by Swan, Tarn
After calling Twinkles’ phone for the second time and getting no reply, I went to Brian’s office and asked him to have a scan around with the security cameras to see if he could spot Twinkles anywhere on the premises, but to no avail. He told me not to worry and at least I knew that my partner would eventually turn up again. I suddenly shed my blinkers of self-concern and noticed the half empty bottle of whisky and the photo lying flat on the desk. I looked at Brian and the pain and loneliness I glimpsed in his eyes made my throat constrict. I reached for him, pulling him into an embrace. He wept, saying that he would willingly give up his soul just for the chance to hold Steven in his arms one more time.
It was the first time I’d seen Brian display his grief in full. We all make assumptions about people, assumptions we want to be true. In Brian’s case I’d assumed that he was coping wonderfully well with the loss of his partner. In one sense he was, he went about the daily grind, moved from day to day and week-to-week. He worked, ate, shared a joke, but inside him was a void that would never be filled. Steven had been his soul mate. They had both loved to tell the story of how they had met on a broken down train in the wintertime and formed an immediate bond. That bond was now broken, at least in physical terms. My heart ached for Brian and my inability to take away his pain. With the best will in the world there are some things you can never make better. I stayed awhile, listening to him talk about his beloved Steven, sharing his memories. When I left he was once again composed, the photograph set back in place, the whisky bottle capped and put away from view along with his grief and loneliness.
I was walking away from his private office when he opened the door and called me back. He’d spotted Twinkles on one of the security cameras, the one that covered the entrance. He must have been outside, because he was showing the doorman the back of his hand where there was presumably a pass stamp. What worried Brian was the ‘drag queen on a mission’ way that Twinks was moving. He was regally sailing towards the stage area of the club where the transgender crowd tended to congregate. He looked like trouble on high heels. He asked if I needed any back up and I said thanks but no, I could handle Miss Stardust Twinkles just fine. He grinned and patted my shoulder.
By the time I got to the stage area Twinkles and Natalie were engaged in a screaming argument. Lulu was desperately trying to hold Natalie back and a queen called Empress Gloria was hanging onto Twinkles. The floor and table were scattered with what appeared to be portions of bank notes. I took possession of Twinkles and demanded calm and an explanation. It turned out that Twinkles had left the club, got a taxi into the centre of town, gone to a cash machine and withdrawn one hundred and eighty pounds in ten pound notes in order to reimburse Natalie. He had then torn every single note in half and mixed them up so that she would have to go through them all and find and match the numbers in order to stick them back together and make them legal tender again. The evening was over as far as I was concerned. I’d had enough. Gathering up the remnants I shoved them in my pocket and told Natalie I would sort it out.
Twinkles was still in a towering temper when we got home. The moment the front closed behind us he launched into a spleen-venting tantrum. After hurling his handbag down the hall he ran upstairs. The foundations of the house shuddered as the bedroom door crashed shut. I ran after him. Grabbing his hand I removed the shoe he had clutched in it before he could bounce it across the room. The moment I let go of his hand, and despite my warnings, he wrenched off his other shoe and threw it at the wall with considerable force, marking the wallpaper badly. I immediately called time on him. Sitting on the dressing table stool I hauled him over my knee, pulled up his dress, pulled down his tights and knickers and smacked his bottom hard, making clear that he was being spanked for throwing a tantrum and we would discuss other issues, such as his behaviour at the PP when he’d got a grip on his temper and was in a more reasonable frame of mind. He sobbed that there was nothing to discuss. He’d done what the moral majority thought he should do and paid the cost of the fucking dress. I gave his red bottom a final flurry of stinging slaps and then righted him, ordering him to get ready for bed.
By the time he’d fully disrobed and taken off his makeup he was more composed, but still insistent that there was nothing to discuss. I disagreed. For a start he’d had no business leaving the club without even having the courtesy to let me know where he was going. He said he didn’t tell me because he knew I would have stopped him. Damn right I would. He was lucky not to have been mugged going into town dressed as he’d been dressed and withdrawing a hefty sum from a cash machine. He has no regard for his safety at times. I did not appreciate him turning off his phone so I couldn’t contact him. He haughtily said he hadn’t wanted to speak to me, as it was my fault that he had to shell out a fortune to Natalie. If I hadn’t been so bloody righteous in insisting that he apologise, then Natalie probably wouldn’t have asked for the money. Highly unlikely in my opinion, besides, the fact remained that he had spoilt the dress and it was only fair that he replaced it. I appreciated that it was a large amount of money to lose, but it might teach him to curb his temper and think before acting in future. I also voiced my disapproval at his spiteful destruction of the bank notes. He said he didn’t care and he wished he’d stuffed them down her throat and choked her on them. I said maybe he’d care after he’s spent some time with a roll of Sellotape carefully repairing them. He flung himself into bed and turned his back to me.
I lay awake for a while pondering the situation. I reckoned having to pay for the dress was a lesson in itself. I’d also make sure he repaired the bank notes. He’d had a spanking and I concluded he’d been punished enough and we would start with a clean slate on the morrow.
When he still wasn’t up by noon I went and sat on the bed, stroking my hand down his spine, reminding him that today was the last day of our holiday and that we would both be back at work tomorrow. He didn’t want to return to work, he didn’t feel like he’d had a holiday. A week wasn’t long enough, especially as we hadn’t been anywhere or done anything. All the more reason to get up and not waste a lovely day by lying in bed. He was adamant. He wasn’t getting up. There was nothing to get up for. Nobody liked him. He had no friends and no family. I ignored his sulky self-pity and suggested we take a drive down to York for the day. He hated York. It was full of tourists and souvenir shops all selling the same old mass manufactured crap. How about the seaside then? He hated the frigging seaside, full of tourists and crap souvenir shops and screeching bloody seagulls. How about a drive in the country and a picnic? Not likely. The bloody countryside was packed dale to dale with frigging tourists and huts selling crap souvenirs and you couldn’t move more than an inch without standing knee deep in sheep shit! Swimming then? Was I mental? The bloody baths were packed full of bloody kids on holiday from school all screeching in your ears and splashing water in your face, little horrors should be drowned. I gave up at that point and patted his backside, saying bed was obviously the best place for him. I on the other hand was going to give Brian a call and see if he fancied a drive out somewhere. Good, he was sick of me. I could get lost.
I duly rang Brian who suggested a run down to Saltburn by the sea to watch the surfers and catch some of the town’s Victorian celebrations and perhaps have a nice meal at The Smugglers Inn. It sounded a nice way to spend an afternoon. I ventured upstairs to tell Twinks I was off out. He was most indignant. He wanted to know where I was going and why hadn’t he been invited. What kind of heartless Top went off with a friend and left their unhappy brat home alone?
I honestly could have smothered him with a pillow. I told him he had exactly five minutes to shift his awkward, contrary arse into some clothes or so help me God I would tan it purple. He was ready in six minutes, which is a record for him so I let the extra minute go. It was a lovely afternoon and we all enjoyed it. Him in frocks is in a much better frame of mind tonight and has apologised for his behaviour last night, which he admitted was out of order. He’s also called Lulu and said so
rry to him, so they’re friends again. Let’s see how long that lasts!
23rd August 2005:
Ulcer Coming
Twinkles grumbled about repairing the money he’d torn in half. He wanted me to help by matching the serial numbers while he just did the biz with the Sellotape. I refused. I told him that he had done the deed and he could fix it. I’m the most heartless man that has ever existed. I can live with that. We called on Kevin this evening to hand the money over. I’m always amazed by how different Twinks and Kevin are when they’re not in full regalia. They embraced. Kevin accepted Twinkles’ sincere apology for his behaviour and made us coffee and then, somewhat shamefacedly confessed that the dress had only cost £90 and he was sorry for misleading Twinkles. I asked him why he did it and he said it was Natalie’s fault because she took him over and said some awful things through his mouth. It had been her idea to double the cost because she was jealous of Twinks getting so many compliments about his Witherspoon look. I sternly told Kevin that he had every control over Natalie and if she spoke ill it was because he allowed her too. He looked at Twinks and they exchanged a classic, ‘non transvestite men, they just doesn’t understand’ look. Kevin then brought out the dress and showed how the red wine had stubbornly refused to clean. It had lightened, but was still a raspberry eyesore on a pale blue gown. Twinkles studied it thoughtfully and opined that he could dye the whole thing a nice winter wine colour so that the stain wouldn’t show. It would be a nice addition to Natalie’s autumn wardrobe. Kevin was interested and said if it dyed well then he would give Twinks his money back. They parted with much friendliness and affection.
I headed for the medicine cabinet and the indigestion tablets as soon as we got home. It’s a stressful business living with him in frocks. I think I might be heading for an ulcer.
24th August 2005:
The Pink Princess Party
Twinkles is feeling a bit off colour at the moment. He’s having a lie down on the couch. He went to a party after work this evening and rather over indulged. To my utter relief the party invitation didn’t include me. I don’t think I could have coped with a pink princess party, but it was right up his street. It was Gabby’s ninth birthday party and she sent Twinkles, her best grown up friend, a personal invitation. There was to be a bouncy castle and everyone was to dress up as a pink princess and there would be a prize for the best costume. I told Twinkles to try and remember that this wasn’t an event at the PP. It was a little girl’s birthday party and he was not to try and upstage either the birthday girl or her friends. Did he listen? Did he heck! He went all out to impress and ended up looking like the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz. Glamorous wasn’t in it. I remonstrated, but he was unrepentant. Tapping me playfully on the end of my nose with his wand, his glittery magic wand I hasten to add, he told me it was in his blood to take any kind of party seriously. Party invitations were a call to arms and when he dressed up, he dressed up properly and he took no prisoners. I ought to know that much by now. I gave him a swat and told him he was naughty. He fluttered his glittery false eyelashes and said that was exactly why I loved him. Everyone loves a bad boy, especially a bad boy in a frock. He’s incorrigible.
He insisted I take him to the party as all the other princesses would be getting taken and he wasn’t going to be the only one who turned up unescorted… darling it would be social suicide! The fact that the others were all aged between 6 and 9 cut no ice with him. It was my duty to escort him, so escort him I did. I felt like I was at a Hollywood Premier when we arrived next door. The moment that people set eyes on my glam-tran there were gasps of admiration and cameras and mobile phones started flashing as everyone snapped a photo of him, I was blinded for quite some time afterwards. It was a miracle it didn’t trigger a migraine.
Gabby immediately took possession of HER friend and skipping partner, Mr Twinkles, keeping all others at bay until she’d had her photograph taken with him first. Thereafter she graciously allowed the other kids to take a turn, as well as a few of the mums. I told Twinkles to be a good little princess and I’d see him later. He looked like a fairy pied piper as, with Gabby possessively holding his hand, he headed into the back garden with an entourage of adoring little princesses following, all vocally competing to get his attention. He was in his vain little element.
Frank, Gabby’s dad, gave me an appealing look and asked if he could sneak back with me, as he didn’t fancy being knee deep in excited pink princesses for two hours. He offered to bribe me with beer or other beverages of my choice, but I said that wouldn’t be necessary and I would consider it an act of mercy. We’d almost made it to the bottom of the path when the front door was flung open and his wife Katie roared his name in a manner that wasn’t to be argued with. I gave him a sympathetic look and went home as he trailed dejectedly back up the path to do his duty at his daughter’s party.
It was funny, but when the little princesses were dropped off at the party, most of them were dropped off by their mother’s alone, but when it came to collecting them most of the mothers now had dad in tow or some other family member. I suspected that the drag princess had something to do with it. Some folk just have to see before believing. Following parental examples (it seemed to be some kind of party etiquette) I asked if Twinkles had been good. Katie, who had obviously been at the extra strength Babycham to calm her nerves, slurred, ‘good, he was bloody fantastic. I’d like to adopt him please.’
Like all the other guests Twinks received a goodie bag, and like the other guests, immediately had a root around in it to see what it contained. He proudly announced that he’d won the best costume prize and a prize for the best karaoke rendition of ‘I Can Sing A Rainbow.’ As he said himself, it takes someone gay to really know how to sing a rainbow and sing it with pride. No one else stood a chance not once he’d taken the stage. The best costume prize was a Princess Amidala doll complete with two changes of clothes. Twinks was really taken with it. Alas, so was the tiny little girl who had come second in the costume comp. She tugged at his skirts and offered to exchange her party bag and her prize (a terrifying doll with an oversized head and huge lips that looked as if it had undergone some disastrous cosmetic surgery procedure) for the Star Wars glamour puss. Twinks possessively clutched Amidala to his bosom and refused. The little girl’s eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t bear it. I quietly ordered him to give her the doll. After all, she probably would have won if Twinks hadn’t turned up. Her costume was very good and her mum had probably slaved over it for hours. Twinks was a professional in comparison to the amateur status of the partygoers and I wasn’t sure it was ethical for him to win. For a moment I thought he was going to kick up a fuss and I quickly promised I’d buy him a replacement if I saw one. With a sigh he handed the Amidala doll over and took the party bag and hideous doll in return. I fixed a stern eye on him and he scowled, but obediently handed back the party bag. The little girl hugged his skirted legs and happily went off with her prize. It didn’t take too much effort on my part to persuade Twinkles to give up the ugly doll to a prize-less child. Giving me a defiant glare he clasped his karaoke prize, a box of chocolates, and said he’d won them fair and square and he wasn’t giving them up to anyone. Fair enough.
By the time we got home the excesses of the party had caught up with him. Too many fizzy drinks, cakes, sweets, biscuits, ice cream, and sandwiches combined with a bouncy castle and a dozen little girls demanding his time and attention had taken their toll. He was shattered and slightly bilious. I confiscated the box of chocolates and the remains of his goodie bag, gave him some liver salts to calm his stomach and told him to lie down.
He’s just told me that despite his upset stomach, it was one of the best parties he’s ever been too. It helped make up for all the times he’d watched in silent envy as his sisters got dressed up in lovely clothes to go to parties when he was a child. I was going to say how touched I was by his sentiments, but seeing as he’s just belched and farted like a farm yacker after a night on the ale, I�
�m not going to bother. Honestly, there’s no one can ruin a tender moment quite like he can. It should be illegal for anyone in a pretty gauzy pink frock to make sounds or smells like that.
27th August 2005:
Agincourt
Natalie’s dress dyed beautifully. It looked like an entirely new garment. Our kitchen on the other hand looked like a disaster area with rivulets of dark red dye staining every surface. I made comments that were perceived as nagging and hurtful umbrage was taken with me being accused of trying to crush his creativity. It was a double bluff. He was hoping that him taking umbrage at my nagging would fill me with remorse and encourage me to help clean the kitchen. I left him too it, he’d made the mess and he could clean it.
Kevin was delighted with the frock and returned Twinkle’s money. Everyone was happy, but not for long. It transpired that Twinks hadn’t read the dye instructions properly and consequently had not put the freshly dyed dress through what is called a setting and fixing process. Natalie wore the dress last Thursday evening and after a couple of dances had alarmed her companions by apparently beginning to bleed profusely, as the dye reacted to heat and perspiration and turned back to liquid. Nat was not happy and neither was her alter ego Kevin, as it took quite some effort to scrub the colour off his skin. Twinks wasn’t happy and said he would have another go at it. I said dying it twice wouldn’t make any better of it. It would just end up patchy. I told him to give Kevin his money back to buy a replacement. He wasn’t too pleased, but I insisted. If dirty looks were machine gun bullets I’d be dead now. He was inclined to blame Natalie for the disaster, claiming that she must have sweated acid to cause the dress to bleed out colour like that. We went out to the PP last night and I warned Twinks that if he caused any kind of trouble with Natalie, not only would I take him home I would ban him from dressing femme for a fortnight. He was sweetness itself.