Rescued By A Kiss (The New Orleans Go Cup Chronicles Book 1) (16 page)

“Allen does Marilyn Monroe and Liza Minnelli impersonations.”

“They all do Liza or Marilyn,” he added, “eventually.” He continued to reach around me and take cover charges. “I think Marilyn ran off with JFK.” This brought a chuckle from the people entering and filing past me.

“Silas is a big, black, handsome guy, about six-three or six-four, great body, long straight black hair. He is about twenty two.” Security kept reaching around me taking five dollar bills from entering patrons as if I wasn’t standing dead center in the doorway. I worried he would ask me to move or leave. He could say he was going to call the police but I already knew what sort of empty threat that was. Police do not rush to a gay club. Seeing my options fading, and I don’t even know why I said this to a big, white, gay dude with his ass fully exposed, “His Dad was a Tchoupitoulas Indian and he was his spy boy.”

Security stopped taking cover charges, looked at me and said, “Oh. You mean Big Chief! He is upstairs in the dressing room. He isn’t a bartender, he is a performer. Wait a minute,” he stopped the next patron trying to enter, “right this way. Lady with a dog, coming through.” He ushered me in and pointed toward a dark back area of the bar.

I wasn’t ready for Silas to be Big Chief, gay, a dancer, or a singing, gay, Indian dancer, but I was running out of time and options. As I passed through the entrance, I glanced back up the street. Black and Blue were about a block away on St. Ann street looking in doorways. They hadn’t spotted me yet.

“See those two coming up the block? Those are the guys chasing me. Please don’t tell them I’m here.” I said as I pressed past security. It was crazy crowded inside and dance music blasted so loud it made my eardrums start humming. The place was packed with standing room only. Wait staff hustled taking orders for last minute drinks or to get tabs paid out as the emcee announced Drag Queen Bingo was wrapping up, and the live performances were starting. All the patrons inside were dressed in outrageous costumes of every description. Some of these costumes were extravagant and eloquent, while others were extreme in their brevity and nudity. A gal stood in the midst of a group of men who were all looking at her up close and touching her all over her body. I thought she had on the tightest costume ever made, until I realized it was body paint. She had on no clothes. The guys were touching her to see if she is really nude. All that stood between her and the crowd is body paint. It looked like she was completely dressed in a Bat Girl outfit. I tried to figure out who worked in this club as waiters, then I spotted someone carrying a drink tray and asked where was the dressing room. He ignored me. To the next waiter rushing past me, I asked, “Where is Big Chief?”

“Right this way, honey.” The tall, very thin, person with a tray stopped when he heard Big Chief and pointed to a wall painted black. I didn’t see it at first but there was a door painted black like the rest of the wall. He said, “Go through there and up the stairs. His dressing room is at the top.” I felt like Alice in Wonderland entering the rabbit hole. I went through the door, up a flight of stairs into a dressing room full of men wearing makeup, lots of makeup, some walking around only in pantyhose, sheer pantyhose. I wasn’t sure where to park my eyes.

“Brandy?” I stood face to face with Liza Minnelli who had a voice like Allen, my hairdresser.

“Allen? Is that you? I need help. I am looking for Big Chief. Is he here?” Allen became enraptured with Isabella. He rattled on oblivious to my plight, “Oh, I could use this little darling and be Judy Garland as Dorothy singing
Somewhere over the Rainbow
. How great would that be? Here at Oz?” There was no redirecting his focus back to me. He was on a tear. Allen took off for somewhere over the rainbow.

“Brandy?” Silas came over when he heard me ask for Big Chief.

“Silas?” I asked the only big, partially dressed, creole man there. “Brandy! What brings you here, girlfriend?” He ran over dressed in his loin cloth and gave me a big bear hug and kiss. Silas is a gorgeous man with a tall chiseled body. He wore his hair, long and straight with two braids, one on either side of his face. Each braid had a feather attached to the end which dangled below his chin. His eyes were large, round and emerald green. He didn’t need any makeup on his face other than the war paint. He was surrounded by other male performers in various stages of undress. One performer stood in front of a mirror putting on makeup, wearing only fishnet pantyhose and nothing else. There would be no panty lines showing with those fishnets. There was hair on that part of his body poking through the diamond shapes in the mesh. I wanted to ponder this hairy dilemma. Would
Nair
work on his problem? I didn’t have time. Jiff was counting on me, and hopefully Ratty was not taking my escape out on him. At least the two following me weren’t back there using him as a punching bag but that would change if they didn’t catch me.

Along one wall was an extra long sofa with an enormous woman sitting there sewing velcro onto costumes. She took up over half of it so it looked like a love seat under her.

“Hey everybody! This is Brandy, a family friend. Brandy, this is everybody!” Silas announced. All the performers turned, smiled, waved or blew me a kiss, then went back to getting ready for their performances. Allen had Isabella and was brushing her with a soft hairbrush. When he finished brushing, he started tying bows on her collar.

The seamstress finished sewing and began gluing Lee Press On nails on one of the performers who was dressed in a long, sequined ball gown. She sat down across from the seamstress, who had to completely extend her arms to reach across her enormous bosom to work on the nails.

“Silas, I thought you were a bartender here. Woozie told me you tend bar and you get good tips. I’m in a tight spot and I’m really hoping you can help me.”

“I do get good tips and I sort of let her think I’m a bartender.” He leaned over and into my ear said, “My stage name is Cole. I don’t like anyone knowing my real name here. It might get back to my mother.” He started to put on his large, tall and wide head dress of what looked like 10,000 feathers. He added in my ear, “I’m straight and I don’t let anyone here know that either.”

“Look, Silas, uh, I mean Cole, I am here because I need help.”

“You name it dah’ling, Whatever you need, you’re family,” he answered while continuing to dress, putting on his moccasins and more warpaint.

“These two very bad, mean guys kidnapped my friend, and Isabella,” I said pointing to her, “and me. They took us to the Ice House on Decatur. I managed to get out with the dog but they’re going to kill my friend, uh, my uh, the guy I was kidnapped with.”

Cole stopped dressing. “What? Who? What do you need me to do?”

“I got out and ran here and couldn’t find a policeman anywhere. I need to call them to go there and help me, or at least call . . . I need to call my friend Dante or Stan.”

“The police don’t come down here as a rule . . . unless they are gay and out of uniform. That guy over there in the policeman’s uniform is part of my Village People act, but he’s no cop. Your friend Dante comes down here a lot. Did you see him downstairs when you came in?”

“Dante? What? If he is here, it must be because someone called in a 911 call. You must be mistaken.”

“Oh, no, I’m not mistaken, but it seems you are. The last few weeks I’ve seen him come in here really late, after he’s off duty and out of uniform.” Silas looked skeptical about giving me this information. “Most cops are homophobes, so unless they bat for our team, they don’t even come down here when we call them with a legitimate reason, like a shooting. I thought he lived next door to you. Oh, don’t worry, he’s probably a pitcher, not a catcher, or he bats for both teams.”

“What?” How could men, gay or straight, be so cavalier about love. I thought my head was going to implode, just then, we all heard what sounded like chairs flying downstairs and people yelling something. One of the performers, a very tall person who looked to be 250 pounds, dressed as a butterfly, came running up the back stairs into the dressing room saying “Two big brutes just ruined my act. They are downstairs turning the place inside out.” She sat down at a mirror between me and the door.

“Oh God, I think they’re here. The two guys who kidnapped us followed me. Are they wearing black and blue warm-up suits?”

“Yes, that’s them. Their suits are very ill fitting. They must be off the rack,” said the Butterfly. While large, she moved gracefully and seemed to be very light on her size sixteen feet.

“Is there somewhere you can hide Isabella and me or get us out of here until I can call the police or Stan?” I asked looking around the small dressing area for a hiding place.

“You bet. OK, listen up everyone! Brandy here is in trouble and we need to hide her. Quick, Lola, she is about your size,” he said to the one getting the Lee Press on Nails. “Get her one of your outfits with the wig, a black wig. Brandy, strip down. You need to get into this pronto.”

What happened in the next sixty seconds was nothing short of miraculous.

“Liza, give me the dog,” Silas said to Allen.

Everyone sprang into action with a specific task in mind. Lee Press on Nails, aka Lola was helping me undress, removing my shoes, another person was twisting my hair up to a bun and bobby clipping it so that Lola could put the wig and headpiece on me.

Cole said, “Too late for a costume, someone, give her a kimono. Here, sit here, Brandy. Camille,” to the person wearing the butterfly costume complete with wings, “put gobs of makeup on her.” Camille began to move deftly around my head applying my face with severe theatrical make up. She flitted around my face, then Voila! I had on fake lashes, purple eye shadow and enough rouge to paint a
STOP
sign. Camille used the same color on my mouth which gave me the appearance I just had 40 pounds of collagen injected into my lips. I didn’t recognize myself. Somebody was putting my arms into a kimono while someone else was pulling off my dress. Cole gave Isabella to the seamstress and said “Momma, hide her in your secret place.” Big Momma opened the top of her dress and snuggled little ten pound Isabella between her huge bosoms. Isabella looked shocked but kept quiet and still.

“Lola, give me your black wig and that Vegas showgirl head piece.” said Cole.

“Now, act like a drag queen,” Cole said to me. “Sit up straight, and be demonstrative with every move. Overtly demonstrative. If you have to speak to one, make everything over the top, gestures, words, actions. Got it?” He cleared a spot at one of the lighted mirrors and I started adding makeup to my face like last minute touches. While I did this, Cole and the guy dressed as the sailor found the biggest headpiece I had ever seen outside of an Endymion parade with more feathers on it than I had ever seen in one place. It took two people, to lift it, set it and strap it to my head. When it was on my head it sat five feet high and weighed a ton. It took an enormous amount of effort to keep its weight from pulling my head forward or backwards and taking me with it to the floor. “Here move your head like this” he said showing me how to move my head looking side to side so that the feathers were invading the space behind me and keeping anyone from getting too close to me.

“No, not that much, you’ll fall over.” Just as he said it I fell backwards, the headpiece taking control. He and Lola caught the headgear and me, righting us both. “It takes a little getting used to. Less is more. Just move your arms and look right, then left. Slowly. Let the feathers do the work. Just move your arms around like you are stretching and are warming up for your act.”

I started doing ballet arms, when Cole added, “Think Drag Queen, bigger, more dramatic, like so.” He moved his arms in large circles in front of his face and chest while moving his head slightly side to side. “See?” When I did it, the head piece had feathers tossing about everywhere. “That’s it, he said.” We could hear what sounded like King Kong coming up the stairs. “Showtime.” said Cole.

Black and Blue busted in and all the performers started cackling like a gay hen party. Every performer was aghast in one way or another, but all of the performers responded to the intrusion in over the top fanfare. Camille whispered in my ear, “Keep looking into the mirror at them. Don’t look straight into their faces.” They went from person to person checking for me. When they got within one person away from me, Cole stepped in front of them blocking them from passing and said, “If you boys are looking for some fun you came to the right place.”

Black said to Blue, “C’mon, she’s not here. Let’s get outta this butt hut.”

T
hey bumbled out
of there and all the queens in the dressing room started talking at once. I started shaking. I said to Cole, “They’re going back to The Ice House and hurt or kill Jiff. I have to do something. I need a phone to call Stan.”

“Here is the phone. Dial away.” Lola handed me the phone and added, “You bitch, you look better in that headdress than I do,” and then smiled at me. Silas and the Sailor started to remove the monstrosity from my head.