by John Berendt
“It was so romantic. I bought a new dress, and we went to a ballroom that had a live band. Afterward, we went back to my place and started kissin’. I realized I had to tell him, but I decided not to do it till the next night. Well, the next night he took me to a basketball game, and I ran into one of my old boyfriends. This old boyfriend was the insanely jealous type, which is why I had to leave him in the first place. So he started a bunch of shit, sayin’, ‘That’s a drag queen you’re with.’ And that’s how Jeff found out. He was so hurt he just walked off and left me there. I didn’t hear from him for a week. Then he called me. He said he wasn’t into men. I said, ‘I’m not a man, bitch, don’t call me no man!’ Then he asked me, ‘Well, what do you got between your legs?’ I said, ‘That’s for me to know and for you to find out.’ So he said, ‘Well, whatever you are, I like you. I can’t get you off my mind, and as long as we can be friends, I want to see you again.’
“I said that was fine with me. So he started comin’ on my job and watchin’ me do shows, and he got hooked. After a while, we started having sex, and we became lovers. I even went to see his parents. They live out on the southside. They’re Baptists, honey, and they thought I was Jeff’s girlfriend Chris. I had Thanksgiving dinner with them and Christmas too, and they liked me and had no earthly idea. But after a few months, they realized I was not just a passing fling. Their son was really in love with me. That’s when they had a problem: I was black. They started watchin’ me very closely. I could feel it. They were lookin’ to catch my ass in the slightest mistake. I really had to be on my guard. Then one time they acted very strangely toward me. They were givin’ me funny looks, child. I could tell somethin’ was wrong. Jeff’s mama got me alone after dinner. She said, ‘Chris, let’s you and me just sit here in the living room and have a little talk.’ Honey, the ol’ girl was nervous as a cat.
“She said, ‘Chris, there’s something I’ve been wondering about. It’s something that I know is very private with you, and I respect your privacy. But my son is involved with you, and I have to know. I want you to answer me truthfully.’ Well, child, my heart nearly stopped. I looked around just to check out where the door was, in case I had to get outta there real fast. Then she said, ‘Tell me. Honestly. Are you pregnant?’
“Well, I was so relieved. For the first time in my life I didn’t have an answer. My mouth dropped open, and I grabbed my stomach. When I did that, she screamed and ran out of the room.
“I just sat there for a while, not knowin’ what to do. I could hear all kinds of carryin’ on at the other end of the house. I sat there alone for about ten minutes. Then Jeff walked in with the cutest little grin on his face. He said, ‘Okay, Sugar. Everything’s fine. Let’s go.’
“When we got outside, he was still grinnin’, and I said, ‘What the hell was goin’ on in there? For a minute I thought your mama found out my T.’ Jeff put his arm around me. ‘Whatever you said, baby, you said it right. Look what we got!’ Child, he pulled out the biggest wad of money I ever saw. He had eight one-hundred-dollar bills! ‘It’s from Dad,’ he said. ‘To pay for your abortion.’”
Chablis clapped her hands. “I took the money them white folks gave us to murder their unborn grandchild, and I bought that color TV sittin’ over there and that videocassette player too. And with what was left over, I went out and got me the raunchiest little sequined dress I could find, so in case they ever do find out who I am, I can shake my ass in their face and tell them, ‘Thanks from the bottom of our interracial baby’s dead little heart!’”
Chablis got up and went over to the window. “Ain’t you finished yet, honey?” she called. Jeff looked up from the street below. He was standing in front of the car. The two boys sat in the front seat, gunning the engine. He made a V sign. “Be there in a second,” he said.
Chablis turned back from the window. “Y-e-e-e-s, child! That abortion was some kinda good. I toyed with the idea of takin’ Jeff’s folks to court for attempted fuckin’ murder. If you pay to have somebody spiked, honey, that’s attempted murder, ain’t it?”
“Could be,” I said, “under the right circumstances.”
“Well, I didn’t do it, ’Cause I didn’t want to hurt Jeff. And also ’Cause I wasn’t finished with them two motherfuckers. No, baby! Six months later, we went back and convinced them I was pregnant all over again. That got us another eight hundred, which paid for a few more gowns and a flawless weekend up in Charleston. But that’s gotta be the last of it. If we try it again, it’ll dawn on them that it would be cheaper just to pay somebody to shoot me and throw me off the Talmadge Bridge.”
Chablis put the dress aside and closed the cover on the bugle-bead box. “I don’t see my in-laws anymore. But Jeff and me are closer than ever. Someday, he’ll go back to wantin’ girls, but I’m prepared for that. I just don’t want him to leave me and go to a guy. I want him to go back to girls. If he goes to a guy, I’d feel awful bad. I dated one guy, and when we broke up he started goin’ with men. That hurt me so bad, and he couldn’t understand why. I tried to tell him: I’m a woman. Treat me that way, it’s the way I treat myself. I want a man who wants a woman, not a man who wants a man.”
Jeff appeared in the doorway.
“Well, thank goodness,” Chablis said. “I was gettin’ tired of waitin’ on you. Another minute, and I was gonna start hittin’ on my new chauffeur. I am some kinda ready for you, baby.” Jeff lifted one of her feet and removed her sandal. She lay back on the sofa. “’Cause Miss Myra’s shots are startin’ to kick in, honey,” she said softly. He massaged her bare foot and stared into her eyes. “M-m-m-m-m. Y-e-e-e-s, baby,” she said.
I got up quietly and took my leave. As I closed the door behind me, I could hear Chablis murmuring. “Yes, child. Yaaaayyiss, baby! M-m-m-m-m-m-m!”
The Pickup occupied a loft building on Congress Street. I could hear the thump-thump-thump of disco music as I approached the club’s front door. Inside, a short-haired woman wearing jeans and a work shirt sat on a stool chatting with a uniformed policeman. A handwritten sign on the wall read $15 MEMBERSHIP FEE, but she waved me in without taking any money.
The ground floor had a long, dimly lit bar and a dance floor with flashing lights and booming music. The place was crowded with young men in casual but, for the most part, conservative attire. A poster by the entrance announced the featured appearance of The Lady Chablis for two shows, at eleven o’clock and one. The three-dollar admission charge was collected by a thin man who wore a baseball cap over his stringy waist-length hair. “The overture’s already started,” he said.
The room upstairs was a narrow, low-ceilinged space with a bar at one end and a small stage and runway at the other. A revolving mirrored ball hung from the ceiling. About fifty people, including a number of couples, were taking their seats amid the din of the recorded overture—a scratchy, fast-paced medley of Broadway tunes played at extremely high volume in order to drown out the disco beat from below. As the overture ended, the room went black. The beat shifted to the pulsating rhythms of Natalie Cole’s “Jump Start.”
A spotlight hovered over the stage and then dipped. Chablis suddenly burst into view, looking like raging fire in a skimpy sequined dress with jagged red, yellow, and orange flamelike fringes hanging from it. She wore huge earrings and a wig of long black curls. The audience cheered as she strutted down the runway, working every nuance of the rhythm, shaking her behind like a pom-pom, whipping it from side to side. She looked over her shoulder with an expression of supreme sassiness. She was a minx, a temptress. She danced superbly, mouthing the words to the song and smiling as if tasting something delicious. The look in her eyes was lighthearted and outrageous. It seemed to say: If you thought that last bump was vulgar, honey, watch this one! One by one, her fans rose out of the audience and moved to the edge of the runway. They held out dollar bills folded lengthwise. Chablis accepted their offerings without missing a beat, taking the money in her hands or allowing them the campy pleasure of slipping it into her
cleavage. As the song came to an end, she exited to cheers and whistles and stomping feet.
In a moment, Chablis’s crackling voice came over the loudspeaker. “Hey, bitches!” she said.
Members of the audience called back, “Hey, bitch!”
Chablis returned to the stage carrying a microphone in her hand. She was dabbing perspiration from her neck and chest. “Ooooo, child! I am sweatin’, honey! I truly am. And I’m not ashamed of it either. I want all you white folks to see how hard I’m workin’ for you.”
She wriggled as the audience cheered.
“I need another napkin, honey! Who’s gonna give me one? Whoever gives me a napkin wins a prize, and I ain’t sayin’ what that prize is until you win it.” A napkin was handed up from the audience. “Thank you, baby. You are a true gentleman. Yes, you are, honey. I am serious! And you win the prize. You get to eat my pussy for the rest of my life. Okay?”
The audience howled.
“Yes, honey. I am sweatin’, but I’m gonna have to slow down soon. If I don’t, the doctor says I’m gonna have me another miscarriage. Yes, honey, I am with child again! My due date is gettin’ closer, and my young’un is droppin’ lower and lower. It’s tough dancin’ in this heat when you’re pregnant, you know. Have you ever tried it? Try gettin’ pregnant, like me, and then come up here and dance, honey. Child, you’ll be wore out! Are my feet swellin’? Can you see ’em? Are they swellin’? You know how your mama’s did when she was pregnant with you? Do my feet look that way?”
The audience cried out, “No!”
“I hope not, child, ’Cause your mama had some ugly feet when she was carryin’ you.” Hoots and whistles from the audience. “Just kiddin’,” she said.
“I got a business deal to offer all you white boys. My husband’s folks won’t pay for no more abortions, and we’re gettin’ hard up for cash. Take me home to meet your mama and daddy, and tell them I am pregnant with your baby and see how fast they come up with the money. I’ll split it with you fifty-fifty. You don’t think they’d do it? Guess again, honey. My husband’s daddy is a Baptist minister, and he’s paid for it twice already. That’s mass murder, child. I am serious!”
Chablis walked farther out toward the end of the runway, but after a few steps, the microphone cord snagged and stopped her short. She tugged at it, but it would not come any farther. She turned toward the D.J.’s booth. “Michael! Miss Thing!” She tugged again. “Miss Thing, you ain’t fixed this cord yet?” She looked to the audience. “Now I ask you. Wouldn’t you think Burt, the man that owns this damn club, would fix this cord so I could come all the way out into the audience and be closer to you? So I could touch you? So you could get those extra vibes?”
A chorus of scattered yeahs came from the audience.
“If y’all can’t do better than that, you can take your damn tired asses on home. I’m serious. Now lemme hear you holler, ‘Yeah, bitch!’”
“Yeah, bitch!”
“Must be somethin’ wrong with my ears, child. I didn’t hear nothin’.”
“YEAH, BITCH!”
“That’s better. Y-e-e-e-s, child! Now I can feel your presence.” Chablis ran her hand down the side of her dress and shimmied. “Yes, I can feel you are here, child, even if I can’t reach out and touch you the way I usually do and would do right now if it weren’t for this sorry-ass cord.”
Whistles and catcalls.
“Maybe Burt thinks I’ll break down and get it fixed myself. Do you think I should? Do you? No way, baby! I ain’t givin’ up my coins for no cord, honey. Y’mama’s gonna be shoppin’ for gowns! Give me any length of cord you got, and I will play with her. Yes, girl. Long or short, I will play with your cord. Whatever size it eeeeyiz, honey. ’Cause y’mama’s gonna start actin’ like the heterosexual pregnant white woman she is and keep her fuckin’ money in her pocket!” The audience cheered. Chablis undulated in place. “Just kiddin’, honey,” she purred.
“Okay, gang, I want to thank you for coming tonight. If I offended anyone, two tears in a bucket, honey. Motherfuck it. Yes, child. We have a wonderful show lined up for you. We have a whole bevy of beautiful bitches, so I want you to put your hands together now and welcome to the stage, the—” Chablis looked down at a man and a woman sitting at a table by the edge of the runway.
“You two have been neckin’ and carryin’ on all through my number! No-no-no, that’s all right, baby, I don’t mind. Get it while you can, honey! But tell me somethin’, girl, is he your husband or your boyfriend? He is? Well, I think I should tell you, him and me has been fuckin’ since Christmastime. Yes, honey. He is the father of my baby. That’s right, child. Where y’all from? Hilton Head! And what does the father of my baby do besides fuck real good? A lawyer! Ooooo, my young’un’s gonna have a rich daddy! When you become a lawyer, honey, you get to have all that stuff after your name, don’t you. Like ‘Esquire.’ And ‘Attorney-at-Law.’ I don’t need nobody tellin’ me about lawyers, child. You get messed up with reefer and the cops, honey, and you gonna know Esquires and Attorney-at-Laws. You gonna know lawyers. But your wife don’t get none of that shit after her name, does she? She just gets to carry the baby, huh? Well, let me tell you something, child: I get something better after my name. I get applause, honey. And people yellin’ ‘Hey, bitch!’”
Chablis slinked along the runway as the audience cheered, “Hey, bitch!”
“And I get somethin’ even better than that comin’ after my ass,” she said. “I get some fine stuff comin’ after my ass, child! I bet all you bitches wish you did too, don’t you?” Chablis looked into the spotlight. “Miss Thing! Shine the light over there.” Chablis pointed in my direction, and in a moment I was blinded by the spotlight.
“I want y’all to meet my new chauffeur!” she said. “Yes, child. My new white chauffeur, honey! He drives y’mama’s black ass all over Savannah. Soon as he learns how to drive a little better, honey, we be gettin’ a Rolls-Royce! That’s right. Nothin’s too good for The Lady! I am serious. Nothin’s too good for The Doll. Okay, Miss Thing, that’s enough with the light! Bring the light back to Mama! Thanks, honey. Now, I want y’all to enjoy the show. Have a good time. And don’t let me catch none of you bitches layin’ a hand on my new chauffeur. ’Cause if I catch you, child, you will have Chablis to deal with. That’s right, honey. Me and my icepick.” Chablis turned and undulated back up the runway. When she reached the curtain, she looked back over her shoulder and whispered into the microphone. “Just kiddin’, honey!”
Chablis was followed by Julie Rae Carpenter, who was a foot taller and at least eighty pounds heavier. A curly-headed blonde, Julie Rae had a dimpled smile and wore a bright blue, ill-fitting taffeta dress that you could tell, from the puckered stitching, was homemade. She skipped and bounced and twice flung herself spread-eagle against the back wall for dramatic effect, but she did it without a hint of irony—and without a clue how embarrassing it was to watch her. About a dozen members of the audience gave Julie Rae tips. An equal number got up and left. As I sat watching her, a waiter in a floppy straw hat tapped me on the knee. “Chablis asked me to bring you backstage,” he said.
He led me around to a cramped dressing room shared by all the members of the show. They were adjusting their hair and makeup at a long dressing table. Chablis was wearing only panty hose. She caught my reflection in the mirror. “Hey, honey!” she said. “I hope you ain’t mad at me after what I done to you out there, shinin’ that light in your face and talkin’ dirty and all.”
“We’re still friends,” I said.
“That’s good, honey. But I guess that lawyer from Hilton Head won’t be comin’ back soon. I was watchin’ him the whole time, talkin’ and neckin’ with his fish while I was doin’ my number, and, honey, I will not take that! Lucky for him he backed down when I got into his shit about it. ’Cause if he hadn’t, I woulda got meaner.” Chablis removed her wig and combed her natural hair into a pompadour. “I’ve gone as far as taken off my shoe and hit people over the
head. To prove to them that, you know, don’t let this dress fool you. Last weekend in Valdosta, a girl was talkin’ real loud, and when I started in on her, she threw a beer at me. She was one of those real mean lesbians, honey; she was a pit-bull dyke. But what she failed to realize was that there was a whole pitcher of beer sittin’ on her table. I baptized the bitch, honey! I baptized the bitch!”
“Well, how did your boss like being called a cheapskate?” I asked.
“Child, that was nothin’. I let him off easy, ’Cause I remembered my pay envelope was downstairs at the bar. I was afraid he might not let me have it if I was too rough on him. I’ll get him later though.”
Julie Rae came off the stage and was followed by Stacey Brown, a tall, elegant black. Next up was Dawn Dupree, a statuesque blonde with long, straight hair and very modish clothes. Chablis told me Dawn was a professional seamstress. “She made the dress I just wore,” she said. “Did you like it?”
“Very impressive,” I said.
“It was perfect for my slut routine. But I’m doin’ somethin’ different for my second song. Somethin’ just for you, honey, somethin’ very demure. I’m gonna do my uptight pussy debutante number. In a floor-length gown. I’d wear pearls too, but I ain’t that pure. Gonna have lots of rhinestones instead. The dress has a slit up the back too, all the way up to my ass. But I’m gonna move real slow and sedate, bein’ the lady that I am. Slow dances are good for business. They make it easier for my fans to come up and give me tips. When you dance fast and dirty, it intimidates some of them. And it’s hard for them to get to you, too, while you’re jumpin’ around. Fact, I gotta put that girl on quick, it’s almost my turn.”