher handed Vince the ping-pong paddle, tipped the mic toward Dad, and asked, “Any last words?”
Dad said, “Yes! This is my son, and that’s my wife!” There was a tone of desperation in his voice that made the crowd more rowdy. Glady Ateher stopped Candy Ass Vince with his BITCH paddle poised to strike.
Glady Ateher said, “I don’t know, folks. Should we release him?” The crowd started booing, insisting on the full floorshow. “Aww, come on. I’ll tell you what, Sugar Pops, if you can prove you are married to that lesbian over there, I’ll set you free.”
Dad yelled into the mic, “Honey, tell him!”
Glady Ateher glared down at him and said, “Tell him? Sugar Pops, I know you ain’t calling me a
him,
not after two hours getting in this dress! I think you want to rephrase—quickly.”
Dad was confused until the crowd started yelling, “Her! Her!”
Dad said, “I meant tell
her
!”
“OK, Pops, lets see if the governess just called to save your ass,” Glady Ateher said as she pulled out a pair of handcuffs and attached Dad to a stool on stage. “Stay put.” Then she lumbered down the stage steps and over to Mom with the microphone and Mom paused dramatically for a moment before saying in a deadpan voice, “I have never seen that man before in my life.”
Lisa fell off her chair laughing as the crowd went bananas, and I could tell by the way my sister was crossing her legs as she rolled back and forth, that she was dangerously close to pissing herself. So dangerously close, that when Vince paddled his father’s ass, she couldn’t risk watching.
The official opening weekend in May was still a month away, so there were barely any campers at camp. Probably for the best since that didn’t stop Lisa from testing out her idea of making what she planned was the first of many regular announcements over the crackling loudspeaker:
“Attention, Happy Campers! Good morning to all! Since the Camp is under new ownership, allow me to introduce myself: I’m Lisa Santora, your lord and master of all things Camptown Ladies. You can call me Camptown Conquistador, or Lisa, whichever you prefer. Joining me is my brother, Vince Santora, otherwise known as Candy Ass, or the little ones can call him Candy Butt. Please see him for any and all complaints about the bathrooms; this is his specialty. My Mom, Mrs. Santora, will be running the store, and my Dad, Sal Santora will be in charge of selling wood. Hurry, though: On a chilly morning Mom says his morning wood will go very quickly, if there is any at all.
“My Aunt Aggie and Uncle Freddie are strictly here for your amusement, and ours. Nothing like having a couple of old folks around if you need to borrow an extra cranky old person. I don’t want to say which one is the cranky one, but her name rhymes with “Taunt Raggy,” or “Haunt Baggy.” And kids, don’t be shy! Be sure to ask for a ride on her scooter, since Aunt Aggie is a big fan of the little ones, but first, go ask your parents what sarcasm means.
My Uncle Freddie can be counted on for an Italian joke whenever you need one, but if you can’t speak Italian, just assume the
punch line has to do with eggplant, grape vines, or the stone mason trade, and the guy’ll have you rolling.
The really tall looking girl you may have seen flitting about is actually our decorator, a boy named Eddie. He’s only here three days a week, so those are the perfect days to sign up your teenage sons for Little League across town. Remember, safety first! Eddie has been working tirelessly planning all the decorating of all our renovated buildings.
You may be wondering why there are no roofs on any of our buildings, or why our decorating is only happening under tarps and tents. We can only decorate after we get all the authentic Italian clay tile roofs in place, and this has been a challenge, since, leave it to a gay man, Eddie thought the first shipment was a tad off in the shade of terracotta, and sent the entire shipment back, and reordered instead from a cute little company from Italy that forms each clay tile the old-fashioned way, by taking the wet clay and bending it against the workers legs to create the nice U shape. Sexy, yes, but Eddie did this all without consulting with our contractor, Erica. If you heard the sound of two wild cats fighting a while back, that was Erica and Eddie, though it could have easily been mistaken for Mom and Aunt Aggie in the Camp Store.
This has caused a huge delay in the roofing, which of course means we can’t work on the guts of the buildings until that is done. My dream was to have Camptown Ladies look unlike any other campground—this part has come true! We now have more than a dozen log buildings with no roofs, but the clay tiles are due to arrive today, along with our specialty crew from Italy to get all the roofing jobs done right. I know what you all are thinking! Yay, more Italians!
Rest assured, we are pig-scrambling to get the old recreation hall converted into a dining hall, to realize my plans of having the best Italian restaurant in Rhode Island right here in Camptown Ladies. I have been working with my favorite chefs on Federal Hill in Providence to secure an amazing menu. All I need is a building and some campers. Oh, and if anyone knows anybody who can get a restaurant permit or two pushed through, that would help too.
So, in order to get you the best restaurant in town, if you see any signs of slacking off by our lovely contractor, Erica, as in
All My Children,
please report this to me immediately. I understand the value of a dollar, so when I purchase a woman, I expect her to be working her pretty tail off 24/7. Also, feel free to ask her any questions about her work, and Erica just loves questions about her job, and if you have any suggestions, or any thoughts on how she might do her job better, please speak up and let her know—especially from the men. She loves this!
We also have lots of activities planned for the upcoming year, and at the end of the camp season, we’ll be having an annual bonfire that I invite you all to return for, even if you’re not a season camper. Immediately following the bonfire, there will be an auction of any children that are left unclaimed, so please stick around for that. A reminder that at Camptown Ladies, leashes of all kinds are welcomed, we don’t judge.
That’s all for now, and if you have any suggestions, please take a walk right by the suggestion box hanging outside the camp office. Seriously, walk right by it, since there is no place in the box to put suggestions. Have a great day.
”