Rhythm and Rhyme

by Dixie Carlton

  He sipped thoughtfully from his mug, looking at her over the rim. “You know there are some pretty common problems with some of the young singers we get in here. I’ve been around a while, and have seen a lot of ‘em come and go. I bet you can guess at some of them.” His eyes twinkled once again, presumably remembering some incident or other, relative to one of those ‘common problems’. He leaned back in his chair and once again seemed to challenge her with his eyes, to answer his question.

  “Well I know that voices are usually a lot better as we get a little older, but the biggest issue I think you’re probably referring to, Brian, is that young women tend to fall in love too easily and then go off and leave. Or, they get big stars in their eyes, and the band members can’t work with them after a while.” She levelled her gaze back at him, and returned the challenge.

  He laughed, a deep gravelly sound in his throat, that seemed almost out of proportion to his fairly lightweight frame. He was not very tall, decidedly not blessed with good looks, but had a lovely relaxed manner about him that she liked. He was well spoken, firm in his manner and she found him easy to talk with. “Well, it’s true,” she continued. “I’ve seen them come and go too, and am quite sure that while maybe I was like that once, I’m much older and wiser now. “Besides,” she said with a determined tilt to her head, “I’ve also known a few trumpet players that were far more difficult to work with than the singers. And as for the piano players…” she broke off and remembered a night long back in her past where a certain piano player ended up almost asleep at his piano, so drunk was he, and the band had to play around him. It was a long night, and the man was fired the next day, but on a good day he had been so exceptionally talented, that he’d been affectionately nicknamed Mozzie, short for Mozart.

  “Well yes, you are right of course. We notice that the other problem here is that Tim, my brother, has a certain expectation about some of the girls who work here, and some of them really don’t like that. Can’t say as I blame ‘em, but he treats them well, until he gets bored, or they get demanding - which ever one comes first. Overall though the challenge is often one of being able to keep good female singers. And men who can sing and entertain well are hard to find.”

  Brian pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and offered her one, which she took, before lighting them both, and taking a long drag of his. He squinted at her through the smoke as he exhaled. “Were you any good?”

  “Yes, actually I was. Would you like me to Audition?”

  “Would you like to do that?”

  “Yes, I would, please.”

  He smiled, encouraged by her enthusiasm. She was an interesting looking lady, and he was certainly curious about her. She was stunningly beautiful, but he detected a hard edge to her. This was a woman who knew what she wanted and it was likely not to be part of some man’s quiet life. Her vibrant red hair was softly rolled into a knot at the nape of her neck and a few wisps had loosened around her face, probably from her fall outside. She had a tall, almost regal bearing about her, and moved with purpose. There was nothing shy or girlish about her - he thought of her as being very much a woman, not one to be on the wrong side of perhaps. And as all this went through his mind, she opened her mouth to sing,

  Hold me close and hold me fast,

  This magic spell you cast,

  This is La Vie En rose…

  She pushed back her chair, standing and moving about the room to finish the first verse and chorus, ending with a note that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. She slowly returned her mind to the present, unsure herself even where she had been transported to, and sat back down at the table, picked up her cup of tea and finished it. He slowly gathered his thoughts together and waited.

  Margaret knew she was still good enough to impress him, anyone in fact. What she wasn’t quite prepared for was the long silence when she finished. Finally, he spoke. “Well, yes, you certainly are pretty good. I would like you to meet my brother.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The job was to become far more than just that for Margaret. During the next two weeks, she met the band, developed a current repertoire, rehearsed daily, and performed her first set just seven days after arriving in Sydney. Within hours of meeting Tim Bennett, she was offered a room to rent across the street, and moved out of her hotel the next day. The clothes she’d brought with her from New Zealand included only two good dresses for performing in, but she had enough money to buy some more, and asked Brian for some advice about where she might find a good seamstress. That was when she first met Solange.

  “Solange is not like anyone you will have ever met before,” said Brian. He had a funny look as he said it, and Margaret didn’t really understand why, until she pushed open the door of the tiny store on Pitt Street.

  There were rolls of brilliantly colored fabric everywhere. Several dressmaking mannequins were draped in an array of gathered, frou-frou styles, held together with pins, bows and buttons. The chaos in the room was surpassed only by the music blaring from the back of the store, and as she made her way through the crowded shop frontage to the source of the music, she called out. “Hello, is there anyone there?”

  An assortment of hats, in a variety of colors and completion were perched precariously on a long white table, and several large bunches of flowers were pushed over to one side. One of the bunches seemed to be vibrating somehow, and Margaret paused to look at it and wonder why it was moving while nothing else was. As she stared, the entire bunch moved and stood up atop the head of a glamorous creature the likes of which Margaret had never seen before: over six foot tall, wearing a wig of deep blue, heavily caked-up face, eyes dressed in blue that matched the color of the wig and painted-on false eyelashes that extended up to heavily drawn-on eyebrows. The rouge also matched the red lips, which were outlined in a slightly darker pencil. She (?) was wearing an off the shoulder dark blue, long shimmering gown, with flowers that matched the headpiece, and a wide red sash tied around a tiny waist.

  So surprised was she, seeing her appear so unexpectedly from behind the counter, Margaret stood stock still and just stared at the vision before her. Solange, so busy with her task of finding sequins that had escaped something she was working on, failed to notice the woman who was standing in front of her for a moment, and when she did, she gasped and said in a voice that any army sergeant would have been proud of: “My Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on my soul! Where did YOU come from?”

  Margaret had no idea how to respond, and the tension of the moment simply made her laugh. She laughed out loud, and without holding back… and Solange did the only thing she could do, she laughed too. “The more they both tried to stop, the harder it was and a full two minutes of revelry passed before they calmed down enough to introduce themselves to each other.

  Margaret never fully got used to Solange’s booming voice, but came to love her as a good friend over time. An extremely talented costume designer and seamstress, Solange had started life as Gregory Cameron, a fourth generation Australian, third child of Baptist parents who never quite understood their son’s desire to be pretty, different, and wear clothes that were simply an embarrassment to them. He was sent into the army at the age of 17 by his father, to ‘knock some shape into him’, all the while hoping like mad that the army folk would never discover the ‘queer’ ways of his eldest son.

  Joining up in the mid-1930s meant that by the time Australia committed to the war effort, Gregory was well prepared for the battle ahead. He’d grown up defending himself against older tough bullies, and learned through his time in army training that survival was about a lot more than shooting weapons. It was also about knowing you could fight off the enemy attitudes of those around you, with the right words, wit, and humor to diffuse a situation, but that having the physical prowess and capability to also fight off the bullies on either side was a good investment. He was solid and confident enough to stand his ground against almost anyone by the time he was 22, but also smart enough and wise enough to know how
and when to deploy whatever resources he needed to in order to get out of any situation alive.

  He rose to Captain by the time the war ended, and had seen more than his share of dead, dying, and depravity in those six years. When his option came up to leave, he took the savings he’d worked hard to accumulate from the previous twelve years and enrolled in a study of life. Learning first how to create costumes, he spent some time in France, Thailand, and Italy, learning his craft to the very best of his ability, and learning how to lose Gregory and Find Solange on the way. He liked who he was now. He knew he was an outstanding dressmaker and costume designer, and also had an extraordinary private life filled with wonderful men and a few women who were like him, although in most cases perhaps not living openly as cross dressers.

  He had had his share of attackers, both verbal and physical over the years, and now at 42, had made peace with his family, the local police, and the occasional bullying bastards who still thought he might be good for a bashing. His size and humor continued to keep him safe for the most part, and he’d become almost an icon of the Kings Cross area.

  Margaret McKenzie was one of those rare breeds of women with whom he was to find a deep and abiding friendship because he quickly learned that she too was something of an unusual person with a wild background. She was also direct, strong, and knew what she wanted, and was slow to judge, quick to express her needs, and valued the quality of his work.

  By the time she returned for her final fitting for three gowns, that he was personally more excited about than nearly every frock he’d worked on since leaving Paris eight years ago, they were firm friends. As he unhooked the back of the Diana - he gave all his gowns a name - and unzipped it, Margaret was able to step out of it, and turn to him wearing only her underwear and feel completely comfortable in such a state. Solange, preferring to think of herself as she, found it reassuring that this beautiful woman would feel so relaxed in his presence this way.

  She stepped out of the gown, and he lifted if up and laid it across the white table. Sequins made it heavy, and he knew she’d be hot wearing it on stage, but that she also had the ability to wear it better than just about any woman he could imagine and he was looking forward to seeing her in it the next evening. “You know, I think that by the time word gets out about you, they’re going to have to get you a star for your dressing room, and hire a manager just to take care of your fan mail. I know for sure though, that you’re going to need a lot more of these gowns before long. People will go back to see you often and you can’t be seen in the same dress too often - no way. There, you’re all wrapped up. Now, are you going to take the gloves? I really think you need them.” He held up the long sparkly gloves, studded with rhinestones, and raised his ridiculous eyebrows in her direction.

  “Well, I think you’re right, but…. you know I have only just started and the job pays well, but I’ve just spent almost my first month’s wages on these dresses…. So, I’ll leave them out for now. Sorry.” Solange’s crestfallen face told her that she was making a mistake. Margaret looked longingly at them and then shrugged, “OK, what’s one more thing. Yes, OK.” He beamed, showing yellowed teeth behind the very dark red lipstick he was wearing today. It matched the outfit perfectly for color, the flowers woven through his silver-gray wig, featuring long curled locks which were also the same color, making him look like a painting by Salvador Dali. Geometric, bold, and beautiful but somehow not quite what one expected to see when you looked closely at it.

  “So, has that prick Tim made a pass at you yet?” Margaret looked at Solange and giggled. “No way, silly, I’m far too old for the likes of Tim. He apparently really likes the young girls.”

  “How old are you exactly sweet heart?”

  Margaret had to think for a moment. “I’m 36 next birthday.”

  “No way. Uh huh, that’s not possible.” Solange stepped back and looked her up and down in such a way that would be vulgar in a man, but for her was perfectly acceptable. “I mean, look at you! You don’t look anything like any 36 year old I have ever seen around here. Maybe in France, but then those French women… Mmmh. They’re a bit more special for sure. But seriously! If Tim can’t see you as being Mrs Mmnn Mmmm of the year he’s an idiot.”

  “Solange, trust me, a man who really likes young girls, will not ever be tempted by a much older one like me. And besides, he’s a bit long in the tooth even for me.” She thought for a moment about her new boss. Tim Bennett was a much better looking man than his older brother Brian, but was also negatively blessed with an ego the size of an ocean liner. Somewhat balanced by a healthy humor and an ability to laugh at his own shortcomings, he was quick to assess the qualities of every woman he met as being eminently a target for his wandering hands, or of total disinterest for him, and he rarely changed his mind.

  Tim was also a fair man at heart, and was well known for running a good club where the food and entertainment were of excellent quality, and trouble makers were not welcome.

  Margaret paid Solange for her new dresses and made to lift the large box off the counter. “What are you trying to do? Here let me take that. I’ll throw in some free delivery, just for you today, honey. Just let me lock up and I’ll be right with you.” Solange disappeared out the back of the store for a moment and returned with a giant handbag hanging over one arm, a set of keys in hand, and a jaunty hat on her head that also matched the deep red of her dress and makeup.

  Margaret had not expected to be accompanied home by Solange, and was thrilled at the pleasure of her company, and not having to cart the large box herself. Stepping out into the sunshine, she waited for Solange to lock the door behind them, and they made their way towards the tram stop down the street. There they waited for just a few minutes, and were quickly on their way in the half empty carriage. Both were able to sit, as being in the middle of the day, seats were freely available. This allowed Margaret to freely observe the reaction of some of their fellow travelers to the unusual sight that Solange presented.

  Her large stature was imposing enough, but the bold color of her dress, startling light blonde shades of the wig she was wearing - dyed to her exact requirements - and extreme make up was certainly a shock to many. Some frowned in disgust but kept staring anyway, and a mother urged her two young children not to ‘look at that woman’. A man leaned down and peered more closely at Solange and muttered ‘Freak’ under his breath before getting off at the next stop. Margaret felt sorry for Solange, but also realized that she was of her own making, and in many ways enjoyed being the center of attention and boldly met each and every stare with an attitude she wished she could have mustered herself at times in the past. While Margaret knew only a small part of Solange’s history of being in the army, she felt quite sure that her new friend would be able to protect herself if needed.

  Arriving at the club, Margaret and Solange entered through the side door, and went straight into what served as Margaret’s own dressing room and hung the three dresses carefully. Solange was like a young mother dressing her child for church in the way she took care of the gowns, and went to great lengths to ensure Margaret knew how to care for them when washing them. Getting very sweaty while performing meant that the sequined gowns needed special care after every show, and Solange felt that Diana, Grace, and Beatrice - the dresses - were deserving of extra special care.

  They were interrupted by Tim, who hearing their voices, wandered in to see what was going on. “S’lange, good to see you. I see you’re taking care of our newest Bennett’s girl?” The two shook hands like men, before stepping back to size each other up. “Looking pretty as a peach today old girl!”

  “That’s enough flirting from you, you ugly old bastard. I told you before, I am not into dirty old men who like it straight up - I’ve better taste than that.”

  “Aww come on, baby, you know you want me!” Tim laughed and Solange did her Mmmmnn!” growly thing in the back of her throat and shrugged her shoulder. Margaret could see they were old friends and simply greeting
each other in a way that was common to them both, but suddenly saw each of them in an even clearer light. There was a respectful friendship between the two men and total acceptance of each other.

  She found that interesting, but was not quite sure why. She knew that a life in clubs and theatre brought an ever-changing array of extraordinary people through all their lives. It was part of the attraction to this life - the fact that most people you met were far from suburban average people on the street. They were creative! Life’s expressions all seeking a canvas to play out on.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The following night was the start of the third week Margaret performed for the Bennetts. The first two weeks were shared with another girl who had been sleeping with Tim, and had started to make him uncomfortable with her girlish demands and pouty bad attitude, so this week he’d paid her to go visit her mother up in Queensland for a break, which meant that Margaret would be doing all three sets for the night. Diana was getting her first showing off, and looked exquisite under the lights of the stage. Margaret knew how to work a crowd and by half way through the evening was herself having a wonderful time. All of the past few months’ anxieties were able to be firmly pushed back in her mind and she could simply focus on being in the moment; with the musicians, caught up in the energy of the room and all the people in it.

  Taking a break and wandering over to the bar for a drink, she stopped to speak to several customers who wanted to either complement her on her songs, make a request, or ask where she got her beautiful dress from. Finally, she made it to the bar and walked up to Tim, seeking any feedback on the evening so far, good, bad, or otherwise. Corrections to sound, style, or a host of other things could still be managed, if necessary, for the next set. He turned to her and smiled, a big warm, satisfied grin, appreciating that she was good at what she did, and that she might well be worth every penny he was paying her, and then some.