The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel

by Jill Conner Browne

  “It’s 1979,” I said, raising my Jack Daniel’s. “Queer is in!”

  “You don’t think he and his friend will be kissing, do you?” Tammy said with a scowl. “I’m no Anita Bryant, but I don’t want to see two guys with their tongues down each other’s throats, either.”

  “Would it hurt your feelings if I pointed out that you’re completely full of shit?” I asked. “How many times have I had to watch you and Bob swap spit?”

  “That’s different,” Tammy said with a sniff. “Kisses between the opposite sex are completely natural.”

  “Tammy Hollingsworth,” I said sternly. “It’s taken our dear little Gerald twenty-eight years to finally express his own completely natural sexuality, and you want to begrudge him a few smooches with his sweetie?”

  “Here! Here!” Mary Bennett said, raising an empty glass. “You tell her, Jill.”

  “You’re right, you’re right,” Tammy said in a contrite voice. “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Gerald—it was just a momentary lapse into ig’nant dumbass—I don’t even know where that came from!”

  “For a minute there you sounded like SONNY BUTTS,” I said with a shudder.

  The last time the Queens had been together was two years ago, for Patsy and Jack’s wedding in Atlanta. Jack, a defense attorney, is a huge, strapping blond from Wisconsin, and when he and Patsy got together they talked so fast we could hardly understand a word. But there was always plenty of cheese on hand.

  Mary Bennett handed the waitress her credit card, ordering a gin and tonic and every appetizer on the menu for us to share. “Gerald is just going to have to listen to the reruns. I cain’t wait to hear what’s going on with y’all.”

  “I have some big news,” Patsy said, her cheeks even pinker than usual. “Jack and I are expecting a little bundle.”

  “Boon dull?” Mary Bennett said with a raised eyebrow.

  “Bundle!” I translated. “Patsy’s in the family way.”

  “You’ve done got yourself knocked up, Swiss Miss?” Mary Bennett grinned. “Well, ain’t you sump’n. Congratulations! We need to celebrate. A whole round for the table and your very softest drink for our little friend here,” she said to waitress, who’d just returned. “On me.”

  “Miss,” said the waitress, who wore a low-cut, short leopard-print dress. “I’m afraid your credit card was declined.”

  “Really?” Mary Bennett said. “That doesn’t sound right. I could have sworn—”

  “I’ll get it,” I said, handing over my American Express. “You’re always picking up the tabs.”

  “Just this one time,” Mary Bennett said, shaking her finger at me. “So when is this little Yankee due?”

  “Six months, in December,” Patsy said, rubbing her small swell of a belly. “And Mary Bennett, this baby won’t be a Yankee. He or she will be born in Atlanta as a true-blue Southerner.”

  “Sorry, hunny,” Mary Bennett said. “But jest ’cause a cat has kittens in the oven doesn’t make ’em biscuits. But don’t you worry—I’ll still love the little beester anyway ’cause he’ll be your Yankee.”

  We gabbed about the baby for a while. Talked about possible names. Patsy favored Katrina for a girl and Olaf for a boy. Mary Bennett said that either of those names would be a serious handicap for a child growing up anywhere in the South, particularly Georgia, and suggested Bubba for a boy and MaryBubba for a girl.

  Once we’d exhausted the topic of Patsy’s baby, Tammy fixed her gaze on Mary Bennett and said, “So let’s hear about this new boyfriend of yours. The actor.”

  “Brian is sublime,” Mary Bennett said, swirling her straw in her drink. “We met in an off-off-off-Broadway production called Bald. It’s a spoof on the musical Hair, and the entire cast wears bald caps. It’s kind of sexy, ’specially in the third act when everybody gets nekkid.”

  Tammy gasped. “You take your clothes off onstage?”

  “Get your tonsils off the table, hunny,” Mary Bennett said. “It’s all in the name of art. Besides, showing your bare hiney in public is the latest thing. Think of all those people going around streaking. The human body is a bee-you-ti-ful thing.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you worked in a weight-loss clinic all day long,” I said drily. “But let’s get back to Brian. Tell us about him.”

  “He’s tall, dark, and handsome,” Mary Bennett said with a winsome sigh. “He thinks the sun shines out my ass and he is an absolute MINK in bed—Jill, hunny, he knows ALL ABOUT ‘the little man in the boat’!”

  I squealed—with a mixture of delight for the good fortune of my friend and a twinge of embarrassment over my former sexual naïveté.

  After a round of laughs at my expense, the ensuing silence at the table was so thick you could have carved it up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  “Well,” I said, wagging my eyebrows at Mary Bennett. “I guess you know what we’re all thinking.”

  “We’re sorry,” said a shame-faced Patsy. “We shouldn’t have.”

  “Yes, we should, and we’re dying to know—what’s WRONG with him?” I said, laughing.

  Mary Bennett’s mouth puckered into a frown. “I am deeply disappointed in all of you.” She took a quick swig of her cocktail. “I’ll have you know there is absolutely NOTHING WRONG with Brian—he doesn’t have a record, he’s never even been arrested; he’s not married, never done that, either; he doesn’t live with his mama or his big butch sister; he doesn’t have any children, tiny dogs, OR parrots; he doesn’t collect stuffed animals—and, he’s not a vegan! There’s NOTHING WRONG with this one, I swear—and y’all, for the first time in my life I think I might be in love.”

  After Mary Bennett’s rhapsodizing over the seemingly flawless Brian, Tammy sang Bob’s praises (Patsy and Mary Bennett had never met him because they’d eloped) and talked about her job and how much fun she was having wearing cute little costumes on the air, i.e., a down jacket and earmuffs when it was cold and a bright red raincoat with matching boots when the rain was raining. And on the weekends, she had a regular singing gig at the piano bar in the University Club. Bob would sit at the bar, watching, listening, and worshipping.

  “Jill,” Patsy said when Tammy took a breath. “What’ve you been up to?”

  They were all staring at me, and I was reminded of the last day of high school when the rest of the Queens were showing off their trophies and I was empty-handed.

  “Well, I do have some news,” I said, grinning.

  The Queens leaned forward in their seats with interest.

  “I renewed my driver’s license a couple of weeks ago and, believe it not, this picture is even more hideous than the last—I look just like that big fish on the front of the sports page today, MUD CAT.”

  “Oh, Jill,” Mary Bennett said, punching my arm. “Listen to you—will you EVER stop putting yourself down? Nobody gets a good driver’s license photo—I think it’s against the law, and it’s universal. There must be some special photography school they send those folks to—and if they accidentally take a flattering picture, they fail. Mine makes me look like I have no teeth!”

  “She’s also being modest,” Tammy said. “Jill got promoted at the Quick Weight-Loss Center. You’re looking at their new manager.”

  Tammy’s announcement was met with hearty approval—way more than my piddling little accomplishment deserved.

  “Enough already,” I said finally. “It’s not like I discovered the cure for cancer or anything. They had to promote me. I’ve been working there since high school.”

  And with Penny, the raging bosshole, I sure as hell don’t have a whole lot more authority, I thought.

  “There’s Gerald!” Mary Bennett said suddenly. She waved her hand. “Over here.”

  Gerald swished over to our table. Gone were his long locks and hippie clothes. His hair curled around his ears, and he wore a tweed jacket and a turtleneck, looking every inch the professor that he was. Mary Bennett gave him a noisy smooch on the cheek. “Gerald just got his Ph.
D., so we’re going to have to call him doctor now. Maybe you can give me a private examination later, Dr. Gerald?”

  “Maybe,” he said, not playing along as usual. He was blinking rapidly and his hug felt stiff and perfunctory.

  “Where’s your hunny?” Mary Bennett asked.

  “The restroom,” he said, looking nervously over his shoulder. “We can’t stay long. I promised my parents we’d stop by their house in an hour or so.”

  So that’s why he was so uptight. I knew his father had worried about Gerald’s lack of girlfriends. He must have “come out” to his parents earlier, and now they’d be meeting his love interest for the very first time.

  “Let’s get you a drink,” Mary Bennett said, patting the stool next to her. “I know this is a big, big step, bringing your sweetie home to meet everyone.”

  “I’m a wreck,” Gerald said, sagging onto the stool. “Could you…? Would you…? Just be a little…”

  “I know egg-zactly what you’re trying to say, sweetheart. Fret no more,” Mary Bennett said. “We Queens are going to be on our best behavior for your hunka hunka burnin’ love. You hear that, Swiss Miss? Keep those off-color remarks to yourself.”

  “I’ll wash my mouth out with soap and not even rinse,” Patsy said with a laugh.

  “We’ll be as wholesome as a troop of Girl Scouts,” I said, putting my right hand over my heart and raising my left.

  “That’s good because…oh, there she is,” Gerald said, jumping up from his stool.

  “He calls his boyfriend ‘she,’” Mary Bennett whispered. “Isn’t that precious?”

  “Ladies,” he said, gesturing over an imposingly tall black woman with an impressive shelf of a bosom and enormous feet. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Sheila.”

  “Girlfriend?” I repeated, trying to understand. I could see the questions in the other Queens’ eyes.

  “Actually,” Sheila said, her voice booming throughout the lounge, “Gerald proposed to me a month ago, so technically I’m his fiancée.”

  “That’s right,” Gerald said, blushing. “I haven’t gotten in the habit of saying ‘fiancée’ instead of ‘girlfriend.’”

  “No biggie,” Sheila said, brushing imaginary lint off Gerald’s jacket. “In a couple of days you’ll have to switch to ‘wife,’ anyway.”

  Our faces must have given voice to our confusion. Gerald clarified it: “We’ve decided to elope—run over to Livingston, Alabama, and just DO it. They’ve been marryin’ fifteen-year-olds from the tristate area ever since I can remember—let’s see how they handle US!”

  After some awkward congratulations from the Queens, Gerald proceeded to introduce us to Sheila individually, and I could tell that everyone was trying very hard not to seem too shocked.

  “How long have you two been seeing each other?” Tammy asked.

  “About a year,” Gerald said with a tight smile.

  “Men!” Sheila said with a harsh laugh like a seal’s bark. “It’s been eleven months, thirteen days, three hours, and”—she glanced at her watch—“seven minutes.”

  Sheila had deep grooves around her mouth, like a lifelong smoker, and pronounced crow’s feet. It was my guess that she was at least ten years older than Gerald.

  “How did y’all meet?” I asked.

  “We both teach at San Francisco State,” Sheila said. “I teach in the new Women’s Studies department.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re from California,” Mary Bennett said.

  “I’m from Jersey,” she said, her “Jersey” sounding like “Joisy.” “I miss the East, but I think California is a better place to raise kids. Bunny agrees.” She elbowed Gerald. “Right, bunny?”

  Bunny/Gerald nodded sheepishly.

  Under normal circumstances at a Queenly gathering, one of us (probably Mary Bennett) wouldn’t have been able to resist ribbing Gerald about his “bunny” nickname. As it was, nobody said a word.

  “Excuse me, dear,” Gerald said in an overly formal tone as he rose from his chair. “I need to visit the facilities.”

  “Go ahead, bunny,” Sheila said. “Us girls will just chitchat.”

  Gerald left, and Sheila gave us all a broad smile, revealing teeth dotted with bright red lipstick. “I’m so thrilled to meet all of you. Gerald talks about you constantly. I told him, ‘Gerald, what’s up with all these women friends? Should I be jealous?’ He says to me, ‘Dumpling’—that’s what he calls me in private—‘don’t get yourself into a swivet. I haven’t shtupped any of them. They’re my best friends in the whole world.’ I’m so lucky to have a man like Gerald who isn’t afraid to be in touch with his feminine side, and is capable of having platonic relationships with members of the opposite sex.”

  “It’s a rare thing in a man,” I said with a weak smile.

  “Gerald’s special all right,” Tammy said, and Patsy nodded along.

  “He is a PRIZE!” Sheila said. Her hair was so lacquered with spray, not a strand stirred when she moved her head—it was preternaturally perfect, and there was something vaguely disturbing about it.

  Mary Bennett, who’d kept curiously quiet, lit a Virginia Slim and stared contemplatively at the smoke rings.

  “I have a personal question for you, Sheila, dahlin’,” she said.

  Tammy, Patsy, and I traded glances of alarm. We’d heard that tone before.

  “Fire away,” Sheila said with a wave of her manicured hand. “I’m used to sensitive topics.”

  “Good.” Mary Bennett smiled. “I was just wondering if it ever occurred to you that Gerald might be a wee bit too much in touch with his feminine side? That he might, in fact, be as gay as a goose? Because the truth is, when Gerald told me he was bringing his sweetie here, I quite frankly expected a Sherman, not a Sheila.”

  I gulped back a gasp, and Patsy gripped the arms of her chair. Tammy’s face was two shades paler than normal.

  “I hear you, Mary Bennett, and I don’t mind your frankness,” Sheila said, with a seemingly unfazed expression. “I agree Gerald might have some latent desires, but his wish to be a Jewish family man, respected by his parents, is far stronger.”

  “What about you?” I surprised myself by asking. “Why would you want to marry a man who’s probably gay?”

  Sheila put a hand to her belly and said, “Tick-tock. Tick-tock. I’m almost forty, Jill. You girls might not understand this now, but one day you will. There’s more important things in a relationship than mind-blowing sex.”

  “Well, this group would prolly dispute THAT, hunny,” Mary Bennett said, “but have you thought about how his family is gonna react—I mean, you not being Jewish and all?”

  We all got quiet. The only sound was the whirring of the blender behind the bar, and the muffled boom-boom of the bass from a Donna Summer song next door.

  “Lift those chins, girls,” Sheila said, brightly. “Your dear Gerald is ecstatic, I promise you. This is a good thing for everyone!”

  “Here he comes,” Patsy said, taking a sip of her ginger ale.

  “Did y’all have a nice visit?” Gerald said as he sat.

  “We did, bunny!” Sheila said, pecking his cheek. “Your girlfriends are such sweeties. We were gabbing away like old pals.”

  “Good. It’s very important to me that everyone I love gets along.”

  “Could I stay at your place tonight?” Mary Bennett said, touching my elbow just as everyone was leaving the disco. “We’re painting the inside of the house, and the fumes will make me sick.”

  “Of course,” I said, picking up my purse from our table. “But you’re going to have to sleep in a double bed with me. My apartment is ti-ny and there’s no guest room.”

  “It’ll be like a slumber party! Besides, I’m used to close quarters living in New York.”

  Mary Bennett followed me home in her convertible from high school. She always drove the Tammymobile when she was back home. I was thrilled it was still running. The red leather seats and gleaming chrome brought back so m
any fond memories.

  “Get comfy,” I said to Mary Bennett as I switched on the living room light. “I gotta pee.”

  Mary Bennett made herself at home. She stretched out on my spindly saggy sofa, legs dangling off one end. When I returned, her nose was deep into my journal.

  “Whatda hell do you think you’re doing?!” I asked.

  “Well, you didn’t have any magazines, and your TV’s all snowy,” she said, licking a finger as she turned a page.

  “Hand it over.”

  “This is funny stuff,” Mary Bennett said with a snicker. “Have you ever thought about being a writer?”

  I snatched the journal from her hand. “Have you ever thought ’bout mindin’ your own fuckin’ business?”

  “Hell no,” Mary Bennett said, swinging her long legs around so she faced me. “That’s why I’m racking my brain trying to decide what we’re going to do about Gerald.”

  I sat in the only other seat—a rattan chair that hung from the ceiling. It had looked cute in the store, but its swaying sometimes gave me motion sickness.

  “I’ve heard of gay guys getting married and having children. Maybe Gerald—”

  “Horse shit!” Mary Bennett said. “Marriage to that woman would be like locking him up in a cage. He needs to run free—get all wild and woolly. I know!” She snapped her fingers. “We should take him to a gay bar the night before his wedding.”

  “Too obvious,” I said, rocking back and forth. “Besides, don’t you think he sampled that scene in San Francisco?”

  “He used to be into drugs, not the gay scene. He probably got high, hoping to lessen his attraction to men. I’ll bet he’s never even been in a gay bar before.”

  “We actually have a few right here in Jackson now—I’ve been, had a blast,” I said. A thought suddenly came to me. “There is this fabulous gay guy who works out at my gym. He’s the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever seen, not to mention the nicest. He’s the minister of a nondenominational church that meets in an empty store downtown. Maybe he could talk to Gerald.”