Swan Songs

by Swan, Tarn

  The theme for the Pink Parrot’s annual Bank Holiday summer picnic was announced last night, it’s Oklahoma. It got a mixed reception. Twinks was disappointed. He’d been hoping for something a bit more glamorous. In a sincere effort to cheer him up I told him that he could make a sack look glamorous, to which he furiously replied, ‘so, what you’re saying is that an old frigging sack looks glamorous in comparison to me, just what kind of fright do I look like?’ I frostily told him to watch his tone and what I’d meant was that he could wear a sack and still look glamorous. He’s so moody sometimes I can’t say right for saying wrong.

  While we were waiting outside for our taxi to take us home, along with other groups of PP patrons, some yobs, who had obviously had a skin full, decided to have a go at us, hurling a barrage of foul abuse in our direction. It was typical homophobic nastiness. It’s not uncommon, but just because it happens on a fairly regular basis doesn’t mean it gets any easier to deal with. I put a warning hand on Twinkles’ arm as he tensed, telling him not to respond either by word or action. Big Mary was signalled out for verbal abuse about bearded ladies, while Melanie, a very pretty Asian transsexual, was treated to a torrent of truly disgusting suggestions backed up with vulgar wolf whistles. One of the little cowards then hurled the can he’d been drinking from into our group, splashing us with lager dregs. The can hit poor Melanie in the face, but thankfully it did no physical damage. She was upset though and started crying. Twinks was livid and called the yob a name I can’t bring myself to type. Before I could stop him he’d yanked off one of his spike-heeled shoes and had hold of it by the front, preparing to throw it like a knife. The other girls encouraged him by yelling ‘Spike the bastard, Twinks,’ while wrenching off their own high heels ready to join in. I had visions of a Henry V at Agincourt scene unfolding. Only instead of a volley of arrows it would be a volley of deadly stilettos raining down on the enemy. They’re dangerous footwear. I’ve heard of people being murdered with a stiletto heel or having eyes put out. I quickly grabbed Twinkles’ wrist and twisted the shoe out of his hand, bellowing at the rest of them to put theirs down too, before we had a police incident on our hands. I asked them if they really wanted Brian to lose his licence and have to close the Pink Parrot? It brought them to their senses, thank goodness. It was a very ugly note to end an evening on though.

  I could understand Twinkles being angry and upset, of course I could. It’s horrible to be the target of stupid, cruel and ignorant people. I was also angry and upset. I don’t like my friends being verbally and physically assaulted either, but I know from experience that if you respond, the situation escalates. The thugs would come back another night and they’d bring more of their cerebrally challenged friends and someone would end up getting injured or killed. The shoe that Twinkles had been ready to throw would be classified in the same category as a knife i.e. as an offensive weapon in the event of someone being injured with it.

  It was too late and he was too upset to want to talk about the incident when we got home last night, but he knows that we’ll talk about it this evening after I pick him up from work. I rang Brian this morning and told him what had happened and he promised to send out a security guard to parole around the taxi pick up point for a couple of nights. He also said he’d inform the police in the vain hope that they’d send a police car past the area to deter any would be trouble seekers at closing up time. The part of town where the PP is situated is referred to locally as Anal Alley, because of the gay bars and clubs. It gets less police presence than any other part of town. Anyone would think that gay people didn’t contribute taxes. I hope last night was an isolated incident and that there isn’t a follow on tonight, not that Twinkles and I will be there to see it if there is.

  31st August 2005:

  Oklahoma

  Neither Twinkles nor I are particularly big on church attendance. Openly gay people tend to be made about as welcome as a fart in a space suit by most religious organisations. We’re expected either to suppress our sexuality or repent of it and promise never to ‘sin’ again, which basically means a life of guilt, fear and loneliness. However we attended a service this evening. It was an Ecumenical service held in the oldest church in the district. It’s a church of Anglo-Saxon origin, a very beautiful building with an odd serenity to it. I say odd because when you consider the time when it was built, and the ages it has weathered, they’re steeped in violence and intolerance, most it committed by those in the church. Yet the moment you walk through the main archway the atmosphere is one of peacefulness. The service was to pray for all those affected by Hurricane Katrina. It seemed pointless in many ways. What use is prayer to the people who have died, those who are bereaved and whose homes have been destroyed and who are still suffering in the aftermath of this terrible disaster? I can’t answer that. I only know it somehow felt right to be there. Prayer is the only non-material way that we can communicate our sorrow, support and sympathy to people who are a long way distant to us. Sometimes it isn’t enough to just give money.

  Domestic news is also grim with tragedies filling local headlines from the unrelated and senseless murders of a young boy and a tiny baby to the achingly sad story of three brothers who were swimming in the sea while on holiday and were caught in a freak current which swept two of them away. The eldest brother managed to rescue one of his younger brothers, only for him to die in hospital. The two that died were aged just 14 and 16. The story affected Twinkles very badly. He said the surviving brother must be going through sheer hell. It’s made him feel depressed. It’s an example of that media thing that takes personal tragedy and puts it in the public arena for all to view and participate in. I’m not sure whether it’s good, bad right or wrong? I certainly don’t think it’s always healthy.

  To add a lighter note to a heavy week I thought we were never going to get to the PP summer picnic on Bank Holiday Monday. Twinkles wouldn’t keep his clothes on and he wouldn’t let me keep mine on either. After grumbling that Oklahoma was a drab theme he entered into the spirit of the occasion. He looked very Shirley Jones sweet and innocent in pink gingham. I also entered into the spirit (read: mercilessly bullied) and went into Gordon MacRae mode to play Curly, wearing jeans, checked shirt, cowboy boots and hat. Twinkles might have looked sweet and virginal, but he didn’t act it. He couldn’t keep his hands off me saying he’d always fantasised about being taken from behind by a rough cowhand. There was no doubt about it. The cowboy look really turned him on. He was less like Laurey and more like Ado Annie, the girl who cain’t say no. Only in his case he was the girl who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I no sooner got my neckerchief straight than he was un-straightening it again. Oklahoma Laurey would never have encouraged Curly to do what Twinks encouraged me to do. I have to say, despite chafing in delicate areas, it was pretty dang good, and yes I did it with hat and boots on. He insisted!

  Once we actually got to the picnic he and Natalie had their customary run in. Natalie started it by saying Twinks looked like a fifties Barbie doll whose shelf date had long expired. In return Twinks sweetly congratulated Natalie on her inspired idea of coming as a representative of Oklahoma cattle i.e. a frigging big cow! They unified briefly when Cherie Pie took the stage to sing ‘The Surry With The Fringe On Top,’ remarking that if she got any heavier it would take more than a Surry to transport her. It would need a HG wagon with a police bike escort for abnormal loads. By the time they’d finished shredding Pie, the set and the dancing of the PP chorus line, they were almost friends.

  Lulu warned me that Beardaddy was on the prowl and looking to sign my dance card. I was dismayed. He knows that Twinkles and I are monogamous and there’s not a chance in hell of anything happening between us. I don’t understand why some people make a play for someone who obviously isn’t available. Beardaddy is of the poly-gay school. Monogamy just isn’t an aspect of his personal philosophy. I think that’s why he and his last boy had the bust up. Boy, real name Jason, wanted a bit more personal commitment from Bear, but Bear j
ust isn’t wired that way. I managed to avoid him for most of the afternoon, though there was a sticky moment when I was at the bar buying a round of drinks and I spotted him heading in my direction. However, he hurriedly changed course when he spotted a pink gingham fury bearing down on him. His Bear growl is no match for Stardust hiss.

  Much to Cherie Pie’s annoyance, Twinks and Lulu (both more than slightly tiddly on cider) stole the show with a hilarious mime to ‘All or Nothing’ with Twinks actually shedding his frock to play Will Parker to Lulu’s Ado Annie. I do get a kick out of seeing him enjoy himself.

  2nd September 2005:

  Crime Of Passion

  I came close to being arrested and charged with a crime of passion yesterday evening i.e. the murder of my lover, that vain impulsive little transvestite known as Stardust Twinkles. I was absolutely furious with him. I’m STILL absolutely furious with him. If there hadn’t been witnesses present I would have throttled him with my bare hands not just on one count, or even two, but three, yes three! He excelled himself and went for a hat trick in doing things guaranteed to drive yours truly completely mad. He was in a huff with me all last evening and as of this morning isn’t speaking to me at all. I care not.

  6th September 2005:

  Grease Is The Word

  Have I calmed down and got over my desire to commit homicide or as Twinkles calls it whenever I threaten to kill him, homocide? I suppose so. Though for a while there I didn’t think I was ever going to calm down, not without the aid of valium injections and intravenous alcohol. He managed to push my buttons big time last Thursday. To be honest I was already annoyed with him by the time we arrived home from work that evening. I picked him up as per normal to discover he’d been on a lunchtime spending spree. One of the exclusive (overpriced) ladies couture shops that clutter the small market town where he works was having a sale and he’d bought some things, including a handbag for Lulu’s birthday that had been reduced from something like eighty-five pounds to thirty-five, which is fair enough. However, he liked it so much he bought himself one in a different colour, only it wasn’t reduced in price because it was an autumn shade instead of a summer shade, whatever that means. I wouldn’t have minded so much, but as handbags go it didn’t look big enough to carry more than a key and a tube of lipstick.

  He’s been spending a fortune lately and it’s not as if he needs any of the fripperies he’s bought. His wardrobes are bursting at the seams as it is. I told him bluntly that he was overspending and I wasn’t happy about it. He got snooty and said it was his money and his choice as to how he spent it. I didn’t dispute that it was his money. I was just concerned that he was spending it before he’d actually earned it and judging from the amount of stuff he’d bought lately with plastic money, his credit card tab probably resembled the National Debt. He took my concern as criticism, which I suppose it was. It’s an aspect of my role to be critical when I consider it necessary. I offer no apology for it. Sometimes Twinks needs to be pulled up. He accepts my critical role, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. I got the folded arms, pursed lips and staring out of the side window treatment from him all the way home. I asked what he fancied for dinner and he snapped that maybe we should knock up a pan of gruel, as it was cheap and wouldn’t affront my parsimonious, tight arsed inclinations.

  As soon as we arrived home and got out of the car the first thing we noticed was a large For Sale board being put up in the front garden of the house next door (Not Gabby’s house, the house on our other side) In the twinkling of an eye, to my utter horror and despite my wild gesticulations, Twinkles was on the phone telling Teddy and Maurice about the house going up for sale. They don’t like their current abode and have been looking for something more suitable. I could have slapped Twinkles’ legs until his eyes watered. Believe me a little bit of Teddy and Maurice go a long, long way and I really did not fancy having them as next-door neighbours.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough my already dismayed ears went onto red alert as they heard him say: ‘see you in a bit.’ Unease trickled down my spine at these ominous words, because as far as I was aware we hadn’t invited them round or arranged to go out with them. I requested knowledge. He gave me a defensive look and tried to make me promise not to be cross with him. I said I couldn’t do that because I was already cross with him for telling the ballroom queens about the house and he was to explain immediately the meaning of, ‘see you in a bit.’

  It turned out that he’d arranged to look after Teddy’s little dog Dorothy for the weekend while they went away. I was furious and not just at his rudeness in not consulting me before he agreed to dog sit. I knew why he hadn’t consulted me. I would have said a firm no. I like animals, but Dorothy is an evil tempered, foul scented, spoilt little pug with not one redeeming feature. The only person on earth that she tolerates is Teddy, not that it stops her biting and nipping him whenever she feels like it. There isn’t a Kennels within a twenty-mile radius that will give her houseroom because she savages the other residents as well as the staff. She’s barred from all of them. I was very angry with my man. I’ve told him before about agreeing to do things that affect me, without first asking me for my opinion and thoughts. I went through him like a dose of the proverbial salts. I was doubly annoyed because he’s actually terrified of Dorothy and I knew he’d expect me to look after her and walk her. Another reason I’m not keen on having Teddy and Maurice as neighbours is that Teddy can manipulate Twinkles far too easily for my peace of mind. Twinks sees him as a bit of an iconic queen (heaven knows why) and is always a little too eager to please him.

  He said he was very sorry for not talking to me first, but begged me not to turn Dorothy away, as it would be so embarrassing after he’d promised to look after her. I could hardly do so, not at the eleventh hour, as much as I wanted to.

  Teddy, Maurice and The Hound of the Baskervilles duly arrived. While Maurice, under Teddy’s direction and with Twinkles’ help, moved in basket, bowls, dog food, I made polite conversation with Teddy trying to pretend I was happy about caring for the slavering, reeking, growling unfriendly pile of dog he had tucked under his plump little arm. Teddy didn’t seem to be much interested in my polite conversation, but he did seem unduly interested in my person. I found this rather unnerving, especially when he began to circle me, muttering things like, ‘not quite John Travolta, but not bad, not bad at all, nice head of hair, nice bottom, long legs, yes I think I can do something with this raw material.’ He then gave me a keen look, saying, ‘Tarn lovey, it’s very generous of you to step in. We were all so thrilled when Twinkles told us that you’d offered. I think we might just be in with a chance to win this competition. Under Maurice’s and my direction and with our inspired choreography, I reckon we’ll put the PP on the Dragorama Lip-synching map this year. The Trophy is as good as ours.’

  Icy fear gripped me. I had no idea what he was on about, but I suspected that maybe I ought to. I stepped in where angels feared to tread and politely asked him to explain. Teddy gave a shriek and playfully slapped my arm saying I was a naughty tease for pretending not to know what he meant. I’m a peaceable man, but for a few moments there I seriously considered bludgeoning Teddy to death with his own dog. If there’d been a handy torture chamber available I’d have booked him and Twinkles straight in for their premium pain package.

  As soon as Teddy and Maurice had left I turned glacial eyes on JONATHAN and asked him when he had planned on telling me about the generous offer I had apparently made while in a state of altered consciousness. He said he’d meant to tell me that evening, but I was in such a horrible, grumpy mood he decided to put it off for a while longer. He then gave me a little smile and tried to look appealing. It didn’t work. He could have been coated in gold leaf and he wouldn’t have appealed to me at that moment in time. Before I could string him up by his vitals, Dorothy flew into action snarling and baring her nasty yellow teeth, snapping and biting at both our ankles. Twinkles was petrified, but I was too angry to be intimidated by the
vicious little pug. Roaring her name I told her to sit down and behave. And she did, dropping to her belly making little whining noises. I felt a bit of a brute to be honest, until the sting from one of her nips registered. She was long overdue some stern discipline and so was someone else in my opinion.

  Why was I so vexed with him? Let me explain! A few weeks ago Teddy and Maurice alerted Twinkles to the existence of something called The Dragorama Lip-Synching Contest. It’s the newest and biggest phenomenon to hit the northeast GLBT social scene. Different clubs compete to win a Trophy and a cheque for £1,500. The money is unimportant; apparently it’s the glory that counts. Each club that enters is allocated a song and a scene from a popular stage show. Song and scene have to be perfected and then performed in front of a panel of judges and a huge audience at a theatre. Twinkles loved the idea and suggested that the PP enter the fray, so an application was sent and all interested parties waited with baited breath to hear if the application would be approved. It was approved and Summer Nights from the musical Grease was the song and scene allocated to the PP concert party. Twinkles decided that this was his chance to shine at last and grasped it with both hands saying he ought to be Sandy seeing as it had been his idea to enter the contest. He also pointed out that he’d done all the paperwork. Cherie Pie said she ought to be Sandy as she was the PP’s resident Diva. Twinks snapped that Sandy was supposed to be about sixteen or seventeen and that actually meant in years not frigging stones. Exit one very affronted Diva.