Avaline Saddlebags

by Netta Newbound

  “Do you think I didn’t notice?” I laughed.

  He shook his head. “Sorry. Okay, do you want to go through the makeup again? We can do it fast.”

  “No. I’d rather not. I’ll watch some YouTube videos at home. But I’d appreciate any other tips.”

  “Okay. I have a couple of outfits picked out for you to choose from, but I guess the main question is what look are you aiming for? I mean, are you looking to be a camp queen or a glam queen? Because your audience will judge you accordingly.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t get you.”

  “Think Joan Collins or Marilyn Monroe—pardon the pun, I know your surname is Monroe.” He chuckled. “Which do you prefer?”

  “Definitely Joan Collins. Sophisticated, demure. I’m not the sex kitten type.”

  “Right, in that case I have the perfect outfit for you. The next thing you need to master is the art of female impersonation. I mean you might have cheekbones to die for but if you walk like a trucker, it will spoil the overall effect. So you need to think of the performance as a whole. Some drag queens are prized for their hair and audacious appearance, whilst others are considered legends for simply being beautiful and exotic. But overall, you need to be unique if you want to stand out.”

  I nodded, trying to take it all in, but chickening out a little bit more as every second ticked by.

  “Now, I know you’re nervous about me turning up at your audition, I promise I won’t—but tell me, where is it being held?”

  “Dorothy’s.”

  “Thought so. Right, Chris Turner, AKA Blanche, is a complete sucker for redheads, so we need to change your wig. The pink number won’t go with what I have in mind for you anyway. I’ve got the perfect outfit, did I already mention that?”

  “Once or twice.” I grinned.

  “Now, at Dorothy’s, the audition is basically lip-syncing to your favourite song. There’s no cold performance or chatting required. But be warned, Blanche is fierce in there and will kick you off the stage if you’re shit.”

  “That’s a comforting thought.” I was more nervous than ever.

  “Just a word of advice, if you do get the gig and the crowd starts hollering when you’re on stage, tell ’em to feck off, but make sure you have something funny lined up to talk about.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Daily observations usually go down well, something everyone can relate to. Even crude toilet habits get a few laughs.”

  “Fuck! I don’t have anything like that.” What the hell had I got myself into?

  “Oh well, Ducky, never mind. Like I say it’s not essential. Any more questions?”

  “Thousands, but none I can think of right now.”

  “You’ll be fine, I promise. Just remember to shave or wax every inch of your body—the bits on show, at the very least. And depending on if you want to use tape to secure your tuck, it will be far less painful to remove if you’re bald down there.” He pursed his lips and glanced at my nether regions suggestively.

  I placed a protective hand over my groin area. “I’m not shaving down there! Are you mad? There’s only so much I’m willing to do for my job.”

  “Is this to do with those dead girls? I did ask Bella but she wouldn’t say much.”

  “Yeah, it is. But this is all top secret.” I hoped he could be trusted to keep his mouth firmly shut. “So please, keep shtum or you’ll find yourself in handcuffs.” As soon as the words escaped my lips, I knew he would find some innuendo in it.

  “Ooh, don’t tempt me.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Just kidding, darling. My lips are sealed, err—what will you call yourself?”

  I thought back to all the stupid names we’d come up with the other night and shook my head. “What’s your stage name? I’ve forgotten.”

  “Betty.” He curtsied. “Betty Swallocks at your service.”

  I grinned. “Do you have any suggestions for me?”

  Roy rubbed at his jaw and looked me up and down. “You look like an Avaline to me.”

  “Avaline?”

  “Yeah, Avaline Saddlebags. Kinda catchy don’t you think?”

  “I guess that’ll do.”

  Roy sighed. “Get this audition out of the way and you’ll feel much better.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Promise to call me and let me know how it goes?”

  “Will do. Oh, and just one more thing I need to ask. You mentioned tucking your bits away earlier.”

  “Ah, you want a lesson in tucking your meat and two veg?”

  I nodded, feeling my cheeks pink up.

  “I’m glad you asked that. Now, if you’ve never done it before this will sound awful, but it’s really not. Firstly, you need to pop each of your testicles back up into your abdominal cavity.”

  “What?” I jumped to my feet in horror.

  Roy guffawed. “I told you, you wouldn’t like it, but it’s really quite painless. There are two natural pockets either side of your penis, you just pop them in there and then the scrotum and penis can be tucked underneath and secured with a gaff.”

  “What the hell’s a gaff?”

  “Like an industrial thong.”

  “Fuck that! I’m not doing it.” I shook my head rapidly. “Not a fucking chance.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, that’s your choice, but I do suggest you do some form of tucking, even if you just use a pair of pantyhose. It really makes a difference how you hold yourself and helps create the illusion. But the dress I have in mind for you requires nothing too drastic. Perfect for a drag virgin.”

  “Very funny.”

  “It is funny. You see, most men who want to come out as a cross-dresser or drag queen have experimented for years behind closed doors—stolen their sister’s bras and knickers, maybe even bought their own lingerie to wear under their jeans. I’ve never known anybody do this from scratch before. And if you want my honest opinion, I don’t think you’ll pull it off. Even though you looked shit hot last night, being a woman isn’t all about looking pretty—it’s about having confidence and sass. You need to make it as easy on yourself as possible, in my opinion.”

  “I agree. So what do you suggest?”

  “Well, hip pads, butt pads and chicken fillets used to be all the rage—but luckily for you, thin is in at the moment and I’d be inclined to stick with this for now.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Okay, let me go and get your outfit and see what you think.” He left the room.

  My stomach dropped when he reappeared carrying a sequined emerald green dress with a bustle. “Aw, come off it. Don’t you have anything less… less… just less?”

  “Drag queens don’t do less. Less is definitely not more in my world—trust me.”

  “How did I know you’d say that?”

  “Are you going to try it on?”

  “I won’t, if you don’t mind. I’ll just get going and do it at home.”

  “Suit yourself. You’ll find practically everything you need online but if you get stuck call me. I don’t even mind helping you get ready later.”

  “No!” I shook my head. “Sorry to snap but it’s going to be bad enough as it is.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am. But remember, don’t be subtle. Go for it! What do you have to lose?”

  Fifteen

  The approaching audition weighed heavily on my mind. I had images of a panel of Shirley Bassey impersonators booing me off the stage.

  “What the hell have I got myself into?” I said aloud, looking at the ghastly frock hanging on the back of my living room door.

  I looked at the clock–4:52pm. It seemed far too early to get ready, but I needed plenty of time to get my slap on, and practice tucking my bits away. If I was going to do this, I should give it my everything. I couldn’t be precious about it. After all, I had a damn good reason for doing this in the first place–there was a killer to catch and a few minutes of me feeling uncomfortable was
n’t going to hurt. I just hoped I’d get through, but then I’d have the nerves of opening night to worry about, flouncing around that stage in Dorothy’s while a gaggle of drunken, screaming gays sang along to some song of yesteryear.

  That was another problem. I’d sat in front of my laptop since I got home, trying to decide what to lip sync to. Even though I was old school and preferred iTunes, Spotify had become my new best friend as I trawled through playlists searching for the right song.

  Finally, I’d narrowed it down to two. No More I Love You’s by Annie Lennox, which was a slower number and Man! I Feel Like a Woman by Shania Twain, which was a foot stomping anthem I wasn’t convinced I could carry off, especially in six-inch stilettos.

  My thinking was, do the slower number as I was less likely to go arse over tit and make a fool of myself. I just had to pass the audition. Then I would have time to rehearse a faster number in the heels. I knew I could do it. I just needed to make sure I looked the part too.

  On the way back from Roy’s earlier I’d popped into Boots and grabbed a couple of pairs of tights. No way was I shaving my legs. I wasn’t the hairiest of people anyway; I didn’t have any hair on my chest to worry about, and what I did have on my arms and legs were fine and fair. Two pairs of tights should cover what was down there.

  I knew I should eat but my stomach was in knots so decided against it, choosing to practice putting my face on instead. Grabbing my laptop, I searched drag makeup tutorials on YouTube. It looked easy enough, and I confidently stood in front of the mirror after memorising what I needed to do. But it wasn’t easy, far from it, and by the time I’d finished, I looked like Hatchet-Face from that old John Waters’ comedy, Cry Baby.

  Staring into the mirror, there was nothing passable or presentable, and panic set in.

  I called Bella. She answered right away.

  “I’m shitting myself, Bells.”

  “Why?”

  “I just had a practice run with the makeup and look a mess. I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “Yes, you can, don’t worry. I’m sure you don’t look that bad.”

  “If you could see me now, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

  “Send me a pic and let me judge for myself.”

  “No chance.”

  “Go on, I won’t laugh.”

  “Okay,” I replied, knowing it was a mistake. “No laughing.”

  “I promise I won’t.”

  “Hang on.” I took a selfie and hit the send button. “It’s on the way but show nobody. Do you hear me?”

  “It just came through–hang on.”

  The line went quiet, and then I heard it, the snorting noise, and I knew she was trying to stop herself from laughing. “Bella, are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” she said after a few seconds.

  “What do you think?”

  “Erm, you look… okay.”

  “You’re a lying bitch,” I snapped as she lost it completely and dissolved into riotous laughter.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ve got to admit, you look bloody funny.”

  I stared at myself in the mirror. The words dog’s dinner sprung to mind. No way would I be taken seriously unless I was going for the comedy angle. “What am I going to do?”

  Trying to control herself, she coughed a few times and said the one word I’d been thinking. “Roy.”

  “Do you think he’ll come over and help me?”

  “You haven’t got much choice right now.”

  “He did say to call him if I needed help.”

  “Do you want me to call? I know you’re wary of him.”

  “No, but thanks. The guy will be doing me a favour so the least I can do is ask him myself.”

  “It will all be fine, and you know I’d be there to support you if I didn’t have this little man to look after.”

  “How is the little cutie?”

  “A dream. Much quieter than the little miss upstairs.”

  “Is Penny still there?

  “Oh, yes, she’s decided to stay on until Simon comes home next week.”

  “You heard from him, then?”

  “Yeah, about an hour ago and he confirmed his ten-day paternity leave had been authorised. I can’t wait to see him. He’s so excited and told me to say thanks for looking after me. He agrees there is no better name for baba.”

  I felt honoured. “I might tear up if you carry on.”

  “See, all that slap has brought out your feminine side.

  “Piss off, Bells.” I looked in the mirror and cringed. “I’m going to get something to eat, then I’ll give Roy a call.”

  “Let me know how it all goes. I won’t go to bed until I hear from you.”

  “Will do. Give the kids a kiss from me.”

  I ended the call and grabbed the wet wipes from the coffee table.

  After a large, strong coffee and two slices of toast, I scrolled through my phone and dialled Roy’s number.

  “Speak,” he said upon answering. He didn’t sound pleased to have been disturbed.

  “Hi Roy, it’s Dylan.”

  “Oh, hello, darling. I thought I might hear from you but wasn’t expecting it to be so soon.”

  “Sorry, but I’m having a crisis and need your help.”

  “What time is your audition?”

  “They are seeing people between 9 and 11pm.”

  “Text me your address and I’ll be there tout de suite.”

  “Eh?”

  “Straight away, darling. Straight away.”

  “Oh,” I replied, thankful for the translation. “I can pick you up, if you prefer? Where are you?”

  “That might be better. I’ll text you my address now and throw this cuppa down my neck while I wait.”

  “Thanks, Roy.”

  “Anytime, darling.”

  Five minutes later I was heading toward Gay Town. Why wasn’t I surprised he lived in the midst of all the action?

  Sixteen

  “Thanks for this, Roy, I really appreciate it.”

  “Ah, don’t worry, ducky. It’s all in a day’s work.”

  I admired my reflection, looking less Hatchet-Face and more Glamazon. My lips pouted as I turned my head from side to side. “If you’d seen how awful I looked…”

  “I did–Bella sent me the pic.”

  “That bitch.” I had to laugh. “I told her not to show anybody.”

  “We all start somewhere,” he said, sipping delicately from the only china cup I had in the place. “But, just to be on the safe side, I’ll come to the audition with you. Blanche and I go way back, so you’re more likely to get through if I butter the old trout up.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Darling, try not to worry so much, or you’ll start to sweat and your face will peel like a mask.”

  “I still don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Have you even chosen your song?”

  “Yeah, I’m down to a choice of two.”

  “Tell me what they are.”

  I confirmed my choices.

  “Go with the ballad, definitely.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, darling. You can do a lot with a weepie, and the queens will be bawling their eyes out, trust me.”

  “I wish I was as optimistic.”

  “Right, get those heels on, crank up the stereo and let’s see what you got.”

  “You’re joking?”

  “If you can’t do it in front of me, how you gonna do it in front of a panel?”

  “Oh, God.” Suddenly this idea didn’t seem like such a good one.

  I prepared the music and drew the curtains, not wanting my neighbours to see anything.

  “Okay, take a deep breath, find your inner shemale and let’s get going. We have an hour, tops to make you as good as you can be.”

  I took a deep breath and hit play.

  “Well, darling, it was better than I expected, but I’d suggest smaller steps. You’re still a bit wobbly on those he
els and my nerves were hanging out watching, so keep it simple.”

  “You think?” I felt better after a run through.

  “Maybe a few more sweeps of the arm, a few chest bangs, you know, just like Celine Dion does, and you could be pretty good.”

  “Got it.”

  “Right, let’s start again, from the top.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, and then again and again. Practice makes perfect, darling, and don’t you forget it.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “Do you think Madonna steps on stage without knowing what she’s doing?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought,” I replied, not being a fan.

  “And five, six, seven, eight…”

  I hit play again and gave it my all.

  Roy dabbed the corner of his eyes with a handkerchief.

  “How was that?”

  “You moved me, darling.”

  “I did?”

  He blew his nose. “Behind that macho bravado of yours, there’s a bloody good little performer lurking.”

  “Wow, I’m shocked you thought I was good.”

  “Practice, you see, Now, come on, it’s time to go. If we get there a little early, you might get in first.”

  “That was so embarrassing,” I said, as we pulled up outside Dorothy’s.

  “I found it quite entertaining.”

  “You would.” I was in a filthy mood.

  “Not many people can say they pulled up next to a man in full drag.” He tittered to himself.

  “I didn’t even give it a moment’s thought about driving here in all this get up.”

  “You’re here now, so shut up moaning and get in there and give it some welly.”

  Hesitantly, I climbed out of the car, slipped my usual shoes off and straight into the high-heeled sandals.

  “I’m shitting myself.”

  “Just do what you did in your living room and they’ll clap like you’re the resurrection of Marlene Dietrich.”

  “Are you still coming in with me?”