Choir Boy

by Unknown Author

  “They wouldn’t recognize you anyway,” Maura chortled. “All they’ll see now is a hot mama chula with perky tits.” “Anyway, we’ll go places nobody knows you,” Anna Conventional said. “Think we could sneak her into Merry Queen of Scotch?”

  “She’s got a fake ID,” Maura said.

  “Wow, kid, you get around.”

  “My dad’s a failed role model,” Berry explained.

  “Flawed heroes are the best kind,” Anna said in an artistic pronouncement sort of voice.

  “Uh huh,” Berry said uncertainly.

  Maura really wanted to take Berry to the Booby Hatch, the city’s tranny hangout, but Anna Conventional vetoed that for now. “It’s just a little overwhelming. Lots of your fellow, er, professionals tend to congregate there, and so do a lot of would-be clients.”

  “I hate you artsy fartsy types,” Maura said.

  Berry wasn’t sure whether Anna Conventional and Maura really liked each other. They both focused a lot on Berry.

  Merry Queen of Scotch was darker than the karaoke bar he’d gone to with Maura and Wilson, and it had a line out front. It had fewer tables and chairs than the strip joint Marco had taken Berry to and no stage. Swords and kilts dangled around the bar. But the bar also had purple neon strips behind it, and a pirate hung over the pool table.

  When Berry and friends got there, it was already past Berry’s normal bedtime. The club was just starting to fill up. Maura got Berry a virgin daiquiri with a big umbrella.

  Clubbing turned out to be boring. The club was a crowded place where speech died in the rumble of music. Maura and Anna Conventional seemed to enjoy standing around and sipping drinks. Occasionally someone they knew would drift past and they’d make a huge pantomime of waving and smiling. Then they’d go back to standing and making signs at each other or shouting in each other’s ears.

  “Hey,” Anna Conventional told Berry. “That guy thinks you’re cute.” She pointed at a man standing in the corner who wore a nice suit and blue tie. “Of course, you’re jail-bait, but he doesn’t know that.”

  Berry could hear Anna Conventional if she stood right beside him and shouted. Berry wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about the random stranger checking him out. He definitely was, though. Berry looked into the stranger’s eyes and saw something like reverence.

  “It just shows we did a good job,” Anna Conventional said. “People find you hot and a convincing girl, which I never doubted. We had good raw material. This is what it’s all about.”

  “We’re hanging out, just the girls,” Maura shouted, as if labeling the situation would make it appeal to Berry. “We’re having girl talk. We’re sharing feminine mysteries. We’re girlbonding. We’re doing girl stuff.”

  “Uh huh,” Berry said.

  “Why don’t you try giggling?” Maura said. “It’s a wonderful feeling, a release. Here, we’ll all giggle together. One, two three . . .” On three, Maura made a rattling cans noise in her throat. Anna Conventional made a half-hearted attempt to join in. Berry just watched them as if they were insane.

  “You didn’t join in,” Maura accused.

  “Look, I really appreciate the girlbonding and all. It’s just that I feel a little weird. This is all kind of new to me, and I’m really not used to acting like a grownup. I mean, what do girls my own age do?”

  “Giggle,” Maura offered.

  “Play with makeup. Obsess over their weight. Masturbate in secret. Listen to bad bubblegum pop. Write inane letters to magazines about how they like this boy but can’t tell if he likes them back, or how some boy likes them but they just want to be friends,” said Anna Conventional.

  “Sounds great,” Berry said.

  “It pretty much sucks to be your age no matter what sex you are,” said Anna Conventional.

  They went to the karaoke bar, where Berry could relax and sing a song he liked by Christina Aguilera. The crowd loved Berry, and he liked what he saw in their eyes. By the song’s bridge, he stalked like the stars on MTV and urged the audience to shout “Ho!” at intervals. He hit some impossible high notes, Mariah-style, and the crowd shrieked. When he got back to the table, Anna and Maura hugged him. “You were amazing! You’re getting into it!”

  “That was fun,” Berry admitted.

  “You just found your inner vamp,” Anna Conventional said. “I’m thinking big head-dress or tiara. I’m thinking rhinestone bustier and sequin gloves.”

  “I love to sing,” Berry said. “Everything else is just show.” Another guilt wave about the evening’s missed rehearsal.

  “Enough of this trifling,” Maura said. “Can we please hit the Booby Hatch now?”

  “I dunno,” Anna Conventional said. “What do you think, Berry? You up to descending to the tranny underworld?”

  Berry yawned nakedly. “Dunno. Depends if it’ll be more interesting than the clubs we’ve hit so far.”

  “Don’t be a jerk,” Anna said without heat. “We’ll go for a little while, just to see what we think. Unless we’re rapturous, we’ll head on back. That’s why God made cars.”

  The Booby Hatch was a mile or two away from downtown, in a run-down area of warehouses and massage parlors. From the back seat of Anna Conventional’s SUV Berry watched the neighborhood slide downhill as the car moved further north. “Hey,” Berry said. “Thanks for taking me under your wings and stuff. I know it’s a pain dealing with me.”

  “You kidding?” Anna Conventional said. “This is the most fun Fve had in weeks.”

  “This is a blast,” Maura said. “I just wish you were enjoying it more.”

  “I am enjoying it,” Berry said. “I’ll try harder.”

  “We’re here!” Maura pointed at a golden awning with a white neon sign that said “TBH” in cursive letters. The “B” looked like cleavage. A bouncer and a few women loitered outside. Anna Conventional found a parking spot right away.

  The Booby Hatch was as dark as the other bars, but with textures of shade on purpose. The women in the room seemed to thrive on near-darkness, like anti-plants. The moment the trio entered, Maura rushed off the street. She kissed cheeks and hugged everyone in sight. Most of the girls there wore more makeup than Maura and they glistened shyly as if rapid movement might dispel their womanhood.

  “They’re all jealous of you,” Anna Conventional whispered to Berry.

  Berry couldn’t believe her. All these women looked so perfect and sophisticated, their hair in place and faces etched in strong lines. They looked realer than most women. They all socialized amongst themselves while they waited for someone/something else. How many of them were workers like Maura?

  Something disturbed the equilibrium of Berry’s ass. Fingers thrust into the cleft under his skirt and squeezed. “Hey, stop that,” Anna Conventional swatted a man’s hairy wrist. He’d emerged from the gloom without Berry noticing him. He pulled his hand away, but the move upset the delicate balance Berry had striven for all night on his three-inch chunky heels. He’d been on tiptoe for hours.

  Berry pitched forward, one knee bent and hands flailing. He knocked over one of the lacquer-headed goddesses standing by the bar and she fell face first into the puddle her own drink created as it landed. “Oh God!” Berry cried. He teetered and tripped on the downed girl, then flew himself into a full-on belly flop. Maura’s arm lunged and grabbed him at the last minute.

  “Jesus!” Maura said. She pulled Berry to his feet. “Maddie, you all right?” The woman on the floor groaned and nodded. She raised herself slowly and with difficulty, then staggered to the bathroom to rebuild her face and hair. “Jesus!” Maura said again. “Berry, you have been drinking virgins haven’t you?” Berry nodded. “Everybody, this is

  Berry. She’s still finding her T-legs!” Maura introduced him to all the bright figures. He wondered if their makeup glowed in the dark like the stars on Wilson’s ceiling. They all smiled at Berry. One or two of them shook his hand as if they wished him the Peace of the Lord.

  Once Berry’s pu
pils dilated enough to suck light from every meager source in the room, he saw that Maura and the others weren’t alone. A dozen or so men crouched in the corners and at the fringes of the bar. They all looked older than the women there, and stubble clouded their faces. Most wore casual club gear, but one or two wore suits. They all sat nervously or patiently, Berry couldn’t tell which, and watched the women mingle. The men didn’t talk to each other. One of the women standing near Berry made eye contact with one of the men and smiled as if greeting a best friend. After they locked smiles, she went and sat on his lap. He bought her a drink and soon they sat skin-to-skin from neck to thigh.

  Berry found Anna Conventional at his elbow again. They held hands. “Having fun?” Anna Conventional asked.

  “I guess so,” Berry said. It seemed he’d aged decades since his parents had dragged him to Dr. Tamarind this morning. Weariness turned to a hatred of everyone around him, even Anna who clutched his hand. Berry had never felt so hostile. It frightened him, more alien than the hose and lipstick he wore. The costume he could try on and discard just as easily. The anger was inside him, a previously unknown organ. Was this what Marco felt like? Or Mr. Allen?

  Bar music faded and way louder beats started. A large woman in a tight dress and huge wig got on a small stage in the corner that Berry hadn’t noticed before. She pranced around the stage, cracking wise at the girls who waved dollar bills at her. Then she lip-synched to the song “You’re So Vain” by some ancient songstress Judy used to put on the CD player before Marco “accidentally” broke the speakers. The memory of Marco slapping a hammer down, again and again, into the paper around the speaker’s woofer until it only farted, made Berry wonder what Marco and Judy were doing tonight.

  The large lip-syncher finished, her dress stuffed with bills. Another woman got up and mouthed Debbie Gibson. “I don’t understand,” Berry said loudly. “Don’t these people know how to sing?” Maura shushed him.

  When they finally left, Berry was exhausted and raw. Maura kept talking about how great it had been and how much everyone had liked/envied/admired Berry. Berry stayed silent, then finally blurted, “Is that all there is?”

  “What do you mean? What more do you want? Some people look forward all week to going out and showing off at the Booby Hatch. And for others, it’s where they make the rent.”

  “That’s not all there is to transgender life,” Anna put in. “A lot of people don’t go clubbing at all. This is just one subculture.”

  “You didn’t like it?” Maura said, hurt.

  “It was pretty stupid. I mean they had some nice outfits and stuff. It was just kind of lame and boring. I mean, how can you like places like that after you’ve been to church?” “What’s so great about church?”

  “Everything. The music, the costumes—we don’t just move our lips there, we make actual sounds. It’s culture and spiritual stuff and dress-up all rolled into one, and that’s why it’s way cooler than any of that clubbing crap.”

  “Perhaps a minority view among teens,” Anna muttered.

  “You are such a little bitch!” Maura yelled. “I can’t believe how ungrateful you’re being after we went to all this trouble for you! You’ve had all these opportunities and you just act spoiled and jaded!”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Berry hissed.

  “Now that sounds like a teenager,” said Anna.

  “Oh yeah, the big teen expert,” said Maura. “Why don’t you enlighten us? What would Gwen do?”

  “Who the fuck knows. Depending on how much caffeine I get, Gwen would say be yourself, listen to others, or don’t be a brat.”

  “I’m just really tired,” Berry said. Then he closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, Anna Conventional was leading him upstairs to her sofabed.

  14.

  Berry woke to guilt. He lay tangled in the flannel covers of the rollaway bed. His neck throbbed from the unnatural posture his heels had kept him in all evening and dryness stung his mouth. But much worse was the image of himself as a spoiled debutante mocking Maura’s haunts. He wouldn’t have thought himself capable of being either so lovely or so mean, let alone both at once.

  Berry drank scant saliva and vowed never to be in a position to disappoint anyone ever again.

  Anna Conventional saw Berry awake and offered coffee, but he took OJ and ibuprofen instead. It was almost noon. When she took his glass to refill it Berry thanked her and mumbled that he wasn’t usually such an asshole.

  “Did you lose your bitch cherry last night? Congrats.” “Thanks, I guess.” Berry drank a second glass of OJ. “Any ideas how I get it back?”

  “The bitch cherry, once popped, never restores. But you can choose not to exercise those muscles. Anyway, Maura kinda had it coming. She expects too much of people and then flips when they fall short. ”

  “What about you?”

  “I had fun helping you explore. No pressure.”

  “Thanks. Shit, gotta call my parents.”

  “Phone’s inside the papier-mache walrus. How are they coping with this?” Anna Conventional waved a hand at Berry’s chest, barely hidden by the T-shirt he’d slept in. “Not sure. They seemed pretty creeped yesterday.”

  “Hey, you need a place to crash ...” Anna nodded at the sofabed.

  “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.” Berry squinted. “What makes you think I’ll need somewhere to stay?” “Hopefully you won’t. But I don’t think you know how much shit you’re letting yourself in for if you go through with this.”

  Berry looked at this cool friend who suddenly wanted to suffocate him with warnings. He almost yelled at her. Then he shook his head. “Thanks. Hope you’re wrong. But thanks.” The phone rang for a long time at Berry’s house. Then he heard an answering machine, a new message in Judy’s voice. It simply mentioned the phone number and said to leave a message. “Hey. Berry. Everything’s fine. Home soon. Bye.” Anna Conventional insisted on taking Berry for waffles with blueberries and syrup. She lent him a nice pair of jeans and a knit top. With his one bra and the heels he’d worn the night before, he looked just like a girl his age. As an afterthought, Anna gave him a dash of foundation, powder, blush, and mascara, just enough to put life on his face. At the brunch place, Berry felt self-conscious, but not as scared as the night before. Femininity started to feel like a second, or maybe third, skin.

  By the time Berry got home, he felt soothed, the way he did when performance jitters gave way to confidence. He’d get his parents to sign the note before tomorrow’s services, and be back in business in time for the recording. Once the choir laid tracks there’d be time to decide on girl or boy or what.

  On the car ride back to Berry’s place Anna Conventional seemed a little startled that he didn’t live in suburbia with Lisa. “Want me to go up and explain to your parents about last night?” she said.

  “Nah,” Berry said. It sounded tempting, but he didn’t want her to see his place. If his neighborhood had disappointed her, what would his apartment do?

  “Fine. You’ve got my home and cell phone numbers.” Anna Conventional kissed Berry on both cheeks, then drove off leaving him to climb to the sixth floor alone.

  Berry was glad Anna couldn’t see the Sanchez apartment. It took him a while to take it all in. One chair sat on its side. Books and old vinyl records covered much of the floor. A vase had hit one wall, full of water, then fallen and broken. Flowers and shards littered the floor and the wet spot on the wall showed the impact had happened recently. Berry hadn’t seen the place this bad.

  Neither parent was home. Nor was there any sign where they’d gone or when they’d be back. He almost called Anna Conventional’s cell phone, but changed his mind. He needed time alone anyway and might need her help way more later. Plus, Berry needed to talk to his parents and get that note for Mr. Allen.

  Berry took off the high heels. He felt like he’d just unsnapped the jaws of two poisonous snakes from his insteps.

  The television seemed broken again. Berry started to li
sten to Choral Fugue State, but that just made him more anxious. Finally he called Lisa. Her dad didn’t recognize Berry’s voice from their confrontation. He’d heard about Lisa’s friend from church.

  “How’s it going?” Berry asked Lisa when she picked up.

  “Not good,” Lisa said. “Been swimming.”

  “Oh.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Not great. Went out last night with Maura.” Berry told Lisa about clubbing.

  “I wish you’d let me give you a makeover instead,” Lisa said. Berry wasn’t sure if he wanted another makeover, but he wanted to see Lisa. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow after church?” she asked.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to church tomorrow.” Berry explained about the note.

  “Well, if you can’t go with the choir, you can go with me. I’ll sneak you in as a girl. Nobody’ll even know you’re there.”

  “I don’t know. I . . .” Berry heard door sounds. “Shit. Parents. I’ll call back.”

  Berry ran out into the desolate living room/kitchen area. Marco had a bandage on his left hand and stitches under his right eye. Behind him, Judy closed the door and put away keys. Marco wore a T-shirt that said “Old Fart.” He smiled when he saw Berry.

  “Son. How’s tricks?” Marco asked.

  “That’s not our son. That’s our daughter,” Judy said.

  Marco rammed a fist into Berry’s chin. Berry fell on his butt. His jaw thrummed and his sore neck spasmed again.

  “That’s our son,” Marco said. “Get up, son. Say howdy to your old man.”

  Berry stood up. Marco punched him again. This time on the nose. Berry felt blood dribble into his mouth. He fell like a flag on a pinball table. He landed on something hard, which jabbed an inch from his spine.

  “What are you doing?” Judy asked.

  “Just roughhousing,” Marco said. Berry tried to get up and Marco split his lip. “With my son.”