Devil in Disguise

by Julian Clary

  ‘Genita doesn’t sing — at least she hasn’t yet — and she certainly doesn’t mime. She’d be deeply offended by the very suggestion. She just raves at the audience mostly, spouting vitriol and filth, crossing every line and crucifying every taboo. She knows no bounds.’

  ‘Simon, I’m so pleased for you,’ said Molly, genuinely excited. ‘You’re a hit!’

  ‘Well, yes, it seems I am. A large fish in a small pond, that’s all, mind. After that first gig — I did twenty minutes instead of five and a ten-minute encore — they stormed my dressing-room door to book me again. Since then every gay pub in London has been calling me up and asking for my services. It’s madness!’

  ‘Amazing, Simon. Congratulations. I can’t believe it’s all happened so quickly.’

  ‘I’m going to have to find an agent or a manager, I guess.’

  Molly was gazing at the leaflet, still rather shocked. ‘I’d better come to the Black Cap next Friday, then.’

  ‘I’ll put you on my guest list. Word has it the Pet Shop Boys are coming, and I’ve heard a whisper about Simon Fanshawe, but let’s not get our hopes up.’

  ‘Are you earning heaps of money?’

  ‘Darling, I am hot, hot, hot. Trouble with these gay bars, of course, is they try and fob you off with a couple of drink tokens and first dibs at the cold buffet. Makes me sick.’

  ‘So no, then?’

  ‘Well, not as yet. Give us a chance. I’m not doing it for the money, am I? I just seem to have stumbled on something that works. I have every intention of being a flash in the pan. When you see Genita, you’ll understand. She’s so barking that it’s not really a commercial proposition. She’s never going to fill the Albert Hall or be on tea-time telly. It’s a bit like I’m channelling some weird, dethroned Egyptian empress.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because that’s what I feel. She’s regal, bitter and enraged. If I hadn’t been stone-cold sober when I went on stage I’d swear it was the rantings of a drunken queen.’

  ‘Heavens.’

  ‘I’m serious, Molly. I really don’t know what’s going on with me. It’s a bit like a blind person suddenly being given the ability to paint amazing, disturbing pictures. The most probable outcome is that she’ll disappear as suddenly as she arrived.’

  ‘I’d better come and see you sharpish, then.’

  Simon wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if Molly was slightly more comfortable with the idea that his success might be short-lived. ‘Consider yourself at the top of my guest list! I have this feeling that one day I’ll walk on stage and I’ll just be dreary old me again. It’s a terrifying thought. I’ll retreat to my dressing room in a hail of beer bottles and the compère will have to make an announcement: “Miss Genita L’Warts has left the universe.”’

  ‘I never, ever imagined you’d be a performer, Simon,’ said Molly, sipping her champagne. ‘I don’t know why. I’m so excited for you.’

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ He had to be sure he wasn’t treading on Molly’s toes by taking to the stage. He couldn’t bear it to come between them.

  Molly put down her glass and looked aghast at her friend. ‘Mind? Darling, I think it’s fantastic! I always knew you were a star but I thought it would be through art or writing or politics.’ She picked up the leaflet and held it up to Simon. ‘This is fantastic, chuck. Seriously brilliant.’

  ‘I guess I was just a bit worried that I was invading your territory in some way.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Molly, with a laugh. ‘I’m a jobbing actress. I operate as part of an ensemble. You are a product.’

  ‘Am I?’ asked Simon. ‘Is that good or bad?’

  ‘It’s good. Very good,’ concluded Molly. ‘Now, let’s order —I’m starving.’

  ‘You are coming to see Genita, aren’t you?’ demanded Simon, when he called on the Monday. ‘I’m at the Black Cap on Friday, remember? And I’ve put three tickets on the guest list for you, so no excuse.’

  ‘I’m dying to see you,’ Molly said truthfully. ‘Of course we’ll be there.’

  She had decided to ask her actress friend Jane to come with her and Daniel to watch the show. Jane had been out of work for so long it was debatable if she was still an actress at all. As a consequence of this she was inclined to be a little miserable, but Molly was fond of her. It had been at Jane’s flat that Molly had found refuge after the Paddy débâcle and Jane, although she wasn’t a girl to go in for relationships, had been kind and sympathetic. Another contributing factor to Jane’s low spirits was her looks: she had what one can only call a characterful face with straw-blonde hair and voluminous cheeks. Her figure was pear-shaped and she dressed in ill-advised tight clothes that did her no favours. It all made life as an actress challenging, in a profession full of good-lookers. Her last job had been five years ago, for a BBC drama in which she played a psychologically disturbed prisoner, mainly sitting in the background, swaying.

  Poor Jane, thought Molly, she could do with a night out, especially since she got turned down for that Crime Watch reconstruction job. It would cheer her up to see Simon in action, and there would be scant opportunity for her to be too intense or maudlin.

  On the night, Molly was full of anticipation and experiencing the odd sensation of preparing to see Simon on stage. It was normally Simon who sat in the audience dutifully watching his best friend in one show or another, and Molly was still a little stunned to find they had swapped roles. Daniel had to go home after work to shower and change, so she met Jane in Ruby in the Dust on Camden High Street for a quick bite to eat before the show. Jane was quite perky. She’d had a Tarot consultation a month before, she said, and the card reader had announced that Jane had special healing powers that were being cruelly wasted, so she was now doing a part-time course to hone and develop them. She had a vision of her future, she said, where she worked in an alternative-medicine clinic, curing the sick and giving hope to the terminally ill. (She added that she had a particular affinity with animals — she had stroked a Staffordshire bull terrier in Eltham High Street the other day and he had immediately stopped limping.)

  There was certainly a new spring in Jane’s step, Molly conceded, although the quiver in her voice remained.

  ‘What is important,’ said Jane, seriously, ‘is that I rein myself in. I’m currently learning to switch my powers off when they aren’t required. A trip on a bus or the tube can be painful for me. I can very easily be overwhelmed by the physical and mental malfunctions that surround me, you see. I was in John Lewis the other day and I was quite sure the man in front of me had a brain tumour. I wondered if I should I tell him.’

  ‘And did you?’ asked Molly.

  ‘I walked away and immediately locked eyes with a woman in the early stages of emphysema. I just had to run out of the store and go home to meditate. I did some long-distance healing for both of them and I’m pretty sure I cured the emphysema. Mind you, it took it out of me. I slept for fourteen hours afterwards.’ Jane looked exhausted just thinking about it.

  ‘It sounds very draining. And acting? Any news there?’ asked Molly, hoping to steer Jane back to common ground.

  Jane shook her head. ‘I can see why I thought I wanted to be an actress in the first place,’ she said dismissively. ‘I wanted to draw people towards me, to communicate with them and move them. But I didn’t understand that I was searching for my place in the world. My acting aspirations were misplaced. Now I have a proper function. I offer healing, not mere entertainment.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Molly, after a pause, aware that her own chosen profession was now considered small fry. ‘I’m glad you’ve discovered your destiny. Shall we order?’

  The dinner that followed was something of a battle of wills. Molly wanted to keep the conversation light and fun, while Jane’s new-found path in life seemed to disallow anything frivolous. Molly told a few amusing Kit-Kat Cottage anecdotes, but Jane only wanted to hear about Lilia’s bad joints so that she could send forth some
kinetic healing rays.

  Molly was mightily relieved when Daniel arrived, his dark curly hair still glistening from the shower, wearing a dashing grey cashmere crew-neck and black jeans. He looked particularly handsome by candlelight, she thought happily, watching a soft vanilla-gold highlight flutter on his cheekbones and his strong, twitching jaw. Daniel smelt of soap and deodorant and drank beer straight from the bottle. He was fit and he knew it. He squeezed Molly’s hand under the table as they listened to Jane’s earnest ramblings, and she could tell he was getting impatient with her. When she launched on to another speech about human suffering and physical frailties, he interrupted, ‘Give it a rest, will you, Mother Teresa? We’re after a good night out. Lighten up!’ His voice was reasonable but determined. ‘Have a beer, why don’t you?’

  ‘I’m sorry if I’m boring you,’ said Jane, then she sniffed the air. ‘Do you have suppressed anger? That can be very bad for you.’

  ‘For you and all,’ muttered Daniel, and Molly decided they should make their way to the Black Cap. A change of scene was called for. She saw now that it had been a mistake to bring Jane and Daniel together and expect it to be a tranquil mix. They were in very different moods and it was impossible to alternate her responses to each of them successfully. She ended up being serious with Daniel and playful with Jane, and soon both of them were morphing into one sulky companion.

  The Black Cap was very busy, an assortment of young and older gay men five deep at the crowded bar, but quite a few lesbians, too. There was a buzz of excitement in the air and already people were gathering at the far end round the small stage, staking out their patch, ready for Genita’s performance, even though there was a good half-hour to go.

  Molly and Daniel had been there quite a few times before, attracted by the late-night drinking on their way home from the West End and the vaguely amusing, if old-fashioned, drag shows. Daniel always attracted admiring glances and even the occasional drunken approach, but he was good-natured about it. He did his best to indicate that he wasn’t gay by hanging his arm round Molly’s shoulders and kissing her affectionately between sips of his drink.

  ‘More than just the regulars in here tonight,’ he said, when he eventually returned to the girls, clutching two bottles of Becks and an orange juice for Jane.

  ‘Rammed, isn’t it?’ said Molly. ‘Do you think this is all for Simon?’ She looked at the crowd, wondering if he really had this much pulling power.

  ‘Let’s move down to the front a bit, shall we?’ said Jane. ‘I think there might be an ingrowing toenail in the vicinity. And I sensed a painful expression of self-hatred in someone standing very close to us.’

  Molly and Daniel perused their neighbours as if they were trying to spot a sniper.

  ‘It might be that geezer over there,’ said Daniel, nodding towards a stooped man in his fifties with a well-cut suit and tired eyes.

  ‘Isn’t that Peter Mandelson?’ asked Jane, squinting.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Molly. ‘As if he’d come here on a Friday night.’

  They moved down and found themselves a good spot near the front of the stage.

  Between every song, the resident DJ announced that Miss Genita L’Warts would be appearing live on stage very soon, and each time the crowd whooped and hollered.

  ‘Simon’s cracked it before he even comes on,’ said Daniel, impressed. ‘Good on him.’

  Molly smiled at him, admiring his generous spirit. Simon hadn’t always been as pleasant as he might have been towards Daniel on the few occasions when they’d met previously. She’d explained that Simon was very protective of her and inclined to be territorial, and Daniel had said he quite understood and had no problem with him. Nevertheless, it was good of him to come along, show his support for Simon’s new venture and be so positive.

  Jane wasn’t saying much now, but had assumed a haughty air of melancholy while she gazed about her at the throng.

  ‘At least she’s shut up,’ said Daniel, quietly, into Molly’s ear as he nuzzled up against her. ‘When’s Simon on?’

  Molly consulted her flyer. ‘It says ten o’clock. But it’s past that now and no sign of anything happening.’

  The stage was still in darkness. Perhaps to build up the anticipation, the DJ kept saying Genita would be on after the next track and then the next, until the crowd were baying for her. When he did this trick for the fifth time some butch lesbians started to chant, ‘We want Genita! We want Genita!’ The sentiment spread through the now-packed pub like a Mexican wave until the offending music could no longer be heard.

  At last, the spotlight wobbled into action on the red velvet-effect curtains and the DJ finally announced that the moment they had all been waiting for had arrived.

  ‘She’s here, she’s queer, get out of her way!’ he screamed, above the whoops. ‘Are you ready? Are you sure? Can you handle her? The patron saint of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender folk is among us! Please go wild for the one, the only MISS GENITA L’WARTS!’

  The follow-spot did a figure-of-eight across the stage as the curtains parted and ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’ thundered through the speakers. Genita L’Warts stood in a cloud of dry ice centre stage, dressed in an ice-white hologram sequined evening gown with a matching satin matinée jacket and a skullcap turban, parodying the balcony scene from Evita.

  Molly gasped, unable to take her eyes off the incredible apparition in front of her. Somewhere under the gown and the makeup was the Simon she knew and loved, but he was only just discernible. It was like looking at a photograph of a loved one after a child had scribbled over it with coloured crayons.

  ‘Christ!’ breathed Daniel, frankly stunned.

  ‘Gen-ita! Gen-ita!’ screamed the crowd, while Genita soaked up their adoration, her huge painted eyelids glittering as she observed them with a sardonic, superior gaze. Her glistening lips pouted and sneered alternately. Eventually she raised her hands to calm them. She was serene and in control. The throng quietened, and she rasped out the opening lines to ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’.

  My goodness, thought Molly, Simon’s actually singing!

  But Genita stopped after the first half-dozen lines, and enthusiastic applause broke out. She silenced it with another wave of her gloved hand. Then she addressed the audience.

  ‘Good evening, to all my gay and lesbian people, arse bandits and cock dodgers alike. I am among you, your very own Genita L’Warts, patron saint of queers and licky lesbians everywhere. From somewhere in the crowd came a drunken bellow. Genita turned and stared at the offender. ‘Shut the fuck up or I’ll come down there and risk getting rabies. I have lowered myself to appear before you tonight for one reason only — cold, hard cash and free fucking booze! Why else would I bother, I ask you?’

  Every time Genita insulted her audience, they roared with laughter, which in turn appeared to infuriate her all the more.

  ‘Will you shut up?’ More noise. ‘Right, that’s it. You’re all an absolute disgrace. Unless I get complete silence right this second I’m walking off stage never to return. Security! Security! I am a sophisticated artist, not one of the tired old addled drag queens you’re all used to puking up in front of! Silence! I said silence!’ Genita was like a school mistress and the audience her naughty children.

  ‘You really are a disgusting bunch,’ she continued. ‘How you think you’re going to pick anyone up dressed like that, I can’t imagine. It’s like being at a boot sale.’ And so she went on, haranguing them with bitter insults, incensed by their laughter.

  Molly had never seen an act like it. As Simon had said, there was no real substance to the performance: there was a vague attempt at ‘The A to Z of Gay Etiquette’ but Genita didn’t get beyond B (A was for arse wipes and B for buggery) before she became distracted and spent at least twenty minutes repeatedly telling the audience to be quiet, while her insults moved from the general to the particular, as she selected individuals to attack. Some lesbians at the front were picked over like an o
ld chicken carcass: their hair, clothes, lifestyle — everything about them was ridiculed. Then a young disco dolly in a cap-sleeved T-shirt caught her eye, and he was hauled up on stage for a dressing down that was as cruel as it was thorough.

  ‘You poor, sad, insignificant little gayboy,’ said Genita, finally pushing him off her stage. ‘As your patron saint, my heart breaks for you. How unkind can nature be? Pig ugly, zero dress sense, buck teeth and a skin complaint. No wonder you’re gay. I guess your tiny brain worked out that that was the only way you were going to get a fuck.’

  Somehow the relentlessness and vehemence were hilarious.

  Molly and Daniel were doubled up with laughter and even Jane had tears of mirth in her eyes. When Genita finally left the stage, after her second encore, Jane announced grandly that laughter was good for the soul and Simon a very gifted, if unusual, healer.

  Indeed, the audience was buzzing with happiness. No one understood quite what they had seen, but they knew they would never forget it. Some sort of comic miracle had taken place. How could someone be so entertaining for almost an hour when the great bulk of their ‘material’ simply consisted of telling them to shut up? A great calm spread among them, in direct contrast to the demanding, even angry chanting that had been going on before Genita’s performance.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ said Molly, awestruck. ‘I had no idea. None!’

  ‘Who would have thought he had it in him?’ Daniel said, shaking his head. ‘I’d never have guessed.’

  ‘He obviously finds his alter ego very freeing,’ observed Jane.

  ‘It’s that or the glitter lipstick,’ agree Molly, who was also impressed by how beautiful Simon looked in full drag. He’d always been a handsome boy but he made a ravishing woman.

  ‘I’ve got to say it, he was brilliant!’ declared Daniel.

  ‘I haven’t laughed so much for ages,’ added Jane.

  ‘Out of this world,’ said Molly, feeling very proud of Simon. The creation of Genita L’Warts, so wildly unexpected, seemed to liberate her dear friend. The bitterness and cynicism that he had always carried around him was turned into a positive thing, somehow, through his bizarre creation. Simon had stumbled upon something new and fantastic purely by chance. Molly felt, as did everyone else, that she had witnessed a performance of comic genius. ‘Let’s get another drink and then go backstage to congratulate him. I’m rather shell-shocked.’