Just in time for the
holidays of December,
Jak Klinikowski presentsEpisode 8 in The Adventures of Ineeda Willingbottom:
Where Do We Hang the Silk
Stockings?
The rehearsal wasn’t going well, and Ineeda’s foul attitude was the primary reason. She complained viciously that the lip-sync was off, the dancing stunk, and the entire ensemble was nothing but a bunch of rank amateurs. She found fault with absolutely everything. The Christmas benefit for the Dallas AIDS Hospice was only a few hours away, and all the performers gathered at the Cha Cha Palace were on the verge of walking out.
Hortence, dressed in an oversized grey sweatshirt with rhinestones around the collar and sequined leg warmers was merely attempting a little damage control, but Ineeda showed next to no interest in listening to reason. The large gathering of entertainers was doing its best to melt into the backstage curtains as Hortence confronted Ineeda center stage.
“Listen
Hortence, if you
and the rest of these uppity queens don’t care for the way I
run things
around here you can all pack up and leave.”“And I suppose you’ll just handle this little charity show all by your pig-headed self,” said Hortence.
“If I have to, I will.”
“And who suffers then, Ineeda?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” said Hortence. “The hospice needs every cent we can raise tonight. These people have volunteered to help as best they can, and you chasing everyone off benefits no one. Stop channeling Ebenezer Scrooge and try to be a little more constructive and a little less destructive. It’s Christmas time you bitch, cheer up.”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” growled Ineeda. “I’m still the show director here and you best not forget that. Why I ought to…”
Ineeda had no chance to finish her sentence. Hortence, who had a good five inches and fifty pound advantage on her, grabbed Ineeda by the front of her bright red cat suit and hauled her towards the dressing room, stage right.
“Y’all take a nice ten-minute break,” Hortence called over her shoulder. “Ineeda and I will finish this conversation in private.”
Once inside the dressing room, Ineeda exploded. “Who the hell do you think you are? How dare you embarrass me in front of the hired help.”
“First of all, Ineeda,” snapped Hortence, “volunteers are not hired help, and second of all, get over your tired self. You’re obviously upset about something other than the rehearsal for this show. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
“Ever since you and Terry got back from Roswell you’ve been acting like a prissy wolverine with ingrown toenails. Shoot, Ineeda, you just conquered the hearts of small-town America. I, for one, would think you’d be as happy as a turkey at a vegetarian Thanksgiving feast, but you’re miserable. What gives? You know you can tell me.”
Ineeda glared at her best friend, but her defenses were cracking. She let out a slow deliberate breath, and plopped down in a plastic chair in front of the wall-to-wall make-up mirror.
“I hate Christmas, Hortence. It’s as simple as that. Ever since Momma passed on, I’ve had a hard time dealing with it. The holidays were her favorite time of year and she always bent herself in two making them special. Now that Daddy’s involved with Terry’s Grandmother, Iva Ruth, I feel like things are never gonna be the same again. At least when it was the two of us, we could try to keep up Momma’s traditions, but it’s not the same now.”
Hortence grabbed herself a chair and scooted it in close to Ineeda.
“Honey, if Terry’s Grandmother and your Daddy have a thing for each other, you ought to be happy for them. You know your Momma wanted your father to move on with his life.”
“I
know
Hortence, I know, but I can’t help feeling I’m not
Daddy’s little
boy-girl any more.“Ineeda, you know I mean this with all the love in my heart, but that’s about the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. Sweetheart, you’ve got to stop acting like such a bitter, old cow. Besides, it’s not like your father has taken up with some sleazy hooker. He’s courting Terry’s Grandmother for heaven’s sake. That’s what I call keeping it in the family.”
“But it’s just plain weird, Hortence.”
“Ineeda, take a look at the two of us. We have no business calling anything weird. You’re an adult, but you’re behaving like a spoiled child. If you don’t knock it off, you’ll drive a wedge into y’all’s relationship that’ll be mighty hard to get rid of down the road.”
“You think?”
“I know. Your Daddy’s always gonna be there for you Ineeda, no matter what. You need to let him move on, and you need to move on too.”
“Of course you’re right Hortence, but still, it doesn’t seem fair somehow.”
“No one told you life was fair Christina.”
“Thank you, Miss Joan Crawford,” said Ineeda. “I appreciate your queenly insight. But I still miss my Momma and I still hate Christmas.”
“Well, I guess I can understand that,” said Hortence, “ but your mother was one of the most charitable gals I ever knew, and I know she’d want you to put on the very best, money- makinest benefit you can, so how’s about we go back out there, jumpstart this rehearsal with a smile, and get on with the show.”
Ineeda reached for Hortence’s hands and gave them a firm squeeze.
“Okay Hortence, I’ll do my best to stop acting like the last, green grinch. I may feel like shouting ‘bah humbug,’ but that’s getting me nowhere. It’s nothing but fa la la la las from here on out.”
* * * *
The benefit
show opened with Ineeda
performing a spirited version of Santa Baby. Her heart
wasn’t in
it, but professional that she was, she gave it all she could.
She
wore a dazzling Bob Mackie gown of purple bugle beads that Terry bought
her at Nieman Marcus, and her hair was pinned in a flawless up-do.The number ended and the patrons packed into the Cha Cha Palace roared their approval. Ineeda grabbed her cordless mike from its stand and began walking back and forth across the large stage.
“Thank you,” said Ineeda, “thank you so much. We’ve got a rowdy crowd here tonight. Am I right?”
Again, the audience erupted with wild applause. Several high-pitched ‘eeeeehas’ and ‘wooohooos’ could be heard.
“Well, I want y’all to keep it up ‘cause you know what us gay-girls always say at Christmas. ‘Every time a queen screams, a fairy gets his pumps.’”
The yelling and hooting literally shook the walls, and Ineeda was sure it could be heard all the way to Fort Worth.
“Oh my,” said Ineeda, “there’ll be a lot of new shoes in fairyland tonight. Anyway, we’ve got an incredible show lined up for you folks this evening. We want to raise as much cash as we can for the AIDS hospice, and with y’all’s help, I know we can meet our goal. Every cent of tonight’s cover is going to the cause, as are all the tips collected by the entertainers, so give up as much of your party money as you can spare, even if it means you’ve got to go home sober.”
“Okay, let’s get on with it. No Christmas would be complete without a visit from our great big sister from up north. Give it up for Miss Sandra Clause and her old man, Nick.”
The screeching snarl of a Harley Davidson rumbled through the club. The crowd made a path and a 300-pound drag queen, dressed in a red velvet mini-dress trimmed in white rabbit fur seated behind an extremely butch lesbian wearing a Santa beard, rode up to center stage. Ineeda handed over her mike.
“Ho ho ho, you hos,” shouted Miss Sandra Clause. “You nice boys and girls stay in the back. I want all you naughty queers to move up close cause I’ve got a few little holiday gifts I want to distribute.”
She handed the mammoth sack she’d slung over her shoulder to Nick. The lesbian opened the bag and held it as Miss Clause reached in with her free hand. She pulled out dozens of shiny metallic packages.
“Who wants some nice Christmas condoms?”
Ineeda
discreetly left the stage,
and went to the dressing room to check her make-up. The room
was
jammed full of performers. Ineeda elbowed her way to the far
corner where Hortence was putting some last minute powder on her cheeks.“You okay?’ asked Hortence.
“I suppose,” said Ineeda. “Considering how hard you and Terry have been trying to cheer me up, you’d think I’d be as jolly as a bowl full of pink Jell-o, but I’m not.”
“Sweetie,” consoled Hortence, “you’ve got to snap out of it. Remember this is your and Terry’s first Christmas together. You don’t want to spoil it for him do you?”
“Of course not, it’s just…oh I don’t know. Christmas was always about going to Momma’s. I guess what I’m trying to say is Christmas plain doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
Ineeda, I know it doesn’t get any more clichéd, but home truly is where the heart is. Terry adores you and you’re mad about him, so why don’t you try concentrating on that? Stop thinking about what you’ve lost and start focusing on what you’ve gained.”
“I know you’re right Hortence, but it’s just a lot easier said then done.”
“Come on Ineeda, you can do it.”
“I’ll try okay, I’ll try.”
“You do that Ineeda. Now, I think you should get back out on stage. Sounds like Miss Sandra’s about done passing out the goodies, and I’m up next. I want you to give me a real four-star intro.”
The show proceeded without a glitch. The crowd was generous with every performer, and by the time Ineeda’s closing number rolled around, a ton of bills had been stuffed in the ten-gallon tip receptacle stage left.
“I want to thank y’all for the wonderful response given tonight,” said Ineeda. “Each entertainer gave his or her all, and y’all truly showed some holiday charity. I’d like to close tonight’s show with my favorite Christmas song. I hope you like it as much as I do. Mr. DJ if you please.”
The strains of I’ll Be Home for Christmas flowed through the speakers, and Ineeda began her performance. On the line, ‘I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams,’ a single tear ran down Ineeda’s cheek. The audience was awed by her dramatic talent, but Ineeda didn’t notice. She was thinking about her Momma.
* * * *
Terry and Ineeda left the Cha Cha Palace and headed to their condominium complex. Ineeda gazed out the window of Terry’s pick-up.
“Ineeda,” said Terry, “for someone who just raised over 25,000 dollars for the hospice, you don’t seem very thrilled.”
“I’m tired baby. I’ll be fine once we get back to the condo.”
“You’re still thinking about your Momma, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“I know it’s hard, Ineeda, but I think it’s time you thought about something else.”
“Like what?”
“Us, for one thing,” said Terry. “Hey, I know what will cheer you up.”
Ineeda groaned softly. She was in no mood for any more cheering-up, but Terry was undaunted.
“Let’s drive through Turtle Creek,” suggested Terry, “and look at all the swell, decorated mansions. When I was a kid nothing put me more in the Christmas spirit then looking at all the done-up houses.”
“Oh Terry, do we have to?” whined Ineeda. Ineeda’s protest fell on deaf ears. Terry’s mind was made up. He turned the truck towards Dallas’s fanciest neighborhood. As the homes of Turtle Creek began to appear, Terry oohed and aahed like a little kid. Ineeda gazed solemnly, as Terry pointed out each elaborately decorated house.
“Yes, yes. Nice, nice,” said Ineeda. Terry pulled the truck down Bluebell Lane, a small side street off the park that ran through the entire neighborhood. Ineeda was so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice Terry had driven down a long driveway until he stopped the pick-up and turned off the ignition.
“What are we stopping here for?” asked an annoyed Ineeda.
“Gosh,” responded Terry looking at the thousands of white lights strung around the house, “isn’t this the prettiest thing you ever saw? Come on, let’s get out and take a look-see.”
“Have you lost your mind?” said Ineeda. “We’ll probably get attacked by a bunch of Dobermans.”
“Oh, come on,” pushed Terry. “Don’t be such a coward.”
Terry jumped out the driver’s side door, ran around the truck, opened Ineeda’s door and pulled her out.
“Terry Turley,” she yelled. “If we get arrested, and I’m sure we will, I swear I’ll tell the cops you kidnapped me.”
Terry had Ineeda by the wrist, and forcefully led her all the way to the mansion’s front door.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” said Terry.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I’ve always loved this particular house, but it’s kind of cold out here. Can we go now?”
“You’re cold?” said Terry. “Let’s go inside and warm up.”
“What?” shouted Ineeda. Before Ineeda could dig in her designer evening slippers and refuse to budge, Terry threw open the front door and dragged her into the house. Inside was a large entryway with a huge formally furnished living room off to the left. Standing to the side of the living room’s enormous fireplace was a twelve-foot, flocked Christmas tree, completely decorated with crystal ornaments. Next to the tree, holding full Champaign flutes were Ineeda’s Father, Max, and Terry’s Grandmother, Iva Ruth. A long glittering banner was prominently displayed above the fireplace mantle. It read, ‘Merry Christmas Ineeda, Happy New Year Too, Love Terry.’
Ineeda’s jaw hung halfway to her hemline, and she stared wordlessly at her cowboy. “I thought,” said Terry, “if you had your own real home to go to, you might be able to enjoy Christmas again. Welcome home, baby.”
“Yes,” said Iva Ruth and Max, “welcome home, Ineeda.”
“Oh, my God,” screamed Ineeda as she leapt into the waiting arms of her man. She hugged Terry as hard as she could. “I can’t believe you did this. I love you so much!”
“Well,” said Terry, “judging by your reaction, there’s a hell of a lot of fairies rocking in their high heels tonight.”