Future Queens of England (7 page)

Gareth nodded.  “Absolutely.  In addition I run fifteen kilometres every morning, swim fifty lengths every evening and when I am not at the gym or aerobics classes, I work as a dancer in a strip joint.”

“Gay or straight?” asked Hugh.

“Well, straight actually.  But don’t judge me too harshly, those housewives can’t wait to part with their money and they’re not as judgemental as the clientele in a gay strip joint.  Working at a gay club does nothing for your self-esteem!”  Hugh nodded in agreement, though he’d never been to a strip joint, straight or gay.  “Also, I haven’t eaten any carbohydrates in years,” Gareth added with longing in his voice, “I would kill for a bowl of pasta with some garlic bread.”

Uwe retorted, “Well some people have to work at it and others are just born perfect I guess.”

“Thanks for the compliment Uwe, I’m glad you consider me perfect, but you give me too much credit,” Gareth responded cordially. 

Uwe grunted.

“So tell us more,” Hugh demanded.

“Well, my dream is to become a stylist.  You know, dressing the rich and famous.”

“You could be my stylist when I get discovered,” Hugh blurted, trying to steer the conversation back to him again.

“Sure, just as soon as you’ve decided what you want to be let me know and I’ll make you look fabulous!” Gareth replied, with a hint of friendly sarcasm.

“Deal!” cried Hugh completely missing this gentle dig and they shook hands.

The next to speak appeared younger that the rest of the group.  He was tall, slim and had an impish smile, which occasionally flickered across his face for no apparent reason.  He coughed twice and pulled on the bottom of his suit jacket to straighten out any creases.  “I’m Bruce and I’m from up North …” he started with a strong accent.

“Up North!” snapped Uwe.  “Can you be a little more specific for your international friends?  That means nothing to me.”

“Yorkshire!  Does tha want the bloody post code an’ all?” came the response, in a broad Yorkshire accent.

“That is not necessary, I am familiar enough with your geography but ‘up North’ is a little too fuzzy for me,” replied Uwe.

Bruce continued, attempting to soften his accent.  “I’m here because there’s nothing sexy about a Yorkshire accent and I am hoping that they’ll teach me how to drop it.  I knows that we’ve all got a cross to bear but I am tired of sounding like I’ve just come to the nightclub straight from t’pit.  It just don’t sound right.”  The impish smile made a momentary appearance again.  “Has tha tried chattin’ someone up wi’ accent like mine?”  He playfully leant over to Gareth and, putting on his broadest Yorkshire accent, “Does tha know that tha’s given us the reet horn!”  The group laughed hysterically.  Uwe shrugged, unable to follow the conversation.

“See what I mean,” he gestured with his hands to the group, “who’d take that seriously?”  They nodded affably in agreement with Bruce.  “That’s the first reason I’m here.”  The playful smile faltered and was quickly replaced with a darker expression.  “The other reason is that I want to live a little, if tha knows what I mean.”  The others quietened to listen.  “I moved down South because everyone in Yorkshire goes on about all them Southern poofters, but I must confess there aren’t as many down here as I was led t’ believe.”  He looked at them all to see if they got his meaning as he dangled his bait.  There was an awkward silence.  Nothing was biting tonight.

As the uncomfortable quiet lingered, Bruce started to blush.  Then, to break the silence, he spoke.  “Oh, and the other reason I am here is that I got kicked out of the RAF.”

“Why was that?” asked Tony, relieved that the sexually charged pause was over.

Bruce winked.  “For trying to bugger Biggles.”  He laughed raucously, throwing his head back at the look of disgust on Tony’s face.  “So after my dishonourable discharge …”  Regaining his momentum, Bruce nudged Hugh affectionately and whispered to his confidant, “Is there any other kind of discharge, huh?”  Hugh winced from Bruce’s elbow jabbing him repeatedly in the ribs.  “After they discharged me from the RAF, I figured why not get back into education.  And I’m hoping t’ get a good education here, if tha’ knows what I mean.”  He puckered his lips sordidly and widened his eyes.

“Right!  Moving on,” Hugh spoke quickly in an attempt to stop the awkwardness from making an unwelcome return.  “What’s your name?” Hugh asked the next person in line.

“What.  Pardon?” came the reply.

Hugh looked confused but repeated the question, this time more slowly, “What’s your name?”

“Giles, what’s yours?” he responded.

“You know my name, I just introduced myself,” Hugh explained with some amount of confusion, thinking that perhaps he was missing something here.

“Did you?” Giles replied vaguely.  “Oh yeah, that’s right you did, but remind me again.”

“I’m Hugh.”

“Oh, hello, I’m Giles,” he smiled.

“What?  I know that.  You just told me that a moment ago!” squealed Hugh with exasperation.

“Did I?”

Hugh spoke faster.  “So where are you from then?”

Giles squinted as he replied, “Oh, you know … here and there.”  Hugh rolled his eyes in despair and let his shoulders fall, but continued with obvious frustration.

“And why are you here?”

“For this and that,” Giles responded aloofly.  Hugh clenched his fist and gritted his teeth, clamping his mouth shut to belay his frustrated screams.

Uwe interrupted sternly.  “Thank you Giles, that was very informative, now let’s move along.  I haven’t got all night.”

Hugh looked at Uwe and mouthed silently, “Thanks.”  He then closed his eyes and breathed deeply several times trying to regain his composure, his chest moved visibly as he sucked in the air through his nose and released it via his mouth.

“Who’s next?”  Uwe asked looking at the remaining three students whilst Hugh continued to calm his nerves.  He pointed to one of the remaining three, “what is your name?”

“Marc”, the next person volunteered uncomfortably.  He shifted self-consciously in his chair but did not continue.

After waiting politely Uwe probed, “Is that all you have to share?”  Marc did not respond.  “Don’t be shy,” Uwe encouraged.

“There’s not much to tell,” said Marc, beginning to look uncomfortable.

“Well, perhaps you should start with where you are from and why you are here,” asserted Uwe.

“Perhaps you should mind your own damn business, Uwe.”  And with that Marc stood up, slid his chair behind him with the backs of his legs and promptly walked off, disappearing into the crowd.  The group watched him walk away.

“What’s he got to hide, I wonder?”  Tony commented.

“Well, we’ve all got our secrets, Tony,” Hugh added mysteriously.  Before the group had time to consider the meaning behind this, the next in line spoke with a friendly, lilting voice.

“Hiya, my name is Keenan.”

Tony studied him.  The soft voice didn’t fit his swarthy appearance.  Tony couldn’t quite age him, but guessed that Keenan had lived a little and had some stories to tell.

“I’m here because I needed to go somewhere that I could escape,” Keenan said enigmatically.  “I’m from a small town on the Isle of Man, mainly Catholic,” he whispered.  “There are not so many ‘mos where I’m from, you see.”  He paused for a moment in contemplation and then added, “Well
,
that’s not strictly true … the Church has a few of them.”

The others nodded gravely, not completely sure whether this was a joke or a serious social observation, but never one to let such things bother him, Tony spoke up.

“Kind of ironic though, eh?”

“What is?” enquired Keenan.

“There not being many homos on the Isle of Man.  If I had to pick any one place on the planet that I’d say was swimming with ‘em, it’d be there.”

“Aye, you’ve got a point there, Tony,” Keenan added cheerfully.  “It was actually illegal there until September nineteen ninety-two.”

“Really?” Uwe commented with interest, “Nineteen ninety-two?  How backward.”

“Aye, absolutely, but it’s all legal there now,” Keenan explained.  “Some say it’s taken all the fun out of it though,” he added wistfully.  “Anyway, when I announced to my Ma that I was gay she had a stroke right then and there on the spot.”

“Are you serious?” Hugh asked, and placed his hand over his mouth in a camp fashion.

“Never been more serious,” replied Keenan gravely.  “Anyway, I daren’t tell my Da about my situation or exactly what happened to cause Ma’s stroke and she’ll never tell Da either.  So I’ve told them I’ve got a job in England and now I’ve got a year to think up what I’m gonna do when I go back home.”

Hugh prised back the role of chief speaker.  “Thank you Keenan, that was insightful and educational.  If any of us can think of a way to help you we’ll let you know.”  He turned to face the last of the group.  “So that leaves you now Tony.”  Tony felt their glaring eyes on his face.

“Spill the beans!” Hugh blurted impatiently.

Reluctantly Tony started to speak.  “I’m here against my will!”

“You don’t say,” added Gareth, with mock sarcasm.

Tony continued, “You’ve probably guessed that I am not a queer.”  He stopped himself, realising what he’d just said then quickly added, “Err … no offence, lads.”

“None taken, Darling,” Hugh responded without batting an eyelid.

“I’ve done some stuff and as a sort of community service, they’ve sent me here.”

“And now that you are actually here, Tony,” Bruce asked, “don’t you feel a little like experimenting?”

“Get out of it!” replied Tony forcefully, putting his guard back up.  “There’s not a gay bone in my body.”

“If tha plays tha’s cards right there might be one later!” winked Bruce.

“Urggh, I’m gonna be sick,” Tony scowled, then before the conversation could continue further the lights went out and the music cut off abruptly.  Suddenly spotlights appeared and swept across the closed curtains on the stage at the far end of the hall.  A small crackle came forth from the speaker system and a masterful voice not dissimilar to Richard Burton’s boomed out.  He spoke using the same dramatic tone used in movie trailer voiceovers, which was intended to create a sense of awe for the listener.

“Welcome to the School for the Future Queens of England!”

Everyone in the hall jumped to their feet as if standing to attention, all eyes fixed upon the curtains completely hypnotised by the white spotlights as they swept majestically from one side of the stage to the other, their paths crossing momentarily and forming a single beam of light.

“This is it,” Hugh cried out to everyone and no one.  “This is it!”  The room buzzed with excitement as the crowd jiggled in anticipation.  The voice continued: “Anyone who is anyone is gay!”  The crowd cheered wildly.  “Pink is the new black!” the voiced affirmed.  The whoops and whistles were deafening.  Then there was a long silence, before the final line was to be delivered.  The heavy breathing of the announcer could be heard over the speakers, waiting, teasing and making them almost beg.  Their screams and cheers lessened in volume as they waited.  The assembled crowd were gasping as if collectively on the brink of orgasm, yearning for the final words to finish them off … and then they came.

“The 21st century belongs to us!” bellowed the voice.

Just as they reached fever pitch a rainbow of colour was shone onto the curtains and simultaneously the electronic beat kicked in.  The throng began to pulsate along with the music as they reached the crescendo.

“It’s a dog eat dog world and you need to be the best.  At this institution we’ll give you the life skills that you need,” the incorporeal voice announced masterfully.  “So if you are a friend of Dorothy then stand up and be counted.  And so, my nearest, dearest and queerest, without further ado, sit back and watch in awe as we present last year’s graduates and the Future Queens of England!”

The crowd was almost hysterical, whipped up into a frenzy knowing that they were now a part of this happening.  The curtains were violently swept apart to reveal a catwalk and the lighting began to strobe as the first of the men strutted out.  The beat continued and more men appeared on the stage soaking up the admiration.  Dressed in the most outrageous fashions they strutted along the catwalk working it and working the crowd.  Every step, every facial expression executed to perfection as the audience gazed up in awe.